No Return

46

Detective Stevens led wes into a small, windowless office and motioned for him to take a seat in front of the desk. Andrews grabbed the other guest chair.

“We apologize for having to bring you all the way down here,” Stevens said.

“So what did you want to show me?”

“It’s actually more to listen to than show. I’m sure you’re familiar with anonymous tip lines?”

“Uh … sure.”

“We may be a small force but we have one, too. Most of the tips turn out to be nothing. You know, angry neighbor stuff, or someone just trying to mess around with us. I’ll be honest with you, we probably write off ninety percent of them the moment we hear them.”

“Okay, but what does this have to do with me?” Wes asked.

“We received another call a little over an hour ago. Probably would have dismissed it, too, but, well … Can I play it for you?”

“That’s why we’re here, right?”

Stevens answered with a nod, then turned to his computer. “All right. Here we go.”

An initial hiss was followed by an electronic time stamp, then a moment of dead air. “There is a man staying at the Desert Rose Motel named Wesley Stewart. He has information about a crime that happened when he used to live here. You should talk to him.” A couple of clicks, then the speaker went silent.

The voice had been muffled. Monotone. No telling if it was male or female.

Stevens looked at Wes. “So what do you think?”

Wes tried to look confused but unfazed. “What do I think?”

Andrews chuckled. “Pretty crazy, huh?”

“More bizarre than anything else.”

“Any idea what it could mean?” Stevens asked.

Wes shook his head. “I haven’t the slightest. Do you?”

“What about the voice? Do you recognize it?”

“No. It could be anyone.”

“It mentioned you left town a long time ago,” Andrews said. “Is that true?”

“Yeah … I grew up here.”

“Right.” Andrews pulled out a notebook. “Grew up on base, right? Navy brat?”

“Yeah.”

“When did you leave?”

Wes narrowed his eyes. “A long time ago. When I was a teenager.”

“How long?”

Wes hesitated a second. “Seventeen years.”

“Wanted to get out of here as quick as you could, huh? Go start your career in Hollywood?”

“Something like that.”

Stevens asked, “So if you’ve been gone so long, why do you think someone would have called and said all that?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Wes replied. “Whoever left that must be pulling a prank on you.”

Andrews smiled. “I had the same thought, didn’t I, Stevens?”

“You did,” Stevens said.

“I mean, really, it’s kind of random. Maybe we should ask you about all our cold cases and see what you might have had to do with them.” Andrews looked at Wes again. “Of course, you have had a lot of things happening around you this weekend.”

Wes cocked his head. “Excuse me?”

“Come on. This isn’t the first time we’ve spoken since you came back to town. In fact it’s not even the second. So I guess we’re wondering why, if you lived here all those years ago, and are just in town to shoot an episode of …,” he flipped through his notebook, “Close to Home, an anonymous caller would use your name?”

“And I’m supposed to know the answer?” Wes said.

“We were hoping,” Stevens said.

Wes shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they saw my name in the paper the other day, and thought it would be fun to screw around with an out-of-towner.”

“Your name was in the paper?” Stevens asked.

Wes looked at Stevens, then at Andrews. Both detectives stared blankly back.

“The F-18 crash?” he said. “I was the first one on scene?”

“That’s right,” Stevens said. “I do remember reading that now.”

“Some jerk probably just went, ‘Eenie, meenie, miney, moe,’ and picked my name out of the article.”

“Perhaps,” Stevens said.

The two detectives shared another look, then Andrews said, “Two break-ins, an apparent car chase, a missing person, and now this? I don’t have a good feeling about you.”

Wes leaned forward. “Are you implying I might be responsible for any of those things?”

“We’re not implying anything,” Andrews said.

“My involvement in the break-ins and the chase were either as the victim or the friend of the victim, nothing more. And this message you received? It’s garbage.” Wes stood up. “So if there’s nothing else, I’m going back to my motel.”

Stevens appeared to be lost in thought for a moment, then he nodded and said, “I’m sorry we troubled you.”

Wes got the distinct feeling neither of the detectives was particularly sorry, but he refrained from saying as much, and turned to leave. “Excuse me,” he said to the still-sitting Andrews.

“You’ll need a ride back, Mr. Stewart,” Andrews said.

“I think I’ll walk.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Andrews insisted, rising to his feet. “I’ll drive you.”

Wes started to protest, but stopped. Walking back would take him at least twenty minutes, while the ride would only last three. “Fine.”

They rode in silence. The only time the detective said anything was when Wes got out of the car at the Desert Rose. “Stay out of trouble, Mr. Stewart.”

Wes shut the door without replying. As the police car disappeared, so did the anger that had been masking the feeling of nausea he’d had since he’d heard the message in Stevens’s office.

The anonymous tip had definitely not been a prank.