Chapter 15

 

I felt I should see Kent Taylor right away. He wasn't going to take kindly to the news that his department hadn't done a thorough job, but that's life. On the other hand, if I kept what I knew to myself for just a few more days, I might be able to not only come up with the how, but the who. A macho-sounding little voice inside me urged me to go for it. My good-girl little voice warned me that withholding evidence means big trouble.

"Evidence?" said the macho voice. "The police have already closed the case."

"You know damn well what evidence," said the sometimes dirty-mouthed good girl. "And you know damn well that they'll re-open the case when they hear about this. And, you know that chasing down a murderer on your own could get you damn well killed!"

Okay, okay, I agreed grudgingly, you win.

Rusty's head was hanging out the window, his tongue lolling, as I approached the Jeep. I turned the air conditioning on for him, and backed out of the parking space. There was a pay phone at the gas station next door to the car dealership, and I swung in their driveway to use it.

Kent Taylor was off-duty, his office informed me. No, they would not give me his home number; I could leave a message if it was urgent. I decided to use my own resources instead. It was after six, with plenty of daylight left, as I headed back across town. I was pretty sure I'd seen Kent's home number in Ron's Rolodex at the office, so I made that my destination.

Rusty was happy to have the run of the back yard while I went inside to make my call. The back and sides of the property are fenced, separating us from the neighbors, and Rusty's pretty good about hanging around without wandering off. Besides, he hadn't had his dinner yet, so I knew he'd soon be ready to go home.

I switched on a minimum number of lights as I walked through the dim offices. Ron's desk top was a mess, as usual, so I carried the Rolodex to my own. Kent's number was listed, but it took me awhile to reason out Ron's system and figure out that it would be under P for Police.

An inquisitive kid answered the phone, and after questioning what exactly I wanted, held the mouthpiece about two inches from his mouth and screamed, "Daddy!" Thankfully, I have always been quick with my hands, and managed to jerk the receiver away from my ear just before I was deafened.

"Yyelllo." Kent's voice sounded weary. I could picture him getting up from the dinner table to take the call.

"Hi, Kent. Charlie Parker. I hope I didn't interrupt your dinner."

"That's okay, Charlie. What's up?" His words were polite, but his tone said I'd better get this over with quick.

"I've got some new findings in the Ruiz case. It wasn't a suicide, Kent. David Ruiz was murdered."

I could hear him sigh at the other end of the line. "I'm on duty again at seven in the morning. Can it wait until then?"

"I don't know, Kent. Should it?"

The noise level in the background was steadily rising. From the shrieks and laughter, it sounded like a kindergarten in the midst of a bloody coup. I heard Kent put the receiver to his shoulder and yell at them to knock it off.

"Tonight isn't good for me, Charlie," he said. "Betty's off at some PTA meeting, and you can hear what it's like around here. I've got one in bed with the chickenpox, and the other two about to tear the walls down. No way I can get away."

"I could come up there," I volunteered tentatively.

"No, tomorrow at the station would be better," he said.

Well, I've done my civic duty, I thought as we hung up. Truthfully, I was glad he'd turned down my offer. I didn't really want to search out his house which, judging by the phone prefix, must be way up in the northeast heights somewhere. And I wasn't wild about walking into the madhouse I'd heard in the background. It had been a long day, and I was ready for a glass of wine and a hot bath.

Switching off my light, I walked across the hall to Ron's office and returned his Rolodex to roughly the spot where I'd found it. The sun had set, and his room was almost black in the deepening gloom. I heard a car door slam nearby, and went to the front window to check it out.

The neighborhood is one of those stuck in transition for years, composed of a combination of residences and small businesses. Except for the discreet shingle allowed next to the front doors of some, anyone driving through the neighborhood might assume it was entirely residential. It isn't unusual to hear cars coming and going near the dinner hour, and I wasn't sure why I even looked now. Both Ron's office and mine face the street; a glance in that direction assured me that no one was there.

The natural light in the stairwell had dimmed to blackness by now, but I knew it so well I didn't bother with lights. The polished wood handrail guided me down toward the kitchen, where I could see outlines of gray at the windows. I was feeling around in the bottom of my shoulder bag for my keys when the arms encircled me.

A grip like iron pinned my arms to my sides, while some kind of cloth was pressed over my nose and mouth. I struggled and tried to kick, but the person already had the advantage of surprise. The cloth smelled sickly, and I realized it had been saturated with something—probably chloroform. I held my breath and forced my struggling to become weaker and weaker before making myself go limp. I hoped it was a reasonable facsimile of how a drugged person might really act. About the time I thought my lungs would burst, my attacker dropped me to the floor.

My head bounced on the hardwood floor with teeth-jarring agony, and it took a few seconds for the mist to clear. I heard heavy footsteps thunder across the room, and the back door crashed open against the bentwood coat rack behind it. I raised my aching head just in time to see a dark figure silhouetted against the open doorway. It vanished in less than a second.

I pulled myself up, my feet in motion well before my eyes could adjust to the swimming action before them. I stumbled down the back steps and veered to my left, assuming that the person would have headed down the driveway. A low-slung car without lights squealed on the concrete, bouncing as one back tire hopped the curb. I ran toward it, but it was hopeless. The car was more than a block away by the time my wobbly legs got me to the street. I sank down on the curb, letting my head droop between my knees, sucking air to clear my brain.

When I felt like I could stand again, I turned back toward the house. How had the man gotten inside without Rusty raising some kind of fuss? Granted, he is one of the friendliest mutts around, but he wouldn't let a stranger enter the house, especially after dark, without all hell breaking loose. My eyes searched the back yard, as I called to him.

That's when I began to realize that Rusty was missing.