Blue Heaven (28 page)

Jess said nothing. He had always thought it was easier for rural people to live in a city than lifelong city dwellers to move to the country.

“For example,” Villatoro said, gesturing to the eastern range, “when I look at that mountain there, all I see is a mountain with trees all over it. There is probably more to it, but that’s all I can see.”

Jess turned to see where Villatoro was pointing. “That’s Webb Mountain,” Jess said. “See where there’s that big sweep of green on it that’s lighter than the rest? Kind of a mosaic? Those are aspens. There was a forest fire up there twenty years ago, and aspens grow back first. Eventually, the pines will overtake the aspens, but it’ll take centuries. There was some talk about putting in a ski resort on Webb Mountain, but the developers got chased away by the environmentalists. It’s good bear habitat. I’d guess that’s where our hunter here got his bear this morning.”

He looked around to see Villatoro smiling. “That’s what I mean,” the ex-detective said. “I see a mountain that looks like every other mountain of a hundred in every direction. You see history and a story.”

Jess reached for his door handle, then thought better of it. He could walk where he needed to go.

“This is why this is such an amazing country,” Villatoro said. “It is so big, and so different. One will never know all of it.”

Jess suppressed a grin of his own. “You’re an interesting man, Mr. Villatoro.”

“I’m a fish out of water, is what I am. But I’m a determined fish.”

“That you are,” Jess said. “I kinda feel the same way myself.”

They shook hands.

BECAUSE THE county building was only two blocks away, Jess decided to walk. He needed a few minutes to think, to put his plan together. He was overwhelmed and confused. Things seemed to be swirling around him, keeping him off-balance. It had begun when Herbert, his ranch foreman, left and disrupted a routine he had gotten used to. With all of the problems a rancher had to face—weather, prices, natural disasters, regulations, trespassers, bad employees—any kind of routine
was a necessity. Tasks needed to be done at certain times. A ranch couldn’t be run by the seat of one’s pants. But with Herbert gone and the appearance of the children—and their dangerous story—he felt cut loose from his moorings. He was adrift and unsure of himself.

Whether or not the murder had been reported—or whether it had even happened—everything else he had learned that morning seemed to lean toward Annie and William’s version of events. The thought that the murderers were ex-cops who had moved in quickly to shape and control events would fit. Placing a man with the mother to guard her would fit, too. But without a body, what the children had told him could be dismissed as the result of overactive imaginations. It all hinged on a murder that apparently hadn’t happened, on a dead man who wasn’t missed by anyone.

Jess thought of the implications of his situation and felt a stab in his chest. If what Annie and William had told him turned out not to be true, he was guilty of a great fraud on the community, and possibly even a crime. Every hour that went by that he kept his secret was another cruel hour for the mother.

And what was on the videotape Newkirk had whispered about to the sheriff?

What held him back from walking into the sheriff’s office and telling them he knew where the missing children were and leading them to his ranch? It was simple, he realized. He believed Annie.

But he still wasn’t sure. He needed more information. What was on the videotape? He had to find out. Then, he would make his decision.

AS HE PASSED by the realty office, Jess quickened his pace, but she saw him.

“Jess?”

He slowed, debated whether to stop or resume his march. He wished he would have taken his pickup to the sheriff’s office and avoided this possibility.

“Jess?”

He stopped on the sidewalk and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at her under the brim of his hat. God, she looked good. Trim,
fit, wearing black slacks, a white shirt and blazer. Her lipstick was a smoky shade he had never seen before, and her dark hair was pulled back. No gray; she must have dyed it. She had never looked that good on the ranch.

“Hello, Karen.”

“I was surprised to look out and see you walk by.”

“Working on Sunday, huh?”

“We’ve got a closing at eleven. I’m waiting for the buyers. Hey—what did you do to your hand?”

“Accident with a hay hook,” he said, hoping that would suffice.

She stopped on the sidewalk and awkwardly crossed her arms in front of her. He didn’t expect a hug, but it seemed odd to talk with her from five feet away. It felt like a mile.

“What are you doing in town?” she asked.

“Going to the county building.”

She pursed her lips. “They’re closed today.”

“Not the Sheriff’s Office.”

“Oh,” she said, looking him over, obviously wondering what would come next.

“I wanted to see if there was any news on the Taylor kids.” Not a lie at all.

“Isn’t that terrible?” she said, shaking her head. “Nobody I’ve talked to can remember such a thing happening here before. I hope they find them, and they’re okay. It’s awful.”

Jess said, “Yup.”

“You came all of the way into town to ask about them?” She was eyeing him closely.

He sputtered, “Had breakfast at the Panhandle, and thought I’d check while I was here.”

“Is that the only reason you’re going there?”

He knew what she was asking and looked away. He hadn’t thought of that. A familiar brand of guilt crept in. He didn’t know what to say. The silence went on a beat too long.

“Talking has always been a problem for you, hasn’t it?”

He felt his palms begin to sweat in his pockets. Thankfully, she changed the subject back.

“Monica Taylor,” she said. “I heard some things about her.”

He looked back.

“I heard she gets around,” she said. “Her ex-husband was in prison, you know. She’s got a little bit of a reputation.”

“Reputations come and go,” Jess said, too quickly.

Her face darkened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Can’t you let this thing go? It’s been three years now.”

He looked at his boots, then at the sky.
No
, he thought,
I can’t.
It wasn’t that he wanted her back, not now. It was the years of deception before the betrayal. The secret letters, the calls, the liaisons, the men. How could he just move on? How did other people do it? In retrospect, Karen’s darkness was simply stronger than his thin strand of generational hope, and she’d overpowered him.

The door to the office opened, and Karen’s new husband, Brian Ballard, stepped out. He was dressed as he had been Friday: open shirt, jacket, creased Dockers, tasseled loafers.

“Everything okay out here?” he asked, too cheerfully. “Are you asking Jess about the property?”

“We hadn’t gotten to that yet,” Karen said, not taking her eyes off Jess.

“I’m not selling unless I have to,” Jess said. “Nothing’s changed.”

Brian put his arm around Karen, pulling her into him as if to say,
mine
. “You know, this doesn’t have to be an adversarial thing. We would work with you.”

“I’m busy right now,” Jess said.

Brian looked to Karen for an explanation. She watched Jess. She looked at him in that focused way he remembered, as if by staring at his face she could suck his thoughts out. “Jess, what’s wrong?” she asked. “I can tell there’s something wrong.”

He didn’t dare speak.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’ve got to go.”

LEAVING HIS BELT, Leatherman tool, pocketknife, and change with the woman running the security check, Jess entered the sheriff’s office and stood at the counter. He wasn’t sure what, or who, he was looking for. Someone sympathetic, maybe. Someone he knew.

He stepped aside as three men in their late fifties or early sixties came down the hall to retrieve their belongings. It was obvious they were angry about something.

One said, “That’s bullshit.”

Another said, “There’s no way they’ve got enough guys. The sheriff is always whining about manpower, but he turns us away.”

The third said, “How could they have enough help? It’s that asshole Singer, I’d bet. I heard stories about that guy.”

The first man looked up while stuffing his wallet back into his pockets and saw Jess waiting for them to come through the security check.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“Are you fellows here to volunteer?” Jess asked. “Are you policemen, too?”

“Retired,” the second man said. “LAPD. But the sheriff didn’t even meet with us. He had his secretary come out and tell us to leave our names, but he didn’t need our help right now. Can you believe that shit, with two missing kids?”

Jess thought it was more than interesting.

THE RECEPTIONIST told him the sheriff was in, but not available. Before Jess could ask why, she said, “He’s sleeping at his desk. The poor man’s exhausted. He just held a press conference to announce the Amber Alert. Now everybody in the country is looking for Tom Boyd and those poor children. You’ve heard what happened, I assume. Is this an emergency?”

Was it? He wasn’t sure.

Tom Boyd. He’d heard the name. “The UPS man?” Jess asked incredulously.

“That’s him,” she said.

Across the room he recognized Buddy Millen, a sheriff’s deputy who had once worked on a hay crew on the Rawlins Ranch. Buddy waved, and Jess waved back, then went through the batwing doors on the side of the counter and took a seat at the deputy’s desk.

“I was just thinking about you,” Buddy said. “I’ve been on a search team not far from your ranch, looking for those little kids. Every time I see those hayfields of yours, my back starts to hurt.”

Buddy looked tired, and Jess noted that his uniform was dirty from the search.

“Why were those men out there turned away?” Jess asked. “They were retired police officers volunteering to help.”

“They’re not the first to be turned away,” Buddy said. “Half the retirees up here have been in.”

“So why did the sheriff say no?”

Buddy shrugged. “Singer’s call. He had enough people out there already, I guess. He’s calling the shots. Personally, I think it’s bullshit. We ought to have hundreds of searchers out there.”

“That’s what they thought, too,” Jess said.

“Look, I’m just finishing up here, then I’m going to go home and crash. I’ve been up for thirty-six hours.”

“No luck, huh?” Jess asked.

Buddy shook his head sadly. Then he glanced around the room, and leaned forward to Jess. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but things are moving fast. We’re on to something. A local guy confessed on camera.”

Jess sat back. “Really? The UPS guy?” The videotape.

Buddy nodded. “Unfortunately, we’re changing our mission from looking for lost kids to looking for bodies. It’s awful. But please keep it confidential. There won’t be an announcement until tomorrow.”

Jess tried to keep the confusion off his face, tried to stanch his impulse to say,
They’re okay, Buddy.
But what did this mean that Tom Boyd had confessed? To what?

Okay
, Jess thought.
Buddy is a good guy. Buddy can be trusted
.
Maybe he can help sort things out.

“Buddy …”

The telephone rang on the desk. Buddy held up one hand, palm out, and snatched the receiver with the other. Jess waited, trying to form his words, wondering if it wouldn’t be a good idea to take Buddy outside somewhere, away from the office, to tell him. Maybe feel him out a little bit, maybe get more information about the confession that had now changed everything and made a confusing situation even more confusing.

Buddy made reassuring sounds to the caller and jotted down an address on a pad.

“Okay, ma’am. Does he have a cell phone? Have you tried his hotel?”

Buddy looked over at Jess and wiggled his eyebrows while the caller talked.

“We can’t really file a missing person’s case until he’s been gone twenty-four hours,” Buddy said. “I’m sorry. In 99.9 percent of these situations, everything turns out all right. But I’ll make a note of it and give the information to the sheriff. I’ll personally follow up with you first thing tomorrow morning. But when he shows up, please remember to call us and let us know right away, okay?”

Buddy cradled the phone and scribbled some more on his pad. “A wife says her husband was supposed to be back from a steelhead fishing trip last night, but he hasn’t shown up. She wants us to go out and search for him, as if we don’t have enough on our plate right now. I’ll bet he’s back by tonight. He probably got stuck in the mud or broke down, or more likely he had a little too much fun in some honky-tonk or strip club. And I’ll lay you odds she forgets to call us and tell us he’s back.”

The words hit Jess like a hammer blow. He knew he flinched. Luckily, Buddy hadn’t seen it.

A man was missing.

He decided to invite Buddy for a cup of coffee.