Roy Johansen - Deadly Visions

A soft orange glow bathed Tess Wayland's nude figure as dawn broke over the city. Dylan looked at his watch. Six-ten A.M.

Go back to sleep, Tess whispered. She pulled on a robe and wandered over to the large windows of her hotel room.

You can't be going to work already.

The show isn't going to produce itself. I slept late today. You're a bad influence.

Dylan smiled. The night before, he'd been on his way out of the hotel, when Tess spotted him. Looking for me? she'd asked.

Another few seconds and he would've been gone.

There was dinner, drinks, more drinks, and this. Why was it always so much easier with women who didn't know who he really was and the things he had done?

You should come to a taping sometime, she said. It might be fun.

Sure. Maybe Thursday?

Good. We'll be in a studio by then.

At one of the local TV stations?

No. A building downtown has its own studio with a satellite uplink. We're leasing it from them. I told you that the other day, didn't I?

Oh yeah, I think you did. Dylan stood and gently caressed her neck. This was the moment that some of his colleagues might have chosen to eliminate her one quick twist and a potential loose end would be cleanly removed.

The risk of keeping her alive was minimal, he decided. Plus, her death or disappearance would attract unwelcome attention. He still wasn't finished with his work here.

Well? Tess asked.

His hands fell to her waist.Sure. Sounds like fun.

Captain Henderson stared at the report that the cellular provider had just faxed to Joe.

They got this to you already? Henderson asked. Didn't they need a court order?

Joe shook his head. The phone is issued to Monica Gaines's production company. They faxed Tess Wayland a waiver and she signed off on it.

Good. Henderson held up the report.Is this any help to you?

It's the nearest digital relay tower to where Monica made those phone calls. She called from the same place on two different trips.

And where's that?

Just outside Remington, South Carolina.

Where?

That was my reaction. There used to be a military supply distribution center there, but now it's pretty much dead.

Henderson handed the report back to Joe.So you know she's been there at least twice. You think she went there the other times she disappeared?

I don't know. I doubt I'll be able to find out from her. I just called the hospital, and she's unconscious. She may not live until the end of the day.

Henderson nodded. Howe and Carla are meeting with the crime lab guys today. How far away is this town?

Less than two hours'drive.

Henderson nodded. Why don't you head over there and see what you can find out?

Will do.

Joe rolled into Remington, South Carolina, at a quarter past two. It had been a relaxing drive, but the tension returned when he saw the depressing town. An economic bomb had obviously detonated when the army supply depot withdrew.

Closed stores. Gutted buildings. Overgrown yards. The town was in the awful final stages of decay.

Joe glanced around the pothole-ridden streets. What could have brought Monica Gaines to this place?

The one area of activity revolved around a large bar called the Funky Tusk, which had faded Africa-themed murals on each exterior wall. It sat in themiddle of a large gravel parking lot that obviously had been a drive-in movie theater.

Joe parked and walked into the bar. The Africa theme was less pronounced inside, where it looked more like the generic seedy bars in south Atlanta. A half-dozen customers were scattered throughout the establishment, some playing pool, some watching a tabloid talk show on a single dim television.

Joe turned to the bartender, a thin, blond-haired boy who couldn't have been more than fifteen.

How old are you?Joe asked.

Older than you think.The kid spoke with a thick southern accent. There's no prize if you guess my age, so you may as well order somethin'.

Diet Coke.

All we got is regular.

Fine. Joe pulled out a photo of Monica Gaines and showed it to him.Seen her in here?

The kid studied the photo but finally shook his head. Nah, but I usually only work during the day. Is she your wife? Did she run out on you?

Thanks for your concern, but no, I'm with the Atlanta PD.Joe flashed his badge.

The kid put a soda in front of him. Oh. Your drink's on the house, then. Sorry I can't help you.

A jowly, gray-haired woman leaned against the bar. Let me see her.

Joe showed her the photograph.

The woman's face lit up. That's the psychic lady, isn't it?

He nodded.Her name is Monica Gaines.

She's been here a few times.

Are you sure?

Play me a game of eight ball and I'll tell you about it.

I'm really not a pool player.

I could tell that about you. That's why I said eight ball. It's a beginner's game. Give the bartender your driver's license and three bucks, and I'll meet you at the far table.

Joe did as he was told, and the bartender gave him a rack of balls. Joe walked back to the table and emptied the balls onto the table. What's your name? he asked.

Deanna, after Deanna Durbin. Nobody remembers her anymore, so I'm stuck with this weird name.

It's a nice name. I'm Joe Bailey. When did you see Monica Gaines in here?

I've seen her a few times over the past couple of years. I thought it was her, but when I asked, she wouldn't admit it. She wore a cap and didn't have her glasses on. I was pretty sure I was right, but the other people here thought I was nuts.

Joe lifted the rack and motioned for Deanna to break.Why was she here in town? Any idea?

Nope. I'd go months sometimes and wouldn't see her. I don't know why anybody would be here if they had a choice. Deanna fired the cue ball into the cluster and sunk the four.I'm solids.

Did she come alone?

Usually.

But not always?

Deanna set up her next shot. The last couple times I saw her, she was with somebody. I think she met him here.

A local?

Nah. I never saw him before. Or since.

What did he look like?

Okay-looking guy, dark hair, slightly overweight, maybe in his mid-forties.

Do you think they were romantically involved?

Deanna missed her shot. No idea. It's not like I was watching them that close. The only reason I noticed is that I thought she looked a lot like the psychic. I spent nineteen bucks on her stupid hotline once and never even got to talk to her. All I got was some lame recorded message from her, then I got patched through to some dumb-ass girl who got everything wrong. It's your shot, Joe.

He sunk the eleven ball. When was the last time you saw her?

I don't know, maybe a month ago.

That recently?

Yep. You know, people usually come here to have a good time. But those two never looked like they were having any fun at all.

Joe left town via Old Fenton Road. The cellular telephone tower that had relayed Monica's calls was located north of the city, so he decided to take a look in that direction before circling back and heading toward Atlanta. After his conversation with Deanna, he'd stopped in the town's two motels and one Waffle House, but no one else had seen Monica during her visits. Hopefully, Deanna wasn't just yanking his chain for a free game of pool.

Within five minutes, Joe found himself on a dustyrural road. Fine grains of clay blew in the wind, coating his car with dark red dust. Definitely the sticks, he thought. Except

A tall fence in the distance. He gunned the engine.

Barbed wire and ominous warning signs. The old supply depot.

He drove alongside the fence, looking at the overgrown fields and weather-beaten corrugated tin shelters that had once covered hundreds, if not thousands, of military vehicles. The shelters went on for miles, almost like rows of tombstones stretching into the distance.