No Going Back (Sawyer Brooks)

by T. R. Ragan

  Thanks to Emily, she had all the names she needed. But she’d wanted to test Aston. See if he would cooperate. She raised a hand as a goodbye before turning back toward the exit. She walked past two mechanics yelling at each other, trying to be heard over idling engines and hydraulic equipment.

  Before she climbed into her car, she felt the ground rumble beneath her feet. She stood still, waiting for the train she knew was coming. The blast of the horn made her smile. She didn’t know why. When the train passed by, she watched in awe as the powerful machine took her mind off everything else, at least for a few minutes.

  Back at work in her cubicle, Sawyer had just hung up the phone and was looking at her notes when a noise from behind prompted her to swivel around in her chair. “Hey,” she said.

  Derek smiled. He had on a blue button-down shirt and nicely cut trousers. Casual dress looked good on him. When she first started working at the Sacramento Independent, Derek had often worn a suit and tie. The shift away from formal wear for men seemed to be happening much slower than it did for women’s fashion. This newer, more relaxed dress code suited Derek well.

  “Good thing we work in the same building,” he said, “because otherwise we’d hardly ever see each other.”

  “Why don’t you come over for dinner this week? I’ll make you my famous tacos.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t cook.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  She batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated attempt to play coy. “I guess I don’t like to play all my cards right up front.”

  He laughed, and then Lexi showed up and ruined the moment. A common occurrence of late.

  Lexi crossed her arms. “You two lovebirds just can’t get enough of each other, can you?”

  “It’s true,” Derek said. “We can’t.” Before he walked away, he glanced at Sawyer and said, “I’ll call you later.”

  Sawyer fixed her gaze on Lexi and waited for her to speak. It didn’t take long.

  “I just got off the phone with John Hughes. He wouldn’t confirm, but he did suggest that Bruce Ward’s wife, Sandra, is a suspect.”

  Sawyer was dumbfounded. “That would mean they believe Sandra is the person Trudy Carriger saw wearing a black wig and red lipstick leaving the scene of the crime.” She shook her head. “Trudy knows Sandra. They’re neighbors. She would have recognized Sandra.”

  Lexi crossed her arms. “Sandra lied to the police. She didn’t go to the spa like she originally told them.”

  “Interesting, but still not enough, in my opinion, to make her a suspect.”

  “According to Sandra’s son, Bruce’s stepson, his mom and stepdad never got along. In his words, ‘Everyone hates Bruce.’”

  Sawyer grimaced. “So where did Sandra go if she didn’t go to the spa?”

  “To a hotel, where she met up with her boss, a well-to-do older man, who also happens to be married.”

  “Well, there you go,” Sawyer said. “If she met up with her boss, then she has an alibi, right?”

  Lexi shrugged. “Sandra is at the police station as we speak, and the police are doing a search at her house, most likely hoping to find a wig or two.”

  “It’s not Sandra,” Sawyer said with a shake of her head.

  “Oh, okay.” Lexi crossed her arms. “Why don’t you call Detective Hughes and let him know. It could save him and his team a lot of time.”

  “The witness—”

  “Trudy Carriger, the hundred-year-old woman?” Lexi asked.

  “Yes. Trudy Carriger. She’s probably in her eighties, and she’s a very with-it older woman. She can see just fine. The person wearing the wig and seen leaving Bruce Ward’s house was at least five foot eight, and Sandra is shorter than me.”

  “It’s really just a process of elimination at this point,” Lexi said.

  “If resources and budgets are so damn tight, I just think their time would be better spent focusing on what the witness saw. Besides, if Sandra killed Bruce, then who killed Nick Calderon?”

  Lexi had stopped listening, but she lit up when she saw Sawyer’s notes. “Tracy Rutherford. She’s the one who took Myles Davenport to court ten years ago.”

  “That’s right. I’ve been meaning to enter her name in the database, but I keep getting sidetracked.”

  “I looked her up,” Lexi said. “She used to work for Antiva, an antivirus computer company. I talked to the head guy at the company, and he said Tracy was one of their best employees.”

  “That’s great,” Sawyer said. “I need to talk to her.”

  “She’s gone. Disappeared a few days before Myles Davenport was found dead.”

  Sawyer frowned. “How do you know for sure?”

  “I talked to her landlord. Her apartment was month to month. She had paid in full and left a note saying she wouldn’t be back. Friends and family haven’t seen or heard from her in over a week. Nothing on social media. It’s almost as if she never existed.”

  “Well, that’s odd,” Sawyer said, making a note next to Tracy’s name, wondering if she was part of the Black Wigs, along with Christina Farro and a woman named Li.

  “Earth to Sawyer,” Lexi said. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing, really.” Sawyer checked the time. “I made reservations at the Blue Fox for lunch at twelve thirty. Want to come along?”

  “That’s the restaurant Brad Vicente mentioned, correct?”

  Sawyer nodded.

  “Great. I’ll drive. Meet me in the parking lot in fifteen minutes.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Sawyer and Lexi were seated at a small table in the center of the main dining room. No privacy and little elbow room. Lexi snapped her fingers, though, and complained just enough to get them moved to a coveted booth.

  Sawyer had never been to the steakhouse before. The Blue Fox was touted as being a high-class and memorable experience. But a quick look at the menu told Sawyer it was, first and foremost, hideously expensive.

  “If Brad Vicente brought his dates here,” Lexi said, “he has very nice taste.”

  “Have you been here before?”

  “Many times.”

  Sawyer didn’t know much about Lexi. Now seemed like a good time to ask a few questions. “Are you married?”

  “No. No children either.”

  Sawyer moved aside the napkin covering the basket of warm bread, grabbed a slice of sourdough, and slathered on the garlic butter.

  “Like you, I had an abusive parent.”

  Sawyer knew never to assume anything about anyone. Everybody had a story. But Lexi? The question floating through her mind should have been, why not Lexi? “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. My father left my mom and his three children at a young age. I didn’t blame him. My mother was abusive, verbally and physically. I had two younger brothers, which made for a loud and angry household. I can’t remember a time when my mother wasn’t screaming and yelling at us. She was always calling me names, telling me I was worthless, throwing shoes at me, or smacking me with a serving spoon, whatever was closest.” Lexi sipped her water. “If Mother announced suddenly that she was going to the store, that meant we were all supposed to join her. If I didn’t have my shoes on—wasn’t ready to go—she’d slap me, hard. If I hurried to the car without shoes, she’d slap me, hard. It was always a lose-lose situation.”

  The server brought their food, setting the lobster bisque in front of Sawyer. Lexi got the salmon with asparagus.

  When the server walked away, Lexi continued her sad story. “My psychiatrist has taught me that it wasn’t about me. It was about my mother’s inability to express her anger and frustration. If I had found help sooner, my youngest brother might not have taken his own life. And I might not have turned to drugs and alcohol.” She smiled. “Thankfully, I got help. I have been in and out of therapy and on and off medication for years. Instead of drinking and drugs, I take antidepressants and antianxiety medication. Every day is a struggle
with self-esteem. Every day, I look in the mirror and tell myself I am a good person.”

  Sawyer was no longer hungry. She had no words. Not of comfort or sympathy or anything at all.

  “There’s a reason I’m telling you all of this.”

  Sawyer waited.

  “When I first heard about you and your sisters, I tried to find out more about you. I paid attention. And I saw how brave you were.”

  “I’m not brave.”

  Lexi blew air out of her mouth, almost a whistle but not quite. “You are. You just don’t realize it yet. I’m not saying that you’re not afraid. But your determination and resolve seem to take over, and I believe it’s those qualities that enabled you to find that missing girl last month.” She pointed a finger at Sawyer. “You know what needs to be done, and you go after it. You’re not afraid to take risks or ask for help. That’s bravery.”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m not good at,” Sawyer said.

  Lexi arched an eyebrow.

  “Compliments. They make my palms sweat. I think my inability to receive any sort of praise without cringing is a sure sign of low self-esteem.”

  “Sounds like this is something you’ve thought about.”

  Sawyer nodded and then picked up her spoon and tasted her soup. It was divine.

  They talked and ate, and when the waitress brought their check, Sawyer showed the woman a picture of Brad Vicente and asked if he’d ever eaten at the establishment. The young woman wrinkled her nose. “Unfortunately, yes. He was a regular before—you know—”

  “Before he was arrested,” Lexi provided.

  “Yes.” The waitress looked around as if to make sure no one was listening. “He was good friends with Ian Farley. Ian mostly worked on weekends since he was taking classes at California State University Sacramento. He used to be a popular server here at the Blue Fox. But he quit the same day Brad Vicente was arrested. Rumors floated around for weeks about Ian helping Brad Vicente spike his victims’ drinks.”

  Sawyer exchanged a what-the-hell look with Lexi.

  The waitress visibly stiffened. “I said too much.”

  “No,” Lexi told her in a gentle voice. “Brad Vicente is appealing the court’s decision. If he finds a way to get out of jail, he could ruin the lives of many more women. Nothing you’ve told us will be repeated after we leave.”

  “Thank you,” the server said. “You might want to talk to Tina on your way out.” She pointed to the woman standing behind a podium near the entrance. “She’s the hostess who was working the last time Brad Vicente was here.”

  “Thank you,” Sawyer said. “You’ve been a big help.” Since it had been Sawyer’s idea to go to the Blue Fox for lunch, it seemed only fair that she pay the bill. Sawyer reached inside her purse for her wallet and pulled out the only credit card that wasn’t maxed out and put it on the tray. After the bill was paid, they stopped to chat with the hostess.

  “All I know,” Tina said, “is that the woman with Brad Vicente appeared to be tipsy. She was wobbling as she made her exit. I kept watching because I thought for sure she was going to fall over. She was about to get into her car when I saw her date—Brad Vicente—help her walk to his car instead. To tell you the truth, I was sort of relieved that he wasn’t going to let her drive. Later, though, when I heard what happened, I couldn’t help but wonder if that woman had a black wig shoved inside her purse.” Her eyes got wide. “Maybe she was faking the whole tipsy thing, you know?”

  “Are there security cameras in the parking lot?” Sawyer asked.

  “No. But management has talked about having them installed.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to recall what kind of car the woman was driving, would you?”

  “It was small and mint green. That’s all I know.”

  Sawyer instantly thought of the car that had been following her for days now. There was no way it could be a coincidence. No point in saying anything to Lexi until she had more information.

  An older couple walked in, cutting their talk short. Sawyer thanked Tina before she and Lexi headed out to the parking lot. A few minutes later, they were climbing into Lexi’s car.

  “I wonder if the woman was faking it?” Sawyer asked. “Maybe she planned the whole thing and wanted to get into Brad Vicente’s car. All her friends in black wigs could have been waiting at the house.”

  “Anything’s possible.” Lexi buckled her seatbelt and then looked at Sawyer for longer than was necessary or comfortable.

  “What?”

  “We’re not investigators. It’s not our job to investigate a crime, examine the scene, interview witnesses, and pursue suspects. It’s up to law enforcement to piece it all together. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  Sawyer groaned. “You sound like Palmer.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sawyer rolled her eyes. “My job as a crime reporter is to talk to police, detectives, criminals, and victims and then keep the public informed about what’s happening in their neighborhood, all the while being sure to remain unbiased.” She sighed. “I get that. But what I don’t understand is how I am supposed to separate all the information I’ve gleaned and do nothing with it. If it turns out that A, B, and C means that D might be a suspect, then I’m going to make sure somebody with authority knows it.”

  “Whatever you’re doing seems to be working in your favor, so who am I to argue?”

  After Lexi started the engine, she thanked Sawyer for lunch.

  “My pleasure,” Sawyer said. And that was the truth. Never mind that Sawyer could have paid her utility bill with the money spent. She’d learned a lot about her new partner in crime, and she respected Lexi more than she had just hours before. Not because Lexi had been abused or because they shared traumatic childhood stories, but because Lexi had trusted Sawyer enough to open up.

  “Where to?” Lexi asked.

  “Ian Farley’s.” Sawyer held up her phone. “I have an address for our server in West Sacramento. According to Zillow, it’s a rental house.”

  Sawyer read off the address.

  Lexi punched it into her navigation system, and they were off.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Harper logged on to her computer to see if any other members of The Crew had signed on to their private group.

  Once she saw that no one had commented since Cleo left, she exited out of the group site and simply sat quietly for a minute or two. Was she the only one who was worried about Eddie Carter?

  She typed his name into the search bar. The most relevant pages popped up.

  Eddie Carter and his wife, Trisha, donated half their salaries every year to charity, saying that they had more than they needed and there were too many people who didn’t.

  Harper rubbed her stomach as she clicked various links and skimmed through content. Eddie Carter and his wife seemed too good to be true. They used a charity evaluator to help figure out where their money would benefit the most people.

  It was the next page header that stopped Harper cold:

  Eddie Carter Missing Since Sunday

  The suspicious disappearance of a father and husband last seen at Maximum Workout has sparked worry in the community. A search is underway . . .

  Her heart raced as she logged back on to the private group and began to type.

  MALICE: Is anyone there?

  Nobody. Just a stupid blinking cursor.

  MALICE: It’s official. Eddie Carter is missing and a search is underway.

  Harper’s eyes watered as she stared at the screen, hoping one of the crew members would log on and talk her down from the cliff’s edge. How had it come to this? She felt lost and alone. She rested her head on folded arms and let the tears come, taking in gulps of air as giant sobs consumed her. Five minutes later, maybe longer, she sat up and straightened her spine. Lily and Psycho had logged on.

  LILY: I know you’re having a difficult time and I’m sorry, but you need to find a way to move on. When was the last time you talked to a therapist or ps
ychiatrist?

  PSYCHO: This slow breakdown you’re dealing with at the moment all stems from the trauma you suffered in the past. This is exactly the reason these assholes we went after got what they deserved. If not for them, we wouldn’t be talking to you right now.

  LILY: Malice. You never told us who your perpetrator was. I never asked because it seemed obvious to me that it was too painful for you to talk about.

  She was right. It was too painful. Even now. But it was time.

  MALICE: My father was my abuser. When he first started coming to my room, he would lavish attention on me, and he made me feel as if I were the special sibling. He would buy me treats and sneak them to me when my sisters were out of sight. Always praising me for silly things I did throughout the day. When he hugged me overly long, I didn’t mind. But hugging soon became rubbing. And then he began to come into my room at night, creeping onto my bed and lying next to me. I pretended to be asleep. It did no good. My father soon became my worst nightmare. He’s dead now, but that hasn’t changed anything. I still can’t sleep. I still haven’t found a way to move on.

  LILY: Did you tell anyone at the time?

  MALICE: When I had finally gathered the courage to tell my mother, I saw her peeking through the door, watching, before quietly walking away.

  A long stretch of nothing but a blinking cursor.

  PSYCHO: And now he’s dead and buried. Let it go.

  MALICE: I’m trying. We’re all trying.

  Psycho had to know better than most that it wasn’t that easy. But she wasn’t here to argue, so Harper quickly changed the subject.

  MALICE: Do you think Cleo will go after Felix Iverson?

  LILY: If she does, I doubt she’ll stop there.

  PSYCHO: If she asked for help, I wouldn’t hesitate. I have no regrets.

  LILY: Although I don’t feel any closure after everything that has happened, I would do it all again.

  That surprised Harper. Maybe because Harper saw Lily as the most put together of The Crew members. But who knew what lay within any one of them? Overall, their differing reactions to revenge merely proved that not everyone had the same response to vengeance. For Harper, it was finally clear that no jolt of pleasure or satisfaction would be forthcoming. Revenge simply had no cathartic effect on her.