CHAPTER 40
Detective Chase was easy enough to locate. He lived in the Regency Park area in Sacramento. His house was a one-story, single-family home set on a corner lot and was painted a cheery yellow, which contrasted greatly with the man who opened the door.
Detective Chase looked different dressed in casual weekend clothes, but they didn’t make him appear any less threatening. He stood inside the entryway, looking out at Lizzy with his usual deadpan expression. “So, this couldn’t wait until Monday?”
“It’s important.”
“Of course it is.” Reluctantly, he opened the door.
Lizzy stepped inside. The place had mantuary written all over it. The detective’s man cave was complete with a putting green where the dining room table should be. Half of the living area was taken over by an eighty-inch flat-screen TV. She’d caught him in the middle of a basketball game. On the table in front of a worn leather couch was a grilled cheese sandwich and a glass of milk. Her stomach rumbled.
“Have a seat,” he said, “and I’ll make you a sandwich.”
“Really? You’re going to make me something to eat?”
He was already halfway to the kitchen. “I can’t exactly eat with you watching me, can I?”
“You’ve got a point. I’ll talk while you work.”
He gathered everything he’d need to make another sandwich: grater, Jack and cheddar cheese, pickles, sourdough bread, and butter. The pan he’d used earlier sat on the stove. “What brings you to my doorstep on my day off, Gardner?”
“It’s about Shelby Geitner.”
“I thought we made a deal.”
She tried to look surprised. “What deal? Are you talking about the four-questions-and-I’ll-leave-you-alone thing?”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Forget about all that,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I know who took Shelby.”
He finally looked away from the frying pan and into her eyes. “Who would that be?”
“The same man who’s been following me. He even visited Jared. Signed in under the name Samuel Jones. I’ve got two notes from the man. Maybe you could have some sort of handwriting analysis done.”
He expelled a heavy sigh. “Are you talking about the linebacker from the other day?”
“That’s right.” She refused to let his blasé attitude affect her. “You can order the hospital to release the tapes from the security cameras. I know his exact time of arrival.” She dug around inside her purse. “Here’s one of the cards he left at the hospital. Wanted me to know he could have killed Jared but he wanted me to suffer instead.”
He paused. “And this has something to do with Shelby?”
“Yes. This guy is trying to screw with me . . . following me, leaving notes, and that’s why he decided to take Shelby.”
He said nothing.
“So, you’ll get the tapes?”
“That could take weeks.”
The man was a bastard. “If you threw your weight at them like you throw it at people like me, we could find her.”
Again. Nothing.
Lizzy pushed the hair out of her eyes and said, “It’s something, isn’t it? I’ve installed cameras on the property where I’m staying. If we could set up twenty-four-hour surveillance, there’s a good chance someone will spot him, and we could follow him.”
“There’s that we again.” He held up a hand, stopping her from saying anything more before he could finish. “Listen, I know you’ve been talking to Shelby’s friends and family. As long as you don’t get in the way of the investigation, I’ve decided to let it go, but we don’t have the manpower to follow you around because of a hunch.”
“It’s not a hunch. He has Shelby.”
He flipped the sandwich, turned down the burner, and then used the spatula to flatten the bread. Cheese oozed out from two slices of thick sourdough. He pulled out a cutting board and sliced a pickle into quarters. He then searched through the cupboard for another plate. The man obviously didn’t have guests very often. When everything was ready to go, he took the plate and another glass of milk and headed for the family room.
“Come on,” he said. “We’re done in here.”
When they made it back to the couch, he gestured for her to have a seat, which she did. “Are you sure you don’t want this sandwich?” she asked. “It’s bigger than yours and it’s hot.”
“No,” he said. “I like my grilled cheese cold and my milk warm. I’m good.”
She ate her sandwich, watched the game, and thought about Shelby. She wondered where the man was holding her hostage. She wouldn’t allow herself to imagine that Shelby was no longer alive. Twice now she’d caught a glimpse of the man at close range. She hadn’t been able to make out the color of his hair or the shape of his eyes. Just like the detective said; he was a big white guy. “The man was wearing a plaid shirt,” she blurted.
He picked up the remote and hit the Mute button. “What are you trying to say, Gardner?”
“Who wears a plaid shirt?”
“The question should be, who doesn’t?”
Lizzy sighed. “It was filthy, worn. As if it was the only shirt he owned. Same with his jeans.”
“So he’s either a slob or he’s homeless.”
“Exactly.”
“You told me he was cleanly shaved.”
“Not a superclose shave, but he’d definitely taken a razor to his jaw. I’m telling you, we need to put all your manpower on this. Shelby is out there right now. Can you imagine what it’s like to be taken by a stranger? Tied up somewhere, cold and hungry? I can’t—”
“Lizzy,” he said, stopping her short.
He never called her Lizzy. She stared at him, unblinking, waiting. “What?”
“What I’m going to tell you is confidential. I’m only telling you this because I’m concerned for your well-being, afraid you’re going to drive yourself crazy going after a man who might not exist.”
She tried to protest, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “Less than twenty-four hours ago, a close friend of Shelby’s came forward with some pretty damning evidence.” He paused. “It seems Shelby had been seeing another boy. An older boy who’s not from around here.”
“That’s hard to believe, but even if it’s true . . . yeah, so?”
“There’s details I can’t discuss. We haven’t found the boy, but when we do, we hope to find Shelby, too.”
Lizzy rubbed her forehead. This was insanity. They didn’t know Shelby like she knew her. “She has a boyfriend of three years. That’s ridiculous.”
“Her parents are strict.”
Lizzy raised her hands in frustration. “What does that mean? They’re good people, great parents. They lay down the law, but I’ve never heard either one of them use a harsh tone toward their daughter. What does their parenting have to do with anything?”
“Shelby knew her parents wouldn’t approve, so she hid this new relationship from them.”
Lizzy came to her feet.
“There are emails Shelby sent to her friend that back up what the girl told us.”
“OK,” Lizzy said, “so if you think she ran off with this guy, why were there signs of a struggle in her car?”
“I didn’t say anything about Shelby running off with the guy.”
“You think he forced her to go with him?”
“I don’t think he had to use force at all. Not in the beginning. Not until he got her far enough away from the school.”
That would explain a lot, Lizzy thought, but she’d seen the way Shelby acted around Ben. Not only did Shelby obviously like Ben; she had recently had sex with the boy. Something about this story didn’t add up. “Do you have a face or a name to put with this crazy story?”
“Not yet.”
“So, you think my guy, as you called him a moment ago, is a phantom? A figment of my imagination?”
“After talking to witnesses, it’s clear you were chasing a man who fits the description you gave.”
“But—”
“But it could have been anyone, Lizzy. Like you’ve told me many times, your line of work brings you in close contact with a lot of nut jobs.”
“The guy broke that driver’s nose! He’s not exactly harmless.”
“Maybe you should do what you tell many of your clients to do?”
“What’s that?”
“Hire a bodyguard.”
“So that’s it?”
“I’m sorry.”
She headed for the door.
He got to his feet and followed a few steps behind.
“Thanks for the sandwich,” she said before opening the door and then slamming it shut behind her.
She marched to her car, angry with Detective Chase, furious with herself, pissed off at the world.
Shelby could have fought off a boy her age, but there was no way she could’ve fought off a giant with the build of a lumberjack.
“Don’t worry, Shelby,” she said out loud. “I’m not going to give up on you.”
After she climbed in behind the wheel of her car, she realized she hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk to him about the calls she’d gotten from the woman who was taking out the Ambassador Club one member at a time.
She started the engine, but before she drove off she noticed a white Volkswagen Passat parked across the street. She killed the engine, climbed out of the car, walked straight over to the Volkswagen, and tapped on the driver’s window.
There wasn’t any point in talking to Detective Chase about the Ambassador Club murders since he wasn’t taking her seriously, but she was pretty sure Murphy, or whatever his name was, would love to hear every detail.
She motioned for him to open his window. He did, and he didn’t give any sign of embarrassment or concern that he’d been caught following her.
“Are you following me?”
He nodded.
“A little pushy, aren’t you?” she asked.
“That’s what they teach in school.”
“Is that right?”
He nodded again.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Just trying to catch a break?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Why don’t you follow me to the coffee shop down the street and I’ll give you a story that the public will love.”
“A story about you? About your life?”
“Nope. A different story.”
He had the gall to look at his watch.
“If you don’t have time, I’ll be happy to call Miste Newport at Channel 13. She’s always hungry for a good story.”
“I’m good with it,” he said.
“Well, good. You’re buying.”
Derek Murphy, the rookie journalist, was getting on her nerves. Every time he opened his mouth, she thought of one of those he’s-so-dumb jokes: he had to get naked to count to twenty-one, or it took him an hour and a half to watch 60 Minutes.
His head angled to one side like a puppy dog. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She tried not to smile. “What was it?”
“Am I amusing you?”
“Not in the least.”
“So you’re telling me that all of these accidents aren’t accidents at all?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“If I did, maybe Detective Chase would be taking this all a bit more seriously.”
“So, this is all conjecture on your part . . . nothing more than speculation.”
She moved her coffee cup to the side and leaned forward. “I’ve been talking for ten minutes straight and you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.”
“This person who was bullied—the killer—what’s her name?”
Lizzy’s chin dropped to her chest. It was no use.
“This is all really interesting,” he said, “but I think the public really wants to know about you and how you’re doing.”
“Wow. You really are something.”
His face got all animated. “The public loves you. Think about all the business a story about you and what you’ve been through could stir up. People will be knocking at your door to find their long-lost loves.”
“ ’Cuz that’s what I do—look for long-lost loves.” She put the strap of her purse over her shoulder and began to scoot out of the booth.
“I’m sorry. Please. Can we start over?”
She didn’t want to stay, but what she wanted was for the Ambassador Club story to get out to the public, let them stir up some trouble and get Detective Chase off his ass. She wanted the public to know what was going on, so she stayed where she was and said, “Want to know what the public would really love?”
He nodded.
He reminded her of one of those annoying bobbleheads. “The public would love to find out that you were stalking me after all I had been through, and then learn that I proceeded to kick your ass.”
This time he flinched. It was about time.
“Listen, rookie. I don’t have the name of the killer. If I did, do you think I would be wasting my time talking to you?”
He actually remained silent.
“I’m giving you a story, a real-life mystery. I’m handing it to you on a fucking silver platter and you’re waffling. I’m not asking you to name names of those who have perished. But if you stop talking for one minute and really listen, you might see the whole picture.”
He started to talk. Lizzy stopped him and said, “Pull out your notebook and pen. When I start talking, you better start taking notes or I’m out of here.”
He did as she said.
“OK,” she said, “Melony Reed, the leader of the Ambassador Club at Parkview High School in 2002, hired me because she was scared out of her mind. Four people in her club, a club filled with bullies who verbally and physically abused as many people as possible, were dead. All within a very short period of time.”
Lizzy waited for him to catch up. “Two days later, Melony Reed was dead, too. Turned out she slipped and fell on a bunch of knives that happened to be sticking straight up in an open dishwasher. How many people leave their dishwasher open and then go to bed?”
“I have no idea,” he said while he wrote.
“Well, go back to your cubicle on Monday and ask a few of your buddies what they think about that.”
He looked at her. “So, Melony was number five. Who was the next to go?”
Lizzy got comfortable and went on to give him the details of who was missing and who was confirmed dead. She told him everything she knew.
When she was done, he turned the page of his notebook—a fresh, blank page. “How many members in the club?” he asked.
“Thirteen,” Lizzy said with a smile. By George, the kid is catching on.