Chapter Five: Dawn of a New Day

Unable to stand lying on his right side a minute longer, Steve rolled carefully onto his stomach pillowing his head in his arms. It wasn't his favorite sleeping position, but he didn't figure he'd be sleeping much more anyway. He'd been awakened sometime during the night by thunder and, soon after, another flaw of the dilapidated cabin had come to light. Directly over his head, the roof had begun leaking. He had tried to shift away from the wetness only to discover two more wet spots on the floor from other leaks. Curling into a fetal position to avoid the worst of it, he'd drifted back to sleep listening to the storm and dreaming of being warm and dry in his own bed.

The hardness of the floor and the dampness of his clothing were vivid reminders he wasn't home. Steve longed for a hot shower. He hadn't been given the opportunity to bathe yet, and he hadn't seen Cletus or Donald take a bath yet either. Cletus must figure if one bath a week was enough for Ma and Pa Ingalls, then it's good enough for us too, Steve thought sarcastically, recalling the "Little House on the Prairie" books. In his mind, he could still hear his dad reading them aloud to Carol. It had been a nightly ritual between them for many years. Steve smiled at the memory. He'd be willing to bet Cletus had never read aloud to Donald.

Even when there was no food in Walnut Grove and Pa couldn't find any game, Ma could still find a way to make a decent meal, Steve thought grumpily as his stomach rumbled. Dinner the night before had consisted of stale white bread and some type of canned mystery meat. Even his unsophisticated palate had balked at that. Steve shuddered. He hoped he wouldn't get botulism from eating the meat. That's all he needed on top of all his aches and pains. Forcing his mind away from thoughts of a big plate of ribs with extra sauce, he turned his attention to reviewing his escape plan.

His options were limited, Steve knew, and his chances for successfully getting away from Donald and Cletus were slim, but he had to try. He was tired of being the victim; of having no control over what was going to happen next. It was high time he forced the action. The only time he had any freedom was when they unlocked his shackle and let him use the outhouse. He'd have to make a break for it then. Steve felt he was at a disadvantage without a weapon and decided he had to try and grab one as he made his escape. Cletus held his rifle with the deceptive ease that came with being an experienced hunter or marksman. Steve knew he'd have little chance of getting it away from him, and that he should try for Donald's rifle. It was obvious he didn't have the same confidence handling a weapon his father did.

The other factor Steve knew he had to take into account was the weather. Without any knowledge of where they were, he'd be running totally on instinct. He wanted to avoid the dirt road that Cletus had booby-trapped. Even though it was his best chance of getting to help, he couldn't afford the risk of setting one of them off. No, he was going to have to take his chances by going deeper into the surrounding woods and hope he could find somewhere to hide until he got his bearings. All of this would be easier if the sun was shining. For one thing, he'd be able to use the sun's position in the sky to guide him. More importantly, in his weakened condition, prolonged exposure to a cold rain would sap his limited energy. Satisfied he'd done all the advanced planning he could, Steve sighed and tried to find a more comfortable position on the wood floor while awaiting Cletus' wake up call.

Sloans' Deck

On the other side of the room, Donald awoke from an uneasy sleep filled with dreams of courtrooms, judges, and a jury of 12 cops proclaiming him guilty for the kidnapping and death of Lieutenant Steve Sloan. The cop's father, Mark Sloan, had been in the courtroom too and had stared at him with hard eyes as the verdict had been read. You promised not to hurt my son if I helped you, the white haired doctor had yelled while pointing an accusing finger at Donald. I did what you asked, but you still took my son from me!

Donald lay quietly trying to slow his erratic breathing. He didn't want to wake the cop or his pa. The cop needed all the rest he could get to recover from the beatings inflicted by his pa and if Cletus was asleep it meant he couldn't abuse them. Even as an adult, Donald stilled feared his pa's fearsome temper. Truce or no truce between them, it hadn't taken Donald long to figure out that Cletus' way of solving any problem or disagreement was still with violence or with the threat of violence. He'd done his best to shield Tucker from as much as of it as possible, but he was afraid his best hadn't been good enough. Tucker was in jail and he and Pa had kidnapped a cop. Can life get any worse? Donald thought. Sure, there's a good chance we could all end up in jail. Maybe they'll give me and Tucker and Pa adjoinin' cells.

A slight noise from across the room had Donald risking moving to check on their prisoner. All seemed to be quiet. He must've heard the cop shifting from his side to his stomach. Donald thought again about the lacerations on the cop's back. It would probably be a while before he could sleep comfortably on his back even if they didn't get infected. He'd have to try and remember to put more salt on them when Pa went to the outhouse.

Their conversation from the morning before replayed itself in Donald's mind. The cop had sounded sure his pa would've helped them clear Tucker if they'd just gone to him and asked. Could it have been that easy? In Donald's experience nobody helped nobody without wantin' somethin' in return, and he knew he had nothin' the doctor would want. He couldn't forget the look of pain in the cop's eyes when he'd described how his pa had been sent to jail for a crime he hadn't committed. If the story was true, and Donald had no reason to doubt it wasn't, then maybe the fancy doctor did know a little bit about life's harsher realities.

Donald shifted uneasily in his bed. The love the cop had for his pa was obvious in the way his eyes crinkled and his voice changed when he talked about him. Donald couldn't imagine having a relationship like that with Cletus. His pa would consider it a sign of a weak man. The only kind of weakness Pa liked to see was the pain and fear of those he tormented.

One thing for certain, Donald knew his boy hadn't killed that other kid. He'd been determined to do whatever it took to make sure Tucker didn't spend the rest of his life in jail. That's why he and Pa had done what they'd done. Now, though, he was having second thoughts. Was this the right thing? Was there really a way out? The cop had seemed sure when he'd said it wasn't too late to stop all of this before it went too far. Donald wasn't keen on spendin' the rest of his life in jail, but if confessin' to the crime himself meant Tucker went free then he'd do it. Pa wouldn't be happy about it, but maybe he should call the doctor and try talkin' to him. If he was as reasonable a man as the cop said, then maybe there was a chance the cop could live and none of the Baxter clan would end up on death row.

Sloans' Deck

Tucker huddled on his bunk at the Los Angeles Men's Central Jail. He'd tried to act tough in front of the doctor but, in reality, being in jail scared him. He especially hated the hours around dawn. The safety of sleep was gone and the anxiety of being thrust among the other hardened prisoners was nearly overwhelming. Making matters worse, his small size made him easy prey for some of the bigger, meaner prisoners. Tucker had heard their veiled threats and innuendo when he'd arrived. Perhaps recognizing his naiveté, his cellmate, a big, tough ex-biker, had taken Tucker under his wing and so far had protected him from their threats. Tucker wasn't sure what was going to happen to him when his protector was transferred to another facility in just a few short days.

"Does this person also love you, if they're willing for you to take the fall for them?"

The doctor's question echoed in Tucker's mind. The day before he'd dismissed it as unimportant. He'd been sure of the answer, and the reasons for his actions had been clear in his own mind. In the early morning light, the answer was no longer as clear. Was he doing this for the right reasons or was he trying to win the love and approval of someone who could never give him what he needed? Tucker wanted more out of life than his pa and grampa had. He'd been looking forward to graduating, thinking about applying to a trade school or even college, but none of that would happen if he was in jail. In the end, he'd be no better than Gramps or Pa.

Reaching under his pillow, Tucker found the small card the doctor had handed him. He could still see the pain in the man's eyes as he had pleaded with him to tell him anything about where Gramps and Pa had taken his son. Tucker wondered what it would be like to be loved like that. Would his pa be willing to plead for his return if the situation was reversed? Sadly, he decided he couldn't say for sure. Tucker fingered the card thoughtfully. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to talk to the doctor again after all.

Sloans' Deck

The frown marring Cheryl's forehead only served to accentuate the stress and exhaustion lining her face. It had been nearly 72 hours since Cletus and Donald Baxter had grabbed Steve. Now, it seemed, his father had disappeared too.

Cheryl had driven to the beach house directly after the morning briefing. Her reasons for coming were nearly equal in importance as far as she was concerned. She wanted to personally update Mark on what they had learned in their search for the Baxters' property, and she also wanted to check on his emotional state. Cheryl suspected he was barely holding it together although he did a good job of trying to hide it behind a mask of determination and composure.

Pivoting, Cheryl scanned the beach again hoping for any sign of Mark. He hadn't answered when she'd rung the front bell. His car was in the driveway so it was unlikely he'd made a quick trip to the store. She didn't think food was much of a priority for him anyway. Thinking that maybe he'd gone for a walk if he hadn't been able to sleep, she'd crossed the sand hoping to catch sight of him in the distance. Failing in that, Cheryl had even checked the secluded dune Steve visited when he was troubled by something. It seemed logical Mark would go somewhere he'd feel close to Steve, but she'd been disappointed to find it empty.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Cheryl took a deep breath. Her anxiety over Steve's disappearance and how the Baxters might be treating him was clouding her normal good judgment. Doctor Sloan could be in the shower or could even be sleeping, she rationalized either of which would explain why he hadn't answered her summons. She hated to keep ringing the bell and risk disturbing him if he'd finally been able to get some much-needed rest. However, knowing sleep didn't come easily for him when Steve was in trouble, Cheryl considered it highly unlikely he'd be sleeping soundly enough to sleep through the doorbell.

Cheryl walked around the house a second time pausing when she reached the patio of Steve's downstairs apartment. She eyed the sliding glass door thoughtfully. If Mark wanted to go somewhere he could feel close to Steve, his apartment would be a good place. He may not even be able to hear the bell down there. Stepping up to the window, Cheryl cupped her hand next to her face to block the light so she could get a better look inside. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she could make out Mark's form on the couch.

Not wanting to startle the doctor, Cheryl rapped gently on the glass. She watched as Mark stirred and sat up looking around for the source of the noise. It was obvious in his disoriented state he hadn't recognized the sound so Cheryl knocked again a little louder. This time he immediately swung in the direction of the sliding glass door his face registering surprise at the sight of her looking through the glass. With more agility than she would've expected for a man who'd been sleeping on a couch, Mark rose and crossed the room to open the door.

"Hello, Doctor Sloan."

"Do you have news on Steve?"

Cheryl shook her head regretfully. "No, I'm sorry, there's not much new to report. The search for him and for the Baxter property is ongoing."

Mark finally seemed to realize Cheryl was still standing on the patio. "Oh, where are my manners? Come in." Stepping aside to let her enter, he looked around Steve's apartment. "I came down here the night before too," he admitted quietly. "This seems to be the only place I can sleep."

Cheryl heard the pain in Mark's voice and knew how hard it had been for the private man in front of her to admit just how much his son's absence distressed him. "You don't have to explain," she said, stroking his arm. "I know you're worried about Steve. I'm just glad you were able to get some rest."

Scrubbing a hand across his eyes, Mark said, "Let's go upstairs. Maybe some coffee and a shower will help clear away the cobwebs."

Cheryl followed Mark to the upper level of the house and into the kitchen. "Can I fix you a bite for breakfast while you freshen up?" she asked. "Some toast or maybe a bowl of oatmeal?"

Shaking his head, Mark said, "I don't have much of an appetite these days."

Cheryl could relate. Anything she'd tried to eat the past three days had tasted like sawdust in her mouth. She would've preferred to skip eating all together but knew she had to eat to keep up her strength. "When's the last time you had anything besides coffee?"

Mark thought about it. "I don't really remember," he admitted.

"Then you need to eat something. No arguments, Doctor Sloan," she said firmly when Mark would've protested. "When we find Steve, I can guarantee the very first thing he's going to ask me after making sure we've got Cletus and Donald locked up is if you're okay. I want to be able to tell him truthfully that outside of the tremendous emotional and mental strain you've been under that you're fine and very anxious to see him. If that's not the case . . . well, Steve and I are partners, and we don't lie to each other."

"Has anyone told you how stubborn you are?"

Cheryl laughed. "Your son, every time I don't let him get his way."

That brought a small smile to Mark's face. "Okay," he sighed, "just a little oatmeal then." He paused on his way out of the kitchen and turned back to look at Cheryl. "Thank you. I'm glad you're Steve's partner and his friend."

Mark was gone before Cheryl could reply, and she blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. At the moment, with her partner missing, she didn't feel like she deserved those kind words. Firmly pushing thoughts of the Baxter clan out of her mind, she concentrated on finding the oatmeal, a pan and a spoon and starting Mark's breakfast. She was glad to see the familiar box of oats on the shelf. It would be more nourishing than that runny, instant stuff that passed for oatmeal. Cheryl was just dishing the piping hot contents of the pan into a bowl when Mark returned.

Taking his seat at the table, Mark eyed the bowl warily. He really didn't know if he'd be able to get even one spoonful of oatmeal past the lump that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his throat. Not wanting to disappoint Cheryl, he gamely picked up the spoon to take a bite and was surprised when the cereal slid down easily. Encouraged, he took another bite.

Pleased he hadn't pushed the bowl aside, Cheryl watched in silence as Mark ate. She'd eaten a lot of oatmeal as a child. Her grandmother had been convinced there wasn't a problem in the world that couldn't be solved over a bowl of the hot cereal. Well, Gran, Cheryl thought, this problem can't be solved by oatmeal alone, but at least it seems to be providing some comfort and nourishment. I suppose that's a start.

Cheryl was jerked out of her musings by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Instinctively, she slid her hand under her jacket and rested it on the butt of her gun. She didn't think Cletus or Donald would be bold enough to confront the doctor in his own home, but she wasn't going to take a chance on being surprised by them. When she heard the voices of Jesse and Amanda, she practically sagged in relief.

The doctors wore twin expressions of surprise at the sight of Cheryl perched on a stool at the counter, but they recovered quickly. Spying the nearly empty bowl on the table, Jesse flashed her a grin and a quick thumbs up behind Mark's back. "We came to see if you needed anything," he told Mark, "but it looks like you're in good hands."

"Did you get any sleep?" Amanda asked, anxiously.

"Some."

"Any news?" Jesse asked.

Cheryl repeated what she'd told Mark when she'd arrived. "A couple of clerks and some off duty cops are searching the old property records that aren't computerized."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Convince Tucker to tell us what he knows - " Cheryl was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. She looked down at the caller identification. "It's the precinct. I have to take this," she said, moving into the living room.

Mark tried to concentrate on what Jesse and Amanda were saying, but his eyes kept straying toward the living room. Cheryl was spending a long time on the phone. He wondered if that meant there was news about Steve. Finally hearing her footsteps, Mark looked up eagerly, but her expression gave nothing away.

"Is it Steve?" he asked, hoarsely.

Cheryl appeared to choose her words carefully. "One of the detectives managed to track down a sibling of Cletus'."

"Really?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised, Doctor Travis," Cheryl said lightly. "We are detectives."

Jesse flushed. "Sorry. It's just that the files said Cletus stayed behind while all his siblings took off for greener pastures. I didn't realize he had contact with any of them."

"He doesn't. The sister said she hadn't seen him in almost 20 years. Apparently it wasn't a very amicable meeting either. According to the detective who talked to her, she used the words mean-spirited and cruel to describe Cletus' behavior toward Donald."

"Sounds about right for Cletus," Amanda commented. "Did she know anything about family property or somewhere Cletus liked to go?"

"Well, as you know, when Horace brought the family to California, they settled around Bakersfield. The settlement camp they ended up in was south of there and as the area grew more populated the Baxter clan moved south again looking for some solitude."

"How far south? Was she able to give you a location?"

"More of a general idea rather than a specific location."

"Where? What did she say?" Mark could barely conceal his impatience.

"From what she described, the land the family had is now somewhere in the Los Padres National Forest."

"That covers acres!" Jesse exclaimed. "She couldn't be more specific?"

Cheryl shook her head. "She was a teenager when she left home and never looked back. Even if she could remember, the area has changed."

"Wait a minute, how could Cletus Baxter have property in Los Padres National Forest?" Amanda asked. "I would think the government would have something to say about that."

"The likelihood of Cletus actually owning the property is slim," Cheryl said. "It's probably more like a case of squatter's rights. Doctor Travis is right. The forest covers acres. There just aren't enough rangers to thoroughly patrol it all so Cletus could very well have a shack deep in the forest and nobody would know anything about it."

"So how are we going to search all that land?"

"Captain Newman is contacting the Forest Service to help us devise a search plan. One thing's for sure. We're not going to be able to do it all on foot. We're going to have to have air support."

The foursome fell silent each contemplating the time and effort it would take to first organize the search and then carry it out. Nobody seemed to want to voice what they were all thinking. That the search may take longer than Steve had.

"Have you found out anything more about the truck that was outside of Tucker's school the morning of the murder?" Mark asked, attempting to focus on something more positive.

"We checked with all of Tucker's teachers, the principal, and the counselor, and none of them had requested a meeting that would bring either Donald or Cletus to the school. Their names weren't on the sign-in book in the office and nobody remembers seeing them either."

"Most schools require visitors to sign in at the school office," Amanda said, "but some enforce it better than others. If you don't want to sign in, it's not that hard to wait until the secretary is busy and slip by without being noticed."

"Well, if one of them was there, it wasn't Donald. He was at work and his boss will vouch for him."

"Is the boss trustworthy?"

"Appears to be. We don't have any reason to doubt his word."

"That points to Cletus as the one who was there."

"Looks that way, but we won't know for sure until we pick him up and talk to him."

"And in order to do that we need to find the property."

"I have to go, but I'll call as soon as I have any new information," Cheryl promised.

Mark stood. "I want to be at the meeting with the rangers."

Cheryl had been waiting for him to say that. It made what she had to say all that much harder. "Doctor Sloan, I'm afraid that's not going to be possible."

"Why not?"

"Captain Newman specifically stated he doesn't want you at the planning meeting. I warned him you wouldn't be happy about being excluded," she added, anticipating Mark's protest, "but he was adamant."

"Did he say why?"

"He didn't volunteer a reason, and it's not a good idea for me to question his decision. If I make any waves, he may pull me off this case and that's a risk I can't take."

Mark sighed heavily. He didn't want Cheryl risking her position on this case or being subjected to disciplinary action because of him. It went against every fiber of his being, but he would abide by Captain Newman's wishes.

"What about after? When the meeting is over?" Jesse asked. "Can we be at the staging area?"

"He didn't say anything about that, so if you show up, I don't think he'll say too much. Anyway, it's not unusual for a missing person's family to be at the staging area waiting for news."

After seeing Cheryl to the door, Amanda returned to the kitchen where Jesse was still sitting with Mark. "We need to leave too," she reminded him.

Jesse got up from the table. "You going to be okay here alone?"

Mark nodded and Amanda kissed his cheek. "Call us if you hear from Cheryl or if you need anything in the meantime."

Once Amanda's car was out of sight, Mark returned to the house. He picked up the phone and carried it with him out to the deck. Settling into a chair, he let the sun warm him and the gentle lapping of the waves soothe his battered spirit. He forced his mind to go blank as he waited for the phone to ring.

The call from Cheryl finally came in the early afternoon. Representatives from the LAPD, local sheriff's department and U.S. Forest Service had plotted the most likely places to look for Cletus' hide out. A helicopter from the sheriff's department and two off duty police officers who had pilots' licenses would be in the air within two hours. The Forest Service was in the process of contacting several civilian pilots who assisted in search and rescue missions to provide additional support. Anything the air patrols thought looked promising would be checked out by groups on foot.

Mark was comforted by the familiar routine as he methodically checked and packed his medical bag. He'd been on the sidelines long enough. Nothing was going to keep him from being at the staging area and in a plane if he could manage it. Don't give up now, Son, Mark thought. We may not be any closer to solving Rico's murder and clearing Tucker, but we're getting closer to you.