Luck And a Prayer. Cynthia Cooke
“A videotape. I got it on one of those cameras that look like a pen.”
“One of Johnny’s gadgets, I presume. Hand it over, then go see Donna about a desk duty schedule,” he dismissed her, burying his nose back into his paperwork.
“I can’t.”
Exasperated, he looked up and let out a deep sigh.
“I don’t have it.”
“You’ve just rambled on about evidence you don’t have? Why are you wasting my time, Willa?”
“I had it. And I’ll have it back in an hour, tops!”
“Where is it?”
“I ditched it in a minister’s back pocket.”
“You what!”
“I had to get rid of it. Carlos knew something was up with the pen and I couldn’t take the chance of losing it.”
“So, you put a civilian in jeopardy? And a minister at that! You never should have gone back into that apartment without backup. This just proves my point, Willa.”
“No, it doesn’t. It proves that I’m the one with the guts to roll around in the manure and not let the stink do me in. I’m the one who got the goods on Jack and you’ll have the evidence as soon as I get it back from the Morning Star Church in Pasadena.”
Without a word the captain picked up the phone. “Send whoever is closest over to the Morning Star Church in Pasadena. I need one of those camera pens picked up from a minister. No, no name, but he was on the strip this morning. Can’t be more than one up there. I want a call as soon as we have it.”
“Then we bring Jack down,” she said triumphantly.
“So what?” he answered, his tired eyes void of emotion. “There are a hundred more Jack Paulsons ready to take his place.”
“And I’ll get them, too. But first, this slimeball is going to pay for killing my dad.”
The captain scrubbed his face with his hands. “I want you to see Louis.”
“I’m not seeing a shrink.”
“I told your mother fifteen years ago you needed counseling. Margo and I have lost countless night’s sleep worrying about you and the decisions you’ve made. We’ve done everything we could think of to help you, especially after your mother died, too. We even abided by your wishes when you refused counseling. But by God, I’m going to make sure you get it now.”
A deep well of long-lived frustration bubbled inside her. “I told you then and I’m telling you now, I don’t need to see a shrink.”
“You need to get over your father’s death or you’ll never be the cop you want to be. You’ll never be the person you can be. When was the last time you had a personal commitment to anybody or anything other than Jack Paulson?”
“Leave my personal life out of it.”
“That should be easy since you don’t have one.”
Cold fury froze Willa’s heart. “I’m the cop I want to be, now.”
“You’ll never be a good one, Willa.”
“I am good.”
He slammed both fists on his desk. “No! You’re not. As of right now, you’re a desk jockey. And if you ever want to get away from the phones, you’ll see Louis, and you’ll continue to see him until he gives you a clean bill of health.”
“I won’t!” Willa jumped to her feet. The aluminum chair crashed to the floor behind her.
Ben scowled. “You will, or you’re out of here.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Watch me.”
Willa bit back some choice words as the phone rang. Stunned, she stared at it, trying to catch her breath and calm her temper as she righted the overturned chair.
His lips tightened into a straight line as he banged the receiver into its cradle. “Your so-called evidence has headed for the hills.”
“What?”
“Your minister took a bunch of kids backpacking through Sequoia.”
Willa collapsed back into the chair. “Sequoia? As in National Forest?”
“Yep, and seeing how you’re the only one who knows what the poor man looks like, you’re going to be the one to find him. I think a day or two in the wilderness will be good for you.”
“Wilderness?” Willa ignored the dread settling in the pit of her stomach. “You mean out there in the woods where the bears live?” She’d rather take on the animals stalking the strip.
“If you’d prefer, you can spend the rest of the weekend hitting the phones. Take your pick.”
“Fine, fine. I’m off. Gone. I’ll enjoy myself, I’m sure. Fresh air and all that.”
He looked at his watch. “I’ll expect you back Monday night with evidence that better knock my socks off.”
“Yep, sure thing.”
He handed her a slip of paper. “Here’s the name of the youth director that has the trails and campsites where you’ll find the pastor. I suggest you get a hotel in the area and try to catch them in the morning. You’ll never make it to the campsite before nightfall.”
“No problem. And Captain, after you see that poor little girl on the tape, you’ll be glad I stopped him.” Silently she added, Then you’ll rethink this whole desk-jockey shrink thing. I know you will.
By midafternoon, Willa was navigating the winding mountain road as if she’d been doing it all her life, not at all put off by the narrowing turns or the tall poles with painted red tops lining the sides of the road. Snow poles, the man at the service station had said. She shuddered. The very idea of being stuck in this place with that much snow on the ground made her turn down the air conditioner. She’d only seen snow once as a child, before her dad had died, when life had still been full of promise and happy days.
She glanced over at the new backpack sitting in the passenger seat. The man at Oshman’s had given her everything she’d need and more, even a new pair of hiking boots. She was all set, though she wasn’t sure why she’d bothered. They couldn’t have had that much of a head start on her. How far could one guy and six kids get? She’d have them tracked down within an hour, she reasoned.
A half hour later, she pulled into the campground parking lot and parked next to the church van. “Gotcha,” she said, smiling, then swung the pack onto her back and stretched her shoulder blades, at once thankful for the intense workout sessions she’d recently added to her routine. “This thing’s heavy,” she grumbled aloud, suddenly sure that salesman had sold her a lot more junk than she actually needed.
She stopped at the bottom of the hill and read the trail markers. There were several, offering paths for beginners to the more stringent superadvanced levels. She took out the sheet of paper the youth director of the church had given her with the proper trails marked.
Obviously, this pastor was no stranger to the woods. He started with an easy trail, then moved on to different ones, each rising in intensity as they moved deeper into the backcountry. Oh well, she was in shape. She didn’t spend three hours a week on the treadmill for nothing.
Two hours later, Willa’s thigh muscles burned with a fire she’d never before felt as she plodded up the hill, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to push enough air into her painfully constricted lungs. She stopped on a rock, took a swig off the water bottle from her pack and examined her notes one more time. There was no way she could be lost. They must have gotten a bigger head start than she thought.
She stood,