Part 21 (1/2)
You sure this is necessary?” I asked Germaine Dunn, while she sprayed purple and yellow stripes in my hair. ”Ive been meaning to get a cut and maybe some highlights, but this is a little out there for me. I usually shoot for a more traditional look. You know, something that doesnt clash with my Wranglers and holster.”
Dunn stepped back, sized me up, and chuckled, then tried to camouflage her enjoyment behind a studious frown. Her own riotously colored locks hung loosely in curls around her face, and she had enough eye makeup on to play Madame Dracula onstage. ”If youre going to look like one of us, yes, its necessary,” she said, diving right back in and pulling at my hair on both sides of my face to make sure shed cut it evenly. Shed chopped it up in layers, to show off the color, which shed repeatedly a.s.sured me would wash out. I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered what David would think, then reminded myself yet again that what he thought wasnt a concern.
At that moment, Ca.s.sie sauntered out of the trailer bedroom dressed in black leggings and a gold-sequined minidress. Since this wasnt her full stage show, thered be no coc.o.o.n or flying about on wings. But she had on her thick stage makeup, and the kid looked five years older than an hour earlier in the horse shed.
”Wow, Lieutenant, hot look,” she said, with a chuckle. ”Wait until Maggie and your mom see you decked out like a Hollywood chick.”
”Yeah. I cant wait. Somehow I think Im in store for more ribbing than usual,” I said. Looking at her, I considered all the teenager had and was still going through. Tough breaks. Some things didnt seem as important as they once did. ”You know, weve spent a good bit of time together. I wont mind if you call me Sarah.”
The girl looked surprised, but then smiled. ”Okay,” she said.
”Okay who?” I asked.
”Okay, Sarah,” she said, looking pleased and perhaps even grateful.
The kids mood had been lifting ever since shed gotten the news on Peterson. All she talked about was finding him and explaining who she was. That and that alone, she insisted, would end the nightmare.
Still unsure, Id avoided any promises that I wouldnt hurt him. The truth was that the days revelations had made the entire situation even more complicated. All I was certain of was that Justin Peterson had to be stopped before he had time to carry out his threats. Maybe, if we were lucky, Ca.s.sidy was right, and once we had him under control, all wed have to do was talk him through it, explain, and it would all go away. That theory, for some reason, wasnt jiving with my intuition, my subconscious voice that murmured quiet warnings. Over the years, Id learned to pay attention when my instincts radioed all wasnt well.
”How long until the limos here?” she said, turning to Germaine. ”Im jazzed. Ready to go.”
Dunn glanced at the clock next to the mirror and said, ”Forty minutes and counting.”
We were in Ca.s.sies trailer parked within a secured area, near the freight doors on the north side of Reliant Stadium, Houstons state-of-the-art football arena, part of a complex covering acres of land just inside the South 610 Loop. In the vast parking lot, cars and pickups sprawled as far as the eye could see, while a rambling, brightly lit carnival sold Moon Pies, chicken-on-a-stick, funnel cakes, turkey legs, popcorn shrimp, and cotton candy. Ive always enjoyed carnivals. When Maggie was a little kid, we stood in line for twirls on the spinning teacups, but the Ferris wheel was my favorite. I loved soaring stories high, peering down at folks throwing rings onto bottles to win stuffed animals and catching glimpses of the banners that advertised Frog Boy and the Bearded Lady.
While we got ready in Ca.s.sidys bus, the rodeo unfolded inside the stadium. Tons of soft brown dirt had been bulldozed over the football field, turning it into a fitting stage for muscular cowboys who wrestled steers, yanking them down by the horns or tying their legs together in a quest for speed. Bull riders cinched their hands with leather reins to hold on tight, and the crowd cheered as barrel-racing cowgirls maneuvered powerfully built horses at breakneck speeds between brightly colored barrels. A win represented fame, money, and saucer-sized, silver-belt-buckle trophies.
Just after eight, as Germaine put the finis.h.i.+ng touches on my new look, the captain called from his position in the audience to say our forces were prepared, everyone in place. The rodeo events were over, the cowboys backstage nursing their injuries, and workers had taken over, towing a circular, white stage surrounded by a canopy of spotlights onto the floor, readying it for the evenings main event.
Opening day, the grounds pulsed with excitement, and the marquee bordering the freeway read: tonight: ca.s.sidy collins! with the notation: sold out! There was no doubt that the teenager was the years most-sought-after ticket. Reliant held more than seventy thousand, and tonight it overflowed with a record-setting, standing-room-only audience. Every available ticket had been snapped up within fifteen minutes of sale time, a record. Scalpers sold the close-in seats for more than a grand, and the nosebleed accommodations emptied pockets by an average of two hundred bucks.
On this particular night, the crowd was young. As in Dallas, young girls filled the audience, some only eight or nine, many wearing Ca.s.sidy Collins pink T-s.h.i.+rts with sequined b.u.t.terflies and hearts. Their faces mirrored their delight at being among the select. They were the envy of their friends, the kids the others would swarm the following morning at school, pumping for reports about all theyd seen, especially the teenage recording star, what shed worn, what she sang, how she looked.
As the audience grew impatient, the stage was anch.o.r.ed into place and the crew erected three black tents behind it. That done, vans drove across the dirt-covered floor to stock the tents with equipment, props, and Ca.s.sidys wardrobe changes. Meanwhile, digging through the dirt to find electrical outlets, the crew plugged in the stage, powering its canopy ringed with spotlights. Less than half an hour after the rodeo compet.i.tion ended, the chants in the stadium built as the crowds cheered for Ca.s.sidy.
Someone pounded on the trailer door, followed by a gruff voice. ”Were ready for Miss Collins, Lieutenant.”
I opened the door and found Buckshot dressed in blue jeans, a plaid s.h.i.+rt, and his silver belly cowboy hat. ”Youre our driver?” I asked.
”Thats my a.s.signment,” Buckshot growled. ”The captain said I should drop you ladies off at the stage and pick you up at the end of the show, or sooner if that Peterson kid makes a move and we need to evacuate the girl quick.”
”Great,” I said, thinking the captain had made a good choice. Having Buckshot behind the wheel made me relax a bit, but just a bit. The drama Ca.s.sidys life had been barreling toward would take place, good or bad, in the next two hours. Wed done all we could to stack the deck: two hundred cops dressed in plainclothes and carrying copies of Justin Petersons Texas drivers license photo. Their orders: shadow anyone who looked the least bit like the kid. If they thought they had a positive ID, call for backup before confronting the suspect and moving in to make the collar.
”Ca.s.sidy, lets go,” I said. The kid bustled forward, sequins chattering, with Germaine on her tail, and we headed for the black limo parked directly outside the trailer. As we scurried inside, Buckshot scanned the horizon along with a ring of cops disguised as cowboys packing their gear. Moments later, Buckshot was behind the wheel. He drove through the stadium entrance, past the pens where the bulls, horses, steers, and calves queued up for each round of compet.i.tion, while inside the limo, there was silence and a fidgety, uncertain, chest-tightening anxiety that signaled the time had come.
We stopped smack dab in the middle of the stadium, and David opened the door and helped us out. He took my hand, gave me a quizzical look, and said, ”Nice hair.”
”Be careful,” I said. ”I know where you live.”
He laughed. ”Hey, all kidding aside,” he said, suddenly serious. ”Keep safe.”
”You, too,” I said, meaning it.
He nodded, and Ca.s.sidy turned back to yell at us before she ran onto the stage. ”Sarah, remember, hes my brother. Dont hurt him. Okay?”
”Well do our best,” I shouted above the high-pitched screams of the audience, a shrill, near-ear-splitting dissonance. ”And were right here, with you.”
Ca.s.sidy nodded, then turned and ran up the ramp onto the stage. Her band was already in place, playing a pulsing, heavy beat, and she jumped in on cue. As frightened as she must have been, the kid was a trooper, fueled by the cries of her fans and the prospect of discovering a long-lost brother, even if he saw her only as his quarry.
On the stage, Ca.s.sidy joined the dancers and the backup singers, while I followed Germaine into the first black tent. Jake, the sound guy, manned the mixer. Earlier that afternoon, with his help, our computer guys had easily found the chip Peterson inserted in Atlanta. But wed left it in place. For our plan to work, we needed Argus to believe he was the one in control.
I watched from the sidelines, hidden from the audience inside the sound tent as Ca.s.sidy performed on the stage. David stood beside me, as he had in Dallas. This time, however, we had more eyes than Argus, more than four hundred supplied by the two hundred officers, and we knew our preys ident.i.ty, a decided advantage. After the first number, Ca.s.sidy ran down the ramp and into the tent, where Germaine and the dressers waited. They went into high gear, peeling off her clothes and wiggling her into her next costume, a pair of skintight jeans that settled around her hips and a flirty sweater with holes over a white tank top.
”No sign?” she asked, as Germaine ran a brush through her hair, and picked up a tube of lipstick to repair the damage.
”No sign,” I said. ”Were watching. You just do your act, and well do the rest.”
”Okay,” she said, turning and quickly running back toward the stage where the dancers covered for her.
”Any reports?” David asked the captain on his walkie-talkie.
”Nothing,” the captain said. ”Were on full watch.”
On the stage, Ca.s.sidy was on top of her game, roiling her fans into a near frenzy. Even without her golden coc.o.o.n, the kid was a sight to behold, dancing and singing, a smile as wide as her face, her long blond hair flying about her.
The concert proceeded without a glitch, as if it were any other night. There was no stopping the young superstar, as she went from song to song, carrying her fans with her. They sang along, many reciting every word. In between each set, Ca.s.sie ran back to the dressers and searched my eyes for hope that wed made a sighting and that we had the stalker we now believed was her disturbed brother in custody. David and I shook our heads, with no a.s.surances to give her. For more than an hour, she performed as she had many times before, putting every ounce of energy into each song. In the stands, the tens of thousands of girls sang along, waving their arms in the air as they held tiny pink flashlights and glowing pinwheels, making the stadium swim with waves of light.
”The kids actually pretty good,” David said, during the final set. ”Im kind of getting into this.”
I gave him a sideways look and a smile. ”Yeah, she is,” I agreed. ”Just dont start dancing. This isnt the time.”
His eyes were focused on the audience, the stage, surveying the crowds, as we both had throughout the concert, but he laughed. ”Seems to me we danced once, and I rather enjoyed it,” he said.
”Seems to me we did more than that once, and I enjoyed it, too.”
”Well, I do remember . . . ,” he said, with a devilishly broad grin. Whatever else he planned to say was lost as his smile locked in place. His eyes focused on something in the distance, and I tracked them to the figure of a man in the front row, a heavyset guy with unruly dark hair, running toward an aisle, where a low gate led to the arena floor. The object of our attention fussed with the gate, then jumped over it, and David lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes to get a closer look.
”Is that Peterson?” I asked.
Without answering, David b.u.mped the captain on his walkie-talkie. ”Section one-two-seven, first row, center, on the stadium floor and running,” he said.
”About time,” the captain said. ”East center patrols move in. One-two-seven, center, on the ground and running.”
Dozens of officers swarmed out of the audience toward section 127, but then, suddenly, the stadium lights flickered, blinking on, off, on again, then off. Over the loudspeaker Arguss voice came through loud and clear: ”Ca.s.sidy, Im here for you. Im coming.”