Chance Reddick Box Set 1

by David Archer

  “Okay,” Chance asked, “what is it with the toothpicks?”

  “Psychology,” Dixon said. “I suck on a toothpick and tell myself that it’s got alcohol in it. As long as I got one in my mouth, I ain’t jonesing too bad. It’s a trick I learned from an old Indian, a way to get by when he couldn’t afford the cheap whiskey he always drank.”

  Chance shook his head. “Whatever works,” he said. “At least you seem to be holding it together.”

  “Don’t worry, I will,” Dixon said. “You made me a promise, remember? I help you, you help me. Once both those things are over, I may just dive into a bottle and put the cap back on, but for right now I’m staying sober, no matter what it takes.”

  They drove directly back to the detention center. True to his word, Jensen had already called and cleared the way for Dixon to look at Yolanda’s personal effects, and they were escorted back to the locker room where inmate property was stored. Dixon signed in, and then they were shown into a room with a small table. A deputy brought a large basket in and set it on the table in front of them.

  “That’s everything she had with her,” the deputy said. “Her clothes, shoes and purse, and there’s an inventory list of its contents. Yell for me when you’re done so I can put it back.” He left the room and Dixon started digging into the basket.

  The purse wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t exactly small, either. Dixon took it out and went through it, but there was no brand name marked on it. He picked up the inventory list that showed what the purse had contained and scanned over it, then pulled out the big plastic bag that held all those contents. He opened it and dumped it out, and started looking through everything.

  Among the items were several receipts, and he looked at each one he found. He grunted at several of them and passed them to Chance.

  “Look at the dates,” he said. “These receipts were for things she bought during the time she was missing.”

  Chance looked them over. “These stores,” he said, “are they all in Henderson?”

  Dixon was holding up another receipt. “Some of them,” he said, “but not this one. This is from a store called Landry’s, and it’s in Pahrump. That’s 75 miles away from Henderson. What makes it interesting, though, is that this is a receipt for the purchase of a purse, only a day after she disappeared.”

  Chance looked up at him. “Why is that so interesting?”

  “Because it gives us a specific date and time when our girl was at that store,” Dixon said. “If they’ve got security video, there’s a chance we can see how she was acting at the time, and whether anybody was with her.”

  Chance frowned. “And that could really be important?”

  “You bet your ass. First off, we need to see if she was acting differently than she normally does. Brainwashing can take many forms, but for her not to remember anything about that time period, there’s a good possibility that she was working with an entirely different personality. That could be some strong evidence in favor of the brainwashing theory. On the other hand, if we can determine that she was with someone else and identify that person, it could give us a lead to how she ended up in this mess in the first place.”

  Chance sighed. “So, I guess we’re going to Pahrump?”

  “Yep,” Dixon said. “Yell for the deputy, we’re done here.”

  SEVEN

  Pahrump, Nevada, is an unincorporated community that lies an hour northwest of Las Vegas. It is best known for its two large legal brothels, Chicken Ranch and Sheri’s Ranch, and as the former home of the late radio personality Art Bell. Barely big enough to be called a town before 1980, it was suddenly noticed by tourists and has been growing ever since. Naturally, this resulted in a healthy population of tourist traps, including gambling establishments, restaurants and stores.

  Landry’s was one of the latter. It catered to tourists who like leather products, ranging from purses to hats, jackets and a few items best reserved for the brothels. Chance parked the truck in front of it shortly after one o’clock, and he and Dixon walked inside.

  “Welcome to Landry’s,” said an older lady behind the checkout counter. “What can I help you with today?”

  Dixon flashed his ID, then motioned to Chance, who took out his phone and called up a photograph of Yolanda Martinez. “We were wondering,” Dixon said, “if you’d remember this lady coming in about a month ago. She bought a purse, and I have the receipt.” He held out the receipt and the lady took it and looked at it closely.

  “Oh, darling, I’m afraid my memory isn’t that good. Anything earlier than yesterday is probably already gone forever.”

  Dixon looked up at the video cameras that were scattered around the store. “Any chance you’d still have the security video from that day?”

  The woman looked at him and broke into a big smile. “You know what? I bet we do. That’s a real fancy system my son put in, and it keeps six months of video on it. Let me get him down here and he’ll be able to take a look and see.” She picked up a phone and hit one button, and instantly began speaking. “Jack? Jack, come down to the store. We have somebody who needs to look at our security videos.”

  She put the phone down and smiled at Dixon again. “He’ll be right down,” she said. “He’s upstairs on his lunch break.”

  Moments later, they heard footsteps on wooden stairs and a tall young man stepped in from a back room. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Dixon showed his ID again. “If it’s okay, I’d like to take a look at your security video from about a month ago. We’re trying to learn something about a young woman who purchased an item here, and the receipt says she was here then.”

  Jack took the receipt from his mother and looked at it. “Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem. Follow me.” He turned and walked through the doorway again, and Chance and Dixon followed. There was a small office in the back, and Jack sat at a desk that had three computer monitors on it.

  He glanced at the receipt again, then started tapping on the keyboard. A moment later, one of the monitors lit up with a black and white display, and then he began adjusting the parameters to get to the right time of day.

  “Is that her?” he asked, pointing at a woman on the screen.

  Chance and Dixon both leaned close, and Dixon nodded. “That’s her,” he said. “Does this thing have audio?”

  “Yes, just a moment,” Jack said. He tapped a couple of keys and the video rewound slightly. When he started playing it again, they could hear Yolanda speaking to the clerk.

  “It’s nice in here,” she said. “It’s so hot outside you just about can’t stand it.”

  “Oh, yes, I would die without my air conditioner. Of course, it eats us alive on the electric bill, but what can you do?”

  Yolanda set the purse on the counter. “I’ll take this,” she said. She reached into a pocket and pulled out what looked like a large wad of cash, and peeled off a bill to hand over. The clerk rang up the sale, and then handed back her change.

  “There you go, sweetie,” she said. “Are you folks from around here, or just passing through?”

  Yolanda smiled at the woman, and then a man stepped into view of the camera and put his arm around her. “We’re tourists,” Yolanda said. “We live in North Carolina, we just came to Las Vegas on vacation and wanted to look around a bit. Somebody told us we ought to come over and check out your little town. I’ve been looking for a purse like this, so I’m glad we did.”

  “Are you ready, honey?” the man asked. “We still got an hour to get back to the hotel.”

  Yolanda looked up at him and smiled. “I’m ready,” she said. She gave a finger wave to the clerk, and the two of them walked out the door.

  “Stop it there,” Dixon said. “Can you back up and make me a copy of that video? And could you print me out a picture of her and that man?”

  Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Sure,” he said. A moment later, the printer beside him spat out a sheet of paper. Dixon picked it up and nodded, while Jack stuck a CD into the
drive of the computer. It began to hum as it made a copy of the video.

  “Okay, that tells us she was definitely here,” he said. “Now all we have to do is figure out who the man with her was.”

  Chance looked over his shoulder at the photo. “I gather that isn’t Mr. Fredericks?”

  “Nope,” Dixon said. “I knew Bob pretty well, and that ain’t him.” He looked up at Jack and extended a hand. “Listen, I really appreciate this. This girl is in some trouble, and this might be the first thing we’ve found that can help get her out of it.”

  Jack shrugged again, handed over the CD and then walked out of the little office and back up the stairs. Chance and Dixon stopped out front long enough to thank his mother, and then they were back in the pickup truck.

  “So, how did this help us, again?” Chance asked.

  “Well, watching that video tells me she didn’t seem to be under duress,” Dixon said. “When people lie, there’s usually a telltale sign. She lied and said that she and the man were from North Carolina, and didn’t bat an eye. That’s a pretty good indicator that she actually believed it when she said it, which will only make sense if she had been brainwashed. That lawyer, Kramer, he’ll know how to use that in court to cast doubt. What I’m most interested in, though, is the picture of her and the man with her. Does your phone take really good photos?”

  “Yeah,” Chance said. “Why?”

  “Take a picture of this picture, and then give me your phone. I want to send it to my buddy Stanley and ask him to run it through facial recognition. We might find out who the guy is, and that could be exactly what we need to know.”

  Chance took the photo, then handed over the phone. Dixon called his friend Stanley again and got a cell number for him, then sent the picture by SMS messaging. Stanley promised to get back to him as soon as he learned anything, and then hung up.

  Chance looked at Dixon as he handed back the phone. “Now what?”

  “Let’s keep heading up the highway,” Dixon said. “We need to go talk to the first one, Maggie Bingham. Reno’s about seven hours up this road.”

  Chance looked at him for a moment, then shook his head as he started up the truck. “Kramer says you’re the best,” he said, “so I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “So do I, kid,” Dixon said. “So do I.”

  They stopped at a McDonald’s and grabbed sandwiches to eat on the way, then Chance made another quick stop to gas up before leaving town. He had lived in Nevada long enough to know that there were areas where gasoline would be scarce, and he didn’t want to get caught in one of them with the needle anywhere near the empty mark. Once he was finished, he started up the old Chevy again and headed northwest.

  By the time they got to Reno, it was getting close to nine and far too late to try visiting Maggie in the jail. Chance pulled into a motel and got them a room, and the two of them settled in. Chance called home and Gabriella answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, baby,” she said. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s going,” he replied. “I’m getting to do a lot of traveling. We had to go to Pahrump a while ago, and now we’re in Reno. It does look a lot like Yolanda has been brainwashed, but Mr. Dixon is working on getting proof of that.”

  “So what happens if she was? Does that help her?”

  Chance nodded into the phone out of habit. “Yeah, according to Mr. Dixon. If she was brainwashed, then legally, I guess, the person who brainwashed her is the one who is guilty of murder. She was just the weapon, not the killer.”

  “And does he think he’ll be able to prove it? Should I say anything to Carmelita?”

  Chance hesitated for a moment. “I think I’d just say that we’re working on the case, and that there might be some hope. If you try to explain it to her, I’m afraid she’d just end up more confused and more scared.”

  “Yeah,” Gabriella said. “I think you’re probably right.”

  They talked for a few more minutes, and then Chance spoke with the boys, who wanted to tell him all about their day. In return, he told them a bit about Pete Dixon and how he was working with a real life private investigator. The boys thought that was fantastic, and were delighted.

  Gabriella came back on the line, then, and they spent some time whispering of their love for each other. After a few minutes, Chance told her that he was very tired and wanted to get some rest, so they said good night. After glancing at Dixon, who was already snoring, Chance lay down on the bed and was asleep within minutes.

  The light of the sun coming through the window curtains woke Chance in the morning, and he was surprised to find Dixon already up.

  “Rise and shine, Sunny Jim,” Dixon said. “We need to go see Ms. Bingham as early as we can.”

  “I’ll be quick,” Chance said. He grabbed some clean clothes and headed into the bathroom, took care of morning necessities and then hopped into the shower. He came out twenty minutes later, dressed, clean and freshly shaven, then sat on the bed to put on his socks and shoes. He stuffed his dirty clothes into the side of his suitcase and motioned for Dixon to come.

  The hotel had a continental breakfast, and they took advantage of waffles and coffee before checking out. Dixon used Chance’s phone to call the jail and arrange to visit with Maggie Bingham, and they were on the way after only half an hour.

  The jail was a thirty minute drive from the hotel, and it took another few minutes to get inside because of several deputies who wanted to admire the old Chevy. Chance took their compliments in stride, because it was something he had become accustomed to.

  A deputy looked up as Dixon flashed his ID. “Dixon, right? I got a note you'd be coming down to see Maggie Bingham. Have a seat and we'll get it set up for you. This guy with you?”

  “My protégé,” Dixon said, and he and Chance sat in two of the plastic chairs along the wall. A moment later, a female jailer came to get them.

  “Mr. Dixon? If you'll follow me, please.”

  Dixon and Chance got up and followed her down a hallway to the interview room, and sat down at the table inside.

  “You’re seeing Ms. Bingham, right?” she asked, and Dixon nodded.

  “Yeah,” he said. “She might very well be a material witness in the case we’re investigating, down in Vegas.”

  The jailer nodded. “We’re not really sure what to make of her, here,” she said. “She’s an extremely nice person, and she’s been absolutely cooperative in every possible way. The thing is, the detectives are pretty sure she killed this guy Burns, but some of us are starting to wonder if she’s been framed. You have any ideas on that?”

  Dixon nodded as Chance sat and watched the exchange. “I know exactly what you mean, and I can say there are things about this case and mine that bother me. I’m hoping maybe she can clear some of them up for us.”

  She let them in the interview room and turned to go down the hallway. It was about five minutes later when Maggie was escorted into the room by another jailer, a man, and handcuffed to the table. The jailer left and closed the door behind him.

  EIGHT

  Both Dixon and Chance looked Maggie over. She was moderately tall, standing about five nine, and was surprisingly attractive, what some people might call beautiful. She appeared calm, which surprised Chance, but Dixon only smiled at her as he held out a hand and gently shook with her.

  “Ms. Bingham,” he said. “I want to thank you for your time. I know this has got to be a very rough experience for you, but I’m actually hoping that we might be able to help each other. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

  Maggie looked at him for another moment before replying. “Mister, at this point, I’m not certain that you don’t know more than I do. As far as I know, I might have been abducted by aliens or something, and replaced by some kind of murdering android. If you can think of a way to help, I’m all ears.”

  “My name is Pete Dixon, and I’m a private investigator,” Dixon said. “This is Mr. Simmons, my associate. We are actually in
vestigating another case that’s come up down in Las Vegas that is very similar to yours, and I need to determine whether there might be any solid connections between your case and that one. Do you by any chance know a woman named Yolanda Martinez?”

  Maggie scrunched up her face in concentration, then shook her head. “That name sounds a little bit familiar, but I can’t say where I’ve ever heard it before. Why?”

  “Ms. Martinez is going through the same kind of situation you’re going through,” Dixon said. “She got up and went to work a couple days ago to find out that she had been gone for nearly five weeks, and just that very afternoon she was arrested for the murder of Robert Fredericks.”

  Maggie’s eyes went wide. “Robert Fredericks? The casino guy? Oh, my God, he was one of our clients. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “Yes, it’s a tragedy. I knew Bob, and he was a pretty nice guy. The problem is that Ms. Martinez can’t remember anything about the time she was supposed to be missing. I’ve spoken with her, and both of us and her attorney are convinced she’s being honest. That made me want to learn more about your situation. Can you tell me anything about the time you were missing? Have any memories come back to you?”

  Maggie shook her head. “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “That whole time period is a complete blank, there’s nothing there at all. They took me to a psychiatrist a few days ago, to see if I’m competent to stand trial, and he seems to be of the opinion that I was so shocked about what I did that I just blocked it out.”

  Chance cocked his head. “You sound like you’re certain that you did this, Ms. Bingham. Have you considered the possibility that you may have been under some kind of influence?”

  “Influence?” She looked down at the table top. “I don’t do drugs, Mr. Simmons, and I can tell you that I had one glass of champagne the night before—well, before I disappeared. I’m sorry if I look like the kind of person who would do those things, but…”

  “Maggie,” Dixon cut in, “the police say someone tipped them off that they'd find the victim dead in that hotel room, even though nobody claimed to have actually heard anything. They don't have any clue where that tip came from, but it seems kind of odd to me that someone outside that room knew that the victim had been murdered. If we knew anything at all about where you were during that time, it’s possible we could find proof that you might have been brainwashed into committing this murder. If that’s the case, there’s a pretty good chance you could be cleared, because there are cases in law that make it plain that it’s the person who controlled you who would actually be guilty. In other words, you wouldn’t be the killer, you would only be the weapon the killer used.”