No Show (10 page)

A tear ran down Sarah’s cheek.

Terry stared out the window, lost in his memory. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he said aloud, softly.

He and Oscar were in the back of Holman’s cruiser barreling along a winding road.

Oscar turned. “What was that?”

“She asked me to protect her, and I didn’t.” Terry stared at a fixed point in the back of Holman’s driver’s seat. “I promised her.”

“Promised what?” the sheriff asked into the rearview mirror.

“I said I would be there and would always look after her.”

Terry drifted and wasn’t aware of Oscar’s comforting arm around his shoulders or Holman’s question becoming a demand.

“When did you say this?”

“Sheriff, can we discuss this later?”

“No,” was his blunt reply. “When did you say this?”

“On our wedding day.”

Holman exhaled.

“Can we just get where we’re supposed to be going?” Oscar asked.

“Where are we?” Terry asked, gazing out the window. The world sped by, stained red and blue by the cruiser’s lights. It was familiar, but the car’s speed and the night changed everything around.

“We’re on Solano Dam Road, bud,” Oscar answered.

“We’re not in Edenville.”

“That’s right,” Oscar said. “We’re over by Lake Solano. Are you okay? You went a bit quiet on us for a while.”

Holman sped past the sheer wall of concrete that was the Solano Dam. The man-made lake glistened oil-black in the moonlight. It felt malevolent under its nocturnal shroud.

“We’re here,” Holman said grimly.

The sheriff eased his cruiser off the road at a boat rental services and fishing supplies store called Marley’s Cove. He drove across the parking lot to the access road leading to the lake. A series of sawhorses, a sheriff’s deputy, and his cruiser blocked the road’s entrance. Holman stopped his cruiser in front of the roadblock and rolled down his window. The deputy trotted over.

“Sheriff,” the deputy said.

“Everybody here, Craig?”

“Yes, Sheriff. Coroner’s here. Crime techs too. They’re all doing their thing.”

“Press?”

“Not yet. But I’ll turn ’em away if they come.”

“Thanks, Craig.”

The deputy removed the sawhorses blocking Holman’s way. The sheriff closed his window and drove on. The access road descended into a thick cover of redwoods lining either side of the road. The trees receded deep into the park, creating a dense canopy, which the moonlight penetrated with difficulty.

Blinding light spread out from the water’s edge to cast long shadows where it hit the trees. The sheriff snapped down his sun visor and drove toward the light.

Terry wanted Holman to turn around. Let someone else identify the body. But he had to do this. It was the least he could do for Sarah now.

The road brought them out to a concrete boat ramp. A small jetty extended into the water with a hut at its end, but no boats or fishermen were around. In the distance, houseboats bobbed on the water like the lake was breathing.

Arc lights peered down from ten-foot standards. They illuminated the boat launch and the lakeside. Sheriff’s department cruisers and vans were parked at odd angles to each other. A coroner’s hearse was parked close to the water. Holman parked a safe distance from the fervor at the top of the boat ramp.

“C’mon, Mr. Sheffield,” he said with genuine kindness in his voice.

Oscar helped Terry out of the Ford. Terry tottered, unable to find his feet, and Holman grabbed an arm. Both men guided him toward the cordoned-off area. Holman stopped ten feet from the outermost vehicle.

“Could you wait here a second?”

Terry nodded and Holman disappeared among the vehicles. When Holman reemerged, he beckoned to Terry and Oscar to join him. They threaded their way between the vehicles, peeling away the layers of privacy the sheriff’s department had endeavored to create for the corpse. Terry stopped at the last vehicle that shielded him from the nightmare beyond. Oscar placed a hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon, pal. Let’s do this thing.”

Terry would willingly give ten years of his life for someone to replace him, but he couldn’t foist this responsibility onto someone else. He had to see, had to know. He nodded and stepped around the vehicle.

A man in a paper jumpsuit and latex gloves finished covering with a sheet what was obviously a body. When he saw Terry, he stood up and tried to smile, but it came out as a facial twitch.

“Okay, Mr. Sheffield, this is Dr. Schovanek. He’s the county coroner.”

“Hello, Mr. Sheffield.” Schovanek raised a hand in greeting. “Good of you to come out tonight.”

Terry couldn’t speak and nodded instead.

“Earlier this evening,” Holman said, “fishermen trawled up a body, and I was wondering if you could tell me if you recognize the deceased. Is this your missing wife?”

Terry edged a step toward the shrouded body. His shoe came precariously close to the sheet. He drew his foot back, not wanting to touch death.

Schovanek crouched over the shrouded corpse. “I have to warn you that the deceased has been in the water for at least twenty-four hours. She’s in bad shape. The fish were drawn to the blood.”

Terry wanted the coroner to shut up. He didn’t need to hear the details. He just needed to see Sarah—to end all the speculation and know whether she was dead or not.

“We’re thinking the killer disposed of her here last night some time.”

Killer? What killer? No one had mentioned murder. Holman had just said they’d discovered a body, not a victim. Terry turned to Holman. He was glaring at Schovanek. The coroner withered under the silent accusation.

“Murdered?” Shock dulled Terry’s anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Holman exhaled and failed to maintain his eye contact with Terry. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sheffield. I should have been more clear.”

Terry didn’t have the words and shook his head.

“Um, is it okay that I show you the victim?” Schovanek asked.

Terry mumbled, “Yes, that’s okay.”

The coroner eased back the sheet, revealing the corpse’s head and shoulders. Terry sagged. He didn’t think he had anything left, but something kept him upright. He tried to tear his gaze away from the corpse, but he was compelled to look. The sheet covered her to preserve her modesty. From the way it clung to her body, it was obvious she was naked, except for a single shoed foot sticking out from one end. Schovanek brushed aside a tangle of hair to reveal an unhindered view of her face. Her face was full but not overweight. Immersed in the reservoir, the water must have bloated her body, making her doughy. The bleaching arc lights turned her skin whiter than white, deader than dead. But even under the harsh light, it was possible to see grays and purples tingeing her ivory complexion. Not that it mattered with the gash running across her throat. Her eyes stared far into the distance. Death had drained them of color as well as life.

“Mr. Sheffield, is this your wife?” Schovanek asked with all the compassion he could muster.

Holman sidled up to Terry. He spoke with compassion. “Mr. Sheffield, we need to know. I understand how traumatic this must be, but we do need confirmation. Is this Sarah?”

“It’s not her. It’s not Sarah.”

“Mr. Sheffield, now, are you sure? The water has distorted the body.”

“Yes. It’s not Sarah. Did you check for the birthmark her right hip?”

Schovanek checked. “No birthmark.”

The look on Holman’s face said everything. If he didn’t have Sarah Sheffield lying violated before him, then who did he have?

“What’s happened to her mouth?” Terry asked.

“Her tongue’s been cut out.” Schovanek realized he’d said too much and winced, wishing he could take back his words.

Holman shot the coroner another scolding look. Schovanek frowned in apology.

“Jesus Christ,” Oscar murmured.

“Before or after?” Terry asked.

“Before or after what?” Schovanek asked dumbly.

“Was her tongue cut out before or after she was killed?”

“Christ, Terry,” Oscar said. “You don’t need to know that.”

“I do,” Terry said. “Before or after?”

Schovanek glanced at Holman before replying, seeking approval. He got it and replied, “Before.”

Terry shook off the morbidness and allowed himself to feel a weight lift. Sarah wasn’t dead—she was alive. She was still out there somewhere, waiting to be found. Relief washed over him, and as much as he tried to hide it, a smile kept taking over his face.

Was it wrong?
Terry thought.
Wrong to feel this good in the presence of a murdered woman?
He knew he was staring at some other poor son of a bitch’s nightmare, but he couldn’t feel guilty. He was thankful for too much. He’d been given a second chance. He hadn’t failed Sarah. He still had time to be her protector.

“Thank you, Mr. Sheffield. I’ll have someone take you home,” Holman said.

Oscar came over and rested a hand on Terry’s shoulder. “Thank God it wasn’t her.”

“Sorry, Sheriff. I wish I could have helped more.”

Holman nodded and guided Terry away from the corpse. “Not a problem. I’m just glad it isn’t your wife. Unfortunately, she is somebody’s wife or daughter.”

“The question is, who is she?” Terry asked.

Oscar said something, and Terry realized Oscar wasn’t with them. He’d remained rooted to the spot, still staring at the corpse while Schovanek covered the body again.

“Mr. Mayer, please,” Holman said, gesturing for him to leave.

“What did you say, Oscar?” Terry asked.

“I can pretty much say this woman is married and has two children.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Mayer?” Schovanek asked.

“I know who this woman is.”

“M
r. Mayer, you know this woman?”

Holman had a good poker face. At first glance, he didn’t react to Oscar’s claim, but Terry thought he caught the widening of the sheriff’s eyes.

“It wasn’t until Terry said it wasn’t Sarah that I realized who it is. To me that looks like Alicia Hyams.”

“Who?” Terry asked.

“Do you know her, Mr. Mayer?”

“No.”

“Then what makes you think it’s Alicia Hyams?”

“I don’t. Not for sure. But the description, it seems to match. Don’t you think?”

Holman went silent contemplating Oscar’s proposition.

“Deputy Pittman, these two need a ride back to Mr. Sheffield’s home,” Holman said after a long moment.

“Who is Alicia Hyams?” Terry asked.

“Alicia Hyams? Ask your friend. He seems to have all the answers.” A hint of irritation crept into Holman’s tone.

“This way,” Deputy Pittman ordered, pointing to a cruiser.

They rode home in silence. There was so much Terry wanted to ask Oscar, but not in front of the grim-faced deputy. Oscar had stung the cops with his observation. They’d screwed up. They
should have recognized Alicia Hyams without Oscar’s intervention. Mercifully, the ride came to an end. Terry thanked Deputy Pittman for the lift.

Terry got Oscar inside his house before asking, “Who is Alicia Hyams?”

“You promised me a beer,” Oscar said, sounding tired.

“It was where I was heading.” Terry opened the refrigerator and liberated two bottles from a half-opened cardboard case. He popped the tops with the bottle opener built into the fridge door and handed one to Oscar.

“You don’t watch much TV, do you?” Oscar gulped from the bottle.

“My mind has been on other things.”

“Alicia Hyams was headline news about a week or so ago. And she will be again if that body turns out to be her.”

Terry fell into a seat at the dining table. “What do you mean?”

“She disappeared about the time you arrived.”

Alicia Hyams’s circumstances had an all too familiar ring to them. Tonight’s events had the makings of a dress rehearsal for the real thing. Next time, Holman’s call would lead to Sarah’s body. Terry emptied his beer in one long pull.

“She disappeared?” Terry echoed.

Oscar realized what he had said. “Oh, don’t get that idea. This is something completely different. Alicia was swiped from the outlet mall in Vacaville on the afternoon of the thirteenth. Mall security found her car unlocked with the keys in the ignition and her purse on the passenger seat.”

“How do we know that’s different?” Terry jumped up and went for another beer. “We don’t know what the hell happened to Sarah. The circumstances could be identical.”

Terry cracked open two more beers. He returned to Oscar, setting down a second bottle next to his first with a bang. Oscar frowned at the second bottle.

“You’re not being realistic,” Oscar insisted.

“How am I not being realistic?” Terry demanded.

“You’re jumping to conclusions to find some meaning for what’s happening. Whether you like it or not, Terry, you’re too close to the problem.”

“The problem?” Terry spat. “Sarah’s a problem?”

Oscar remained unfazed by Terry’s hostility. “Yes, Sarah is a problem. For you.”

Terry snorted and took his frustration into the living room, with the beer as backup, and paced the room. What did Oscar know? It was easy for him to tell him what was what, because none of this mattered. He wasn’t at the middle of this hell.