Immoral (38 page)

“Well, it’s a little cooler in winter,” Stride said.

“Like a hundred degrees cooler,” Maggie said.

Serena nodded. “Yeah, I looked up Minnesota on the Web, and it pretty much sounded like the icebox of the nation. But this is nice. It’s a buck twenty back home. Hot Preheat your oven sometime, then stick your face inside. That’s Vegas.”

“I was married in Reno,” Maggie told her.

“Yeah? I like Reno. I love the mountains. I keep telling myself someday I’ll get the hell out of the desert”

“You married?” Maggie asked her.

Serena shook her head. “No.”

They reached Maggie’s SUV. Serena clambered into the backseat and leaned casually over the front seat to talk with Stride as they got inside. Stride felt her elbow grazing his neck and could smell a hint of perfume. Her breath was sweet. He was uncomfortably aware of everything about her.

“You’re absolutely sure the body you found in the desert is Rachel Deese?” Maggie asked her.

Serena nodded. “I’m sure. Prints matched what you put in the system. Plus, a witness identified her photo from a news clipping. Sorry about that. I know it puts you guys in an awkward position.”

“We’re used to that,” Maggie said, chuckling.

“Does anyone else out here know about this yet?‘ Serena asked.

Stride shook his head. “Just us and the chief. I didn’t want it leaking out I thought we could break the news to her mother first. It’ll hit the papers and television as soon as we start talking to people.”

“Yeah, I imagine this will be big news around here. I read the newspaper report Bizarre case. If I were you, I would have thought she was dead, too.”

“Thanks,” Stride said.

“Anyway, after we tell the mother, I guess we should open up the case files and start investigating the girl’s friends and anyone else who knew her.”

Stride twisted around in his seat. Their faces were only a couple of inches apart. “How’s that going to help solve a murder in Vegas?”

Serena took off her sunglasses again, and Stride looked into her jade-green eyes. Originally, when he saw her walk off the plane, he thought she was younger than she was, but close up, he could see the maturity in her face. Her smile lines were deep. She must have been in her midthirties, which to Stride was still young, but her face was etched with an older, wiser sensibility. Her smile came often and easily, and her eyes joked with him, but there was also a distance, a lack of trust that hovered between them like a thin film. He wondered if it was because she sensed the same sexual chemistry between them that he did.

He realized she hadn’t answered his question.

“Well, Serena?” Maggie asked, giving them both a sideways glance.

“I take it you guys are familiar with the Range Bank,” Serena said.

“Sure,” Stride said. “I bank there, along with half the city. What difference does that make?”

Serena leaned even closer. “CSI found part of an ATM receipt from the Range Bank in Rachel’s apartment. So either she was back here recently or someone from home paid her a visit.”

Stride picked up Serena at the motel on Friday morning just after nine o’clock. He knocked on her door, and when she answered, her black hair was damp from a recent shower, and her skin glowed. She had toned down her wardrobe, wearing a faded pair of blue jeans, a snug navy T-shirt, and cowboy boots. She flashed a welcoming smile.

“Hey, Stride,” she said. “Come on in. I’m almost ready.”

Her shower had left the tiny room humid and fragrant. The mirror beside the television was steamed over. He saw her suitcase open on the bureau, her clothes folded inside. A queen-sized bed was squeezed between the walls.

“Sorry about the room,” he said. “Summer’s the busy season here.”

Serena shrugged. “That’s all right.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and began to put on tiny silver earrings. Her fingertips seemed to caress her earlobes. Stride found he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Serena looked up and noticed and, after a long moment, glanced nervously away.

“I called Rachel’s mother on the cell phone on the way over,” he said, feeling awkward. “I finally got through to her. We can stop there first.”

“Did you break the news?”

Stride shook his head. “No, I just said I wanted to talk to her. She probably suspects.”

Serena stood up. They were close enough to kiss, and Stride felt a wild desire to do just that.

“We better go,” he said.

Outside, they climbed into Stride’s truck. The seats were coming apart, and he had covered the dashboard with Post-it notes related to various investigations. A day-old mug of coffee was lodged in the cup holder, and part of the Duluth newspaper was strewn on the floor.

Serena saw his embarrassment and smiled. “Don’t worry. I like a truck with that lived-in look. How old’s the coffee?”

“Old.”

“You guys got a Starbucks near here?”

“Sure. But I usually go to McDonald’s. It’s hot and cheap. Want to drive through?”

“Okay,” she said. “But I may hit you up for some real coffee later.”

They got two steaming cups of coffee, and Stride threw out the old one. He also ordered some hash browns and munched them as they drove. Serena dangled her arm outside the truck. The breeze whipped in and mussed her newly brushed hair. She sipped her coffee. Stride stole glances at her, and once or twice, she looked back his way. They didn’t say much.

A few islands of fog lingered on the road. He switched on his headlights as he drove in and out of the patches of mist. At the crest of the hill, overlooking the rest of the city, he saw Serena lean forward, staring down at the hints of lake visible through the haze.

“This is amazing,” she murmured. “When you live in the desert for a long time, you forget about water and trees.”

“I’ve never been to the desert,” Stride said.

“Never? You should go. It’s beautiful in its own way,”

“Are you from Las Vegas originally?” Stride asked.

“No, Phoenix.” He watched her green eyes grow distant, and he guessed that he had stumbled onto sensitive ground. “I moved to Vegas with a girlfriend when I was sixteen,” she added.

“Young,” he said, wondering what she had been running away from. Serena didn’t explain.

Stride followed the curving road down to the freeway and headed south, which was the fastest route toward the neighborhood in which Emily and Dayton Tenby lived. They had gotten married while Emily was still in prison, and she had been paroled six months ago.

“I’m freezing,” Serena said, rubbing her arms.

“I’ve got a sweater in the trunk. You want to borrow it?”

Serena nodded. She wrinkled her nose. “I smell cigarettes. Do you smoke?”

“I used to,” Stride admitted. “I finally quit about a year ago. The smell lingers in here.”

“Was it tough to quit?”

Stride nodded. “But I saw another guy on the force die of cancer last year. He was only about ten years older. That scared me.”

“Good for you,” Serena said.

Stride found Dayton and Emily’s house without difficulty. It was only two blocks from the church that he and Maggie had visited in the snow more than three years earlier. He parked on the street and retrieved a rust-colored wool pullover sweater from his trunk. Serena shrugged it over her shoulders as they walked up the driveway. She pushed the sleeves up to bare her forearms.

“You’re a life saver,” she told him and squeezed his arm.

Emily answered the bell at once. He expected that prison would have aged her, but if anything, she looked younger than she had during the dark days of the trial. Her makeup was neat, her lipstick smoothed and red. Her blue eyes, once sullen and dead, were bright again, and her dark hair was cut in a cute bob. She wore a pair of brown slacks and a loose-fitting white cotton blouse.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has. You’re looking well, Mrs. Tenby.”

“Please, call me Emily,” she said pleasantly.

“Of course. And this is Serena Dial. She’s with the police in Las Vegas, Nevada.”

Emily’s eyebrows rose. “Las Vegas?”

Serena nodded. Emily’s lips pursed in concern. She pulled the door open farther, inviting them in.

“Dayton is in the living room. I’m sorry you weren’t able to reach us last night. We got your message, but we got home very late. Our flight into the Cities was delayed by two hours, and then we still had to drive north.”

“Were you on vacation?” Serena asked.

“Partly, and partly work for Dayton. There was a national church convention in San Antonio, down by the River Walk. We added on a few extra days to make a week out of it.”

She guided them into the living room. Dayton Tenby was seated on the sofa, and he immediately got up and extended his hand to both of them. Dayton’s hair was now completely gray, although there was little of it left, except around the crown of his narrow skull. He had put on a few pounds, enough to make him look less gaunt than he had when Stride first met him. He wore gray dress pants, a starched white shirt, and a black acrylic vest.

Emily and Dayton sat down next to each other on a love seat and held hands. Stride and Serena sat opposite them on the sofa. Stride could see that marriage had agreed with both of them. Despite more than ten years’ difference in age between them, they seemed to be happy.

“I want you to know, Lieutenant, that I still don’t regret what I did,” Emily said. “I don’t mind paying my debt to society, but if I had it to do over again, I would do the same thing.”

Stride hesitated. “I understand.”

Dayton looked at them. “We don’t expect that this is a social call. You must have some news for us.”

“Yes, we do,” Stride said. “I want you to understand that this could be very upsetting.”

“You found her,” Emily said.

“Yes, we did. But not in the circumstances you might expect. Earlier this week, Ms. Dial was called to a location in the desert just outside of Las Vegas. A young girl’s body was found there. I’m afraid it was Rachel.” He paused and went on. “She had only been dead for a short time. Just a few days. It appears that Rachel was actually alive these past three years.”

“Alive?” Emily whispered, her eyes widening. “All this timer?”

He saw Emily squeeze Dayton’s hand tightly. She closed her eyes and leaned her head slowly against his shoulder.

“How did she die?” Dayton asked.

“I’m sorry,” Serena told them softly. “She was murdered.”

Dayton shook his head. “Oh, no.”

Emily straightened up, rubbing her eyes. She pulled a tissue from a box on the coffee table and sniffled into it. She blinked and tried to compose herself. “You’re telling me that Graeme didn’t kill my daughter?”

“That’s right,” Stride said.

“Oh my God.” She turned to Dayton. “I killed him. And he didn’t do it! She was alive!”

“He may not have killed her, but that doesn’t mean he was innocent,” Dayton told her.

“I know, I know. But she must have been laughing wherever she was. She tricked me into killing him!”

“Do you have any idea what happened?” Dayton asked Serena. “Who killed her?”

“We’re still investigating,” Serena said. “I know this is a difficult time for you, but I do have to ask. Did you have any reason to believe that your daughter might still be alive? Did she ever try to contact you?”

Dayton and Emily looked at Stride.

“Just the postcard you showed us,” Dayton said.

Stride explained to Serena about the postcard he had received shortly after the trial, with the Las Vegas postmark.

“Did you pursue it?” Serena asked.

“As far as we could. There were no prints on the card and no DNA on the stamp. I alerted the Vegas police and asked if they could scout around for me, but they didn’t seem too keen on using their resources to hunt for an eighteen-year-old runaway who might or might not be dead and who might or might not be in Las Vegas.”

“I’m not sure I would have done anything differently in their shoes,” Serena admitted.

Stride nodded.

“I did investigate, Ms. Dial,” Dayton announced.

Stride and Serena both looked at him in surprise. Dayton paused, asking permission from Emily with his eyes. She nodded at him.

“To me, the postcard—well, it seemed exactly like the kind of game Rachel would play. To taunt us. It convinced me she was alive. Emily was in prison, of course, and I didn’t want the trail to grow cold, as it were. So I went to find her.”

“You went to Las Vegas?” Stride asked.

“Yes, for a week. When you told me the police there weren’t being helpful, I decided to look into it myself. For Emily. She deserved to know the truth.”

“How did you go about it—the search, I mean?” Serena asked.

“Well, I know I sound like one of the Hardy Boys,” Dayton said. “I took a photograph of Rachel with me. I just went to all the casinos and showed the photograph around at the security desks. You know, to see if anyone had seen her. They keep close tabs on people there, if you believe the television shows. I just assumed if she was there, she’d be working at a casino. It seems like everyone does. So I went up and down the Strip, and then downtown, and then to the outlying areas.”

“And did you find her?” Stride asked.

Dayton shook his head sadly. “Not a trace. No one had seen her. After a week, I began to believe that it was all a mistake, that the postcard wasn’t from Rachel.”

“Have you been back to Vegas since then?” Serena asked.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Have you had any other reason since then to believe Rachel might be alive?” Stride asked, making eye contact with both of them. “Any other odd communications? Phone calls?”

“Nothing at all,” Emily said. “Frankly, I never believed it, like Dayton did. I never thought she was alive.”

“Oh? Why?” Serena asked.

An ironic smile flitted across Emily’s lips. “I was in prison. If she were alive, I was sure Rachel would have found a way to throw that in my face.”

Stride nodded. “We’ve taken up enough of your time,” he said. He stood up, and Serena followed his lead.