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                                            CHAPTER THIRTY

                                            The New Mission

2:50 p.m.

Reggie told Otto that Chris was dead. Otto didn't look surprised. "I know," he said. "There's a ransom. And a reward."

"I saw his body ripped right out of the ground Thursday night."

Otto's interest burst from his face. "You know who did it?"

"No. I saw him, but I couldn't get close enough to see who."

"Another missed opportunity," Otto said, shaking his head.

"What do you mean another?" Otto shrugged. "I tried to see. And what's it to you anyway whether I get a reward or not? Almost got my ass in the slammer for it. Cops thought I did it. Lucilva fixed things up."

"Where is she?"

"Town."

Otto shuffled the dirt with his foot, pinching his nose up to keep his big glasses from sliding off the end of it. "What about The Mission?"

"I'm getting there."

"In other words, you don't know yet."

"I didn't see her until Friday night. And I've been busy. I'm doing my best."

"Does she know or not?"

"I haven't asked her outright, no. But it doesn't seem like she knows. She says her mother died in a car crash, but...she doesn't like talking about it, so, I don't know, she might know the truth."

"Damn it!" Otto swore. "Chris said he was going to tell her. If he did, I have to know. For your father's sake, so do you. I should've done this myself." A thought showed up on his face. "How'd Chris die?"

"Lucilva says suicide. And I think it could be the truth."

"He puts together a big drug deal," Otto said, pretending to analyze the situation, "and then he kills himself."

How'd he know about the drug deal? Reggie wondered. Otto slipped. He didn't mean to say that. But he knows something.

"He was in deep shit with the Feds," Reggie explained. "Banks went belly-up, he was up to his ass in bills, and The Plunge might be polluted–"

"I already knew he was broke. He's paid me for thirty years. Suddenly, out of the blue, he tells me he isn't going to pay anymore and he was going to tell Lucilva about her mother–get out from under it all." Otto sniffed, let out a sigh. "I counted on you to do one lousy thing for me. And your old man."

"I don't think she knows. I think he died before he told her. I think his problems with the Feds was only part of it. I think he killed himself because he didn't want to have to tell her."

Too bluntly, Otto said: "You think too much for your station in life, Thomas."

"Fuck you."

"You got a girlfriend for that."

"My girlfriend–"

"Your girlfriend's going to get you in trouble," Otto warned him arrogantly. "You got one of my ex-dicks tracking her down for her mother. She's jail bait. Putting my name on the motorhome rental agreement was pretty stupid. Yeah, he knows about that. He's got your name. He knows you're somewhere in Paley."

"How does he know that?"

"Had me by the balls. I told him." Reggie flashed with speechless indignation. "I wanted her out of the picture so you'd finish The Mission."

Reggie wasn't tall, but he looked down at Otto.

The little man's face pulses, twitches. A metamorphosis. His ears grow big, his nose long and pointy, his eyes beady. The little man turns into a rat, shrinking, falling onto all fours, his ass stretching, growing a long, slick gray tail.

"She's dead," Reggie said.

Otto hesitated, looked away for a moment, then back at Reggie. "Then you have no excuse."

"You son-of-a-bitch," Reggie half-whispered. "Do your own dirty work, you scumbag. I oughta turn you in myself."

"Don't threaten me, Thomas. Somethin' awful might happen. To you. And your old man. You shit on me"–his lips pulled back on rabbit teeth–"well, look what happened to little Monica Paley."

From this wimp, those words should've been hilarious. But this wimp not only meant them, he could deliver. He knew the right bad people. Reggie held his tongue. He'd play along. Find out once and for all if Lucilva knew that Otto had her mother killed for her father.

Otto snickered. "Reggie, Reggie, Reggie," he sing-songed, "don't worry. There're more opportunities for us now that Chris is gone." His experience came through in his quick deduction. His voice lilted like a little boy's. "There's something about his body." He looked away, nodded conclusively. "Whoever's holding Chris's body for ransom doesn't know Paley was going broke."

Otto was right. Whether Paley killed himself or not was beside the point.

"There's a ten-thousand-dollar reward for the return of his body," he snickered. "Next to a ransom for a dead man's body, it's the stupidest thing I ever heard." Then, conspiratorially, he said to Reggie: "Here's your new mission: If you can do it without blowing it, get more details about the ransom demand. Where, when, that kind of thing. There's gotta be a deadline, a pick-up spot."

"Why should I?"

He shrugged. "You don't want to stay poor and because you like your freedom and because you want to keep that perfect physique in tact. And because I asked you."

Reggie took a deep breath. It brought on a thirst. He resigned himself to silence, because I.Q. emerged from the hangar and spotted them under the tree. As he came their way, shading his eyes, Reggie warned Otto that he wasn't to know about Jackie.

* * *

Driving up the hill to the police station in Joe's car, Teddi Weldon muttered, "Sorry I passed out."

"Hey, forget it. Completely understandable."

"It's the heat." Her face was flushed, dripping with sweat, even though Joe had on his air conditioning. When he parked, Teddi made no move to get out.

"You want to come in or wait here?"

She stared straight ahead. "I'm coming in," she replied, slowly getting out. From the shade beside the station, a group of men and women with cameras and microphones swarmed around Joe and Teddi, blocking their way into the station. Questions came at them from every direction in a cacophony of chaos, asking Teddi if she was the dead girl's mother, and how she felt about her daughter's death, what she was going to do next, why she was there at the station. Joe pushed cameras and microphones out of the way, wrapping his arm around Teddi, saying nothing. A well-dressed lady reporter had positioned herself like a fullback in front of the station door, legs spread apart, microphone ready, her cameraman stationed like a halfback behind her.

"Mrs. Weldon," she said, "may I take a minute before you go in?"

"Move," Joe said. She didn't budge.

"Please, Mrs. Weldon, a couple of questions."

The rest of the media maggots pushed and sandwiched Joe and Teddi.

Joe unbuckled his belt, pulled it out in one long swoop, grabbed the loose end, wrapping it twice around his fist, leaving the buckle dangling by a foot-length of belt, and slung it in front of him, coming as close as possible to their faces. They backed away, incredulous, stung by his reaction.

The fullback reporter tensed her jaw and said: "Mrs. Weldon, will you–"

Teddi's hand struck like a snake, wrenching the microphone from the reporter's hand, tossing it in the air behind her. Joe glanced at Teddi's face. She was disgusted, hurt–she'd lost any hope she had in humanity. The reporter must have sensed it. She stepped aside. The camera moved forward into Teddi's face. Joe reached around, put his hand over the lens. The cameraman dodged out of the way to get a better angle, allowing Joe and Teddi to enter the station. As the door closed, the reporters moved off, grumbling.

The female officer behind the counter asked, "Can I help you?"

"Detective Lee," Joe said. "This is Teddi Weldon."

"Have a seat, please."

Joe watched Teddi seat herself obediently, something out of character for this woman who wrestled wild animals. Sometime between her phone call that morning and her passing out on the floor of his motel room, she'd lost her natural vigor. She had met the reality of Jackie's death while on the road. Joe waited at the counter.

"Mr. Cox," Lee's voice called from a cubicle in the back, motioning for him to come.

"Teddi, stay here for a minute, and–"

She got up, looked him in the eye. "I'm coming."

Joe didn't argue. They went to Lee's office, and he closed the door behind them. Lee sat behind a modest, knotty pine desk, flanked on either side by American and California flags. There were pictures of an unattractive wife and three plain-looking children displayed under a bad portrait of Ronald Reagan.

"I don't have the autopsy report, but Dr. Rendquist spoke to me about an hour ago." He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Weldon, your daughter was murdered." Jackie nodded. "Strangulation."

Teddi turned to Joe. "You said she drowned."

"I said she was found in the lake," Joe responded softly.

"How'd she...how'd she get in the lake?"

"We don't know yet," Lee said. "We're investigating." He gave Joe a look, expecting a remark. "We suspect that whoever did this tried to hide her body. Something went wrong and she was discovered."

It was Joe's turn. "What about the marks on her wrist?"

"Unsure. Your hypothesis may be correct." Lee glanced at Teddi, who at that moment eyed Joe. Joe gathered from Lee's voice that he didn't want to discuss the details. If it got out about the handcuffs, it could jeopardize future confessions made by the killer–if they could be so lucky.

"What hypothesis?" Teddi asked Joe anxiously. Joe glanced at Lee. Lee picked up his pipe, leaned back in his chair.

"We shouldn't discuss the investigation in too much detail, Mrs. Weldon."

"Damn it, I'm her mother! I have a right to know the details!"

"Teddi, Detective Lee is only–"

Teddi stood, planted her hands on the desk and leaned across it. Her throat constricted. "Tell me everything," she said bitterly.

Lee calmly replaced his pipe in its fancy leather holder on the desk. He leaned towards her. "All right, Mrs. Weldon." After short reflection, Lee explained that Joe suspected Jackie had been handcuffed, that she'd last been seen leaving with one of the Paley cops.

"What's his name?"

"Tooley. Paul Tooley," Lee said, quickly adding, "and we're going to talk to him."

"Going to talk to him?" Teddi's laugh was saturated with scorn. "Hear that, Joe? They haven't even talked to the son-of-a-bitch who killed my girl! Did you hear that?"

"Teddi, please," Joe soothed.

"Why haven't you talked to him?"

Lee folded his hands on the desk, keeping his professional composure. "He started his vacation yesterday and won't be back for several days. Mrs. Weldon, I'm doing everything we can to contact him."

"Very convenient," Teddi seethed.

Joe put in, "What about his partner?"

"Went with him."

"Their wives don't know where they went?"

"They aren't married."

"Girlfriends?"

"No girlfriends."

"What's this? You got queer cops here?" Teddi complained, dismayed. "Somebody's got to know where they are, I mean, my God, what is this!" As suddenly as her agitation had surfaced, it vanished. She hid her face in her hands and sobbed. Joe set his arm behind her chair, let it gently fall across her shoulders. She dropped her hands, wiped the tears with the back of her hand.

"You better find them," she said to Lee, her voice quavering with menace.

"I will," he replied. "Understand, though. Just because she was last seen with one of our officers doesn't mean he had anything to do with her death."

"I'd expect you to say that," Teddi said. "Have any other suspects?"

Lee paused. "Yes, ma'am. Her boyfriend, Reggie Thomas."

"Where is he?"

"We're looking for him."

Teddi ogled Lee, then informed him that Joe would stay on the case and that she expected Lee's full cooperation.

"We have policies–"

"Screw your policies," Teddi said. "There are reporters out there smelling a story, wanting something juicy. You better pray you don't screw this up, or I'll give them a story that'll put you in a rent-a-cop uniform." She stood and walked out.

Joe thanked Lee, let him know that he could be of help–whether he wanted it or not. Lee nodded.

Joe nodded towards the front of the station. "Get rid of the press."

"I have no authority over that."

"Assume you do."

"Don't push me, Cox. I'm all you got. Without me, you're on your own."

"With you I'm on my own."

Lee pushed Joe aside, nodded at Teddi, marched out to the reporters. He spoke only briefly. The reporters and cameramen left.