by Janice Kay Johnson - Cop by Her Side (The Mysteries of Angel Butte)
“Hey,” he said, voice gravelly, and she turned and went into his arms as if it was the most natural place in the world for her.
She let him hold her for only a minute, but he felt better for it and hoped she did, too. Looking down at her, though, he saw that all the distress he’d heard was in her eyes. Damn, she’d lost weight this past week. Beneath her eyes were purplish bruises. But her head was high, her shoulders squared. This was Jane. Of course she was keeping herself together.
“Drew still in there?” he asked.
Jane shook her head. “He walked out without even seeing me. He’s...taking this hard.”
Clay could understand. He wondered whether Jane’s brother-in-law would stand by his wife. Or was he so terrified for his daughter, he wasn’t thinking yet beyond that?
Once they stood at Melissa Wilson’s bedside, Clay couldn’t tell if she was sleeping or not. He felt no compunction at waking her.
“Mrs. Wilson.”
Her lashes fluttered then lifted. Oh, yeah—she was deeply afraid, although he had no idea whether it was for herself or for her child.
In case she didn’t hold up for long, he asked first about last Saturday.
She wasn’t sure of the make of the car that had pursued her, only that it was a sedan, and silver. To her credit, she seemed to be struggling for any detail. “Something nice” was what she came up with.
“Picture the driver. I know you didn’t get a good look, but you might have seen more than you know. Think about hair color.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t know...” The uncertainty in her voice gave him a clue that she was taken aback by what she did remember. “I think,” she said very slowly, “it might have been dark.”
Which meant it likely hadn’t been the president and owner of Stillwell Trucking behind her. Clay would have been surprised if it was. Guys like Stillwell didn’t get their hands bloody.
He asked her more questions. What about height, for example. Her brow crinkled. Tall, she thought, and he could see her increasing shock. James Stillwell wasn’t even average height.
Finally, he backed her up to the day she’d prowled through the information on Arnett’s laptop. She gave him more details than Jane had.
“Mrs. Wilson,” he said at last, “you cannot tell anyone you’ve revealed anything at all to us. If Brianna is still being held to ensure your silence, the slightest suspicion that you’ve talked could be a death sentence for her. Do you understand?”
She was shaking. Her teeth chattered, but she nodded. “Yes, I...I do. I understand.”
Very conscious of Jane standing quietly beside him, but not allowing himself to look at her, he asked, “Have you spoken to Mr. Stillwell since you regained consciousness?”
Lissa shook her head. “He keeps coming by, but the nurses let only family in.”
“All right. I’ll reinforce that restriction. Are they putting phone calls through?”
“Not yet. But...one of the nurses said they may move me to a regular hospital room later today or tomorrow.”
“I’m going to ask they hold off, or we’ll stop visitors and calls to you in the new room, too.”
“Oh, God.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “How will you find her?”
“I have some ideas,” he said, hoping he wasn’t lying, “but we can’t afford for her captors to panic.”
Jane stirred. “What if Mr. Stillwell is allowed to see Lissa the next time he comes? If she tells him she won’t say a word, might he let Bree go?”
With both women looking at him with such desperation, he didn’t want to say this, but knew he had to. “I doubt it. My guess is that, right now, Stillwell and Arnett are thinking about doing some housecleaning. I want to make sure they don’t have a chance to finish up.”
“Bree...” Lissa whispered.
He inclined his head to her, seeing that her suffering was genuine. “She’s my first priority. Count on it.”
With a hand on Jane’s back, Clay steered her out. He paused only to speak to the nurse, asking that the no-visitor rule be maintained and requesting to be informed before Melissa was moved, then kept Jane walking until they were in the parking lot by his Jeep, where he could be sure they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Can I trust her to keep her mouth shut?” he asked bluntly.
Jane blinked. “Yes.” Her voice firmed. “Yes, I’m sure you can.”
“All right. Stillwell Trucking is inside the Angel Butte city limits. I need to talk to your boss.”
“Colin?”
“Maybe Alec, too.” He nodded at his Jeep. “Come with me?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
When they walked into the city’s public safety building a few minutes later, heads turned. Clay realized it was Jane drawing the attention. Maybe because she was dressed so casually, in cropped chinos, sandals and a lime-green, cap-sleeve T-shirt with a Celtic design on the front. He’d noticed the shirt the minute she faced him back at the hospital, because it fit so snugly over her breasts, the swirled design unintentionally echoing the rich swell beneath. She might not wear a uniform to work, but he’d seen what she did wear, and it didn’t look anything like this.
But maybe it wasn’t the clothes at all. It might be the exhaustion and stress so clearly marked on her usually gentle, serene face.
They took the elevator and went to Chief Raynor’s office, where the P.A. looked surprised but ushered them in after only a few words said on the phone.
Raynor, a greyhound-lean, dark-haired man, rose from behind his desk and came around to shake hands and study Jane. “Lieutenant.” Lines of perturbation showed on his face. “You don’t look as if you’ve had good news.”
She gave a small, twisted smile. “I think I’ll let Sergeant Renner tell you about it.”
Raynor raised those dark brows at Clay, who said, “I was hoping we could speak to Captain McAllister and you together.”
Eyes of the darkest brown he’d ever seen assessed him before the chief nodded. “Sit,” he told them, nodding toward a conversation area at one side of his large office even as he reached for his phone.
Jane sank immediately onto one chair and stared at her hands. Staying on his feet, Clay studied a large oil or acrylic painting hanging on the wall, a disturbing damn thing that fragmented when he tried to see it as a whole, but suggested violence.
“He’s on his way,” Raynor said behind him. “Coffee?”
Clay turned. “I could use a cup. Thank you.”
Jane shook her head. He suspected she could use a boost of caffeine, too, but for all he knew, she’d been swilling the stuff nonstop this morning.
Colin McAllister and the coffee arrived simultaneously. Everyone settled in a semicircle around a low table.
Clay began to talk, bringing the two men up-to-date. “I don’t want to move on the trucking company until we find Brianna,” he said, “but I also don’t want them to have a chance to bury all evidence of wrongdoing.”
“If we raid the place, they’ll kill the girl,” Raynor said flatly.
Jane couldn’t prevent a small, anguished sound. All three men gave her quick, apologetic looks.
“They may still have hopes they can shut Mrs. Wilson up,” Clay said. “Her daughter is the lever as long as Mrs. Wilson is in the hospital and they can’t get to her.”
Nods all around. Jane stared at him.
“I think it’s safe to say she’ll have another accident once she’s released.”
More nods.
“I’m going to hunt for that little girl like I’ve never hunted for anyone in my life,” Clay said grimly. “Some possible locations may be within the city limits....”
Raynor shook his head. “You have my blessing. Just let us know what you need from us.”
“I’d like Lie
utenant Vahalik to continue working with me.”
The police chief’s expression was kind when he turned his gaze to her. “Jane?”
“Yes. Of course,” she said tightly.
“I’m also hoping Angel Butte P.D. will be prepared to move on the company the second we locate Brianna Wilson,” Clay continued. “Don’t give the bastards time to feed a single piece of paper in a shredder. We need that laptop.”
He was gratified by the expressions he saw on both Raynor’s and McAllister’s faces.
“Colin will put together a team,” Raynor said. “We’ll be sure there are no leaks.” He hesitated. “Have you considered bringing Stillwell and the accountant in now? Leaning on them?”
“There have to be other people in the company active in their side business. I doubt either of them are guarding Brianna, for example. If we alarm them at all, we’ll be putting her at risk.”
McAllister, who had been listening attentively but not saying much, finally spoke up. “I agree.”
Raynor didn’t argue. He simply nodded. “You going for a tap on phones?”
“That’s at the top of my list. Mrs. Wilson’s statement should give us grounds. I’d like to get the phones at the trucking company as well as the two men’s personal phones.”
McAllister suggested a judge who tended to be liberal with this kind of warrant, and Clay nodded. He’d heard good things about the judge, a woman appointed to the bench not that long ago. “I appreciate your cooperation.” He swallowed the last of his coffee and stood. “I’ll stay in close touch.”
Everyone else rose, too. The police chief clapped him on the back. “You know I owe you one,” he said with a small nod.
“Your nephew doing okay?”
“Yeah.” Raynor actually smiled, if crookedly. “He had some nightmares, but nothing you wouldn’t expect. He’s thinking he might go into law enforcement.”
Clay couldn’t help a chuckle, despite his dark mood. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Not sure his mother is thrilled,” the chief said, sounding amused, “but she figures he’s got plenty of years to change his mind.”
The boy’s mother, Clay knew, was now Alec Raynor’s wife.
Colin walked Jane and Clay out, the three of them discussing the makeup of the team and how they’d proceed once they got the okay from Clay. Nobody said, What if you don’t find Brianna?
Clay wasn’t ready to seriously consider the possibility she was dead. He hadn’t been kidding when he said finding the little girl was his first priority. He’d have given his all in any case—but this wasn’t any case. He was looking for Jane’s niece.
* * *
JANE WAS GRATEFUL for the chance to do something, even if it was research on a computer.
While Clay put together what he needed for the warrant and then left for the courthouse to get a signature, she had started with all property owned by Stillwell Trucking, then by Stillwell himself. Jane dived into the task, lacking faith that men as smart as James Stillwell and Glenn Arnett would be stupid enough to chat on the phone about their hostage and where they had her stashed. If they were really involved deeply in transporting illegal drugs, they would be aware of the risk of wiretaps. Jane knew Clay had to try, but she had a bad feeling they wouldn’t find Bree that way.
Stillwell Trucking, she learned, leased some loading bays and storage berths in western Oregon and in other states, but nothing that sounded probable. The company’s headquarters in Angel Butte was huge, of course, but neither of them could imagine he would take the risk of stowing a little girl there.
James Stillwell and his wife owned a home in one of the wealthiest enclaves in the county, one with a spectacular view northwest toward The Sisters and Mount Bachelor. He also owned a condo at a resort on Century Drive close to the ski area at Mount Bachelor. Turned out the place was time-share, and the Stillwells’ condo was actually rented out to other people a good deal of the time. The rental agent told her eagerly that it happened to be available for the coming week, and Jane asked if she could see it.
She had to listen to a spiel about the extraordinary amenities the resort offered owners.
“Unlikely,” she told Clay upon his return, when he set down his phone from a call of his own, “but one of us had better check it out.”
She moved on to property in the wife’s name, then the son’s and daughter’s. The daughter’s and son-in-law’s names registered nowhere local. They lived in Minneapolis. The son, though, worked for his father’s company, supervising operations on the west side of the state. He owned a home in Portland and, interestingly enough, a cabin on Clear Lake not ten miles from Angel Butte.
She underscored the address twice with a heavy hand.
Clay was clearly frustrated. The Arnetts appeared not to own any resort or investment properties at all, only a home in the gracious Old Town of Angel Butte, but not one that was riverfront.
“They have a daughter at Pomona College in southern California,” he reported. “Looks like Daddy is forking out forty thousand dollars plus a year for her education, and he’s still got another kid to go.”
“Good reason to bend his morals a little,” Jane muttered.
Clay shook his head in disbelief. “That’s one hell of a lot of money for a college education.”
He’d gotten his hands on a list of employees, although there was always the possibility there were more being paid under the table.
Like Lissa, Jane thought, wincing.
She was trying not to think about her sister. For one thing, she couldn’t afford to be paralyzed by guilt. She knew eventually she’d have to come to terms with her own responsibility for Lissa’s elastic morals, but not now. Once Bree was safe.
Clay gave her other names to research. Stillwell Trucking had a sizable security department, which might be legitimate, of course, but might not, too.
Drew called midafternoon to tell her he was at home. “I can’t talk to Lissa right now,” he said, in a voice that seemed flattened by exhaustion and the fury of emotions burned down to ashes.
“I don’t blame you,” she said. “I feel the same.”
Clay had turned from his computer and was watching her. “Drew,” she mouthed to him, and he nodded.
She told Drew she was doing some research for Clay.
“You coming back to the house tonight?” Drew asked.
She hesitated. “Do you need me?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk yet, but your company would be welcome. I’ve picked Alexis up, too.”
That speared her with another form of guilt. She hadn’t thought of her youngest niece today at all.
Seeing something on her face, Clay scribbled on a piece of paper and pushed it across to her.
Have dinner with me tonight. Stay?
Oh, God. She wanted to.
“Jane?” Drew prompted.
“I won’t make it for dinner,” she said, having yet another attack of guilt. Drew was her friend. If he’d ever needed her, it was now.
He ditched me. He chose Lissa.
Yes, but...
“I can’t promise,” she said finally. “Don’t worry if I don’t make it.”
There was a silence. Then, “It’s Renner, isn’t it?”
Okay, damn it, she would not feel guilty about this. “Yes,” she said.
“I’ll see you when I see you, then.” And he was gone.
She set down her phone.
“Yes what?” Clay asked.
“He wanted to know if I was having dinner with you.”
“What business is it of his?”
“I am living with him at the moment. More or less,” she added hastily. “With him and Alexis.” She was immediately annoyed with herself for feeling she had to justify anything
she did to Clay or Drew.
She turned back to the computer.
“I thought we’d check out a few of these properties,” Clay said. “We can grab dinner while we’re out or go back to my place.”
“All right. Do you have anything promising?”
“Hard to say when I don’t know which employees might be involved.”
“They could be renting someplace,” she said in sudden frustration. “Using a barn, like Matt Raynor’s kidnappers did. There must be vacant properties around.”
The hard look Clay had had on his face while he listened to her phone conversation was gone, replaced with sympathy and shared frustration. “I thought we’d start with a drive out Bear Creek way. I can’t imagine they’d hold Brianna in the cabin where your sister was supposed to meet up with Stillwell, but we have to look.”
She’d been thinking about that. “They’re unlikely to have planned in advance for anything like this. I mean, Lissa was supposed to be alone. Unless they intended to grab her—” She shook her head. “But why would they?”
“That’s why I’m concentrating on owned properties,” Clay agreed. “You don’t drive up and down country roads looking for a vacant house when you’ve got a kid stowed in the trunk of your car and you’ve got to be having a major panic attack. If there was a plan B, I doubt this was it.”
That made sense. At the same time, she couldn’t imagine anyone who would be a logical suspect being willing to hold a kidnap victim at a property with his name on it.
But what were the alternatives?
Clay spent some time assigning officers to check out addresses on his list. Jane eavesdropped on his instructions—they were to drive personal vehicles only, and to go home if necessary to change out of uniforms. If they found anything of interest, they were to call him immediately rather than make a move.
Once his cluster of detectives and deputies broke apart to fan out across two counties, Clay and she were able to leave. He drove, stopping at her apartment so she could change to jeans and boots and get her Ruger from her small gun safe.
In between Clay taking calls, the two of them got a look at a dozen possible properties, some surreptitiously, some—like the time-share condominium—directly. One by one, they checked them off the list.