Footprints of a Dancer (Detective Elliot Mystery) Page 9

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wayne Garcia sat forward on the seat and studied the scenery that flew by the windows of the truck. They had turned off onto another road. Wayne’s stomach tightened and he wished he hadn’t eaten the sandwich. Maybe the driver had changed his mind and was now heading back to Oklahoma, or to the nearest police station. Another possibility, one Wayne had tried not to think about, came to mind. The driver acted strange, even for an adult, and he asked a lot of weird questions.

  The driver glanced at Wayne. “Everything all right?”

  Wayne quickly looked away, back toward the window. His mom had warned him about such things. How could he have been so stupid? He took a breath to calm himself “Are we in Arkansas yet?”

  The driver kept his eyes on the road. “After I drop the load, I’m heading back to Tulsa. Why don’t you come with me, and forget about this running away stuff?”

  Wayne shook his head. Why was the driver so interested in his plans, anyway? “I need to see my dad, talk things over.”

  “What makes you think he wants to talk to you?”

  Wayne frowned. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Well son, whether it was a good one or not I suspect your old man had a reason for running off to Arkansas and leaving you and your mom behind. I’ll bet he’ll be right surprised to see you standing on his doorstep, too. If I was you, I’d go back to your mama and just leave it alone.”

  “You said you’d take me there.”

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, finding out your old man don’t want you.”

  “He does so want me. You don’t know anything about it.”

  “Well, I wish that was true, but it isn’t. That doesn’t mean nobody likes you, though. Take me for instance. I like you just fine. I think you’re a great kid. Too bad I’m not your dad, huh?”

  Wayne didn’t answer the question. He didn’t know if he should feel sorry for the guy, or be scared of him. Scared was probably safer. “Maybe you’re right. Could we stop pretty soon, though? I have to go real bad.”

  “I don’t think there are any good places around here.”

  Wayne stared through the window, not sure of what to do or say next. When he saw a sign beside the highway that said there was a service station at the next exit, he looked at the driver. “Hey, mister, how about we pull in here?”

  The driver shot past the exit. “Just dirty restrooms that don’t work most of the time. Anyway, there’s one in the back. You can crawl up into the sleeper and get some rest afterward.”

  Wayne quickly looked away. He knew what the driver was talking about. Behind the cab of the truck was an area with a bed and stuff. No way was he going back there. But an idea occurred to him. If he was in the back, the driver couldn’t see him. Maybe he could call home. His mom would be plenty mad, but she’d know what to do. “Okay,” he said, “how do I get back there?”

  The driver grinned. “Just push through the curtain.”

  Chapter Twenty

  After leaving George and Emma Gardner’s house, Elliot checked out the occult shops he knew about. There weren’t many, and he hadn’t had much luck, but there was one more, a rundown place just off 11th Street. Elliot pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The shop was nearly empty, the shelves timidly exhibiting candles, incense burners and a few odd items.

  Elliot walked to the counter. “Anybody here?”

  A young man came from a backroom, pushing through a doorway curtained with alternating strips of leather and beads. The boy was physically handicapped by choice, his pants being too big for him, causing him to constantly occupy one of his hands to hold them up. “Something I can do for you?” He asked.

  “I’m looking for someone,” Elliot said. “She might be a customer of yours.”

  “So?”

  “So I’d like to talk to her.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “The term looking for someone implies you don’t know where they are, slick. I was hoping you might be able to help me out.”

  “We don’t give out information about our customers.”

  As the young man spoke, his free hand slid beneath the counter.

  Elliot stepped forward and caught the boy’s arm. He wasn’t taking a chance on the kid going for a weapon.

  The beaded curtain moved again and a man holding a shotgun came into the room.

  Elliot shoved the boy against the wall and pulled his badge. “Detective Elliot with the Tulsa Police Department. Lower your weapon and place it on the floor in front of you.”

  The shop owner glanced toward the boy.

  The kid’s pants had slid down around his knees. He gave a vigorous nod.

  The shop owner leaned over and laid the shotgun on the floor.

  “Step away from the weapon.” Elliot said. “And, you, get away from the wall and join him. I want you both together.”

  The kid pulled his pants up and shuffled across the floor. When he reached the area where the other guy was, he stopped, his gaze searching Elliot’s face, as if looking for further instruction.

  Keeping his attention on the pair, Elliot scooped the shotgun from the floor. Behind the counter, he found what the kid was going for: A .38 Smith & Wesson. He put the weapons on the counter. “You have quite an arsenal for a bunch of candles. What gives?”

  The shop keeper’s hair stretched back into a ponytail; a trimmed beard adorned his face. He clicked his heels together and gave a slight nod, like some English butler might do. “Let me apologize for our actions. The name’s Randle Harper, the proprietor of this shop. I’m afraid we’ve become a bit cautious. A few days ago, a man came into the store and started waving a gun around. Scared the wits out of us.” He nodded toward the boy. “My companion, Roger.”

  Elliot tucked the badge into his pocket. “In a place like this, if you give the people what they want, they probably come back, a lot of the same customers.”

  Neither of the men said anything.

  “I’m looking for someone,” Elliot said. Working on memory, he gave the best description he could. “She’s in her twenties, curly blonde hair, five foot four, hundred and twenty pounds. Goes by Angela, Angel, or Angelina, last name Gardner.”

  Harper’s expression showed that either the name or the description had registered.

  “I have reason to believe this person has information that could lead to an arrest in a murder investigation.”

  Randle Harper raised his eyebrows but remained silent.

  Elliot walked over and stuffed a business card into the shop keeper’s shirt pocket. “If anything comes to mind,” he said, “give me a call. It’s important.”

  Elliot turned and walked out of the store. He’d driven about a mile when his phone rang. It turned out to be the kid from the shop.

  “I know the girl you’re talking about,” he said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Don’t be too hard on Randle. He’s had a bad life, lots of crazy things going down all the time. Anyway, this Angela chick used to be a regular, but I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “How long is a while?”

  “It’s been a couple of months, at least.”

  Angela could’ve moved on, but Elliot didn’t think so. She’d grown up in Tulsa, and she’d come back after college, staying long enough to have been seen a few months earlier. “Do you know where I can find her?”

  “I don’t know where she lives or anything, but I asked around about her, you know, just curious why she stopped coming around.”

  “And?”

  “Word is she took up with one of them massage parlors. Never figured her for that sort, but hey, I guess you never know.”

  “Do you know which parlor she works for?”

  “No. I mean I didn’t really ask. Sorry.”

  “That’s all right,” Elliot said. The kid was big on apologies, probably shoved around most his life. “You did good, son. Thanks for your help.”

  Elliot disco
nnected and made a right turn. He had a pretty good idea of where to start. He made a few calls, pretending to be a customer, looking for a certain girl. The third person he talked with knew about Angela. A few minutes later, he walked into the Crescent Moon, a place that offered more than a rubdown, if you knew how to ask for it.

  The place smelled of perfume, and soft music played in the background. A well-dressed Asian lady sitting behind the counter nodded and smiled. “Something I can do for you?”

  “I hope so,” Elliot said. He gave her the spiel.

  “Why you want this girl? We have others.”

  “All right,” Elliot said. “I’ll level with you. I used to know Angela. We went to school together. Her parents haven’t seen her for quite some time. They asked me to help.”

  “I am sorry. She is gone now, and doesn’t work here.”

  “Do you know where I can find her? It would mean a great deal to her parents.”

  The lady spoke loudly, using her native tongue. Seconds later, two more Asian people came into the room, a man and a younger woman. A cacophony of the same language erupted among the trio.

  Finally the younger woman turned toward Elliot and said, “My mother is right. You do not look like someone who would be friends with Angela Gardner.”

  “It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her.”

  “I cannot comment on the past, only the present, in which the person you seek has many problems.”

  “What kind of problems are we talking about?”

  “Under more ordinary circumstances, drugs and alcohol would be a sufficient answer to your question. However, when such things are a result and not the cause, one must look deeper to know the nature of the imbalance.”

  “I understand your hesitancy to get involved,” Elliot said, “but this is a matter of great importance. Do you know where I can find her?”

  “No. We were forced to let her go. She was disturbing the customers.”

  “And when did this happen?”

  The more mature Asian lady came to the counter. “Three days ago. She not here. You go. You go now.”

  Elliot understood their motive. Having a stranger around asking questions wasn’t good for business. “Thanks for your help,” he said. After that he walked away.

  Outside in the truck, Elliot made a note to have vice check the place out. However, as he pulled onto the roadway, an idea that he should check the local hospitals came to mind.

  On the way, he called Carmen, but again got her answering service. He left a message, asking her to call.

  Seconds later his phone lit up. It was Carmen.

  “Hey,” Elliot said, “I’m glad you called. Look, I’m sorry about the situation earlier, but I’m on a case.”

  Fear laced Carmen’s voice. “It’s Wayne. He didn’t show up for school this morning, and he hasn’t come home. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know what to do.”

  A car horn sounded. Elliot had swerved into the next lane. He slowed the truck, pulled off 11th Street, and parked against the curb. He fought to get the air back into his lungs. “Where are you?”

  “At City Hall, in Chief Stanton’s office.”

  “You did the right thing,” Elliot said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “I know where Wayne was trying to go,” Carmen said. “His friend, Jimmy Snider, got to feeling bad about it and told me. He meant to visit his… his stepfather. I called Anthony. He hasn’t seen him. He didn’t make it, Kenny. I don’t know where he is.”

  Elliot gripped the steering wheel of the truck. “Does he have his phone with him?”

  “Yes, I think so, but he does not answer.”

  “Do you have tracking enabled?”

  “I did not think it was necessary.”

  “That’s all right. The phone’s probably GPS equipped. Even if it isn’t, the provider should be able to narrow down its position based on the towers it’s closest to.”

  “I do not know how to do any of that.”

  “Chief Stanton’s probably already on it, but if he isn’t, ask him to get started. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you right back.”

  “The divorce hasn’t been easy for him,” she said. “He’s been quiet about it, holding too much inside. I thought he was doing better. I should have paid more attention.”

  Elliot struggled to fend off the hundreds of what if situations threatening to paralyze his concentration. He did not want to show a lack of confidence. Carmen had enough to worry about. “I’ll find him, Carmen. I’ll need Davenport’s address.”

  Carmen tried to keep her voice flat and monotone, but emotion still leaked through.

  After receiving the information Elliot disconnected. Anthony Davenport lived in Siloam Springs, Arkansas, just off of Highway 412.

  Carmen said Wayne wasn’t answering his phone, but Elliot tried it, just to be sure.

  “Who’s there?”

  Recognition of the hushed voice went through Elliot like an electrical current. It was Wayne. A roaring sound filled the background. An answer of your father formed in Elliot’s thoughts, though he did not speak the words. “It’s Mr. Elliot.” That was what Wayne called him, the name he knew him by.

  “Oh, man, am I glad it’s you.”

  A dull pain started in Elliot’s stomach and spread through him. He recalled holding the boy close after he’d found him hiding in the closet a few months ago, terrified by an attacker who’d taken his mother hostage. He’d suffered too much pain in his young life. “Are you all right?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What does that mean, Wayne?”

  “I did something really stupid. I was on the road and this truck driver picked me up. I’m inside his truck.”

  Cold beads of perspiration formed on Elliot’s forehead. An old memory of finding his mother cold and stiff in her bed snaked through his mind. A similar empty and lost feeling had formed in his stomach. “Is he there? Does he know you’re talking to me?”

  “No. I’m in the back. It’s kind of like an RV, only hooked to the truck. I don’t think he can hear me back here. At least I hope not.”

  The air seemed to seep out of the cab of Elliot’s pickup. “Has he done anything to you, hurt you in anyway?”

  “No, but he’s kind of weird. I don’t like the way he looks at me.”

  Elliot started the pickup and pulled onto the roadway. “Have you asked the driver to pull over and let you out?”

  “Yeah. I told him I had to go to the bathroom, but he wouldn’t stop. There’s a bathroom back here, though, so maybe he isn’t crazy. I just don’t know.”

  Elliot turned onto Highway 44 and headed east. “You’re doing fine. Do you know where you are, or where the truck is going?”

  “Not really. I told him I wanted to go to Arkansas, but I don’t know if that’s what he’s doing.”

  “Is there a window or something you can look through?”

  “There’s one by the dining table, and a door, too, but I don’t know if it’ll open or not.”

  “Can you get to the window without drawing the driver’s attention?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a curtain hanging across the entrance to the truck, so maybe he won’t see me.”

  “All right,” Elliot said. “Here’s what I want you to do. Act casual, but move over to the window, nice and easy like you’re just looking around.”

  Seconds later, Wayne said, “Okay, I made it. Now what?”

  “Look through the window and tell me what you see.”

  “Just the side of the road and a bunch of trees and stuff.”

  “How about signs that tell you what road you’re on, or what city you’re near?”

  “I don’t see any now, but earlier I did, when I asked the driver to stop.”

  Elliot passed several other cars on the highway, going faster than he should. “You’re doing fine. Do you remember if a town or a city was listed?”

  “Nah, just a blue sign showing there was a travel stop
.”

  “How about an exit number?”

  “A what?”

  “The roads leading off the highway are usually numbered. It would’ve been on the sign that advertised the travel stop.”

  “I don’t remember seeing any numbers.”

  “That’s okay. Tell me what the land looks like. Are there a lot of hills, or is it mostly flat?”

  “Wait a minute,” Wayne said. “I can see a house now.”

  “Can you tell me what it looks like?”

  “It’s a white one, and kind of old. Now we’re slowing down.”

  Elliot’s throat tightened. Thoughts of what to do next scrambled through his head. “All right, Wayne. If the truck stops, try the door you told me about. It might be locked. If you can get it open, get out of there. Run as fast as you can. Don’t let the man catch you. I know you can do it.”

  “Yes, sir, but I don’t think he means to stop. Nope, he’s turning. We’re getting off this road and going onto another one.”

  “Tell me what you see.”

  “Cars, trucks and gas pumps. He’s stopping all right. I’m going to do what you said.”

  The phone went dead.

  Elliot stared through the windshield of the truck and tried to clear his mind except for thoughts of Wayne, and just let it happen, a process he wasn’t accustomed to. He’d always tried to fight it. He pressed the accelerator pedal to the floor. Maybe it was nothing more than memories triggered by Wayne’s description of what he’d seen through the window of the truck sleeper, but images that had been forming in his mind solidified. He knew Wayne’s location. It seemed fantastic, but the last couple of days had been filled with instances blurring the boundaries of credible thought. Fifteen minutes later, a time span in which Elliot was all too aware that much could happen, he turned onto Highway 69, just south of Chouteau, Oklahoma, then wheeled into the travel stop located just past the exit.

  Elliot skidded to a stop beside the tractor trailer rig. It was the only one with an oversized sleeper. He jumped out of the pickup and started toward the rig.