No Going Back (3 page)

‘I can’t do that!’

‘OK. The alternative is I leave you the same way as that boy in hospital.’ I lined my boot up so that it was trained on his one good knee. He moaned as another trickle of urine darkened his shorts.

After that he was receptive to my deal, and agreed to hand himself and his buddies in to the police.

‘I’ll be listening out,’ I warned. ‘You don’t do as we’ve agreed, I’m going to come back and next time I won’t be shooting inflatable beds.’

I returned to my car while Dorsey searched for a towel. No way was he going to hospital in soiled shorts.

Back in my Audi, I made for the airport. I wasn’t proud of terrifying Dorsey and his friends. They were just young punks. On reflection, the hit-and-run accident was just a stupid idea that went wrong, but at least this way Dorsey and his crew had learned that they were heading in the wrong direction, and they wouldn’t be trailing anyone else along with them. Brian Purefoy would be safe from them now, his friend’s medical bills would be covered by the culprits’ insurance, and there’d be less cocaine on the streets of Callaway. Weighed and bagged, not a bad couple hours of work. Plus I was on time for my meeting with Jameson Walker and the money he was offering for a job more to my liking.

3

Jameson Walker’s tipple of choice was whiskey. It made me chuckle, considering his name was that of two popular brands from back home. He probably wouldn’t have known that, though, and I noticed that his drink was poured from a bottle bearing an American label.

He was a big man with sloping shoulders and a square head topped with salt and pepper curls. He looked like he’d been a jock in his earlier days, but had allowed his physique to slip in his late forties. His chest swooped out into a large gut pinched in at the waist by a thick belt with a silver buckle. His voluminous shirt was decorated with small horseshoes, blue jeans and cowboy boots. He’d shrugged out of a jacket and string tie and looked like he was struggling with the heat. He used a napkin to mop his jowls. I found the interior of the bar cool, but I’d been acclimatised to the subtropics by then.

He sipped at his drink and placed it down on the napkin. He peered at me from under bushy brows, watching as I downed a mouthful of Corona directly from the bottle. There was a slice of lemon wedged in the neck, allegedly – I’d read somewhere – to keep the insects away, but I just enjoyed the bitter tang on my tongue. Walker waited until I placed my beer down.

‘Are you a family man, Hunter?’

His attention was on my hands. They were tanned by the Florida sun, but there was the occasional patch that wouldn’t colour; white scar tissue on my knuckles and on the back of my right hand where I’d taken the slice of a knife. I noticed that his gaze lingered over my left hand, in particular my ring finger.

‘You’re not thinking of asking me on a date, are you?’

Jameson smiled at the quip, but there was little humour in his expression.

‘I’ve been married twenty-eight years,’ he said. ‘In all of those years my wife and I were only blessed with one child. After Joan was born, well, my wife had some problems . . .’

I got the gist. ‘My wife couldn’t bear children either,’ I said.

‘So you are married?’

‘Was.’ It was uncomfortable talking about my divorce because, frankly, I felt the breakdown of my marriage was my greatest failure. However I knew where Walker was leading the conversation, and didn’t see the harm in reassuring him: family meant everything to me too. ‘Diane and I were together over fourteen years. If it was up to me, we’d still be married.’

‘Another man?’ As soon as he asked the question I could tell he was uncomfortable about it. ‘I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.’

‘She’s remarried since, but at the time there was no one else. It was me . . . let’s just say I committed myself to my job too much for Diane’s liking.’

Walker scratched his curls, then reached for the whiskey. He downed it, looked for the waitress and called her over. ‘Want another drink?’

Tilting the three-quarters-full bottle, I said, ‘I’m good.’

‘You wouldn’t like something a little stronger?’

‘Not while on a job,’ I told him. ‘But you go ahead. Looks like you might need it.’

‘I’m just thirsty,’ he said with a wink. ‘This damned heat! How do you stand it?’

I’d been in much hotter places and situations, but I only offered a shrug. ‘You get used to it.’

Walker ordered another drink and the waitress wandered away to the bar.

Walker watched her go. She was a good-looking woman, slim with long legs accentuated by a short black skirt, but Walker wasn’t thinking like that. I guessed she reminded him of someone.

‘Your daughter still hasn’t been in touch?’

He toyed with the rim of his empty glass, tilted it as though checking there was nothing left. ‘I’m getting real worried now.’

‘How long has it been?’ I’d already read the email that Rink received, so I knew that Joan Walker and her friend Nicole Challinor had last called home from a motel in New Mexico three days earlier. But it did no harm to check.

‘There’s been no word since Monday evening. It’s now Thursday morning. Jay should’ve been in California by now.’ He drained his glass of a drip of whiskey that had grown in the bottom, then looked for the waitress. She was on her way back with a fresh tumbler perched on a silver tray. Walker placed a few dollars on the tray and transferred the full glass to his lips. ‘Maybe you could bring me another?’ he asked. When the waitress returned to the bar, he carried on. ‘The obvious things have gone through my mind. Jay’s a free spirit and not one to check in with her mom and pop every two minutes, but she knew that we were worried about her and Nicole taking this road trip and promised to call every night. Even if their cellphones aren’t working she’d find a landline to use, or she’d email me. I’ve even been on her Facebook page and she hasn’t updated it since Monday. Jay’s a fanatic for recording her trips and usually writes daily updates. But nothing has been added at her blog either.’

Mulling that over, I decided that Walker had a good point. Even if his daughter hadn’t found it necessary to check in with her parents, she’d hardly have resisted the temptation of her blog and social networking sites; these days it was like people had to share their innermost thoughts with strangers across the world.

‘Have you checked her cellphone?’

‘Called her, you mean? Of course I’ve tried.’

‘No. What I meant was, is it still switched on? Can you leave a voice message?’

‘No, there was just an automated message saying the calls couldn’t be connected.’ Walker downed another mouthful of liquor. ‘It’s the same with Nicole’s phone.’

‘Have you contacted their service providers and checked for their location?’

‘You can do that?’

‘I’m not sure how, to be honest, not without jumping through bureaucratic hoops first, but I know someone who can check for us. Didn’t the police suggest it?’

‘The cops aren’t taking me seriously. They more or less told me that it’s none of my business. Jay is an adult and it’s up to her whether she chooses to get in touch or not. Yes, Hunter, she may be an adult, but she’s still my baby girl.’

Three days wasn’t exactly an eternity. Many people had gone missing for much longer and hadn’t suffered for it. Maybe the young women were just cutting the apron strings and letting themselves fly for a while. That didn’t mean I couldn’t sympathise with their parents: if either girl was my child, I’d be as frantic as Walker.

‘I’ll need you to tell me the places they planned on visiting, plus the hotels they’ve already stayed at. Also, if you can get me their credit card or bank account numbers, I can check if they’re still using their cards.’

Walker reached for his jacket and pulled out a large envelope from an inside pocket. ‘I already thought about that. I brought photographs of both the girls, plus a route planner that I found stored on Jay’s computer. It’s marked with places of interest, as well as prospective hotels along the way.’

‘That’s very helpful,’ I said, ‘but there’s always the chance they veered off course and have taken a different route. Hopefully they’re just distracted by all the new things they’ve discovered and haven’t got round to calling yet.’

Walker believed that as much as I did, but the least I could do was offer him some hope.

‘There’s something else in there . . .’

At first I thought he was referring to the down payment on his fee, but, when I looked into the envelope, I found a couple sheets of folded paper alongside the photos and map.

‘It’s maybe nothing,’ Walker said, and downed the remainder of his whiskey. ‘In fact, I damn well hope it’s got nothing to do with Jay and Nicole.’

The waitress came back with Walker’s third drink while I was busy smoothing out the papers, but this time he wasn’t concerned with the liquor. He was too busy watching me for a reaction.

The papers carried printouts from a couple of news websites, all reporting on the same story dated two days earlier. At a gas station in Arizona an apparent robbery had gone terribly wrong, with the elderly teller shot dead. Tragically a young family had arrived at the scene while the robbery was underway, and whoever was responsible had shot all four dead in an attempt at silencing any witnesses. To cover up the crime further, those responsible had set fire to the gas pumps and an explosion had ripped the scene apart. Reading the story, and absorbing the senselessness of the violence and the sheer overkill of it, made me sick to the core. But I didn’t know why Walker thought this news snippet important.

Walker touched the pages with a thick finger. ‘Jay called from a Best Western hotel in Gallup, New Mexico, east of that gas station the night before this happened. They would have stayed the night, had breakfast and then hit the road. I’ve a horrible feeling that the girls might have been nearby when the robbery happened.’

Walker left the suggestion hanging in the air. It was only supposition, but what if he was right? If the robbers had gone to such lengths to silence the witnesses at the gas station, what would they have done to Jay and Nicole if they’d also been there?

‘I don’t think you have to worry about that. The police will be hunting for the people responsible, and I’m pretty sure that if Jay or Nicole had been harmed you’d know it by now.’

‘I hope you’re right, Hunter.’

‘I’m sure,’ I said as I folded the papers and slipped them back in the envelope. ‘In your email you mentioned that the girls were travelling in your vehicle. Well, if anything had happened I’m certain that the cops would’ve come across it by now. It doesn’t look like the robbers were interested in taking cars with them, because they just burned those at the gas station.’

‘I suppose that’s true. But I’m still worried.’

‘You’ve every right, but please try not to be. Go home to your wife and I’ll be in touch.’

‘So you are going to help?’

‘I’ve got your cell number and email address. I’ll call you, OK?’

‘You’re not going to start straight away?’

I tapped the envelope on the table top. ‘I already started. I’ll call you when I’m in Arizona.’

4

A flight took me to Gallup Municipal Airport, only a stone’s throw from the Best Western hotel where Jay and Nicole spent Monday night. Ever since I’d heard the Nat King Cole song, or more likely the rock ‘n’ roll version by Chuck Berry, I’d fancied taking a trip on the historic Route 66. I just hadn’t thought that it’d be under these circumstances. I decided to pick up the trail at the girls’ last known location. For all I knew they’d hooked up with some guys in town and were still in Gallup. Maybe they hadn’t phoned home because they were having the kind of fun you didn’t share with your parents.

I hired a car, a blocky, navy-blue GMC Yukon 4×4, and threw the bags I’d brought with me in the back seat, before heading for the Best Western. I considered renting a room but decided against it, and only stayed long enough to show photos of the girls to the desk staff. A helpful young guy remembered Jay and Nicole and brought their booking up on a computer. It showed that they’d stayed only one night, checked out at ten on Tuesday morning, and paid their bill in full. The guy said he’d chatted with them and that both girls had been excited about their impending trip into the Painted Desert later that day. I thanked the guy, tossed him a few dollars off the roll handed to me earlier by Jameson Walker, and asked him where there was a good place to eat. He directed me back along the highway to a diner making the most of its Route 66 association. There was a huge sign outside so Technicolor-vivid it reminded me of the graphics from an old Warner Brothers’ cartoon, but it appeared that burritos and tacos were the only items on the menu. I continued until I found another diner advertising eggs and ham and suchlike. A waiter led me to a table at the window, and I had a great view over the highway to a huge railroad depot where dozens of freight carriages were parked on the sidings. Red dust billowed on the breeze. Some of it had adhered to the glass, giving everything a pinkish hue. I ordered a special from the menu, plus a large coffee. It was approaching evening, but it would be hours before the sun went down over the desert, so I’d time for a few calls, for filling my stomach, and for making it over the border into Arizona before nightfall.

While I forked down scrambled eggs and rashers of bacon, I used my cell to call Rink.