The Watchman Page 16

  The line became silent for a moment. “Thank you. I’d go...but I wouldn’t know where to begin. I really appreciate—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll call when I find her.”

  I hadn’t planned to return to California so soon, but Goldie had placed herself in more danger than she could possibly imagine. And if I found her safe, I intended to send her a whopping bill for my services. I charge a higher fee for stupid. “Barbara, if you hear from Goldie in the meantime, call me right away.” My anger at Goldie was tempered by my fear for what she might have wandered into.

  I really should move to Salt Lake City. I’d spent more time in their airport than I had in Hebron.

  Three hours later, I arrived at the terminal and caught the earliest flight out. My frequent flyer miles were going up faster than my blood pressure.

  

  San Francisco, California

  In Frisco, I rented a car with the credit card Armstrong sent and found the nearest police station to Goldie’s condominium. I had no reason to believe the California justice system had me on their radar, and the old Sam Spade ID would ensure I kept it that way.

  Visitor parking contained only one empty spot. I slid the sedan into it and killed the motor. The building sat low and sleek, palm trees and red and yellow flowers hugged the structure’s perimeter. Not the Taj Mahal, but compared to Hebron’s police headquarters, it was a giant step forward. Inside, the government-issue furniture appeared new, not like Hebron’s rejects from a WWII clearance sale.

  The desk sergeant gazed into his computer monitor. I cleared my throat. When he looked up, I handed him my business card and asked to speak to a detective. He pointed me to one of the colorful chairs against the wall.

  Soon, a trim Latina ventured out. We exchanged introductions, and Rena Chavez led me back to her cubicle. Two small boys smiled at me from a silver frame on her desk. With only a trace of an accent, she offered me a seat.

  I explained about the fire and told her Goldie’s sister hadn’t been able to contact Goldie. Chavez pulled a yellow legal pad from a drawer and took down the information.

  I leaned forward. “I think she may be in serious trouble, Detective Chavez. I’m sure a man named Ben Marshall is responsible for the explosion that destroyed her townhouse on—”

  Marshall’s name made her eyes widen. She sat up straight in her chair and gave me her full attention. “You think Benjamin Marshall might be responsible for your friend’s disappearance? What makes you think so?”

  “I can’t prove it, but Goldie is the person who identified Marshall, and her condo burned to the ground shortly thereafter. You can verify this with the fire marshal who filed the report.” I gave her Goldie’s description and the color, make, and model of her car.

  Chavez stood and shook my hand. “Thanks for coming in. We’ll put this information out on your friend. Where can I reach you?”

  Her touch told me she was just what she seemed to be, an effective law enforcement officer and working mother. But suspicious, very suspicious.

  “I came here straight from the airport. Haven’t booked a hotel yet.” I gave her my card, wrote my cell number on the back, and left to find accommodations for the night.

  My stomach growled. It had been a while since the blueberry pancakes. I grabbed a bite at the coffee shop next to the hotel.

  The chicken sandwich tasted like rubber. It was probably my anxiety, not the food. I couldn’t sit by and do nothing while the police put Goldie in their queue behind a hundred other missing persons. Bureaucratic wheels turned too slow. I needed to find her now.

  Leaving the unfinished sandwich on the table, I hurried across the parking lot to my car.

  My mind ran through all the possibilities, and it occurred to me Goldie could have returned to the condo to try and salvage some of her treasures.

  It was as good as any place to start.

  I activated the auto’s GPS and drove to the charred ruins of what was left of Goldie’s home.

  The security guard I’d met earlier was on duty at the gate. I described Goldie and her car. The guard leaned closer to the open window. “Yeah, Ms. Marks came by earlier today. But she left around one thirty. Said she might be back later.”

  “Did she mention where she was headed?”

  The guard shook her head. “Sorry.”

  I asked for permission to look around, and the gate slid open. In the dim afternoon light, the property damage looked worse than it had at my last visit.

  The strong smell of smoke and chemicals mixed with damp air burned my nostrils. The sky grew dark and waves of fog washed in from the sea, chilling the air. I sauntered around the deserted lot and hoped to find something that would suggest where Goldie had gone.

  I kicked the mounds of ashes with the toe of my shoe without any idea of what I was looking for.

  In a spot near two scorched bushes lay a red bird from her Christmas tree and a brass cherub doorknocker—untouched by the explosion. What were the odds?

  Guilt gnawed my gut. Goldie got into this mess because of me. She hadn’t known about Marshall’s supposed death until I told her. That knowledge may have cost her life. Fear for her safety welled inside my chest and wouldn’t let go. Goldie exuded an almost inextinguishable vibrancy. Please, God, don’t let that light go out.

  Where to turn next?

  Back in the car, I drove down the hill toward the city. The gray mist thickened making the journey more hazardous. The mountain on one side, a steep drop off on the other. Mind preoccupied, I almost missed a hairpin turn that loomed unexpectedly through the fog, and I stomped the brakes.

  Wrong thing to do on a slick highway. The tires skidded on the damp pavement and hurled the car into the mountain wall.

  Annoyed at my stupidity, I jumped out and checked the right front fender. It rested resolutely against the wall of dirt, some of which dumped onto the car’s hood. The fog and lack of light impeded my inspection, but the automobile appeared unharmed. I exhaled a deep breath and scurried back to the driver’s side door, expecting a motorist to rear-end me any second from around the blind turn.

  I flung open the drivers-side door when a double-line of black skid marks in the northbound lane caught my attention. The tire tracks ran onto the narrow shoulder.

  Hair on the back of my neck prickled. I pulled the rental car around the curve and parked on the shoulder and then followed the tracks for almost a hundred yards. When the trail ended, trampled shrubs led to the cliff’s edge. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see a vehicle had gone over the edge into the abyss below.

  Coincidence? Or a nudge from God? I had to check it out. Heart pounding an erratic beat, I quick-stepped to the precipice and peered down the mountainside. Mist and darkness obscured the view. I returned to the car and searched for a flashlight. Inside the trunk lay a heavy-duty lamp.

  I snatched it up and ran to the edge.

  Hand shaking, I swept the beam through the murky shadows. Light reflected off metal about thirty feet below. I stuffed the flashlight into the waistband of my trousers and held onto brush as I made an urgent descent, scrambling for a foothold and a closer look. Whoever went over the cliff could be dead, or seriously injured.

  The descent against the muddy wall sent my heart into my mouth. I envisioned my guardian angel placing a rush order for a pair of extra-large wings. I grabbed hold of a bush. The huge lump in my throat seemed to grow larger as I dangled in space until my feet finally touched down on a rocky ledge.

  Then it came into view. There, almost covered in mud, limbs, and debris, sat a white Mercedes, the top crushed by the force of downhill motion. The roof almost flat against the headrests—the driver’s side window smashed. Strapped in the seat, almost invisible, was Goldie Marks.

  I leaned back against the outcropping, reached into my pocket, pulled out my cell, and prayed for bars. When the phone reflected a strong signal, I punched 9-1-1.

  With help on the way, I jerked the car door open and the vehicle s
hifted away from me. It rested in a precarious position on a rock that kept it from tumbling to the canyon’s rocky base. I held my breath as the car wavered like a teeter-totter then settled back into position on the boulder.

  The crushed vehicle looked like an expensive tomb.

  I pushed my hand inside the vehicle, pressed my fingertips to her throat and felt an almost indistinguishable thump. Weak, but she still clung to life.

  The wail of sirens grew louder as emergency vehicles converged above my position, blue and white lights penetrated the fog casting an eerie glow on the scene.

  A male voice called out. “Hey, you all right down there?”

  “Yes, we’re both alive, but my friend is trapped in the car. I believe her injuries are serious, and it looks like you’ll have to cut her out of the wreckage.”

  “How much room do you have on that ledge and is it stable?” The same voice asked.

  I gave the matter full consideration before I replied. “Where I am is about four feet. The car is resting on a slightly larger spot. It’s feels like solid rock so I assume its stable, but I don’t have any idea how much weight it will bear.”

  “Hold on, buddy. I’m coming down.”

  A commotion drifted down from the crest above. Two firefighters descended to the ledge. They brought equipment down with them. When one guy attempted to attach a cable hook to the vehicle’s rear-end, the automobile shifted forward, threatening to plunge into the abyss below.

  The two men exchanged wide-eyed glances. The second man dashed to the backend and added his body weight while the other connected the cable. Next came the slow process of cutting away metal to remove Goldie from the wreckage without causing further injury.

  My ledge became crowded, as two EMT’s joined me. Within minutes, they’d placed Goldie onto a backboard, stabilized her neck with a collar, and positioned an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Cables invisible in the darkness, the board rose to the road above as if by magic.

  With Goldie safe above, one of the EMT’s turned her attention to me. “You hurt?”

  I shook my head. “Just a few scratches.”

  A fireman strapped me into a harness and lifted my tired, damp body to the hilltop. Muddy and chilled, I followed the ambulance into the hospital’s emergency parking.

  

  Bay City Hospital, San Francisco

  While I waited for news about Goldie, I made the dreaded call to Barbara. She answered on the second ring and listened silently while I explain where I was and why. Her voice quivered when she spoke. “I’ll take the next flight out. Give me the name and address of the hospital again.”

  Detective Rena Chavez joined me later in the emergency room. She eyed the No Smoking sign and muttered under her breath. “It looks as though someone hit Ms. Marks’ car from behind and shoved it over the cliff. The skid marks indicate she had the brakes on all the way before the car plunged over. How did you find her?”

  “Her guardian angel,” I said with all sincerity.

  Two eyebrows formed one on Chavez’s slim brow, her gaze questioning my sanity.

  I exhaled, turned to her, and explained the steps that led me to Goldie. “A guardian angel is my answer. You can find your own.”

  Chavez looked down at her nicotine-stained fingers and picked at her cuticles. “For the record, we checked your rental car to see if the paint matched the dents on Ms. Marks’s automobile.”

  “You figured I pushed her off the cliff? I found her, and I’m the one who told you she was missing.”

  Chavez shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

  Miffed, I turned my back on her and walked away. In her line of work, she was paid to be suspicious, but I was in no mood to deal with a non-believing, distrustful, nicotine addict who smelled like an ashtray.

  

  After more than a three hour wait, a tired doctor emerged, untying his green surgical mask. He pushed through the double doors and glanced around the waiting area, and then approached the nurses’ station. The woman behind the desk pointed in our direction.

  Chavez rose and made rapid strides across the tiled floor to meet him. I followed.

  He leaned against the counter. “Are you relatives of Ms. Marks?”

  Chavez flashed her badge. “No, I’m Detective Chavez, and this is Detective Spade. She doesn’t have any family in the city.”

  The surgeon reached to shake hands. “The patient came through surgery fine, considering her injuries. After a short period, she’ll be taken to intensive care. She had multiple internal injuries. We removed her spleen and repaired a laceration to her liver. She also has a fractured leg, two fractured ribs, and a concussion. She’s a very lucky lady to be alive. After she’s settled in her room, you can visit her for fifteen minutes every two hours, but she probably won’t regain consciousness for a while.”

  He turned to the petite detective. “You need to hold your questions until later. It’s important she rest as much as possible. She’ll be in a lot of pain when she wakes.”

  When the doctor had gone, Chavez switched her attention to me. “I’m posting a guard outside her unit in ICU. You can’t see Ms. Marks until she regains consciousness, and I’ve had a chance to speak to her.”

  I just stared at her, not believing she was serious about the possibility I was behind Goldie’s accident.

  While I waited for Barbara’s arrival, I dashed down the street to my hotel and grabbed a shower and change of clothes to get rid of the filth I brought with me from the ledge. Tired and hungry, I went back to the hospital and catnapped in the waiting room.

  

  Barbara arrived around six o’clock the next morning, a younger, plumper version of her sister, shaken and full of questions I answered as best I could.

  I spotted the half-full coffeemaker in the corner and poured two cups. It wasn’t fresh, but it beat the heck out of vending machine sludge.

  I glanced over at Barbara. “How do you take it?”

  “A little cream and two sugars.”

  I handed her the cup. “This isn’t gourmet, but maybe it will help.”

  She took a sip and grimaced.

  Near her chair, a television droned on with some series rerun. Tears made tiny tracks down Barbara’s cheeks. Tears that had nothing to do with the TV drama.

  I took the chair next to her. “Have you found a hotel?”

  She gave a weary shake of her head. “I came directly from the airport.”

  “I’m booked at the Palms Inn, about two blocks away. Why don’t you get a room there? It’s within walking distance, and we can clean up and nap in shifts. We’ll last longer that way.”

  She nodded a tired acceptance. ”Did you know Goldie paid for mine and our younger sister’s education? Both college and grad school, the whole thing. That’s the kind of person she is. Wanted us to have the same opportunities she had.” Barbara laid her hand over mine. “Thank you for finding her. If she doesn’t pull through...”

  I placed an arm around her shoulders. “She’s in good hands. I’ve been praying ever since I found her.”

  At the next visitation period, Chavez showed up and went directly to ICU. Fifteen minutes later, she stood in front of me. “OK, you can see her. I cleared it with the guard. Ms. Marks woke up long enough to tell me she didn’t know the man who hit her car. I’ll be back to get a formal statement when she’s out of intensive care.”

  I nodded and watched her hurried departure to the elevator, betting she would light a cigarette before she reached the parking lot.

  A short while later, the elevator dinged and Barbara emerged, somewhat refreshed after a nap at the hotel. We entered ICU together at the next visitation. Goldie’s doctor stood at her bedside, her chart in hand.

  Barbara cast him an anxious look. “How is she?”

  He gave Barbara a sympathetic smile. “Her vital signs are stable. But don’t expect any big changes for the next twenty-four hours. This will take time. She sustained a lot of inju
ries.”

  Barbara and I moved closer when the doctor left.

  Both of Goldie’s eyes were black, a large purple bruise marred her left cheek, and her right leg was in a cast up to her knee. Intravenous tubes ran from her arms while monitors emitted reassuring clicks and beeps. Even under pain meds, a soft moan escaped her lips from time to time.

  Her condition reminded me how breakable we humans are—life can be fragile, disappearing in a single breath.

  That afternoon, Goldie came around during our visit. She didn’t say much, mostly incoherent moans as she wandered in and out of a medication-induced haze, but she recognized us.

  Goldie’s recovery could take a while. I’d leave as soon as I knew she was out of the woods. Cody and Rachel were still in danger, and I couldn’t put their problems on hold for long. Back in the waiting room, I called the ranch and Bill Hand answered.

  “Still nothing from London?” I asked.

  “No, I’m guessing he hasn’t tried to trace Rachel’s cell calls. Could also be he’s playing cat and mouse to catch us off guard.”

  I told Bill about Goldie.

  “Don’t worry about things here. If London shows up, I can handle it unless he brings the police. Then the ball will be back in your court.”

  I asked to speak to Emma. “Hey Em, I haven’t forgotten my promise to move Rachel and Cody. A friend here had a serious accident, but I’ll take care of moving them as soon as I return. Shouldn’t be more than a day or so.”

  “Take care of your friend. Bill and I had that talk. We’re good. Rachel and Cody can stay here as long as needed.”

  I exhaled a deep breath. At least one part of my life was going right.

  

  The following day, a now conscious Goldie was moved from intensive care to a private room.

  Barbara, Detective Chavez, and I entered her new accommodations together. Goldie flashed a weak smile and then winced in pain. Words tumbled from her mouth like water over Niagara. “I should have listened to you, Noah...I was so frightened. I remembered what you said about dying and finding out...I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to talk to you.”