The Green Children: A Sycamore Moon Novel (Sycamore Moon Series Book 3)

by Domino Finn

  Charlie shook his head. "Just the renters. The ones paying me the money. We have a limit on the number of guests in each lot, but we don't make them register or anything. I trusted that follow-up to the police." The man's face darkened. "I wish there was more I could do for that girl. I have two daughters myself. Can't imagine what the mother is going through."

  Diego's thoughts fluttered to Julia. He'd spoken with her on the phone this morning but was hoping to avoid seeing her in person until there was better news. Perhaps it wasn't realistic, but the thought of seeing her smile again was all he thought about. First he had to free her from this terrible burden.

  "You are helping by cooperating, Charlie."

  "Well, I don't know what to tell you. I know a lot of the locals, the repeat customers, but it was so busy and my memory's not that great."

  "I saw quite a few empty lots out there."

  Charlie slapped his desk. "Something about a child abduction in broad daylight that'll kill business. Besides, it's Tuesday. Easter weekend is over and it's back to the grind. Not all of us outdoors folks are the types with nine to fives, but plenty of normal families come out. Trust me, it was a full house this weekend. Six cabins, ten hook-ups, and sixteen sites. All thirty-two lots were occupied. I even had to deny an RV entrance. Can't remember the last time that happened."

  Diego perked up. "When was this?"

  "On Easter Sunday, late at night. We're staffed twenty-four seven. I was there that night. Red came by looking for a plug-in, but I had to turn him away. We were full."

  "Red?"

  "He's a regular. An old man. I see him two or three times a year, maybe. He lives in his motor home hereabouts. Moves around as it suits him and visits the local campgrounds to resupply and use the facilities. Most of these guys do that. It's not a problem as long as they pay."

  "Do you have his name and address?"

  "Sure," said Charlie, "but it's a waste of time. Like I said, Red was in and out that night. I don't know where he ended up, but he was long gone before that girl went missing."

  "I'd still like the address."

  Charlie sighed and lifted his heavy frame from the chair. He plodded over and opened a file cabinet. "I didn't get his information that night on account of turning him away, but I'll have some paper on him somewhere." The office manager leafed through months of documents and chatted to pass the time. "The old man's a character. A little loopy, but likes to keep to himself. He'd probably be a true hermit if he could, but electricity and plumbing are too damned convenient. I know he stays by Williams a lot. They've got a few RV clubs by the train station." Charlie shook his head and chuckled. "Red likes trains or something. Always going on about them. A bit embarrassing for a grown man. Ah. Here it is." He dropped the paper on his desk.

  Diego grabbed a nearby pen and notepad and copied down the information. "It just says 'Red.' And this is a PO Box."

  Charlie shrugged. "What do you expect when his house is an RV?" The heavy man leaned forward and planted a finger on the address. "You see? Williams, Arizona. I bet he's train-watching as we speak."

  Diego sighed. He could probably tap Maxim to run down the information, but he was hoping for something he could move on immediately. Once again, he pictured Julia's smile.

  "How will I know if I've found him?"

  The office manager laughed again and returned to his seat. "He's easy to spot. He's an old man with a metal leg." Diego shot the man a curious look and he explained. "It's not really a metal leg, but one of those braces, you know? Clamps to the thigh and calf and bends at the knee. It's for support. I figure he was in Vietnam or something but never asked. He seems a little self-conscious about it."

  Diego nodded, hoping for something more. "Okay, so the police have thirty-two names of people they've interviewed, and Red makes thirty-three. Anyone else?" The biker wondered if Maxim had access to that list.

  "Well, actually," said Charlie, stumbling on his words, "there were thirty-one groups interviewed."

  "What do you mean? You said this place was full."

  "Yes. It was, Easter night. But first thing in the morning one of my campers packed up his tent and checked out. Lot twenty-four." Charlie shook his head. "Damnedest thing. He'd given a down payment on one more day but left first thing Monday morning. Said he needed to leave immediately. He didn't even argue when I said I couldn't give him a refund on such short notice."

  Diego almost jumped from his seat. "Did you tell the police about this?"

  "No. I guess I should have, but it slipped my mind. I was swamped. But again, this young man checked out at sunup, 6 a.m. or so. He looked like he was in a hurry, but it didn't have nothing to do with that girl. I saw her and her mom leave their cabin hours later."

  Diego rubbed his hand through his hair and pondered the timeline. Charlie noticed him struggling and leaned forward.

  "Lookie here. If the police don't think it was any of my campers, I don't think it was any of them. The mother and daughter hiked into the forest, outside my grounds. I understand you're trying to be thorough, but I don't want you badgering all my guests. It's bad enough they were here when it happened. And many of them aren't the type that like the police, or whatever you are. And those other two? They were long gone. It couldn't have possibly been them. And I'm telling you, nobody strange was hanging around the property."

  Diego hissed in frustration and looked out the window. Scattered groups of campers wandered the grounds, readying for hikes or loading up their cars.

  "Was the early riser alone? He'd been staying here, so you should have his name and address, right?"

  The office manager sighed heavily. He stared forward at his desk as if he was having second thoughts about his unconditional assistance. "Are you sure you're working with the police?"

  Diego's black eyes bored into the man. "Just think about eight-year-old Hazel Cunningham out there. We're probably passing the twenty-four hour mark right now."

  Charlie pressed his lips together and winced. It wasn't long before he reached for a clipboard on his desk. He found the man's name on the second page.

  "Jason Bower. It was just him, alone. That's normal for the mountain men, but you could tell this one grew up in the city. He asked me questions about how to pitch his tent and wasn't prepared for the cold. He had to buy extra blankets from me." Charlie raised his eyebrows as he read the address. "Well, look at that," he said, sliding the clipboard to Diego. "He's a local too. He lives just ten minutes away, in Williams."

  Diego clenched his jaw. Both men the police hadn't interviewed were just down the Interstate. That suited the biker just fine. He had a tank full of gas and knew how to track people down. And if they didn't talk, well, he knew how to do other things as well.

  Chapter 13

  Bellemont was the town closest to Sanctuary. On the south side of Interstate 40, Maxim passed it every time he went to Flagstaff. There wasn't usually much cause to actually stop in Bellemont, but Maxim knew it well enough. That was unfortunate because it allowed the detective to drive on autopilot, which left him brainpower to ruminate on the disastrous press conference.

  Maxim was relieved when he finally pulled into the parking lot. He was confused, though, and even went so far as to double-check the address. He was in an old complex, three large building strips with connected condominiums. The paint was faded. The grass was brown. After seeing Olivia's cushy living situation, it was hard for Maxim to imagine her ex-husband somewhere like this.

  But then, she'd intimated he was a deadbeat.

  The detective had trouble finding the condo because the number had fallen off the door. Even after he decided he found the right one, he took a few minutes to check the neighbors to make sure. By the time he finally approached the door to knock, it opened by itself.

  A man in jeans and a T-shirt eyed him with a smirk. "Knew you'd be coming this way," he said.

  Maxim did a double-take. The man was in his forties, at least, and had a pocked face from years of smoking. He
was balding but had thick brown hair on the sides of his head and a mustache to match.

  "Sorry?"

  "I saw you on the news. Bang-up job you did there. I'd be surprised if you could find your own asshole, much less my daughter."

  The man's clothes must have been ten years old, but he wore a shiny green pair of cowboy boots. Maxim wasn't sure what he'd expected, but this couldn't have been Olivia's ex.

  "Gulliver Hayes?"

  "And they call you a detective," he said with a smirk. A baby cried in the background and Gulliver stepped outside and closed the door halfway. "What do you want?"

  "Aren't you going to ask me how your daughter is?"

  The man shrugged. "They said on the TV she was okay. They didn't lie, did they?"

  Maxim shook his head. "They didn't lie, Mr. Hayes. You can visit your daughter if you like."

  "Can't," the man answered. He leaned to the side and spat in the sorry excuse for bushes. "I've got a haul to Palm Springs today. She'll be here when I get back."

  Maxim lifted an eyebrow but didn't say anything. He wasn't a family counselor. Obviously, this man's marriage had broken down for a reason.

  "Can we step inside while I ask you a few questions about Annabelle?"

  The baby inside cried louder. Gulliver turned inside. "Leta!" he screamed. "Shut that baby up!" Then he closed the door and returned his attention to Maxim. "In case you haven't noticed, I got my own baby to take care of."

  "Yeah, you're father of the year."

  Gulliver sneered. "It's a nice day. You can ask me your questions right here."

  The baby inside quieted. Maxim peered through the window but couldn't see past the glare. "Okay then. First of all, can you tell me where your daughter was this weekend?"

  "The question to end all questions," said the man. "According to the TV, she was camping with her friends."

  "Well I want to hear what you know, Mr. Hayes."

  "That is what I know. Annabelle wasn't here this weekend. I got six angry voicemails from my ex-wife before I woke up this morning and finally talked to her, so I turn on the TV and see you tripping over your own balls. Then I hear that reporter lady doing your job for you."

  Maxim fought off a frown. He had no idea why Olivia would've married this guy, but he definitely knew why she'd left him.

  "You're saying you never saw your daughter at all this weekend?"

  "That's right."

  "But Olivia claims she left her with you."

  "That was on Friday. Friday's not the weekend."

  Maxim fought off his urge to slap the man. "Fine, Mr. Hayes," he grumbled. "Let's talk about Friday then. That was the last time you spoke with Olivia before this morning, correct?"

  "Well, let's see..." Gulliver squinted as if he were solving a differential equation. "Shit. I think it was over a year and a half ago that we actually talked. That's a pretty good streak for me."

  Maxim took a breath. His patience was wearing thin. Maybe a slap wasn't enough. Just one well-placed head butt.

  The man chuckled, softly at first, then exploded into laughter. "Detective," he said, shaking his head. "Let me tell you how it is. Annabelle was a good kid for a spell, but she's been poisoned. Turned against me by her mom. Now my own daughter hates me. She only talks to me when she needs something, and she definitely don't want to spend Easter weekend here. But none of that will stop her from using me as an excuse to get outta town."

  Maxim stepped forward. "Out of town? For the weekend?"

  "For good," he said. "Run away. She's done it before."

  "Annabelle's tried to run away before? Olivia didn't—"

  "That woman lives in a bubble," he said. "Always has. She thinks if she ignores problems long enough, they'll go away." Gulliver paused and lowered his voice. "What is Annabelle now, twelve? Where do you think that girl's gonna be by the time she's seventeen? I may not be a man of means, but I would've raised her right. All that black eyeliner and lipstick." Gulliver made a whooshing noise with his lips. "Discipline's important."

  Maxim couldn't believe what he was hearing. If Gulliver was telling the truth then Olivia definitely withheld important information from him.

  "I'm gonna need you to be clearer about your interaction with your ex-wife and daughter on Friday, Mr. Hayes."

  Gulliver shrugged. "This is the way it works, Detective. What happens is, Annabelle tells her mom she has plans with me. Olivia wants the girl outta her hair, so she drops Annabelle off by the street." Gulliver pointed past the other buildings to remind Maxim where the road was. "I open my door, she sees Annabelle walk inside, and she drives off without so much as a wave in my direction. The whole thing happens without me and her ever talking, and to be honest, it suits me fine. 'Course, what Annabelle says to me is different than what she tells her mom. She told me she was going to a concert in Flagstaff that night. She has a friend, Bryan, that lives here in Bellemont. So she wanted to have lunch with me until the boy and his parents picked her up for the night. She was never supposed to sleep over. She was never supposed to spend the weekend with me. For all I knew, she was back at home with her mother by the end of the night. I never knew she wasn't supposed to be there, so I couldn't rightly know she was missing. But I'm sure that didn't stop Olivia from putting the whole escapade on my shoulders."

  Gulliver huffed after his long speech. He wasn't a likable person, but it seemed to Maxim he was being truthful. As with the media this morning, Maxim's focus was on the parents, and it was swinging back towards the mother. Olivia Hayes should have mentioned her daughter's attempt to run away before.

  "I worked hard for that woman," said Gulliver with a touch of sentiment. "As soon as her aunt died and left the whole estate to her, she wanted a divorce. Suddenly a truck driving salary wasn't good enough for her. I had to start over with a new family, and excuse me if I can't give everything I have to my ungrateful daughter. But I'm happier now that I'm away from that woman. Annabelle probably would be too. You've got to ask yourself, why does she keep trying to run away?"

  "I don't know," said Maxim, before he realized he'd answered a rhetorical question. "So, just to follow up, did you see Bryan's parents?"

  "Huh?"

  "Bryan's parents. When Annabelle was dropped off with you, you said Olivia watched the hand off. So when you handed off Annabelle to Bryan's parents, did you watch?"

  Gulliver scratched the back of his head. "Musta been busy. That girl gets excited and runs off. Not my fault. And speaking of which..." The man retreated into his house and left Maxim at the step for a minute. He returned with a heavy key chain and handed it to the detective. "That's hers. She musta left it here on Friday."

  Maxim studied the jumble of interconnected key chains. There were only three keys—the key rings and ornaments made up the majority of the bulky item. It clanged and jingled against itself as he turned it in his hand. There was a car alarm or garage opener fob, a mini flashlight, and some kind of skeleton face pendant.

  "You didn't think she'd need these to get home?"

  The man shrugged. "Just found 'em yesterday. I did think it was weird that I hadn't heard about it. Then again, Annabelle's a weird girl."

  Maxim was starting to think they were a weird family.

  Chapter 14

  Jason Bower was a deadbeat. Perennially out of work and associated with bad company, he was always either on the giving or receiving end of various hardships and criminal enterprises. The forty-something led a sad life, alone, and had been jailed for multiple drug offenses. He'd inherited his mother's modest house when she died of lung cancer, which was just as well, because her son was the biggest disappointment of her living days.

  You can learn a lot by talking to the neighbors.

  Not a single one liked him. They didn't know him, not really, but they all knew he was a blight on the neighborhood. Williams was an industrial community, an enduring ghetto that wouldn't exist without the Interstate. A crossroads of sorts where travelers and industry passed through. Tho
se who actually lived here were not of great means, but many were good people who strived for fulfilling lives.

  Jason wasn't in that category. He'd allowed his mother's house to fall into disrepair. He was responsible for recent car break-ins. Police had visited his house three times over the last year. Every neighbor had a lot to say. But none could tell Diego where Jason was.

  They hadn't seen him in days, they said. Which made sense, given that the man had been at Quiet Pines. But he'd left the campgrounds in a hurry Monday morning—he couldn't have disappeared into thin air. Yet there was no activity in the house. No car in the driveway. The only thing for Diego to do was wait.

  The outlaw-turned-tow-truck-driver sat beside his Scrambler a couple of houses down. He knew the shiny bike stuck out in the old neighborhood so kept it positioned behind a parked van and hoped people wouldn't see it. When the waiting became unbearable, he walked to a market down the block, picked up some cigarettes, and headed back. He was on his third when he spotted Jason Bower.

  He didn't know what Jason looked like—Diego didn't have a photograph—but the man slinking along the street was definitely him. Scraggly tan hair, a wrinkled plaid shirt over faded jeans, and his head on a swivel looking for danger. Diego de la Torre watched as the man crept towards his house, in broad daylight, and snuck into the backyard.

  Jason was hiding from someone, and doing a poor job of it. Diego wondered if the police were already searching for him.

  Ten minutes later, Jason peeked out from his backyard, checking up and down the street before emerging. He held a large plastic shopping bag, stretched into a massive ball, stuffed with items that resembled laundry. As Jason scanned the block, his eyes passed over Diego, who immediately turned away.

  The biker acted casually and tinkered with the engine of his Triumph. Jason didn't seem to think much of him because he moved on at a normal pace. Diego flicked the ashes of his smoke and watched his target make his way towards the same market Diego had come from. The biker decided to follow him on foot.