That had been the last night he ever spent with her.
The following evening, Mark drove Jo to a bus stop on the outskirts of town. They had sat and waited in the car, until the silence was unbearable for both of them. Then, they had stood uncomfortably apart by the roadside, until the silver coloured bus had arrived. The driver - a large, friendly guy in a Hawaiian shirt - loaded Jo’s guitar case into the luggage compartment, as Mark gave her a quick hug, and said his brief goodbye. He watched the tail lights of the coach shrink into the darkening horizon, feeling like he had been robbed.
Now, six weeks later, he sat alone in his apartment, and rubbed his hands over his unshaven face. If she had been in touch, then, he had been prepared to move down to the Coast for a few weeks. They could see how things went, and simply chill out for a while. But, as time passed, Jo had not contacted him - no phone call, no email - just a void. It seemed to Mark she was either sending him a message she was happy without him, or something had gone badly wrong.
Despite the pain it caused him, Mark hoped the reason was the former, but somewhere at the back of his mind, a small alarm bell was ringing.
11
The town of Barstow was slightly larger than Vicki had expected. The way Laurie had spoken about it made it sound like one dusty street in the middle of the desert. Instead, it was a cross of intersecting roads, which formed a basic grid of functional homes and single storey businesses.
Leighton turned the car into the parking lot of Barstow Station. ‘Okay, this is the town,’ he said, ‘so what’s the address?’
‘4 Vineyard Drive,’ Vicki said. She was holding a home printed map in her hand, but didn’t need to consult it.
‘If you drive through the main, keep going until you leave the built-up section, you’ll reach Burke’s End, then turn right, then left - it’s the fourth house along.’
‘I thought you said you had never been here?’ Leighton said, as he put the car in gear, and began driving back out on to the street.
‘I haven’t,’ Vicki confirmed. ‘I checked out the town online a few times. I must’ve just learned it by osmosis.’
Leighton shot her a sceptical glance. ‘Maybe you should consider a career with the CHP,’ he said wryly.
‘I doubt I’d be very good,’ Vicki said softly.
‘You couldn’t be any worse than I was.’ Leighton’s words could have been taken as a joke, but there was no humour in his voice.
It took no more than a few minutes for Vicki and Leighton to travel along the dusty road leading through the Burke’s End area to Laurie’s home.
As the car pulled into the roadside, Vicki suddenly felt a sick feeling form in the depth of her stomach. Up until that moment, she had somehow managed to push the reality of the situation to some dark area of her mind. But, now, she was forced to confront the painful truth.
Looking at the single level, misshapen bungalow, with peeling rust coloured paint and colourless felt roof, made her guiltily aware of the extreme contrast between her own Oceanside accommodation and Laurie’s humble home. This sad fact seemed to solidify Vicki’s commitment to finding her friend.
‘You coming?’ Leighton smiled briefly, and unclipped his seatbelt, but his tone had become business like. Crime scenes - if this was indeed one - were as familiar to him as his own home.
‘Sure.’ Vicki nodded, as if to motivate herself, ‘Let’s go.’
Vicki opened the creaking car door, and stepped out into the dry heat. Laurie’s house sat on an empty stretch of desert road. Directly across the street from the small home was a weed-covered pile of sandstone rubble, which may once have been a similar house, but other than that, there were no other buildings for half a kilometre in either direction. The area was nothing but flat, dusty fields filled with needle grass and giant cardons poking up like prickly scarecrows.
Even to Leighton, it looked like a lifeless and lonely place to live.
Vicki imagined what it must have been like for Laurie, who had dreamed of leaving college to take photographs in Europe, to have found herself stuck in a shack on the edge of a desert town.
The front garden of the grubby house was little more than four square metres of dead grass ringed by a waist-high fence of sun-bleached wood. Leighton lifted the loop of green garden wire, which held the small wooden gate shut, and pushed it open.
‘After you,’ he said, and stepped aside to allow Vicki to approach the house first.
Vicki stepped cautiously towards the hazy screen door at the side of the building. She almost tripped over a swollen bag of trash, which sat surrounded by a scattering of crushed cigarette stubs. A cluster of house flies buzzed in the air around the garbage, as if to protect their territory. Vicki wondered how many of their wriggling offspring were feasting inside the plastic bag.
Turning her head back, she found Leighton was peering intently at the rust coloured soil beneath the windows.
‘Should I try the door?’ she called.
‘Sure,’ he responded, without looking up.
Vicki reached towards the steel door handle then hesitated. ‘Hey, what if they need to, you know…’
‘What?’ Leighton called.
‘I don’t know.’ She searched for the right words. ‘Maybe check for prints later?’
‘They can discount yours,’ said Leighton, who was crouched near the ground, peering at the garden gate. ‘I’ll vouch for you.’
‘Okay,’ Vicki nodded, ‘sure.’
As she reached for the handle again, Vicki closed her eyes, and silently wished for the impossible. She wished the door would open easily, and inside, she would find Laurie sipping a glass of iced tea, and wearing one of her trademark outfits, listening to classic rock. Her mouth would fall open at seeing her friend. She would laugh, rush to hug Vicki, and explain she had somehow gotten all mixed up. Perhaps she would even invite the strange old detective inside to have a drink with them, and share in the joke. But, that was not going to happen, because when Vicki opened her eyes and held the handle, she found that the door was locked.
‘Any luck?’ Leighton said from directly behind her, making her jump.
‘Shit!’ Vicki let out a deep sigh.
‘Sorry, I thought you heard me talking to you as I came along.’
‘No, it’s okay, but I never heard you.’
‘I was saying there’s no sign of a break-in at the front of the place.’
‘Well, this door is locked, too.’
‘Then, let’s have a look around back.’
Leighton walked around to the rear of the property to find nothing more than a fence, a patch of parched grass, and a grey plastic bird feeder. Vicki followed him but said nothing. The retired detective turned his attention to the house. The rear wall of the property had one small window and a glazed sliding door. He walked over to the door and crouched down. After a moment, he walked to the window, and put his face close to the glass, peering at the lower corners.
‘You think someone could’ve broken in through there?’ Vicki asked.
‘No.’ Leighton shook his head. ‘The window’s too small to get through.’
‘So, what are you doing?’
‘I’m just making sure there isn’t a body in here.’
‘Oh.’ Vicki felt a momentary jolt of fear. ‘But, you can’t see inside.’
‘Come over here a second.’ Leighton beckoned to her.
Vicki walked cautiously over to where Leighton stood.
‘Look in through the glass,’ he said, his voice deep and reassuring.
Vicki stood on her tiptoes, and cupped her hands over her eyes to reduce the glare of the sun. Leighton was close enough so that Vicki could smell his faint cologne - musky and sweet.