Dragon Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  Lacey’s sneakers crunched on the dry ground, while Sam walked silently in his moccasins.

  “What are you and the kids gonna do this weekend?” she asked finally.

  “I dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe take in a movie or something. I’ll see what they’re up for.”

  Lacey nodded, wanting to take part but not knowing how.

  “Which way?” Sam asked suddenly.

  Lacey raised her head. The trail forked. She’d read about that. “Left,” she said. “It’s only about a quarter mile or so.”

  They followed the trail for only a few minutes before coming around a curve. There, directly in front of them, was the cave.

  “Huh,” Lacey said. “Doesn’t look much like the Batcave, does it?”

  The cave was an unremarkable tunnel hewn through unremarkable rock. Nothing to signify the long list of movies and TV shows that had used the area as a stand-in for foreign countries and even other planets.

  “Didn’t the Batcave have more vegetation around it?” Sam asked.

  “I kinda think so, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen the movie, so I’m not sure. Anyway, they could always put fake bushes around it.”

  They entered the tunnel. It wasn’t very long. They could see all the way through to the three exit holes a short distance in front of them. The walls were rough, a perennial gray, and unmarked except by graffiti here and there.

  Lacey looked to Sam. “Anything?”

  He shook his head.

  “Let’s walk all the way through,” she said.

  Halfway to the exit holes, she saw something glitter with reflected light. She strode to it.

  “Beer bottle,” she said with disgust.

  “And this,” Sam said. He toed something else on the ground. Lacey looked over. A used condom.

  “Ugh.”

  They walked on.

  The three exit holes allowed more light in so the back half of the tunnel didn’t feel near as forbidding or claustrophobic. By the time they reached the end, Lacey could feel the temperature rise with the sun-warmed air.

  Outside was just more of the same; a canyon, rocks, scant brush. Nothing unusual. Lacey made a quick turn around and started back.

  “I guess that was a waste—”

  “Look!” Sam was standing in the sun, pointing off to the west. Lacey came back and followed his finger. In the distance, across a couple more small canyons, sat the Hollywood sign up on a ridge.

  “Huh,” Lacey said. “I didn’t know you could—”

  “Lacey,” Sam interrupted. His voice was unusually animated. “She could see that. She could see the sign from wherever they were.” He turned to her. “She could see it. That was one of the last things she saw.”

  Lacey glanced up at the sign again, then looked east. It was hard to tell from the bottom of the canyon where they stood, but she thought she could see the tops of a few ridges poking up above the canyon walls.

  “So wherever they were, they had a view west?” she queried.

  “Yes,” Sam said emphatically. He turned and gazed east as well. “It’s that way.” He pointed northeast. “It’s right there, Lacey. I can feel it.”

  Lacey pulled out her phone and took more pictures. The sign in the distance, then east and northeast. She wasn’t sure how the police would integrate the shots into the search, but at least they’d have them for reference.

  “Anything else here?” she asked.

  “Let me walk a little.” While she stowed her phone and sipped her water, he walked a loose circle around the canyon floor. Finally he came back to her. “No, nothing else.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  They retraced their steps through the tunnel and back to the car. Lacey’s brain was working overtime.

  “So if they could see the sign,” she said as she started the car, “they had to either have a clear view from a canyon floor like we did there, or they had to be at least part way up a ridge. And a western ridge, at that. If they were on the east side of a mountain, they wouldn’t be able to see the sign.”

  “Right,” Sam said. “That should narrow the search area down a little.”

  “We can hope,” she said.

  When she parked in front of Sam’s apartment, he unbuckled his seat belt and turned toward her. “You going to let Captain Shaw know?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that. He didn’t think they’d get anyone out until Monday, anyway, but I’ll tell him what we found.”

  “Good.” Sam stared into her eyes. “We’re getting closer, Lacey. I know it.”

  She nodded. “I know it, too, Sam. We’ll get this. I’m meeting Greg Lamb this afternoon, so I’ll see what he has to say.”

  Sam’s mouth thinned into a straight line. “You’re not going to his place, I hope?”

  She regarded him thoughtfully. “No. We’re meeting at a coffee shop.”

  “Okay, good.” He relaxed a little. “But you’ll be careful?”

  “Sam,” she said a trifle impatiently, “I’m always careful. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have lasted on the force those eight years.”

  “Okay, fine.” He climbed out of the car abruptly, and Lacey knew he was unhappy. Here we go again, she thought.

  “Hey.” She waited until he bent down and met her eyes through the open door. “Say hi to the kids for me, okay?”

  His eyes were unreadable, his face wooden. Finally he nodded. “Sure.”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “Thanks, Sam. See you later.”

  ~~~

  TEN

  She got to the Buzzword a few minutes early. Mid-afternoon was an off time, so the place wasn’t crowded. She perused the menu board while she waited.

  There was no missing Greg. He wasn’t tall, maybe a couple inches taller than Lacey, but he was built. Nice pecs in a tight gray t-shirt, narrow waist and hips. Tattoos accented the bulging biceps.

  “Greg?” She would recognize the short blond hair and ice blue eyes anywhere. “I’m Lacey.”

  He shook hands, assessing her openly. “Hi,” he said, his voice as cold as his eyes.

  “Do you want coffee?” she asked. “I’ll buy.”

  They got their drinks and headed for a table. She immediately pulled out her recorder.

  “Hope you don’t mind. It’s easier than taking notes.”

  He lifted an indifferent shoulder. “You won’t hear anything the police haven’t heard.”

  She sipped her mango iced tea and flipped through her notebook. “So you didn’t realize Madison was missing until Vanessa told you she hadn’t come to work?”

  “Yeah.” He took a quick sip of his hot coffee. Tough guy, Lacey thought. He’s not going to give me anything without a struggle.

  “What did you think?” Lacey met his eyes with a direct, open stare.

  “I wasn’t too worried at first,” he said. “Thought maybe she’d stayed out training longer than she planned. Then I got to thinking maybe she sprained an ankle.”

  “You try to call her?”

  “Sure. No answer. Sometimes reception is bad out there in those canyons, so then that made me think she might have hurt herself and couldn’t call for help. That’s when I called police.”

  Lacey nodded. “By the time it was clear it wasn’t a simple injury, what did you think?”

  “I was worried,” he said. “Her ex is a psycho. He’d threatened her before, and I really thought he’d followed through.”

  “Brad Foley,” Lacey said.

  “Right. Freakin’ redneck Oakie. Gun nut. She’d had him arrested a couple times for assault.”

  “That was before you knew her, right?”

  He nodded.

  “How about after you and Maddie hooked up? Did he come around after that?”

  Greg looked uncomfortable. “Not that she mentioned to me.”

  “Would she have told you if he had?”

  His eyes burned into her. “Maybe. I don’t know. She had a habit of giving people the benefit of the doubt. She didn�
��t ever really believe he would hurt her. And she knew, if he ever did, I’d kill him.”

  Lacey kept her face impassive, as if that were totally reasonable. It was like he was daring her to confront him. She was not about to play his game.

  “Did he have an alibi?” Of course she knew the answer, but Greg didn’t know that.

  “Yeah, some bullshit story. He probably conned his pals into covering for him.”

  “All right,” Lacey said, switching gears. “What about Corey Erickson? Last one to see her alive.”

  Greg’s lips thinned, pressed so tightly together they turned white. “Freakin’ faggot. Limp-wristed mama’s boy, sneaking around behind my back.”

  “Why would he do that? Go behind your back?” Lacey put the question out in an innocent voice.

  Greg seethed silently for a moment. “Probably because he knew I’d take him apart if I ever caught him with Maddie.”

  Lacey tilted her head at him. “But if he’s gay like you say, why would he be a threat?”

  The daggers he stared at her were lethal. “He didn’t like me. He thought Maddie should break up with me. Kept telling her I was no good for her. He ‘loves’ her.” He sneered the last.

  “So you didn’t know that he was running with her sometimes?”

  “No.” He ground out the word. “If I had, I would have gone with her myself, and kicked his skinny ass all to hell. Freakin’ faggot was too scared to face me himself.”

  Lacey studied the man. Not too tall, overbuilt to prove his manhood, avowed gay-basher and control freak. Methinks thou dost protest too much, she thought. She’d seen it before; people who were fanatical about controlling those outside of themselves were often totally out of control on the inside. The man was a seething cauldron of repressed desires.

  “Did you and Maddie argue?” she asked.

  The switch of topics took him by surprise. “No more than anyone else,” he hedged.

  “Maddie was seen with bruises on her arms sometimes. You give those to her?”

  “No.” His angry stare slid sideways from Lacey, then back again. “That bitch tell you that?”

  “Did you argue that morning?”

  He leaned across the table, very deliberately invading Lacey’s space. “No.”

  “So who do you think did it?” she asked.

  He snorted. “Freakin’ Brad Foley, that’s who. Or else some wacko the police don’t even know about. Why aren’t you checking that out? Running down wackos with records, like Foley? I got no record. I’m clean. Not even a parking ticket.”

  Give it time, Lacey thought. The tighter you hold on, the more likely you are to crack.

  She looked over her notes. “All right. I think that covers it.” Then she looked up. “Oh, where were you? During that morning?”

  “I was at home, taking a shower, then I drove to work,” he sneered.

  “But you have no one to corroborate that, right? No witnesses?”

  “In the shower, no,” he said with harsh humor. “But I arrived at work at my regular time. Not a minute late. It’s a fifteen-mile drive. You can clock me.”

  She nodded, completely ignoring the hateful tone. “Okay,” she said, flipping her notebook closed and shutting off the recorder. “Thanks for your time.” She thought about giving him her card, decided against it. “If I have any more questions, I’ll call you.”

  She slid from the booth and walked away as calmly as she could. She didn’t want him to see how badly she needed to get away from him. She felt… slimed, just talking to him.

  “Ugh,” she said as she pushed out the door. What a piece of work. That guy was a time bomb just waiting to go off. Or, she thought, he already had.

  All she wanted now was to go home and take a shower.

  ~~~

  That evening she tried to watch a movie—a comedy—in an effort to shake off the chill feeling that gripped her. It didn’t work. She kept going back to those cold eyes, that sneering voice. How could Madison have been with him, lived with him? He scared the crap out of Lacey and she’d only spent twenty minutes with the man.

  She thought about calling Sam. No, he had the kids. She didn’t need to share this feeling of dread with him now. It would only ruin his evening as it was ruining hers.

  Instead she grabbed her notebook, then her phone. Might as well line up the next interview. She dialed the number she had for Corey Erickson.

  It rang four times before being picked up.

  “H’llo?”

  “Corey Erickson? May name is Lacey Fitzpatrick. I’m a private investigator and the McClures have asked me to look into the disappearance of Madison. I was wondering if I could talk with you.”

  There was a brief silence. “I, uh, I’m at work right now.”

  “Oh?” Lacey looked at her watch. Almost eight o’clock.

  “I do custodial work for the Humane Association,” he said. “Clean up after hours.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, no problem. What about tomorrow? I know it’s Sunday, but I won’t take too much of your time. Would that work?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure. How about nine tomorrow morning?”

  “That’s perfect,” she said. “What’s your address; I’ll come to you. I understand you care for your mother.”

  “Yeah, I do.” He read her the address.

  “Okay, great. I’ll see you then. I appreciate you giving me your time.”

  “Sure.”

  She ended the call and blew out a thankful breath. At least he sounds normal, she thought. Not like that crazy Rambo in the closet.

  She got herself a bowl of ice cream and did her best to sink back into the movie.

  ~~~

  ELEVEN

  Sunday morning, she awoke with a resolve to stay positive and professional. She’d approach Corey with a fresh start, a fresh outlook. Don’t let the bastards bleed through, she told herself.

  The Erickson home was in an older neighborhood, the houses small and rundown. It was on a narrow lot but a deep one, and Lacey could see outbuildings set back behind the house. She parked on the street and came up the cracked walk to the front porch that could have used a fresh coat of paint.

  She rang the bell and waited. No sound from the house, not even the faint vibration of feet on the floor. She waited another minute and knocked. Ah, finally she heard a noise inside.

  The door opened hesitantly, and only a fraction of the way. An elderly woman peered at her over cheaters.

  “Mrs. Erickson? I’m Lacey Fitzpatrick. I have an appointment to meet with your son this morning. Is he here?”

  Mrs. Erickson shook her head, her full cap of uncombed gray hair bouncing with the motion. “No. He’s running.”

  “Oh.” Lacey checked her watch. Nine on the dot. “Well, uh, I can wait for him in my car.” She turned to go.

  “No. Come in.” Mrs. Erickson pulled the door further open and stood aside to let Lacey in.

  “Thank you,” Lacey said. She glanced around in mild shock. The place was a hoarder’s starter kit. Stacks of newspapers and magazines were piled at either end of a gray couch. Two chairs—one recliner and one fabric chair—faced the TV, and each had a wooden TV tray beside it, covered with clutter. Dirty dishes, dusty figurines and water glasses with dead flowers vied for space. The Home Shopping Network blared from the TV.

  Lacey pasted on a smile and turned to Mrs. Erickson.

  “I just want to talk to Corey for a few minutes,” she said. “Do you think he’ll be here soon?”

  “He’s running,” she said again. She walked past Lacey to the recliner and sat down heavily.

  Lacey followed and took the other chair with hesitant dread. She might have tried to strike up a conversation, but the woman became immediately engrossed in the TV.

  Lacey looked around instead. She could see through a kitchen doorway to a dinette set, the table also cluttered, and a bit of the counter stacked with dirty dishes. So neither Corey nor his mother was big on house work.

  Then she he
ard a car door outside. Thank God. A moment later, the front door opened and Corey stepped through. Lacey recognized him from her research. The flyaway hair was plastered to his head with sweat. He carried a cellophane cone with a bouquet of day lilies inside.

  “Hi,” he said nervously. “Sorry I’m late.” He walked past Lacey to his mother and handed her the flowers. “Here, Mom.”

  Mrs. Erickson tore her gaze from the TV, focused on the flowers and broke into a delighted grin.

  “Oh, my—lilies. How wonderful.” She smiled over at Lacey. “My boy brings me flowers every day.”

  Now Lacey looked more closely at the clutter. Almost every flat surface had a drinking glass with flowers in various stages of dehydration; carnations, roses, mums. All were in desperate need of water.

  “How nice,” Lacey said. She thought the new lilies looked a little droopy, as well. Perhaps Corey bought day-old flowers somewhere.

  “Let me get a glass for those,” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Harold?” Mrs. Erickson called out. “Harold? Corey, where’s your father? Is he out in his shop?”

  “Mom, Dad died, remember?” Corey brought a glass half full of water and put the lilies in, then set them on the TV tray beside his mother. Finally he took a seat on the couch and faced Lacey.

  “Sorry,” he said. “She forgets.”

  Mrs. Erickson was already enthralled by the TV again, and seemed to have no notion that her son was talking about her.

  “Short-term memory?” Lacey guessed.

  “Yeah. My dad died three years ago, but she still looks for him.” He sat back and sighed. “So what did you want to talk about?”

  Lacey pulled out her recorder. “Do you mind if I tape this?”

  “No. But she may… interrupt from time to time.”

  “No problem.” Lacey started the recorder. “I understand you were the last one to see Madison alive.”

  He winced. “Maddie.” Lacey tilted her head at him in question. “She hated the name Madison. Did anyone tell you that?”