Vaughn said he would call her with the plan. She hoped for Grammy’s sake it was a good one. By the time she had cruised past the last exit to Long Beach, she had formed a backup strategy of her own.
48
The address Rogers had given Davie led to a boarded-up gas station just outside of Chula Vista. She scanned the surrounding area but didn’t see Rogers or any evidence her partner and the cavalry had arrived. Just to be cautious, she watched for a few minutes before getting out of the car.
A note was taped to the front door of the station, a notice for a weight-loss product. A phone number was printed on tear-off strips at the bottom. She flipped the note over but saw nothing on the back. She made her way around the building, checking the doors. They were all locked. Back in the car, she called Vaughn.
“I’m at the location. Nobody’s here. Where are you?”
“Just outside of town, but Rogers hasn’t been there. Chula Vista PD has had eyes on the place for the last two hours. Their captain cleared SWAT to help but he wants to run the show. Our guys arrived by airship. They’re at a staging area nearby, waiting for instructions. Have you called Rogers?”
“His number’s blocked. I can’t get through.”
“He’ll contact you again. If he gives you another address, let me know. If we can’t get a visual on your car, we’ll use your cell to track you.”
She ended the call and waited. A pool of water had formed around the package of peas but the cash was in a separate bag so it wouldn’t get wet. The money was still cold when she pulled it out. She was about to look for a place to dump the peas when Rogers called. In the background her grandmother’s voice sounded raw and panicked.
“Help me. I don’t know where I am.”
Davie’s pulse raced. “Hey, Cal, I’m in Chula Vista. Where are you? Look, nobody’s been hurt. You’ve done a good job keeping things under control. Drop off my grandmother at the nearest hospital so we can talk without—”
Rogers interrupted. “Did you have a pleasant drive?”
“You know, lots of traffic. Let me talk to my grandmother.”
“Maybe later. I’m annoyed with you right now. It was supposed to be just the three of us, but I see you brought the Keystone Kops.”
“There’s nobody here but me and a few tumbleweeds.”
“Don’t lie to me. I’ve been watching. A couple of hours ago the place was crawling with Chula Vista PD.”
“Everybody just wants to make sure things turn out okay.” She craned her neck to look for any sign of her partner, but saw no police vehicles approaching.
“They’ll turn out if you do what I say. There’s a throwaway cell in the trash can by the street. Take it and leave your phone there. Once you’ve made the switch, I’ll call and tell you where to go. And remember, I’m watching. If you signal your buddies or communicate with them in any way, you will never see your grandmother alive again. Got that?”
“Whatever you say.”
Davie searched the horizon for places where Rogers might be hiding. There were commercial buildings along the street but none over three stories. She doubted he’d risk staying in the area, but she couldn’t be sure. In case Rogers had binoculars or some sort of scope trained on her, she had to be cautious. She found the trash can and leaned inside. As she did, she called Vaughn again. As soon as he answered, she started speaking.
“I don’t have much time. I’m ditching my phone for one of his. Can you follow my car without attracting attention?”
“Did he give you the next destination?”
“No. Just follow me. I have to go. He may be watching.”
“Will do, Davie. Be careful.”
As instructed, she left her cell inside the trash can along with the peas and returned to the car. A short time later, Rogers called.
“Turn right out of the parking lot. Stay on the phone. I don’t want you making any calls.”
He didn’t mention anything about the extra time she’d spent leaning into the trash can talking to her partner, which meant Rogers hadn’t been watching her as he claimed. He was probably already at the secondary location.
For the next eight miles or so Rogers monitored her progress over the telephone. Following his instructions, Davie called out landmarks as he directed her farther into hills that were green from the recent rain. She listened for her grandmother’s voice in the background but heard nothing more from her. She kept checking her rearview mirror but saw no sign she was being followed. Even if SWAT were tracking her, they wouldn’t have much time to set up a perimeter once they arrived at the destination—if they arrived.
The sun had just begun drifting toward the western horizon as Rogers told her to turn onto the road leading to Lower Otay Reservoir. A sign announced that fishing licenses could be purchased at the concession stand. Another read that the area was closed on Mondays. Rogers had likely been there before and knew the place would be deserted.
She felt the Camaro’s wheels bump along a gravel road lined with overgrown brush until the road curved into a paved parking lot where she saw a boat ramp sloping into the reservoir. There was a small building at the water’s edge—the concession stand. A dock housed a smaller building with a sign that read Bait Shack.
A white Toyota Corolla was parked in front of the building. It looked like the same car she’d seen in the driveway of Rogers’s Mar Vista home. A red plastic fuel container stood near the trunk. She wondered if he planned to torch the small building with her and Grammy inside, then take the cash and disappear.
She heard Rogers’s voice though the phone’s receiver. “Park next to the Toyota. Leave your weapons in the car and come inside the building.”
That wasn’t going to happen. There was no guarantee her grandmother was still alive. Even if she were, Davie wasn’t going to gift Rogers with two hostages instead of one. She would keep him engaged until he surrendered or help arrived.
Just before the curve, Davie made a sharp left turn, angling the Camaro across the road to block Rogers’s exit and to provide cover for her. She threw the money on the ground and slipped out of the car, covering the phone’s mouthpiece to muffle the sound of the door closing. With the phone anchored between her shoulder and her ear, she slid the Smith & Wesson out of its holster.
“I brought money, Cal, just like you asked. It’s only a couple of grand. That’s all I could pull together on such short notice. Before I give it to you I need to make sure my grandmother’s okay.”
Davie slid to the ground, prone on the dirt with her legs splayed and her elbows digging into the soil. Rocks scraped against her Kevlar vest. She juggled the phone and her pistol, moving through the dirt until she could see underneath the car. From there, she had a clear shot of the front door of the concession stand.
“A couple grand’s not going to get me far,” Rogers said, “Come inside and we’ll talk.”
“Be happy to, but first send my grandmother out where I can see her.”
“I’m not going to bargain with you, Davie. Do it. Now!”
Davie weighed the pros and cons of doing what he asked and decided instead to distract him with the money and keep him engaged. She set the phone on the dirt and rolled into a crouch. She threw the plastic bag toward the concession stand. It landed on the ground a few feet short of its target.
She retrieved the phone and continued the conversation. “You see the money, Cal? It’s just outside the building.”
In the long silence that followed, she imagined Grammy dead and buried in a shallow grave somewhere in the desert. The door of the concession stand finally opened and Grammy stepped outside. Rogers’s left arm was looped around her waist, using her as a shield. The phone was in his left hand, inaccessible and useless. In his right hand he had what looked like a Glock 19. Grammy’s hands were primly folded in front of her, like a church lady at Sunday service. When Davie took a clos
er look, she saw that her wrists were tied. She counted breaths to control her anger.
Davie moved toward the back of the car. Rogers couldn’t use his cell at the moment, so she ended the call. Then she called her partner.
“We know your location,” he said. “We’re close by.”
“I have to watch Rogers. I may not be able to pick up the phone, so I’ll set it to speaker so you can hear what’s happening.”
“What’s he doing now?”
“He’s in the parking lot with my grandmother and a gun. We’re talking.” She set the phone on the trunk of the car with the line open.
“Davie, are you there?” Her grandmother’s voice sounded thin and brittle.
“I’m here, Grammy. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“I’m scared. This is like the bad thing that happened to you before.”
Davie remembered how upset Grammy had been when she found out about the officer-involved shooting. Even all these months later, Davie still remembered the coppery odor of blood spilling from Abel Hurtado’s body.
“No, Grammy, this is different. But that turned out okay too. Remember?”
“I told you,” Rogers said. “She’s fine.”
“What’s the plan, Cal?”
“The plan is I take your car. Then granny and I drive across the border.”
“You’re taking a big risk. What if you don’t make it?”
“Got a better idea?”
“Take me instead.”
He laughed. “Try again.”
“What about Norah and the kids? If something happens to you, how will they manage?”
“You think they’ll do better with me on death row?”
“It might not turn out that way,” she said. “I’m not sure what happened between you and Anya. Maybe her death was an accident.”
“She got knocked up and claimed I was the father. She was a hooker. It could have been anybody, but it was my life she wanted to ruin. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Now was not the time to tell him that DNA proved he was the father of Anya’s baby. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Cal. It must have been stressful.”
“Cut the lame bullshit. Move away from your car. Leave the keys inside. If you do as I say, I’ll drop grandma off somewhere in Mexico. You can pick up her up there.”
“She needs a passport to get a tourist card.”
“I have her passport. Before we left her place, I told her you needed to check the expiration date for that trip you two were taking to British Columbia. Your grandma can’t see worth shit but she remembers where her stuff is.”
Grammy looked weak, on the verge of collapse. Help was on the way. Until then, she had to keep Rogers talking.
“What’s the gas can for?”
“It’s a long way to the border. I don’t want to stop and refuel.”
“We need to figure out exactly how this is going to work.”
“I told you how it’s going to work. You do what I tell you to do. Period.”
Rogers was struggling to keep her grandmother upright. As he reached down to pick up the money, Grammy drove her heel into his shin. He groaned and let her drop to the ground.
In the distance Davie heard what sounded like the rotors of a helicopter. She glanced up and saw an LAPD airship heading toward the reservoir. In a moment, the SWAT team would rappel down cables and set up a perimeter. She craned her neck toward the road and saw a cloud of dust from multiple vehicles driving toward her. Rogers saw and heard too. He tried to pull Grammy to her feet, but she had gone limp. The roar of the airship overhead made it hard to hear. Air turbulence sent leaves and dust swirling around her.
The sound of her voice seemed husky and fractured. “Cal, we can work this out. Put down the gun and we’ll talk.”
Davie heard boots slamming against the ground and men’s voices. Dust coated the back of her throat. Help was close but not close enough. She shut out the noise and tried to focus on only one thing—the threat.
Rogers lowered the gun toward her grandmother’s head. “Too late for that. You should have followed directions.”
Davie steadied her hands on her weapon. There was only one shot she knew would stop him. She aimed, slid her index finger from the barrel to the trigger, and fired.
Rogers slumped to the ground.
As she approached, she saw a trickle of blood seeping from a hole in his forehead. Grammy lay next to him, fragile and still.
Vaughn’s voice came from somewhere behind her, muffled by the ringing in her ears from firing her gun. “I’ll take over from here, Davie. You look after your grandmother.”
Davie’s hands trembled as she lifted Grammy’s head off the dirt and cradled it in her lap. There was a pulse, weak but steady. She was untying the rope that bound her grandmother’s wrists when she felt Jason Vaughn’s hand on her shoulder.
“Hang in there, partner,” he said. “The EMTs are here.”
Davie rested her cheek against Grammy’s forehead and waited.
49
Malcolm Harrington parked on a residential street at Mountain Gate near the trailhead, eager for his run. It had been a week since Alex Sloan called to tell him Davie Richards had killed again. Not that Harrington was pleased about the loss of life, but the detective’s actions strengthened his case against her. She was out of control. He’d been justified in having her relieved of duty.
The sun was out, but the air was cold. He locked the car doors and began to jog. Except for a middle-aged woman walking a golden retriever, he was alone on the trail. He kept a steady pace until around mile three, when a pebble began rubbing against his heel. He sat on a rock and pulled off his shoe.
“Nice day for a run.”
He swiveled toward the voice and saw a woman standing on the path in front of him, sporting a cloud of red hair. He hadn’t seen Davie Richards in fifteen years, but she didn’t look much different from the teenager who’d sat behind the defense table every day in a courtroom in downtown L.A. Those green eyes of hers were still shooting death darts at him. He felt blood flow to his head, pressuring the walls of his skull. For a moment he thought an aneurism was exploding in his brain.
She hadn’t followed him. He would have noticed. Her denim jeans and heavy sweater were not conducive to jogging. Judging from the boots she wore, she must have hiked down to the path. There was an access road above the trail where she could have parked a car. He had no idea how long she’d been tracking him or if she was armed. All he knew was that they were alone in the middle of nowhere. If she meant him harm, there would be no one to help him.
Until he could determine her intentions, he decided to keep a measured tone. “What are you doing here?”
“I have a message for you. From Maria Luna. Remember her? It took me a while to track her down, but she finally agreed to talk.”
It startled him to hear Davie Richards speak that name. After the verdict in her father’s civil trial, he’d never heard from Luna again. No Christmas cards addressed to him at the firm, telling him how Daniel was doing and thanking him for his heroic efforts on their behalf.
Harrington tapped the pebble from his shoe and slipped it back on his foot in case he had to run. “I haven’t heard from her in fifteen years. What could she possibly have to say to me now?”
He tensed as Richards stepped closer.
“She said my father told the truth on the witness stand. Her son had a gun in his waistband that day. He was reaching for it when my father shot him.”
“No gun was found.”
“Daniel threw it in a storm drain. It was dark. In all the confusion, nobody saw it there. When his mother came to see him at the hospital, he told her where it was and how to dispose of it.”
Harrington monitored her position as he tied his shoe. “Do you expect anybody to believe y
ou?”
“They don’t have to believe me. They just have to believe Maria Luna.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “She said you never asked Daniel to testify about the gun, probably because at some level you knew the truth and couldn’t allow a client to perjure himself on the stand. She told me all you seemed to care about was nailing my father and getting a big payoff. She didn’t care about my dad, but the money sounded good to her, so she kept quiet. If I recall, even though you lost, the publicity surrounding the case launched your career.”
“She’s lying.”
Richards moved closer until she was looming over him.
“You ruined my father’s life back then because you didn’t ask the right questions. You’re doing the same thing to me now. What’s the plan, Harrington? Are you angling for your next job? A tough-on-crime candidate for mayor? Or maybe senator?”
“Speculation and innuendo.”
“Maria Luna thought you had a thing for her.”
Harrington crossed his arms to ward off the morning chill. “I would never jeopardize my law practice by coming on to a client, nor would I betray my wife. We’ve been happily married for twenty-five years.”
He knew “happily married” wasn’t entirely accurate. There had been dark days. But wasn’t that true of all marriages? Maybe he’d admired Luna, but only because he would never see her dressed for bed in flannel pajamas that had been through one too many wash cycles. In his mind’s eye she would always appear in a short skirt that exposed her toned legs. She would smile at him with those brilliant white teeth. He remembered her glossy lips barely moved as she held a rosary in her hands and prayed for justice for her son, even though Harrington knew it was her lawyer in whom she’d placed her faith.
But she had never told him about the gun.
“You have to win, don’t you?” Richards said. “Nothing is more important, not even your reputation.”
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