Finding Sarah (27 page)

Sarah’s head jerked up. She must
have drifted off. In the distance, carried on the wind, she heard her name. Her
heart fluttered. Randy had found her after all. She tried to get up, but her
legs were missing. No, they had to be there. Concentrate. She pulled herself up
to her hands and knees and listened again. Not Randy. Chris. Her heart plunged
to her gut. She braved one quick peek and saw a beam of light moving back and
forth through the trees. She crouched into as tiny a ball as she could. Her
name seemed to come from all directions as Chris shouted. How could he possibly
think she’d come when he called?

The wind picked up and she could
no longer hear anything but the rustling of the trees and the eerie creaking of
tree branches. Maybe Chris had moved on. She wondered why she was out in the
cold. She should go someplace warm. Rest. Clear her brain. She sank back down,
pulled her knees tighter into her chest and lowered her head onto her arms. Hot
tears began to flow, their salt intensifying the stinging of her scrapes.

Something was pulling on her arm,
dragging her to her feet.

“There you are, my darling. Come
with me.”

Nothing made sense. She squinted
into the darkness. She knew that voice. Chris. No, she didn’t want to go with
Chris. She tried to pull away, but her legs wouldn’t obey. “Leggome.” She felt
something on her shoulders. “No!” She was supposed to escape. How could she
escape if he kept pulling on her?

“I’ve got you. Don’t fight me. It’s
hypothermia. You’re not thinking straight.”

She let herself be tugged along.
There was something wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She needed to
hide, to stay away from Chris. Randy would find her. That was it. She needed
Randy. Chris was bad. She flung off the jacket that had appeared on her
shoulders.

“Sarah. Don’t. Leave the jacket
on.” He was trying to get her arms into the sleeves.

She struck out at him, flailing
at his face, beating at his chest. “No. No.”

“I’m sorry, my darling.”
Something covered her mouth, and then the now familiar smell, and then,
nothing.

* * * * *

Randy paced his office, trying to
gather the objectivity he’d need to talk to Sarah’s mother. He punched the
numbers into the phone. A woman’s voice answered. Almost Sarah’s voice. Randy
had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am.
My name is Randy Detweiler. I’m a detective with the Pine Hills Police
Department.”

“Pine Hills? Sarah. Oh my God,
has something happened to Sarah?”

“Ma’am, this isn’t easy to say,
but she’s missing, and we think she might be with a Christopher Westmoreland.”

“Missing? For how long? What
happened? Oh my God. Nathan!” Away from the mouthpiece, he heard her call, “Sarah’s
missing.”

Randy leaned back and rubbed his
eyes. This part of his job was difficult enough when he was dealing with
strangers. What he had to do now was ten times harder. “She was fine last
night,” he said, his voice still rough with emotion. “She didn’t show up for
work today. We’ve been trying to locate her.”

“And you think Chris has
something to do with it?”

“I can’t say for sure, but he
seems to be our best lead.” He left out the part about the photos at
Westmoreland’s house.

“I missed her call yesterday. She
always calls on Sunday.” Her voice shook. “How do you know she was fine last
night?”

“I saw her at eight-thirty.”

There was a moment of silence.
Her voice came back, quieter and more controlled. “What can I do to help,
Detective?”

“I need to know everything I can
about Christopher Westmoreland. Anything you can tell me could prove to be
helpful.” He heard a man’s voice in the distance before she spoke again.

“How do I know you’re really with
the Pine Hills police?” Now there was a hint of skepticism in her voice.

“Other than my word, you don’t.
But why don’t you call the department and ask to speak with me? You can get the
number from information.”

“I hope you don’t think me rude,
but I’m going to do that.” The line went dead.

Randy’s anxiety turned to a
genuine pain in his belly. He sat with one hand poised over the phone. She had
to call back. Sarah was her daughter. An eternity later, although by his watch
it was less than a minute, the phone jangled.

“All right, Detective,” Sarah’s
mother said. “I can be there tomorrow. Do I hire a detective, or someone with
bloodhounds, or what?” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but he heard the urgency
behind it. Still, she was doing a lot better than he was. He tried to take
strength from that.

“I don’t know that there’s
anything you can do here. We’re doing everything we can. Speaking from
experience, it’s easier if you stay busy. You might do better following your
normal routine.”

“I’m not sure I can do that. She’s
my only child, you know. What are you doing to find her? I need to be doing
something.”

“What do you know about
Christopher Westmoreland?” Randy found his voice had evened out now that he was
back in familiar waters, gathering evidence.

“Chris? He and Sarah dated
through high school. He was polite enough, from a wealthy family, but … unctuous.
Like that character on
Leave it to Beaver
. The one who was always
pretending to be so worldly.”

“Eddie Haskell,” Randy said.

“Yes. That’s the one. But Sarah
said Chris was always a perfect gentleman and I believed her. We’d had our
mother-daughter talks, and she assured me he had never demanded anything more
physical than a goodnight kiss. As a mother, I was delighted.”

Randy’s chest loosened. Maybe Chris
wouldn’t hurt her. Sarah had insisted he wasn’t violent. “Do you have any idea
of where he might have taken her? Did you know his family?”

“I’m sorry, no. It was so many
years ago and I was preoccupied with my own problems. My marriage was reaching
a turning point at that time. Frankly, I never thought that Sarah would
continue the relationship after graduation, so I didn’t go out of my way to
meet his parents.”

“I understand,” Randy said. “Thank
you for your help.”

“I’m afraid it wasn’t much. Are
you sure you don’t want me to come there? How can I stay here doing nothing?”

Randy heard the edge creeping
back into her voice. “At this time, I don’t think you can do anything from
here,” he said. “Sarah’s been missing less than a day. We’re doing everything
we can to find her and as soon as we know anything, I promise to call you.”

“Let me give you a cell phone
number. I teach at the university and they don’t like to interrupt classes for
telephone calls, but I’ll keep my cell on.” Randy heard her take a deep breath.
“May I ask one more question?”

“Of course.”

“You said she was with you last
night. Excuse me if I’m out of line, but I’m getting the feeling you’re not a
detached police officer.”

Randy closed his eyes. “No, you’re
not out of line. Sarah and I haven’t known each other long, but the truth is, I’m
quite attached to your daughter.”

“So am I, Detective. So am I.”

“I swear we’re going to find her.”

“I believe you. Please. Call any
time. I doubt that I’ll be doing much sleeping.”

“Neither will I,” Randy said
quietly. “Goodbye.”

He sat at his desk, staring at
the telephone. Kovak burst into the office and dumped a stack of folders on his
desk. Randy snapped to attention. “You get anything from the neighbors?”

“Westmoreland keeps to himself.
Oh, and he uses a cleaning service. We can call them in the morning. If he’s
gone, maybe they can confirm it.”

Randy nodded. Hadn’t dared expect
more.

“What have you found?” Kovak
asked.

Before Randy finished relaying
his meager findings, the phone rang. Woodford PD confirmed the Eclipse was in
the shop in Woodford. “Guess we can cancel the BOLO on the Eclipse. It’s in the
shop. Since Wednesday.”

Kovak placed his hands on Randy’s
desk and leaned down until his eyes were level with his partner’s. “We’re going
to find him. But you’ve got to be clear-headed. I’m lead on this one—you run
everything by me before you go off half-cocked.”

Randy massaged his temples. “Yes,
sir.”

“I mean it, big guy. You shouldn’t
even be working this case. You’re too close. But I know if it was Janie, I’d be
doing exactly what you’re doing. So, let’s get to work. I’ll take the
financials, you look at that photo album and see if anything rings a bell.”

Sarah drifted, floated, whirled
through the air. Did she have wings? Was she an angel? Maybe she could fly. She
tried to spread her wings, but they were trapped. The sky was too thick, like
molasses. She needed to get free so she could soar above the forest.

Warm air blew on her neck,
tickled her ear. “Don’t struggle, my darling. We’re almost there. You’re too
cold. Moving around is bad. Hold still.” She smelled something familiar. Not
the sweet, sick smell anymore. If only she could remember.

“There you go, darling. I’ll take
care of you. Nothing can hurt you.”

She spun down, down, down, until
she was back on Earth. Cold. So cold. It was warm somewhere. Nearby, there was
warmth. Warmth, touching, and the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon. She sank
into a dark, soft void. Let the warmth envelop her.

A clicking noise woke her and Sarah
realized it was her teeth chattering. A hand lifted her head. Something warm
was at her lips.

“Drink this, my darling. Just a
sip. You need to get warm.”

Warm. Yes. She let the liquid
flow into her mouth. Warm and salty. Chicken broth. She raised her hands to the
cup, felt warm fingers over hers.

“Don’t move too much. Can’t let
the cold blood get to your heart. Lie still.”

She finished the broth, then
watched from afar as someone cut her white angel gown off. Her eyes closed. “You
found me.”

“That’s right. Sleep. I’ll be
right next to you. I’ll keep you warm.”

* * * * *

Randy worked his way through the
album’s plastic-covered pages. All black-and-white. Chris’ first projects? Lots
of trees, a lake. A blurred picture of what might have been a deer. Some out of
focus birds. People standing at attention under trees, sitting with forced
smiles at a picnic table. Nothing that resembled the quality work Randy had
seen when he’d called on Chris. Maybe his first attempts at photography? A
photographic primer. As Randy moved through the pages, even his untrained eye
could see the growth.

“Need some help?” Randy rubbed
his eyes. Colleen hovered in the doorway.

“Some detective I am,” Randy
said. “I can’t solve a simple robbery, and I manage to lose the victim.”

“Stop that.” She crossed to the
front of his desk. “Kovak says you think Westmoreland took her. Tell me what
you’ve got.”

“A terrible case of heartburn and
an overwhelming urge to scream.”

“What else?” Colleen asked.

“Not much. According to
everything public, he’s a model citizen.”

“You want me to check with my
brother? He might have known the guy in high school.”

“Please. Anything’s better than
what I have now.”

“I’ll let you know.”

Randy turned back to the album.
Halfway through, the pictures were grouped by subject, not date. Pictures were
crisper, the people looked more natural. He must have gotten some better
equipment—the shots of wildlife were more frequent and no longer were the
subjects hidden. Shots of a simple mountain cabin taken under varied lighting
conditions, in all kinds of weather. Uncle Wes’ cabin at the lake, according to
the heading of that section. Well, assuming it was a lake in Oregon, that narrowed
it down to—what? A couple thousand possibilities?

Captions gave dates, not much
more. An occasional flower or bird identified. “The lake after it rained.” No
help. He turned to the last page. The same cabin, a young boy posed in front of
a woman and two men. According to the label, it had been taken on Chris’
sixteenth birthday. “Me, Mom, Dad, and Uncle Wes.”

So, who the hell was Uncle Wes?
Randy rubbed gritty eyes and stared at the picture. Was there some kind of a
placard on the cabin? He grabbed the album and took it to the lab. Connor would
have a magnifying glass in there somewhere.

He found a glass in a drawer and
went back through all the cabin shots trying to read the sign. Definitely a six
and a three, but there was a porch post that blocked a clear look at the
writing. Then a K and an E and Rd. Something Road. Six-three-something-something
road. Maybe Lake Road. Or Something Lake Road?

He took the album back to his
desk, feeling for the first time since he’d found Sarah’s purse in her
apartment, that he might find her. He popped another Tums and started calling
up databases of property tax rolls, glancing at Kovak’s now empty desk. Having
something resembling a lead quashed any curiosity about what Kovak was doing.
He trusted his partner’s skills.

An eternity later, Randy had been
through twelve counties and found nothing but the property Chris owned in Pine
Hills. Raking his fingers through his hair, he tried to rebuild the wall of
detachment that made him a good cop, able to help others get through times of
stress. He took deep breaths, closed his eyes, and envisioned his fortress rising,
brick by brick. But now, every brick had Sarah’s face etched in it. He sighed
and looked at his watch. Again. Maybe he should get solitaire installed on his
computer. He’d be about as useful playing games, for all he could get out of
the damn machine. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw a
rainbow of lights, then tried to refocus. Four a.m. He started another search
and watched the hourglass on the monitor. A quick break, just to rest his eyes.

He opened his eyes to the
beginnings of daylight and the smell of coffee. Colleen stood in front of him.
She held out the cup.

“You look like you need this more
than I do. I heard from my brother.”

Randy flew awake. “What did he
say?”

Colleen looked at him. Randy
braced himself. “Not a whole lot. The football team had a seniors party every
year and he remembered Chris inviting everyone to a mountain cabin, but since
Greg wasn’t a senior, he doesn’t remember where it might have been.”

“But in Oregon, right? They
wouldn’t go too far for a weekend retreat.”

“That makes sense.” She took the
coffee cup from his quaking hands and took a sip, set it down on the desk.
Randy glanced at the computer monitor for the time. Not even six. “You’re in
early,” he said.

“Hey, I figured you wanted to
know what I’d found out. Greg’s on the Appalachian Trail with a bunch of Boy
Scouts. It took a while to catch him in a place where he got cell reception.”

“I owe you.”

“What can I do? I’m not on for an
hour.”

Randy showed her the album. “Can
you tell where this might be? I’ve got a couple of numbers and a street name
that has Lake Road in it.”

Colleen flipped through the
pages. “Dunno. Mountains. A lake. Looks like half of Oregon.”

“Don’t suppose you could at least
narrow it down to which half?”

“Morning, campers.” Randy looked
up at his partner’s voice. Kovak strode into the room and dropped a file folder
on Randy’s desk. “The financials gave me diddly, so I had the newspaper check
the archives.” He gave Randy an even stare. “I knew there was nothing more I
could do and that you’d call if the album gave you a lead. I went home and
caught a couple hours of shuteye. You can’t do the job on nothing but caffeine
and adrenaline.”

Randy ignored Kovak’s words and
reached for the folder. Glad his hands had stopped shaking, he leafed through
some articles until he came to one with a photograph. From the obituary
section. Taken at the funeral. Three people. Chris, for certain. Another man
and a woman.

Randy laid the paper on his desk,
staring at the words. They danced around the page and he leaned on his elbows,
palms to temples, as if holding his head steady would stop the motion.

The widow, Elizabeth
Westmoreland, plans to return to her native Colorado Springs with her brother,
Wesley Christopher.

Uncle Wesley. In Colorado Springs.
Randy jerked up and grabbed the computer mouse, found the search engine he
needed. He picked up the phone.

“It’s not even six a.m.,” Colleen
said.

“The beauty of being a cop,”
Kovak replied. “We’ve got it all over the telemarketers when it comes to disruptive
phone calls.” Colleen retreated to the far wall.

Randy waited out the rings.
Three. Four. Five. A voice, thick with sleep, answered.

“Is this Wesley Christopher?”
Randy asked and identified himself.

“Pine Hills?” A moment of
silence, as if he were processing the information through a sleep-filled brain.
“Chris? Has something happened to him?”

“That’s what we’re trying to
ascertain, sir. We’ve been trying to locate him.”

“Isn’t he at the cabin? He told
me he’d be there all week.”

Randy clenched the phone. He felt
Kovak leaning over him and clicked the speaker button. Colleen took a step
toward the desk.

“I guess he didn’t mention it.
His office was unaware that’s where he’d be. Can you confirm the address for
us, please?” He held his breath, hoping the man was still groggy enough with
sleep not to require proof of who he was. At least Sarah’s mom didn’t give
information to strangers on the phone. “Yeah, it’s six thirty-nine Falcon Lake
Road. Over in Deschutes County. Chris has had the run of the place since I
moved back to Colorado. My car, too. He called me Saturday—or was it Sunday?
Anyway, he said he was taking someone special there. I was happy he’d found
someone. You sure nothing’s wrong?”

Ice ran through Randy’s veins.
What would Chris be doing to Sarah? He regrouped. “No—I guess he forgot to
cancel his paper.” Randy felt Kovak nudge his shoulder and he shrugged. “The
neighbors were worried.”

He glanced up and saw Colleen
mouth
car
. Shit, he was off. “What kind of car, if you don’t mind?
License?”

“It’s a 2000 Blazer, dark green.
Colorado plates.”

“And the license?”

“Give me a minute,” the man said.
“It’s not exactly on the tip of my tongue at this hour.”

Randy clenched his jaw and waited
out the silence. After what seemed hours, the voice came back.

“747 GPY.”

“Thanks.” He repeated the
information.

Colleen was out the door, and
Randy knew she’d be putting the lookout order out for the Blazer. “Thanks, Mr.
Christopher. Sorry to bother you so early.”

“No problem. I’ll remind my
nephew to leave better contact information next time he goes on vacation.”

Kovak spoke first. “I’ll have the
Deschutes sheriffs roll and see if I can get a warrant for Westmoreland.”

“I’m going,” Randy said. “I don’t
need a fucking warrant. Give me a map and I’ll drag that bastard back here by
his dick.”

“Which seems to be what you’re
thinking with,” Kovak said. “Mac, don’t let him leave yet. Cuff him to the
chair if you have to, but let me talk to Deschutes first.”