Page 30 of Identity Unknown
While I’m helping her, a black Tahoe rolls into the parking lot, stopping close to us. Leaving the engine running, the wipers going, Tron climbs out the driver’s side. Attractive and solidlybuilt, she’s in black tactical clothing and waterproof boots. Her black windbreaker has the Secret Service star on the shoulder, her gun on her hip.
“Welcome to Oz.” She walks up to us, rain dripping from the bill of her baseball cap. She makes a big production of looking under the helicopter. “Just checking that you didn’t land on the Wicked Witch,” she quips as Lucy bends another rotor blade within reach and I slip the nylon cover over the tip.
“The flight from hell,” Marino complains. “You should be glad you weren’t on it.”
“I will be soon enough.” She gives him one of her winning smiles.
We help load our gear into the Tahoe, slamming the tailgate shut. Marino and I settle into the backseat as Tron climbs behind the wheel. Lucy is up front next to her, and she hands back a roll of paper towels.
“Thanks.” Marino tears off sheets, dropping them in my lap, and we pat ourselves dry enough that at least we’re not dripping.
We slowly bump along the Yellow Brick Road, the pavers paint-chipped, some of them missing. The fabled thoroughfare leads to the park’s many attractions, and I remember the festive Lollipop Guild tramcar welcoming guests by song while driving to the rides, shops and other entertainments.
“Still no luck with any personal effects?” I ask Tron. “Has anything at all turned up?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Not even inside his truck?” I ask.
“Rescuers looked through the windows and didn’t see anything inside,” she replies.
“I hope that’s all they’ve done is look,” Marino butts in. “The truck’s not to be opened before we can process it.”
“We got the DNA and fingerprints of the first responders making sure anything found isn’t from them. The doors were locked and stayed locked. Nobody’s opened anything.” Tron leaves out the part that it won’t be us doing the examination.
“What about a picnic basket with wine, olive oil, cheese and such?” I explain that I watched Sal place it in his truck yesterday morning.
“There was no mention of that or anything else, including his phone and laptop,” Tron says, the wipers sweeping rain off the windshield in a monotonous thumping.
The Munchkin carousel is silent and lonely in the deluge, and I remember the statue of the Wicked Witch in her pointed hat. Her eyes would light up red, a recording blasting her shrieking laughter whenever people walked past. She’s dark and silent now, listing to one side, her arms broken and green face smashed as if someone went after her with a baseball bat.
We follow the Yellow Brick Road into the Haunted Forest, passing the ten-foot-tall Tin Man fabricated of steel that’s now dented and spray painted. His oilcan cap and axe are missing. Blighted by a heavy rash of rust, he looks sad and abused, his mouth forever clamped shut. When he’d come to life, his eyes moved side to side as the music started. “If I only had a heart,” he seemed to sing.
Next is the Scarecrow hanging from a post as if crucified, his straw and clothing mostly rotted and scattered. Tangles of dead electrical cables are all that’s left of the Cowardly Lion. I can still hear his talking statue wishing for courage, andeverything I’m seeing is depressing. I wonder when Ryder Briley was here last to check on his property. It’s shameful that he’d allow the beloved theme park to slip into such disrepair.
“Looks like he wanted the place destroyed after it closed,” I comment.
“Send in the vandals and start collecting insurance payouts,” Tron says. “He writes off this place as a huge loss year after year. It’s more profitable for him than selling it. For one thing, who would want it in this day and age? Especially way out here with hardly anything around it.”
“We’ve had Ryder Briley on our radar for a while,” Lucy explains. “Insurance fraud is one of his specialties.”
“That and getting away with it,” Tron adds.
The Tahoe sloshes over yellow bricks that are muddy and puddled, either side of us crowded with apple trees in bloom, the picnic tables overgrown. Heavy branches seem to grab at us, their pale blossoms driven down by the wind and rain. The small petals stick to the paint and glass, the ground carpeted white.
As we near the Witch’s Castle, five unmarked police SUVs and a van materialize in the mist. Quiet and with lights out, they’re parked in a clearing where two tents have been set up. One is blue and large, the other black and smaller, and they’re some distance apart on the Yellow Brick Road.
Flashes of lightning silhouette the castle, the roller-coaster tracks beyond undulating like a dragon’s back. Thunder cracks and reverberates as if we’re under attack, salvos of rain smacking and flooding the windshield.
“Anybody besides me wondering about the significance of him being abducted on his birthday?” Tron is saying as sheparks close to the tents. “I can’t stop thinking about it because it doesn’t strike me as coincidental. I guess it could be. But if not? I’m feeling a lot of hate. Someone had one hell of a point to make.”
“It also implies planning in advance.” Lucy takes off her seat belt. “Sal Giordano didn’t just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and someone grabbed him, dumping him in Oz.”
“Assuming he was targeted, whoever’s responsible would know a lot about him.” I place my briefcase in my lap. “Including that it was his sixtieth birthday yesterday. And that he was on his way to Green Bank. And where he was staying and eating dinner.” I talk about him logically as if he’s someone else. Otherwise, I won’t be able to bear it.
“Considering who we might be dealing with, assume nothing is random,” Lucy says as we climb out of the Tahoe, rainwater drenching my hair and soaking into my clothing. “Everything means something when the perpetrator has incentive and all the time and resources needed.”
“Who are you talking about?” Marino looks peaked from our turbulent ride, standing in the downpour as if it might feel good to him. “You got someone in particular in mind? Because that’s what it’s sounding like.”