FOLLOW THE LEADER - Chapter 14

Chapter 14


Michael Rollins showed up on time. He trudged up the steps paying no attention to the greenery. When he got to the top, he stopped.  He ogled our little farmhouse for maybe thirty seconds. Finally he knocked at the door and I let him in.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Morning.” he mumbled.  “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you come by this cottage?”

“It’s more of a house,” I said.

“Cottage sounds better.”

“First of all, I don’t own it. The owner is a single man who’s ninety-something. Doesn’t get around much. I pay rent, but it’s a joke. He lets me stay here because I promised to take care of the garden. To be honest, he barely mentioned the house. He asked me to pay for power and water. So I do. And no, I’m not going to ask him to sell. Shall we?”

I gestured toward a chair but he remained standing.

“Shouldn’t you at least have a sign out front?” he asked.

“No way.”
         He shook his head in disgust as I closed the door behind him.  All he could see were dollar signs.       

Then he saw Terry.

“Who’s he?”

I introduced him to Terry, who was using a card table for his desk. It was just big enough for a small computer and his recording equipment.

Terry waved and put his earphones on again.

Rollins chuckled.

“Where did you find him?”

“He found me. Have a seat, please.”

Finally he sat down.

Suddenly Rollins’ demeanor changed completely. The gloom was back. The hopelessness.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Just water.”

         I got some water for him and signaled Terry to get ready to record.

         I guessed that Terry, too, saw that Michael Rollins was lost in hell, no doubt about it. His was the only hell I believed in besides the unholy triad of war, famine and disease: a terrible heart-wrenching event that you lived with every day, something you could have easily prevented.

         Rollins produced a big envelope.

         “Here’s the information you wanted.”

         “Thanks. Give me a few minutes to look it over.”

         “Of course. Mind if I smoke outside?”

         I shook my head and he left.

 
The info Rollins brought filled me in on the basics of their Death Valley tragedy. They were camping there on the day of a huge dust storm. They had put up two tents. One for Rollins and his wife, the other for their teenaged daughter, Katherine, and her friend, Amy. During the storm his daughter disappeared. I noted that he didn’t say he saw her disappear. Neither did his wife.

I needed details and lots of them.

         He had also listed Katherine’s friends. Damned short list, I thought.

         Next was a list of and places she used to hang out.  An even shorter list. There was a club I had never heard of, a bowling alley, and the Feingold house, where her best friend, Amy, lived. It was right down the block, on the other side of the street.

I got Rollins and we sat down. This time he didn’t stall. I signaled Terry that we were about to begin.

         I quickly mentioned the date, time of day and the subject’s name, Michael B. Rollins.

         “Why don’t you start with that morning, how you remember it,” I said.

         He nodded.

         “We had finished breakfast and washed our dishes. It was that time where you plan your day’s outing, and so on. For some reason Katherine and Amy were at odds. Giving each other the silent treatment. Kids. I had brought my clubs, so I asked Amy if she would like to join me. I was sure she could rent a set at the clubhouse. She was delighted to get away from Katherine. Plus she’s a jock, good at everything, And we had always gotten along.”

         “Wait a minute. There’s a golf course in Furnace Creek?”

         Rollins chuckled and nodded.

         I figured my reaction had amused him.

Then the smile vanished.

“Joy said she wanted to take pictures of wild flowers that morning.”

“Joy is your ex-wife.”

“Right.”

“And Katherine?”

“In a funk, like I said. Said she wanted to stay in camp. She’d figure out where she was going over coffee. But it had to be good coffee, not the shit Joy was brewing over the campfire. You know, typical teenager.”

“Yeah.”

“The golf pro set Amy up and Amy and me went out onto the course. We were finishing up on the second hole when we felt a warm breeze. A minute later, Amy hit an amazing drive off the tee. I hit my usual slice. By that time, the breeze had become a strong wind. We could see a giant dust cloud blowing our way. The wind was gusting, gaining power each second. We finished that hole and went to Number Three. We figured the storm would pass through. Then a big gust blew my damn ball off the tee, and I knew our round of golf was kaput. Hell, I could barely see Amy, let alone the flag at the third hole. She turned and disappeared. ‘I’m going back to camp,’ she called. I couldn’t answer because I had a mouthful of dust. It turned out that Amy started off in the wrong direction. She kept walking that way, hoping the storm would clear.

“When did it let up?”

“Maybe twenty minutes later. I wasn’t wearing a watch.”

He stopped and screwed up his face, as if he were tasting the dust again. He drank a deep draught of water.

“Somehow I was able to stay on my feet and navigate back to our camp. All the tents were flattened and one old Airstream camper was on its side. Finally I found my wife and Amy both, just getting to their feet. Amy had been on her belly, holding on to a tent peg. Joy had been holding on to her.

“I went to them and we spat dust and tried to brush it off our clothes, which was a joke.”

“‘Where is Katherine?’ Joy asked.”

 “’I thought she’d be with you,’I said.”

“Joy goes, ‘Maybe she’s still in the coffee shop.’

“Katherine had called her from there. Said she met somebody and they were going to have coffee and hang out.”

“Male or female?” I asked.

“Female.”

“Name?”

He shook his head.

“Go on.” I said.

 “Joy thought Katherine’s new acquaintance  was probably someone her age.  Joy was delighted, of course, because Katherine was being a pain in the ass. Bored to tears, complaining about this or that or giving Amy icy looks.

I made a note: What was the problem between K and A?

“Long story short, I ran to the coffee shop, but Katherine wasn’t there.

He drank the rest of his water in one gulp.

“Tell you what,” he said. “On that day the good things in my life vanished. The dust storm swallowed them up.”

         “I’m truly sorry,” I said.

         He shrugged.

         Silence.

         We had been at it for almost an hour and I could see he was flagging.

         I glanced over at Terry, who was playing a video game as he recorded the interview. I waved for his attention, then gave him the throat slash sign to stop the recorder. He did.

         “Let’s take a break,” I suggested. “Then after that I’ll tell you what I can and can’t do to find who killed your daughter. You can look over my contract, et cetera. “All right with you, Mr. Rollins?”

         “Yeah.”

         Rollins patted his shirt pocket nervously and pulled out an empty pack. “I’m out,” he said. “Do you smoke?”

         I shook my head.

         “I got some,” said Terry. “Winstons.”

         “Anything,” said Rollins. “Thanks.” He came over and got a cigarette and took it outside.

         I got up and stretched and walked over to the newly washed window. Usually it soothed me to drink in the sight of the curving brick walk and the flowers. After all, what else did I need? I had a roof over my head. My sanctum sanctorum in San Francisco.

 However, that fraught morning Mike Rollins blocked my view. He stood there smoking, maybe wondering why he came to me.

When he came back I asked, “What have you left out, Mr. Rollins?”

“I doubt if it’s important, but…

“Let me decide that.”

“Katherine and her boyfriend Zack Tyler had been quarreling the day before our trip.”

“Quarreling over what?”

“Zack accused her of stealing drugs from his supplier. She denied it, of course, and told him to piss off.”

“That could be huge,” I said.

“Except Zack wasn’t there in Death Valley.  He had an alibi for that day.”

“And the dealer?”

“Zack wouldn’t tell us his name. Me or the cops.”

“Any follow-up?”

“Not really. Zack’s father is in tight with Chief Howell and the mayor.” 

“Hey, Terry!” I called. Terry took off his earphones. “I’ve got a job for you.”

Rollins’ expression changed.

“Does that mean…?” he began.

“I’m in. If you want to hire me, that is. Better read my contract first.”

“Thank you, thank you!” he gushed.

For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me.