December 4th, 2016
Las Vegas, Nevada
Sarge didn’t say a word until they were in the car with the doors closed. He didn’t know what to say, actually. That was one thing he had never, ever expected to happen.
“What the hell was that all about?” Pickett asked, shaking her head and staring at the steering wheel.
“Let’s see if we heard the same thing,” Sarge said.
“Hang on,” Pickett said. “Robin has got to hear this as well.”
Sarge tried to calm his thoughts as Robin came on the phone and said, “That was quick. How’d he take it?”
“Well,” Pickett said, “that’s the problem.”
“We were just about to go over what we heard in there so we are on the same page,” Sarge said.
“First off,” Pickett said, “when we asked him if he had a sister named Heather Winston, he said he did. And then asked us what she had done this time.”
“What?” Robin asked.
“It gets stranger,” Sarge said. “I asked him if his sister had gone missing in August of 1990 and he said she had, but came back a week later.”
“A changed person,” Pickett said.
“Serious?” Robin asked.
“Serious,” Pickett said. “We showed him a picture of Heather from her graduation and he confirmed that was his sister.”
“And then he told us,” Sarge said, “that his sister was so different after the missing week that his parents wanted to take her for counseling and get her help.
“But they died before they could do it,” Pickett said.
“Oh, shit,” Robin said softly.
“We got out of there,” Pickett said, “telling him that the mistake was that her missing person’s case should have been closed but wasn’t.”
“I’ve got to sit down,” Robin said.
All three sat in silence for a moment.
Then Robin broke the silence. “I’ll dig into the Heather Winston still living.”
“She has to be an imposter,” Pickett said. “We’re 100% on the DNA?”
“The body was the real Heather Winston,” Robin said. “We have to assume that DNA off the body was collected correctly.”
Sarge nodded. He had been wondering exactly the same thing. The alive Heather was most likely an imposter.
“Find out how much she inherited when the parents were killed,” Sarge said. “And more details about the accident that killed them.”
“You thinking the imposter killed them in some way?” Pickett asked.
Sarge just shrugged. That’s exactly what he was thinking. But there was no proof or evidence. But the girl had a motive if she knew the real Heather Winston was found dead in a room.
“Something is really wacked out here,” Robin said. “No doubt at all about that. And it would sure be nice to get some of that modern Heather Wilson’s DNA to test to see who she really is.”
“We could stake her out,” Pickett said, “see if we can get something from garbage or fast food or such?”
“Good idea,” Robin said. “Give me five minutes to find her address and pictures, if there are any. I’ll get one of Will’s people to help me on this.”
Robin hung up and Pickett started the car, moving it onto the road and away from the parking lot of the accounting firm.
Sarge pulled out his notebook and started writing notes about what had happened as Pickett pulled into a grocery store parking lot, parked and turned off the engine.
Just as she did, Robin called and gave them the address and that chances are the fake Heather was home because she worked nights at a casino on the Strip. And as best Robin could find, she lived alone.
“So we going to talk with her?” Pickett asked as she pulled the car out of the lot and headed toward the address Robin had given them.
“I think we have a logical chance to do just that,” he said. “We talked to her brother, just needed to confirm a few details with her before we can officially close the missing person’s case.”
Pickett nodded. “And that would give us a better chance of getting something with her DNA on it.”
Sarge agreed. He didn’t like the idea much, but he agreed.
Ten minutes later they were walking up a gravel front sidewalk toward a small house in a very old neighborhood. The house had clearly seen better days and its white paint was peeling in a number of places. Dust seemed to coat the windows so bad they would be impossible to see out of.
A screen door hung loosely to one side of the main wooden door.
Sarge knocked loudly and he could hear movement from the inside.
A moment later a large woman dressed in a ratty brown bathrobe and worn blue slippers answered the door, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.
A smell of burnt bacon came from the house mixed with the smoke smell. It was so dark behind the woman compared to the daylight that Sarge couldn’t see much inside the house at all.
“Yeah,” she said, standing in the door.
“Heather Winston?” Pickett said.
“Yeah?” the woman said.
Sarge just stared at that half-smoked cigarette as Pickett introduced the two of them and they both showed their badges. A number of cigarette butts littered the rock area beside the front door.
“We just talked with your brother a short time ago,” Sarge said. “We are working a task force to close old missing person’s cases and it so happened yours was still open. We just needed to check in with you to close the case.”
“That was twenty-five years ago,” she said, shaking her head.
“We were surprised when your brother said you were alive and that the case had never been closed,” Pickett said. “So now we can get it off the books if you would help us with a couple details.”
“Sure, what?” the woman asked.
“We just need to see a copy of your driver’s license is all,” Pickett said.
Sarge nodded. That might work to get them inside.
“Sure, hang on,” the woman said.
She took the still burning cigarette and flicked it into the rocks beside the door, then turned to get the license.
Pickett smiled at Sarge and he smiled back. They had exactly what they needed.
The woman returned a moment later with her driver’s license and Picket made a production of writing it all down, then they thanked the woman and apologized for interrupting her.
“No problem,” she said.
They started to turn away, but as they did the woman closed the door solidly behind them.
“Got it,” Pickett said.
Sarge watched as she took out a pair of tweezers from her small purse and picked up the still smoking cigarette. Then the two of them moved to the far side of the car where they couldn’t be watched from any window, even if the fake Heather could see out of those dirt-covered windows.
Pickett put the cigarette out completely, then she climbed into the Jeep and opened the cigarette ashtray built into the Jeep’s dash and put the cigarette in there carefully.
Fifteen minutes later they had dropped it off with Robin and were headed back to their complex to get some lunch and take naps. Both of them loved naps.
Both of them considered naps as one of the major benefits of retirement. And already they had gotten into a habit of napping in different places in the complex. They slept together at night, but napped apart during the day.
Both of them found that funny, but neither had suggested a change.
Sarge had no doubt that after this morning he was going to need a nap. Chances are his mind wouldn’t let him sleep, but that didn’t matter, he needed to try anyway.