Burning Ridge

by Margaret Mizushima

  She didn’t dare move in a large way, but little shuffles of her feet told her that her ankles weren’t bound like her wrists. The fact that her legs might be free gave her an inordinate amount of hope.

  Robo. His doggie face with all its various expressions surfaced in her mind. But now, instead of the thought of him making her weak, it fueled the fires of revenge deep in her belly.

  The gravelly crunch of footsteps returned, ominous as they echoed. The beam of a flashlight penetrated the darkness, and she caught a brief glimpse of stone streaked with veins of rose and green shale that surrounded her. A cave, she thought, before she closed her eyes to fake unconsciousness.

  The toe of the man’s boot connected with her kidney and pain flared in her back. She lay still as a wounded rabbit.

  He grabbed her hair and pulled back her head, shining the flashlight in her face. “Time to wake up, girlie.”

  Girlie. The word dredged up a memory. Her father used to call her that.

  Releasing her hair, he moved around to her front, sliding the light’s beam over her body. He punched her shoulder, rocking her onto her back, and then slammed his fist into her belly, driving the breath out of her. Reflexively she drew up her knees and flopped clumsily onto her side.

  “There you are,” he said, his voice distorted by the mask he still wore. “It’s about time.”

  The light blinded her. He appeared to be waiting for her to say something.

  She forced an inhalation and spoke in a croaky voice that sounded nothing like hers. “What?”

  “Now listen to me, girl. There’s only one thing you got to tell me, or you’ll find yourself in a world of hurt, just like your brother.” He paused and she could hear the eerie sound of his breath whooshing in and out of the mask. “Where in the hell can I find Ramona Cobb?”

  THIRTY

  Mattie couldn’t believe what she’d heard. This guy was asking about her mother. “Ramona Cobb?” she echoed.

  “You know who I’m talking about.”

  Still pulling for air, she curled around her belly to shield it. He shone the flashlight in her face, blinding her.

  His knees popped as he knelt, and the scent of wood smoke clung to his clothing. Her mind frantically sorted through what she knew about her mother, but she couldn’t come up with anything that would help her determine who she was dealing with—just the void from her past that she’d been trying to fill for months.

  “Are you ready to talk?” he asked.

  Act like you want to cooperate, she told herself. “Of course. I wish I knew how to find her, too.”

  “Don’t act dumb.”

  “I’m not. I’ve been looking for her.”

  “I think you know where she is.”

  She needed to avoid getting into a “no, I don’t” and “yes, you do” argument that would get her nowhere. “Let me tell you what I do know.”

  “That’s why we’re here.”

  “I haven’t seen Ramona Cobb since I was six years old.”

  Striking as fast as a rattlesnake, he slapped her cheek. “Don’t mess with me. You’re a cop. You know where she is.”

  Her cheek stung. “I’ve looked for her. She’s not in our database.”

  “Is she in prison?”

  “I searched to see if she has a criminal record. She’s not listed.”

  Gravel crunched as he rocked back on his heels away from her. He remained silent for a moment, as if thinking.

  She ventured a question. “Why do you think she’s in prison?”

  “Ramona’s not as innocent as she looks. She helped Harold with his business.”

  Was this about her father? “I can’t remember much of anything from my childhood. I remember the night the cops came to arrest my dad, but memories before that are sketchy.”

  “Your dad, huh?”

  Odd response. “He tried to kill my mom. The cops came to break up the fight, and they arrested him.”

  “And Ramona pressed charges?”

  “The prosecutor did. From what I know, Ramona disappeared as soon as she was released from the hospital.”

  “Sure she did. She didn’t want the law to catch up with her.”

  “I was raised in foster care. I have very few memories of my mother.”

  “It sounds like she dropped you when the going got rough. So there’s no reason to protect her now, is there?”

  “I’m not trying to protect her. I’m telling you what I know.”

  Without warning, he grabbed her shoulder and flipped her onto her stomach, trapping her arms beneath her. Sharp edges of stone cut into her bound hands as he straddled her back and sat on her hips. Grasping her hair, he slipped something that felt like a noose around her neck.

  “You must need a little taste of how it went for your brother.”

  Her weak efforts to buck and kick resulted in nothing. She felt the rope tighten until it clamped off her breath. Her body went into survival mode, but her ability to fight seemed useless.

  She searched for a way to save herself, but stars exploded in her vision, making it impossible to think.

  Mattie coughed and sputtered as she came to, heaving for breath. Still on her belly with her arms pinned beneath her, she turned her face to the side. Sharp rock grazed her cheek, cutting into it.

  “You want more of that?”

  Unable to catch her breath, she shook her head no.

  When he moved off her back to crouch beside her, she could draw fuller breaths. His rough hand gripped her shoulder, lifting to turn her. Without thinking, she palmed a sharp-edged piece of shale in her right hand before turning to her side.

  “I’ll talk,” she gasped.

  “What do you have to say?” For some reason, he still wore that mask, obscuring his face. Perhaps he planned to let her go if she gave him the information he wanted, but then she decided that was only false hope. She didn’t have what he wanted anyway.

  She had to keep her wits about her—it was the only thing she could control right now. She narrowed her eyes against the flashlight’s beam.

  “Where is Ramona?” he asked.

  While he trained the light on her face, she wiggled the rock shard from her palm into her fingers. Grasping it so that it remained hidden, she tested the sharp edge against the rope that bound her wrists. She could barely reach it, but when she felt the piece of shale connect with the rope, she could have whooped with joy.

  She couldn’t recall abuse from her mother, but playing along suited her needs. “I wish I could tell you where she is. Ramona did us a favor when she abandoned us. She was always so mean.”

  “She’s a lying bitch. And a thief.”

  “What did she steal?”

  “Money.”

  “What money?”

  “Back in the day, we were in business, see? The business of transportation of a certain type of goods from Mexico all the way to Canada. Fire power.”

  The cop in her knew he was talking about gunrunning. “But we were poor. Dirt poor.”

  “That’s just it, girlie. There was more cash there than we could put in a bank. Harry and Ramona hid it. Buried it in the forest for safekeeping. Only it wasn’t there when I went to dig it up.”

  Can I believe any of this? “Ramona took it?”

  “Hell yeah, sweetheart.”

  “Almost twenty-five years ago?”

  “Yep. She’s probably blown through it by now, but I can’t let a thief go unpunished. You know me. I’m the kind of guy that wants to get even.”

  She reached for something to keep the conversation going. “I remember that Ramona was Hispanic. Did she have family in Mexico? Or someplace here in the US? Could she have headed back to her home to live with her relatives?”

  “I checked. Nada.”

  “What was she doing before she hooked up with Harold? I’m trying to think of different ways I could search a database. Could she have a criminal record under a different name?”

  His feet scraped against stone as he mo
ved away, a sign of detaching from the conversation.

  Afraid that he was no longer focused only on her face, she kept her hands still. “I’m willing to try to find her again if I can get to my computer.”

  “I’m disappointed in you.”

  “Let me call one of my colleagues, a detective. I’ll see if she can get you more information.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen.”

  “What do you have to lose? Maybe a little time? You already have me as a hostage. That should motivate my colleagues to work faster.”

  No reply.

  “If they have more information to search with than I did—where she was from, maybe a maiden name or a possible alias—they might be able to get something more out of our system.”

  He paused and she hoped he was thinking it over.

  “Maybe a little fire would motivate you to talk.”

  He stood and walked away, lighting his path with his flashlight and leaving her alone in the darkness. She rolled to her back to watch him go, taking advantage of the light’s beam to see what she could of her surroundings. The cave looked to be about twenty feet deep with ambient light at the opening. Once he went beyond the cave’s mouth, he turned right and the slice of light disappeared with him.

  He either felt confident that he’d immobilized her, or he’d forgotten that her feet weren’t bound. She tried to sit, but her torso was too weak to respond.

  After rolling to her side, she used the piece of shale to saw furiously at the rope around her wrists.

  * * *

  As Cole drove Stella back to the station from Flynn’s place, a strong, westerly wind kicked up and buffeted the side of the K-9 unit. Dust and litter blew across the street in front of the headlights. Spring storm. He’d been too busy to watch a weather report for days, though catching a forecast rarely mattered. Spring weather in Colorado was hard to predict. One day could bring sunshine then snowfall the next. But the one thing Coloradans could count on this time of year—there would be wind.

  After parking, Cole released Robo from his compartment and followed Stella into the lobby. He raised his hand to greet Mattie’s friend, Rainbow. The dispatcher was speaking into a headset as he passed by, but she waved in acknowledgement, her face noticeably pale, the rims of her eyes reddened.

  Stella stopped at Rainbow’s desk to ask for an update on the volunteers’ search of the trailheads, and Cole’s hopes plummeted when the dispatcher said that no dark colored pickup nor truck and trailer rig had been found.

  Bringing Robo with him, he entered the briefing room and sank into a chair. McCoy and Lawson were already there, each talking on their cell phones. A glance at the clock told him it was almost three AM. He settled Robo beside him and leaned forward to pet him, closing his eyes to rest them for a minute.

  McCoy ended his phone call as Stella entered the room. The sheriff spoke, making Cole straighten in his seat to listen. “I have a report from Deputy Garcia. He found Gibson Galloway at his place along with his girlfriend. He’s bringing them both in for questioning, but the girlfriend says they’ve been at Galloway’s home since late yesterday afternoon, well before Mattie disappeared. Deputy Garcia thinks they were asleep when he arrived.”

  Stella sat at the table and slumped against it. “If that’s true, we can eliminate him for Mattie.”

  “That leaves us with Tucker York and Bret Flynn. We have license plate numbers for their vehicles, and I’ve got the state patrol on the lookout for both of them.” McCoy focused on his cell phone, swiping and tapping the screen as he stood and moved away from the table. “I’ll try to reach York again.”

  Cole stared at what they knew about William’s case written on the white board, his tired eyes focusing on the words “Old Friend of the Family, unknown” and then “Desert Eagle, registered to Harold Cobb.”

  McCoy dialed and redialed several times before giving up. Cole caught his eye as he came back to the table.

  “What do we know about Harold Cobb?” Cole asked.

  “Harold Cobb is deceased, killed in prison over twenty years ago,” McCoy said.

  “And we know that for a fact?” Cole asked.

  “Yes, I confirmed it myself. I was a deputy working here in Timber Creek at the time. I responded to the call the night Cobb was arrested, and I’d taken an interest in the kids, so I wanted to make sure he was actually gone.”

  His words surprised Cole. He hadn’t known that the sheriff had rescued Mattie the night she called the cops on her dad. He glanced at Stella, wondering if she’d known. Her face was unreadable.

  “How did he die?” Lawson asked.

  “Shiv to the back, right kidney area.”

  “Unusual except for in cases of organized crime or pedophiles.”

  “There was evidence of the latter, but the prosecutor shelved the case when Harold Cobb was killed. There was no reason to go forward after his death and put the victim through further trauma by having to testify.”

  Cole was shocked. Another quick look at Stella told him that her gaze had sharpened, homing in on the sheriff. But McCoy wore his cop face, and his voice had been smooth as butter. What did these two know about Mattie’s childhood? What kind of torment had her father put her through? He could only imagine.

  The urge to save Mattie spurred him. “Harold Cobb, William Cobb’s death, the skeletons in the older graves—they’ve got to be connected to this old friend of the family who showed up in California.”

  Lawson’s computer pinged, and he focused on the screen. “There’s report of a break-in and burglary two months ago at a big game hunting preserve located between Los Angeles and Sacramento. Vials of Thianil and other narcotics were stolen from the veterinary office.”

  “How about the reversal agent, naltrexone?” Cole asked.

  Lawton was reading the screen. “That, too. And some equipment used for administering the drug—a respirator mask complete with night vision goggles.”

  “To protect the airway and hunt down animals at night.” Cole could visualize it. “Perfect for use on Mattie and Robo after dark.”

  Stella appeared to have renewed energy. “All right. So now we know where the drugs and equipment probably came from, and that points back to California. York moved to Denver from Sacramento, and Flynn just moved here from L.A. We’ve got to find these two men. One of them has to be our guy.”

  “One or both,” McCoy said. “I have to wonder if our guy has a partner. The fact that we have no witnesses who spotted a rig parked at the Redstone trailhead during the time period of William’s homicide makes me suspicious. A partner could have moved the rig after they unloaded the horses. That would decrease their visibility in the area and the risk of being discovered.”

  “That makes sense,” Lawson said. “I’ve wondered about a partner myself. A pickup and horse trailer is a big target for a witness to spot. It makes sense that our unknown subject would have someone move it away while he did his work.”

  “We’ve been assuming that we could spot a vehicle at a trailhead and that would tell us where to go,” Stella said. “But if he has a partner, we can’t make that assumption. Our bulletins for both York’s and Flynn’s trucks have given us nothing. Are they together now? Do they both have Mattie?”

  That sat in silence, mulling it over.

  A disturbing thought came to Cole. It was awful, but he decided he had to say it. “Flynn’s daughter, Riley, has taken an interest in Mattie, and vice versa. Her friendship might be completely innocent, but what if she’s involved some way?”

  Stella frowned with concentration. “Working as a partner to help set up Mattie’s abduction?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Is Riley at your home right now?”

  “She is.” It was hard to wrap his head around the full scope of it, and he immediately began to backpedal. “But she was genuinely distraught when she found Robo in Mattie’s yard, and she saved his life by calling me. That would point away from her involvement.”

  “W
hat was she doing in Mattie’s yard that late at night?” Stella mused. “I know they were texting and Mattie said she’d call and didn’t, but why would the girl ride her bike close to a mile to go there in the dark to check on her?”

  “I agree that seems strange,” McCoy said.

  “I need to talk to her.” Stella’s eyes narrowed. “At the very least, maybe she knows something.”

  The satellite phone beeped for an incoming call, making Cole startle.

  McCoy answered it. “Yes, Deputy Brody.” They sat in silence, listening to the sheriff’s side of the conversation. “You’re breaking up. Oh, it’s the wind.” Long pause. “All right. Take the phone with you and check back in.”

  McCoy placed the phone back in its cradle. “Deputy Brody is taking two of the posse down the trail to search for campfires while the others stand guard at the crime scenes. It’ll be slow going in the dark, but he’s focused on the MO of these homicides, and he’s hoping to spot a fire if there is one. They’ve ridden the area adjacent to the gravesites and found nothing. He’s expanding the search down the trail and plans to include the backside of the ridge when he gets to the fork.”

  “The burning pit in our guy’s MO is important to him,” Lawson said. “It’s logical that the ridge and fire are a part of his ritual, and he could be driven to return to that area.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “It’s impossible to search the entire ridge by horseback in the dark, but a chopper might be able to find a campfire from the air.”

  Cole stared at him, his hopes rising.

  Lawson swiped his phone. “I’ll see if I can mobilize our chopper and do an air search of the ridge for a campfire.”

  Cole looked at McCoy. “I need to join the search on the ridge. We’ve done all we can here in town, and I want to take Robo with me. If we can get him within a mile of Mattie, he’ll catch her scent and find her. Can you notify Brody that I’ll meet him where the trail splits?”

  “How long do you need to get there?”

  “Within an hour.”

  Lawson ended his call. “They’ll send up the helicopter, but they have concerns about the weather. Wind gusts in the mountains are forecasted up to seventy miles per hour. Wind of that speed could drive the chopper out of the area and back to the ground.”