The Botanist (6 page)

Chapter 9

The detective directed Alex around the main desk and through the obstacle course the lobby had become. He took her to a quiet back-room office. His desk was part of a group of four that all faced one another. Every patch of space was covered with more boxes.

With a quick apology, he moved two boxes from a sliding chair, stacking them atop four more against the wall, and ushered her into the seat. He then took the one vacant chair behind the desk.

When he turned, looking for something amidst the clutter of his desk, Alex nudged one of the many folders aside so she could see his nameplate. Cody Oliver. Grateful she wouldn’t have to ask, she waited patiently for him to get to her.

“So.” He finally turned his navy-blue eyes on her. “You passed through here and filed a report a few years ago?”

“Four years ago, yes.”

“And you say I’m the one you talked to?”

“Yes. You still don’t remember me?”

He smiled apologetically. “Afraid not. I just saw you out there and knew I’d seen you before. Do you remember the date the report was filed on?”

“March sixteenth.”

His eyebrows went up. “You seem quite certain of that.”

Alex nodded. “It was a red-letter day for me. There was a specific reason I was passing through your town that day.”

When she didn’t elaborate, he smiled. “Is the reason important to the case? Was it part of the report you filed?”

She shook her head. “No, just a family thing, but I do remember the date very specifically.”

He seemed to accept that. “Well, that will make it easy to pull the report. Can you tell me in a nutshell what happened?”

Alex leaned forward, making sure to look him straight in the eye. She needed him to believe what she was saying and feel the urgency she felt about it.

“I was pulled over out on the highway. The officer acted weird. It wasn’t anything concrete, just a strong feeling I had that something sinister was going on.”

“Did you feel threatened?”

“Yes, very much so. I kept thinking he would try to . . . do something to me. He never did, but I definitely felt afraid.”

He remained silent, face unreadable, and Alex remembered all too well what his objections had been four years ago.

“I’m sorry,” she found herself needing to explain, “I know it was just a gut feeling, but I really felt like—”

He held up his hands to stop her. “Please, there’s no need to explain, and no need to apologize for a feeling. I believe you.”

Alex sat back in her seat, taken by surprise at the completely opposite reaction from what he’d given last time. The scar was not the only thing the years had changed about him.

“All right.” He stood. “Why don’t you sit tight, and I’ll go try and pull that report?” He gave her a sheepish grin. “You’ll have to excuse our computer system. It’s pretty ancient, and I can’t access reports that are more than twelve months old from this computer.”

Alex nodded, and Detective Oliver gathered up what seemed to her were random papers, before heading out the door. Then he stuck his head back in.

“You want something to drink? Soda?”

Alex’s throat was parched raw from the heat outside. “Do you have bottled water?”

“Sure, coming right up.” He gave her a toothy grin.

While waiting for him to come back, Alex thought about where she’d stay for the night. She probably should have gotten a hotel room before coming here, but she’d been too anxious to talk to someone.

Suddenly it occurred to her that the small town was full of visitors from other places—far more than it was used to—and a town this size wasn’t likely to have many places to stay to begin with. It wasn’t exactly a tourist attraction.

A short search ended with Alex flipping through a local phonebook from one of the adjoining desks. The list of motels was alarmingly short—and no hotels. She pulled out her cell phone and called four of them before finding one with a vacancy, but she managed to secure a room without any trouble.

Heaving a breath of relief, Alex looked around the police station. Each of the four desks held photos with distinctly different people in them, so she assumed each desk belonged to a different person—different detectives, perhaps?

Cody’s desk held only two photos. One was of him with two middle-aged people. Cody had the woman’s shape of face and hair color, but he unmistakably shared eyes with the man. Alex decided they must be his parents.

The second photo showed a teenaged Cody with his arm around a man in a police uniform. Alex wondered who’d been the idol in Cody’s life that prompted him to join the police force.

“Hey Cody, did you ever find that file from Salina—oh.” A stocky man with chestnut hair came in and noticed her. A mischievous grin slid onto his face. “You’re not Cody.”

Alex smiled. “No. He stepped out for a minute.”

“Mmm.” The man came over and rummaged around in the desk next to Cody’s. The nameplate on the desk read Frank Dannel. “Do you know where he went?”

“He’s looking for a report. Said he can’t pull any older than twelve months from this computer.”

Frank grinned at her, his eyes twinkling. “How old?”

“Four years.”

Frank thought for a moment. “That’d be the east-wall computer. Thanks!”

He bounded from the room. Alex chuckled.

In all, it was more than twenty minutes before Cody returned.

“Found it,” he said as he sat down.

“Did Frank find you?”

The detective looked worried. “Frank talked to you?” His voice was wary.

“He was looking for you. He seemed to know where to find you, but . . .”

Cody waved his hand dismissively. “He probably got distracted. There are a lot of pretty women in the lobby he’s never met before.”

Alex laughed softly, and Cody grinned.

“So, I read through this, and I do remember it now. Vaguely.” He set the report down and leaned back in his chair, looking straight at her, as she had at him earlier. “I seem to remember not being very nice to you.”

Alex shrugged. “I think we’d both had a long night.”

Cody nodded. “Still, that was no excuse. I apologize for it.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Why do you think this guy had anything to do with these murders?”

“I can’t be certain of anything. I know something weird was going on with him. I felt like he meant me harm. And I know it happened—that is, I was pulled over—less than a quarter of a mile from where you found those graves.”

Cody’s head snapped up. “What? How do you know that?”

“They showed a map on the news of where the graves were found. It was roughly a quarter mile from that historical landmark you have out there. I was pulled over right next to that.”

Cody looked troubled. He skimmed the report again. After that he straightened, staring at nothing and thinking. Alex watched him, but didn’t interrupt his thought process, willing him to decide to investigate her lead.

When he nodded, it was more to himself than to her. His eyes focused on her again.

“I know we have
this
report, but it’s old. We may need to take a new statement from you. Would you allow us to do that?”

“Of course.”

“I’d also like to bring my captain in to hear what you have say, if that’s all right with you.”

Hope swelled in Alex’s chest. “You think this could be important.”

Cody studied the clutter on the desk in front of him. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “I think it’s too much of a coincidence to dismiss.” He looked up at her and smiled. “It’s like you said: there’s no way to tell. It might be nothing, but I’d rather be certain. And I’d like to get my captain’s input.”

Alex nodded.

Cody stood again. “I need to get some things and . . . people together. It may take a few minutes. I apologize for the wait. Can you bear with me?”

“Of course. It’s fine.”

When he hurried from the room once more, Alex practically slumped in her chair with relief. For the first time in two days, her thoughts turned to happier things. She’d talk to his captain, give her statement, get plenty of sleep in the motel, and then head back to her mother tomorrow, with her conscience finally cleared after four years.

Chapter 10

As evening gave way to dusk, Lars went to the bathroom to splash water on his face. So much reading was making him sleepy, and he was willing to wager that the courthouse would shut down with the sun, which didn’t give him much time.

A more complete picture of the Landes family was emerging,

Alastair Landes had married a local woman in 1948, two years after buying his ranch. Her name was Gertrude Alder. These were the years when Landes paid his taxes and was profitable, so, on paper at least, the marriage seemed to be a happy one. Their first child wasn’t born until 1957, which in a time when birth control was only just coming onto the market and most religious folk considered it a sin, bespoke fertility problems in the marriage. Still, a son named Jonathin Landes was born in ’57. Lars noted the odd spelling of the first name, but that could have been due to the illiteracy of the times.

Sadly, Gertrude died in childbirth, or perhaps a few days after. The death certificate was dated three days after Jonathin’s birth certificate. It was in the next few years that liens began appearing against the property. Lars wondered if the negligence was more due to emotional problems than financial ones. A sad tale.

Oddly, Lars could find no record that Alastair’s son, Jonathin, had ever bought, sold, or held any property in the county. He never seemed to have held a job or made any purchases that would leave a paper trail. Granted, when Jonathin reached adulthood, it would only have been the mid-seventies, which meant that most transactions—and even most jobs—were paid in cash. Still, the lack of records, coupled with the fact that Jonathin never laid claim to the substantial property after his father’s death, made Lars believe that perhaps Jonathin had died as a young man.

But there was no death certificate. There were no records at all. Jonathin was born; his father had some financial difficulties; and by the time of Alastair’s death in the late eighties, all sign of Jonathin had simply faded away.

There could be many explanations. Jonathin might have moved away to make his fortune. Perhaps he and his father had a falling out. Jonathin might have left and simply never returned, never knowing of his father’s death or the property he could have claimed. A more extensive search would be required to see if Jonathin Landes was still alive somewhere.

Lars leaned back to consider. Jonathin was born in ’57. If he was still alive, he’d be in his mid-fifties today. Still young enough to manage a sadistic operation like the one out in the desert? Perhaps. It would depend on the man’s health, but it wasn’t implausible. The Vampire of Brooklyn had operated well into his eighties before being caught. Granted, that was snatching helpless children, not grown women out of cars on the highway, but still.

Helga stuck her head in the door. “We’re closing in fifteen minutes. I expect each of those records to find its home before then.”

“Yes, ma’am. Say, Helga?”

Her head had disappeared, but popped back into view when he called. She seemed considerably less grouchy than she had this morning, but then closing time was in fifteen minutes, so that might have accounted for it.

“Do you by any chance remember a family by the name of Landes?”

The rest of Helga’s plump body appeared as she meandered into the room, eyes on the wall while she thought. “First names?”

“Father was Alastair. Looks like he died in ’87. Might have had a son named Jonathin.”

“The family name sounds familiar to me, but I don’t know anything about them.”

Lars nodded. “Well, thank you anyway. Is there anyone you could point me to in town that might remember more?”

Helga regarded him suspiciously for a moment before shrugging. “You been to the bar on the corner a block down?”

“I passed it on my way here.”

“There’s a gaggle of old timers who frequent it. They smoke their cigars and drink their beers and reminisce—you know the type. Most of them set up shop in Mt. Dessicate about the time the dinosaurs went AWOL. They may be able to tell you something. But”—she wagged an index finger at him—“I didn’t send you, you hear? They won’t appreciate an investigator pestering them with questions, so leave me out of it.”

“They’re a tough group, eh?”

“Yes. It may be hard to get anythin’ out of them.”

Lars sighed.
Great.
“Any suggestions?”

“Got any more donuts?”

Lars grinned. “That depends, Helga. Have
you
got any more donuts?”

Helga put her nose in the air and sniffed loudly. “
Everything
had better be put away before you leave, or I won’t be so nice next time.”

With that, she spun and marched crookedly from the room.

From
high atop the mountain, the Artist chewed his non-existent fingernails with worry. Though he was too far away and too high up to be seen, he had a clear view of what was happening several miles over. He wasn’t sure what they’d found—probably bodies, but then old Mudface didn’t keep him informed, so it was hard to be sure. If they began roving searches of these mountains, they could find him. They could expose the entire thing.

Despite his fear for his daughter, that was exactly what the Artist wanted. To be free, to see her again after all these years. He closed his eyes and let the immortal line run through his mind.

‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep . . .

No! Perhaps not. If the police could find him, could do this right, without getting everyone killed, he might actually have some hope of rescue.

For the first time since this entire thing began—so long ago now—he didn’t long for death.

Chapter 11

Alex was in the precinct for another two hours. She met with the police captain and was introduced to the other detectives. They took a second statement, compared it with the first, and asked her endless questions.

Before she left, they asked her to stay in town for a day or two while they checked out her lead, just in case they had any follow-up questions.

Her mother wouldn’t be pleased, but Alex agreed. She’d made the decision to travel to Mt. Dessicate; now she’d have to deal with the inconvenience.

It was getting dark when they finally released her, taking her cell phone number, as well as the name of her motel, and telling her they’d be in touch. Cody walked her out. “We’ll try to get you on your way as soon as possible. Unfortunately, with as many leads as are pouring in, this may take a little bit of time.”

“I understand. I’m not in any particular hurry to get home. I just want to make sure this gets checked out.”

“No husband or job?” He grinned, and she could tell he was teasing her.

“No husband, but I’m a freelance photographer. I have a job lined up early next week.” She pretended to look stern. “So you definitely don’t have me longer than that.”

“Fair enough. Where’s your car?”

“A general store two blocks down.”

Cody winced. “They may cite you for that.”

“I went into the store and bought something. I’m hoping they think I’m still in there.”

Cody grinned. “Good luck.”

She asked for directions to the motel she was staying at. He gave them, cautioning her to watch out for lost pedestrians. When she laughed, he raised an eyebrow.

“Detective, I’ve taken jobs from L.A. to New York and everywhere in between. Trust me: the biggest cities are
way
more congested than your little town here, even with all its extra visitors.”

He quirked a smile and nodded. “Well, it’s getting dark, so be careful anyway. And you may as well call me Cody. Get some rest. I’ll call you when I know anything.”

She thanked him and headed down the street.

The motel turned out to be middle-of-the-road. It wasn’t up-scale, by any means, but it wasn’t of the flea bag variety either. Alex was just glad to find somewhere clean.

She knew she ought to find something to eat, but she was exhausted, and the heat was suppressing her appetite. Kicking off her shoes and flopping onto the bed, she picked up the remote. Two full cycles through the channels—and there weren’t very many—showed absolutely
nothing
on TV.

With a sigh, she clicked off the twenty-pound television set. Deciding that fourteen hours’ sleep was exactly what she needed, she pulled a pillow out from under the comforter, curled up, and, without bothering to undress or get under the covers, fell asleep.

The dream was one she hadn’t had in years. In it, she sat in a cold, red room crying. Bone-chilling screams could be heard from beyond the walls, and a deep voice—that of a man, she thought—wailed and begged for mercy from the room adjacent. She couldn’t see the man or tell what he was saying, but she pictured a kindly face crying, while the more feminine shrieks sounded from unknown, ubiquitous places.

In the dream, she always shut her eyes and clasped hands over her ears, but the screams and the man’s wails only became louder. Then she would get a whiff of something she couldn’t identify. It had a sickly-sweet odor, like fruit just beginning to putrefy, but it scared her more than the screams did. She smelled the odor and startled so violently that she woke herself up.

Alex kicked awake from atop the motel comforter. Her hand was hanging over the side of the bed, and she knocked her knuckles hard into the bedside table. Groaning at her own stupidity, she pulled the aching hand into her stomach as she rolled herself upright.

Sitting up was like pushing through a veil. Her dream immediately faded. She’d had disturbing dreams on and off her entire life, but she usually couldn’t remember the details upon waking. She’d often wondered if they had to do with the time of her life before memory had taken hold, with her biological parents, but her waking self never had much desire to pursue the subject.

She thought she’d fallen asleep around 9:30 and it was now just after eleven. She knew she ought to rest, but the ninety-minute interval felt like a power nap, and she wasn’t tired. The dream left a yoke of fear over her, and she was afraid of dreaming it again.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed. The hotel room was too quiet, foreboding in its solitary shadows. Deciding that a midnight drive with the cool desert air was just what she needed, Alex grabbed her car and room keys and headed out the door. Having a purpose made her feel better, and by the time she reached her car, the oppressive pall of the nightmare was gone.

Being the middle of July, the air in the desert was not as cool as Alex would have hoped, but it was refreshing nonetheless. She took the same highway out of town that she’d taken in. It was the one that ran right through the center of Mt. Dessicate—the same one she’d been pulled over on that night, come to think of it. Though she was going in the opposite direction, Alex identified the historical landmark as she passed it. A chill went down her spine, but she put the memory from her mind.

The cool air, empty road, and solitary blackness of the desert soothed her nerves. After half an hour, she decided to head back. She wasn’t ready to sleep yet, but she was getting there, and she didn’t want to become exhausted and still have an hour’s drive ahead of her.

It wasn’t difficult to do a U-turn, as there were no other cars on the highway, and as she headed back, she told herself that she was fine and would be able to sleep now.

She passed the historical landmark once again, and wondered vaguely how she would react if cop lights appeared in her rearview mirror. Chuckling to herself about her own neuroses, Alex pushed down on the accelerator.

It was then, with a deafening pop and sickening jolt, that one of her tires blew out.