to award the huge cardboard checks to Zepeda Sorriano.
Preston and Pilar each presented the gang intervention leader a check for a million dollars. As was standard, they all held their poses while the press got their film footage and still photos.
Thinking the press conference was over, some of the press corps began to pack up their equipment. Preston returned to the mic. Pilar hovered nearby.
"In addition to announcing the funding for the EGA center, I've called you here today because something terrible has happened in my personal life." Preston could actually see his audience lean forward in anticipation of capturing the lead story of the day. "My sixteen-year-old daughter, Tiffany, is missing." A subdued gasp went through the crowd.
"At this time, we don't know if she is missing out of her own volition, or if foul play is involved. I'm asking everyone in the state—no, everyone in the country to please watch for her. As some of you may know, Tiffany has some medical issues, and she needs specialized treatments on a regular basis. If she doesn't receive those treatments she could…" Preston's controlled demeanor crumpled and he stepped away from the podium.
Chief Fryer moved up and provided a description of Tiffany while cameras zoomed in on a blow up of Tiffany's latest school picture that Keever placed on an easel at the side of the stage. Fryer also advised that one of Tiffany's friends, Brenda Fielding, was also missing. Keever set Brenda's photo on a second stand. The chief recited the number to a twenty-four hour tip line and urged anyone who had any information to call. "You can remain anonymous," he finished.
The frenzied media shouted questions at the podium. But the press conference was over, and Preston was whisked into a small hallway that led to the underground parking structure.
PILAR – 52
The press conference over, everyone moved to a door off-stage. It was crowded but cool in the back hallway of City Hall as the governor and his entourage, the police chief and his people, and Pilar and her staff, along with Zepeda Sorriano marched to a nondescript door leading out to the underground parking structure. Sorriano handed off the over-sized cardboard checks to some uniformed cop who happened to be standing nearby.
Preston's stretch-limo hadn't been able to maneuver into the depths of the garage, but the van Pilar used to transport mid-sized groups had cleared the concrete ceiling by about an inch.
"Governor, you and your staff can ride in my van and we'll get you to the privacy of your limousine. Mr. Sorriano, you're welcome to ride with us as well." She turned her radiant smile to the chief and extended her hand. "Chief Fryer, thank you so much for making this happen. We have the best police department in the world, and I'm sure before long you'll have all three of the missing women accounted for." As she'd expected, the chief basked in her praise.
She watched as the pack of men shook hands and said their goodbyes. When she'd had her fill, she climbed aboard her vehicle as indication they needed to get moving. Her staff followed along with Preston and his group.
Without request, the seat next to her had been left vacant for Preston. He sank into the empty leather chair.
"I'm glad that's over with," he whispered.
She affected a sympathetic pout and placed her hand on his. "I'm sure you are. I can only imagine what you're going through."
"I've made a decision."
She couldn't help but straighten up a little. "Really? About what?"
He moved his mouth close to her ear. "I'm going to leave the lieutenant governor in charge while I go about finding my daughter."
It wasn't often that Pilar was left speechless, but this was one of those rare times. She pulled away from him and looked at him in amazement.
Preston searched her eyes. "What? You don't think it's a good idea?"
"I think it's political suicide," she said, hissing in his ear.
"Why? Other parents put their lives on hold to look for their missing children. Look at that woman whose daughter disappeared in Aruba. Or even that guy from America's Most Wanted."
Pilar swallowed her dubious reaction and, instead, tried to guide Preston to what would be the best for the both of them. "No one in the country knew who Beth Holloway or John Walsh were before their kids went missing. You were an Oscar-winning actor and are now the governor of California, for God's sake!" Seeing confusion in his eyes, she continued. "You're not going to accomplish anything by trying to find Tiffany on your own. Leave it to the police. They know what they're doing."
Preston looked defeated. "So you think I should do nothing?"
"I think that you need to get face time in front of the camera looking distraught and worried. But I think you'd be a fool to turn the state over to the lieutenant governor. Let Bain do most of the running of the state. You and I will be tugging at the heartstrings of America every night on the local and national news, begging for Tiffany's return home."
"I just want Tiffany home safely," Preston said.
"Me too, baby. Me too," Pilar said, stroking his brow. It was then she noticed Zepeda Sorriano watching them.
MADDIE – 53
Reading the message from Larry-the-Wife-Beater on my phone about a dead body had me motioning to Darius to get him to wrap it up with the female postal employee. I pointed to my phone and frantically waved for him to get a move on.
He finished flirting with the Filipino woman and hurried to my side. "Christ, Maddie, I was just about to seal the deal."
"What deal? Buying her dinner, or getting the address we need?"
"I was working on both, but she did give up the address."
"Swell." I held up my cell phone so he could read the message.
"Is it Heather?" he asked.
"How the hell do I know?" I said. "I'm hoping against hope it isn't the governor's daughter."
"No need to get testy. Let's go out to the car and call the boss."
We climbed into the scorching interior of our plain-wrap car and, while Darius called in, I cranked on the air conditioning full blast. My partner frowned at me as hot air shot from the vents, making it hard for him to hear Larry on the phone.
While I heard Darius's side of the conversation, there wasn't much to hear. Our boss was doing all the talking. My partner did little more than nod and say 'Uh, huh,' and jot down directions in his notebook. After he hung up, he turned to me, a resigned look on his face. "How do you feel about a nice afternoon drive?"
"Depends on where we're going."
"Did you ever hear of a small outpost of civilization in the high desert called Big Valley?"
I shook my head.
"Head north on the 5 Freeway. We're gonna go about seventy miles and then I'll have to guide you from there." He looked at his notes. "If we miss the third peach orchard after the 'S' curve, evidently, we'll get lost."
"And when we find the Big Valley, what's our reward?"
"The body of Heather McCall."
TRAVIS – 54
Pulling into the rear parking lot of the nondescript office building on Ventura Boulevard, Travis stopped his full-sized pickup truck at the valet stand. The middle-eastern attendant hurried to the driver's door.
"Where you going?" he asked in a clipped accent.
Travis sized the man up. "Office one twenty-three."
"Oh, LAPD. Here you take this ticket," the man said, offering an orange piece of card stock. "Have them validate and bring back to me when you're done."
The cop in Travis didn't like the fact this carhop knew he was part of LAPD, and probably knew what he was doing there. Of course, there was no way for this guy to know that the department had lost faith in him and had ordered him to a shrink, but Travis thought there was a smug understanding in the valet's eyes. Wordlessly, he took the ticket.
"You go through there, the second door on the left." White teeth amidst sun-darkened skin smiled encouragingly while the car jockey rapidly nodded his head.
He was almost overly helpful. Travis wondered if, on a previous day, some unbalanced cop had pulled a gun on the guy.
The hallway smelled sour, like a transient slept there at night, but was banished at morning's light. The odor didn't help his already upset stomach. In his twelve years on the job, Travis had never been to BSS. This was a place for weaklings and wusses. He didn't belong here.
Cautiously he opened the door marked one twenty-three. He was relieved the waiting room was empty. The furnishings were garage sale rejects spruced up with white paint and striped slipcovers. A low table held an assortment of magazines, all benign and over a year old.
Another table against the wall had a clipboard propped up on it. A note had been taped to the wall. 'IF YOU'RE A NEW PATIENT OF DR. STEVENS, COMPLETE THIS PAPERWORK.'
"I guess that's me," Travis said to himself. After picking up the clipboard, he tried to figure out which chair would allow him the most anonymity should someone else enter the waiting room. He was screwed. They all faced the door. Taking a seat in the chair furthest from the door, he settled in and began filling out the papers. When he was done, he took the clipboard back to the table. He noticed there were two business cards wedged in behind the faceplate of the light switch. Another, handwritten note was taped next to the cards. "FLIP THE SWITCH FOR THE DR YOU'RE HERE TO SEE."
Doctor Steven's generic LAPD business card with her name embossed in navy blue was on the left. He flipped the light switch, and noticed a red Christmas light attached to the fiberglass ceiling panel lit up. He assumed a similar device announced his arrival in the doctor's interior office.
He couldn't help but watch the door that led to the inner office. What if the patient seeing the doctor before him recognized him? What would they think? Would they blab all over the department that a decorated S.W.A.T. officer was nuts and needed to see the department shrink?
Travis heard voices behind the door. His heart rate accelerated as the conversation got louder. Oddly enough, no one opened the door. Through the thin drywall, Travis could hear two female voices laughing and sounding like they were saying goodbye. Then he heard a door open and close in the outside hallway.
He nodded his appreciation. For once, the department had done something smart. The area was set up so people leaving the doctor's offices didn't have to pass by those waiting to go in. Travis wished he were the person leaving out the unseen door.
Suddenly, the inner office door opened.
"Travis? I'm Doctor Stevens."
PILAR – 55
Glad the dog and pony show Preston had arranged about Tiffany's disappearance was over, Pilar breezed into her private office and got a bottle of sparkling water out of the small refrigerator tucked into the corner of the room. She couldn't get it out of her head that Preston was willing to step down from being governor until his daughter was found. She certainly hoped she'd talked him out of making that dumb move.
She was beginning to realize Preston had little leadership ability. Bain must be running the state. When she and Preston got married, she'd have to tread lightly to get rid of her husband's right hand man. There was only one person who was going to be whispering strategies in Preston's ear to get them to the White House, and that person was going to be her.
Moving to her desk, Pilar sat in her custom-made chair and grimaced at the stack of folders piled in her 'in' box. She pulled the first folder, opened it, and scribbled her signature. Almost an hour later she was surprised when her assistant, Crystal, knocked on the door and brought in a huge bouquet of multi-colored flowers.
"Well, well, well, what a pleasant surprise," Pilar said. "Who are they from?"
Crystal set the arrangement on the desk within Pilar's reach and shrugged. "No clue, but security checked it out and there's nothing ticking inside. There is a card though."
"Thanks. I always love to get flowers, and these are beautiful."
After her assistant left the office, Pilar took the medium-sized card out of the envelope expecting to see a message from Preston. Instead, it was from Zepeda Sorriano. Madam Mayor, I wanted to thank you for your help with securing funding for the EGA center. I look forward to working together to build the first of many EGA centers in the beautiful City of the Angels - of which you are the most beautiful angel of them all! Always, Z. Sorriano
Pilar was a little unsettled. The note wasn't really appropriate for someone in her position. On the other hand, she was dealing with a reformed gang member. He probably didn't know any better or maybe he thought he'd get more money by kissing up to her. Calling Crystal on the intercom, Pilar directed her to get Sorriano on the phone.
Holding the phone to her ear as she stroked the velvet purple petals of an iris centered in the bouquet she waited for the former gang member to come on the line. She didn't have to wait long. "Mr. Sorriano, I just wanted to thank you for the lovely flower arrangement. It's a beautiful, but unnecessary gesture."
"Pilar—may I call you by your first name, Mayor Luna? The flowers are but a small token of my appreciation for the money you secured for my cause."
Sorriano was going to be trouble. Clenching her teeth at the irritating familiarity used by the former gangbanger, she moved her hand to her temple, massaging the tension starting to build there. "Well, I was happy to do so. The outcome will be well worth it. Of course, the governor and I will want to attend the ground-breaking ceremony of your new EGA center as well as the grand opening."
"Nothing would make me happier…Pilar."
Time to put this thug in his place. "Of course, I'm sure you'll be so busy with your centers in the Bay area it's unlikely you'll have time to be on-site in Los Angeles very often."
There was an infinitesimal pause before Sorriano spoke. "Never underestimate me, Pilar. Never." Then the line went dead.
TRAVIS – 56
Travis eyeballed Doctor Stevens, who sat in a tan wingback chair in front of him with a yellow legal pad balanced on her plump thighs. She reviewed the paperwork he'd filled out in the waiting room. After perusing the facts he had no debilitating malady and none of his blood relatives had ever been institutionalized, she seemed ready to get down to business.
"So tell me, Travis, why do you think you're here?"
"I've got no idea," he said, throwing his hands in the air.
"Really? No idea at all?"
"Nope."
The doctor sighed and set her mouth in a firm line. Her stare was probably supposed to intimidate him. He didn't have the heart to tell her he'd stared death down more times than she'd consoled some poor young copper whining that his soon-to-be ex-wife was going to score half his pension and take his kids. If she was trying to scare Travis Divine, she might as well stop trying.
The doctor gave him a fake smile. "I'm going to tell you something that cops say to suspects all the time. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but either way, we're going to do it. It's up to you how long it takes." Her chocolate-brown gaze continued to challenge.
The room was so quiet; he could hear the clock ticking across the room on the doctor's desk. Tick, tick, tick. Travis did some quick calculations in his mind. If he didn't cooperate, the shrink would send a 'bad report' back to his captain and he'd never get back into S.W.A.T.. If he fed her whatever she wanted to hear, he could be working by the end of the month. It was a no-brainer. "So, what do you want to know?"
"Tell me why you think your captain felt you needed to come here."
"I think I'm being punished."
"Punished for what?"
"Letting my partner, Dave, get murdered."
The doctor scribbled some notes on the yellow pad. "Can you tell me what happened?"
Travis focused his eyes on the desk clock, finding comfort in the timepiece's rhythmic sound, as he relived the second-most horrible event in his life. The doc didn't rush him, and it was appreciated. In his mind's eye he had to play out every movement, every trigger press, and the horror at seeing his best friend killed. Tick, tick, tick.
"Travis," the doctor's voice was almost a whisper. "Can you tell me about it?"
"It was a ro
bbery suspect call. Patrol cops chased the guy into a factory that operates twenty-four hours a day. When the suspect ran in waving a gun, the factory workers ran out. The initial responding unit went in foot pursuit of the suspect and one of those officers was shot. Patrol set up a perimeter and called for S.W.A.T.. We weren't sure if the officer was alive. We didn't even know if we had the suspect contained or if he ran straight through the place and got out of the perimeter."
Travis paused, the scenario reenacting in his mind's eye. Tick, tick, tick. He relived this event every day, several dozen times a day. He didn't know what he could have done differently, but surely, there was something. Tick, tick, tick.
"And then what happened?"
He'd almost forgotten the doctor was there.
Sighing heavily, Travis continued. "We did the usual announcement to the suspect to come out with his hands up. Then we sent in the dogs." Travis made a fist and punched the rounded arm of the sofa. "That bastard killed two of our best dogs."
"Then what happened?"
"We were going to wait him out, but then someone recognized the injured officer was using his radio 'talk' button to send Morse code. The officer was telling us he was getting weaker, as well as his location in the warehouse, and what kind of weapons the suspect had."
"And then?"
"The decision was made that we'd go in and do an officer rescue. Dave and I would be the first part of the entry team, along with another two additional S.W.A.T. officers."
"Go on," Angela said.
Tick, tick, tick. "We deployed flash-bangs and went through the door." A tightening in Travis's chest caused him to gasp for breath as he continued. His fingers twitched in response to the gun battle he replayed in his mind. "I went through the door first, Dave behind me. A barrage of rounds from a Mac 10 met us. I got hit in the left ankle. I dropped like a ton a bricks with no cover at all." Travis closed his eyes, experiencing the anger, frustration, and the fear of that moment. Tick, tick, tick.
"It's okay, Travis. Tell me what happened."
He heard the labored breathing of an emphysema patient who'd just sprinted to the end of a marathon. With dismay, he realized the ragged noise came from him. Tick, tick, tick.
"Travis, you're alright. It's okay to tell me what happened."
Tick, tick, tick. He tried to fight it. He jabbed his fingers into the corners of his eyes to stop the flow of tears. He hung his head in shame. His voice was a whispered monotone. "The gunman was up in the rafters. He had the high ground. Dave saw I was hurt and left cover to pull me to safety." Tick, tick, tick. "He threw me behind a concrete wall and that fucker shot Dave's face off."
Tick, tick, tick.
PRESTON – 57
Not for the first time, Preston was relieved to get away from Pilar. She seemed to think she could tell him what to do. What started out as a great way to get publicity and have some fantastic sex had somehow evolved into what she thought was a relationship. It was getting old.