Pursuit

by Gene Hackman

  The attitudes of the men at the plant seemed consistent—a polite but bored demeanor. Clegg seemed typical of what you might call a worker bee, his constant grin annoying and phony, but probably a decent sort. Most of the interviewed seemed willing to help, their tics and furtive glances reflections of being in an unusual circumstance. One’s behavior didn’t always identify the accuracy of a statement, but sometimes it could be a tell.

  Clegg was a good example of what she generally referred to as a cipher. Well meaning, tough to read, but, generally speaking, a nonstarter.

  Julie called headquarters, reaching Captain Walker.

  “How’d it go, Worth?”

  “Not well. We’re just wrapping, heading back. Anything new? Any word?”

  “No, nothing. Why don’t you stop off and interview that trailer park gal you told me about. What’s her name?”

  “Miss Riley. Right, I’ve got her info in my book. Maybe a surprise visit might produce something. Good idea. See you later.”

  They said good-bye to Clegg, who called out, “Hope things turn out well for you, Detective.”

  Ten minutes passed on the highway when Julie turned to Todd. “Didn’t you think it unusual what he said to me at the end?”

  “No, what? Who are you talking about? What did he say?”

  “Clegg said, ‘I hope things turn out well for you, Detective.’ Isn’t that odd?”

  Todd drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I know what you’re going through, but he didn’t say ‘Detective.’ He said ‘Detectives,’ plural.”

  “I don’t think so. He distinctly said ‘Detective,’ as in one of us, and since he was looking right at me, how would he know about my situation? We didn’t mention it.”

  Todd pulled the car over to the side of the road. “Excuse me, Sarge. As I said before, I know what you’re going through. But you’re reaching. That guy couldn’t abduct a pussycat. He meant nothing by that remark other than what he said. He wished us good luck.”

  Julie’s hands were on both sides of her face. “Okay. You’re probably right.” She seemed to collapse into her own lap. “Ah shit, why can’t we get any further on this fucking thing? Damn.”

  Todd eased the cruiser back onto the highway. “Something will break. I feel it. So, we head in?”

  She dug through her portfolio. “Walker wants us to go talk to that trailer park bitch, Venus Riley. I spoke to her on the phone.” She handed him the address.

  They had little trouble finding the place. Julie remembered having spoken to the woman at the beginning of her cold case hunt. She checked her notes while Todd went into a beat-up trailer where a handwritten Manager’s Quarters sign hung from the canopied porch.

  Todd tried to convince someone inside to give him Venus Riley’s stall number.

  “Ask if they have a license and proof of rabies shot for that mutt they got chained up in the side yard!” Julie shouted through the ratty screen door.

  When Todd came out thirty seconds later, he waved a slip of paper at Julie as if it were a winning lottery ticket. “Funny how cooperative some people can be: one minute unmovable, and then, for no reason, they change. Ha. She’s right down here at the end of the street.”

  Julie went to the door while Todd checked the registration on the rusted Cadillac sitting in the driveway.

  To the left of the screen door, a brass-plated “If you see this trailer rockin’ don’t bother knockin’ ” inscription. Julie pushed the doorbell button, the buzzer giving off a tired response.

  “Yeah, what?” A woman in a thin housecoat and faded red paisley pajamas came to the door. She held a can of Bud.

  “Miss Riley? Venus Riley?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  Julie eased her badge out from her jacket breast pocket. “Miss Riley, I spoke to you on the phone not too long ago about your daughter, Marylou. I’m Sergeant Worth, Missouri State Patrol, Criminal Investigation. Can we have a few minutes with you?”

  “We?”

  “My partner, Detective Devlin, will be here in a minute.”

  “You people have a way of checking in at the darndest times.” The woman glanced at her watch. “Come on in. What’s up?”

  “Nothing new, I’m afraid.” Julie took the offered seat at the dinette. “I just wanted to clear up a few things about Marylou. You said she left without even taking her toiletries. Is that correct, Miss Riley?”

  “Christ in a hatbox! You folks did nothing for years, now here you are pestering me about Lulu after I told you everything I knew when you called. What in hell’s name is going on?”

  “I’d like my partner to join us, please.”

  Todd came up on the wood platform that served as a porch.

  Miss Riley waved him in.

  Once Todd sat down on a kitchen stool, Julie again glanced at her notes, for no reason other than to give the visit an official feeling. “You said on the phone your daughter might have been pregnant. Did she have a steady boyfriend?”

  The woman smoothed her fingers across the Formica tabletop. “How long is this gonna take? I got company coming.”

  Julie looked into the woman’s bloodshot eyes.

  “Ah, well, you folks don’t give a shit about Lulu being gone, do you? You just want to pester a hardworking woman.”

  “What sort of work do you do, Venus?”

  “I read fortunes and such.”

  “What’s the ‘and such’ part?”

  They stared at each other.

  “I’m a working girl. Okay? You satisfied? You gonna run me in?”

  Julie was close to the end of her patience. She would have liked to run her in for using the word “girl” instead of “drained old woman.” “I asked you a question, Miss Riley. Please answer.”

  “Yeah, she had a boyfriend. The cops at the time cleared him. He was nothing, a midget looking for a circus. A squirt. I met him once and told my daughter she could do better. He kept glancing at my tits. What a weasel. Trust me, a no-body.”

  “What was his name, Miss Riley?”

  “Don’t remember. Must be in the report. He was at work the day my daughter disappeared; the cops looked into it.”

  Julie glanced at Todd with a look that said they were finished there.

  The woman brushed up against Todd as she opened the screen door, her breasts barely concealed by the flimsy housecoat.

  As they started to drive away, Julie saw the woman wave at her as if she had something to say. “Hold it, Todd. Biggy Boobs has something on her tiny mind.”

  The woman pulled her clothing tight around her body as she leaned out of her trailer. “I believe his name was Rink or Tink—something like that.”

  Charles took extra caution driving back to Bait Shack. The idea of taking Cheryl as a lure to get to her mother had not been thought out; a plan did not exist as to how he would get the sergeant to walk into his world.

  The wayward truck episode had been fun but, in the end, not worthwhile. The cop wasn’t seriously injured, and worst of all, he had taken a big chance. Charles, in his review of adventures with the Worth family, would have to admit that he was stuck. His original plan to lure Julie Worth to his cabin at the lake now seemed far-fetched and juvenile. He needed, in his defense, a way of neutralizing Worth and her investigation of William Drew’s niece. After learning of her interest in the case, he saw her as a threat. Not unlike most of the women who came into his life. Clingy, whiney, and smelling of artificial products. Womanly, peculiar smells.

  The closer he got to Bait Shack, the more determined he was to get rid of his teenybopper houseguest, maybe in a new and exciting way.

  He came onto the property and sped up the car. Halfway down the long, extended drive, he put the car in neutral and cut the engine. It felt special, gliding along. It became a different quiet, a rumbling tire sound as the vehicle traveled the rutted dirt, and the creaky metal-on-metal grinding, which normally one couldn’t hear. Charles noticed for the first time the driver’s seat sque
aking in tempo with the swaying.

  Human noises, or lack thereof, became a part of his life. He asked himself, How can I change? Not in the conventional manner, like giving up something to be a better person, or vowing to be more gracious and clean cut. He wanted a real change, to be a different person—six-foot-tall handsome in a rugged-individual way. Bright, aware, worldly. All the things that had been denied him. On a conscious level, he knew that growth to six feet would not happen. Likewise, intellect, charm, and people skills were not in his future.

  So that left him with just the things he was good at: abduction and systematic mayhem.

  Cheryl heard a sound. The movement of old timbers resettling after pressure and weight had been applied. Someone was walking across the floor above her. She stooped down to retrieve the wallpaper she kept under the cot while sawing the plywood panel. She barely got the heavy colored paper back in place when she heard footsteps land on the stairs.

  “Wake up, wake up, my little chicky pet. Time to go to work.”

  The light and fan were extinguished and relit several times. The door opened to a dark silhouette, an arm moving in a slow pendulum motion. A hood was then tossed onto the cot. “Put it on and be quick.”

  Seated on the fridge, Cheryl gazed at the dark mask. A ray of light crept through the heavy cloth as she slipped it over her head.

  “Pull it down tight. No funny stuff. Leave the comedy to me, sweets.”

  Cheryl tugged on the dark cloth. Suddenly she whipped off the hood and screamed. “A bug! A spider! Eek! Oh God!” She twirled around the room rolling the hood tight while searching with her fingers for the small hole that had given off the ray of light. “Oh Christ, it bit me! Ahhh!” She kept moving about the room, feigning disgust, all the while her fingers tracing the dark cloth.

  “Put it on now, or I’m going to offer you a severe beating. Got it?”

  She worked her index finger into the opening, making it a bit larger, then smoothed the cloth before putting it over her head. Staggering toward the door, her arms stretched out like a zombie, the tear appeared just to the side of her right eye. She promised herself she would not be harmed.

  The man grabbed her arm and shoved her toward the stairs. “Up you go, Cheerleader. Time for your sex education class.”

  Maybe, maybe not. He hadn’t tied her hands but had looped his hand firmly into the belt area at the back of her jeans. Once again he was singing his “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to work we go” Disney theme. Cheryl’s view was a kaleidoscope of images flashing across her peephole. A rustic chair next to a worn couch, a table stacked with dirty dishes, and a poster of a nude woman hanging crookedly on the front of a wood door.

  “Welcome to showtime, sweets.” He swung her aside and opened the door, pushing her into the room. Through her makeshift peephole, she saw an unmade bed, and a brass headboard draped with assorted ropes and leather restraints.

  She felt his presence at her side.

  “Itsy bitsy spider, climbing up the wall. It’s no good for you to holler, scream, or call.” He snorted. “Gotcha.” Snort. “Gotcha.”

  Something, or someone, saved Cheryl. The phone rang as the man had led her through what she thought was the living room and then into the bedroom. He locked the door while she remained staring at a wall. In the other room, King was on the phone. “But it’s Saturday.” Then a long pause. “Why me?” And, in a changed voice, “I’ll come in, of course.”

  After moving the tiny hole in her hood, she peeked at a wall covered with a heavy curtain. A sliver of light pierced through where the drape caught on the windowsill. Grass and weeds covered a long stretch of backyard dominated by several large oak trees leading to a shimmering lake. The water ebbed into a basin, forming a pond-sized enclave. A wood boat, unused and in need of repair, lay on the shore, half into the finger of water.

  She heard something through the thin-walled bedroom. Cheryl adjusted the drape to cover the light and hurried back to the center of the room.

  “Well, Miss Prom Queen, this is your unlucky day.” He put his hands on her hips, his body shaking as he gyrated behind her. “Seems I’ve been alerted to an emergency at my place of work, so heigh-ho and so forth, it’s back to the dungeon you go.”

  He pushed her through the living room and stopped. “Stay, you understand me? Stay.”

  Behind her, a refrigerator door opened and closed, the rattle of a paper bag, and his tuneless humming. “It’s now or never.”

  So what does that mean? He led her down the basement steps again. “Take two steps into the room, do not turn around,” he said at the door. “Take off the hood and without turning, pass it back to me.”

  Cheryl complied and exhaled. The door closed behind her. On the concrete, a paper bag held a fresh supply of Cup Noodles, two apples, and three cans of sardines. Ten minutes later, the car and its tap-tap horn. He was gone; she had to get to work.

  Julie’s days and nights melded. Her drive into work felt long, the lack of rest wearing on her. She asked for an early-morning meet with Walker and Todd.

  “Since I’ve come across this, I’ve found the young Riley girl’s mom, Venus, to have all sorts of baggage.”

  “Like what?” Walker asked.

  “Think I told you about this the other day. As Todd and I were leaving Riley’s place, she runs out and spouts some garbage about someone named Rink or Tink.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that. Bolstered her story about being somewhat cooperative toward the end of the meeting.”

  “Right, well. Todd, I didn’t bring you up to date on this. It was just last night. With everything going on, it slipped by me. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. So what about Lady Venus and her baggage?”

  Julie looked to Walker for permission to continue.

  “Go ahead. I’m anxious to hear what this pissant Riley has going on. Anything besides her hooker business?”

  “Yep. In mid-1995, councilman Mars Riley, cousin of Mayor Tom Bishop’s wife, was indicted for fraud, which he of course denied. He says a relative named Venus committed said fraud.” Julie felt bad about not bringing Todd up to date on her findings. “It gets even better, Todd-O. At Miss Venus Riley’s trial, she claimed her innocence and said she was bamboozled into this corruption by a man named—are you ready? Rhymes with kitchen sink.”

  “Rink.”

  “Close, name of Bink. Bink Caldwell. It’s in the court documents and the police report.”

  “You mean there really was someone named Bink?” Todd glanced at Captain Walker and then back to Julie.

  Julie wanted to stand on the front steps of the station and shout it out. “When Venus was convicted for fraud, in her statement to the court, she said she was forced into her life of crime by this Bink Caldwell.” She let this settle in. “This same hero who had been dating her daughter turns out to be the exact guy who forced her into this misappropriation of funds and—this is the big one—at about the same time that her daughter goes missing. Odd, yes?”

  Walker reached for the phone. “Get me a sector car that’s in the vicinity of . . .” He looked to Julie and Todd.

  Todd pulled out his notebook while Julie spouted off the address from memory. “Venus Riley, 2710 New Market Road. Unit D as in Delta.”

  They waited as the captain directed the patrol unit to the Riley trailer. “How’d this come about?”

  “I put it together with the Venus flytrap’s sudden cooperation at the end of our interview, remember?”

  Todd showed her a thumbs-up.

  “I got to thinking about it last night. Our girl Venus thought we would stumble upon this Bink connection, and she was trying to cover herself for later, down the road.”

  Walker flipped his pencil in the air a few times. “What would you have done if you were taken off the case?”

  Julie raised her hand, her index finger extended above her clenched fist. “As a private citizen, a quiet talk with Venus would have been in the cards.” She cocked her thumb with a lou
d click.

  Julie and Todd hung out at Coffee Time Cafe waiting for word from Walker that they had corralled Venus Riley.

  Todd tore his paper napkin into tiny bits. “Why didn’t this idiot tell the cops at the time of her daughter’s disappearance about our guy Bink?”

  Julie pulled a piece of croissant off her half of their joint breakfast. “Beats me. Well, yeah, but she gave up his name at trial. She’s one of those people with a perpetual hard-on for cops. Such a snot. That vitriol about ‘haven’t seen you people for twenty years, I know you got better things to do than find a poor kid who disappeared, blah-blah.’ ” Julie’s cell rang. “Yeah? Okay, Cap. We’ll be right there.” She dropped a five on the table. “Venus is at the station.”

  When they arrived, Todd hung back as Julie came upon Walker shadowing Venus strolling down the corridor into an interview room.

  Venus settled into the cramped space on her own slow time.

  Julie spoke up. “Would you like something to drink? Soda, coffee, water?”

  Walker cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Miss Riley, there’s no smoking in here. If you’d like to step outside, please do so.”

  She lit her cigarette and blew smoke in Walker’s direction. The three of them sat around the table. Julie made notes while Walker reached over and opened the door. Venus fiddled with a gaudy necklace.

  “The up-to-date is this,” Walker said. “No smoking in a government building. No exceptions. Also, Miss Riley, you’re here at my indulgence. You claim you’re indigent. If any of this doesn’t sit well with you, you’ll be placed under arrest.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Violation of criminal code 6110: pandering, solicitation. Criminal code 350: hindrance of a criminal investigation. Withholding evidence.

  “I could go on.”

  Walker once again addressed Venus. “Miss Riley, you say you know nothing that would indicate these charges are anything but vindictive nonsense. Is that your position?”