Sarah Armstrong: Blood Lines Part 15

"Just the young ones, like all babies," I answered, watching a smile edge across Ca.s.sidys face. Sometimes horses can get to folks that other folks cant, fix them. I figured, why not try? "If you want to, you can follow us to the pasture. Its Warriors first outing."

"Is that his name? Warrior?"

"Yup," I said, and then I decided to add, "If you want, you can help care for them while youre here. Foals, especially preemies, need a lot of attention."

For a moment, Ca.s.sidy appeared to consider my offer. Then she shrugged. "Nah," she said, the word laced with a heavy dose of condescension. "Im no farmer."

The girl had a chip on her shoulder the size of Texas. "No problem. Id hate to interrupt your nap time," I said. "But if youre not helping, go up to the house and wait. Well be right there to start work."

With a smirk, Collins walked away.

"You said last night that you wondered if Argus is someone in your crew," I said to Collins, when we sat together in the living room. The kid was spread over Moms favorite chair, a red corduroy recliner. The arms were worn, and Ca.s.sidy picked absentmindedly at fraying threads. "Lets start with that a.s.sumption. Do you have anyone in mind?"

"No," she snapped. "I just kept telling Rick that the creep knows more about me than my friends."

"What do you mean?"

"He knows where I live in L.A., and what I do, who Im with. His e-mails sound like hes watching me or like he knows where Im supposed to be," she said. For a minute, she looked tentative. There was something else there, something the kid wasnt eager to say.

"Theres more youre not telling us, isnt there?"

The kid said nothing, just stared at me, thinking.

"Ca.s.sidy, this guy is threatening to kill you," I reminded her. "This isnt the time to hold back any information that could help us."

For another moment, she paused and frowned, thinking that through. Then she said, "Sometimes I wonder if he knew me before L.A."

"Why?" David asked.

"In one e-mail, he said he liked the freckles on my nose when I was a little girl," she said, with a puzzled look. She shook her head slightly and shrugged. "I havent had those freckles since fifth grade. They faded. How would he know that?"

"I dont know. Youve got a fair complexion. Maybe he just guessed you had freckles as a kid? I didnt see that e-mail in the packet Mr. Barron gave me," I said. "Why not?"

"I deleted it," she said, with a shrug. "It was one of the first ones I got, before I was really scared of this jerk. I thought he was just another nut. I get them all the time. I didnt think hed threaten to . . ."

Her voice dwindled off.

"Did you show that to anyone, the e-mail I mean?"

"No, but it was the same guy. He signed it Argus."

"Are there other e-mails you didnt tell Barron or anyone about?"

"A few," she admitted more than a little reluctantly.

"Did they contain anything else surprising?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I guess, maybe."

"What?" David asked.

The kid wrinkled up her face in disgust. "The morning after the concert in Atlanta, that was a week or so before we played Caesars Palace, that Argus dude e-mailed and claimed I winked at him," she said. "He said our eyes met, and he knew that we had some kind of special bond. Yuck. Really sick."

"What did he mean by that, the bit about the special bond?" I asked.

The kid grimaced and shrugged. "Nothing, okay? Nothing I know of anyway."

"He could have meant anything," David said. "These types of stalkers often fantasize that they have a relations.h.i.+p with their victims."

"Yeah. Thats true," I said. "Okay, talk about Atlanta. Do you remember anyone you saw that night? Is it possible that he was telling the truth, that you saw his face in the crowd?"

"That was a big show, full-stage show, with the fly harness and the coc.o.o.n. Sometimes, up on the hoist, over the audience, I kind of see people, but I cant see faces," she said. "Its more shapes. Girls and moms, a few dads. I dont focus on anyone, and no one ever stands out."

"Did you respond to those e-mails?" David asked.

"No," she answered. "Like I said, I did what Rick says to do with garbage. I trashed them. But that Argus jerk, his e-mails had those things, where you click and it tells the sender that I opened it. So he knew I got them."

"What else did this Argus know about your past?" I asked.

"That my family was dirt poor," she said. "And thats something I dont tell anyone."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Collins looked wary, guarded about saying any more.

"Whats the problem?" I asked.

"What I tell you two goes nowhere?" she said. "You dont flap about it? Like to reporters?"

"No," I said. "We wont tell anyone."

"Sure?" she prodded.

"Sure," David said. "Absolutely."

"Well, okay. I dont ever tell anyone about my past. I dont want the press to dig around, find out where I grew up," she said. "The truth is that Mom and I lived in a trailer park. My mom was a drunk. I dont know my dad, not even his name. The thing is, I have no privacy. Anything anybody finds out about me gets splashed all over those grocery store rags."

"Okay, Ca.s.sidy, lets go with that," David said, ever so patiently. "Lets a.s.sume this guy is someone out of your past. Tell me about people you knew growing up, anyone whod know about your life before Los Angeles."

Her eyes dropped, and she layered her hands on her lap, looking young and frightened. The kid was tough but hurting. Shed been through a lot in her short lifetime, but now someone wanted her dead. That was beyond all her experience.

Of course, that didnt give her the right to be rude, I told myself, but . . .

"I changed my name when I hit L.A. Id thought of Ca.s.sidy Collins when I was a little kid, liked it, so I gave that to everyone, even the social worker who stuck me in those foster homes. I made up a name for my mom, too. Said she was dead. Thats the only true thing I told anyone," she said. "I never talk about being trailer park trash. I dont talk about my mom drinking herself to death, either. Once I got to L.A., I wanted to be a different person."

"We understand, Ca.s.sidy. But think back, before Los Angeles," David instructed. "Whom do you remember?"

Again she hesitated. Quiet. "Not anyone much. Mom and me kept away from other people. Mom didnt like strangers. She always said we had to be careful. I dont know why, but sometimes she seemed scared," the kid said. "I went to school, but I looked really different. My hair was darker, and I wore big gla.s.ses. When I started singing and made money, I bought contacts. And before anyone in L.A. knew much about me, while I was still a kid, I dyed my hair blond. Like I said, I dont look like I used to."

"But this person, whoever it is, he recognizes you?" I said.

"I guess so," she agreed, with a shrug. "I dont know, but sometimes I think maybe he does."

"Why didnt Rick Barron tell us this?" David asked. "Its at least a lead."

Again, the girls voice got small, defensive. "Rick doesnt know. I didnt tell him," she admitted. "People who work for celebrities sell stories to the tabloids for millions. I didnt want even Rick to have anything personal on me, anything about my past. Its a lot of bad memories."

"Germaine Dunn knows youve had a tough time," I said. "She told me about your mother dying while you were still young."

"Germaines my only friend," Collins said. "But even she doesnt know my old name or where I came from. She didnt know what I looked like before I was Ca.s.sidy Collins."

"Well, youre going to have to trust us," I said. "Youve got no choice."

She nodded, as if perhaps she understood. "What else do you want to know?"

"First off, your real name and your mothers name," David said. "Then we need the name of the school you went to, the town, the trailer park, and the names of anyone you remember from the years before you arrived in Los Angeles."

Ca.s.sidy nodded.

"Ill get a pad of paper, and I want you to sit here and write down everything weve asked for and more," I said. "Anything that could, in any way, help us find and stop this Argus. This is your shot, Ca.s.sidy. You help us get this guy now, or you pray that he doesnt find you before we find him."

Twenty-four.

Okay, so Ca.s.sidy Collins is really Angela Jane Eckert, and her mother was Claire Eckert," I read to David off of Ca.s.sidys list. "The trailer park is called Wooded Acres, in northern California. That could help, but the kid has no memory of the full names of anyone she knew there. There are only four people listed, first names and no last names. Three old women, Sharlene, Sherry, and Sue, who Ca.s.sidy calls 'The Ss, and describes as women in their late seventies with blue hair who sit around clacking their dentures and playing afternoon quarter poker at a picnic table. Theres only one guy on the list, a Jack somebody, who hung around the trailer park off and on, the son of one of 'The Ss. Shes not sure which one. Ca.s.sidy doesnt know where he lived or anything else about him, just that she saw him sometimes, and he gave her the creeps."

"So, how do we investigate that?" he said, with a slight laugh. "Not much help."

"Thats an understatement," I said. I thought for a while, and then said, "Maybe this Argus person has been in trouble before? Most of these guys have been, even if its only little stuff like peeping or exposing themselves in public."

"Thats true," David said. "At least its a place to start."

"Lets ask your San Francisco office to interview these three old women, find out if they know of anyone in the area who appeared overly interested in young girls," I suggested. "And we need a list of all the s.e.x offenders known to reside in the vicinity of the trailer park during the years Ca.s.sidy lived there with her mother."

"Sure. Well give it a shot," David said. "Anything else?"

"Not that I can think of," I said. The info could take up to a few hours to come in, and I wondered if sitting around waiting was the best use of my time. "Anything I can do? Do you need my help?"

"No," he said, understanding where I was headed. "You might as well get something else done while we check this out. Now that the Peterson kids been cleared, the California link is our most likely scenario, and our offices on the West Coast will take it from here."

"Okay. Im going to check on the horses," I said. "And then, Ive got that other case Im working, Billie c.o.xs murder. Id like to have sit-downs with a couple of folks this afternoon, while you watch over Collins. Truth is I could use a break from that kid."

"That I can understand. Ill call if we discover anything," he said.

"Thanks," I said. "Im counting on it. I want this over, fast."

I turned to leave, and David said, "Sarah?"

"Yeah," I said. "Did we forget something?"

"You look great sleeping," he said, eyeing me a bit sheepishly.

At first, I was surprised, even flattered, but quickly angry. "Glad you think so," I said. "But I dont think you get to tell me that. Not when you wont explain why youre pus.h.i.+ng me away."

David thought for a moment and then said, "I guess thats true."

For a moment, I hesitated, in case more was to come, but David put his hands in his pockets and just looked at me, his eyes sad but resolute, so I left. I had Billies murder to solve, and the way my life was currently unfolding, I figured that might be easier than either finding Argus or decoding David.

Ty d.i.c.kson, Clayton Wagners old partner, was a small man, about the size of an average woman. Of course, at seventy-nine, most folks shrink, but he had the look of a fellow whod always been dwarfed in a crowd. We talked for nearly an hour in his walnut-paneled office on the first floor of his mansion, perhaps not surprisingly right across the street from Wagners palatial spread. The butler had escorted me to the room and then left us alone. The guy might as well have stayed for all the information d.i.c.kson offered. All hed tell me about either the Stanhope Field or the photo sounded like a recorded copy of Clayton Wagners story from two days earlier. Not surprising since Wagner had probably prepped d.i.c.kson.

"Yeah, ya see, the reason I can tell you for certain about that photo is my wife, Emily, died soon after," d.i.c.kson said, for the fourth time, each time emphasizing it, as if this point alone should erase any doubt about the photos time frame. "Thats why its all so fresh in my mind, that it was in December and all, bout eight years ago."

Getting nothing new that might help solve the case, I figured I didnt have much to lose. Why not say what I was thinking? "You know, Mr. d.i.c.kson, you dont look any different in this picture than you do today. Hard to imagine eight years have pa.s.sed."

The old man smiled, displaying long, narrow, crooked teeth discolored by age and smoke, evidenced by ashes and cigarette b.u.t.ts, the filters yellow from saliva, in an ashtray cut from a hollowed-out steer horn on his desk. Throughout the interview, d.i.c.kson had hacked away, a loose, hairball cough, the kind that usually means people arent aging particularly well. Guess he didnt consider that a problem. "You know," he said, with an impish grin, "folks often ask how I stay so young looking. I tell them the secret is clean living."

"Yeah, I can see that," I said. "Cigarettes and whisky always make for a long, healthy life."

The old man laughed, leading to another round of chest-rattling gasps. There was something wrong with d.i.c.kson, something bad. I figured he knew that and had long since stopped caring. Of course, he caught my point, knew that I didnt believe him, but the curmudgeon didnt care. Matter of fact, he didnt look in the least concerned about my visit or my questions, which led to only one conclusion: The old man didnt see me as a serious threat. I must be ice cold.

"Where were you the afternoon of Billies death?" I asked.

As if he couldnt be more pleased by the question, most likely because he had his answer well-planned, d.i.c.kson explained with a self-satisfied smile: "I was here at home. My accountant was with me that entire afternoon, going over my tax return, getting it ready to file an extension. h.e.l.l be happy to talk to you. Youre also welcome to shoot that question past the butler, Malcolm. He brought the bean-counter and me a couple of drinks when we finished talking business."

With that, Ty d.i.c.kson grinned, giving me a parting glimpse of his not-close-to-pearly-whites.

Another dead end. As he escorted me to the door, Malcolm backed up d.i.c.ksons alibi, and on a call from the car, the accountant did the same.

I fared better at the law office of Jimmy McBride, the attorney Bobby Barker and Billie c.o.x had dealt with regarding their plan to purchase the Stanhope Field. I guessed that Wagner and d.i.c.k-son didnt know I had McBrides name, so they hadnt ordered him to keep his trap shut. The minute McBrides secretary brought me back to his office-a small, windowless room in a nest of legal offices in a rundown building-I knew he was the third man in the photo. There was little chance of mistaking his physique. McBride was in his forties, with a fringe of dark hair around a balding dome, wearing wire-rimmed gla.s.ses. His shoulders gave him away. They sloped to the point I figured hed have a hard time wearing suspenders.

"So, tell me about the Stanhope Field," I said, after introducing myself and explaining that I was investigating what I simply referred to as c.o.xs death. No reason to put him on guard by calling it a murder. "I understand that Billie c.o.x was interested in purchasing it for Century Oil."

"Terrible thing, her killing herself like that. Billie c.o.x was one smart woman," McBride said, to which I gave no argument. "Stanhopes a potentially lucrative oil field. It was developed in the thirties but abandoned in the fifties when the easy-to-reach reserves ran out. But our research suggests theres a bunch more down there."

"How can you be so sure of that?" I asked.

"We have a report that proves those wells can bring in big profits," he said. With that he flipped through the stacks on his littered desk and pulled out an inch-thick file that read: stanhope prospectus. He waved it at me, and then plopped it back down on his desk.

"Impressive," I said. "But my understanding is that Billie lost her enthusiasm for the deal. Ive been told that she was considering backing out of the purchase just before her death. She didnt believe that oil field was as rich as your report claims."

McBrides high forehead puckered, giving him a doubtful look. "She never told me that," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Why, Billie told me not long before she died that she saw the purchase as one of the primary reasons she was eager to acquire Century."