“Yes, four perverts attacked her,” she raised an eyebrow in disdain. “We’re still waiting for an arrest.”
“One of the men who attacked her was found dead last Sunday…in Tucson.”
“So how does that involve my daughter?”
“Another one was found this past Wednesday in Black Canyon City, also shot to death.”
“I’m having trouble mustering any tears, detective.”
Silence.
The light of understanding shown in her eyes, and Smith saw the unconscious tightening of her face.
“You think my daughter killed these men?”
“The evidence is pointing that way.”
“When my daughter was raped the police didn’t seem to care too much about what happened, why the sudden interest now?”
Smith ignored the malicious comment, continuing with his questions. “What about her friends? Could she be with them?”
“Excuse me?”
“If I could have their names, I’ll find her and clear this matter up.”
“Look here Detective Smith, my late husband was an attorney and I know my rights,” she said, stepping back toward the door. “This conversation is over.”
“If your husband was an attorney, then you must know I’ll find Hailey. You should also already know it will be a lot better for her if she comes in and talks to me voluntarily.” He handed her a business card.
“If I hear from her I’ll pass that message along. In the meantime, do I need to contact my attorney?”
“That’s up to you. However, I can’t over-emphasize the seriousness of this matter. I need to find her immediately.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”
Silence.
“Good day, Detective.”
He watched her go back inside the house, shutting the security gate behind her. He knew she would burn the floor running to the phone to call her daughter. Smith bristled in frustration. He finally knew who his suspect was, yet couldn’t seem to locate her. He was beginning to feel a little outnumbered on this case. I’m trying to stop a killer, but I’ve got a boss and a senator who are fucking up my investigation. Maybe I should just do what they want and let it drop.
The thought of walking away from the whole thing was gaining a certain appeal for the weary man. He admitted he had a deep-seeded need to fulfill his duty, but he also began to acknowledge some random feelings of understanding for the young woman who he was so intent on finding.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The crowd was now standing-room only, the motorcycle dealership alive and buzzing with cordial activity. Hailey walked through the door and joined the raucous group.
A little more than a full day had gone by since her encounter with Rackley and she could still feel every excruciating second of the fight in the assortment of aches and pains it left behind. Fortunately, the physical marks of the altercation were hidden beneath her clothes.
Ignoring the lingering pain, she made her way cautiously through the show room. She walked toward a sign at the parts counter indicating this was where she paid her fee for the joining the event. Chatting and signing up for the run, she saw a multitude of riders circulating among the rows of factory-fresh bikes shining under the artificial lights.
Hailey looked around her and was struck by the odd reality that she felt totally at home with these people. Gone was the nagging sensation of emotional vulnerability that she normally had in crowds. They don’t see a victim. They see me as just another biker, one of them. She momentarily reveled in that feeling of freedom, one unlike any she’d ever known. These people accept me at face value…no judgments…and no pity.
She liked the feeling of power she had when she was in biker-chick mode. She could forget all about what happened to her. She didn’t have to be afraid of every little bump in the night or sideways glance.
Her heart skipped a beat as she watched Doug come through the door, driving all the negative thoughts from her mind in a clean sweep. He spotted her, his face lighting up, and made a bee-line in her direction.
He smiled and called out to several people as he moved through the crowd before finally joining her at the parts counter. “I was hoping you’d come.” His easy smile sent a pleasant, tingle up her spine.
“It sounded like fun,” she said. “I’ve only tried to ride with this many people once before.”
“It’s pretty easy. Just pay attention to the spacing between you and the guy in front of you.”
She paused for several seconds, trying to think of something witty to say, and not being inspired, threw out an innocuous question. “How many bikes do you think we have today?”
“I don’t know for sure,” he said, quickly scanning the room. “But at least seventy-five.”
They went outside and surveyed the jovial scene, the lines of people and machines gathering, waiting for the run to begin.
“Wow. That’s a lot of bikes,” she said, eyes wide. “I hope I can handle it.”
“You’ll do fine,” his bright smile eased her mind. “Ready?”
“Let’s go,” she continued, nervously making conversation. “So, what’s the route for the ride?”
“It starts here at Whiskey Row Cycles and goes out Highway 89 to Ashfork. Then we take I-40 to Williams, Flagstaff and back down I-17 to SR 69, back to Prescott Valley and back to Whiskey Row. It ends at Bad Boys Saloon for beers and poker. Last year we raised almost $10,000 for the local non-profits.”
“That’s amazing,” she said. “You must be proud to be a part of it.”
“Yeah, It’s pretty cool,” he said. “People still have that 1950’s image of bikers. You know; the roving criminal that wants to drink beer and steal their teenage daughter’s virtue. We want to change that.” He paused for a few seconds to collect his thoughts. “With so many professionals riding now, it’s different from forty years ago, even ten years ago. You still have outlaws, but not nearly as many. Most bikers are totally law-abiding regardless of how much leather they wear or how long their hair is. They ride because they enjoy the camaraderie of riding and the freedom of the road.”
She smiled in understanding and he continued. “It’s like the cowboys of the old west. The freedom of the open range…nobody telling you what to do…that kind of thing.”
She flashed back to her recent fight with her mother…and that same misguided notion of what it means to be a biker.
The two continued talking until one of the ride organizers climbed onto the tailgate of a parked pickup truck and shouted for attention from the boisterous bunch.
“Everybody listen up!” he said using his hands as a makeshift megaphone. “We are going to get started pretty soon and there are a few things I want to tell you…”
The rider gave a safety briefing on the do’s and don’ts of the trip, traffic control and police escorts topping the list.
Mounting up, she touched the starter button and the Hog roared to life between her legs, her entire body now pulsing with the power flowing from the machine to its rider.
Rolling slowly forward, she joined the dozens of bikes pairing up in the center of the parking lot. The line stretching and bending like a snake, it continued to grow as the participants moved up to take their places, the roar of engines now becoming deafening.
Looking to the left, she took in Doug’s handsome face as he brought his fire engine red Electra-Glide away from the curb and assumed his slot next to hers in the gathering of machines and their riders.
The leader ahead gave a wave of his arm and pulled forward, signaling the official start of the event. When her turn came, she let go of the clutch as the wind blew back her ponytail in an undulating cape behind her. She grinned like a fool at a pair of wide-eyed young boys waving from the sidewalk. Faces split in huge grins, the boys held their hands over their ears as the roaring motorcycles cruised slowly up the block, turning left and disappearing down the road.
The pavement passed under her wheels and she basked in the feeling of being in moti
on. She ignored the intermittent shooting pains springing from her battered ribs, instead concentrating on the thrill of the ride and the man gliding along next to her. She watched Doug handle the big Electra-Glide with the finesse of a bullfighter. He really is a gorgeous man.
She felt an unfamiliar calm, coupled with a sense of cautious delight, as she suddenly realized she wasn’t afraid. She thought about Doug and realized although she didn’t know him very well yet, she wanted to get to know him. She had to admit, in spite of his imposing size, Doug made her pulse spike every time he came close. Just the slightest touch of his hand and her body reacted outside of her conscious control, bubbling with pleasurable tingles. The notion struck her as odd, considering her panicked reaction to dancing at the bar only a few nights before. It still took a few seconds of determined effort to relax when Doug stood close, but there was just something about him that left her feeling comfortable, yet excited at the same time…and she wanted to feel that way again.
She pushed the expected apprehension she always felt in a man’s presence out of her mind. Instead she decided she would enjoy the ride…and the man who accompanied her.
Several hours later, the procession rounded the last curve back into Prescott and moved down Gurley Street toward Courthouse Square. Dusty and tired, the group began to break up, finding parking spaces where they could. She followed Doug west to Cortez Street, made a right turn and located a single empty space in front of an antique store, backing in among the multitude of vehicles resting along the curb. He removed his helmet and waited for her to shut down her bike and dismount.
“Want to get a beer?” he suggested. “A little something to cut the dust.”
“Sure, sounds good.” She pulled her gloves off and tucked them in her back pocket, following him toward the collection of bars at the end of the street.
Entering the crowed bar, the pair found a table in the corner. He pulled out her chair for her, then pulled his closer, sitting only a few inches away.
A waitress came by and he ordered for both of them, something she normally didn’t approve of, but this time she welcomed the proprietary initiative. He wants to do things for me, how sweet.
She noticed she again felt no fear, no nervousness. The notion of sitting in a bar with a man and actually enjoying herself was something she never thought she’d experience again. She smiled at him and he returned the gesture with a grin.
“I hope you had fun today, I know I did.”
“I did. The ride was a blast.”
“I enjoyed the company,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I’m glad you decided to come with me.”
“I’m glad too.”
He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, the gentle touch surprising her and sending a wave of excitement cruising through her body.
She pulled slightly away, face still flushed in surprise.
“I hope that was okay,” his eyes searched hers. “I just couldn’t wait any more.”
“It was more than okay.” She said, leaning forward and claiming a second kiss of her own.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Smith was again waiting outside Hailey’s apartment when he heard the quiet chirp of his cell phone.
“Hello?”
“John, its Cassie.”
“Hi. How are you?”
After their last conversation, he didn’t want to upset her and certainly didn’t want to rehash the same old arguments again.
“I’m okay, I guess.”
He noticed her voice was strained, lacking the firmness of yesterday.
“What’s wrong?
“I just called to apologize.”
His mind skipped a gear, her admission a shock.
He gave a tentative reply. “For what, you don’t owe me any apologies.”
“I just want to say I’m sorry for the things I said before, about you having an affair. After we talked, I stayed up most of the night thinking about what you said and I realized how wrong I was about that,” she paused and he could hear her tense breathing. “I started thinking about all the times you were working late, and I guess…I guess I needed to blame somebody for my being alone and unhappy.”
“I really was telling you the truth. I never cheated on you. Not even once.”
“I know that now. I’m sorry. I just…I just feel like I’ve been competing against a mistress…a mistress called your job,” she said. “I can’t compete with the job. Competing against another woman would almost be easier to take.”
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am for not being there when you needed me. My job was never more important to me than you,” he said, meaning every word. “You’re the reason I could go out and face those streets every day, because I had you to come home to.”
Her response was drowned out by a loud beep in his ear. The tone told Smith he had another call coming in. He looked on the display and saw Mendoza’s number.
“Shit,” he said. Not now!
“What was that?” Cassie’s voice returned.
“I have another call coming in,” he said dreading her reaction.
“You want to take it?” she asked, her tone suddenly considerably more reserved, her voice laced with resignation.
For several seconds Smith battled with what to do. He could feel Cassie’s mood had changed from the previous conversation and he didn’t want to ruin it by putting her on hold. You promised to put her first, time to put your money where your mouth is.
“I’ll get it later.”
“Are you sure? It could be important.” Her voice betrayed her feelings of impending disappointment.
“You’re important. Whatever it is can wait.”
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with my husband?” she said, a hint of laughter now evident.
Her term of endearment struck him head-on. She hadn’t referred to him as “husband” for several months and hearing it sent a small ripple of hope through him.
“You know nothing is more important to me than you,” he said. “I swear.”
For several seconds silence filled the line, then she spoke, the voice small and fragile. “I’ve just felt so alone for so long, being here all by myself since the accident…since Matthew…”
She’s reaching out. His mind registered in surprise. Reassure her now!
“You’re not alone,” he said, groping for the right words to express what he was feeling. “I understand. I…I miss him too. I miss you both.” His heart thudded in his chest as he waited for her response.
“I’ve wanted to hear that for so long,” she said, sighing loudly. “You don’t know how long I waited for you to say that.”
“I’m sorry. I should have been telling you all along.” He choked up at the long overdue admission.
“It’s okay.” Her voice was now softer, and he correctly interpreted the change for what it was, as her way of broadcasting her need for his emotional comfort and support. He’d missed that signal before. He determined this time he would give her what she needed.
“No, it’s not. You deserved better.” His phone beeped again. Go away! He thought, instinctively sensing he stood at one of those pivotal moments that can make or break a relationship…their relationship.
“Is that the other call again?” she asked.
“Yes. It can still wait.”
“It’s okay. Go ahead and take it,” she took a deep breath before continuing. “If you still want to, we can talk some more when you get home.”
His pulse did a nervous little spike. Don’t push. “You sure? I want that very much, but you seemed pretty firm.”
“Yes. We can talk. After thinking about it all night, I want to, but I make no promises.”
“Understood. I promise you won’t regret it.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“I love you.” he said, meaning every word with his whole heart.
“I know you do. We’ll talk more later.”
Smith let Cassie’s last four last few words wa
sh over him, a splash of cool water to a thirsty man.
“I’ll call you as soon as I get home.” He said.
“Okay, Bye.”
“Bye.”
He silently vowed that as soon as this case closed, he would turn in his retirement paperwork. This job has cost too much and changed too much.
The annoying beep sounded for the third time, breaking into his sanguine thoughts. He clicked the connection and Mendoza’s voice filled his ears.
“Smith? Mendoza here. I just got a call. They found the Queen of Diamonds.”
“Son of a bitch…Where?”
“In Chino Valley. Out past Road Five-North.”
“On my way.” Smith said, snapping the phone shut. Damn, we’re too late!
Thirty minutes later, Smith pulled up at the address Mendoza gave him. A strip of yellow tape stretched between the gate posts, blocking entrance to the property. He looked across the parking lot and spied Mendoza’s SUV. A uniformed officer lifted the thin vinyl barrier to allow Smith to pass under. He exited his car into the stiffening afternoon breeze and made his way to the door, seeing Mendoza standing near-by.
“You see that?” Mendoza asked, pointing to the gleaming chopper parked next to the shop’s side entrance. “It’s another Triumph, isn’t it?”
Smith took in the wildly extended front end and twin exhaust pipes protruding below the foot pegs.
“It is.”
Smith pulled his cell and called the DMV, checking for any additional vehicles registered to Grady. He found there was one, of the two-wheeled variety.
“Grady also has a Triumph registered in his name,” Smith said. “That’s three for three.”
“Shit! I can’t believe I missed this,” Mendoza spit. “All of our victims have the same brand of motorcycle.”
Smith turned, cocking a thumb back over his shoulder.
“Who’s in the back of your truck?” Smith asked.
“Rackley’s roommate. He discovered the body when he came to pick him up,” Mendoza said. “He told me Rackley wasn’t even supposed to be here. They were supposed to be going to Prescott to get some stuff for the run on Saturday.”
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