“Your son called me yesterday around nine in the evening. He was distraught. When he got back to the hotel at seven, Terry was gone. She wasn’t answering her cell phone, so he called you. When he couldn’t get hold of either of his parents, he called me. So I took him in for the night because he didn’t want to sleep at his aunt’s house. So now I’m responsible for your kid until you get here. Where are you?”

“I’m in Nevada. My receptionist told me you called.”

“You need to come to L.A. We need to talk.”

“What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know and that’s why we need to talk—”

“So fucking talk!”

“Not over the phone,” Decker said calmly. “In person. You’ve got to come here anyway. Your son is here, remember?”

“Okay, okay, lemme think a moment.” He was muttering to himself. “When did she…I mean how long has she been missing?”

“Long enough that there may be a problem—”

“Is her car gone?”

“Chris, I can’t tell you over the phone. How soon can you return to L.A.?”

“Shit! What time is it?”

“Around six.”

“Fuck!” The sound of something crashing over the line. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! When did this happen? Yesterday?”

“Yes. Chris, I’ll fill you in once you’re in L.A. How soon can you get here?”

“I’m two hours out of Vegas. I drove in, so I don’t have my plane. By the time I get to McCarren and into LAX, I wouldn’t make it before eleven or so. Driving would take five to six hours…fuck! Let me see if I can lease something at the local airport. I’ll call you back.” Donatti disconnected the line.

Decker put down his cell and drummed his fingers on his desk, waiting for further information. But his mind was on a particular thought.

I drove in, so I don’t have my plane.

I drove.

Lots of empty land and deserted highway between California and Nevada. The vast, unpopulated tracks that cut through the Mojave, with their infinite miles of nothingness, had always made for fertile dumping grounds.

CHAPTER ELEVEN