Keri Locke 03-A Trace of Vice

by Blake Pierce

  “I don’t know. But I’m sure he has a good reason. I wouldn’t be surprised if the chief herself gave him an ultimatum. Your job could be on the line here. And getting into a pissing contest with the Border Patrol will guarantee you lose it.”

  They sat quietly for a minute as Ray finally got all the way right and managed to exit the freeway.

  “Okay,” she said quietly.

  “What was that?” he asked, dumbfounded.

  “I said ‘okay.’ I get it. He’s putting himself on the line for me. We’ll go back.”

  “I never thought I’d live to see the day when Keri Locke conceded an argument to me,” he said playfully. “You really must have gotten a concussion last night.”

  “Shut up,” she said. “And pull over at that gas station. I need another coffee.”

  As he eased into the parking lot, Keri’s phone rang. It was Ed Caldwell. She picked up immediately.

  “Mr. Caldwell, are you okay? I was starting to worry when I didn’t hear back from you.”

  “Detective Locke,” Mariela Caldwell replied breathlessly, “it’s actually Mariela. I’m so sorry. I fell asleep last night scrolling through photos of Sarah. Ed let me sleep late this morning and I only realized my phone battery had died when I tried to call you after I woke up. It’s charging now. That’s why I’m calling from Ed’s phone.”

  “That’s okay. I’m just glad you got some sleep.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Do you have any information for us? I’m putting you on speaker so Ed can hear too.”

  Keri did the same so Ray could chime in if he wanted.

  “We’re still on the hunt,” she said. “We think we’ve narrowed down her location to a big rig truck traveling south toward Mexico on the 5 freeway. We’ve alerted the Border Patrol and San Diego law enforcement. They’ve taken over the case and are attempting to intercept the vehicle.”

  “So you’re not looking for her anymore?” Mariela asked, obviously perturbed by the development. Keri looked over at Ray, not sure how to respond.

  “We’ve been instructed to stand down for now,” he answered. “But we’re monitoring the situation closely.

  “Mrs. Caldwell,” Keri interjected, “if your phone is up and running, can you take a look at it? I sent you a photo this morning and I wanted to see if you could make any sense of it.”

  She heard rustling and a moment later Mariela came back on the line.

  “It’s still charging but I can turn it on. Give me a second to open your message,” she said, and then a few seconds later asked, “What is this?”

  “We think it’s a message that Sarah scratched into a bedpost at a motel where she was being kept. I have a feeling she intended for us to find it. But I don’t understand it. Clearly the “SC” is Sarah Caldwell. But I don’t understand what she means by “xile.” Is that short for “exile” or is it some kind of code?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line and Keri knew both parents were churning through their memory for any relevant connection. Suddenly she heard a gasp.

  “Oh my god!” Mariela shouted. “I think I know what this is. That first letter isn’t an ‘x.’ It’s meant to be a ‘t.’ She was writing ‘tile.’”

  “What does that mean?” Ray asked.

  “I had completely forgotten. She’s wearing her sneakers, right?”

  “I believe so,” Keri said.

  “Last year, someone stole her favorite pair of sneakers from the locker room at school. It had happened again six months ago. So when we bought her next pair we cut a tiny slit in the tongue of one shoe and put a small Tile Bluetooth device inside it, so we could find them if they were ever taken again.”

  “Are you saying we can track her location?” Keri asked, trying to keep her excitement in check.

  “Kind of. If anyone else near her Tile is running the app, it should ping her location. We put the app on both our phones. Let me pull it up.”

  After a few seconds, they heard her sigh in dismay and start to cry.

  “What is it?” Keri asked anxiously.

  “I thought you said she was headed south to Mexico,” Ed said.

  “I did.”

  “According to this map, she’s already in Mexico.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Sarah clung to the metal slats of the big rig undercarriage for dear life. The truck was speeding down a pothole-strewn road at high speed. She could hear sirens behind them.

  The last ten minutes had been so disorienting that she didn’t know what to make of them.

  After screaming herself hoarse earlier in the morning, she had eventually stopped and simply lay on the floor of the undercarriage, resigned to her fate.

  After a while, she was able to tell they reached the border itself because the truck had slowed to a near standstill. Moments later, she heard a loud grinding sound and a series of metal grates closed over the slats, shutting her and all the other girls into complete darkness. Some began to whimper but not as many as Sarah expected.

  Maybe they’re like me—too exhausted to do anything.

  A thickly accented Mexican voice came over some kind of speaker system.

  “We are at the border. The compartment has been closed. It is soundproof. No one outside can hear you. But if you scream, the air will go away faster. If we get through in normal time, you will have enough air. If we have problems or you scream and yell, there is probably not enough air to make it. Your best chance to live is to stay quiet and still.”

  If she’d had the energy, Sarah would have laughed at the notion of a bunch of them screaming and yelling in their condition. After all, she didn’t even have the energy to laugh.

  Even though she couldn’t see anything, she could tell the truck had picked up some speed. She thought that was odd considering that the border was notorious for sometimes taking hours to cross.

  After a minute, the truck came to a complete stop. Sarah started to notice that it was getting harder to breathe. The oxygen must be depleting fast.

  The truck was only stopped for about thirty seconds but it felt like an eternity. When it started up again, she suspected that meant they were now in Mexico. They were going far too fast to still be in any line of vehicles.

  The brief standstill was almost certainly the inspection point. And judging by how little time they’d been stopped, she was pretty sure the inspector had been bought off to let them through. She doubted Mr. Holiday would have taken the risk of transporting dozens of girls across the border in the hidden compartment of a truck without assurances that they would get through.

  Her suspicions were confirmed when, just as she was beginning to feel light-headed, the grates opened. Obviously the driver felt he was out of danger. A rush of freezing air poured into the undercarriage and she gulped at it greedily.

  As her head cleared, she realized that the border crossing had been her last chance at rescue.

  Whatever future I have left, it’s going to happen in the Bad Place.

  But just as that thought passed through her brain, she heard the sirens, far away at first but then much closer. Using the slats she was gripping for support, she pulled herself right up to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of who was chasing them.

  She thought she saw the words “Policia Tijuana” on the side of one car as it pulled up near the truck. The truck was hitting bumps on the road at such enormous speed that she could hear some of the cows above her slamming into each other and toppling over. A sudden whooshing sound made her turn her head to the middle of the undercarriage.

  To her horror, she saw that a panel of the floor had suddenly slid back, leaving a coffin-sized gap. The girl who must have lying on the panel had dropped through. She was clutching the edge of truck floor with her fingertips, screaming as the lower half of her body dragged on the road below.

  Two girls nearby desperately reached for her, trying to grab her forearms and pull her up. But the truck hit another bump and in an instant, the girl had disapp
eared from sight, leaving the others grasping at empty air.

  A second later they heard screeching tires behind them, followed by a sickening thump. And then, as if on cue, the police car beside them pulled back, completely gone from view. The sirens shut off. The truck began to slow to a less bruise-inducing speed. Moments later the panel slid shut again, returning them to darkness. No one said a word.

  They were all alone on the road as it sped away from the only home Sarah had ever known. She loosened her grip on the grates, lay back down on her stomach, and rested her head on her forearms. She ignored the smell of cow waste all around her and tried to sleep, to at least temporarily shut out the nightmare her life had become.

  *

  As Ray pulled back onto the freeway in the direction of the border, Keri checked to make sure the Tile app was working on her phone. Mariela had given her access to the account. Sure enough, there was an image on the map. Sarah’s sneaker was headed south on Mexico 1 in the direction of Rosarito, a beach town only a few miles from the Pacific Ocean.

  She dialed the station back and got on the line with Hillman. When he picked up she didn’t even wait for him to speak.

  “Lieutenant, we’ve changed our minds,” she said firmly. “We’re going after her.”

  “What?”

  “Lieutenant,” Ray piped in, “she’s crossed over into Mexico. I don’t know if Border Patrol and the San Diego force got the message too late or if someone at the border was paid off. But our resources down there failed and now Sarah Caldwell is in Mexico.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Her parents remembered they put one of those Tile devices in her sneaker months ago,” Keri told him. “They checked it and it gave her location. She’s in Mexico, headed southwest away from Tijuana. They gave me access so we’re tracking her in real time.”

  “Okay then. I’ll inform the Tijuana police and they’ll pursue the truck.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Keri demanded. “Who knows how many of those guys are corrupt? For all we know, they’re in on it.”

  “Detective Locke, you can’t just go barreling into another country like a loose cannon. You don’t have any law enforcement authority down there.”

  “Then we’ll go in as very well-armed civilians,” she replied. “Listen, Lieutenant, I get that you’re worried about me. But I made a promise to Sarah’s parents that I would bring her back. I’ve lost enough innocent girls for one day. I’m not losing any more.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment before Hillman spoke.

  “You won’t have any backup.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  “We both are,” Ray said. He looked over at her and his eyes spoke volumes.

  “Keep me apprised,” Hillman said curtly. “And good luck.”

  Less than a minute after they’d hung up, Keri got another call. It was from Jamie Castillo.

  “What’s up, Jamie?” Keri asked.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the Lieutenant. The whole station did. And I thought I might be able to help.”

  “How’s that?” Keri asked.

  “Well, you’re right about the Tijuana police. Many of them are decent officers trying to do the right thing. But the force is riddled with corruption and I’d be willing to bet a bunch of them are on Holiday’s payroll.”

  “So you’re confirming that we’re on our own?” Ray asked, a little annoyed at being told the obvious.

  “Not necessarily, Detective,” Castillo replied, ignoring his tone. “My uncle is the chief of police in a small town not too far from Rosarito called Ejido Morelos. And I can guarantee you, he’s not corrupt. In fact, he’s kind of an asshole about it.”

  “Are you saying he can provide backup for us?” Keri asked.

  “I’m not sure about that. The town only has about two thousand people. I think their entire department in under ten officers. But he might have heard something about this Bad Place if it’s in the area. Or maybe they know about Mr. Holiday. I can reach out and see what he’s heard.”

  “Thanks, Jamie,” Ray said. “We’ll take any help we can get. And I’m sorry about the attitude before.”

  “That’s okay, Detective. You kind of remind me of my uncle, at least the asshole part.”

  Keri saw Ray bite his tongue, in part because he deserved it and partly because they had reached the border. He found the law enforcement lane and turned off his siren as they approached the guard station. He lowered his window and held out his ID. The guard looked at it, then at Ray.

  “How can I help you, Detective Sands?” he asked.

  “Just passing through, looking to spend a nice Saturday with our neighbors to the south.”

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that report of a truck filled with missing girls from LA, would it? Because the Border Patrol has jurisdiction over that now.”

  “Not at all,” Keri said from the passenger seat. “We’re just a couple of frazzled LAPD cops looking to blow off some steam at the jai alai matches. You know how it is.”

  The guard looked skeptical.

  “Next time, please use the civilian lanes if you’re not on duty,” he said sourly. Without any official reason not to, he waved them by.

  “Wait until we’re through the city before you pick up the pace again,” Keri reminded Ray as he wended his way through the mass of cars headed into town. “We don’t need to be pulled over by a Tijuana cop who might tip off Holiday.”

  They were at the southern edge of the city when the Tile suddenly stopped moving. The last signal was just south of La Joya.

  “What does that mean?” Ray asked.

  “I’m not sure. I think it could be that they’re in a more isolated area now, where the Community Find function doesn’t work. Or they could have just stopped moving.”

  “But that’s right near the highway,” Ray said, looking over at her. “Would this Bad Place really be in such a high-visibility area?”

  “I don’t know Ray but…look out!”

  She pointed at the curving road in front of them. One of the lanes had been coned off and there were multiple police cars cordoning off the area.

  Ray slowed down and switched into the remaining available lane. As they slowly drove by, Keri looked out the window to see several officers standing around what was obviously a dead body under a blanket tarp. There was blood and what looked like human remains scattered everywhere.

  “What the hell happened here?” Ray whispered.

  Keri looked over at him.

  “I’ve got a really bad feeling that it’s connected to our case.”

  Neither of them spoke for the remaining fifteen minutes until they reached the location of Tile ping. They pulled over to the side of the road.

  “There’s nothing here,” Ray said.

  “Yes, there is,” Keri noted, pointing in the direction of a metal shed a few hundred yards away across a dried out ravine. “Look, there’s a small dirt road that cuts across the ravine. If the big rig had pulled down along there, it wouldn’t have been visible from the road.”

  Ray followed the road, crossing over the ravine, and pulled up next to the shed. They got out and both unholstered their weapons. After circling the exterior of the shed and finding nothing, Ray kicked in the door and Keri stepped inside with her gun raised.

  “No one move!” she shouted as she burst in.

  But the shed was empty. At least it was devoid of people. But there were lots of discarded clothes lying all along the walls. And the stench was overwhelming.

  “What is that smell?” Ray asked, scrunching up his nose. “It’s like a sewer in here.”

  Keri walked over to some clothes in a corner, blinking through her watery eyes.

  “It looks like all of this stuff is drenched in urine and crap.”

  She kicked at various items, trying to locate Sarah’s stuff.

  “Aren’t you supposed to hit a button and the Tile
will make a sound?” Ray asked.

  “Right, I forgot.” Keri pushed the button and they heard a pinging noise from the far wall. She walked over and lifted a soiled blanket to find Sarah’s sneakers underneath.

  Her heart sinking, she looked at Ray. He was equally crestfallen.

  “How are we ever going to find her now?” she asked. “She could be anywhere.”

  Ray opened his mouth to respond when they both heard a faint moan from the other end of the shed. They whirled in that direction, guns trained on the area where they’d heard it. But there was no one there.

  They edged carefully toward the noise, which was soft but persistent. They eventually reached a clump of clothes that was slightly bigger than the others. Clearly the moaning was coming from underneath it.

  Ray bent down, grabbed a clump of the clothes, and looked up at Keri. With her gun aimed at the pile, she nodded. Ray yanked the clothes away to reveal a shallow pit underneath. In it was a man lying on his side, facing away from them. He seemed barely conscious.

  Keri slowly rolled him over onto his back. He groaned louder at that. He was completely naked. It was hard to tell his age because his face had been beaten so badly. Almost every inch of his body and face was covered in blood, bruises, and open, gaping wounds. He was missing most of his teeth. It looked like someone had tried to partially scalp him. And the area around both eyes was swollen and black. The eyes themselves were mere slits.

  He tried to open one of them and Keri suddenly gasped. She knew who this man was. It was the person who’d set this entire nightmare in motion.

  “What?” Ray said anxiously.

  “Don’t you recognize him?” Keri asked. “It’s Dean Chisolm.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Dean was almost completely unrecognizable in his current condition. But Keri knew she was right when he tried to open both eyes and nod at the sound of his name.

  “What the hell happened to him?” Ray asked.

  Keri started to hazard a guess when Dean opened his mouth.

  “Holiday…punished me…for… Sammy,” he wheezed softly.