Hellbox

14

There wasn’t much left to see on the logging road. The searchers yesterday hadn’t exercised any care in preserving the area as it had been; they’d obliterated the tire marks and trampled the underbrush along both sides. Maybe it didn’t matter-there hadn’t been much evidence to begin with-but it angered me just the same.

I pointed out the spot to Runyon where the mystery vehicle had been parked, the place where I’d found Kerry’s hat. I didn’t expect him to feel the same negative vibes I had; if he did, he didn’t say anything about it and I didn’t mention it. But I had the crawly, gut-wrenching sensations again, just as strong, if not stronger. They built a loathing in me for this damn road. Too much time spent here the past two days.

Jake prowled around for a time, not looking for anything specific, just getting a feel for the area. Then he went back to stand on the grassy verge. When I joined him, he said, “Where does this road lead?”

“Up over the ridge someplace.”

“Outlet on the other end?”

“According to the deputy, no.”

“Any homes along it?”

“No. Couple of homes nearby.”

“Funny. If Kerry was taken by somebody parked here, what he was doing here on a Monday afternoon?”

“Same thing she was doing, maybe. Hiking in the woods.”

“Doesn’t seem too likely if he’s local. Unless he had a reason.”

“Like what? There’s a Hunting Prohibited sign down at the intersection, and no poacher’s stupid enough to fire a rifle in the middle of the day.”

Runyon said, “The explosion you told me about. You were on this road when it happened?”

“Just turning onto it.”

“What time?”

“Not sure. Five-thirty or so.”

“And the house that blew up is close by?”

“Less than half a mile.”

He gestured at the woods below. “The partial trail you followed yesterday morning leads straight down there to the edge of the property, right?”

“Yes, but I told you, Kerry couldn’t have been anywhere near the Verriker place when it blew. She didn’t make that trail.”

“But somebody else could have that day. Was it fresh?”

“I couldn’t tell. What’re you thinking?”

“Pretty big coincidence that Kerry went missing not long before a nearby house suddenly blew up. What caused the explosion?”

“I don’t know. Broxmeyer didn’t say.”

“How sure are they it was an accident?”

“Jesus, Jake. Rigged? By somebody with a grudge against the Verrikers?”

“There’re ways to do it. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“And what? Kerry happened by and saw the guy coming back out of the woods and he’s the one who took her? Why? She wouldn’t have any way of knowing what he’d done.”

“I know it’s a reach, but still possible, isn’t it?”

Yeah, it was, and it should have occurred to me, too. Would have if my thought processes weren’t so sluggish from anxiety and lack of sleep. And I was not about to discount it out of hand any more than Jake was. First rule of detective work: Take nothing for granted, pro or con, probable or improbable.

I said, “Broxmeyer won’t like it any better than the other one, but we’ll put it to him. He needs to meet you anyway, know we’re working together.”

We got into Jake’s car; he’d insisted on driving and I hadn’t argued. We detoured down Skyview Drive so he could get a look at the Verriker property. The VFD fire truck was gone, but the place wasn’t deserted; an SUV with a caved-in side door was parked at the edge of the driveway, and a man and woman were poking around near the entrance to the barn. They stopped and stood staring as we drove by. Morbid curiosity seekers or scavengers.

Runyon said, “Must’ve been a pretty hot fire.”

“It was. Big bang, too.”

“Figures to be gas, then. Stove, furnace, water heater.”

“My guess, too.”

We went on a ways until Runyon found a place to turn around. When we came back past the Verriker property, the man and woman were still standing in the same motionless postures like a couple of scarecrows in a burned-out cornfield.

Halfway up the hill beyond, my cell phone went off. I grabbed it quick, but the call wasn’t news about Kerry. Tamara.

“Any word yet?” she asked.

“No. Nothing.”

“Damn! Jake make it there okay?”

“With me now.”

“How about you? You doing all right?”

“Hanging in.”

She’d been pretty upset when I talked to her last night. Still was, but trying to mask it by using her brisk professional voice. “I e-mailed the info you asked for to Jake,” she said. “Twelve names, but only two with histories of violence against women. Nastiest dude lives in Green Valley, the other one in a hamlet called Rock Creek about twenty miles east. Thought you’d want the particulars on those two right away.”

“Start with the one here.”

“Donald Fechaya. F-e-c-h-a-y-a. Address: Sixteen hundred Old Mountain Road, Six Pines. Arrested twice for forcible rape, first time in Reno twelve years ago, second time in Auburn eleven years ago. Convicted on the second offense, served four and a half years in Folsom. Suspect in one other rape case, but no charges filed. One arrest after his release from Folsom, on suspicion of aggravated assault, charges dropped for lack of evidence.”

I repeated the Six Pines address to myself twice to fix it in my memory. “The one in Rock Creek?”

“Jason Hooper. Owns the Roadside Garage and Towing Service there. Arrested and convicted of rape and attempted murder in Sonora ten years ago, paroled after serving six years in San Quentin. Nothing since except for one reckless driving violation.”

“No possibles in the other ten?”

“Didn’t look like it to me. Seven registered child molesters, their own kids or the children of family members in all but one case. Two with priors for statutory rape, one for weenie-wagging in public, the other for soliciting a minor for sex in a park restroom. None live in Green Valley.”

“Missing persons cases involving women?”

“Several, but mostly teenage runaways. No woman over the age of forty in the past six years.”

Which meant nothing one way or the other. “What about unsolved rapes and abductions?”

“Not much there, either,” Tamara said. “Two unsolved rapes in the county, the most recent eight years ago, neither one in Green Valley. The only reported abduction still open is a child custody case-father snatched his son from his ex-wife and disappeared.”

Another statistic that didn’t have to mean anything. Most rapes go unreported even in this supposedly enlightened age. I said, “Okay. One more thing you can check on. An apparently accidental explosion up here the evening Kerry disappeared, destroyed the home of a couple named Verriker. I’m not sure of the spelling. See what you can find out about them.”

“You think there might be some connection?”

“Too soon to tell. Covering the bases.”

“Get back to you right away if there’s anything you should know.”

After we rang off, I conveyed the gist of the conversation to Runyon. He said, “I wonder if the deputy knows anything about this Fechaya?”

“One more thing to talk to him about.”

We drove on into Six Pines. Broxmeyer was at the substation when we entered, talking on the phone in his cubicle. He frowned when he saw us through the glass, gestured for us to wait until he finished his conversation, and then took his time doing it. When he finally came out, he looked tired and harried. And none too happy to see me again so soon. He tried to cover it with a pasted-on half smile, but the first words out of his mouth were underscored with irritation.

“No need for you to come by. You’d’ve been informed right away if there were any developments.”

“Some things we wanted to talk to you about.” I introduced him to Runyon, watched him struggle not to lose the half smile as they shook hands.

“Another city private detective won’t be of much help, I’m afraid.”

That didn’t sit well with either of us. Runyon said, “You’d be surprised how many missing persons we’ve found, some in more remote places than this.”

“I’m sure you’re a competent investigator, but in a case like this-”

I cut that off by saying, “Mr. Runyon’s here at my request. You mind if we continue this in your office?”

He minded, but he didn’t refuse. “It’ll have to be quick. I’m busy as the devil right now… search for your wife, people pouring into town for the Fourth, a dozen other things.” He opened the gate for us, led us into the cubicle, shut the door. But he didn’t invite us to sit down or sit down himself.

I said, “Do you know a local resident named Fechaya, Donald Fechaya?”

“Fechaya? Why?”

“You do know him?”

“I know who he is, yes.”

“Do you also know he’s a convicted rapist?”

“What does that have to do with- Oh, I get it. That’s why you brought your man here up from ’Frisco. You still haven’t let go of the abduction idea.”

“No, I haven’t. You told me none of the registered sex offenders in this area had histories of violence against women. What about Fechaya?”

“I didn’t see any reason to mention him.”

“Why not? You already talk to him, find out where he was Monday afternoon?”

“I don’t have to talk to him. He had nothing to do with your wife’s disappearance.”

“How do you know he didn’t? He a friend of yours?”

“Hardly.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because he’s not capable of committing another rape.”

“Why isn’t he?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s a born-again Christian.”

“So? Doesn’t mean he’s lost his violent urges against women. Not even castration can do that.”

“All right, that’s enough,” Broxmeyer said. “I know you’re upset, but I don’t appreciate having my word or my authority questioned. Fechaya is not guilty of anything except being an ex-felon, and you’re not going to find your wife by hassling him or anybody else in Six Pines. Now if we’re done here, I need to be on my way.”

I wanted to hit him. Stupid impulse, but powerful enough to put heat in my face and make me clench my fists.

Runyon said quickly, “We’re trying to be thorough, that’s all. Covering every possibility. You’re a law officer, you understand how that is.”

“Not when it amounts to interference in the performance of my duty.”

Interference. Duty. Christ!

“We have no intention of stepping on your toes,” Jake said. “But we have the right to investigate alternative possibilites as long as we stay within the boundaries of the law. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Broxmeyer admitted it, but not without hesitation or reluctance.

“Until Ms. Wade is found or we know differently, kidnapping is still a possibility. There’s another one, too, maybe unlikely, but we think it needs to be addressed if only to put it out of the running.”

“And what would that be?”

“The explosion Monday evening. At the Verriker place.”

“What about it?”

“How sure are you it was accidental?”

That almost set Broxmeyer off again. He said, scowling, “What kind of question is that? Of course it was accidental.”

“What caused it?”

“Gas leak, ignited by a spark.”

“Gas lines can be tampered with.”

“For God’s sake, are you suggesting somebody planned to blow up the Verrikers’ house? That’s ridiculous!”

“Is it?” I said. I was all right now, my control buttoned up tight again. “I told you about the trail I followed from the logging road that came out on the hillside above the Verriker property. It started near those tire marks I showed you, and it could’ve been made by whoever owned the parked vehicle. Wouldn’t have been difficult to slip down to the house, get inside with nobody home, loosen a fitting to fill the house with gas. Somebody who had it in for the Verrikers.”

Broxmeyer was looking at me as if he thought I’d taken leave of my senses.

“My wife could have been on the road when he came back up,” I said.

“And then I suppose he grabbed her and made her another victim?”

“She’s not dead.”

“I hope not. But she’s not in the clutches of some phantom killer, either. In the first place, the explosion was an accident, plain and simple. No question of that. In the second place, Ned and Alice Verriker were and are good people… no enemies, no reason anybody would want to harm either of them.”

“All right.”

“Another thing. Even if it had happened that way, why would this phantom think your wife was a threat? She’d be a stranger to him and he’d be a stranger to her. All he’d’ve had to do was drive off and leave her there to finish her walk and she wouldn’t have thought twice about it.”

“I said all right.”

The deputy shifted his gaze to Runyon. “Possibility out of the running for you now?”

Jake had nothing to say.

“It better be,” Broxmeyer said. “What happened on Monday was a real tragedy, and I won’t have you going around cutting into Ned Verriker’s grief and stirring people up with a lot of unfounded nonsense.”

Still nothing to say, either of us.

“So okay then. My advice is to stop trying to make something sinister out of a simple disappearance and join one of the search teams… two now, by the way, working separate sections east and west of Ridge Hill Road. But if you insist on conducting a private investigation, I won’t try to stop you, only keep it quiet and don’t make waves. Are we clear on that?”

I said, “We’re clear,” and he nodded and waved us out.

The midmorning heat and sun glare smacked me a little as we came outside. That, and my elevated blood pressure brought on a touch of vertigo. I took a couple of faltering steps on the way to the car, had to lean against an old-fashioned lamppost to steady myself.

“You okay?” Runyon asked.

“Just a little woozy. Give me half a minute.”

He knew better than to try to help me. The dizziness passed, and I walked ahead to the car. When we were both inside with the windows rolled down, I said, “The sheriff ’s department isn’t going to be any help, and you know there’s not enough kidnap evidence to bring the FBI into it. It’s up to us.”

“Looks that way.”

“Thirty hours, Jake.”

He knew what I meant. Anybody who has ever worked in law enforcement knows that if an abduction victim isn’t found within seventy-two hours, the odds jump against the person ever being found alive. And Kerry had been missing more than forty hours now.

“More than that, maybe,” he said.

“But not a lot more.”

“Where do you want to start?”

“With Fechaya,” I said. “Where else?”