What Burns Within

by Sandra Ruttan

  “Fred’s on holidays.”

  “He was supposed to be back yesterday.”

  “A permanent holiday.”

  “You fired him?”

  Joe glared at Tain and then cleared his throat. “Look, here’s his address and telephone number. Does that get you off my back?”

  “Only if he can help us. If he can’t, I’ll be back for that list. And I promise I won’t be as charming if I have to make this trip twice.”

  Tain looked at Sims as he turned around, and the younger man automatically started walking out the door.

  “Just wait,” Joe said. He got up from the desk, went to a computer and hit a few buttons. Then he pulled a sheet of paper from the printer.

  “That’s everyone,” he said.

  Tain took the list. “Thank you.”

  “Ever heard about flies and honey, Tain?” Sims murmured as they left the building.

  “We have the list. That’s all that matters.”

  Ashlyn tried to siphon the frustration from her voice, thankful she was on the phone so she didn’t have to suppress her scowl. “Look, I already talked to Marci. She said there are usually a bunch of skateboarders hanging around on the corner.”

  The meter maid answered. “Not every day. Mondays are pretty quiet, from what I’ve seen when I’m in the park with my own kids. The girl you’re looking for, Angie, she was always around. But not the rest of them.”

  Ashlyn stifled her groan. He must have been watching her longer. He had to know Monday was the perfect day…. “Can you think of anyone in the past few weeks that you saw hanging around, anyone unusual?”

  “This time of year with a park across the street? Take your pick.”

  “It’s really important. We think this guy would have been watching her for a while. Likely come along, park and sit in his car, pretending to look at a map or something, but really watching the girls.”

  “Well, there was this one guy…. He had binoculars. But he was watching the park.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Short, bald, fat guy. Drove a red mustang.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “This guy I couldn’t ticket because he’d pay to park, get out and piss on the bench.”

  “Lovely.”

  “There was one other guy. I ticketed him just a few days ago.”

  “What was his story?”

  “Who knows? He’d parked in a no-parking zone, so I slapped him with a ticket.”

  “Remember what he looked like?”

  She rattled off a quick, generic description, one that fit perfectly with their composite.

  “Any chance you remember what he was driving?”

  “Yeah, an old Corvette. Silver. I remember because it seemed weird, all these religious stickers and that metal fish and crap.”

  “Where? On the bumper?”

  “No. Inside the car, on the driver’s door.”

  “Weird.” Ashlyn felt her heart pound against her chest.

  “Tell me about it. Thought it was bizarre that some religious nut would have a car like that. Don’t they usually drive something, you know, not vain and showy? You want his plate number?”

  Ashlyn smiled. “That would be great.”

  “You think he did it?”

  “He might know who did. We have to consider everything,” Ashlyn lied.

  She wrote down the number, then hung up the phone.

  Taylor and Lindsay both sat on their beds, not moving more than their eyes as they watched Maria clean the room.

  “He says he wants everything to be perfect. Today’s my special day. I’m going home.”

  Taylor’s eyes flickered in the direction of the new bed, the girl staring wide-eyed, her tear-streaked cheeks pale, her mouth and hands bound. She’d cried a lot when she was brought in, way more than even Lindsay had, and she’d tried to get out twice.

  “Kicking and screaming won’t help you,” Lindsay had told her. Taylor thought it was odd. Lindsay, who’d been so sure that he was going to kill them. Lindsay would have been so glad to have another girl there willing to try to escape just days before.

  Maria was prattling on about her “special day” and how wonderful it was going to be, and that if they were very good, they might have a special day when they were ready to go home as well.

  Taylor thought of the whip he’d used on the new girl the night before, the screams that ripped the air and made Taylor cringe as the girl’s body was cut over and over again.

  She wanted to go home.

  When Tain answered the phone he’d hoped it would be Ashlyn. Instead, he heard Craig ask, “Any luck?”

  “Still working on it. Close, though.”

  “Ashlyn’s made some progress.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Something about a silver Corvette. She has a plate number.”

  “Then I can assume she’s tracking it down and even if the security guy’s a dead end, we’ll have a name.”

  “Security guy gives you your warrant, though, doesn’t he?”

  “Fuck, exigent circumstances.”

  “You’re planning for those, are you?”

  Tain smiled. “If I need to. Geez, look what you made me say, Craig. Sims is plugging his ears.”

  “You should be more considerate. Not like he asked to work with you.”

  “Who does? But it’s not my fault. I failed Sensitivity Training 101.”

  Tain could hear Craig laugh. “I’m off to the station. I had the guys take the photos in and told them to go over every vehicle to night. In the morning I’ll have a list to cross check against the names we’ve got.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  “Look, I called Daly. He said that he’d give you two hours, and then he’d pull Ashlyn in, if not before.”

  “Why two hours?”

  “He needs time to think up an excuse.”

  “She’s going to be wondering why we even sent her over there.”

  “Ashlyn knows why, and we actually have all the information we’re going to get. Daly should pull her out.”

  “Do me a favor? Don’t tell her that when I’m around.”

  “No fixed address? For Christ’s sake.” Ashlyn half laughed, half groaned. “How the hell can you register a car in this province with no fixed address?”

  She stared at the information, really not much more than a name, because the only address listed was one of those rental boxes in a Mailboxes, Etc. store in Port Coquitlam. This guy could be anywhere.

  Aaron Vaughan. Aaron…an old, classic car…Ashlyn snapped her fingers and ran down the stairs, sticking her cell phone in her pocket as she ran out the door, making sure she locked it behind her.

  As soon as she’d pulled out onto the street, she dialed Daly’s number.

  “It’s time for you girls to get ready,” he said. “Come with me.”

  Taylor glanced at Lindsay, who kept her eyes straight ahead as she walked to the door. Maria was smiling, her dark eyes sparkling. Beside her, Lindsay’s eyes were overshadowed by dark circles, her cheeks drooping.

  Ever since she’d been stuck there, Taylor had been thinking about writing stories. She was good with her words and good with her descriptions. Everyone said so. It was a strange thing for a girl her age, but in some ways, she had her mother to thank.

  Her mother was always going on about what people looked like, how they failed to keep themselves up. The only time she’d ever seemed to pay attention to Taylor was when she was pointing out someone with waxy skin or a flawed complexion.

  Taylor had worked hard to learn the words so that she knew what her mom was talking about. It earned her a fleeting moment of approval instead of a smack for being an idiot.

  He led them into another room—just Maria, who still insisted on being called Hannah, Lindsay and her. The new girl, the one who didn’t have a new name yet, was still tied to her bed.

  The new room had a shower and a table with hairbrushes and clips, and thre
e new dresses hanging in the closet.

  “You girls need to shower. Make sure you use the soap. Then get ready with your new clothes. It’s Hannah’s special day today, and we’re going to celebrate.”

  He shut the door behind him, Taylor hearing the faint click as he locked it, and the shuffle of his feet as he moved away.

  The man who’d answered the door was wearing pants and a wifebeater, a few days of stubble on his chin, and he reeked of stale booze. “Yeah, what do you want?”

  “Are you Fred Hibbert?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  Tain held up his ID. “Constable Tain, Coquitlam RCMP. You used to work for the LM Security Company.”

  “Used to is right,” he said, and snorted. “What do you want?”

  “You were supervising at the fair in Coquitlam before you went on holidays, right?”

  “I was supposed to be. That was the problem with that company. Short staffed, so they bounced me around all over the place. I complained and got sacked.”

  “But you were at the fairgrounds for part of the time?”

  He nodded and shrugged. “Briefly. Why?”

  “Do you remember this guy?” Sims asked, holding up the composite.

  “Looks like that religious nutcase I dealt with a couple times. Man, he was a real piece of work. You want a complaint in writing about him, I’ll give it to you, gladly.”

  “What we’d really like is his name,” Tain said. “Tell me you wrote him up or something.”

  Hibbert’s face fell. “Sorry. By the time I dealt with him, I was late for the other rotation I had to deal with. I let my main guy there write him up. I think his name was Avon or Adrian or something like that.”

  Tain held up the staff list. “Which of these guys should we talk to first? It’s urgent.”

  Hibbert tapped the page. “I left him in charge.”

  “Thanks. And if you think of anything,” Tain said, passing him his card.

  “See? I can be nice,” he told Sims as they got in the car.

  Sims just shook his head. “I’ll call these numbers and see if I can find Sean Becker.”

  “Geez, Craig, your girl can’t get enough of you.”

  Craig turned to see Ashlyn walking through the parking lot toward the garage. He grabbed a rag to wipe his hands and tried to walk casually to meet her.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Is Adrian Vaughan here?”

  Craig nodded. “He’s covering a shift for someone.”

  “I need to talk to him. It’s important.”

  Her eyes were shadowed with concern, but she sizzled with a nervous energy that she often displayed when things got heated on a case. “I’ll go get him.”

  Within a minute, he’d returned with Adrian.

  “Oh, hell. You two want to talk to me because I asked you out?”

  Ashlyn shook her head. “Nothing to do with that. It’s about your cousin.”

  “Which one?”

  “Remember you told me you have a cousin, bit of a right-wing religious zealot who comes over and works on cars, sometimes hangs out here?”

  Adrian nodded. “Yeah, Aaron.”

  “I need to find him.”

  “Why?”

  “Adrian—” Ashlyn glanced at Craig, who gave her just the slightest shake of his head. “It’s just really important. We believe he can provide critical information about our child-abduction case.”

  “Aaron? I don’t see how.”

  “Do you know where he’s living? His driver’s license has a mailbox in Port Coquitlam for him.”

  Adrian turned from her to Craig and then shrugged. “Sure. He moved into this religious compound, but then the group got run off. Don’t really remember the whole deal. He just told me they’d all gone, and he was still there, keeping the place ready for when they came back.”

  Ashlyn wrote down the address, and then her cell phone rang.

  “We found a name,” Tain told her.

  “Aaron Vaughan.”

  “Geez, I owe you a drink now, don’t I?”

  “I’ve got an address.” She gave him the directions. “I can meet you there in ten minutes.”

  “We can pick you up.”

  “I’m at the fire hall.”

  “Okay, we’ll meet you there, then. I’ll call Daly and get backup. And you wait for us.”

  Craig glanced over his shoulder, then followed her to her car. She popped the trunk and pulled out her Kevlar.

  “You think this guy is armed?”

  “A religious nut who drives a Corvette? Who knows?”

  Craig glanced at the men in the garage again, all watching him and Ashlyn, Adrian’s face distorted with confusion.

  “I have to go.”

  “Be careful.”

  She nodded. “You too.”

  Craig watched her drive away, then turned back to the garage, Adrian still watching him.

  The men playing cards all laughed.

  “God, I can’t believe some of these broads. Dress me up in a Santa suit and suddenly I’m their idea of a sexual fantasy.”

  “Got to wonder how desperate they are, fantasizing about you.”

  “Father complex. Jolly fat man who brings presents.”

  Craig groaned inwardly. Hours of stories over dinner, first about the women who liked special pumpers, and now this.

  “So, you guys get all these women throwing themselves at you just because you’re firefighters?” he asked them.

  “Your turn next, buddy. Oh, they’ll steer clear when they see your girl around, but any night you want a taste of something else, you’ll have your options.”

  “That’s not my style.”

  “No? You aren’t married.”

  “Maybe I should be,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

  “We don’t just get the chicks. Plenty of other nutjobs around here,” Adrian said. “All the wannabes?”

  Most of the men at the table groaned then.

  “Don’t even get me started on those guys.”

  “Living vicariously. Can’t make the cut so they hang out, want to volunteer.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Craig asked.

  “They didn’t even make the volunteer cut,” another man said.

  “That one guy, you know, at the place where we get our pagers? He’s, what, failed three times now?”

  “I don’t know why they keep letting him try.”

  “Probably want to keep him happy, you know, managing our account and all that.”

  “Which one is that?” Craig asked. “Greg?”

  “No, the other one, Rob. He’s the one who handles all the accounts.”

  “I had someone called Greg. He said he did it all.”

  The men laughed. Craig looked around, and nobody met his gaze.

  “All right, enlighten me. What’s the joke?”

  “You must’ve taken Ashlyn with you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Rob loves to watch the ladies. He can’t handle a customer with a pretty girl on his arm.”

  “Must be why he wants to be a firefighter,” said one of the other men who’d just walked in. “So he can flex his pumper.”

  They all laughed, except Craig. He was thinking about how Ashlyn got called back to pick up a new pager.

  Once they’d finished washing up and getting dressed, Taylor and Lindsay sat down. Maria, or Hannah, continued to buzz around the room, picking up their clothes, folding them, putting everything back the way they’d found it.

  “Were you like that at home too?” Lindsay asked.