Donaldson had said, in a deliberately accusative manner, this generated two equally alarming possibilities. The first was there was a fantasist ex-cop, running around sharing all sorts of wild claims with national agencies; the second was three thousand police officers across two states had failed to notice a mobile nest of serial killers operating in their own back yards.

It had taken some time, but Gretsch had gone through Leighton’s history with Donaldson, explaining he was generally considered unstable and should be ignored. He, of course, made no reference to the incident at Black Mountain Ranch, in which Leighton had saved both his chief’s life and his career. Instead, Gretsch painted a picture of depressive cop, with an unhealthy fixation on a vulnerable young woman.

The bus story was, he suggested, probably just something Jones had invented to keep the girl scared, and therefore, interested. Donaldson listened in ambiguous silence then suggested Gretsch should formulate a strategy to deal with the situation a little more effectively.

As he hung up the phone, Gretsch leaned back in his chair and stretched. He had taken a single sip of now cold coffee and a second bite of his sandwich, when there was an abrupt rap on the office door, which opened, and Officer Lusk entered, holding a sheet of A4 paper in front of him like a thin shield.

‘Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch, but think you should know about this.’

‘Okay.’ Gretsch wiped at his mouth with a white handkerchief. ‘What is it?’

‘Well, it relates to this business with Leighton Jones.’

‘There’s a fucking surprise.’ Gretsch belched, and waved his hand dismissively. ‘Go on.’

‘Yesterday morning, we took a call from a guy called Coombs, whose elderly mother was due to arrive in San Francisco on Monday, only she never showed up.’

‘So what? Elderly folks regularly go walkabout every day.’

‘He called his mom’s neighbour and asked him to check. The neighbour confirmed the house was locked up, and said he saw Mrs. Coombs leave.’

‘Is that it? You interrupt my brief fucking lunch for that?’

‘Wait, there’s more. Mr. Coombs also said he booked his mother on to a new bus service. Got the ticket himself on-line. Anyway, he said when he tried to call the bus company to see if the lady got on the coach, the company doesn’t seem to exist.’

Gretsch narrowed his eyes, and pushed the remainder of his sandwich away. He then sat up, placed his shoulders on the desk, and pushed his fingers together.

‘Anything else?’ he asked, in a slightly more concerned tone than before.

Lusk nodded.

‘This morning, we got a call from Detective Steve Abornazine up in Laughlin. He’s following up a missing person report on one Joanne Palmer - a twenty-five-year-old female, who apparently boarded a bus to San Diego, and never showed up at her destination either.’

‘Any witnesses see her get on this bus?’

‘Yeah, her boyfriend, apparently. He was the one who called it in.’

The colour began to drain from Gretsch’s face.

‘That’s not all,’ Lusk continued nervously. ‘Dispatch received a call from a man over in Blyth, who believes his wife was abducted this afternoon. He reported seeing, I quote, “a large, silver bus” in the vicinity at the time, and he believes it may be involved.’

‘Shit!’ Gretsch took his head in his hands.

‘Then, a couple of minutes ago, we got this call from Leighton Jones.’

‘What did he say?’

‘That he’s staked out a bus-stop, where he believes the suspect vehicle will show up. He’s requesting back-up.’

‘Did he mention having anyone else with him?’

‘Yes.’ Lusk checked his notepaper. ‘Vicki Reiner. He said she had made a booking on the bus.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I haven’t answered. He’s still on the line out there.’ Lusk glanced back towards the reception area.

‘He’s on the line right now?’

‘Yeah, I didn’t want to respond without speaking to you.’

‘Okay, tell him that we are keen to help, and we’ll send assistance to support him. Then, dispatch a cruiser with the instructions to arrest Jones, and bring the old bastard in!’

‘What do we charge him with?’

‘Everything we can!’

After Lusk left the office, Gretsch groaned, picked up his coffee mug, and threw it at the wall, where it exploded into white porcelain shards.

37

Leighton sat sweating behind the wind-shield on the opposite side of the road, while Vicki stood nervously at the bus stop. His car was pulled back from the road, partly concealed between two empty shells of buildings, but still having a clear view of the bus stop.

The former detective was nervous as hell. Firstly, he was concerned for the safety of the girl standing at the bus stop, and occasionally waving a discreet hand at him. In many ways, he felt the plan was flimsy as hell, and yet, he cared enough for Vicki to go along with it. She was right, too - this was the closest they had come to seeing if the damned bus even existed. Secondly, he knew he had already broken a number of laws to even get this far, and his phone call to the station had done little to reassure him.

An unfamiliar officer had taken the call. They had sounded initially dismissive, and then alarmed, as Leighton explained what he and Vicki were planning to do.

Eventually, after some dead time on the line, when the officer went to check with a more senior officer, they had agreed to send some type of assistance. Now, alone in his car, without the comfort of a valid police badge, Leighton hoped to hell they hadn’t been lying.

After a smattering of cars and trucks passed them, the silver bus finally appeared on the horizon, shimmering in the heat-haze of the road. Leighton watched intently as Vicki held up one hand to shield her eyes from the scorching sun, and used the other to wave to the bus. While this happened, a reflected glint of sunlight from the bus bounced off something on the floor of Leighton’s car. The flash of light caught his eye, and he glanced down to see the revolver he had given to Vicki was half concealed. As he reached down to recover the weapon, the bus pulled up to the stop, blocking Leighton’s view.

‘Shit!’ He reached down fumbling to reach the weapon. ‘Hey, Vicki!’ he called, and clambered out of the car.

At that moment, there was a loud whoop as a police cruiser appeared from nowhere and screeched to a stop in front of Leighton’s car, blocking it in. For a moment, Leighton felt relief, as he stupidly assumed that the officers had arrived to deal with the bus, but this notion was quickly dispelled when two officers tumbled from the car and pointed their guns towards him rather away from him.

‘Drop the weapon, Jones!’ the taller of the two officers shouted at him.

‘Wait, that’s the bus I called about…’

‘Drop the fucking weapon, or I will shoot.’

Caught between confusion and panic, Leighton let the revolver fall to the ground, and held his hands up. One of the officers, a tall lean man called John Ross, hurried to him, grabbed Leighton by the wrist, and twisted it, turning him around, and slamming him against his car.

‘Listen,’ Leighton tried. ‘You’ve got to list-’

Leighton felt his feet kicked apart. Someone grabbed his head, and his hands were roughly pushed together and cuffed. He twisted his face to look towards the bus, which was pulling away. When the silver bulk had passed, Leighton found, as he expected, the bus stop was empty.

‘Leighton Jones, I am arresting you on suspicion of trespass, theft, and the abduction of a vulnerable person. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney …’

He didn’t hear the rest. All of his mental processes were consumed by the horror of Vicki’s situation, and the fact she was onboard the fleeing bus, unarmed.