Hard Ride to Dry Gulch

by Joanna Wayne

  That was the reality Travis lived with every day. He and his partner were the lead detectives in five unsolved murder cases of male victims between the ages of sixteen and eighteen who’d been killed over the past nineteen months. All had been shot twice in the back of the head, gangster-style, their bodies either left in an alley or dumped into the Trinity River.

  At first people had paid little attention to the murders, attributing them to gangs or drug deals gone bad. But the last victim had been from a prominent family.

  Now the media had jumped on board and were suddenly clamoring for information about the murders and pushing the idea that a serial killer was stalking Dallas. Nothing got the citizens more riled and afraid than the possibility of a serial killer who chose his victims randomly.

  Neither Travis nor his partner, Reno Vargas, believed the murders were random. In fact, they were convinced Georgio was behind them. What they didn’t have was proof of his involvement.

  Any way you looked at it, Faith Ashburn had plenty of reason to be worried.

  Travis was about to go for more coffee when his cell phone vibrated. He yanked it from his pocket and checked the caller ID. Faith Ashburn’s name lit up the display.

  He glanced at his watch. Only seven thirty-five and on a Sunday morning. He’d hoped he might hear from her, but he definitely hadn’t expected her to call this soon. He doubted it was personal, which meant she was calling about Cornell.

  “Detective Travis Dalton,” he answered. “What can I do for you?”

  “Travis, this is Faith.”

  He liked the way she said his name. He didn’t like the tremor of apprehension in her voice. “Hi, Faith. Nice to hear from you.”

  “It’s...” She paused. “I need to talk to you, as a detective. It’s about my son.”

  “Cornell?”

  “You know about his disappearance?”

  “I didn’t until a few minutes ago. I just finished reading the missing-person report.”

  “There’s a new development,” she said.

  “Since last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of development?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. Actually, I suppose I should call Mark Ethridge, but I’m not even sure he’s kept the investigation open, and you did offer to help.”

  “Don’t worry about the chain of command. I’ll handle that. I was going to talk to Ethridge about the case, anyway. When do you want to get together?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Right now works for me. How about breakfast?”

  “That would be great. I can meet you anywhere you say.”

  “I’m almost finished up here, so how about I pick you up at your place?”

  “What time?”

  He reached for the form she’d filled out, and checked her home address. It was probably a twenty-minute drive in light Sunday-morning traffic. “Is a half hour from now too soon?”

  “That would be perfect, but, Travis...” She paused again. Unsure of him or facing new fears? He couldn’t tell which.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  “Don’t mention to Joni or Leif that I called you.”

  “Joni surely knows your son is missing.”

  “Yes. They both do. Leif even offered to hire a private detective to help find him.”

  “You turned him down?”

  “I’d already hired one.”

  That, Travis hadn’t known. “Your decision,” he said. “You don’t have to admit to anyone you called me, if that’s how you want it.”

  “It’s just that I don’t want to spoil Joni and Leif’s honeymoon, and there’s nothing either of them can do. Besides, Joni has spent enough time holding my hand and crying with me over the last ten months.”

  “Then this is our secret,” he said. “See you in half an hour. I’ll try to offer more than a hand or a shoulder to cry on—though I have both if they’re needed.”

  “Just help me find Cornell and bring him home.”

  Travis couldn’t promise to bring him home. Cornell would have a say in that. But he would find him. Hopefully, alive.

  He left the precinct and headed to her house. She lived in a neighborhood of small brick homes built close together, with well-tended yards. No gated access. Few trees. Driveways sported basketball hoops.

  A young man pushed a baby stroller down the narrow sidewalk. An attractive woman in white shorts and a knit shirt walked behind them, keeping a close watch on a toddler who was pedaling furiously on her bright red trike.

  It looked to be a good middle-class neighborhood to grow up in. Much nicer than the one Travis had lived in for the first few years after his mother’s death.

  Then, most of the houses had been in need of repair and drive-by shootings were as commonplace as his foster father’s drunken binges.

  Travis figured if it hadn’t been for his mother’s influence during the early years and Leif’s efforts to rescue him from the ghetto, he might have grown up as troubled and in trouble as the young punks who committed most of the crimes in Dallas.

  He turned at the corner and started checking addresses. Faith’s house was in the middle of the block, a redbrick with white trim. The hedges were neatly groomed. Colorful pansies and snapdragons overflowed from pots by her door. In spite of her grief, she was keeping up appearances. Probably wanted home to be welcoming if or when Cornell showed up again.

  Travis pulled into the driveway and took the walk to her covered entry. She opened the door seconds after he pushed the bell, handbag in hand, clearly ready to go.

  “You’re prompt,” she said, stepping out the door without inviting him in.

  “Also loyal, and I floss after every meal.”

  A quick smile played on her lips but didn’t penetrate the veil of apprehension that covered her eyes.

  She walked in front of him to his car. The white jean shorts she wore were cuffed at mid-thigh. Not too tight, but fitted enough to accentuate the sway of her hips. A teal blouse tied at the waist. The morning sun painted golden highlights in her dark hair.

  He had to hurry to reach the door and open it for her before she climbed in on her own. He got a whiff of her flowery perfume as she slid past him. Crazy urges bucked around inside him. Not the time or the place, he reminded himself. Business only—at least until Cornell was found.

  “There’s a breakfast spot in a strip center just a few blocks from here,” Faith said. “I hear they have good pancakes.”

  “Do you like pancakes?” he asked.

  “I used to, when I was a kid. I usually just have toast and coffee for breakfast now. I doubt my stomach will even tolerate that this morning.”

  “No appetite, huh? Is that because of the new development you’re going to tell me about?”

  She nodded, and he thought again how youthful she looked to be the mother of a teenager. She’d said she was thirty-five, which meant she’d given birth to him at seventeen. There must be a story there, as well.

  “Tell me where to go,” he said.

  He followed her directions. The restaurant was small, noisy and crowded. Not the best spot for a serious conversation.”

  “Any chance we can get a seat on the patio?” he asked the young blonde hostess.

  “How many in your party?”

  “Two.”

  “I think I can manage that.”

  She smiled and led them to a table in the middle of the patio.

  “How about that table in the back?” he asked.

  “Okay with me, but it doesn’t have an umbrella, so you’re going to be in the sun.”

  But it would give them a lot more privacy. He looked to Faith.

  “The sun is fine with me,” she said.

 
Once they were seated, the hostess set two menus in front of them and announced that the waitress would be with them shortly.

  “I didn’t realize the place would be so noisy,” Faith said. “I just need to talk and this was the closest café I could think of.”

  Her apprehension seemed to be growing. He scooted his menu aside. “Let’s hear it. I can’t do anything about solving the problem until I know what it is.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “I got a phone call from Cornell just before daybreak this morning.”

  Travis hadn’t seen that coming. Even if he had, he would have expected it to be good news. Hearing the kid was alive made him feel a hell of a lot better, and he didn’t even know him.

  “What did he say?”

  “That he was sorry.”

  “That’s a good start. Sorry for what?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I asked, but he didn’t answer that, either.”

  “He must have said something more than ‘I’m sorry’ to have you this upset.”

  “It’s what he didn’t say that has me so afraid, Travis. The call was a cry for help. I have to find out where he was when he made that call. That’s why I came to you.”

  The waitress appeared at their elbow. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Just coffee for now,” Travis said. “Black.”

  “Same for me,” Faith said, “except I’ll need cream and an artificial sweetener.”

  “Something got lost in translation,” Travis said as the waitress walked away. “The dots between ‘I’m sorry’ and the call being a cry for help don’t connect for me. Start at the beginning and tell me exactly what was said.”

  The waitress returned with their coffee. Faith stirred in the cream and sweetener slowly, as if she was trying to get her thoughts together. Finally, she looked up and locked her gaze with his.

  “‘Mom,’” she murmured. “I answered the phone and heard ‘Mom.’” She picked up her napkin and used it to dab a tear from the corner of her right eye. More moisture gathered. “At that point I think I went into momentary shock.”

  In Travis’s mind she wasn’t far from shock now, just having to relive the moment.

  “After ten months of silence, I can see why that jolted you,” Travis said.

  “So much so that I asked if it was really him.”

  “You weren’t sure from the sound of his voice?”

  “Only for a few seconds. My heart was beating so fast I couldn’t think. I thought I might be dreaming. But it was Cornell. I know it was. I’d know his voice anywhere.”

  “And after he said ‘Mom’?”

  “I asked him about his seizure meds. He said he’d gotten a prescription and that he was taking them. Then he just said he was sorry.”

  “For leaving home?”

  “He didn’t leave home.” Frustration laced her voice. “At least not of his own accord. He would never do that. I told Detective Ethridge and the private detective I hired that he had no reason to leave home. I don’t think either of them ever believed me, but a mother knows her son. At least I know Cornell.”

  Travis reached across the table and laid his hands on top of hers. “I believe you, Faith. I’m just trying to see the whole picture here so I can get a handle on the situation. It would help if he’d said what he was sorry for.”

  “He never got the chance to tell me. Someone started yelling curses in the background. Before he could say more, the connection was broken, either by Cornell or by the person who was yelling at him.”

  “Was the voice in the background male or female?”

  “Male. I pushed *69 and tried to redial the number, but it wouldn’t come up. I called the phone company. They were no help, either. But you’re a homicide detective. You must have ways to get that number.”

  “Did he call your cell phone or landline?”

  “The house phone. I can give you my number.”

  “I’ll need that for starters, but I’d like to take a look around Cornell’s room and also check out his computer.”

  “Arsenio checked the computer thoroughly.”

  “Arsenio?”

  “Arsenio Gomez, the P.I. I hired. He said there was nothing there to lead him to Cornell.”

  “I’d like to look for myself.”

  “Of course. Do anything that you think might help us find my son. Please, just do it quickly, before the lead grows cold again.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to help you find Cornell, Faith. But first we need to set a few ground rules.”

  Faith met his gaze head-on, suspicion arching her brows. “What kind of ground rules?”

  “I expect the truth from you, the total truth.”

  “I have no reason to lie.”

  “No, but sometimes it’s difficult for parents to face up to the truth about their child. If there’s any indication that Cornell was on drugs or mixed up with a gang, I need to know that up front. Not to judge him. But it might change the way I go about the investigation.”

  Faith yanked her hands away from his. Her lips grew taut, her eyes fiery. “I know what you read in his missing-person file, Travis. I know what his friends said about him and that he was seen at the Passion Pit, but Cornell was only eighteen. He may have made some bad decisions. But he wasn’t a thug or an addict. He didn’t leave home by choice, and wherever he is, he’s being held against his will. I’m as sure of that as I am that my name is Faith Ashburn or that today is Sunday.”

  Travis wasn’t convinced, but he did understand her desperation. It was a dangerous world out there. No one knew that better than him.

  Which brought up another issue. “There’s one other ground rule,” Travis said.

  “Do you always have so many rules?”

  “All depends on the game I find myself in.”

  “So what’s the rule?”

  “You leave the investigating to me. No more trips to the Passion Pit or any other questionable location.”

  “I’m smart enough to know how to avoid trouble.”

  “I’m questioning your judgment, not your intelligence. I saw you in action, remember? Besides, I have a lot more experience and muscle than you, and I wouldn’t go near that dive if I wasn’t carrying a weapon.”

  “If it’s that dangerous, why don’t the police shut the club down and put Georgio out of business?”

  Georgio. Merely hearing his name from her lips made Travis sick. “What do you know about Georgio?”

  “Just that he’s the owner of the Passion Pit.”

  “And an offspring of the devil. Stay away from him, Faith. That’s an order.”

  The waitress returned with refills. This time Travis ordered two eggs, over easy, with sausage, grits, biscuits and gravy, without bothering to look at the menu. Faith ordered a slice of wheat toast.

  “If you’ll give me your home phone number now, I’ll make a call and get the ball rolling,” Travis said.

  She took a pen from her purse and scribbled the number down on a paper napkin. “How long will it take to track the call?”

  “Depends on where the call was made from. If luck’s on our side, we could have the phone number by the time we finish breakfast.”

  “In minutes.” She sounded almost breathless. “Cornell could be home in time for dinner.”

  Damn. He should never have gotten her hopes up like that. “Don’t count on instant gratification,” he cautioned. “Have to take things one step at a time, but if we discover where that call was made from, we’ll be one huge leap ahead of where you were when you went to bed last night.”

  “I’ll take that,” she said. “But if we find out where he called from, we should be able to find him.”

  They w
ould have to play this smart. No rushing in without knowing for certain what they were up against. If Cornell was really being held against his will, making a foolish mistake could get him killed.

  At this point, the best they could hope for was that Cornell Ashburn had just developed a sudden taste for independence, women and drugs, and taken a leave of absence from home to satisfy his cravings.

  He definitely wouldn’t be the first eighteen-year-old to sow his wild oats. Travis knew that firsthand.

  He put the search for the phone number in motion and then his focus returned to Faith Ashburn. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was attractive and natural. Her smile, her eyes, her intensity—it all got to him.

  And it was meshing with an overwhelming need to protect her and get to know her better. Maybe it was the wedding thing. Seeing Leif so happy to settle down with one woman could be addling Travis’s brain.

  If he was smart, he’d turn this back over to Mark Ethridge and run for the hills. But even if he wanted to, he couldn’t do that. Not with the possibility that her son’s disappearance could in any way be connected to the four others who had gone missing over the past nineteen months and turned up dead. The pressure was on to solve the case before another young man lost his life.

  A young man like Cornell.

  In spite of his concerns, when the waitress arrived with the food, Travis dived in like a starving man. If he let worry or even murder interfere with his eating, he’d have to go on life support.

  He didn’t hear back about the origins of Faith’s early-morning call during breakfast or on the drive back to her house. Once there, he went straight to Cornell’s room and began searching with the same intensity he’d use for a fresh crime scene.

  Travis pulled several boxes from the back of the closet. One held a half-dozen pairs of tennis shoes, two jackets that were too heavy for Dallas winters and a pair of hiking boots.

  “Cornell loved outdoor activities,” Faith said by way of explanation. “Skiing, hiking, white-water rafting, horseback riding. His dad’s brother used to own a condo in the Colorado Rockies, and Cornell visited him with his dad several times. He loved it out there, even talked about moving there one day.”