Deadly Sanctuary (14 page)

“Of course.”

He returned almost immediately and set the files on his desk. After seating myself in a metal chair nearby, I leafed through the papers. Somehow I wasn’t surprised to discover what I wanted wasn’t there. I kept my voice casual. “Gosh, I was hoping Duane would find those toxicology reports he said were misfiled.”

“Why do you need them?”

“The Perkins case involved a runaway, and since that will be the focus of my series, I hoped I might find something, ah, noteworthy.”

“Like what?” He was busy cracking his knuckles.

“Oh, I don’t know. Something that might possibly link the two cases together?”

“Reporters! You all think you’re so goddamn smart. You think I just fell off a cattle truck yesterday? Don’t you think if there had been something to link them I’d have already found it?”

His indignant tone indicated I’d hit a nerve. I thought again of John Dexter’s final warning. Roy’s blustering would have put me off before, but, since my discussion with Yolanda, Tugg’s suspicions about him seemed more and more plausible.

Instead of responding to his question, I decided to venture out on a limb. “Duane said John Dexter had asked to see these same files. Why was that?”

His jaw muscles clenched convulsively and he ran his forefinger across his lips two or three times before answering in a controlled voice. “Understand something, Miss O’Dell. I do my job, and I do it quite well. Dexter was looking for something sensational to sell more papers, so he decided to make me a target.”

“So, it’s just a coincidence that both toxicology reports are missing.”

He snapped the folders shut. “This is a simple case of misfiling. I hope you’re not planning to make an issue of this like John did,” he said with finality. The closed expression on his face signaled that our meeting was over.

Was that a veiled warning? I tried to imagine this imposing man being raked over the coals by Claudia and failed. “Listen, Sheriff, now that I think about it, I’m sure it’s not important.” I stood up. “Tell Duane I don’t need the reports after all. I’m sure I’ll have plenty for my series without them.”

A look of relief crossed his face. “I’ll be sure to tell him. And if there’s ever anything else you need to know, Miss O’Dell, you talk to me personally, okay?” He raised one fuzzy caterpillar eyebrow for emphasis.

I hid my frustration behind a forced smile. “I’ll do that.”

Elation buoyed me as I drove away. He hadn’t answered my question as to why Dexter had also asked for the two files, and he was probably feeling pretty smug right now believing he’d sidestepped me. But, his apprehensive behavior suggested I was on the right track. There had to be other copies of the reports. My next step would be to contact the medical examiner’s office.

Darkness had fallen by the time I finished my assignment and got back to the office. Except for Harry, everyone had already left. We exchanged a few words, then he returned to the production area. I went into the small darkroom adjacent to my office and developed the roll of film I’d just taken at the Cowboy Art Exhibit.

Lost in thought, I was sloshing some prints from an earlier assignment in the stop bath when I heard the phone ring. I assumed Harry had gone home as the ringing continued. Whoever it was would just have to wait. By the time I’d eased the prints into the fixer and dried my hands, I calculated it had rung at least thirty times. Someone was certainly persistent.

I ran to my desk and scooped up the receiver. “Hello?” There was no response. I said hello a second time, but all I could hear was the sound of shallow breathing at the other end of the line.

“Jesus,” I muttered and hung up. I returned to the dark room and my eyes had just become accustomed to the dull red ‘safe’ light when I heard the phone again. Probably a wrong number. It rang ten or twenty more times and quit. When it started ringing a third time agitation welled up in me.

“Hold your horses,” I shouted, clipping the finished pictures to the drying line. When I grabbed the phone and said ‘hello’ there was, again, no response. On the verge of hanging up in disgust, I heard a voice murmur, “Is thees the number for John Dexter?”

The fuzz on the back of my neck quivered. “Yes. Who’s calling?”

I heard a sob. “Please. I call many nights for many weeks. He will talk now to me, ¿
sí
?” The female caller spoke barely above a whisper.

“A…he’s not available at the moment,” I answered quickly. “Can I have him call you back?”

My heart hammered with excitement as I snatched up a pen and waited through another long pause filled with ragged breathing. Then, I heard her fierce whisper,
“¡Dios Mío!
They are coming. I cannot talk anymore. Tell heem to bring the money he promise me. He must hurry!”

I yelled, “Wait! Wait! Who is this?” The connection broke and the dial tone buzzed in my ear. In the heavy silence that followed, I stayed glued by the phone, praying the woman would call back. The anticipation of another opportunity to speak with her had my pulse thumping in my ears. There was little doubt this was the mysterious other woman Yolanda Reyes had referred to.

I rose and paced the room. Tugg’s suspicions about Dexter’s disappearance were becoming stronger than ever. The implications sent a surge of anxiety through me.

The fact that she’d been calling here trying to reach him confirmed that Dexter had never arrived for their meeting. The woman said he had promised her money. Had he also promised her a ticket to Nogales?

The tone of panic in her voice clearly indicated that using the telephone had placed her in a precarious position. Why did she call only at night? I thought of Harry. He worked some nights long after everyone else had gone home. But would he even hear the phone over the racket of the press and the loud music he played? I’d make a point to ask him in the morning.

I sat down to review my notes again, then slumped forward onto the desk. What in the world could be going on in this seemingly sleepy little town that would knock the socks off everyone if it were revealed?

‘Don’t tell Roy,’ John had said to Tugg that last day. Don’t tell Roy. It had to be an important clue, but what was the significance?

A sick feeling settled in my stomach. One thing was becoming more certain. It was doubtful that John Dexter was still alive. If that was true, where did it leave me?

My watch said 9:30. An hour had passed since her call. I snatched up the phone to call Morton Tuggs. He seemed surprised to hear from me. “You got something?”

It took me about five minutes to fill him in on my suspicions about Roy, coupled with the mysterious phone call.

His anxiety spilled into my ear. “I knew it. I felt in my gut he was up to something. What the hell do you think he’s involved in?”

“Beats me. This much we do know. Roy was nervous when I asked for those files again. He didn’t threaten me, but it’s clear he doesn’t want any more bad publicity on those two cases. The phone call tonight confirms that Dexter never reached his destination. And, all we really have is Roy’s word that he issued him a ticket. What if he didn’t? What if Roy is responsible for Dexter’s sudden disappearance?”

“Jesus Christ,” he moaned softly. “This is just what I was afraid of. Why the hell am I doing this? If it turns out Roy’s done something awful, it’s gonna just kill Mary, and I’ll be jeopardizing the paper at the same time.”

I knew what Tugg meant. There was no concrete proof of any misdeed, only assumptions, and certainly nothing we could print. Judging by Roy’s reaction this afternoon, he’d waste no time in pulling the plug if we did. Of course, that meant my job would be down the tubes as well.

“Tugg, do you think perhaps we should contact the county attorney’s office about this?”

He was silent for a moment and then echoed my doubts. “And tell them what? We still don’t have one goddamn shred of evidence that he’s even involved, and you know he’ll deny everything.”

“You’re right, but perhaps our mysterious lady will provide some clue. I can’t stay here twenty-four hours a day, so if it’s all right with you, I’ll get with the phone company tomorrow and have call forwarding activated.”

He agreed, told me to be careful, and hung up. I returned to the darkroom, finished my prints and then went home.

Before retiring, I studied the photo of John Dexter again and added several more things to my notebook. The data filled almost one full page. First thing tomorrow, I’d call the medical examiner’s office in Prescott and ask for copies of the toxicology reports. I would also return the picture to Yolanda and see if she had remembered anything else about him which might have some significance.

My head was spinning with questions and details as I climbed into bed and lay listening to crickets chirp. Away, in the distance, I heard the distinct yipping of coyotes.

Sleep was a long time coming and when it finally did, it was filled with a series of jumbled, ghoulish nightmares. In one dream Sheriff Hollingsworth, laughing like a maniac, was bearing down on me in his patrol car as I ran and ran, seemingly in slow motion. In another, John Dexter kept appearing over a hill, around a corner, always beckoning for me to follow. He’d always vanish before I could get to him. Then, I was in a room filled with flowers. Hundreds of them. Eric was there. He put out his hand to me and smiled. I reached to take it when Bradley appeared out of the shadows. His face was a mask of fury when he drew out a long knife and plunged it into Eric’s stomach. There was blood everywhere. My sudden indrawn breath wakened me. Bathed in cold sweat, I sat up and hugged my knees until my heartbeat slowed. Rather than risk another set of nightmares, I got up, slid open the arcadia door and stepped outside onto the back patio. A warm breeze met me. I stood there for a long time and allowed the silence to soothe my taut nerves. Eastward, over the massive silhouette of Castle Rock, I watched insistent tendrils of dawn coax the darkness from the night sky. I hugged myself in enjoyment. Sunrises and sunsets in Arizona were so dramatic.

The last few days, wispy dry-looking clouds had begun to appear, adding just a touch more color to these already breathtaking spectacles. I wondered if it meant that the summer rains everyone assured me of were on the way.

Across the yard two kangaroo rats skittered into a hole, and somewhere nearby an owl hooted. I shook my head in awe. Only a short while ago I’d been absolutely positive I didn’t belong in this wild, desolate state. But, now I knew with a curious certainty that even with the dread of sizzling summer staring me in the face, if I were ever to leave this place, I would miss it terribly. How could one love and hate something at the same time?

Later, as I left for work, one of the linen trucks I’d seen on several other occasions, drove past headed toward Serenity House. The driver honked his horn and waved. The sight of his truck reminded me that I was to check the truck rental places today.

The Gold Dust Parade was scheduled for Saturday morning and there seemed a frenzy of excitement and anticipation among the townspeople. Kids out of school were bunched on street corners, colorful posters announcing the events were tacked to phone poles, and the sound of hammering from workmen erecting grandstands filled the early morning air as I drove through the downtown area. The last big tourist attraction of the year had the streets choked with out-of-town vehicles by the time I finished my second assignment and drove to the first rental lot.

No, the owner did not recognize the photo of John Dexter and had no record of him renting a truck during the first week of April. No one at the other two places had seen him either.

So, I had the answer to my question and it left me with a sick feeling locked in my stomach. John Dexter had not emptied out his apartment.

By late afternoon, I felt disappointed that I’d not made more progress. Yolanda, I was told, would be out of town visiting relatives until next week, and my call to the medical examiner’s office was a wash, too. The doctor was busy and would return my call on Monday.

With a sigh of exasperation, I grabbed my notebook and headed across town to complete my final assignment.

When I returned an hour later, Tugg called me aside and told me he’d spoken with the phone company. Unfortunately, the call forwarding feature would not be functional for another day.

Okay, that meant another evening to hang around the office. Not so bad, I thought, since I had a zillion pictures to develop and print. Although Bradley was frequently out, the office had seemed curiously empty the past three days with him gone.

Before Ginger left she invited me to dinner again the following week, saying that Bonnie and her husband Tom would be there too. I gladly accepted, thinking it would be interesting to see them again and hear how the adoption was proceeding, especially since I’d be having dinner with their attorney, Eric Heisler, tomorrow night.

I had no intention of missing the call from my mysterious lady if it came tonight, so I took the phone from Bradley’s desk, pulled the cord as far as it would stretch, and set it on the floor just inside the darkroom.

I had asked Harry earlier if he’d ever received any unusual calls in the evening and he’d said once in a while he’d get a wrong number, but that was all. As I’d suspected, he confirmed when the small press was running, it drowned out the noise of the phone.

The thought of the impending call kept me in a state of high anxiety. I must have checked my watch a hundred times and finally chided myself aloud, “Cut it out. If she’s gonna call she’ll call, if not, looking at your stupid watch won’t change things.”

By the time ten o’clock rolled around, I was almost finished with my prints and disappointment had set in. She wasn’t going to call. I slipped the last negative into the enlarger plate and heard what sounded like a footstep outside the door.

“Harry?” There was no answer so I said, “Wait just a minute, Harry. I have one more print.”