I really needed was a little peace and quiet and all the lumps and bruises would take care of themselves.
After a while it became apparent that things were not going well for the police. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Silva was trapped in my house. How could he not be caught? I thought this would be a simple matter of breaking the door down and storming the place, but time went on and I got the distinct impression that something was wrong. A helicopter came flying overhead circling the neighborhood. I was relieved no shots had been fired, but the silence was grating on me. I was getting impatient and antsy. I was just getting up to start pacing when Michaels jogged up.
“Silva’s not in there,” he stated. “The house is empty. There’s no sign of him in the house or the yard. That’s a good-sized fence in back and the lock is still on the gate. Any ideas where he might be?”
“Empty house and empty yard?”
“Yup.”
Then I remembered! Plan B! Silva had used my Plan B and jumped my back fence using the A-frame just like I was going to!
“I know where he is!” The two looked at me like I was nuts. “Well, I don’t know right now but I can find him.” I took off at a fast walk toward my house. I don’t know why I didn’t think to drive, maybe because you can’t track in a car and I was suddenly in tracking mode. I was only two short blocks from my street. Michaels dashed after me pulling me up.
“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going back there.”
I spun around to face him. “I am and I know what I’m doing. You can come along if you stay behind me. I need to see where I’m going and what I’m doing. I won’t go too close. I promise.”
“Why? Why do you think you have to do this?”
“Because I can. I know I can. I know what he did to get away and I have tracked all my life. I’ve been watching him for two days. I know his walk and his mannerisms. It’s where my talent lies, in observation and tracking.” I let the determination show on my face. It’s a little hard to get my five foot four inch frame to stand up to a six-foot hunk of a guy, but I’d been doing it since I was old enough to walk and he backed off.
I walked into my neighborhood. It was spooky quiet. Did they evacuate it? My house was taped off and men walked back and forth through the front door. I passed up my street and went to the next one. I knocked on the door of the house directly behind mine. Michaels followed.
“What are we doing?” Michaels asked me.
“Plan B. We’re doing what I was planning on doing if you hadn’t showed up.”
Lorraine wasn’t answering her door. “Lorraine,” I shouted, “It’s Cass! I need to talk to you. The police are with me. It’s okay.” The door opened a crack, then opened wider.
“What the hell are you doing out. With all this ruckus, you should be locked in your house!”
“Been there, done that. I need to see your backyard. I think the guy the police are looking for came through here.” She blanched. She looked at Michaels, who showed her his badge.
“Okay.”
I walked around to her side gate. It was swinging open. Her backyard was still dirt for which I was very grateful. Michaels tried to go first but I held out my arm.
“I need to be able to read the signs. His footprints are right here so we know he left this place but we need to see what he did back here. It’ll tell us a lot about his frame of mind.”
I followed the clear footprints to a pile of junk by the back fence. I almost laughed. I was right, Silva had used the A-frame in my yard just as I’d planned to and jumped the fence. He crash landed on this pile of junk and rolled off. There were clear prints of his hands and knees in the dirt beside the pile. He had crouched beside the junk pile, probably listening for the police and checking out Lorraine’s house as a possible new hostage situation. He’d decided to run for it and his dash for the gate was plain. He was in a hurry, and he was pushing himself. His footprints were not the pattern of a seasoned runner. These footprints showed desperation. Then he had staggered off through the gate and into the neighborhood. I took mental notes on his footprints; big feet, the pattern of the tread, how he favored his right foot. The tread was more worn down on the left side of his left shoe. It all matched up to what I’d already observed while I’d been captive.
When I returned to the gate, I was back to guessing. I looked up and down the street. There had been a police cruiser stationed at the end of the cul de sac preventing him from jumping that wall. He had to go straight but how did the police miss seeing him? I put myself in Silva’s shoes and the large bushes directly across the street beckoned. I crossed the street and poked around behind the bushes. The footprints in the soft soil behind the bushes were plain. He’d crawled through the bushes and made his way from yard to yard taking advantage of the landscaping. When he’d gotten to the end of the street there was more cover, but I thought he would aim for the vacant lot at the end of Joshua Street. I jogged down to the end of the street and stopped at the curb of the pavement. The streets in my neighborhood all drain this way so there is always a big puddle at the end of Joshua Street. Silva didn’t know that.
The construction companies in these high desert communities tend to buy up several acres of land and plant a neighborhood smack dab in the middle of a large vacant lot so around the edges of Joshua Hills little four and five block neighborhoods dot the desert floor, all surrounded by desert sand, perfect for tracking. My neighborhood was no exception.
“Stay here,” I instructed, “I’m not going far.” I inched around the puddle. There was a scuff on the near side. He’d seen the puddle in time to avoid it. I needed to make certain it was Silva that came through here. Anyone could have made the scuff recently. Kids hunted tadpoles here all the time. On the far side, Silva’s clear print showed. He was running. I signaled Michaels that he could follow me again.
I was glad Silva didn’t expect to be followed on foot. He wasn’t being careful at all. His trail was clear, leading in a straight line through the vacant lot. He’d stumbled once on a loose rock and kept going. I didn’t see sign of a chase. He must have cleared out before the police saw him get away.
My thoughts ran on ahead as my feet and eyes followed the trail. He was going to get tired quick. This guy wasn’t used to running. He was going to look for cover real soon, and the cover up ahead wasn’t what I wanted him to go for.
There was a mobile home park to our right with a short wall. Inside it was all cement and pavement again. If he went in there, I’d probably lose him. I was hoping he would go for the other mobile home park across Elm Boulevard. It had dirt streets and the trailers were less populated. If I were Silva, I’d go for the older one. More chances of finding a hiding place there. Michaels was keeping up easily. I was walking fast, only verifying the sign. When I was looking for lost kids, I studied the trail, learning all I could about the person I was tracking. In this case, I knew as much as I wanted to know about Silva. I just wanted the trail to end. The signs continued past the fancy mobile homes. Like I thought, the skirted homes didn’t offer the cover he wanted. I headed for the next park.
Silva had stopped at Elm, probably waiting for traffic to clear. We had to wait, too. The light was failing. A police cruiser headed our way and Michaels flagged it down and asked for a flashlight.
“What are you doing out here?” The cop asked.
“We’re tracking Silva. We’ve
