Edge of the Heat 5 (9 page)

But in the daytime, when the habit of taking care of his dad took over, he would think
What could I even do
? The words he heard in the daylight as he helped his father to the bathroom and cajoled him into eating his dinner were
took off
,
abandoned
,
doesn’t love me
. And the other thoughts would turn off, darken, gray out for now. And after a week, a month, a year, his acceptance that maybe she
had
taken off grew. He stopped sweating and thrashing in his sleep. He took care of his dad. And he waited. But not for her to come back. There came a point where he told himself he didn’t care if she ever came back, he wouldn’t take her back anyway. What he waited for was for life to begin again.

And life had begun again. When they had moved in with his Aunt Betty, he was home schooled for a bit, then took his GED test, and then went to paramedic school at 19. He discovered he was suddenly attractive to women, and thus started the endless parade of beautiful women through his life. He’d lost his virginity to a cute nursing student during the hospital phase of paramedic school and never looked back. He loved women, loved talking to them, hanging out with them, being their friends, and most of all, being their lover. Even his “serious” relationships weren’t really serious though. When he was with one woman seriously, he would be monogamous, but he wouldn’t discuss moving in or getting married. His girlfriends never got angry at him though. He was too warm, too loving, too attentive. Eventually, they just moved on.

And if the words
kidnapped
,
against her will
,
taken
, still swirled in his brain at night when his defenses were low, what of it? Everyone had some sort of injury because of childhood trauma, right?

But even with 18 years of experience ignoring these same words, these darkest of thoughts, Jerry couldn’t even begin to turn them off this time. This time, the words tugged at his brain, his very consciousness, like a fishhook. As he pulled up to the Eller’s Mansion he had to sit in his car for a few moments to try to calm himself. His palms gripped the steering wheel way too tightly. His breath came in quick gasps. His heart beat a rapid, galloping metronome up high in his throat.

Stop
, he told himself.
Calm down, or you’ll never even make it through the day. You will do everything possible to find Sara. You aren't going to ignore this. You aren’t going to let the police department ignore this. This is going to turn out OK. It has to.

He didn’t know how much of this had to do with Sara, and how much of this had to do with his mom, but did it really matter? If he could redeem his childhood self with these acts - great, but the important thing was that he was acting in the here and now, and doing everything he could for Sara.

He closed his eyes, relaxed his hands, and leaned his head back against the headrest. After a few minutes of deep breaths he felt better. More under control.
Now let’s go find her
.

A hard look at the outside of the large building told him there weren’t any security cameras up here, and a discussion with the administrative secretary told him the same thing. He’d gotten the woman to talk to him with the truthful story of what had happened, but a trip to Staples for a fake press ID needed to be on his list today. He asked her to call him with any news of anything
unusual
and left.

As he drove away he peered at the rambling plantation-style houses lining the quiet street. Wrought-iron fences lined yards, and dark-green ivy climbed everything. Jerry had always loved houses like these. They looked timeless, like they could stand for a thousand years and never crumble. He wondered if it were worth talking to anyone in these houses to see if they heard or saw anything that night. He filed it away, thinking he would come back if his search turned up nothing else.

He drove to Sara’s apartment parking lot, looking for cameras in the eaves and corners of the building before he even stopped his car. He didn’t see any cameras, but as he pulled into a parking stall he saw something that caused a bolt of adrenaline to shoot into his veins. Detective Gagne’s black Suburban. Eyes wide, he scanned the grounds hoping Gagne wouldn’t come strolling across the lawn and lock eyes with him. He didn't think Gagne would like to know that Jerry was doing a little investigating of his own.

Jerry reversed quickly out of the parking stall. His neck skin prickled and the feeling made him want to turn around. He resisted the urge and prayed it was just paranoia, not someone (Gagne) watching him. He’d have to come back to the apartments later. Maybe he should rent a car so he didn’t have to drive his own.

As he drove, he mentally went over the list Craig had left him. He decided to stop at Staples and print up a few things that would help him. While he was waiting he could start calling taxi companies to see if any had picked up a fare at the Eller’s Mansion on Sunday night.

Hang in there Sara
, he thought.
I’ll find you. I promise.
His mind filled with selective images of her. A smile, a laugh, the way she scrunched up her face when she was concentrating. The corners of his mouth curled up in a gentle smile, and the car seemed to drive itself.

He didn’t notice when a dark vehicle pulled onto the road going the same way he was, 5 cars behind him. He was, after all, a firefighter/paramedic, not a cop or a spy. It never crossed his mind to think he should be watching for someone investigating him while he was investigating Sara’s disappearance.

***

J
erry sat at a table outside the small coffee shop, eating a quick, late lunch and admiring his new press badge. He’d even been able to pick up a foldout wallet to put it in, making it look very official. He wondered if it would work how Craig said it would. He’d see. He had already called 7 local taxi companies, but none of them cared about any ‘credentials’ so far. He had his story all ready though, just in case.
He was a research grunt for the channel 7 news and they were investigating a series of assaults on women that happened late at night. There’d been such an assault two nights ago and the police were completely stumped. The reporter he was working for hoped to break the case wide open before any more women were hurt. The victim had been last seen getting into a cab in the area of Eller’s Hill Sunday night, almost at midnight. She was in the hospital unconscious and couldn’t tell them anything. Did your cab company pick anyone up on Eller’s Hill on Sunday night?
So far, all the answers had been no.

He checked his list and began to dial another cab company. Busy signal. He moved on to the next. He had 12 more and that would be all of them, even the unlikely companies on the other side of town. After he called all of them his plan was to go to call the car rental companies. Then he would head back to the Mariana Day apartments and hope Detective Gagne was gone. Even if there weren’t security cameras, he would love to talk to some of the people in the apartments on the first floor. Maybe some of them had heard or seen something.

Idly, he wondered about the guy with the black and white flag tattoo on his forearm. He should call Craig or Hawk and ask them if you could run an identifier like that through a law enforcement program and come up with people who match the description. He wrote it down on his list of things to do.

A hard knife of anxiety twisted in his guts. It didn’t seem like enough. He should be up, moving,
doing something
. Not just sitting here
thinking
. He didn’t generally think of himself as someone who looked for fights, but his hands itched to close on someone’s throat. If he actually found himself face to face with someone who had taken or hurt Sara, he thought he’d probably be looking at another arrest.
If it comes to that, it comes to that. Some things are worth being arrested for,
he thought. He bent over his work again determined to find something that would get him up and moving.

S
ara drove into an open-air, free-to-park lot and cruised around till she found another Toyota Camry. Using her phone, she gained back door access into the police department’s registered owner program and determined the license plates on the Camry were clean. No wants or warrants on the owner or the car.

She parked as close to it as possible and got out, looking around for people or security cameras. Seeing no one and staying out of the sight line of one camera she spotted on a bookstore on the corner, she took the plates off the Camry, and replaced them with plates she had lifted from a car in the parking garage of the hotel next to hers. She then put the license plates on her car, and put her license plates under the back seat of her car. She would switch them back later.

Sara was dressed in dark jeans, jungle boots, and a black t-shirt, with her hair pulled back. She was well-armed, but no one who looked at her would know it until she stuck her gun in their face or one of her knives in their ear. She wore a pair of flesh-colored, second-skin gloves to conceal her fingerprints, but not tip people off that she was wearing gloves. She checked her clock. 3:30 a.m. Perfect. She hopped in her car and left the parking lot, watching the full moon rise over the city. An image of Jerry’s hopeful, handsome face rose in her mind. She pushed it away. He was dead to her now. That life was dead to her now. She had to move on.

She drove to Manny’s neighborhood and cruised past his house. It looked dark and quiet. She parked a half a block down from the house and took out the most useful gadget she owned. Her particular one was a prototype and didn’t have a name, but she liked to think of it as Cell Hell. It was only a little bigger than a cell phone itself. She punched in the number Jessica had given her for Manny’s cell phone and took over control of it. All incoming and outgoing calls to Manny’s phone would now travel through her gadget, plus she could track his phone with GPS, and use the phone as a bug. She opened the line and didn’t hear anything. Maybe a soft snoring. That was good.

She dug in her bag for her drug tin and took out a packet carefully labeled Scopolamine. She took out one of her silk scarves and tied it over her mouth and nose, then opened all the windows in the car. It paid to be very careful with this drug. It was one of the more dangerous ones she worked with.

She set about her work carefully, methodically, and was just about to step out of her car when her Cell Hell began to ring. She froze, the drug and a scarf held in front of her.

“Lo?”

“Manny, I need a score.” A male voice. Dark and gravelly. Sara put her hands in her lap and waited

“Who this?”

“Hector.”

“Hector, who do you want?” Manny asked. His voice sounded more awake now.

“What’s the youngest girl you got?”

“16 year old man, you know that.”

“Yeah but you said you could get someone younger.” Hector’s voice took on a whining note. Sara grimaced.

“I
can
, but I ain’t got her yet. Next week for sure. She 11.” Sara pressed her lips in a line and tried to hold herself together.

Hector paused. After a moment he said, “Send over the 16 year old then.”

“Aw shit man, I forgot. She out. You can take Cindy. Cindy is 17.”

“Cindy, huh?” Now Hector sounded petulant, mistrusting.

“Yeah Cindy, she good. Cindy ripe and sweet.”

“I ain’t ordering a fucking melon, man.” Hector laughed at his wittiness.

“You at your place?” Manny asked.

“Yeah.”

“Cindy’ll be there in 20 minutes. 2 c-notes for one hour.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hector sounded eager now.

The phone clicked off and Sara stared at the drugs in her lap. This could mess up her plan.

She listened to Manny and heard him moving around. A female cry of protest shot out of the speakers.

“Get up bitch, you got a job.”

Sara heard a muffled response and then a slapping sound.

“You heard me, move it. You gotta
pay
for this bed. Get yo’self pretty. And be quick.”

10 minutes later, Manny and a young woman came out the front door and got into Manny’s little sports car that sat in the driveway. Sara slid down in her seat, not needing to see where they went. She could find Manny anywhere he went with her Cell Hell. She turned down her speakers, not wanting to listen to any conversation. Sara closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She could take him as he came home. It would be easy. But she wouldn’t. She would stick with the plan. The plan was a good one, and it kept her risk to a minimum, as long as he came back home before dark.

20 minutes later Manny pulled back in to the driveway, then entered his house. 15 minutes after that she heard snoring, louder this time.

She got out of her car and walked to his driveway like she belonged there. Light was not seeping into the sky yet, but she knew it would start within the next 20 minutes. She needed to be quick. She held her breath and opened the tin in which she had mixed Vaseline and scopolamine together. She coated the handle of Manny’s door with the mixture, and coated the handle of his passenger side door too.

On her way back to her car, she took off her gloves and dumped them into a plastic bag, being careful not to touch the mixture.

Now to wait. She laid back in her seat and pretended to doze.

***

A
t 9:30 the little house started to come alive. Women talked and laughed softly and she heard water running and dishes clinking. A few women left, one on foot and 2 together in a car that was parked behind Sara’s on the street.

At 11:00 a car dropped off a woman. And at 11:30, Manny started to stir. Sara heard sounds of fabric rubbing together and more water running, then a toilet flush and footsteps. The front door opened, and Manny stepped out. Sara watched him through her rear-view.

He opened his car door, then frowned at the mess on his hands. He tried to wipe it off with his other hand.
Perfect
. He glared at his hands, then inspected his door handle. He smelled his hands and looked up the street and down the street. Finally, he wiped his hands on the grass and got in his car and drove away. She followed.