‘I’m not after state secrets. Do you get many missing persons reports here?’
‘No more than anywhere else, I guess. Sometimes tourists get lost out in the desert, but we usually find them within a couple hours.’
‘I called at a truck stop a few miles back. There seemed to be quite a few missing person posters.’
‘If you’d read the details you’d have seen most of them were from outta state. People driving through slap the posters up on an off-chance, that’s all.’
‘So, you don’t have a problem with people going missing?’
Lewin eyeballed me. There was a muscle jumping on the side of his jaw. ‘If you’re suggesting we have someone abducting people, then the answer’s no. We have no more problems here than anywhere else, just like I said. There’s only…’
‘Only?’
‘… only one outstanding issue that I’m aware of. Helena Blackstock. She’s still on our books. It’s been four months since she disappeared.’
‘She’s from around here?’
‘Up nearer to Indian Wells.’ Lewin stopped, realising he’d just overstepped the mark. A woman missing four months had no bearing on the disappearance I was investigating, and was therefore none of my business. We’d reached my GMC and he gave it a cursory once-over. Then he held out his hand, directing me inside. ‘I think we’ll leave things at that, sir.’
‘Hunter,’ I reminded him. ‘That’s my name. For when you call me.’
‘If I call you. I can’t guarantee I’ll come across the women.’ With that he walked away, snatching off his hat and dashing sweat from the inner rim.
Inside my GMC, I watched him get in his cruiser, but he wasn’t going to leave before I did. I started the car, and drove down the off-ramp, before turning, not for Indian Wells, but back the way I’d come. I didn’t know much about Indian Wells, other than it was an historic site of some sort, but was only a collection of homesteads. I needed a much larger conurbation, so set out to find Holbrook, which was further along Route 66 than I’d made it earlier.
My route took me via the same truck stop I’d visited before. I pulled into the car park. There was no sign of the Camaro, for which I was glad. I walked over to the noticeboard and studied again the various missing person posters. Officer Lewin hadn’t been spinning me a PR line; all of the posters did depict people missing from various parts of Arizona and beyond. All except for Helena Blackstock. The old spider sense was tingling, and for what reason I’d no idea but I plucked the poster off the board and stuffed it in my pocket alongside the photos of Jay and Nicole.
‘I don’t think taking that’s a good idea.’
I turned to the quiet voice and found the old Navajo cleaner leaning on his brush. I hadn’t heard his approach.
‘Why’s that?’
‘Her husband won’t be a happy man. He comes in here every other day to check there’s still a poster up. Doesn’t take too kindly to when he has to post up a new one.’
‘I intend to speak to her husband. Have you any idea where I can find him?’
The old man laughed, swept grooves in the dirt by his feet. ‘Some detective you’re turning out to be. Didn’t you see the phone number on the poster before you tore it down? Why don’t you give him a call and ask him yourself?’
The thought had already gone through my mind, but I’d discarded it. My reason for returning to Holbrook had been to find an internet connection where I could check out the background story surrounding Helena’s disappearance. From there, I intended to search for an address I could snoop out prior to contacting her husband. But I had to admit the old guy had a point: why not just make a call and cut to the chase?
‘I’m about as good a detective as you are a cleaner, I guess. That brush doesn’t see too much action, does it?’
The old guy found that amusing and showed me a gap-toothed grin. ‘Why, this old thing?’ He lifted the brush and shook dust from the head. ‘I just carry it with me. Makes me look busy if nuthin’ else.’
That was something I’d learned while in the army. Always walk fast, carry something with you, and try to look like you’re on an important errand; otherwise you could bet your arse you would be soon enough.
Nearby a huge rig started with a roar and a belch of smoke and began rumbling out of the lot, heading for points north. ‘Actually… you sound like a man who knows his stuff.’ I tapped the poster in my jacket. ‘And I think I’ll take your advice.’
The old man slipped a hand-rolled cigarette from his shirt pocket, lit it with a match. He dumped the dead stick on the floor at his feet. Winked at me and said, ‘What do I know about anything?’
Then he moved off, brushing the matchstick ahead of him.
I watched him go, puffs of smoke marking his progress to wherever his next hidey-hole was located. The old guy had found a way of getting by, and good luck to him. I was wrong about him though; he was better at his job than I was a detective, because I didn’t seem to be getting far with my own task. I thought about telephoning Helena Blackstock’s husband there and then, but any link she had to those I was seeking was very tenuous. Instead, I elected to phone McTeer and Velasquez and check on what they’d been able to glean regarding the women’s movements.
Out here it was ‘mountain time’ and late evening, but back in Tampa it had to be approaching midnight. Nevertheless I was confident that one of Rink’s associates would be on the end of a phone. I got Velasquez.
‘We’ve searched on both girls’ credit cards, and on their bank accounts. Nothing, Joe. McTeer has been checking Joan’s Facebook and Blogger sites, but again there’s been no activity. As you know, the last time their accounts were accessed was on Tuesday morning at Gallup, but since then, nada!’
‘You have it set up to alert you if there’s a hit?’
‘Yeah. We could patch it through to your cell if you’d like? Then you’re getting the message the same time as we do.’
‘Yes, do that for me, please. Anything on their phones?’
‘No,’ Velasquez said, ‘but Jameson Walker was in touch. Still nothing from his end. He asked when you were going to call him with an update.’
‘I’ll call him soon,’ I promised. ‘Set that alert thing up to this cell, but if you find out anything else ring me immediately, OK?’
‘Will do, Joe.’
I thanked him then rang off. I decided to head south towards the junction with Route 66 where I could strike westward for Holbrook, which was only a few miles along the way. I should book a room somewhere, get some sleep and start fresh again in the morning. Before sleeping, I’d have to call Jameson Walker with a report, and I guessed he wouldn’t be too impressed by how little progress I’d made in finding his daughter. Plus, it would do no harm to call Helena’s husband and have him agree to meet me.
Setting off, I glanced over at the cloth bundle. Inside it something else demanded my attention. I considered pulling up by the highway, marching into the desert and taking a couple trial shots, and that briefest of distractions was almost my undoing.
A pick-up truck roaring up the on-ramp almost sideswiped me, and I had to swerve out of the way to avoid a collision. The truck missed my GMC by inches, and if not for the fact it was already gone, the truck would have lost its wing mirror. As it was, the driver yelled abuse at me, but then kept speeding on into the parking lot.
I got a snapshot of the man driving the truck, and as I was wont to do, I filed the image away for later. Should I ever come across the gaunt cowboy again I’d teach him a lesson on how to be a courteous driver.
I laughed off the thought. What were the chances of coming across him again in a country with a population of hundreds of millions?