FIRST ONE DOWN: A Paul Sutton Novel (22 page)

Cautiously driving the winding road alongside the beach, Nate searched for the perfect place to park. He found an alcove along the most secluded stretch of shore on Kali's run route. He opened the laptop and saw that she was only about two miles away and headed in his direction. He looked around for any sign of life and he saw none. He couldn't have picked a better location.

Opening the duffle, he pulled out a small cloth, soaked it with an ether mix that he had learned about online and headed down to the shore. Night had fallen over the strip of beach, and Nate's heart raced with excitement, so eager to finally have her again, captive, under his control completely. In the distance he could hear faint footsteps pounding the hard-packed sand. He could see the reflectors spray the dark air with a glint of neon sparkle every few seconds, she was close. Crouching down low, behind a bluff that extended out from the bank almost all the way to the shore, he lay in wait for her. Her footsteps grew louder and louder until she flew past him. Jumping up he fell in step behind her, catching up to her. In one movement Nate reached his right hand containing the ether soaked cloth around and tightly pressed it to her mouth. His other arm wrapped around her stomach stopping her forward movement. He left her no time to scream out; she was taken thoroughly off guard. Her body went limp within seconds. He pulled her to him and tossing her arm over and around the back of his neck, he half dragged, half walked her up to the truck. To any onlookers, it would appear that she had injured herself running and he was assisting her to their awaiting vehicle.

She slumped sideways on the seat leaning towards the driver's side as he set her limp body into the cab of the truck. Nate loosened and slid the running armband that held her iPhone off of her, pulled it out of the case, then unzipped the small key pocket on the back of her black, Dri-FIT running pants and pulled her house key out. After securing the seatbelt around her, and locking the door, Nate sprinted to the other side of the truck and hurried into the driver's side. He knew there was only a small window before she would begin to awaken. He stopped in front of her condo, locked his truck up, and took her iPhone and house key up to her unit. Once inside, he placed her iPhone on its charger sitting on top of the bar in her kitchen, then he found her key ring and placed her house key back on it. After locking the front door from the inside, he pulled it closed behind him and ran back down to the truck. She was still out, her dark hair spilled over the middle of the bench seat, her scent filling the cab, tempting him to reach over and touch her. Looking at the time on the dash of his truck, anxiety began to build. He pulled quickly onto the main road and headed directly to the chosen location. He would have the whole night with her before anyone would notice her absence. His pants grew tight across his crotch as the thought of what was about to come, caused him to become hard.

It was time.

It was time to remind Kali where she belonged.

It was time for her to remember whom she belonged to, and acquiescence wouldn't be tolerated. He wanted a verbal admission of her compliance.

Andrew looked at his phone. He had been parked across from Nate's house for almost eight hours, and the guy had never shown up. In those hours Andrew had played out every possible scenario in his head. The anger had banked and logic had reclaimed its place within. Sitting there now, he was shocked that he had granted access to that level of anger within him. Relieved that Nate had not come home and he remained a party to the side of the good-guys, he started up the rental car and headed to his temporary base housing.

After taking a quick shower and throwing on a pair of blue, cotton boxer briefs, he lay down in the lumpy, hard pull out and looked at his phone. No calls from Kali, it was after 10 p.m. He dialed her number, hoping she was still awake, but the call went to voicemail. Sure she was already asleep, he left a message saying goodnight and asking her to call him in the morning. Just as he was reaching over to turn off the small lamp next to the pullout, he remembered that he had a message from Sutton that he hadn't listened to yet. After listening to the message, he thought back to the last time he had heard from Kali that day; it had been before her meeting with Sutton. He scrolled through the text messages, and she hadn't sent a text since the day before. His mind began to race, and he began to worry. No Nate. No Kali. That might be a coincidence, but Andrew had learned over the years that coincidences were rare. Dialing Kali's number again, his panic elevated when she failed to answer. He placed calls to her line five more times, all of them ringing multiple times before going to voicemail.

Not knowing what else to do, Andrew dialed Sutton's cell phone number.

"Sutton here," Sutton answered, his voice groggy.

"Sutton, sorry to call so late. Have you heard from Kali Hanson since you left your meeting with her this afternoon?" Andrew asked.

"No, why?"

"I can't get ahold of her, I haven't heard from her since before she met with you. She was supposed to call me after she ran this evening. I tried her line multiple times unsuccessfully," Andrew said, panic audible in his voice.

"Andrew, get some sleep. The poor girl was badly upset when she left me. She probably just needs some time to sort it all out. Call me tomorrow if you still can't reach her." Sutton said, and ended the call.

Andrew sat on the edge of the pullout and tried to calm down, telling himself that Sutton was right - she was just upset and needed some alone time.

Sutton woke to the unfamiliar sound of the pitter-patter of rain drops hitting the tin patio roof outside of the small suite at the bed and breakfast he had checked into the night before. The little town of Forest Grove, Oregon, was unique and the locals were friendly. Sitting up in the plush, queen sized bed, he scratched at the stubble that had grown on his weathered face and ran his hand through the mess of considerably grayer tangled hair on top of his head. Having no real plan for the day, except for paying a visit to the small car lot near the bed and breakfast, he was in no hurry. His plan was to be able to track Olivia Foster down; his hope was that she was alive.

After getting dressed in his standard black slacks, collared shirt and faded, black coat, Sutton went to the dining area of the cozy bed and breakfast and helped himself to toast and over-scrambled eggs. After getting directions to the car lot from the polite, middle-aged woman behind the counter, he set out to see what he could dig up.

When Sutton arrived at NewWay Auto, he was surprised with the size of the lot; he had been to corner markets that were larger. The car lot was set back from the main road and had twelve vehicles on display for sale - most of them trucks. At the far right side of the postage stamp sized lot, sat a small, white, dilapidated trailer that looked as if it might blow over in a mid-range gale. As soon as Sutton got out of his compact rental, an older man appeared from the trailer. He had a rotund mid section with a cheesy smile on his face and a badly wrinkled, brown suit that looked like it came from a local five and dime.

"Hello Sir," his raspy voice grated on Sutton's ears, "you lookin' for somethin' in particular?"

"Yes, I am," Sutton said, pulling out his badge and identifying himself, "I understand that this business is registered as the owner of a 2008 Nissan 350z?"

The man put his finger up to his closed mouth and looked upwards, as if trying to recall the vehicle.

"It's red and it would have had personalized California plates when you bought it."

"Oh yes, I remember, I got that sweet ride off a cute young gal. She was an anxious little thing," the man said.

Pulling a photo of Olivia out of his inside coat pocket, Sutton held it up in front of the man's round face. "Is this the woman you bought the car from?" he asked.

The man studied the photo for a moment, returning his finger up to his closed mouth once again, then said, "That looks a lot like the girl, but I can't say for sure. I recollect dark hair on the girl I got the car from, and she never took her sunglasses off the whole time she was here. Does she have buyer's remorse?"

"Buyer's remorse?" Sutton asked, cocking his head to the side.

"On the rig she picked up. It was a fair price I gave her on it, and a fair amount I paid for her car, but I thought it was a queer trade. What does a pretty girl like that want with an old, ugly, four wheel drive?"

"You sold this woman a vehicle?" Sutton asked, holding the photo of Olivia up again.

"Let's go on in the office, and I'll dig up the papers," the man said starting towards the trailer.

Sutton followed, adrenaline kicking in at the thought of finding Olivia Foster, alive.

The man opened and closed three different file cabinet drawers, moving papers around, pulling files out, briefly scanning through them one by one. Sutton had no idea how the man could find anything in the chaos of his filing system. Finally, the man pulled out a file, looked at the first page inside, and turned sharply towards Sutton. "Here we are, this is the transaction," he said, smiling proudly as he handed the file to Sutton and motioned for him to take a seat.

Sutton opened up the file, placing it on the desk in front of him, being careful not to mix it up with the other papers sprawled about the desk. He found the title transfer for the 350z, as well as a purchase contract for a full size Ford F250. Sutton had to agree with the man from the car lot, that was a queer trade for a sports car. Scanning the contract, he saw that the purchaser was indeed Olivia Foster, and there was an address for her. Pulling his small, spiral, flip notebook from his coat pocket, he wrote down Olivia's given address and thanked the man then he made his way back to the compact rental car. He drove a few blocks up the street, pulled over on the side of the road and entered the address into the navigation app on his phone. It was only six miles from where he was parked.

Sutton dialed Ryan's number, "Hey partner, anything new on your end?" he asked.

"Nothing other than the big guy calling down here wanting to know if we had arrested Nate Warner," Ryan said.

"Arrested? What? Does he have some new information?" Sutton said, chuckling into the phone.

"I don't know what he has other than a hot head right now. He was also going on and on about not being able to reach Ms. Hanson, and wanting to know if I could check in on her."

"What time did he call you?" Sutton asked.

"Around 11 a.m., why?" Ryan asked.

"Did you check her office?" Sutton asked.

"Check her office for what? What did I miss?" Ryan asked.

"It's probably nothing. After I check out the lead I'm on right now, I'll call down to the facility and see if she made it in this morning," Sutton said, a tiny hint of worry in his voice, "She's probably still upset from yesterday."

"What happened yesterday? Man, I feel like I'm in the dark," Ryan said.

"Sorry partner, I didn't have time to fill you in before I left. It didn't go that well with Ms. Hanson yesterday, and I think I gave her a piece of information that she was unaware of," Sutton said.

"What piece?" Ryan asked.

"One of the women from Nate Warner's phone records, Megan James, she's Kali Hanson's best friend," Sutton said, taking a deep breath, "it seems that Ms. Hanson didn't know her friend and Nate Warner were so close."

"Crap, really? That guy is a real piece of work, isn't he."

"Ya, he's a piece of work, all right. I gotta run Ry, I'll call you tomorrow. Call me if anything comes up," Sutton said, ending the call and turning his attention back to the navigation app.

When he arrived at the address, it was an outdated dump of an apartment complex. Certainly less chic than the complex Olivia Foster had lived in back home. Driving through the small complex, Sutton had to rub his eyes, and take a second look when he came across a Ford F250 parked in the spot marked unit seven. Could it be this easy, he wondered. There was a visitor spot near the end of the parking area, so he pulled in and spent a minute gathering his thoughts. The rain had started to fall again, and he cursed himself for not bringing an umbrella with him on this trip. Exiting the compact rental, he walked around the Ford, peering in the windows to see if he could identify anything that would indicate a woman owner. He found nothing. The truck was clean, there was nothing in the cab, no stickers on the outside, but it was too clean to belong to a man. If a man owned this truck, it would be used for a work truck; it would be dirty.

Sutton walked the complex searching for unit seven. The place was run down and there were tall, green weeds growing in between and out of every crack in the cement along the walkway. The size of the complex made it simple to locate unit seven. He walked up the small entry area and knocked on the faded, front door. He heard movement inside, then heard a woman's voice, "Who's there?" the woman asked.

"Ma'am, I am with the San Diego Police Department, please open the door," Sutton said, and heard what sounded like papers, or trash being moved around in the unit, as well as a few thud's and a door slamming. "Ma'am?"

"Hold on please," the woman said, sounding out of breath.

Just as Sutton was about to knock again, the front door swung open and there stood Olivia Foster, right before his eyes. She was alive.

"I wondered when you would track me down," she said.

"Ma'am?" Sutton said, trying to come off as surprised by her statement.

"Don't act like an ass, detective, I know why you're here, and so do you," Olivia said, stepping away from the entryway and motioning for him to enter.

He sat down on a frayed, material couch, with a hideous floral print, and Olivia took a seat on the matching ottoman opposite him. Her face revealed signs of stress, and she had dropped some weight since the photograph in his coat pocket had been taken. Even though the photo was only a few years old, Olivia appeared to have aged at least fifteen years in the last two. She looked awful, worn out, beat down. The girl looked broken. The look on her face reminded him of the look on Ms. Hanson's face when she had left him at the coffee house.