Desert Exposure (21 page)

He waited a few feet back from her and observed their surroundings. Dave had climbed out of the black car, a newspaper in his hand. He sat on the low sea wall for a few minutes. Then he put the folded newspaper down, climbed over the wall, and walked toward the water’s edge.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” Michael said, making his way along the small stretch of sand and up toward the seawall.

Dave sauntered past. “Yeah.” He stopped and looked up at him. “I’m down here from Minnesota. Weather sure beats what we have back home.”

What a surprise. The way he said Minnie soda, had Michael believing him to be a tourist.

“Thought I’d take a look at the museum,” Dave said, indicating the building. “Is there anything worth seeing?” He fished out a cigarette from a pack, and lit it. “Want one?” He offered the pack.

“No, thanks,” Michael said. “I believe there’s a good photo display of the early inhabitants of the region. Some of them were famous.”

Dave drew closer, sending a plume of smoke into the cold air. “File is in the paper.”

Michael nodded, and glanced toward the front door of the building. “Meet you back here in twenty.”

“Sure. I brought lunch,” Dave murmured. “And I’ve got a fishing rod or two.” He raised a hand, and walked away.

Michael grinned. The man continued to surprise him. Dave had chosen blue jeans and a plaid shirt, a down filled jacket, and a baseball cap.
Wonder what he brought for lunch?

Rachel continued to aim her camera, and snap her make-believe photographs. Michael waved at her. Then he cupped his mouth with both hands. “I’m going for a short walk.”

She waved back, and said something but he missed it, concentrating on her gorgeous smile. Whatever she’d said, he figured it had been pleasant. He walked up the sandy rise to the seawall, sat and gazed out at the sea for a few minutes, and picked up the newspaper. Inside was a long thin envelope. He’d hoped for more information than this on Henry’s case. He wouldn’t open it now. He shook the paper open, spreading the sheets wide and holding them up in front of him. He read a little, watched over the top every few seconds.

There were no other visitors. Nobody came in or out of the building, or even the parking lot. He’d thought they might have to go back out in the boat to talk, or drive in Dave’s car for a while, but it seemed they had the entire place to themselves. He folded the envelope in half and slid it into his pocket. Then he neatly folded the paper and left it where he’d found it. An occasional car whizzed down the highway at speeds exceeding the posted seventy miles per hour. He figured this was as good a spot as any to hold their meeting.

Within five minutes Stanton had gotten his fishing gear out of the trunk, and handed Michael two rods.

Michael took a quick look into the open tackle box. It held quivering bait, which he looked away from. And fancy lures, knives, everything else a fisherman needed, he supposed. He’d never gone fishing as a kid. And as an adult he’d been too damn busy climbing the ladder of success, trying to prove to his father that being a cop was as important as being a doctor. Maybe, one day…if he had a kid of his own.

“Let’s go.” Dave nodded toward the stretch of sand that jutted out into the water.

Michael figured he’d probably fished here before. “Ah, I’m not much of a fisherman.”

“You’ll learn.” Stanton strode to the water’s edge. He took a rod, opened the tackle box, baited the hook, cast out and stuck the pole deep into the sand.

Would he be expected to do the same? Michael watched for a moment. He could fire at a human being if someone else’s life was in danger. Yet he couldn’t thread a live worm on a hook. Stanton frowned, grabbed the second rod out of Michael’s hand and wordlessly repeated his steps. Then he squatted in the sand between both poles.

Rachel spread out a blanket that Dave had provided. She sat a short distance from them, on the sandy beach, the wind whipping her hair. Michael watched her hold down one corner of the blanket with the small freezer box that contained lunch, and place a large rock on each of the other three corners. Her camera lay in the center. He wished he could stay with her.

“Ralph and I are going to sunbathe,” she called out.

Michael looked up at the pale wintry sky. “Good luck on that,” he yelled back. She laughed, and stretched out full length on her stomach, facing the sea. Ralph lay down beside her.

Stanton lit another cigarette, his back to the visitor center and Rachel.

“Back in a sec,” Michael said. He hurried to Rachel. “Stanton’s really into the fishing. We might have our backs to the parking lot for the whole discussion. Can you face that direction, and keep an eye out for anyone who might come this way? If you see anyone, stand up and call out that lunch is ready.”

“Absolutely,” she said, and repositioned herself.

Michael walked back and sat on his haunches beside Stanton. “I hate fishing.” He shrugged. “Absent father…well, not really absent, but away a lot.”

“A city slicker?”

“You could say that. I never got a chance to explore nature as a kid.”

Stanton gave a curt nod. “Probably why you like the work you do.” He turned and grinned. “You can stay out in the field and not bathe or shave for days, and you’re the only person you got to prove anything to, right?”

Michael nodded. Stanton got him. He’d been putting himself in danger and defying his upbringing for as long as he could remember. Not that he liked scaring his mother, but she understood. The old man was another story altogether.

“Here’s the deal,” Michael said. “I’ve been undercover at the sea for a week. SIB, working out of Riverside. There’s a rumor that the head honcho of a Mexican drug cartel, toppled by a couple of agents here in the valley, is out for revenge.”

“Revenge?”

He’d noticed Dave’s instant glance of approval when he’d mentioned the special investigative bureau, and nodded.

“Why attack Rachel? She had nothing to do with that.”

“I’m not sure,” Michael said. “I was hoping you could shed some light on that.”

Stanton frowned and toyed with his fishing rod.

“You worked that case with the DEA and the FBI.”

Stanton said nothing.

Michael shrugged.
Alrighty then
. “This is what I’ve got so far: a couple of Latinos, matching the description of the Suarez brothers who had escaped that raid on their compound, have been smuggled across the border. They’re said to be hiding out near the Salton Sea. I tracked them here, and then lost them about five days ago. I’ve since learned that Henry Copeland photographed wildlife within a two mile radius of his cabin. He’d sit out there for hours, hidden from view. I’m thinking he photographed someone, or something. Could have been killed, or taken hostage.”

“Maybe so.”

Michael shot Stanton a quick sidelong glance. Stanton’s gaze fixed on the cold, gray water of the sea. His jaw jutted out. Lips pressed tight.

“The time frame is more than coincidence. The Suarez brothers were first sighted here about a day before Henry went missing.”

When Stanton said nothing, Michael continued. “When Rachel came back here yesterday to take photos, a man, fitting the description of the Suarez Kingpin’s brother, attacked her. I believe they’ve circled back to the Salton Sea believing it to be safe again. The guy wanted Rachel’s camera. Nothing else. Last night, as you know, her house in Rancho Almagro was ransacked. Obviously, the man is still looking for something, lost film, another camera, or he’s trying to scare her away. I’m not sure—”

“Coincidence.”

Michael wanted to shake him. But he continued. “We were locked inside Henry’s darkroom by someone who had a key.”

Stanton’s head shot around, his eyes going hard as he glared into Michael’s face.

“It wasn’t an easy escape.” Michael shrugged. “He could have burned the cabin down.

“Fortunately, he didn’t. We think he waited for the negatives to dry.” Michael shrugged again. “Anyway, I have an informant, and I’m expecting photographs of the Latinos he says are holed up in one of the buildings.”

“What happens next?”

“Rachel and I are going back to a bar in Desert Scapes to meet up with my guy, tonight. I think the Suarez brothers might be holding Henry hostage.”

“They did a sweep of all the abandoned buildings,” Stanton said. “Every house, business, hell…even every run down caravan, or motor home was searched.”

“Yeah, I know. But, I’m thinking the guys doubled back after the all clear. Maybe they’re in the old bait shop, or nearby, and using it as a location to keep track of activity on the beach, or getting information from someone in town.”

Stanton held his gaze for a moment, his cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. “Then let’s go get them. What’s the hold up?”

“They’ve evaded capture for almost a year.”

Stanton nodded slowly.

“I need proof before I call in a swat team.”

“Yeah.”

“I need evidence, and I know they’re armed. Besides, the chief wants me to move slowly on this, to observe, and document.”

“Yeah, you’d look like a real ass if you were wrong.”

Michael chose to ignore him. He knew as well as Stanton did that one false move, and he’d be dead, or the laughing stock of the department. He was no better than a rookie these days, trying to prove himself to old guys who thought they should have had a chance at his position. Instead, the department had taken in an outsider. Why they did that he had no idea, other than his reputation for never giving up, never giving in.

“I don’t have any proof that they’re in there,” Michael said softly. “I’m following my gut, and as you’ve said…it could be coincidence. But that was the only thing Rachel photographed that morning, besides Ralph’s rear end, and a flock of Canadian geese.”

“Where do I feature in this fairy tale?”

Michael shook his head. What a pistol. But he knew the guy wanted in. He could tell by his posture, and by his bravado. He was saving face, that was all. “I need backup for tonight. Rachel completes my cover at the bar, she makes me more credible. But I don’t want to put her in danger, if I have to move fast.”

“So,” Stanton said, and peered at him from lowered eyelids. “You two an item?”

Michael gave one quick nod of his head. “And, she’s hell bent on finding Henry. I’m afraid if I leave her unattended, she’ll go looking for him.”

“Tell me about it.” Stanton held the cigarette between two fingers, leaned back, and blew a puff of smoke toward the pale blue sky. “She’s as stubborn as a mule.”

Michael grinned. “It’s not her stubbornness that I worry about, it’s the spontaneity. She doesn’t think things through.”

Stanton closed his lips tight. He gave a curt nod. “Okay, I’m in. So what’s the plan?”

Michael gave silent thanks that Stanton was man enough not to comment further on his and Rachel’s relationship. And from his silence, he gleaned that the deputy understood his ex-girlfriend’s spontaneous, take action now, think later, attitude. The man rose in his estimations.

“We go separately to the bar,” Michael said. “I’m a rich white kid, high on drugs. I sing and play guitar.” He ignored the turn of Stanton’s head and the narrowed gaze. “You’ll come in as a patron. Your clothing today is perfect. But there are a ton of locals who’ll spot you as a stranger and might get suspicious.”

“What’s the name of the bar?”

Michael told him, and had barely gotten the name out, when Stanton roared laughing. He slapped his thigh. “Shit,” he said. “I’m a regular.”

“Good.” Michael felt the hair on the nape of his neck tingle, and reached back to give it a rub. “Here’s the rest of the plan—” He heard Rachel’s voice and turned around. She waved at them, but he couldn’t make out her words. She moved off the blanket, stepping toward them.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Are you guys ready for lunch?”

He raised a hand and nodded. “Be right there.” He casually scanned the area. Walking along the parking lot was a skinny figure huddled into a thin black hoodie. The guy wore dark glasses and turned slowly every now and then to look over his shoulder.

The guy stopped walking, stared straight at Michael, and then walked toward the sea wall and straddled it. From his quick prancing steps, Michael thought it could be Mantis. But how had he known where to find him? And why had he shown up now, instead of tonight? And how long had he been up there, hiding in the shadows, watching them?

Michael strode along the shore intending to casually meet up with the man.

“Wait up,” Stanton called out.

Michael glanced over his shoulder. Stanton reeled in his fishing line. How much time did he have to make contact alone? He trusted Stanton but didn’t want to risk exposing Mantis. He’d do anything to keep his informant’s identity secret. Besides, Mantis could be damn skittish.

The guy stood and raised the newspaper slowly, tucked it underneath his arm and slid over the low sea wall, disappearing from view.

Michael broke into a run and removed his holstered gun. By the time he got to the blacktop, the hooded figure was bicycling down the highway. He stood, catching his breath.
What the hell had that been about
? If it was Mantis, what did he want? How did he know where to find him? And, why did he run?