Racing Against Time Read online

  “Where?”

  Adams paused for a moment. It was evident from his voice that he was feeling pretty smug. Never mind that it had probably been one of the patrolmen who had discovered the car, Callie thought.

  “North, heading out of Aurora. It was abandoned behind one of those signs they used to say highway patrol officers hid behind, waiting to make a speeding collar.”

  She could feel her excitement heightening. Callie thought back to the four calls they’d received that had placed Rachel in a Mercedes, heading out of the city. Only one had said north.

  This could finally be the first real break they’d gotten.

  “Are you sure it’s the one?”

  “A 2002 Navy Mercedes 500 SL,” Adams recited. “The CSI team is going over it right now, but it looks pretty hopeful.”

  Her eyes met Brent’s. She could see the anticipation, the anxiety. Callie nodded her head. “Who does it belong to?”

  “I’ve got Diaz on that right now. There’s no registration in the glove compartment,” Adams told her. “Car’s been picked clean.”

  “Stripped?” Though the CSI team was more than capable, she needed to see the vehicle for herself to satisfy the questions in her mind.

  “No, I mean whoever drove the car left nothing inside. It’s showroom pristine. All that’s missing is the new car smell.”

  “They always overlook something,” she insisted. “No matter how small.” Callie gathered her clothes together as she talked to her former partner. “Give me your exact location.”

  He sounded annoyed at the intrusion he obviously knew was coming. “We’ve got it covered, Cavanaugh. Why don’t you go back to your marathon?”

  His tone was exactly why they weren’t partners anymore. The detective had called to thump his chest. He hadn’t foreseen that she was going to insist on being there. But as primary, she reserved the right to be on the scene any time a clue was uncovered.

  Her own tone was firm. “I don’t feel like arguing with you, Adams.” She heard the man on the other end sigh, and then, like a prisoner being tortured, he told her the freeway exit she needed to use. “Great, I can be there in half an hour.”

  “I’ll throw an extra shrimp on the bar-be,” he deadpanned, doing little to disguise his annoyance.

  “Don’t go to any trouble.”

  With that, Callie slapped the cell phone closed and scrambled up to her feet.

  Brent was on her immediately.

  “What?” he wanted to know. He’d barely been able to hold back the questions, the fearful anticipation, as he’d listened to the one-sided conversation. “Is it Rachel? Did they find her.”

  “Not her, but Adams thinks they’ve found the car used in the kidnapping. An abandoned 2002 navy Mercedes 500 SL. It’s just off of I5.” Impatient to get going, she pressed her clothes against her. There wasn’t time for a shower. She needed to get there now. “Forensics is going over it right now.”

  He crossed to his closet, taking out a fresh shirt. “I’m coming with you.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him that there wasn’t anything he could do, that what was happening beyond the city outskirts was going to be painstakingly slow. But he didn’t need to hear that. To banish him from the scene was tantamount to cruel and unusual punishment. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  She stripped off his shirt and began to get dressed in her own clothes.

  “We need to hurry,” she told him. “Adams has a tendency to take over investigations, and I want to look at that abandoned Mercedes myself.”

  Brent was dressed before she finished her sentence.

  Chapter 13

  Framed against the darkness and illuminated by the billboard lights, the car didn’t look like the kind that would be abandoned so carelessly.

  Callie circled the Mercedes slowly, as if waiting for the vehicle to talk to her. The odometer had less than five thousand miles on it. This had been someone’s pride and joy. Not the kind of vehicle to be used in the commission of a crime.

  Stolen? Callie chewed on her bottom lip as she completed her circumnavigation. If it was stolen, then why hadn’t there been a report of a missing Mercedes matching this description filed in the past few weeks? She’d gone over the records. There was nothing.

  “You know what I said about there not being a mark on the car?” Adams said just as she came to the end of her cursory perusal.

  Callie raised her eyes over the hood of the car, looking at him. “Yes?”

  There was a lengthy pause, as if the words tasted unusually bitter in his mouth, before he finally said, “Well, you were right.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She knew it cost her ex-partner to admit that, knew too that he wasn’t the type who withheld things just to make himself look good. He was a decent cop; they just didn’t get along. But there was a lot of that going around. All she wanted right now was a decent cop, not a soul mate.

  Beside her, she could all but feel the tension in Brent’s body as he hung on every word, every new finding. This was hell for him, she thought. But there was no way to make this go any faster than it was going.

  “What kind of mark?” she wanted to know. Taking a step back, she knew the answer before he gave it. “On the grille?”

  Adams nodded. “You got it. Blood. Washed off, but…” He let his voice trail off as one of the CSI team passed a wandlike device over the area in question. It had been sprayed with luminol, a substance that showed blood in the dark even after it had seemingly been washed off. Since it was still dark, the opportunity to make use of the chemical seemed perfect. The light blue illumination from the wand highlighted small splatters that appeared darker than the rest of the grille. Splatters that weren’t evident to the naked eye. Blood splatters.

  It took little for Callie to visualize the impact that had caused the telltale signs. She looked at the CSI agent as he shut off the device. “Anything we can match to the nanny’s DNA?”

  The investigator, a man with more than twenty years on the job, who prided himself on his thoroughness, nodded. “Enough.”

  She glanced toward Brent, feeling heartened. They were getting somewhere. “Terrific.” She looked around toward the people working the scene. “Where’s Diaz?”

  “Right here.” The short, squat man came up from behind her. He flipped open his misshapen notepad. “The car’s registered to a Benjamin Jackson.”

  The name nudged something in Brent’s brain, teasing him for a moment before he remembered. He moved out of the background, placing his hand on the older detective’s shoulder. The other man turned around to look at him.

  “Did you say Ben Jackson?”

  Diaz’s eyes slid toward Callie before they returned to Brent. His tone was guarded. “Yes.”

  Callie looked at Brent. Had they found the connection? “You know him?”

  “I’m not sure.” It wasn’t that uncommon a name. He needed more. “Do you know if he was once a vice president at Saunders Computers?”

  Diaz frowned, shaking his head. He flipped his notepad closed. “No, but I can find out.”

  “Why?” Callie asked as Diaz hurried off to his car. She tried to remember seeing the name in the Saunders file, but couldn’t. She’d done a great deal of reading that night. “Is that important?”

  “Maybe.” Brent didn’t know, but at least there appeared to be some kind of a tie-in. It was more than they’d had before. “Jackson gave testimony in my court in exchange for immunity.”

  She didn’t see the reason for Jackson to want any kind of revenge against Brent. Had Saunders reached out from prison? Blackmailed Jackson into doing this? “Then you never sent him away.”

  “No. I sent his boss away.” His eyes met Callie’s. “On his testimony.”

  “You must have tried hundreds of cases,” Adams interrupted impatiently. “Why would you remember that particular one? What’s so special about it?”

  The detective was right, Brent thought. He wouldn’t have, ordinarily. “It was
my first case as a trial judge.” His mouth curved in a smile devoid of humor. “You remember those kinds of details before the others come along to blur things.”

  Maybe it made sense, maybe it didn’t. But at least they had something to go on. Callie turned to the detective. “Okay, Adams, take a couple of uniforms and pay Mr. Jackson a visit. Find out what his Mercedes has been up to recently, and if he says it’s been stolen, I’d like to hear why he didn’t report it missing.”

  Brent looked into the vehicle. The keys were still in the ignition, an open invitation to anyone who passed by and saw the car. He felt Callie looking at him and glanced at her over his shoulder. “It looks as if whoever drove this car last was hoping someone would come along and steal it.”

  “The best-laid plans of mice and men…” she murmured with a shake of her head. She nodded at Adams. “Call me as soon as you find out anything.”

  The noise behind her drew her attention. A flatbed tow truck had arrived to take the Mercedes back to the CSI lab for further analysis.

  Stepping back out of the way, she turned toward Brent. He looked tired. Like a man who had been taken for a roller-coaster ride one too many times. A protectiveness stirred within her. The tenderness that came in its wake surprised her. She knew she was getting too involved. She wanted to send him home to sleep until this was all resolved. No one should have to go through what he was experiencing.

  “Just how much bad blood is there between you and this Saunders?” She’d asked the question before, but maybe this experience had jarred something loose in his mind. They needed every shred they could find.

  Brent had been trying to relive the case in his mind ever since Diaz had mentioned the name. “All I can remember is that when they took him out of the courtroom, he kept shouting, ‘You took away my life, you took away my life.’”

  She shook her head. “Everyone is always looking for someone else to blame. Ramon,” she called to the older detective, who was just getting out of his car again. The man came to her. “I want you to go over to Pelican Bay State Prison and pay Mr. Saunders a visit.” She knew Adams hadn’t gotten to the man yet. He was still working his way down the list she’d compiled. “See if you can pick up anything from the conversation that might shed a little more light on all this.”

  The dark head nodded. “Oh, and by the way,” he looked at Brent, “I just checked with records. Jackson was the VP at Saunders Computers.”

  Closer, Brent thought. They were getting closer. But were they going to be in time?

  They were just getting out of Callie’s car as the tow truck pulled into the federal parking lot. There had been little more than silence accompanying them on the ride back. Brent was lost in thought, wondering if he could have done something to prevent the tragedy that had occurred.

  Callie got out, looking at him. “Stop blaming yourself. This isn’t your fault.”

  He looked at her sharply, wondering if his expression had given him away. “You’ve added mind reading to your list of accomplishments?”

  “I can sense things about certain people.”

  “Certain people?”

  She shrugged, looking away. The truck rumbled past them. “People I’m close to—usually.” She tacked on the last word as if it could somehow protect her from what she’d just said.

  “Callie—”

  He was going to say something about her not misunderstanding, she thought. That what had taken place between them was something that happened between two consenting adults in times of stress. That she shouldn’t make anything of it.

  She was ahead of him, ready to blot out any impression she might have accidentally given him. But her cell phone rang just then, curtailing any exchange. Callie sighed. “I’ve got to get an unlisted number,” she quipped, secretly grateful for the rescue out of the awkward moment. “Cavanaugh.”

  It was Adams. His tone didn’t sound encouraging. “Callie, I think you’d better get down here. This case has just hit another bump in the road.”

  The last time Adams had called her by her first name, he’d attempted to offer words of condolence over Kyle’s death. Trying not to look in Brent’s direction, she braced herself for the worst.

  “What kind of a bump?”

  “The kind made by a six-foot, three-inch body.”

  She closed her eyes. Another dead end? Damn it, they were supposed to be getting closer, not grinding to a halt. “Whose?”

  “Jackson’s.” Adams rattled off the information. “We found him in his study. Someone put a bullet in the back of his head, execution-style. Looks pretty cold-blooded to me. From the smell, I don’t think he was the man behind the wheel when the judge’s daughter was taken. This man’s getting ripe.”

  So near and yet so far. “Terrific. I’ll be right there.”

  “It’s not like he’s going anywhere,” Adams commented before ringing off.

  She saw the look in Brent’s eyes. He was on tenterhooks. She was quick to fill him in. “Our best bet just turned up dead.”

  Brent’s mind jumped ahead. She’d sent one of her people to the state prison. “Saunders?”

  She shook her head. “Jackson. That was Adams. He just found Jackson shot dead in his study. Execution-style.”

  She was getting into her car instead of going into the lab. He opened the passenger side door, refusing to be left behind. “Where are we going?”

  She was about to tell him to stay behind, but the look in his eyes stopped her. He had a right to be there, she thought. If not legally, then emotionally. “To Jackson’s house to see if the killer left any calling cards we can use to link him to your daughter’s kidnapping.”

  Callie started up the car. She knew that the two incidents could be completely unrelated, one of those freaky coincidences that life enjoyed throwing at the police. But she had a gut feeling there was a connection.

  Callie glanced at Brent as they pulled out of the parking lot again. “Why don’t you give me as many details as you can remember about this first case of yours?”

  Since they’d gone over the cases so recently, it took no effort on his part to recall it. “Saunders was a near genius who fancied himself the next Bill Gates. He got a few backers together and started up his own computer company. It’s an old story. Things went very well for a few years and his stock kept going up. He began to live beyond his means until it got completely out of hand. In the interim, you know what happened to the stock market. His stock was no different. It began to drop, the company ran into trouble.” This they had gotten based on Jackson’s information. “In an attempt to weather the storm, Saunders did a little creative bookkeeping, hoping to stay afloat until things turned around again.”

  Callie shook her head. Brent was right. It was an old story, one most would have learned from by now. She got on the freeway, heading south. “In the meantime, he was defrauding the stockholders,” she said.

  “In a nutshell. Declaring profits when there weren’t any, trying to drive the price of stock back up again so that he could cash in himself.” The plan had been to sell high, then buy back low. The profit would have allowed him to replace stolen money and keep the company afloat. Except it hadn’t turned out that way. Jackson turned on his best friend. “The Security Exchange Commission got wind of it, cornered Jackson to testify against Saunders in exchange for a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  At the time, he had been struck by Saunders’s refusal to see the writing on the wall, but the man had been too full of himself to believe he would ever be caught. Pride went before a fall was not just a phrase to embroider on kitchen towels, Brent mused.

  “Saunders wound up ruined, Jackson wound up free. Saunders’s wife filed for divorce, took their little girl and disappeared to another state before the trial was even over.” As he finished his narrative, he remembered the look in Saunders’s eyes as he was being taken away. In that instant, Brent knew the man could have done this to him. An eye for an eye. His daughter for the one that Saunders had lost.
<
br />   Except that Saunders was in prison.

  Callie arrived at the same conclusion. “And since you were the presiding judge, he figured that you took away his life.” She shook her head. “We need to find out just how long this guy’s reach is.”

  She made a mental note to call Diaz with a series of questions for the prisoner just as they pulled up in front of Jackson’s house.

  It was more of a palace than a house, she thought, getting out. “Well, whatever went on at Saunders Computers certainly didn’t hurt this guy.”

  “Until now,” Brent commented grimly.

  “Yeah.”

  They threaded their way past the hive of police personnel and investigators to the open entrance. Adams met them just as they crossed the threshold.

  “Nice place,” Callie commented.

  “He had no one to share it with,” Adams told her. “The man lived alone.”

  And now he didn’t live at all, she thought. Aside from all the police activity, nothing appeared to be out of place. The murderer hadn’t been in here. Or had seen no reason to touch anything.

  His attention had been elsewhere, she concluded.

  “Hence there was no one to report him missing,” Brent was saying.

  Adams nodded. From his expression, his annoyance at having the judge intrude on his territory had dissipated. “No telling how long he would have lain there if we hadn’t found his car.”

  Callie shivered. Not sure of Jackson’s complicity in all this, she still pitied the man. To be so alone that no one even noticed you were missing had to be the worst of all possible scenarios.

  “I don’t even want to think about it.” She looked at Adams hopefully. “Did you find anything yet?”

  He led the way into the study. There was a man slumped forward at the desk, his head on the blotter. From this distance, he appeared to be sleeping. Except that part of the top of his head was missing. And a step closer brought the offensive smell of death to them.