“ Say you’re playing Monopoly with a friend.”
“ I don’t understand?”
“ Your father will.”
She removed her hand from the mouthpiece.
“ This is his daughter, remember me? Please tell him I went out to play Monopoly with a friend and that I’m okay.” Then she hung up.
“ That cop was right about one thing,” Glenna said in a weak whisper. “Ain’t no way we can walk out of here without getting caught.” Then she shut up as the flashing lights went by and she stifled a scream as something ran across her bare arm in the dark.
Chapter Eleven
Hugh Washington lumbered through the lobby with sagging shoulders and hooded eyes. Only four hours ago the log cabin motif and big game trophies conspired to make him feel at ease, comfortable. He didn’t feel that way now.
He was drained and needed rest. He was almost to the other side of the big room when the red headed kid with the green eyes called out to him.
“ Sir, Mr. Washington. I have a phone message from your daughter. You just missed her.”
“ What?” He swept the cobwebs from his head. Glenna was supposed to be in her room, asleep, not on the other end of the phone. He steeled himself.
“ She said not to worry about her, she’s playing Monopoly with a friend.”
“ She say where she was?”
“ No, sir.”
“ She sound like she was okay?”
“ She sounded fine. She asked if I remembered her. I told her I did and then she gave me the message. Is everything all right?”
“ Yeah, thanks. She didn’t say when she’d be back?”
“ No, sir.”
“ Okay, thanks again.” He continued his trek through the lobby and went straight to his room, his mind working on the possibilities. Either Monday kidnapped her and she was in extreme danger, or somehow she ran across him and went with him on her own accord.
He voted for her going on her own accord. She had disguised her message so that anyone else, the clerk or the local police, for example, would accept it at face value, but anyone who knew about Jim Monday’s wartime nickname would see the real message buried beneath. She was with Monopoly Jim Monday. Christ, what did she think she was up to?
And what about Monday’s sister-in-law? And the Lambert woman? Whose blood was splashed all over that room? So much blood. When he called the locals he was convinced they were dead. Some cult group had done them in, drained their blood and splashed it around the room, but he calmed down after the police arrived and let his training take over. The room was covered in blood. It was torn apart. The furniture was broken and ripped. It looked bad, but there were no bodies. So for now, no bodies meant no murders.
They could be alive, though he doubted it. He thought Edna Lambert and Roma Barnes were dead. He thought it was their blood on the walls and he thought Jim Monday might possibly know who killed them. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that Monday was the killer everybody seemed to think he was. The thought was unbearable, especially now that Glenna was with him.
But even if Monday wasn’t responsible, he had to find him pronto. People around him had a nasty habit of winding up dead. Either way, guilty or innocent, Glenna was in danger.
He went to the nightstand where he’d left his keys and cringed. They were gone. He swept the room with his eyes, no keys. He started for the door, but was stopped by the ringing of the phone. He turned, lunging for the instrument.
“ Glenna?”
“ No, Washington. It’s me, Hart.”
“ How did you know where I was?” Washington was stunned.
“ Don’t be stupid. You don’t think you can dial 911, report a possible murder, identify yourself as a police officer and not have the boys up there check with us?”
“ I guess not. I wasn’t thinking.”
“ Damn straight you weren’t thinking. Do you know where I am?”
“ No?”
“ I’m in my office, that’s where. It’s midnight and I’m not home with my wife and kids. I got called on the carpet, because one of my ex-detectives is off seeking fame and glory, so he can get off the street and worm his way back into Homicide.”
“ That’s not the way it is.”
“ I don’t want to hear a word out of you. If you’re not back here first thing in the morning, you’re through. You got that? And don’t think you can go to your captain, he wanted to toss you to the wolves. It’s only because of old times that I talked him into giving you this one last chance. You be here at 8:00.” And that was the last word, because the captain hung up.
Damn. That wasn’t the way he wanted to leave it. They were his friends, all of them, even Hart. He wanted to leave with a party, a barbecue maybe, everybody wishing him well, patting him on the back, plenty of beer, a few tears. The last thing he wanted was for them to think he was a glory hound. He wasn’t that way, never had been.
He half wanted to go back, but he couldn’t, not now that Glenna was with Monday. He should call Hart back and tell him. Hart was pretty upset though, better to wait till morning and give the man a chance to cool down.
He picked up a pillow, threw it against the wall. A harmless way to let off a little frustration. He mentally kicked himself, then he hurried out the door and down the walkway to the stairway, taking the steps two at a time. He was afraid that no keys meant no Power Glide, but when he got to the parking lot, the car was there. The only car showing headlights and grill. The only car positioned for the quick get away. All the others faced in, the white Explorer was gone.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he grabbed his breath and approached his car the way an antique dealer approaches a Ming vase. He rubbed his hand along the smoothly waxed right fender, continuing the caress till his hand was on the right side of the front bumper. He reached under and pulled out the small magnetic Hide-A-Key, opened the case and took out the spare key.
Monday was on his way to Tampico, probably after Kohler, and Glenna with him. He had no choice, he had to follow. His daughter’s life was at stake. He’d call Hart tomorrow from Tampico and explain. He’d tell him he was quitting too.
Power Glide started, first try. Thank you, God, he prayed, as he rolled out of the parking lot and turned toward the Interstate and he stayed on it until he turned west toward San Francisco three hours later, listening to Smokey Robinson the whole way, until even Smokey couldn’t keep him awake any longer. He ejected the CD and pulled off the Freeway at Livermore, where he checked into a motel. He asked for a wake-up call at 5:00, allowing himself two hours sleep. He flopped fully clothed onto the bed, pushed his worries out of his mind and fell asleep.
The wake-up call was on time. He took a quick shower and was on the road by 5:15. Normally he enjoyed early morning driving, when he had the road to himself, but not today, because he was sick with fear for Glenna.
The sun had been up for an hour when he turned off California’s Highway 1, and took the road into Tampico. He knew the area. Palma was only a few miles away. He’d grown up here and had nothing but fond memories. He prayed that Glenna was all right, that her memories of the Palma-Tampico area would be fond, too. She had never been up before. He’d always wanted to take her, but he’d always been too busy.
He turned off Kennedy Road onto Mountain Sea and decided that he needed to stretch his cramped body before he went any further. He parked across from the beach, got out and took a couple steps when he spotted a small boy reach into a gunny sack and toss a pigeon into the air.
He smiled. He had pigeons when he was a kid. Racing homers, like the boy had. He caught the kid’s eye, waved, then watched as the kid released the birds, one at a time, five in all, then he saw him shout and wave to a woman down the beach gathering shells. His mother, Washington thought. Beyond he saw a homeless beggar approaching the woman. Just another of America’s forgotten.