Rick Mofina - Into the Dark

Just like the cows at the slaughterhouse.

Greater Los Angeles, California

The tear tracks had dried on Claire’s face miles ago.

She’d set the radio on her Toyota Corolla to scan am stations so she could monitor news reports on Amber’s case.

There was nothing.

It seemed like an eternity since she’d left her home in San Marino for Las Vegas. Traffic had backed up in stretches along the 210 as it wove through the eastern sprawl, taking her through a gamut of emotions.

All she knew was that they still hadn’t found Amber, or Eric.

She’d heard nothing from the detectives or Julie, and the horror that Eric Larch was suspected in the murders of five other women continued exacerbating Claire’s guilt over the tragedy.

She couldn’t escape it.

She’d tried to find solace in Martha Berman’s comforting words, that it wasn’t her fault. And in the aftermath, she’d done all she could for her patients. Some were so supportive and concerned for her but now, as miles rolled by, Claire felt as if she were running away.

Like I’ve been running all my life .

As the road flowed under her, Claire saw herself at eight, running from her home carrying her baby brother, Luke, before he died in her arms. Her heart was breaking. Then she saw herself pinned by Cliff as he raised his fist to hit her before Robert saved her. Then she saw her dream of a family with Robert coming true before it began crumbling when she’d sensed he didn’t want one with her because he was still in love with his first wife.

Should I continue my treatments with Dr. LaRoy?

She didn’t know.

Julie had said she’d found more information on Robert’s past but Claire hadn’t heard any more from her. Suddenly Claire had to brake to let a van in ahead of her.

Catching her breath, she went back to her thoughts.

What should I do about Robert?

She was confused. He’d seemed to have a change of heart about selling the cabin.

Claire thought of their honeymoon, the happy time they had together at the cabin and how she’d wished she’d had more chances to get out to it.

As she approached the exit for 15 North and Las Vegas, she came upon an idea: I could go to the cabin now. I could work there instead and be back in L.A. in two hours if I needed to be. Martha will understand.

She checked her rearview mirror and adjusted her grip on the wheel. She didn’t take the exit for Las Vegas. Instead she continued east.

Claire always loved how this leg of the drive transported her from the metropolis as it climbed into the San Bernardino Mountains.

Rolling through the small mountain towns and the ribbon of highway that connected them was good therapy. She dropped the windows to inhale the cool, sweet pine-scented air.

She took in the stunning lake views as she traveled along the north shore before stopping a few miles from the cabin at the tiny Lone Post Store and Gas Bar.

“Could you fill it up, please?” Claire asked the lanky teenaged attendant before she went to the store.

A Lab napping on the store porch greeted her by lifting an eyebrow. Transom bells rang when she entered. Claire smiled at the woman at the counter before browsing the well-stocked aisles. The wooden floor creaked and the air smelled of suntan lotion and baked bread.

Unsure of what Robert had in the cabin fridge, she picked up a shopping basket and got some milk, lettuce, tomatoes, fruit, yogurt, bread, salad dressing and a box of granola cereal. When she put it all on the counter to pay, Claire followed the woman’s attention through the window to the pumps.

“Looks like you got some trouble.”

“Excuse me?”

The front end of Claire’s car had sagged. The boy was crouched, running his hand over the tire.

“Oh, no,” Claire said.

“Bobby will change it for you if you let him get to your spare.”

“Thank you, yes.” Claire went to the car.

After they’d emptied her trunk and Bobby got to the mini-spare he shook his head.

“It’s gone, too. The stem’s shot.”

“Oh, no, I was heading to my cabin, but I’m on call and may need to get back to L.A. in a hurry. Is there anything you can do? Can you sell me a tire or something? What about this can of tire sealant?”

“We don’t carry tires and sealant’s not going to work. The flat’s too damaged.” Bobby made note of the tire’s specs on a grease-stained pad. “We can make some calls about getting a tire for you.”

“Thanks.”

Bobby and the woman, who it turned out was his mom, Flo, called garages in the lake area using the phone at the counter.

Claire used the time to call people in L.A. on her cell phone but her attempts were futile because it kept freezing, even though it was fully charged. Frustrated, she resorted to using her credit card and the store’s public pay phone near the door.

While the dog ambled inside to yawn at her, Claire called Robert but got voice mail, then Julie and left a message. Then she tried reaching Tanner, leaving a message on his cell phone. Then she tried his office line, but he was out and the person who took the call wouldn’t discuss a word of the investigation. Finally, Claire called Martha and left her a message.

“Good news and bad news on the tire,” Bobby said. “Pixely’s in Victorville has one but Donny won’t be able to get it here until the morning.”

“Where’s your place?” Flo asked.

“Vista Lane.”

“That’s not far,” Flo said. “We’ll load up your stuff in our truck. Bobby can drive you to your place. After we fix your car in the morning, I’ll send Bobby out to bring you back here. How’s that sound?”

“Overly generous,” Claire said. “Thank you.”

Commerce, California

Joe Tanner stood at the windows of the Cold Case Unit of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, his cell phone pressed to his ear.

With his free hand, he kneaded the tension in his neck while clarifying the wording of the press release before it went out the door.

“No, Mindy,” he said. “We’re only saying that Eric Larch has been arrested for bail and protection-order violations and he’s cooperating in the investigation into the disappearance of his wife, Amber Pratt.”

He waited as the wording was read back to him.

“Estranged wife, fine,” he agreed. “That’s it. That’s all we’ll say. We know the people downtown want it out now, so let it go.”

The press release wording was crucial to buy time and ensure the real killer believed Eric Larch was their suspect.

Finished with the call, Tanner returned to his desk, hopeful that his instincts were right. All he needed were those manifests. He had hoped to have them by now. His line rang. It was Shirley, out front.

“Joe, you got a message from Bartley Green with the D.A.’s office. He says it’s important you call him back ASAP.”

Tanner took down the numbers. Green’s name was not familiar and he figured it was a status check. It happened with high-profile cases. He’d get back to him as soon as he could.

“That it?”

“And you got a call from Claire Bowen. She wanted an update and to inform you she’d left town. She’s in Big Bear Lake and left contact info.”

“Good, thanks.”

It was getting late in the day.

Tanner downed the last of his cold coffee. Before returning calls he checked his email just as the first of several attachments arrived in his box from Knox at the FBI bearing the StarBest flight crew and passenger manifests covering the flights for the period in question.

Tanner printed them off and looked over to Zurn, thinking he’d ask his partner to help study the manifests, but he’d just taken a call.