Parked in a shady spot behind the Traveler�s Stop convenience store, Betty Jones stood silently beside her car, her elbow resting on the top of it while her fingers worriedly stroked her forehead. A paper cup sat on the hood, holding the melting ice and the last few sips of the fountain drink she had purchased earlier. Her position offered her a clear view of the final length of highway 13 where it connected with a more heavily traveled cross road, and over the past hour, she had frequently looked up that stretch of asphalt, waiting for a solitary figure to materialize. Civilization was encroaching on the desert, and a housing development was being constructed on the highway near the convenience store, but none of the few vehicles that she had occasionally seen coming and going was the bicycle she was looking for.
A store employee had seen her standing there and had come out a half hour earlier to ask if she needed assistance, and she saw him approaching again carrying a bag of trash. �Any sign of him?� he asked as he heaved the large bag into the dumpster. It struck the bottom with a resounding clang.
�No, no sign at all,� she replied, shifting her eyes briefly to his friendly face, before returning her attention to the empty highway again. �Something�s wrong,� she said, her brow furrowed in worry.
The young man paused beside her to look up that stretch of road. �That�s a pretty deserted stretch of highway.�
�That�s what worries me. He could have had an accident or . . . � She stopped abruptly, and altered course. �No. I�m not going to think anything like that. But I am going to take a drive up there and see if I can find him.�
�Good idea,� the young man said. �Be careful. It�ll be getting dark soon. Well, I�d better get back to work.�
She gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, deciding that she should let Barnaby know what was happening. Opening her purse, she fumbled with the coin pocket, searching for change as she strode swiftly across the parking lot toward the phone booth that stood at the corner of the building.
Stepping inside, she lifted the receiver and placed it over her shoulder as she inserted the coins and dialed her father-in-law�s home number.
After two rings, it was answered, and an authoritative voice on the other end said, �Hello.�
�Barnaby, this is Betty. I don�t want to worry you, but I�m at the convenience store to pick up J.R., and he hasn�t shown up. I�ve been waiting for more than an hour.�
A brief pause ensued, and she could easily envision him glancing at his watch to verify the time. �You were supposed to pick him up at five-thirty, right?�
�Yes, and its six forty five now.� Betty�s eyes drifted up the abandoned highway again, hoping beyond hope that she would see a bicycle approaching, but saw nothing except the dirt, rocks, and desert plant life beyond the housing development. As she watched, a construction crew was wrapping things up for the evening, getting into their vehicles and driving away. �He should have been here long before now.�
There was silence on the other end of the phone as Barnaby pondered the information that Betty had just provided. She knew her father-in-law had been worried about this trip, but he hated to jump to conclusions where J.R. was concerned.
�Well, that was a long trip to make on a bicycle. Maybe he miscalculated the length and duration of his trip,� Barnaby suggested.
�I don�t know, Barnaby. J.R.�s pretty good with figures and calculations. You know, it�s going to be dark soon. I�m worried.�
�Okay. Let�s not jump to any conclusions just yet,� Barnaby advised in his slow drawl. �The highway he�s on is rarely used, so I doubt if there has been any kind of vehicular accident involving anyone else. He might have had some other kind of problem with the bike, or maybe the mileages listed on the map he made his calculations from were incorrect. Have you back-tracked his route to see if maybe he�s stranded somewhere?�
�I was just about to do that, but I wanted to let you know what was going on first.�
�I�m glad you did. Let me know what you find out.�
�Okay.� Betty returned the phone to its hook, terminating the call.
Exiting the phone booth, she walked swiftly back to the car and snatched the paper cup off the hood. It was quickly dropped into the dumpster, then she opened the car door and got into the driver�s seat. Fumbling slightly with the keys in her haste, she started the ignition and pulled out onto the lonely stretch of highway that led toward Las Vegas.
After hanging up with Betty, Barnaby sank down onto his sofa and quietly considered everything Betty had told him. Most likely, Jedediah�s bike had broken down somewhere along that stretch, and he was probably sitting at the side of the road waiting for someone to come and get him. But on the off chance that foul play was involved, it was better to be ready to proceed with an investigation.
Reaching for the phone again, he dialed the home phone number of his old friend, Lieutenant Biddle, and after three rings it was answered. �Biddle.�
�John,� he said. �I hope I didn�t get you at a bad time.�
�Just having a quick hamburger, nothing important. You sound a bit stressed. Is something wrong?�
�It�s probably nothing, but . . . . Then again, it could be something. With Jedediah, you never know. For the past few weeks, he�s been worked up over this bike ride he�s been planning. Something to do with a sponsored endurance thing that�s coming up at Smith and Ferguson. It�s all he�s been talking about.�
Biddle smiled fondly. After a rather shaky start, he was starting to like the inquisitive law student who had moved to Los Angeles and joined Barnaby�s detective business a few years back. But then, most people seemed to like the handsome young man. �A bike race? That doesn�t sound like something J.R. would be involved with.�
�Well, there�s a cash prize to the winner, enough to help with his tuition.�
�I see. So is he driving you crazy with it?�
�I�m afraid so. Anyway, he decided he wanted to take this preliminary bike ride all alone down old state highway 13, of all places, to prepare for the race.�
The long pause on the other end of the line suggested that Biddle had failed to comprehend the significance of that.
�You�ve never heard of it?� Barnaby asked rather incredulously. �People who are familiar with that highway call it �Satan�s Ribbon�. It used to be a fairly common route between L.A. and Las Vegas before they built the Interstate, but now it is the most desolate, unused stretch of road in the state.�
�So why did J.R. pick that particular stretch of road to ride on?�
�He said he needed to test his endurance. Anyway, Betty was supposed to pick him up over an hour ago at a designated place, but he hasn�t shown up yet.�
�Think something�s happened?�
�I don�t know. He probably just had a problem with the bike. Betty�s backtracking his route now to see if he�s sitting on the side of the road somewhere.�
�Do you need someone to help look for him?�
�I don�t want to jump to conclusions. Betty will let me know what she finds. I just wanted to let you know in case . . . � He didn�t finish, but Biddle completely understood.
�All right. I�ll be waiting to hear from you.�
�Thanks, John.�
Driving alone on that narrow, abandoned stretch of highway was enough to give anyone the creeps, but in her current state of worry and the growing dusk, Betty was especially anxious
�I�m sure he�s okay,� she said aloud to herself. �He probably just broke down out there somewhere, and is waiting for someone to come pick him up.� Then she sighed heavily and gave a small groan, wishing she felt as confident as her words had sounded. She squinted through the windshield, her eyes carefully scanning the road and the areas alongside it, taking note of each shrub in case J.R. was resting in the shade beside it. The sun was sinking lower in the sky behind her, and after a short time, she removed her sunglasses so that she could see the objects in a more natural setting. The heat and desolation was very concerning, knowing that heat exhaustion could be a factor. Not to mention dehydration.
�Don�t go expecting the worst,� she reprimanded herself sharply. �He has a jug of water. If he�s been using it sparingly, it should last him until I get there.�
Traveling well below the speed limit, Betty searched the desolate landscape for any signs of the missing law student. She saw only the dry, dusty terrain and the desert plant life, and by keeping her eyes riveted on the areas at the sides of the road, she passed right by the large X on the road without ever seeing it. All the while, the sun was setting lower in the sky behind her.
Finally, she saw the cluster of buildings and the rather dilapidated sign announcing The Desert Oasis, the place J.R. had said he planned to stop and rest and grab a bite to eat. She turned on the blinker to announce her intention to turn into the parking lot, even though there was no one around to see it. Slowly, she pulled alongside the bank of pumps at the service station, and turned off the engine. For several moments, she sat in silence and gazed at the abandoned establishments.
It had clearly been vacant for a while, and the ravages of time had not been kind to the place. Barnaby had said he had been there about a year ago, returning from a fishing trip, but it looked like it had been abandoned for years. The heat and the dry desert were doing their best to destroy the man-made items.
After her brief perusal of the buildings, she opened the car door and got out. �J.R.?� she called. �J.R., are you here?�
When there was no answer, she leaned back inside the vehicle and pressed the car horn. The sound it made was loud beneath the awning, yet it seemed to dissipate quickly, carried away by the heat and the breeze, and as it faded, it was replaced by the light wind whispering in the rafters.
Betty nervously dragged her fingers through her hair and turned slowly in a circle, waiting for the expected reply from her friend. After several long moments, her heart sank with the reality that J.R. was not present. Had he been close enough to hear it, he would have responded.
�J.R, where are you?� she asked aloud. She pressed the car horn once more, and listened carefully as the sound of it faded away again. Worriedly, she turned toward the east, toward the direction she had dropped him off. There was no way of knowing if he had actually made it as far as the rest stop.
It was almost dark now, and she did not want to drive several more hours to the east on this lonely stretch of road, but by the same token, she did not want to leave J.R. out there all night by himself.
With a sigh of despair, she glanced at the western horizon, willing the sun to stay in place a while longer, long enough to find J.R. Ignoring her silent pleas, the sun continued its downward drift.
Somberly, she got back inside the car, and after one final visual inspection of the abandoned rest stop, she turned the car to the east toward the place where she had left J.R. on the highway, determined to search every inch until she found him.
The sun had slipped over the western horizon, leaving only a faint yellow glow in its wake. Behind it, the long blanket of darkness stretched across the landscape, chasing away the last remnants of daylight. Soon, it would be dark. Spending the night in the desert with an escaped convict on the loose was more of an adventure than J.R. had bargained for.
Stopping to rest for a few moments, his eyes studied the heavens. Twilight was a difficult time of day for navigating. The sun was gone, and the stars were not yet out. He had hoped to be at the Oasis by now, but the uneven terrain and exhaustion were slowing his progress, and he was starting to wonder if he had somehow missed it. With many shallow dips and small rises of ground to block his view, it would not be too surprising if he had passed behind it without seeing it.
As he had done many times, he glanced behind him to make certain he were not being followed, scanning the desert for signs of danger lurking nearby. In the dusky shadows of the rough topography, there were many bushes, rocks, and other natural geographic features, but this time he was startled by something that moved slightly. Squinting through the growing dusk, he saw that it was an upright figure, and as he watched, it reached up with an arm to scratch its head as it, too, examined the topography in search of something.
J.R. instantly dropped to the ground, trying to ignore the stab of pain that jarred his sore shoulder. Flat on the ground, he lay still and quiet for several moments, his hand pressing against his shoulder until the pain began to ease. He knew better than to even hope that the person out there might be someone besides Jessup.
After several minutes had passed, he rose up on his elbows, peering over the rocks and dry desert shrubs to verify whether or not he had been spotted. In the distance and the fading light, it was difficult to see the face of the man who stood there, but his bulk left no doubt in his mind that it was Jessup. The criminal was turned slightly away from him, his hands on his hips as he scanned the desert with his eyes, searching for indication that his prey was nearby. Jessup had obviously been serious in his threat to hunt him down and kill him.
J.R. watched as the convict reached up to scratch his dirty salt and pepper hair again, but could only wonder what kind of parasites his fingers were chasing around his scalp; probably lice, he decided. Maybe fleas. Jessup scanned the desert in all directions, turning a slow circle, but in the dusk he failed to notice the young man who watched from the slight dip in the desert terrain. After a moment of indecision, he turned around and began walking again, moving away from the P.I.
J.R. shrank back down, satisfied that he had not been seen, and lay quietly for several more moments. He doubted that the killer had followed him all this way on foot. More likely, he was stopping the car at intervals and walking a short distance into the desert in an attempt to find him. That meant that J.R. was staying on course, a fact which lifted his heart somewhat, for hit meant he was not wandering aimlessly into the desert. The Desert Oasis, then, must still be somewhere ahead of him. Unfortunately, it also meant that Jessup was headed that direction.
When it felt safe, he got up off the ground and, stooping forward in an attempt to make himself less conspicuous, he began moving once again in the direction of the rest stop.
It was completely dark when Betty finally reached the spot where she had left J.R. on the highway. She pulled the car off the road onto the hard ground and sat quietly for several moments, looking out across the dark, barren landscape. The headlights illuminated a narrow path in front of her, but there was no sign of J.R. anywhere, in front or behind. She recalled watching him as she had returned to the Interstate for the faster trip back to the city, and now relived the apprehension she had felt at leaving him in the desert all alone.
Finally, she opened the car door and stepped out, leaving the vehicle idling, its motor a steady rumble in the otherwise quiet desert. The air was hot and dry and very still, and the darkness was nearly overwhelming. Somewhere along this stretch of road, something had happened to J.R.
�J.R.!� she shouted.
As her call faded away, it was followed by silence. There was not even a breeze blowing now. Stars were beginning to come out, more stars than one could ever see in the city, but she could not appreciate them now. She did not bother pressing the car�s horn. She knew that J.R., wherever he was, could not hear it.
She had found no sign of him along the highway. There should have been something, she reasoned. There should have been some sign of what had happened. But there was nothing. It was as if the desert had just swallowed him and the bicycle, leaving no trace of them anywhere.
In the distance, she heard the yammering cry of a desert coyote, a sound which made the hair on the back of her neck prickle.
With nothing else to do, she got back in the car and turned onto the road which led back to the Interstate. There was no need to take the long way back again. It was too dark to see anything.
Upon reaching the Los Angeles area, Betty turned off the Interstate and pulled into the first convenience store she came to. She did not want to wait until she got home to call Barnaby, knowing that he would be waiting anxiously for word, so she stopped beside the phone booth and got out of the car again.
With nervous fingers, she inserted the coins in the slot and dialed Barnaby�s number.
�I drove all the way out to the spot where I left him, and there was no sign of him,� she said when her father in law answered. �I stopped at The Desert Oasis too, to see if he made it that far. It was completely deserted, Barnaby; boarded up and out of business. I wanted to keep looking, but it was getting dark and that is a long stretch of highway. I had no idea where to start looking!�
�No, you did the right thing in coming back, Betty,� he assured her. �In the dark, it would like trying to find a needle in a haystack.�
�I should have come across him on the road, or at least some sign of what might have happened to him. Do you think someone might have picked him up?�
�I have no idea, but I can�t rule out that possibility. Did you see much traffic on that highway?�
�Not a single vehicle. You can�t imagine how creepy it is out there, especially after it got dark.�
Barnaby sighed, trying to think of what the next step should be, especially in regard to the darkness. �It�s too late to get a search team in place tonight. I think you should start heading back this way.�
Betty hesitated. �I just hate to give up like that. Maybe we could drive out there together.�
�As much as I would like to, I�m afraid there�s nothing we can do until daylight,� Barnaby told her. �As you said, that�s a long stretch of highway, and in the dark it would take us half the night to travel it and we still might miss him. We�ll head out early in the morning.�
�That means he�ll have to spend the night out here. Alone.�
Barnaby grimaced at the thought of his young cousin spending the night in the hostile environment, particularly on the chance that he might be injured. �I don�t know what else we can do. I�ll call John Biddle and ask him to start getting a search party organized.�
Betty was forced to concede that her father in law was right. She squirmed uncomfortably in her concern for her young friend and colleague. �You�re right. I just feel so helpless.�
�I know,� Barnaby agreed. �So do I.�
Betty hesitated briefly, reluctant to even speak the words, but knew that they needed to be said, �Barnaby, what if he had an accident? Maybe someone happened by and struck him, or maybe they came across him hurt. They might have taken him to the hospital. That would explain why I didn�t see him on the road.�
�I was thinking the same thing, but didn�t want to say it,� Barnaby admitted. �I�ll notify the local police departments to be on the lookout for him and check with the area hospitals. Just in case. If he�s not at any of them, we�ll head out at daylight.�
�All right. I�ll head on home for now. And if you find out anything, please let me know.�
�I will,� Barnaby promised. He hung up the phone, and immediately lifted it again and dialed John Biddle�s number. When the lieutenant answered, he said, �John, Betty just called. There was no sign of Jedediah. I hate to ask, but is there any chance of getting a search party organized tonight?�
�I can set the wheels in motion, but there is no way I can send men out in the desert in the dark. I know you�re worried about him, but it�s just too dangerous. I can�t risk someone falling off a cliff or down a ravine that they couldn�t see because of the dark. I�ll head into the office and start making some calls.�
�I�ll join you,� Barnaby told him.
�There�s no need for that. You stay home and get some rest. I�ll call you when everything is in place.�
�I couldn�t rest, knowing that Jedediah is out there somewhere. I�ll see you in a few minutes.�
Before Biddle could protest, Barnaby hung up the phone and fished his keys out of his pocket.
Go to Act V