Tahoe Ghost Boat (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller) Read online

  “Was the front door unlocked when you came home?” I asked.

  “Yeah. It’s always unlocked.”

  “Don’t you tell Gertie to lock it when she’s home alone?”

  “No. We live in a safe neighborhood. There’s no gangs here. Just families.”

  I gave him a hard look and tried to squelch my desire to go over to him and rip his nose off his face.

  “Is everything here the same as always? Nothing out of place? No indication of struggle?”

  “Everything’s pretty much like before. I didn’t really look around. I just saw that she was gone, so I found your card and called you.”

  “Could you look around now?”

  “What would I look for?”

  “Anything out of place. Anything different.”

  He sighed, leaned forward to put his hands on the edge of the couch, pushed down and heaved himself to a standing position. He breathed hard from the effort. Scruff Boy jumped to his feet and watched.

  Merrill walked down a short hall. I got up and followed. He walked into one of two bedrooms and flicked on the light.

  He leaned into the doorway and looked around. Then he did the same with the other bedroom.

  “Nothing’s different,” he said.

  “May I look in Gertie’s room?”

  “Sure.” He pointed. “It’s that one.” Merrill was big enough that he filled the hallway. He had to back up so that I could step into Gertie’s room.

  It was a small space, maybe eight by ten feet. There was a single, narrow mattress on a box spring along the wall. At one end of the room was a small closet and next to it a four-drawer dresser. At the other end of the room, a small desk with a metal fold-up chair. The desk was neat and orderly with a stapler and some pens and a pad of paper on the left side. On the right side was an old desk lamp. There was an impressive stack of books about movies, all used and tattered. A guide to classic movies, two books on how to write screenplays, books on directing by David Mamet and Sidney Lumet, a collection of interviews with Francis Ford Coppola, and several books on Tarantino including his screenplays for “Pulp Fiction,” “Reservoir Dogs,” and “Natural Born Killers.”

  Merrill saw me looking at them. “I give her an allowance, and she pretty much spends it all at this used bookstore she likes. Everything they have about movies. I guess they order books, too. Gertie also finds the books on her phone. Used books. I don’t have a credit card. So the store orders the used books from Amazon.”

  “Does she have a computer?”

  “They have computers at school. And her phone is actually a computer, right? She can use it for everything. Homework, even.”

  “Texting her friends?” I said.

  Merrill looked down. “She doesn’t really have any friends.”

  “None?”

  “Pretty much. I’ve seen her text people. But I think that’s more school related.”

  “Does she ever go over to anyone else’s house? Or does anyone come and see her here?”

  He shook his head.

  “Has she ever mentioned a boyfriend?”

  “No. I even asked her once. She said boys only care about two things.”

  “Sex and video games?” I said.

  Merrill looked surprised. “Yeah. That’s exactly what she said.”

  “So she doesn’t do anything social with boys? No dates?”

  “No.”

  “What does she do for fun?”

  He hesitated. “Well, I’m always at work, so I’m not real, you know, tuned into what Gertie does. But as far as I can tell she just reads her books and watches movies.” He pointed at the stack of books on the desk. “It’s pretty weird, if you ask me.”

  “What do you do when she watches movies?”

  “Well, she pretty much does that when I’m not at home.”

  “You mean, when you’re at work,” I said.

  “Probably more like after work. Before I get home.”

  I waited.

  “Sometimes I stop at the Corner Tap for a pick-me-up after work,” he said.

  “A few brews to relax after a hard day,” I said.

  “Exactly. I work hard.”

  “Who cooks? You or Gertie?”

  “I’m no good at cooking. And besides, after a hard day, I can’t usually make it home early enough for Gertie’s dinner. So she’ll usually make something for herself and then leave the rest for me.”

  “What do you do when you get home?”

  “I usually watch a movie while I eat.”

  “One of Gertie’s movies or one of yours?”

  “Mine. I pay the cable bill.”

  “What does Gertie do when you watch your movie?”

  “Usually she, you know, does the dishes. And then she does her homework and stuff.”

  “In her bedroom.”

  He pointed at her desk. “That’s where her desk is.”

  We walked back out to the living room. Ellison had turned the TV back on. Merrill sat down on the couch. He picked up the remote and turned down the sound, but left the game on.

  “Do you care about your daughter?” I asked.

  “Sure I care about my daughter. What kind of question is that?”

  “She told me she wanted to run away,” I said.

  “What? I don’t believe that. She never told me that.” He turned to Ellison. “Did she ever tell you that?”

  “Sure. But I thought it was just a joke. Don’t all kids say that at some time?”

  “What does she talk to you about?” I directed the question at both of them.

  Merrill said, “I don’t know. School stuff. And movies. She always tells me about movies.” He pointed at the movie posters. “I bought her those. We went to the mall before school started last fall ’cause she needed some new clothes, and she found them. They were expensive, but I bought them for her. I’m real supportive of her.”

  “Do you watch movies together?”

  He looked at me. “Just once. She really wanted me to watch this movie with her. It was real old. Black and white. Nothing happened. I like action movies.”

  “But you watched it with her,” I said.

  “Most of it. It had Katherine Hepburn. I might’ve fallen asleep. I don’t really remember.”

  “What about you, Ellison? What else do you do with Gertie?”

  “I told you. I hang with her. We’re pals. And I give her rides. She likes the other kids at school to see that. They all think my car is cool, too.”

  “You think I’m a bad dad,” Merrill said, his voice subdued.

  “It sounds like you could pay your daughter more attention.”

  “I have to go to work. Every day I go to work. Unless the company is slow. But most days they need me. Usually all day. Once in a while, half days. I know some guys, if they don’t feel like working, they stay home. And some dads split and are never there for their kids.” He flashed a look at Ellison. “But I’m always there, working. There’s rent to pay. And the cable TV. And I gave Gertie a phone. Do you know how much that costs every month? She doesn’t even use it to make calls. It’s just a camera to her.”

  “It’s hard being a dad,” I said.

  “Yeah. Real hard. Not like her mom was ever there, either. At least I have a job. Always did, too. I’m, like, the rock in Gertie’s life. The one thing she can count on.”

  Right, I thought. His perspective on being a dad reminded me of men I’d met who believed that they were rock-solid husbands because they never beat their wives. Merrill had a job and gave his daughter a phone, so that made him a stellar parent.

  Ellison looked at his watch, one of those fancy types with the thick gold case and multiple gauges on the face. “I gotta go,” he said. He slapped his hand onto Merrill’s knee, then stood up.

  Ellison walked past me without glancing toward me. More wariness.

  “Can you help find Gertie?” Merrill said to me after Ellison had left.

  “I’ll try.”

 
NINETEEN

  I walked out of Merrill’s house and went out to the street.

  A block down, I saw the taillights of his brother Ellison’s Corvette going around a corner.

  I sprinted to my Jeep and jumped in. Spot leaned over the back of the seat and sniffed out the smells of beer and cigarettes and infrequently-washed men as I raced after the Corvette. My speed was high as I came to the corner. The Jeep skidded through the turn, but I made it without colliding with the cars parked to the side.

  The ’vette’s taillights were up ahead, making another turn, moving fast. I pushed my speed, made the next turn, gradually got closer, then eased off to minimize the chance he’d see me.

  Ellison turned onto 16th, took that north past the capital, then went east on J Street. After a few blocks, he pulled over and parked, leaving his flashers blinking. I couldn’t find an open parking spot, so I stopped in the right lane with my blinker going as if waiting for a parked car that was leaving.

  Ellison jogged into one of the restaurants. He came back about five minutes later, too fast to have even had a drink. He ran diagonally across the intersection and stepped into a bar with blue light coming out the door and some high windows. Once again, he came out in a few minutes.

  He jumped in the Corvette, drove down to 21st, turned left, drove to I Street, and turned left again. Once again at 16th, he went right and parked near the old Historic Governor’s Mansion, a grand Victorian from a grander era before California governors were forced to fend for themselves and stay in hotels.

  I found a parking spot, got out, and followed Ellison for a couple of blocks. He turned up the steps of one of the old Victorians on 18th Street. Someone was opening the door and letting him in as I got close. I stayed back until they were inside. Then I walked up and noted the house number.

  I waited in my car down the block. After an hour went by, the lights in the house began to turn off. I decided that Ellison was staying in for the night.

  It didn’t fit with what he’d said at Merrill’s. He lived nearby, he’d said. But he’d been let into this house, so it wasn’t his. Why was he staying at another person’s house and not his own?

  When all but one light went off, I went back to the first restaurant he’d stopped at on J Street. I too parked in a no-parking zone and left my flashers going.

  The inside of the restaurant was busy with all the tables full and the bar crowded. The maitre d’ approached me.

  “A drink or dinner at the bar? I’m sorry that we don’t have single tables.”

  “Actually, I was supposed to meet a gentleman named Ellison O’Leary. We got our times crossed. Turns out he was in here an hour ago and then left. He was supposed to come back around now. Have you seen him?”

  The maitre d’ frowned. “I don’t know Ellison O’Leary.”

  “About six-one, wearing a blue polo shirt and jeans.”

  The maitre d’ shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Could you ask the waitresses or the bartenders? It’s very important.”

  He gave me an icy look. “I’ve been here all evening, no breaks, and I haven’t seen him.”

  “Thanks.”

  I left and ran over to the bar across the intersection, opened the door, and walked into essence of blue.

  At one end of the long, granite slab was a man wearing a white shirt that looked blue in the strong blue light, his sleeves rolled up, his black bow tie loose.

  I made the similar request.

  “O’Leary? I know O’Leary. Why do you ask?” As the bartender spoke, I smelled tequila on his breath.

  I realized that most answers I might give him would sound false to someone who knew O’Leary. I decided to be flip. I spoke in a low voice. “I don’t want to suggest anything negative, but I lent him some money and...”

  The man smiled. “This is where I’d normally say, ‘get in line,’ right? Ha, ha!” Then the man frowned. “I thought I knew everyone in O’Leary’s world.”

  “I don’t really know O’Leary, and I don’t make book. I just met O’Leary a few days ago when I was moving up to K and Twenty-fourth. He came walking along right when we got the couch stuck between the van and a car that parked too close. So he helped us free it, then he helped us haul our stuff up two flights. Great guy. So when I found out he was tight until his next paycheck, I offered to help. He said he’d meet me outside this bar. But I haven’t seen him.”

  “Sorry for you,” the bartender said, “because he was just in here an hour ago. He paid me my loan plus vig. The guy was high and happy, so he must have made a good score.”

  “Damn, I guess that’s good news, huh? All I gotta do is find him. I don’t even know where he lives.”

  “Now that’s funny!” the bartender said. He reached under the counter, lifted out a lowball glass, took a sip, and put it back. “Like O’Leary has a regular crash pad? You must not know him well. He’s never had enough financial control to pay rent. So he just crashes wherever he can. He told me he’s even slept in his ’vette. Imagine that.”

  “I guess I’ll just wait then,” I said. “I’m sure he’s planning to come back and pay me.”

  The bartender guffawed. “You don’t read personality types very well, do you? He’s not coming back unless you’ve got some kind of hold on him. And the paycheck story he gave you? He’s never had a regular job in his life, so there’s never been a paycheck and never will be. O’Leary just lives from one scam to the next.”

  I nodded, thanked him, and left.

  I got a room at a hotel just a few blocks from the Governor’s Mansion. After I checked in and found my room, I took the back stairway down, then came back with Spot.

  “Hustle, largeness,” I said when we got into the stairwell. “Top floor.”

  Spot trotted up the stairs twice as fast as I could take them. At every other landing, he stopped and looked back to see if I was coming. We went through the door into the hallway. Half way down, the elevator opened, and a couple came out.

  I took Spot’s collar. When the couple saw him, they gasped.

  “Animal control officer,” I said. “Found this dog loose in the hotel. Is he yours?”

  They shook their heads, alarm in their eyes, and flattened against the wall as we went by.

  Spot and I turned into the elevator and waited. When I heard their room door shut, we reversed and hurried to our room.

  I dialed room service and ordered up a Porterhouse steak dinner for two.

  The man taking my order spoke with a strong accent that I didn’t recognize, “I should to let you know that we have the steak very special, no? The Porterhouse is the twenty-four ounces. So the couples, they should to most times split the one dinner.”

  I remembered that the front desk thought I was alone, so I said, “It’s just for me, but I’m hungry, and I always eat two.”

  “And the beers is the sixteen ounces,” he said.

  “I always drink two beers.”

  “Very pleased, sir. We will to bring your dinners fast.”

  I had Spot hide in the bathroom when the man wheeled the dinner cart into our room. In the center was a single red rose in a narrow vase.

  “Smells good,” I said as I tipped him.

  The man glanced at the closed bathroom door and winked at me. “Your, eh, wife will enjoy, I’m sure.”

  “No doubt,” I said.

  After the man left, I cut the bone out of Spot’s steak so that he wouldn’t gnaw it on the hotel carpet and make a mess.

  Spot was drooling when I let him out of the bathroom. I sat at the little table, and he stood. He finished his steak and potatoes in twelve seconds, and I finished mine in seven minutes. I poured his beer into the ice bucket, and he drank it in thirty seconds. I stretched mine out for an easy ten minutes just to prove that I still have self-discipline.

  After dinner, Spot immediately jumped up on the king-sized bed and went to sleep while I sat in the dark and called Street and told her about Gertie, the street-smart kid who didn
’t like school and might have run away but maybe was kidnapped instead.

  We talked a long time, both of us saddened and unsettled by her disappearance.

  The breakfast buffet started early, and I was first in line. I ate a muffin fast and took two more out to Spot in the Jeep.

  We were outside O’Leary’s latest crash pad house by 7 a.m. He came out at 7:15. Instead of heading to his car, he walked the opposite way.

  I let Spot out, and we followed Ellison over to 15th, then down to Capital Avenue, where he headed into the big park that surrounded the capital dome. There were some homeless people behind the bushes, but the beautiful park was mostly empty. I kept back, watching for an opportunity.

  Up ahead was one of the huge redwood trees, its giant trunk maybe eight feet wide. Nearby were some heavy plantings of small trees and bushes. There were no intersecting paths and no one else near on our path.

  I sped up and caught O’Leary from behind as he came to the place where the path curved around the redwood. I reached my right hand around and grabbed his throat, pinching his trachea and carotid arteries hard. He choked and gagged. Almost immediately, he began to lose body tone from lack of blood to the brain. I marched him into the thick growth and up against another tree. Unless someone came walking down the path, no one could see us. I figured I had thirty seconds.

  I turned him sideways to me, my right fingers still clamping down on his neck. By easing up my thumb and fingers on his carotid arteries, I was able to keep him conscious, if weak. He looked at me, eyes wide and worried as he realized who I was.

  I spoke in a vicious whisper. “You make a move, I’m going to rip your throat out. I know you’re a fraud. You have no house like you claimed, nothing but your ’vette and your lies. You owe money all over town. But suddenly you are able to pay off debts.” I eased up on his throat.

  “I... I can’t breathe!” His voice was a choked whisper.

  “I’m giving you one chance to tell me where you got the money. If I believe you, I let you go. If I don’t believe you, my dog will eat your balls, and they will find your body but probably not soon enough to keep the birds from pecking out your eyeballs.”