“You have a name?”
“Julie Franconia. She worked in PR or marketing or something for the Indiana Dome or-”
“It’s the RCA Dome now, I think. The Colts play there. Peyton Manning. Good kid.”
“Whatever. She disappeared in 2000. Late March, I think. Just a sec… yeah, March twenty-third, 2000.”
“Remains?”
“We just got on this.”
“Circumstances?”
“She told her co-workers she was going to meet some girlfriends for a drink after work. Disappeared.”
“No body?”
“That’s what we’re trying to confirm. It was dumped on us as a typical without-a-trace, but a local cop told me he doesn’t know what all the fuss is about, that they have it as a cleared homicide. We’re waiting to hear back from the homicide guy. You know what it’s like with the holidays coming.”
“Is the press on this?”
“Nobody’s called me personally, but I think yes, probably.”
“Four? You said four?”
“Four total, including the California murder.”
“Where are the other two?”
“Augusta, Georgia, and West Point, New York.”
“That would be, what, the Masters and… I don’t know, the Army-Navy game?”
“I guess,” Lucy said. Other than occasional Broncos football, she didn’t pay much attention to sports she didn’t participate in, and she didn’t apologize for it.
I asked, “Any progress on the river search down here? Did Storey’s body show up today? Tell me yes. If you tell me yes, maybe I’ll come home.”
“I wish I could tell you yes, Sam. They’re still looking, but nobody seems hopeful about finding the body. The search is winding down. Oh, and in case it matters, you were right about Storey. He is, or was, a swimmer-a star on his college water polo team.”
“Water polo? Didn’t play that a lot when I was growing up in Minnesota.”
Lucy knew me well enough not to respond to my sarcasm. She asked, “You’re not in touch with the local authorities down there?”
“I made a courtesy call when I first got here. They’re looking for a body. I’m looking for something else.”
“You think he’s alive?”
“I’m not ready to think out loud. I assume someone interviewed Sterling’s friend Brian Miles.”
“Georgia State Police talked to him. Miles said Sterling called from Tallahassee and said he was coming to visit but never showed up. The story checks out.” Through the phone I heard an overhead page in the background.
“Where are you right now, Luce?”
“Whole Foods, getting something for dinner. Why?”
“You going back to the department?”
“I’ll be eating at my desk. For now, this case is all computer and phone work.”
“I’ll keep my pager on. Enjoy your dinner.”
“You okay, Sam?”
“I’m meeting some nice people down here. Luce? Send some patrols past Gibbs Storey’s house. Can you do that?”
“Sure. You do think he’s alive?”
“I forgot, one more thing. Is Reynoso still in Boulder, or did she go back to California?”
“Her? None of the above. I heard she was leaving for Georgia to look for Sterling. You haven’t run across her yet?”
“I think I’d recall that.”
She laughed. “I imagine she’ll be trying to find you.”
“We’ll see how good a detective she is. Thanks, Luce. Talk to you.”
I leaned back against the headboard of the motel bed. My mass caused it to crack hard against the wall, and I imagined what a percussive racket an energetic couple could make on this bed. The thought froze me for a moment, as I wondered when the last time was that Sherry and I had rocked a bed. I mean really rocked it.
I couldn’t recall.
Lucy had said that there were suspected victims of Sterling Storey in Augusta and Indianapolis.
Augusta was closer, but I’d be flying blind if I went there. Indianapolis was farther, but at least Lucy would have facts to feed me. What did I hope to find?
I didn’t know. Maybe when I tripped over it, I’d know.
The guy at the desk didn’t use a wheelchair as much as he wore one. It was hard to imagine him without the aged, rusting contraption that was pressing hard against his fleshy hips as he rolled back and forth behind the motel’s counter. A tiny color TV-maybe three inches across-hung upside down on a braided nylon rope around his neck. He was watching a game show, occasionally tipping the little television toward the ceiling and staring down in the general direction of his navel.
Wheel of Fortune?I wasn’t sure.
I tipped him ten bucks when he let me check out without paying for the few minutes I’d actually used the room.
“The way I see it, you’re not checking out. What you’re doing is unchecking in” was how he put it. “Where you off to in such a hurry?”
“Indianapolis, I think. Got a call, so I gotta go.”
“Never been there.”
“Me, neither,” I said. I turned to leave but had a thought, so I stopped and asked him, “You ever had a turducken?”
“Sure, sure.” He smiled so fast, his cheeks shook and his triple chin momentarily became one. “I have, I sure have. Three years ago. Thanksgiving supper. My aunt Totsy’s-she’s my daddy’s little sister-her place on the Delta. It’s a meal not to be missed, not to be missed.”
“This trip I have to take up north means I’m going to lose what may be my one and only chance to savor a turducken. And I’m beginning to think that’s a minor tragedy. Well, I do hope you have a good Thanksgiving, sir,” I said.
“I’ll be right here,” he said, as a way of letting me know he didn’t expect to enjoy his holiday much or get anywhere close either to a turducken or to a family gathering at his aunt Totsy’s on the Mississippi Delta. When he said “here,” he didn’t point at the office he was in or at his wheelchair.
What he did was, he touched his TV-on-a-rope.
A minute or two communing with Rand McNally left me with the impression that I could get to Indianapolis in ten to twelve hours of hard road time. I planned to drive for six, sleep for six, drive for six more, and then find someplace for lunch close to the RCA Dome.
By then Lucy should know something new.
And I might have a clue what I was doing.
FORTY-TWO
Tuesday morning found Lauren solidly in hyperenergized zombie mode-think the Energizer Bunny meetsNight of the Living Dead.
Her affected leg was no worse, maybe a little better. Less weakness. That was the good news.
But there wasn’t enough good news. Worry about Lauren and the future-hers, Grace’s, ours-stabbed at me incessantly, but she and I didn’t talk about it during the duration of the extended steroid fog. Neither of us once mentioned the bull elephant that had pitched a tent in our living room.
We’d made it through the night-me with little sleep, her with less than that-and thanks to Viv’s early-morning assistance with Grace, I managed to get to the office in time for my first appointment.
Tuesday’s workday was remarkable only for its normalcy. I spent an entire day at work feeling almost effective. Going home that evening, I faced the more daunting task of trying to be an effective husband and father in a home that was quaking from the aftershocks of illness and treatment.
Together-Grace and Lauren and I, with a full assist from Viv and the puppies-we made it. Wednesday morning came. The respite of a four-day holiday weekend was only one workday away.