The Burial Place

by Larry Enmon

  She finished her cereal and had an itch on her chin. There was a bump. Oh, no, not another zit. She strolled to the mirror. No zit; probably just a mosquito bite. Wiping her fingers across her face, she found no trace of makeup. They must have scrubbed it off the first night, although she had no idea how long ago that was. She remained disoriented about time and place. It was either Tuesday or Wednesday. She didn’t know how long she’d been in her drug-induced la-la land. She figured time of day by food served, and she’d just finished breakfast number three.

  The food wasn’t bad: fruit and cereal for breakfast, fresh salad and a bowl of mixed nuts for lunch, and either baked chicken or fish for dinner. The best thing was the homemade bread. The aroma of it baking every morning when they opened the door to bring down her breakfast made her mouth water. They served it only with the dinner. She ate it first. When Katrina requested coffee, Sister Judy explained that they didn’t drink it but could get her a cup of herbal tea if she liked. She passed.

  She unfurled the dress they’d left her. It ended at her feet, just like Sister Judy’s and Sister Ruth’s. No bra hid in the pile of clothes. Strange kidnappers. Her dad had money—he’d pay, no problem. They treated her well, almost too well, as if she was special somehow. No one had threatened her or tried to do her harm since that first night.

  I’ll be okay. Just be patient and it’ll be over soon enough.

  Sister Ruth’s sudden activity around the foot of the bed crept into Katrina’s thoughts. Was she pushing something under the covers?

  Katrina knelt at the corner and tugged up the quilt. Her heart skipped. She dashed to the other side and found the same thing. Fixing her gaze on the metal headboard, she slowly approached. Lowering her hand to the side, she reached under the soft, down mattress and pulled out another. She exhaled a quick breath and felt light-headed. Staggering to the wall, she slumped to the floor, hugging herself. Tears flooded her eyes.

  Firmly affixed to each corner of her bed was a thick, leather loop. Dark stains streaked the leather—blood.

  7

  Wednesday morning, Frank got in early and found the return fax from AT&T Security waiting in the machine. “Unable to locate through electronic serial number. No GPS response to signal.” The electronic serial number (ESN) should have located the phone if it was on and within AT&T’s service area. It remained doubtful that her cell was still operational, especially since there was no GPS signal. Phone destroyed, dropped in water, buried, battery removed. The possibilities were endless.

  Frank wandered to his desk, studying the fax. He caught up on some administrative paperwork and Rob marched in. He slipped out of his jacket and fell into his chair.

  After turning on his computer, Rob asked, “How did the date go last night?”

  Rob always asked about Frank’s dates. In the three years they’d worked together, Rob had seen him with only one woman. About two years before, Carmen had insisted Frank come to dinner and bring a friend if he liked. He’d brought Taylor. The second they entered the front door of Rob’s house, Frank realized he’d screwed up. All smiles froze in place as Rob’s family shook Taylor’s hand. The fact that she was only slightly older than Rob’s teenage daughter was just one of the issues. Taylor’s looks could stop a bull in midcharge. She’d been first runner-up in the Miss Texas pageant the year before and had shoulder-length blonde hair, vivacious green eyes, and pearly white teeth. The little black dress revealed more than it covered, and although Frank appreciated the dramatic cleavage, he wasn’t sure Rob’s family did. Since that night, Frank hadn’t been invited back, and Rob hadn’t seen him with another girl.

  “We had a good time,” Frank said. “I prepared my signature charred lobster and pasta with a fresh spinach salad and crème brûlée.”

  “Sounds delicious. Did she stay the night?”

  “Yeah, left this morning.”

  Rob grunted as a smile crept across his lips. They worked on their paperwork, and the morning dragged on until someone called across the room.

  “Hey, Frank. You got a fax in the machine.”

  He sprang up and grabbed the papers, scanning the report from MasterCard Security. He added it to the previous report and knocked on Edna’s door. She and Terry were in conference. They looked at him, and he held up the papers.

  “Can’t locate the cell, and no credit card activity reported since last Sunday evening in Austin.”

  They frowned in unison. “Thanks, Frank,” she said.

  Frank ambled back to his desk and Rob did a long stretch. “I’m hungry. Want to grab a bite?”

  “Sure, what do you feel like?”

  “BBQ, baby. BBQ.”

  Frank didn’t have to ask where. If Rob wanted barbecue, there wasn’t a choice.

  They hiked out the front doors of the headquarters building into brilliant sunshine and hooked a left on the sidewalk that ran down Lamar. The smoke smell led them straight to Off the Bone Barbeque, Rob’s favorite. The short walk, in fresh air, revived Frank’s mind. He checked off everything they’d done and what else needed to be done. The girl and her car had just disappeared. Without something else to go on, they could do little but wait. He drew her photo from his pocket and stared at it as they walked. That old, almost forgotten feeling stirred him again.

  After a pulled-pork sandwich and iced tea, Frank and Rob strolled back down the sidewalk to headquarters.

  “So, where do we go from here? Looks like a dead-end case,” Rob said.

  Frank readjusted his sunglasses. “I don’t know. We’ve covered all the bases.”

  “When you worked Missing Persons, wasn’t there a certain number of hours you guys aimed for?” Rob asked.

  Frank shoved both hands in his pockets and slowed his pace. “If we were notified immediately, like if someone witnessed a kid being snatched, we’d hit the bricks hard with all hands for six hours. Interview everybody, run out every lead, and check every possible location.” Frank sighed. “After six hours, in most cases, we only recovered a body—not a person.”

  “So, this thing looks pretty crappy if she’s not hiding out, huh?”

  Frank raked his hand through his hair, and they exchanged glances. “She’s been gone over sixty hours at this point. Yeah, I’d say if she was taken, with no ransom demands, she may be beyond help.”

  When they meandered into the squad area, most of the cubicles had emptied, their officers out to lunch. Edna remained in her office with the phone to her ear. She stood and leaned forward, one hand braced on the corner of her desk, eyes narrow and mouth agape.

  When she noticed them, she said, “They just walked in. I’ll call you back.” She slammed the phone down and rushed out to meet them. “We’ve got her car and the guy driving it.”

  “What?” Rob exchanged a surprised look with his partner.

  “Was she in the car?” Frank asked. But part of him already knew the answer before Edna spoke. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

  “No, but we have him.” Edna’s cheeks had reddened the way they always did when she got excited. She blew out a quick breath. “They just brought him up to the Auto Theft Unit. Get your butts down the hall, quick.”

  “How are the guys down there going to react when we barge in and demand to interrogate their prisoner?” Frank asked.

  She stepped back and nodded. “Good point. I’ll call Sergeant Holtz and grease the skids.” She motioned toward the door. “Hurry. The mayor’s on his way to the chief’s office.”

  Frank grabbed his notebook and dropped his weapon in his desk drawer, telling himself not to get too excited now that they finally had a lead. Sixty hours, Frank. The chances weren’t good that this evidence would lead them to anything other than a body.

  “Guys,” Edna yelled from her office. She was back on the phone, apparently on hold. She covered the speaker with her hand as they entered. Her brow furrowed. “We need this guy to give it up ASAP. Do I need to say more?”

  Rob and Frank eyed each other and then Edna. �
��No, ma’am,” Rob said.

  On their way out, Frank leaned over the top of a cubicle and plucked an unsharpened pencil from the cup on the desk.

  Rob asked, “You think you’ll need that?”

  Frank dropped it in his jacket. “Let’s hope not.”

  Walking down the fourth-floor hall toward Auto Theft, Rob said, “So much for Ms. Mayor’s theory that the girl’s just hiding.”

  Frank didn’t answer. His mind checked off what to look for in the interview: body language, voice inflection, eye contact, and a half dozen other traits. When they marched into the Auto Theft Unit, Big Mike’s booming voice greeted them from across a sea of desks.

  Mike and his sergeant were arguing, as usual.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Mike yelled at Sergeant Holtz.

  Mike towered over his slim sergeant, but Holtz held his ground. “Take it up with the lieutenant if you want, but you’ll lose.”

  “I’ll be damned if I’ll let a couple of pencil-neck geeks from CIU conduct my interview. This is my case.” Mike threw a notepad on the floor and glared at the sergeant.

  “We’re not pencil-neck geeks, you asshole,” Rob said, strolling beside Sergeant Holtz.

  Big Mike swung around to Rob and Frank. “These two? You can’t be serious.”

  Holtz stepped forward, craning his neck to look up at the big detective. “Back off, or call it a day. Your choice.”

  Mike shifted his gaze from his sergeant to Frank and Rob. “Fine.” Big Mike picked up the pad off the floor. “Let the pretty boys have a crack at him.” He spun around and strutted off. “He’s all yours.”

  “Did you Mirandize him?” Rob asked.

  Mike swung around, his face a scarlet mask. “Of course. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Too bad. Missing a good chance,” Frank muttered.

  Sergeant Holtz scrutinized them, resting his hands on his hips. “I don’t know what this is about, except this guy supposedly stole the mayor’s car. Care to fill me in on why CIU is handling the interview and not us?” His eyes shifted from Rob to Frank.

  The squad area was larger than CIU’s, and several detectives stood watching the show. Frank wondered how many of them were already taking bets on the outcome. He scanned the group watching them and leaned closer to Holtz.

  “Sarge, we were just instructed to talk to him by our lieutenant. Any additional information should probably come from her,” he whispered.

  Holtz’s lips thinned. “Okay, here’s his rap sheet.” He handed Rob a handful of papers. “Mostly small stuff: several shopliftings, trespass, burglary of motor vehicle.” Holtz shrugged, “Never served any serious time. The guy’s a thief.”

  “How did the arrest go down?” Rob asked.

  “Uniforms spotted him make a turn without giving a signal.”

  Rob grinned. “Slow day, huh?”

  “Hey, you see a young guy in a high-crime area driving an Audi worth over fifty grand, you take what you can get,” Holtz said.

  “So, what happened?”

  “They popped the lights, and he ran like a scalded dog. Didn’t get far before he wrecked out. Really screwed up the ride.”

  “Any crimes against persons?” Frank asked.

  Holtz narrowed his gaze. “No, why do you ask?”

  Rob interrupted. “Any gang affiliation?”

  Holtz maintained the suspicious glare. “Not that we know of.”

  Rob finished thumbing through the papers. “We won’t be long—just a question or two.” He handed the rap sheet back to the sergeant.

  As Frank strolled into the interview room, he held his breath for a second as that familiar smell hit him. The small, windowless chamber, with three straight-backed chairs and a table, reeked of body odor, dirty clothes, and fear. They all blended together into a sickening stench. It was impossible to get that scent out of the walls.

  A young kid sat behind the desk and glared at them, his right hand cuffed to a metal eyelet screwed into the top of the wood. But Frank reminded himself the guy wasn’t a kid. His rap showed him to be almost twenty-two. Long dreadlocks hung limp to his shoulders. He had that belligerent air Frank often saw in young people who’d been caught on the wrong side of the law.

  Rob pulled out his key ring. “Here, let me get these off.” He unlocked the cuff from the suspect’s wrist and pocketed the keys. “Is that better?”

  The guy rubbed his wrist but didn’t answer. Rob took a seat across from him and Frank followed suit, eyeing the kid. Could this guy actually be involved in Katrina’s kidnapping? He searched his gut for an answer and came up dry.

  Rob opened his notebook. “Tyro, we’d like to ask a couple of questions about where you got the Audi. Think you might help us out?”

  The kid rolled his eyes and gazed at the wall to his left.

  Rob continued. “We’ve got you by the short hairs on this one. You could really help yourself by telling us what we want to know.”

  The guy only smirked.

  “When you go to court, you’re going to be looking for a break. We could give you that break. Might make a difference on whether you do county time or state time. What’ll it be?”

  The kid stared up to his right, apparently finding something interesting on the ceiling. Finally, he shifted his stare to Rob and shook his head, as if he’d been asked to explain Fermat’s last theorem. To Rob’s credit, he tried every avenue to gain cooperation. He asked the same question in a half dozen ways, offering enticements for some response. After twenty minutes he gave up.

  “Give me that hand.” He grabbed the guy’s right wrist and again cuffed it to the table and then walked to a corner. He motioned with his head for Frank. Frank ambled over and they whispered while studying Tyro.

  “What do you think?” Rob asked.

  Frank shot another glance at the kid. “Well, he’s not denying it, but that’s not good enough.”

  Rob rubbed the back of his neck and met eyes with Frank. “You want to give it a shot?”

  Frank shook his head. “If he won’t talk to you, he won’t talk to me.”

  “When we walk out that door, we might just find the chief and mayor waiting. What do we tell them?” Rob asked.

  Frank considered the question. “I don’t care about them. I care what happened to the girl. The fact that she wasn’t in the car doesn’t bode well. If she’s still alive, she can’t be in a good place. Time’s not on her side. If this guy asks for an attorney, talks but won’t give up her whereabouts, or anything else that kills time, she may be dead before we locate her.”

  Rob grimaced and gnawed his lip. “So, do we twist him?”

  Frank pulled the pencil from his jacket and handed it to his partner.

  Rob held up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, I don’t want to do it.”

  Frank grunted and glanced at Tyro. “You think I do? Besides, it’s your day to ask the questions.”

  Rob also eyed Tyro and frowned. “Flip you for it.”

  “Okay.”

  Rob dug a coin from his pants. “Call it in the air.”

  “Yeah, go ahead.”

  Rob flipped it almost to the ceiling.

  Just before he caught it, Frank said, “Heads.”

  Rob slapped it on the back of his hand and lifted his palm. “Tails.”

  “Great.” Frank stuffed the pencil in his jacket pocket and glanced at the suspect, who was still watching them. The poor bastard had no idea what was coming.

  Rob casually picked up the second chair and strolled to the door. He fitted the back under the knob and tested it. Satisfied, he sauntered to the opposite wall, crossed his arms, and waited. Frank dug a handkerchief from his pocket and draped it over the video camera lens in the corner. The camera wasn’t even activated, but the kid didn’t know that.

  Tyro’s belligerent look now became a little less convincing. He swiveled his head from Rob to Frank. Neither smiled—the pleasantries were gone.

  Frank assumed Rob’s old chair at the desk an
d removed the pencil from his jacket. He smiled at Tyro while tapping the pencil on the desk. “You know the difference between softball and hardball?” Frank asked.

  The kid gawked but didn’t answer.

  Frank lowered his gaze to the pencil and spoke in a menacing whisper. “When you play softball and you accidentally get hit, it hurts, but it doesn’t sting as bad as when you get hit by a hard ball.” Frank looked up into Tyro’s eyes. “Right?”

  Tyro stared at him but remained silent.

  Frank toyed with the pencil and grinned. His looked up at the kid. “If you want to play hardball with me, I’ll make sure you leave the field with the bat stuck up your ass.”

  The kid’s head snapped to the right when Rob pushed off the wall and quickly paced to his rear. He swallowed hard, his lips tight, watching Frank with suspicious eyes. The kid tried to keep them both in sight, but Rob was already behind him.

  Frank bounced the pencil on the desk several times, letting the eraser rebound it to his fingers. He studied it and looked up at the suspect. “Last chance. Where’s the girl?”

  Tyro showed the same disinterested gaze, just before Rob slapped his right hand over his mouth and pinned his other arm to his body. Quick as a snake, Frank grabbed the cuffed hand and shoved the pencil between the guy’s index and middle fingers. Frank clasped his left hand around Tyro’s fingers, holding as tight as he could.

  In his crazy voice, bugging his eyes, Frank whispered, “You’ve made a serious error in judgment. I bet you thought we were like all the other cops. That we’d get tired of asking questions and just go away, huh? Well, it’s not like that with us—we’re crazy. There’s no good cop, bad cop. We’re both evil.”