The Burial Place Read online

  She scowled. “No, I didn’t select you. That came from the sixth floor.”

  “The chief?” Terry asked.

  She nodded. “According to the deputy chief, he wants fast results and figured you’d get them.”

  “I assume she was driving a car. Has it been entered in NCIC as stolen or wanted?” Terry asked.

  “Not yet. The mayor doesn’t want to raise a hue and cry until he’s sure she’s really missing. Notifying the National Crime Information Center is off the table for now.”

  “Some father he is,” Rob mumbled. If it had been his daughter, he’d already have had a search party looking for her.

  Edna had her mouth open to answer, but quickly recovered. She stood to make major in the next couple of years, so she mostly kept her opinions to herself. She cleared her throat and said, “We all know how teenage daughters are.” Her gaze shifted to Frank. “Well, most of us. They’re on top of the world one minute and in the lowest canyons of the ocean the next. He’s probably right. She’s still pissed off and at a friend’s. But that doesn’t mean we can’t check it out.”

  Edna directed her gaze at Terry. “Call me daily before five with an update. I’ll pass it directly to the chief’s office.” She pointed at Rob and Frank. “And you two, call in your day’s progress to Terry before five.”

  She picked up one of the pieces of paper and stood. The men all rose at the same time. She handed it to Rob. “This is a description of the vehicle and the address and home phone of the mayor. His wife can see you anytime before noon. Call before you come. Any questions?”

  “What do we do when we locate her?” Rob asked. He knew what he’d do, but it didn’t sound as if the mayor and his wife had that good of a relationship with their own daughter.

  Edna paused. “Put her in contact with her father.”

  Rob said, “Yes, ma’am,” and opened the door. He hated these assignments. Anytime the mayor or city council was involved, it was usually screwed up.

  She smiled for the first time. “Let’s do this, then.”

  Terry led Rob and Frank back to his office. Once inside, he leaned against his desk and folded his arms. “I know what you’re going to say, so save your breath. It sucks, and it’s not your job to keep up with the mayor’s kid—I get that.”

  “Jeez, Terry, this is worse than sitting on a foreign dig for a week,” Rob said.

  “Hell, I know, and I’m sorry you got stuck with it, but it wasn’t our call. Look, go out and visit Ms. Mayor, make it look good, and the girl will probably turn up on her own. Just don’t step on your cranks.” Terry eyed Frank. “You’ve been pretty quiet. Any bitches?”

  Frank showed a curious half smile. Rob knew that expression and didn’t like it. It usually meant Frank was up to something.

  “On the contrary,” Frank said. “It seems extremely interesting.”

  3

  Ten minutes later, Rob wheeled out of the employee parking lot onto McKee Street with Frank riding shotgun. Frank punched Ms. Mayor’s phone number into his cell, and a young woman’s voice answered on the second ring. Frank’s spirits rose. Had the girl returned home? Was this her?

  “Yes, this is Detective Pierce, Dallas PD. Is Mrs. Wallace there?”

  “I’m her personal assistant. May I help you?”

  Holy crap, a personal assistant. Do all mayors’ wives have personal assistants? “We were told we could interview her this morning regarding an investigation.”

  “Oh, yes. She’s been expecting your call. When would you like to come over?”

  Frank glanced at the paper. “You’re in Highland Park, right?”

  “Yes, do you need the address?”

  “We’ve got it. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll inform Mrs. Wallace. Thank you.” The line went dead.

  Frank pulled the phone from his ear and shook his head.

  “What?” Rob asked.

  “She has a personal assistant.”

  “So?”

  Frank dropped the phone in his pocket. “Just seems strange, that’s all.”

  “Busy people have personal assistants. Makes them more productive.”

  Frank slid lower in the seat and leaned against the headrest. “That’s what we need—personal assistants.” He stared at Rob, who smiled back at him before returning his eyes to the road. No matter how crappy the job, Rob wore that perpetual smile. He was probably the cheeriest guy Frank had ever met.

  “I guess when we have as much money as the mayor, we can get a couple,” Rob said.

  “Not working for the city.”

  Rob slowed and flipped on his right blinker. “He made his millions in real estate, right?”

  “Not working for the city,” Frank repeated. “Besides, this mayor gig is just a stepping stone.”

  “You think he always had his sights on Congress?”

  Frank tore a piece of Spearmint in half and offered it to Rob, who unwrapped it and folded it once before slipping it between his lips. He placed the wrapper in the ashtray. Frank popped his piece in his mouth, wadded the half wrapper, and flicked it onto the floor.

  “No, Congress is another stepping stone. I think the guy wants to be president.”

  “You think?” Rob asked.

  “He’s set up for it. If he wins this race in the fall, he’s on the glide path for bigger and better things.”

  Rob followed the other traffic onto the freeway entry ramp. “That’s what Carmen said when he was elected mayor.”

  Frank hadn’t asked about Rob’s wife for some time. The news was seldom good. “How’s Carmen doing?”

  Rob’s perpetual smile faded. “You know, she has good days and bad.” He shot Frank a half grin.

  “Yeah, I know. Sorry, buddy.”

  Clinical depression was a terrible thing. Particularly when it affected someone you loved, especially your spouse. It stole the personalities of its victims as surely as Alzheimer’s. The stigma of a serious mental disease didn’t make it any easier for someone like Carmen. Most people couldn’t deal with the stress as well as Rob.

  “You believe what Edna said? About the chief personally selecting us?” Rob asked.

  Frank scratched his ear. “Sure, why not. The guy knows talent when he sees it.”

  Rob’s bright smile returned. Frank had known it would. Rob always hit the reset button when he received a compliment. Frank made a mental note: Don’t ask about Carmen again for a while. They drove for the next fifteen minutes in silence.

  Rob exited the freeway and stopped at the light on the service road. A tall brunette in a short skirt and low-cut top waited at the crosswalk of the side street. Frank pulled his sunglasses down with his index finger. She looked, and he waved. She smiled before turning back to the light.

  Frank settled back into his slouch riding position. “I do love April in Dallas. Skirts go up and blouses go down.”

  The light changed, and Rob rolled through. “You know half the department thinks you’re gay, right?”

  Frank looked at him. “Why, because I’m not married, or because they never see me with a woman?”

  “I think you just answered your own question.”

  Frank chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

  “That doesn’t bother you, man?”

  “Naw.”

  “Why?”

  Frank pushed the sunglasses back up on his nose. “’Cause only the gay ones think that.”

  * * *

  Terry relaxed in his office chair and reread the paragraph of the report. He always had trouble following this detective’s writing. Lynch would spend five pages talking around a subject when he could have said the same thing in less than one. It was aggravating. Terry reached for his mug and glimpsed movement at the entrance to his office. Edna leaned against the doorframe, smiling.

  “You’re really into that, aren’t you?” she asked.

  He tossed the papers on his desk. “It’s that organized crime thing Lynch is working.”
/>   She glanced over her shoulder before whispering, “He’s the worst. His investigations are an inch deep and a mile long.”

  They laughed, and she stepped a little farther into his office. “Got a minute?”

  He pulled his chair closer to the desk. “Sure. Whatcha got?”

  Edna took a seat. “I need your advice.” She glanced at the floor for a second. “Actually, I should have asked for it earlier. I may have made a mistake.”

  “I don’t understand, Edna.”

  “You know Pierce and Soliz better than most, and you have twice as much time on the job as I do. Before our meeting, I spent fifteen minutes assuring the major that the chief had made a good decision selecting those two. Higgins had his doubts. He was for recommending someone else.” She wrung her hands, and a nervous frown traced across her lips. “Did I screw up not siding with him on this?”

  Terry reached for the mug and took a sip. “That depends.”

  She grimaced. “On what?”

  “On whether that girl’s in real trouble, or if she’s just screwing around with her parents. ’Cause I’ll tell you this. If I was in a bad place and needed help sooner than later, I’d only want those two looking for me.”

  She grinned and nodded as she stood. “Thanks, Terry. I needed that.”

  He grabbed the report off the desk and lounged back in his chair, giving her a wink. “Anytime. That’s what sergeants are for.”

  * * *

  “You’ve got to be frigging joking,” Rob yelled when he pulled up to the gate of the mayor’s house. He scanned the two-story, English country–style home on the corner lot. “This isn’t a house; it’s a hotel. Is that real stone? It looks like real stone.”

  Frank stared at the house and wall surrounding it. “It’s real.”

  “I knew he was rich, but this is ridiculous.” Rob had been to rich people’s homes before, but nothing like this. Way over the top for a politician. “Whatcha figure, a couple million?”

  “Higher. The real estate’s worth a million. This is two lots at least.”

  Rob rolled down the window, and a formal male voice spoke through the speaker on the pole. “Your business?”

  “I double dog dare you to say ‘Jehovah Witnesses,’” Frank whispered.

  Rob shook his head and leaned out. “Police to see Mrs. Wallace.”

  The voice didn’t answer, but seconds later hinges groaned and the eight-foot metal gate opened. Rob drove in as soon as he could squeeze the car through. They parked in the paved circular drive near the door. In the center was a statue fountain depicting a woman pouring water from a jug with two young children clinging to the hem of her dress. Short, well-manicured hedges and colorful flowers outlined the sculpture. Rob took in the slate roof and Boston ivy cascading down the wall as they strolled to the massive wooden door. Any minute, he expected a British butler to step out, look down his nose, and ask them both to leave.

  Frank had his knuckles poised to knock when the door swung open.

  A petite young woman, no more than four eleven, greeted them. “Detective Pierce?”

  “That’s me.” Frank displayed his credentials.

  Rob also flipped out his creds. “Detective Soliz.”

  She didn’t bother shaking hands. “How do you do. I’m Dora, Mrs. Wallace’s personal assistant.” She said “personal assistant” like you’d say “secretary of state.”

  Frank smirked. “Of course you are.”

  A look of confusion momentarily swept across her pixie face. “Would you follow me, please?” She swung around and led them inside. “Mrs. Wallace will greet you in the visitor’s room.” She took a sharp left as they entered.

  While her back was turned, Frank mouthed the words “visitor’s room,” raising his brow.

  Dora was a cute girl, but the close-cropped dark hair with the aquiline nose wasn’t a good look. Rob felt as if he were talking to a bird. Whether intentional or not, her condescending manner was irritating. She directed them to a small office with a desk and two chairs.

  “I shall inform Mrs. Wallace you’ve arrived.” She swung around and marched into the great hall, the click, click, click of high heels echoing in the distance. A vase with fresh-cut flowers in the corner gave the place a spring smell. Frank sauntered over and pulled in a long breath. He sneezed, wiped his nose, and took a seat.

  Rob dropped into a chair and opened his notebook. It was his day to take notes. Frank would ask the questions. Rob scanned the area. “This is nicer than my visitor’s room.”

  Frank gazed around and crossed his legs. “Yeah, mine too.”

  Pointing to the tiny painting behind the desk, Rob said, “That’s a small picture for that wall.”

  The sounds of click, click, click drifted down the hall.

  Frank leaned forward, studying the painting. “Yeah, but it’s a nice one—a Matisse, I think.”

  Rob didn’t know who Matisse was, but he guessed that the tiny painting had cost its owner a cool million.

  Dora rounded the corner followed by an older, larger woman. Rob and Frank rose.

  “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Mrs. Wallace.”

  The lady nodded hello and sat behind the desk.

  She wasn’t an attractive woman. She was probably in her late fifties, early sixties—hard to tell. She’d had work done that had left her cheeks a little too tight and her lips a little too small. Her short red hair was colored and not coiffed into a very complementary style. She wore a long, quilted robe with a rose design. Rob imagined her as the First Lady and shivered.

  Dora stood slightly behind and to the left of the woman, pen and notepad at the ready.

  Frank spoke. “Mrs. Wallace, we wanted to ask a few questions about your daughter. It might help us find her.”

  Ms. Mayor relaxed into the soft leather and steepled her fingers. “Ask away.”

  “We understand there was some kind of disturbance that led up to her leaving?”

  “Yes, we asked her to stop seeing a young man who’s attending the University of Texas. We don’t approve of him.”

  “Could he have had anything to do with her disappearance?”

  Ms. Mayor gave Frank a patronizing smile. “Oh, I think not. He’s not a bad sort, just not one of our people.”

  Rob paused in his note taking and looked up. “Not one of our people”? What the hell does that mean?

  Frank also hesitated before saying, “So Thursday was the last time you saw or spoke to her?”

  “Yes, we knew better than to call. When Trina gets in one of those moods, there’s no reasoning with her.” Ms. Mayor dropped her hands in her lap. “We thought that by the time she turned nineteen she’d outgrow this kind of behavior, but we’ve been proven wrong.”

  Frank leaned in. “So you don’t believe she’s missing, just hiding?”

  The woman grinned and chuckled. “I know my daughter. She’s with a friend, refusing to answer the phone.”

  “Have you contacted her friends?” Frank asked.

  “Of course, all we know. But she could be sitting right beside them and they’d lie.”

  “I see,” Frank mumbled. He thumbed through his notebook and laid a form on the desk. “I’d like your daughter’s cell phone number and provider information.”

  She glared at him. “Why?”

  “Because if you’ll sign this release”—he tapped the paper—“we’ll request the cell provider to track her through her phone.”

  Her eyes widened. “They can do that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ll be honest, I don’t know for sure. AT&T, I think.” Ms. Mayor looked around to Dora.

  “That’s correct, ma’am. I’ll get them all the necessary information,” Dora said, scribbling on her notepad.

  Frank slid the form across the desk. “Also, we understand someone checked her place a day or two ago. Is that correct?”

  “I drove there myself,” Ms. Mayor said. “Looks as though she hasn’t been around in several
days.”

  “May we borrow your key to her apartment? We’d also like to take a look.”

  She frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but Frank cut her off. “We might find something that’ll give us a clue to her whereabouts.”

  She exhaled. “Very well. Dora, please give them the extra key.”

  “And the address, also,” Frank added.

  Dora stopped taking notes and cut her eyes from Frank to her employer.

  Ms. Mayor nodded.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dora said.

  She’d been writing since they’d started talking. Rob’s gut tightened. Is she recording this meeting? Did Frank know?

  “If we strike out on the phone thing, we might also request her credit card information. You know, to see if she’s using it.” Frank removed another form from his notebook and placed it on the desk. “If you’ll sign this release, the credit card company will provide that information without a subpoena. Might give us a starting point.”

  Dora picked up the form and shot a look at Mrs. Wallace. She nodded again and Dora added another item to her growing list. “I’ll take care of it,” she said.

  The regal lady stood. “Gentlemen, I must apologize, but I have a luncheon. Will there be anything else?”

  Rob bounced up, and Frank rose at a snail’s pace. “Just one last thing. If we find it necessary to interview the young man attending UT, we’ll need his name, address, and phone number.”

  The queen rolled her eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know anything except his name. Dora, do you have the other information?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She added it to her list. “I’ll get it.”

  Mrs. Wallace stepped from behind the desk and promenaded toward the door. “We’ve already contacted him. He said she left Austin at eight o’clock Sunday evening driving to Dallas. Call him if you like, but Mr. Ruiz is like the rest of Trina’s friends. He lies.”

  Rob finally made the connection. Ruiz—not one of our people.

  Dora pranced to the threshold. “Would you like to wait here or in your car?”

  Before Rob could answer, Frank said, “We’ll be in the car. Also, we could use a recent photo, if there’s one available.”

  Dora added it to the list.

  They strolled outside and the door closed. Rob looked at the mansion. “She’s a cold one.”