Deadly Sanctuary (11 page)

Her eyes registered blankness first and then recognition, followed by fury.
“¡Puta!”
she spat.

She broke into a run, but I sprinted and grabbed her arm. “Wait! Listen to me. I never knew John Dexter, okay? I’m the reporter who took his place.” She paused, looking uncertain, so I quickly added, “All I’m trying to do is find out where he went.”

I watched the rage fade from her eyes, and with a feeling of relief, I released her arm.

“So…you were not one of his…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. “Your apartment manager said John purchased bus tickets to Nogales. Is that correct?”

“Sí
. He says he does this for her,” she said with a thick Spanish accent.

“Her?”

“The girl on the phone. And now…he is gone.”

Her deep brown eyes misted. “I know sometimes he will see…the other girls. But he tells me it is nothing how do you say?…so serious.” She wiped away the tears on her cheeks and said in a cracked voice, “He says he loves me and we will soon marry.”

“Yolanda, who called him the night before he van…er…left?”

“I do not know her name. She calls two…three times, maybe.”

“How do you know?”

“I was with him.”

“You didn’t ask who she was?”

“Sí.
But all he says is, ‘I will tell you when the time, it is right.’”

“I see.” We were silent for a moment. “Did the police question you about John?”

“Many days later. I can tell them little.”

“Did they ever check back with you again?”

“No.”

I paused while she yanked a wad of tissue from her pocket. “Listen, John supposedly got a speeding ticket the afternoon he was last seen. If he went to Nogales on the bus, what happened to his vehicle?”

She looked blank. “Vehicle?”

“You know. His car or whatever he was driving.”

“I too wondered that. His pickup was new.”

“Do you know what make it was?”

She shook her head.

“Color?”

“Red. It has the big, big tires.”

“Did he pack his apartment the day he left?”

She shook her head.

“Did he come back for his stuff?”

“No.”

I raised a brow. “Who cleaned out his apartment?”

“Days after, two men come driving a big truck. I ask them, ‘Are you going to Nogales?’ but they do not answer.”

“Do you remember the name on the truck?”

She thought for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other while absently pulling on strands of her long, dark hair. “It was one of those…you know…trucks for rent...” She glanced at her watch, looking anxious. “Oh! I am late.”

“Just one more thing, Yolanda, and I hate to ask you but…do you have a recent photograph of John?” She hesitated, and I added, “I just need it for a few days.” I gave her a reassuring smile. After another moment’s hesitation, she hurried to her car and returned clutching a photograph showing the two of them entwined in each other’s arms.

“The picture. You promise to give back?” she asked, handing it to me. It was much better than the blurry photo Tugg had shown me. The face of a good looking young man with dark hair and eyes smiled back at me.

“You have my word on it. Here’s my number. If you think of anything else, would you please call me?”

She nodded, started to walk away, then turned and gave me an anguished look. “He did not tell me good-bye. Why does he do this when he promises he will come back?”

“I don’t know, Yolanda, but I’ll sure try to find out.” She flashed me a teary smile and ran inside the cleaners. Yolanda’s parting statement definitely didn’t jibe with what Roy Hollingsworth had said, that John Dexter had simply gotten bored and taken off for parts unknown. And the fact that she had been questioned only once following his disappearance certainly demonstrated Dexter’s allegations of sloppy investigating.

While the information was fresh I made copious notes and then headed to the sheriff’s office. I had to cross my fingers and hope that Roy would buy my reasons for wanting to look at the files of the dead teens.

As luck would have it, Roy wasn’t there. Instead I dealt with Deputy Duane Potts. I smiled to myself. The last few times I had been in to check the police log, his fawning demeanor and thinly-concealed lust had made it rather obvious that Deputy Potts had the hots for me. Perhaps I could use that to my advantage.

“And how are you this fine morning, Miss O’Dell?” he asked with an ingratiating smile as he smoothed what was left of his limp blonde hair with one hand while thumbing his shirt tighter into his trousers with the other.

I forced a dazzling smile. “I’m just great, and you?” As I studied the log, he told me how busy he’d been with Roy out of town the last three days. “I hope he’s got some money left when he gets back,” he cracked, imparting a knowing look in my direction.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, you know how it goes up there in Vegas,” he laughed. “Sometimes you win big, sometimes you lose big.”

“Does Roy gamble a lot?”

“I guess you might say he’s addicted.”

“Must be nice to have money to burn.”

He was studying his own reflection in the window glass and repeatedly smoothed his pencil thin mustache. Returning his attention to me he said, “Well, I guess we can’t all be millionaires like Roy.” He laughed heartily at his own joke and I pretended I didn’t see him mentally undressing me. The fact that he had a wife and four kids at home sure didn’t stop him from gawking.

I rounded my eyes with innocence. “Really? I had no idea Roy had that kind of money. His salary certainly must be a lot better than mine.”

“Mine too. But then, we can’t all have a rich aunt die and leave us a fortune.”

“Oh, I see. Well, Duane, I need a favor. I’ve been assigned to do a series on runaway teen-agers and in my research of the area, I came across two cases you guys have investigated during the past year.”

“Oh, sure. You mean those poor little gals we found in the desert? Yes, siree. We finally got a positive ID on the second girl, but Roy’s still workin’ on the other one.”

He appeared relaxed, talkative, and not the least suspicious. Might as well strike while the iron was hot. “Could I see the files on those cases? I’d like to see if there’s anything I could use in my story.”

He about fell all over himself. “Sure thing. Be right back.”

He was gone for quite a while. When he came out, he said, “Funny you’d want these. John Dexter asked about them too.”

I kept my face impassive. “Really? Why?”

“Oh, you would have had to know him. He was always snooping around trying to rustle up trouble. He acted like he was working for the
National Enquirer
sometimes.”

“I read in some old editions of the
Sun
that he didn’t think ah…you guys were working very hard to solve the second case. The Perkins girl.”

He took offense at that. “Well, he was full of shit! Oh, excuse me, I mean…John accused Roy of sitting on his hands, but I’m here to tell you that he worked his butt off on that case. The fact that someone back in Washington screwed up and misplaced the file wasn’t his fault. John reported that wrong.” He waved a hand vehemently. “It was nothing of the kind. Roy took a real personal interest in that case and this other one too,” he said tapping the folders. “Of course, as you’ll see, there wasn’t much left of the first body.

I read through the reports. “Who did the face sheets on these?”

“Roy.”

“His handwriting isn’t the best is it?”

“It’s awful. I can barely read it myself.”

“I’m having trouble with parts of these descriptions as to where the bodies were found. Can you clarify them for me?”

He shrugged. “They were both found on the Talverson ranch.”

That jarred me. “That’s kind of a strange coincidence, isn’t it?”

He shrugged and made a face. “Not really. He’s got one hellacious bunch of land. Thousands of acres.”

I kept my expression bland even though the information left me feeling non-plussed. I examined every sheet of paper in the files and it didn’t take me long to discover John Dexter had been right.

“Um…there’s reference made here to toxicology reports yet I don’t find them in either of these files. Is there some reason they’re not with the autopsy information?”

He blinked and frowned. “Well, no. They should be there.” He came over and stood close to me. In fact he was so close, his shoulder touched mine. “Hmmm. Well, they must’ve been misfiled. He thumbed toward the back and said in a low voice, “Julie’s real nice, but a little dense. She’s famous for losing things and misfiling.” He puffed out his chest. “I’ll look into this for you. By the way, is there some special reason they’re so important to you?”

I’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask. “Having them would really help me out with this article. Make it more complete and round out the series, you understand.”

He gave me a knowing nod even though I’m sure he didn’t have a clue as to what I was talking about.

I thanked him for taking the time to help me, and asked him to contact me when he found the missing reports. He promised and about broke an ankle getting to the door to open it for me, and then saluted good-bye.

In the car once more, I studied Dexter’s note again. The first clue was now confirmed…wait just a minute! I’d misread it. It didn’t say ’t prof.’ It said ‘prop’. Obviously ‘T prop’ stood for Talverson property.

While Deputy Potts had dismissed it as unimportant, John must have thought it significant or he wouldn’t have written it down. The implication made me feel a little ill. This might be the connection he’d referred to. Add the two teens plus Stephanie and that meant three people had died on the Talverson property in two years. I interrupted my next thought before it fully materialized.

My last stop before heading into work was the bus station. It was a tiny place located in a crumbling brick building next to a shoe repair shop and across the street from Lucinda’s restaurant. The smell of homemade bread filled the air and it was easy to see why the place would act as a beacon to hungry travelers. That thought triggered the memory of the scraggly young girl Lucinda had so roughly ejected.

I savored the cool blast of air-conditioning as I stepped inside and immediately introduced myself to a portly white-haired gentleman named Farley Shupe. After chatting about the warm weather for a few minutes, I told him about my story on the runaways. He verified the fact that Castle Valley appeared to be a dropping off place for teens, girls especially.

“It just churns my gut to see those pathetic little gals. I make it a point to send them over to the shelter for something to eat.”

“It must be a great source of pride for the town to have someplace these girls can go for help.”

“It sure is. Before they moved into that house over there on Tumbleweed, I used to direct them to the church. But, there got to be so many, there wasn’t room.” A look of sorrow passed over his face. “It was a real tragedy when Violet was killed. I used to see her in church every Sunday and I’ll tell you, a kinder, more generous lady, I’ve never known. She had…what do you call it? Real empathy.”

“I guess Claudia Phillips is the same sort of person?” He hesitated a second. “I guess she’s got a good heart or she wouldn’t be doing what she’s doing. She provides their bus tickets and makes sure they’ve got new clothes and stuff but…I don’t know, she seems a bit standoffish, if you know what I mean.”

It was nice to hear my thoughts about her confirmed. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out the photo of John Dexter. “Mr. Shupe, do you recognize this man?”

He studied the photo. “Oh sure. That’s John Dexter. I guess he left before you got here, huh?”

“Yes. He left quite a few personal items behind in his desk, and I’d really like to send his things along to him. It’s my understanding he may have relocated to Nogales with a…friend. Did he mention where he might be staying when he bought the tickets. He did buy two didn’t he?”

“Well, I think so.” He paged through a journal on the counter and his finger stopped at one of the entries. “Nope. I was wrong. It says here he only bought one ticket to Nogales.”

Morton Tuggs’ well-worn chair let out a squeaky groan as he leaned back and laced his fingers behind his neck. He puffed out an extended breath and stared at the ceiling for a while before meeting my eyes again. “So, what do you make of it to this point?” he asked.

I’d just given him a rundown on all the information I’d uncovered regarding John Dexter. “I hate to tell you I don’t know, but, to be truthful, all we have right now is a bunch of unrelated clues and your suspicion that Roy is somehow involved in his disappearance. I’m not getting a clear picture on anything,” I said, half apologetically.

He studied one of the many colorful travel posters on his wall while chewing the end of his pen. When he turned back to me, he sounded agitated. “Well, let’s go over it again. Maybe something will start to make some sense.”

I read my notes aloud for the second time. “John disappeared the afternoon or evening of March 29th. The last person to see him was Roy Hollingsworth who claims John was speeding south on highway 89…”

“And today,” he said emphatically, stabbing his pen in my direction, “is the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Do you think Roy just forgot to mention it to you? It’s possible, isn’t it?”

He looked skeptical. “Is it just me? Don’t you think this whole thing a bit odd? I know it happens, but from what you’ve discovered, do you think John would just up and leave town without saying good-bye to a single soul?”

“Well, I didn’t know him, but you said yourself he was a flake.”

“So you believe Roy?”

“I’m not making excuses for him, I don’t even know the man. But to be perfectly honest, until this morning I was beginning to think you were way out in left field. Now I don’t feel that way. There are too many strange clues that have been overlooked or poorly handled by the sheriff’s department.”