The Disciple

they think it’s justified, then they’re going to have to answer to me.’

Hudson stared at Grant, who merely glared at the tablecloth tight-lipped. After a few moments of silence, Hudson took a long pull on his Kingfisher and nodded at her.

‘Fair enough.’

Drexler waited while McQuarry finished speaking with the satellite office in South Lake Tahoe. By the end of the conversation, Drexler knew that a small army of forensic pathologists armed with the latest equipment would be mobilising. In a few hours the entire site would be alive with people wielding state-of-the-art technology and expertise, working under protective marquees looking for bodies of the victims of the newly dubbed ‘Ghost Road Killer’.

When found the bodies would be processed and tested, photographed and analysed, before going to the portable mortuary. And, assuming the latest victims had more than mere skeletons to tell the story of their deaths, there would be a further battery of tests as well.

When she’d finished speaking on Dupree’s car radio, McQuarry rejoined Drexler and they followed the sheriff back to the station building. An empty ambulance now stood outside, the crew inside waiting with a gurney for the body of Billy Ashwell. As they entered, two Crime Scene Investigators were standing ready to take Billy’s weight as another prepared to cut him down. As the two CSIs wrapped their arms around the boy’s lifeless trunk, something fell to the floor from the dead boy’s pocket. ‘What’s that?’ asked Drexler.

‘Looks like some kind of flower to me,’ answered Dupree.

‘It’s a red rose petal,’ said McQuarry, stooping to examine it.

The CSI released Billy’s legs and more deep red petals fell to the ground. One of the CSIs followed the trail back to Billy’s trouser pocket, which had been forced open by the attempt to get him down. He pulled at the fabric so the sheriff and the agents could see that the pocket was full of the same dark red petals.

‘Zuzu’s petals,’ said McQuarry to nobody in particular.

Drexler and Dupree turned to her. ‘Zu who?’

‘Zuzu. The little girl in It’s A Wonderful Life!’ she said looking back at them. ‘The film. James Stewart? Rose petals in his pocket?’ They didn’t seem to understand her. The sheriff arched a puzzled eyebrow. She shrugged her apology. ‘Sorry. Drive-in major.’

Brook was late setting off for home after his shift, having made a conscious effort to clear his backlog of paperwork. It was partly that things seemed to be pretty quiet at the moment, the colder weather being credited with a decline in drink-fuelled violence, and partly a result of his meeting with Chief Superintendent Charlton.

Charlton had been as unsubtle as he could manage without openly saying what he wanted.

‘How old are you, Damen?’

Brook had sat blankly in his chair, flicking a discreet eye towards the copy of Brian Burton’s book on Charlton’s desk. He didn’t like the Chief Super using his first name. It wasn’t that he cared about Charlton’s overfamiliarity, more that he resented its use as a tactic to soften him up for some ulterior motive that Brook was fairly certain he could guess. To make his point, Brook waited longer than was polite to respond, knowing that Charlton almost certainly knew the answer.

‘Forty-seven, isn’t it? Forty-eight just before Christmas. You know, I envy you, Damen.’

Brook eyed his superior coolly, trying to mask the contempt rising in him. ‘You wouldn’t if you knew the pain I’ve suffered, sir.’

Charlton was taken aback. ‘Oh?’

‘My parents tried their best to keep things special but it’s an expensive time of year. Uncles, aunts and grandparents always gave me one present for Christmas, which had to double up for my birthday as well. All told, I calculate I’m down about seventy presents from my childhood.’

Charlton briefly looked at Brook as though he were completely insane, then pressed ahead with his own agenda. ‘No, I mean that coming up to fifty, your thoughts must be turning towards retirement, getting out of all this … stress.’

‘Must they?’

‘Not that you’re not a valued officer. But I know it’s a young man’s game, eh? Let them get on with it while you go off and enjoy yourself.’

‘Enjoy myself.’ Brook lingered over the words and Charlton began to realise that he’d been a bit too obvious.

‘But that’s not why I wanted to see you…’ And he’d rapidly changed lanes to talk about the Brian Burton book and how much Brook was prepared to say on the record.

So, subliminal or not, Brook had left the meeting feeling a need to clear his desk, and had spent several hours doing just that. Whether it was the need to show he was still a competent detective, or a subconscious acceptance that he was ready to call it a day was more difficult to fathom.

Mike Drexler and Edie McQuarry sat at the table of the windowless room at Markleeville PD sifting through various papers. Some were faded faxes of car rental receipts; some were black and white images of driving permits. The most disturbing were the happy family portraits of the doomed families, grinning timelessly into the camera, shiny with hope and purpose, now immortalised as victims of The Ghost Road Killer — or killers. When the documentary makers moved in, these would be the pictures set beside the pictures of skeletons, like the rag doll found in the VW. And when the story became public property it might even weaken OJ’s stranglehold on the front pages for a day.

‘Okay, we got the Campbells from Brigham City, Utah, the Hernandez family from Prescott, Arizona,’ said Drexler, slamming down a missing persons folder for every family. ‘The Biscotti family from Las Vegas, Nevada, the Reeves family from Denver, Colorado and the latest victims, the Bailey family from San Diego, California. Five families matched to five different vehicles so far. That’s in chronological order.’

‘And the Baileys were the last family to go missing.’

‘Right.’

‘How long exactly?’ asked McQuarry, shaking out a cigarette and lighting up with a precautionary glance over her shoulder.

‘They were reported missing two months ago, but obviously may have been abducted before that. Or after. They were last seen on July fifteenth when their holiday started.’ Drexler looked over at his partner. ‘Ed, outside a restaurant may be a grey area, but now you’re definitely breaking California state law.’

‘You think state police give a hoot about a law forced through by a few rich anorexics in LA with too much money and time on their hands?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Then stow it and tell me about the Baileys.’

‘Yes, ma’am. The Baileys. Four of them. Two daughters. Nicole and Sally. Fifteen and thirteen years of age,’ said Drexler, lingering over the last snippet without really knowing why. ‘Wife Tania Bailey, forty-one and her husband George, forty-seven. They were from England originally but were living full time in the States at the time of their disappearance. The husband is a chemical engineer and had been working in San Diego for two years. They were on vacation…’

‘Wait a minute,’ said McQuarry holding up a hand and closing her eyes. ‘Did you say George?’ Drexler nodded. ‘George Bailey?’

‘That’s what I said. Problem?’

She laughed. ‘George Bailey. Shit. Someone’s messing with us, Mike.’ Drexler showed no sign of understanding her. ‘It’s a Wonderful Life, that film I was talking about. The character James Stewart played was called George Bailey. He finds rose petals in his pocket that his daughter Zuzu has given him…’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I’m telling you, this is more than a coincidence. Someone’s sending us a message with these rose petals.’ ‘What message?’

She took a pull on her Marlboro Light and thought about it. ‘I think whoever killed Caleb and Billy Ashwell