the FBI was the first to speak. "Governor, we've determined how we're going to conduct our investigations. With two women missing, it seemed prudent to divide up the work."
"I don't give a rat's ass who's doing what. I just want my daughter found — alive."
Chief Fryer was up to bat next, and I almost felt sorry for him. "Governor, you have my word my people will work around the clock to bring your daughter home safely. My staff will be conducting the investigation in regards to the disappearance of both women. The FBI will head up the investigation into any possible connection to you or any of your projects or strategies."
"Well they can start with those morons from the CHP who let a bunch of teenaged girls outsmart them." Preston's gaze searched the room for his aide, Martin Bain. "Bain, arrange for a room to be set up so the detectives can start their interviews as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir," answered Bain, and he quickly left the room.
The governor turned to the rest of us. "I just got off the phone. Two of Tiffany's friends and their parents are on their way as well."
Geez, wasn't it enough for Preston Truesdale to run the state? Did he have to tell the LAPD how to do our jobs too? I wondered if anyone from our group would have the nerve to stand up to him. I knew I didn't; but that was the beauty of being low man, or in my case, low woman on the totem pole. It wasn't up to me to politely tell the governor that we'd handle the investigation as we saw fit.
My partner apparently had more nerve than I did. "Excuse me governor," Darius said, "I know you're anxious to get the ball rolling, but we won't be able to do the interviews here."
Truesdale stopped in his tracks. "Why the hell not?"
"Because when it comes to high profile missing person cases, we tape the interviews."
Preston raked his hand through his hair; and I could feel frustration radiating off him in waves. I was sure everyone in the room felt the heat as well. This meeting was going to hell in a hand basket. We needed to get moving.
I was startled to hear my voice next. "Governor, since they're already en route, why don't we get all the witnesses here, load them into the mayor's van, and then they can be transported to the Police Administration Building for interview purposes."
I was surprised when the mayor nodded her head. In fact, she looked downright relieved.
"That's a great idea," said Pilar. "The van is large enough to take all of you and your witnesses back to the PAB." The mayor shot me a conspiratorial look.
The others in the room were nodding their heads as well.
Martin Bain returned to the room followed by two very tired-looking men. I figured these were the CHP boneheads who'd allowed Tiffany and her friend to ditch them. From the looks of the bags under their eyes and sagging features, I doubted they'd gotten any sleep last night.
Behind the men were two teen-aged girls. One girl kept fiddling with her hair while the other one gnawed on a cuticle. The girl playing with her hair smiled at the governor, but he didn't notice because he'd fixed a steely stare on the men.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't two of California's finest. Gentlemen, I'd like to have a word with you. Follow me."
I was stunned when Larry-the-Wife-Beater spoke up, his face turning the color of a pomegranate's skin. "Governor, I'm sorry, I need to have our detectives interview these men first. Then you can have your crack at them."
Larry-the-Wife-Beater had grown a pair! For once, he was absolutely right. The last thing we needed was the governor yelling at these two schmucks making them defensive and less likely to tell us what really happened. Besides, from their expressions and demeanor, there was no doubt their superiors had already ripped them a new asshole. These guys were in big trouble - and they knew it.
The governor's face was almost as red as Larry-the-Wife-Beater's. He wanted his pound of flesh from these two cops, and I kind of doubted the governor was ever denied much.
"Lieutenant, just who in the hell—"
Chief Fryer interjected. "Governor, I know you're anxious to...um, interview these officers, but we must stay focused and find Tiffany. I think the best course of action is to get these folks in the mayor's van, and get back to PAB."
With that said, people started shifting and moving in the direction of the front door.
"Excuse me," said the meekest-looking of the young girls, raising her voice above the din. "If you're looking for Tiffany, all you need to do is talk to Brenda. They left the party with the same guy."
TIFFANY – 26
Frustrated with the two girls at the breakfast table, Tiffany tried to decide which direction to go in the massive house in search of a telephone. She hadn't seen one on her way downstairs, so she opted to head in the other direction…unknown territory. She worried that she'd stumble into the man who'd banged on the bedroom door and yelled at her. The thought was terrifying. But even more so was the fact she apparently was being held prisoner here. Although she hadn't asked directly to leave, she'd been locked in her room and that loud voice told her no one would help her. She wondered what would happen if she demanded to leave. Then Tiffany remembered Brenda. Maybe Brenda knew Tiffany had been taken away. Maybe Brenda would send help. As quickly as Tiffany thought of her friend, she rejected the idea. Her drunken companion wouldn't be able to tell anyone where Tiffany had gone.
Moving across the kitchen, she made her way into a huge great room. There was a floor-to-ceiling rock fireplace that was easily fifteen feet wide. A black velvet horseshoe-shaped sectional adorned with red faux fur throw pillows faced the hearthstone. Tucked into the seating arrangement was a large beveled glass coffee table held up by brushed silver rods bent into a contemporary shape. Perpendicular to the fireplace stood an entire wall of windows, just like those Tiffany had seen in the kitchen. Again she was afforded a view of the spectacular pool area. Seeing there were a number of sliding doors built into the wall of glass, she yanked on each door, praying the door would slide open. But her hopes were dashed each time.
Turning her eyes from the bright outdoors, Tiffany scanned the room, looking for a phone or anything that might conceal one. Seeing nothing that fit the bill, she moved on. Leaving the great room, tears formed in her eyes when she found herself in a foyer. Right in front of her was a massive set of wooden doors. She could use these doors to escape. It was obvious they were the front entrance to the residence. She frantically ran toward them and turned the knobs. Both doors were locked.
"Sweet Jesus," she whispered. "Is every eff-ing door in this house locked?" Suddenly, she heard her name being called. Ginger!
"Tiffany, where are you? Drejohn doesn't like people wandering around the house."
Tiffany heard Ginger's approaching footsteps. Although there was nothing threatening in the words the redhead had spoken, there was a thread of warning in her tone.
Thinking fast, Tiffany decided it was best her hostess didn't know she'd been trying to find a phone or a way out of the mansion.
"I'm over here, Ginger. I was trying to find a bathroom and got turned around."
"Ah, there you are."
Tiffany watched Ginger's calculated gaze quickly look at the door, and around the vestibule to see if anything had been disturbed. She gave Tiffany a hard once-over too.
"Come on. Drejohn will be here soon. He won't like it if he finds you in here. There's a bathroom over here," the girl said, leading Tiffany back through the kitchen to a small powder room off the hallway.
Tiffany entered the restroom quickly and prayed she'd be able to go. She'd seen Ginger position herself outside the lavatory door. Tiffany wondered if Ginger had keys to the house and if she could muscle them away from her. It was obvious the strawberry blond was the one in charge. She wasn't much older than the other girls, but she obviously was running the morning activities.
Once Tiffany was done, Ginger led her back into the great room where the other three girls now sat slack-faced on the black velvet lounge. Picking up a remote control and plopping down, Ginger punched a few butt
ons. The flat-screen television attached to the fireplace jumped to life with the images of Kelly Ripa and the latest music star, Zinful, laughing hysterically. The other girls looked at the flashing display, but Tiffany didn't think they were registering a thing.
"Have a seat. It shouldn't be long now. Drejohn always shows up early when he's got a new guest."
Tiffany sank into an empty seat in the large couch. Guest? Is that how she sees me? Does this twit have any idea who I am? Maybe I should tell her. Maybe then she'd let me make a phone call. Then a sudden thought caused Tiffany's heart to pound. Did Drejohn know who she was? Did he have any idea what kind of measures would be taken to find her? Somehow she didn't think it would be wise to tell him, if he didn't know already.
About an hour later, metallic noises coming from the foyer caused all five girls to sit up taller. Someone was unlocking the front door. For just an instant, Tiffany was tempted to dash to the doors and try to get out, but she instinctively realized there was more than one person entering the house. She might make it past one person, but certainly not two.
Drejohn entered the great room along with another male. They were both dressed in dark baggy clothing. When Drejohn's eyes met Tiffany's, he gave her a wide smile. "Hello, Princess. How are you this morning?"
Getting to her feet, she summoned any acting ability she might have inherited from her father