Hard Ride to Dry Gulch

* * *

OFFICIALLY, IT WAS Travis’s day off. Unofficially, he strolled into the precinct about 7:00 a.m. No one in the front office seemed surprised to see him. Homicide detectives never kept normal hours.

Neither did crime.

Jewel Sayer raised one eyebrow as he passed her desk. “I thought you were partying in Oak Grove this weekend?”

“Just stayed long enough to get my brother married.”

“What? No hot chicks at the wedding reception?”

“None as hot as you, Jewel.”

“Can’t go comparing the rest of the mere mortals to me, Travis. You’ve got to learn to settle for someone in your league.”

“So you keep telling me.”

Jewel was in her mid-thirties and a far cry from the beauty-pageant types who filled the Dallas hot spots six nights a week. She had a boxlike face hemmed in by dark, straight hair cropped an inch from her scalp. Her breasts were lost beneath boxy, plain cotton shirts. Her trousers bagged. Her face was a makeup-free zone.

Jewel was, however, a wildcat of a homicide detective. She could tear more much meat out of a seemingly useless clue than most of the men who’d had years more experience. And she had great instincts. She also had a husband who adored her.

Her phone rang. She lifted her coffee mug as a sign of dismissal before answering it.

Travis stopped at the coffeepot, filled a mug with the strong brew and took it to his office. He dropped to the seat behind his cluttered desk and typed Faith Ashburn into the DPD search system.

A few sips of coffee later, her name came up as having filed a missing-person report a few days under ten months ago, on June 25. That would have been approximately six months before he ran into her at the Passion Pit.

He pulled up the report she’d filled out. The missing person was her eighteen-year-old son, Cornell Keating Ashburn, a high-school student about to start his senior year.

According to the report, Cornell struggled with academics and received special help with his classes in a mainstream setting. He made friends easily but he was easily influenced by his peers. He was also on medication for seizures and reportedly needed daily meds to prevent them.

According to the report, Faith Ashburn had gone in to work early the day he’d gone missing, leaving before Cornell got out of bed. She’d come home from work to find a note from him saying he was hanging out with some friends from the neighborhood. He might spend the night at his friend Jason’s, but he’d call later and let her know.

He’d never called. He’d never come home. He’d never showed up at Jason’s.

That explained the torment that haunted her mesmerizing eyes.

Now that Travis thought about it, Leif had questioned him a couple months ago about how effective the police were with following up on missing-persons cases. Travis had assured him that they were thorough and professional.

No doubt Joni had told him about Faith’s missing son and that had prompted the questions.

Travis printed the original report and a series of follow-up notes by the investigating detective, Mark Ethridge. Mark headed up the missing-persons division and reportedly had handled Cornell’s disappearance himself. Ethridge was one of the best in the business at tracking missing or runaway teens.

Travis skimmed for the most pertinent details. Faith and Cornell’s father were divorced. He’d died two years ago in a work-related accident, so that eliminated any chance he’d run away to live with him. His maternal grandmother lived in Seattle. His maternal grandfather lived in Waco. Neither had seen Cornell in years. Nor had his paternal grandparents. Ethridge had checked that out thoroughly.

Faith had called everyone Cornell ever hung out with. No one had seen him that day.

His clothes were still in the closet except for the jeans, shirt and sneakers he’d obviously been wearing when he went missing. His iPad and computer were still in his room. Only his phone was missing. She’d called it repeatedly. There had been no answer.

Easy to see why she feared foul play.

Of course, it was also possible the young man had decided to chuck it all and run away from home. At eighteen, he wouldn’t technically be a runaway. In the eyes of the law, he was an adult with the right to live wherever he chose.

Travis finished off his coffee and then moved on to the notes Ethridge had provided. There was no final report, as the investigation was ongoing.

Not good, Travis decided as he delved into the investigation discoveries. Although Faith had insisted that her son had no issues that would cause him to run away, his friends from school painted a different story.

Several of his classmates, including Jason, had said he’d started acting strange in the days before he’d disappeared. They said he’d stopped hanging out with them after school, always said he was busy.

Ethridge had checked out the local drug and prostitute scene. Two strippers from the Passion Pit had recognized him from his picture, said they’d seen him in the club a couple times over the past few weeks, but not since his disappearance. One claimed he was hot for one of the dancers.

Even Georgio admitted to having seen him. Said he’d caught Cornell trying to touch one of his dancers inappropriately, and kicked him out. Claimed he realized then the kid was underage, and had told him to go home before he got into trouble.

After that, the clues ran dry.

Ethridge would have told Faith what he’d discovered. That explained her hanging out in the city’s scummiest dive. She’d been looking for her son or someone who could tell her where to find him.

The only good news was that Cornell’s body had not turned up at the local morgue.

That was the reality Travis lived with every day. He and his partner were the lead detectives in five unsolved murder cases of male victims between the ages of sixteen and eighteen who’d been killed over the past nineteen months. All had been shot twice in the back of the head, gangster-style, their bodies either left in an alley or dumped into the Trinity River.

At first people had paid little attention to the murders, attributing them to gangs or drug deals gone bad. But the last victim had been from a prominent family.

Now the media had jumped on board and were suddenly clamoring for information about the murders and pushing the idea that a serial killer was stalking Dallas. Nothing got the citizens more riled and afraid than the possibility of a serial killer who chose his victims randomly.

Neither Travis nor his partner, Reno Vargas, believed the murders were random. In fact, they were convinced Georgio was behind them. What they didn’t have was proof of his involvement.

Any way you looked at it, Faith Ashburn had plenty of reason to be worried.

Travis was about to go for more coffee when his cell phone vibrated. He yanked it from his pocket and checked the caller ID. Faith Ashburn’s name lit up the display.

He glanced at his watch. Only seven thirty-five and on a Sunday morning. He’d hoped he might hear from her, but he definitely hadn’t expected her to call this soon. He doubted it was personal, which meant she was calling about Cornell.

“Detective Travis Dalton,” he answered. “What can I do for you?”

“Travis, this is Faith.”

He liked the way she said his name. He didn’t like the tremor of apprehension in her voice. “Hi, Faith. Nice to hear from you.”

“It’s...” She paused. “I need to talk to you, as a detective. It’s about my son.”

“Cornell?”

“You know about his disappearance?”

“I didn’t until a few minutes ago. I just finished reading the missing-person report.”

“There’s a new development,” she said.