THE MISSINGS (Aspen Falls Thrillers Book 2)

by Peg Brantley

  “Bond, wait.”

  She turned her eyes to him. The confusion and pleading he saw in them made him want to seriously hurt whoever or whatever plagued his wife. But he would not force her to tell him about it now.

  “Thanks for the Twizzlers. I’ll see you later.”

  * * *

  Clean pressed jeans. A starched, white, collared shirt with pearl snap buttons. Polished, dark cowboy boots. A black Stetson held casually. Fresh haircut. Mex didn’t look like an immigrant—legal or illegal—let alone like someone who hangs out in a seedy bar.

  Chase put out his hand. “Chase Waters.”

  The man put his free hand in Chase’s and looked him in the eye. “Mex.”

  Chase threw him a questioning glance. “Mex? Is that a nickname?”

  “You could call me Carlos Alberto Basilio Teodoro Duque de Estrada Anderson.”

  Chase arched an eyebrow. “Mex it is. But where did the Anderson come from?”

  “A wayward American fell in love with a Mexican beauty and never looked back.”

  Chase found himself liking this man right away. His instincts, rarely wrong, told him Mex Anderson was a complicated man with an uncomplicated moral compass. But it bothered Chase the man had refused to talk to Daniel.

  He led Mex back to the same conference room he’d been in with Bond. On the table sat a notepad and a pen. The remote for the DVD recorder sat within easy reach. Two glasses and a pitcher of water signaled a friendly meeting, not adversarial.

  “Tell me a little about yourself,” Chase said.

  “Just a guy from Mexico trying to keep his head above water.”

  “You have no discernible accent.”

  “You can attribute that to whatever you want but I did spend four years at San Diego State University.”

  “What did you study?”

  “I majored in Criminal Justice with a minor in Chicano Studies.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be. I didn’t write the courses. I just took ‘em. Then I moved back to Mexico.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? That’s where my family lived. I had dual citizenship. I had choices others didn’t. I chose Mexico.”

  “What did you do there?”

  Mex fell silent.

  “Well?”

  Mex wrapped his knuckles on the table twice as if he’d come to a decision. “Law enforcement.”

  Chase knew Mex had a story to tell and one day they’d sit down over some brews and talk. But right now he had a case to solve.

  “What can you tell me about my John and Jane Doe DBs?”

  “How many?”

  “Three recent but one has been identified—José Sanchez. They’re my cases. I’m also aware of two more a year ago this summer that are County. And I have one that was never a DB—Rachelle Benavides.”

  “You’re not aware of them all.”

  That was exactly what Chase didn’t want to hear.

  “In the last eighteen months I know of eleven people in my community who have disappeared.”

  Bile burned up Chase’s throat. “Eleven?” He fought the word.

  “Actually more than eleven—eleven are connected to your case. I found out what happened to the others. Most of them went back to Mexico. A couple were arrested for crimes in Denver and deported. One simply had enough of a haranguing bitch of a wife and decided to try his luck elsewhere.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Chase felt at a disadvantage.

  “Technically, these people aren’t here. They are illegal. So when they have a problem they come to me. Mostly I resolve simple disputes. But occasionally I need to get involved in more complex issues. Over the last year or so I’ve been searching for a way to connect with local law enforcement to form an alliance of sorts.”

  “Why do undocumented people trust you? You have a law enforcement background.”

  “Ah… they don’t know under what circumstances I left Mexico, and the stories that have filled the void of information are wild. They also don’t know I’m a citizen here. I’ve kept those secrets so they are comfortable coming to me—someone they think is in the same legal position as them.”

  “Okay. Can you help me not only identify the two victims I have in the morgue, but also help me tie these murders together?”

  “Detective, I will help you identify your victims if I can. Beyond that we will need to see how our mutual trust level develops. I also have a request.”

  “Yes?”

  “From time to time it would help if I had access to your resources.”

  “Such as?”

  “Motor vehicle records, your lab or the ME’s, search dogs. That kind of thing. But it would need to be off the record.”

  “The only one of those I can promise you off the record contact would be the search dogs. Jamie Taylor is the best handler in the area and she does it on a volunteer basis.”

  Mex glanced away. “That’s a start, I guess.”

  “You have more information.”

  Mex didn’t take the bait. “Tell me something. Have you ever been in a position where you would do anything—anything—to help a loved one? Even break the law?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The Sloan Residence

  Monday, September 24

  Maggie was taking tea and toast to Mrs. Sloan on a silver serving tray when the door opened and her employer walked in. “Why Mr. Sloan, you’re home early.” Maggie smiled up at him. “Diana will be delighted.”

  Edward Sloan leaned over to smell the flowers arranged in a tiny vase on the tray. “Maggie, how long have you worked here? Lived with us?”

  “Thirty-three years, Mr. Sloan.”

  “And how often have I asked you to call me Edward?”

  “Nearly every day, Mr. Sloan.”

  “And yet you call me Mr. Sloan, and my wife by her given name. Why is that?”

  “I like her name, Mr. Sloan.”

  She enjoyed their running joke. Maggie Sinclair considered herself as much a part of their family as any of the Sloan children. Yes, they paid her. But it wasn’t unlike the money they made available to Eleanor and Eddie whenever they required it. Edward and Diana Sloan were friends she could count on. Indeed, she had turned to their friendship more than once over the years.

  “Did Dr. Jackson have anything new to report from his last visit?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s just more of the same. She’s slipping away from us and there’s naught we can do.”

  “Thank you, Maggie. I’ll go change out of this suit and be in to see her in a few minutes so we can get caught up on our days.”

  “Dinner at your usual time?”

  “You’re a lifesaver. Would you have it sent to my room? It’s been a long day.”

  Maggie nodded. “Dr. Jackson said he’d be by later to check on his patient.”

  Her heart wept as Edward Sloan tried to give her his old reassuring smile. He didn’t quite pull it off. For the last few weeks two private nurses hadn’t been enough to assure Dr. Jackson that Diana Sloan was receiving all the care and attention she needed. He’d increased his personal calls to three a day.

  The truth was Edward Sloan’s wife needed far more than even twenty visits a day could provide.

  Maggie balanced the tray while she twisted the handle and pushed open the door.

  “Hello, Diana. I’ve brought your afternoon tea.”

  She placed the tray on a beautiful side table and bent to raise the woman who had become her friend. While Diana slumped forward like a little girl’s forgotten doll on a shelf, Maggie fluffed the pile of scented pillows. With arms of steel and hands of butterfly wings, she guided Diana onto her feathered throne. Maggie then popped the legs open on the serving tray and placed it gently on the bed in front of Diana.

  “Mags, you have gentrified us over the years. I feel part English.” Diana tried to lift the spoon to stir some sugar and cream into her cup but her hand clattered the silve
r against the delicate china.

  Maggie perched on the side of the bed and readied the cuppa. She held it gently up to Diana’s mouth for her to take a sip.

  “Thank you. That’s wonderful.” Diana’s head fell back on the pillows. “Did I hear Edward a minute ago?”

  “You did. He’s home early and will be in to share some private time with you as soon as he gets out of his work clothes.”

  The smallest of chuckles popped from Diana’s mouth. “You make it sound like he wears overalls.”

  Maggie smiled as she pictured the suit that easily cost as much as she made in two months. “He just wants to be fresh for you.”

  “Do I look okay?” Diana raised a hand to pat her hair.

  Maggie’s eyes teared up with the effort she saw that tiny movement take. “You are as lovely as ever.”

  There was a gentle knocking on the door and Edward Sloan entered. His presence filled the room but he had eyes only for his wife.

  Maggie knew what he saw when he looked at Diana. He saw the woman he loved, just as Maggie saw her best friend. They each tried to see behind Diana’s listless eyes in search of the strong woman, the loving woman, the compassionate woman they’d each fallen in love with in their own way.

  So Diana’s eyes were where the two people who loved her most chose to focus.

  Maggie gave her friend a hug. The bones she touched were those of a small bird. “I’ll see you later, love.”

  She needed to leave quickly now. Today her strength seemed to have taken a blow and she felt on the verge of tears. She didn’t want Diana to see her crying. She laid a hand on Edward’s arm as she exited the room.

  He would do anything for the woman who held his heart.

  Anything.

  Chapter Forty

  Aspen Falls Memorial Hospital

  Monday, September 24

  Detective Terri Johnson walked up to the doors of the Emergency Room at Memorial. She ran through her memories of Memorial’s ER doctor, Leslie James. Had everything she’d done been on the up and up? Could she be trusted?

  Terri remembered an occasion that troubled her. She had been in the ER on an assault case when another woman, battered and bloody, staggered in. Terri pegged the woman without question as a local prostitute. Leslie took one look at the stumbling woman and ushered her into an exam area. Fifteen minutes later Leslie James returned to the victim Terri was working with and didn’t say a word. When Terri questioned her about the walk-in patient, Leslie had shaken her head and said, “Who are you talking about?”

  Where did Leslie James’s priorities stack up? If she fudged a little on one end of the scale, where she treated patients without reporting anything, maybe she fudged a little on the other end of the scale. Would a financial benefit lure her to do other things like run blood tests that weren’t necessary so needed organs could be obtained by rich people?

  Terri decided to approach her interview with Leslie James from the side rather than dead on. She needed to be sure she could trust her. Too many lives, too many answers, depended on it.

  Inside the ER there were two groups of people waiting. Since she didn’t see any blood and no one looked like they were about to puke she figured them for family or friends. They had that strange combined look of worry and boredom people get when they hang out in hospital waiting rooms.

  The receptionist recognized her and waved her back to the secure area. It didn’t take long for Terri to find Leslie James. She stood over an older man pressing on his abdomen. Terri caught Leslie’s eye.

  “When you’re finished here I need a moment.”

  Leslie nodded and continued her examination.

  Ten minutes later Leslie James found Terri at the nurse’s station.

  “What’s up?”

  “How many people come through the ER without formal admission?” Even though she asked a direct question it didn’t have anything to do with what she really wanted to know. Sideways. First she would make sure her trust in Leslie James could stand up.

  James hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  “You treated a woman here one night who’d been beaten and you didn’t raise an eyebrow or fill out a form. Why not?”

  Leslie James took a deep breath. “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do?”

  A gurney carrying another ER patient passed them and a nurse huffed loud enough to make sure the two women knew the injured person required Leslie’s attention.

  “I’ll be right there,” Leslie called after the nurse. “Look, Terri. There are some people who come here when they need help because they know I won’t ask any questions. If I got all formal and legal they wouldn’t trust me. Sometimes they need someone they can trust.”

  “You know that’s illegal.”

  “If I ever thought you needed to be called in on an incident I wouldn’t hesitate. But usually it’s something that would just take up your time without changing anything. Do you understand?”

  “You and I are gonna need to sit down and talk about this. We need to find a way to work together,” Terri said.

  “I know. I figured we’d be at this point sooner or later. Just thought our later would be much, much later.”

  Terri let the choices of the ER doctor go for the moment. She had more important things to discuss. “What I need to know tonight is how blood tests are ordered from the ER and who can order them.”

  “That’s easy.”

  “Go.”

  “Blood tests are ordered by a doctor, period.”

  Terri weighed what Leslie said. She didn’t think Leslie James had anything to do with her current cases. “How are they ordered?”

  “By computer. Like everything else these days.”

  “Can any doctor order the tests?”

  “Of course, as long as they have a password to access our system.”

  Time to rethink the possibilities. It could still be an ER employee but it could also be any doctor in the Memorial system. They needed to take a look at all of the local doctors. Local doctors who had privileges at the hospital with access to the hospital’s computer. As the search narrowed it also expanded.

  Great.

  “I need a list of all of your ER employees and any doctor who may have access to your system. Do I need another warrant?”

  “Probably, yes.” Leslie obviously considered the past, present and future of the ER. “However, given the current set of circumstances and the implications—I mean, how often do I get served a warrant for a patient list—I think I could argue my case to the hospital board should it come to that. I’ll get you those names.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  City Market Parking Lot

  Monday, September 24

  Chase would not admit it to anybody, but meeting with this Santeria guy made him nervous. No doubt about it. From everything he’d read on the internet about this religion, it had some history and some pretty big power. He found himself wishing he’d talked to God a little more regularly, or at least gone to church. His corner felt a little empty.

  Clouds formed overhead. This time of year they could bring either rain or snow—or both. The temperatures had been warm so he figured if they got any precipitation it would be rain. But in the high country anything could happen.

  Chase parked and debated what to do while he waited for four o’clock to roll around. He decided to go into the grocery store and pick up a couple of things. More Twizzlers wouldn’t hurt, and he’d noticed they were running low on French roast at home. He stepped outside of his vehicle. An icy wind made the thermometer a liar and he cursed his decision not to wear a coat. He hadn’t bothered with any weather forecasts for the last couple of days—he had his own storms to worry about. He pictured his fleece jacket hooked on a peg in his locker.

  Purchases made, Chase walked back to his car. As he unlocked the back door to stow the grocery bag another car pulled up, stopped about twenty yards away, then crept closer. Chase expected
fog to suddenly fall and swirl like in horror movies. Maybe those clouds would pull together for a lightning show—some sign to warn him about the man about to walk into his life. The severed heads he’d seen online rolled into his thoughts.

  Chase tossed the bag inside and closed the door. Turned to face the approaching car—the slithering car—as it came to a stop. He determined to look both calm and warm and leaned against the side of his car. The cold cut through his clothes. Shit. But he didn’t move.

  The Toyota Camry sat for a good thirty seconds. Finally the driver cut the engine. Another interminable passage of time, then Chase heard a click.

  One dirty Nike and then a second one hit the pavement, followed by a rather small, jean-clad wiry man wearing a faded Miami Dolphins T-shirt beneath his unzipped navy jacket. He observed long and wind-blown black hair, a scrunched face and—even from this distance—angry dark eyes. Even with those eyes, he was just a guy. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He hoped. Chase’s tension lifted.

  Ramirez stood three feet away. His stance said he hated being in this position.

  “I’m investigating some murders,” Chase opened the conversation. “The bodies have been mutilated, organs removed. Do you or anyone in your group know anything about these killings?”

  “Group?”

  “Sect? Congregation? Help me out here.”

  “If my group, sect or congregation did have any knowledge of these acts, do you think I’d be meeting you here in the first place? Do you think I’d be dying to confide and confess to a cop?”

  “Knowledge does not mean involvement. And I’m not casting any kind of blame.”

  “What you’re casting is disruption. If these mutilations had stayed under whatever kind of control they required, my life would be uninterrupted. Instead I find myself outed in a most disagreeable manner.” Ramirez’s formal speech pattern was at odds with his straggly appearance. Chase noted the clenched fists. “I’m angry. And in my own way, I have as much of an interest in finding the killers as you.”

  “You don’t need the heat.”

  “They don’t pay you the big bucks for nothing, amigo.”