Footprints of a Dancer (Detective Elliot Mystery) (12 page)

Carmen said Wayne wasn’t answering his phone, but Elliot tried it, just to be sure.

“Who’s there?”

Recognition of the hushed voice went through Elliot like an electrical current. It was Wayne. A roaring sound filled the background. An answer of
your father
formed in Elliot’s thoughts, though he did not speak the words. “It’s Mr. Elliot.” That was what Wayne called him, the name he knew him by.

“Oh, man, am I glad it’s you.”

A dull pain started in Elliot’s stomach and spread through him. He recalled holding the boy close after he’d found him hiding in the closet a few months ago, terrified by an attacker who’d taken his mother hostage. He’d suffered too much pain in his young life. “Are you all right?”

“Sort of.”

“What does that mean, Wayne?”

“I did something really stupid. I was on the road and this truck driver picked me up. I’m inside his truck.”

Cold beads of perspiration formed on Elliot’s forehead. An old memory of finding his mother cold and stiff in her bed snaked through his mind. A similar empty and lost feeling had formed in his stomach. “Is he there? Does he know you’re talking to me?”

“No. I’m in the back. It’s kind of like an RV, only hooked to the truck. I don’t think he can hear me back here. At least I hope not.”

The air seemed to seep out of the cab of Elliot’s pickup. “Has he done anything to you, hurt you in anyway?”

“No, but he’s kind of weird. I don’t like the way he looks at me.”

Elliot started the pickup and pulled onto the roadway. “Have you asked the driver to pull over and let you out?”

“Yeah. I told him I had to go to the bathroom, but he wouldn’t stop. There’s a bathroom back here, though, so maybe he isn’t crazy. I just don’t know.”

Elliot turned onto Highway 44 and headed east. “You’re doing fine. Do you know where you are, or where the truck is going?”

“Not really. I told him I wanted to go to Arkansas, but I don’t know if that’s what he’s doing.”

“Is there a window or something you can look through?”

“There’s one by the dining table, and a door, too, but I don’t know if it’ll open or not.”

“Can you get to the window without drawing the driver’s attention?”

“I don’t know. There’s a curtain hanging across the entrance to the truck, so maybe he won’t see me.”

“All right,” Elliot said. “Here’s what I want you to do. Act casual, but move over to the window, nice and easy like you’re just looking around.”

Seconds later, Wayne said, “Okay, I made it. Now what?”

“Look through the window and tell me what you see.”

“Just the side of the road and a bunch of trees and stuff.”

“How about signs that tell you what road you’re on, or what city you’re near?”

“I don’t see any now, but earlier I did, when I asked the driver to stop.”

Elliot passed several other cars on the highway, going faster than he should. “You’re doing fine. Do you remember if a town or a city was listed?”

“Nah, just a blue sign showing there was a travel stop.”

“How about an exit number?”

“A what?”

“The roads leading off the highway are usually numbered. It would’ve been on the sign that advertised the travel stop.”

“I don’t remember seeing any numbers.”

“That’s okay. Tell me what the land looks like. Are there a lot of hills, or is it mostly flat?”

“Wait a minute,” Wayne said. “I can see a house now.”

“Can you tell me what it looks like?”

“It’s a white one, and kind of old. Now we’re slowing down.”

Elliot’s throat tightened. Thoughts of what to do next scrambled through his head. “All right, Wayne. If the truck stops, try the door you told me about. It might be locked. If you can get it open, get out of there. Run as fast as you can. Don’t let the man catch you. I know you can do it.”

“Yes, sir, but I don’t think he means to stop. Nope, he’s turning. We’re getting off this road and going onto another one.”

“Tell me what you see.”

“Cars, trucks and gas pumps. He’s stopping all right. I’m going to do what you said.”

The phone went dead.

Elliot stared through the windshield of the truck and tried to clear his mind except for thoughts of Wayne, and just let it happen, a process he wasn’t accustomed to. He’d always tried to fight it. He pressed the accelerator pedal to the floor. Maybe it was nothing more than memories triggered by Wayne’s description of what he’d seen through the window of the truck sleeper, but images that had been forming in his mind solidified. He knew Wayne’s location. It seemed fantastic, but the last couple of days had been filled with instances blurring the boundaries of credible thought. Fifteen minutes later, a time span in which Elliot was all too aware that much could happen, he turned onto Highway 69, just south of Chouteau, Oklahoma, then wheeled into the travel stop located just past the exit.

Elliot skidded to a stop beside the tractor trailer rig. It was the only one with an oversized sleeper. He jumped out of the pickup and started toward the rig.

Wayne came around the front of the rig, a tall but slender man flanking him, his hand on Wayne’s shoulder.

Elliot quickened his pace, an approach that would put him on the right side of the man, away from Wayne. He’d already chosen his strategy. A body shot would put him down, and from there Elliot would destroy him.

Wayne broke free and ran toward Elliot. “I had it all wrong, Mr. Elliot. Jim wasn’t trying to hurt me.”

Elliot stroked Wayne’s head then fell to one knee and pulled him close, taking in the scent of his hair and the feel of his heartbeat. “Are you all right? You don’t have to be afraid now. Tell me the truth.”

“I’m okay, honest.”

Elliot turned his attention to the trucker and rose to his feet. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but you need to start explaining yourself, and you need to do it fast.”

The trucker took a step back. “Now hold on, mister. I was just trying to teach the boy a lesson. I ran away myself when I was about his age. Really messed up my life. When I saw the boy walking along the highway, I knew something wasn’t right, so I picked him up. We got to talking and I realized I’d pegged the problem on the head. Like I said, I was a kid once. If I’d started preaching to him, it wouldn’t have done any good. I figured I’d drive him around, give him time to think about it. Later, I’d drop him off with the cops, or have him call his folks or something. I admit it sounds crazy, now that I hear myself saying it, but it’s the honest to God truth.”

Elliot studied the man’s face then looked at Wayne.

He nodded his agreement.

Elliot tried to look stern, but he couldn’t pull it off. He was too happy to see the boy. “Why didn’t you call and tell me everything was all right?”

Wayne shrugged. “When the truck stopped, I did what you said. I got the side door open and ran for it.” He pulled the remains of his phone from his pocket. “I dropped it and it busted on the concrete.”

“You could have used the phone inside the store, or borrowed the driver’s.”

Wayne looked at the ground, a flash of red coming across his face. “Mom programmed my numbers a long time ago. Without the phone, I couldn’t remember any of them.”

Elliot pulled his phone and clicked on Carmen’s number. As soon as she answered, he said, “I found Wayne. I’m bringing him home.”

He handed the phone to Wayne then returned his attention to the driver. “I hope you realize something like this could end your career and ruin your life.”

The driver nodded. “I can be real stupid at times.”

“You might not want my advice, but don’t do anything like this again.”

“You got my word on that.”

“Heaven forbid there should be a next time,” Elliot said, “but if there is, call the authorities.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do that, for sure.”

Wayne was still talking on the phone.

Elliot helped the boy into the pickup. After getting inside, he pulled onto highway 69 and headed south toward Porter.

Wayne stopped talking and handed the phone back, his head drooped, ready for another lecture.

A menagerie of words and phrases tumbled inside of Elliot’s head, but what came out was, “I love you, Wayne.”

Wayne shot a glance at Elliot then fixed his gaze on the floorboard.

Fumbling for his footing, Elliot continued with, “You scared your mother. She’s going to be pretty upset for a few days.”

Wayne looked up, his eyes flicking back and forth. “It seemed to make sense at the time. But all I did was make things worse.”

Elliot thought about trying to explain the divorce—It’s not your fault, people change and grow apart—but he figured he’d bungle it, so he settled for, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Thanks, but it was a dumb thing to do. I know that now.”

A few hundred feet ahead, a black, horse-drawn buggy left the safety of a side road, its Amish driver coaxing the horse into a fast trot across the highway.

Elliot wondered what it might be like, living inside such a subculture, and if their clinging to the past and simple ways effectively insulated them from the problems of the world. In some ways, he suspected, it might, but like any society they were bound to have their share of insanity. “Let’s just say you’re extremely lucky it turned out the way it did.”

“Mom’s gonna kill me.”

“Most likely,” Elliot said. A smile turned the corners of his mouth. “I’d try to smooth things out for you, soften the blow, but I’m not exactly in good graces with your mother either.”

“You got it all wrong,” Wayne said, “She likes you a lot. She never says as much, but I can tell. She wants you to be my….”

Wayne stopped short of finishing the sentence.

A few seconds later, Elliot said, “You’re a good boy, Wayne.”

“I’m glad somebody thinks so.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Yes, your mother is upset with you, but only because she loves you. Anyway, I’m proud of you.”

He looked up, his eyes reflecting the question before he spoke it. “For running away?”

“No, not for that, but for the reason you did it. And just for being you.”

Wayne shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand, but thanks. And I got it all wrong. I was so scared back there in that sleeper. I’ve done some dumb things before, but I really iced the cake this time.”

“The next time you get some wild idea,” Elliot said, “give me a call before you do anything. I have a lot of experience with the consequences of doing dumb things.”

Wrinkles formed briefly across Wayne’s forehead. After thinking it over, he smiled. “Thanks for coming to get me. How did you know where I was, anyway?”

Elliot tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Chapter Twenty-One

After taking Wayne home and visiting with Carmen, Elliot resumed the investigation. His suspicion turned out to be right. He found Angela Gardner in a semi-private room at St. Francis, an IV feeding clear liquid into her arm. Even though her eyes were half closed and her movements sluggish, she appeared cognizant.

Elliot approached the bed and asked Angela what she’d undoubtedly already been asked several times. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“You probably don’t remember me, but the name’s Kenny Elliot. We met briefly in college.”

A puzzled expression crossed her face. “I do know you. You were the one in the truck at the library. I saw you, but you couldn’t see me. At least that’s the way it seemed. I’d thought it was a dream.”

Perspiration formed on Elliot’s hands and he wiped them against his pant legs. He could rule out insanity now. Angela had just confirmed that she, at least in some form, had been inside his truck when he’d sensed her presence.

The doctor came into the room. She brushed past Elliot and smiled at Angela. “How are we doing today?”

Angela didn’t answer.

The doctor took some readings. Later, she motioned for Elliot to follow her into the hallway. Stopping a few feet outside the room she said, “I’m Doctor Shaffer. Are you related to the patient?”

“No. Name’s Elliot. I’m a friend of the family.”

A quizzical expression formed on the doctor’s face. “I called you out here because you seemed to be communicating with the patient.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not at all, but she hasn’t talked to anyone since she got here, except for you.”

Elliot rubbed his temples. “We met a few years ago, but it was brief and informal. I guess a bit of recognition was all she needed. If you don’t mind my asking, how did she get here, to the hospital I mean?”

Doctor Shaffer raised one eyebrow. “What exactly are you doing here, Mr. Elliot?”

“Angela and her parents had a falling out a few years ago. They haven’t seen her in a while, and they asked me to find her. Looks like I did.”

The doctor stuffed something into her pocket. “She walked in and passed out in our waiting room. We almost lost her.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She had high levels of Valium and Chlorpromazine in her system.”

Elliot ran the name through his memory but nothing came up. “I’m not familiar with the last one. Could you explain?”

“Certainly, but I’d like to know who I’m talking with. Are you a police officer?”

Elliot leaned against the wall. Why did everyone seem to know he was a cop? Had his association with the business changed his appearance, or did his actions give him away? He showed his badge. “I’m a detective with the Tulsa Police Department. But I’m here unofficially. It’s a private matter.”

Again Doctor Shaffer analyzed Elliot. “Chlorpromazine is a drug used to treat the symptoms of schizophrenia.”

“Are you saying Angela is schizophrenic?”

The doctor shook her head. “We don’t know. She didn’t have any identification, and no additional medication or a prescription with her. We’ve been calling the local psychiatrists, but no one’s claimed her as a patient. I’ve scheduled a neurological. Doctor Van Zandt, one of our resident psychiatrists, said he’d visit with her tonight.”

Elliot watched a nurse roll someone past. The wheels of the gurney squeaked against the tiled floor. Schizophrenic behavior might explain a few things. “Her name is Angela Gardner.”