“Anything yet?”
Deputy Peters turned to see the Chief and Frank Harper walking across the soccer field toward him. Peters was in Kyle Park, at one of the furthermost soccer fields, to “assist” Glenda Martin and the psychic with anything they needed.
Peters shook his head. “Nope, nothing.”
Frank grumbled. Peters liked the man, but he was hard to interpret. Sometimes it seemed the man was angry at the world, and, at other times, he could be very pleasant. Although Peters could have done without all the cursing, he’d already learned more from Mr. Harper than from any of the other cops at the Department. Except for Cousin Jeff, of course.
“I wonder how long we should give her,” Frank said, looking across the soccer field. The psychic woman, Mrs. Martin and the psychic’s assistant were visible just inside the corn field that ringed the patch of grass. “She’s not going to find anything out there, right?” Frank asked Peters.
He shook his head.
“No, sir. We’ve looked at that field four times now, and all the other fields around here, all the way to the river.”
Peters wasn’t happy with the kidnapping case, obviously, but he’d been happy with the opportunity to expand his usefulness and prove to his cousin that he could be a valuable member of the team.
Initially, Chief King had gently persuaded Peters to not choose a career in law enforcement. After the initial ire had passed, though, Peters took it upon himself to prove his cousin wrong. He’d thrown himself into the books and night classes that lead up to an intense ten weeks at the State Police Academy. He’d been the smallest officer-in-training in the class, and the klutziest, but he’d tried to make up for it with study and endurance, and graduated third in his class. After that, his cousin had been unable to refuse him a place on the local force.
And now, Peters was taking advantage of the case and the fact that the department was stretched to the breaking point. Everyone was slammed with background checks and witness interviews and running down the two dozen “leads” that were phoned in each day since the two little girls had gone missing. None of them had helped much, but Peters was learning more and more every day.
It might seem cruel, but on some level, the kidnapping was the best thing that had ever happened to Peters and his career.
And now Frank Harper, ex-cop and current bad ass, was in the picture. Peters had volunteered to be his departmental liaison. Working with Harper on case file reviews had already taught Peters a few things, and he’d enjoyed helping Frank familiarize himself with the case and the town.
And, as he had been taught by his more successful cousin, Peters had written down almost everything Frank Harper said, no matter how trivial it might seem. The point was to absorb as much as he could from Harper before he was gone.
Chief King shook his head.
“I wanted to talk to Glenda,” the Chief said. “Maybe dissuade her from putting too much faith in this woman. But now I’m thinking the distraction is good for her. She’s focusing on something, at least,” he said. “Frank, what do you think?”
Peters turned to see Harper, who was staring out at the field. “These wheat and corn fields can be quite spectacular,” he said, surprising Peters, who had never heard him talk like that. “Did you know that Mrs. Martin had quite a career in photography? She was pretty good, good enough to have her stuff in a gallery.”
“I saw the photo albums at her home,” King said.
Frank nodded and turned to look at them.
“And on the walls, I suspect. Those big landscape shots? Those were hers, I think,” Frank said. “I talked to the gallery owner over in New Stanton yesterday. Glenda’s work was good enough to sell, before she gave it up. Nick didn’t support her, evidently. Now she’s painting.”
“Here they come,” Peters said, indicating the two women coming out of the field, trailed by the young man with the mascara. They walked up to the men—the psychic woman was smiling, bemused, but Glenda Martin just looked sad and drawn.
“Any luck?” Chief King asked.
Glenda shook her head. “No, not yet.”
“Lady Meredith was getting some visions,” the boy offered. “But your bad energy put a damper on it.”
Frank looked at King. Peters could tell Harper wanted to say something profoundly snippy, but the ex-cop demurred to the Chief.
“Oh, sorry about that,” Chief King said. “We’d be happy to hear anything you’ve got to say.”
Meredith sighed.
“Well, I know the children are alive,” the psychic began. She spoke slowly, deliberately. Peters thought that she might enjoy having everyone’s attention—she seemed to feed off of the energy.
“And where they are being held—it feels like a cave, or a forest. They are surrounded by wood. It is cold and dark, but not the kind of place a policeman would think to look,” she said, looking at Glenda. “Their hands are bound, handcuffs or something. And I hear a scraping sound, like nails on a chalkboard. “
King nodded, jotting it down.
“I hope you can understand—we appreciate the help,” the Chief said. “But we’ve searched everywhere several times, so it makes sense that, if the girls are still alive”—he shot a glance at Glenda, who was hanging on Meredith’s every word—“they would be in a strange location.”
Meredith smiled.
“That’s not what I mean, Chief. I’m not saying they’re in a strange place, because you’ve already looked elsewhere. I’m saying they’re in a strange place.”
“But where should they be looking?” Glenda asked, her eyes wider than Peters had ever seen them. He remembered her demeanor on that first morning he had met with her, when he’d directed the first spate of Kyle Park searches. Now, she seemed relieved, filled with hope. It was nice to see her spirits buoyed. But it would be doubly cruel if her daughter were never found, or turned up dead.
Peters had been surprised when he’d heard that Chief King was allowing the psychic access to the case and to the Martins. He’d assumed the whole thing was a big waste of time. Jeff had explained over beers one night that, sometimes, it was more eyes on the case, even from something as outrageous as a civilian or a self-professed medium, that could break a case open. She might not have any “powers” whatsoever, but she might bring a new perspective to the case. Much like bringing in a washed-up ex-cop, fresh eyes could sometimes tease out a new lead or a new approach.
Lady Meredith smiled.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “But I feel like it’s a forest or a cave. Somewhere dark. Cold—I got a shiver when I sensed it.”
Peters saw Frank give the Chief another look—clearly, Harper thought this was all a load of crap, but he was holding his tongue.
Chief King nodded. “That’s very interesting. We’ll expand our search to include those types of locations.”
Glenda’s eyes got bigger, and Lady Meredith smiled. “We’ll continue our search,” the psychic announced. “Glenda, can you take me to the exact location where the girls were taken?”
“Certainly,” Glenda said, nodding.
“Deputy Peters, can you accompany them?” Chief King asked. “Give them whatever help they need, okay?”
Peters nodded. He knew he was taking one for the team—he’d rather be out in the field, helping the Chief or interviewing friends of the family with Mr. Harper. At this point, Peters would have volunteered to staff the tip line if it had gotten him away from Lady Meredith and her creepy lap dog with the dark mascara. He just walked around, taking pictures and writing things down. He almost never spoke.
Instead, Peters nodded. Maybe something would come of it.
After the meeting with Mrs. Martin and the psychic, Chief King and Frank had driven separately back to the police station. Frank ran back to the hotel and grabbed more of the files – he’d made notes on a few things and wanted to look them up in the office.
In the car by himself, Frank had tried to listen to music to calm down, but there was no denying the psychic got under his skin. He had held his tongue this time, but he could tell she was waiting for an opportunity to nail him again on something.
Some low, quiet piano jazz helped, although he was starting to get tired of the same stack of CDs. He wished he had an operating radio in this car, or a ceiling that didn’t hang down like the decorations in some Middle Eastern harem. If this case turned out well, and he got paid, or if he could somehow manage to earn at least some portion of the $50,000 reward, one of the first things he would buy was a new car.
He’d always wanted a big, solid El Dorado. Black, spotless interior, with bench seats and a dashboard that went on forever. Ben Stone had had a friend who owned one, and Frank had gotten a chance to ride in it once. It was like floating on a cloud. A black, armored, tank-like cloud, but smooth. A Cadillac from back when they made Cadillacs for businessmen and stock brokers and not gangsters and rap stars.
When Frank arrived at the station, King was already conducting yet another press conference, one filled with absolutely no new information other than the news that the kidnappers hadn’t showed up to claim the ransom. More stupid questions were asked. The TV reporters and newspaper guys needed fodder, even if it was nothing more than reassurance from the police that they were “still working around the clock” on the case. Tina Armstrong was there again, still in her sunglasses. Frank watched her but could never tell where she was looking. He wondered about her photophobia, what caused her extreme sensitivity to light, and how it affected her job.
After the press conference, Frank and King and the other senior staff met again, going around the table once more and reviewing all the active leads, of which there were only a handful.
Sergeant Graves covered his investigation of the ransom drop this morning and speculated about why the kidnappers hadn’t shown. It still confused Frank. He’d thought it was a ruse, or a distraction, but nothing had come of it, and the money was now sitting in a nondescript cardboard box locked in the evidence room, waiting to go back to the bank and into Nick Martin’s accounts.
Ted Shale, the FBI liaison, reiterated that neither he nor the FBI contacts he’d reached out to could get any traction on the case. He seemed as frustrated as Frank.
King covered the psychic involvement and, to his credit, even mentioned the new “information” that the girls might be being held in somewhere dark and cold, surrounded by wood. The others nodded and smiled.
“That helps,” Sergeant Burwell said, shaking his head. “Now I can stop searching all those sunny, open fields.”
“Maybe you were looking for unicorns,” Graves said, smiling.
King looked at Frank. “You got anything?”
“I’ve spent the last two days interviewing people involved in the case,” Frank said, shaking his head. “But couldn’t come up with anything new.” He kept the information about Glenda and her new career to himself for now. And he looked at each man in turn, trying to see any hint of trouble, but they all looked him back in the eyes. If his hunch was right, and someone was feeding police information to the kidnappers, it couldn’t be one of these people seated around the table. They each appeared to be working hard to break the case.
Maybe it was office staff or something like that.
They wrapped up the meeting, and Frank and Chief King headed back to the Chief’s office and were starting to talk when Graves knocked on the door.
“You guys got a sec?”
King nodded and waved Graves into his office, but the man shook his head.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
They walked through the station, taking the glassed-in walkway over to the government side of the building. Graves kept walking, heading right out the front doors, which faced away from the front of the police station and the gaggle of reporters gathered around the entrance. Sergeant Graves turned and pointed at the McDonald’s around the corner, then started across the wide field that separated the building from the lot. King and Frank hurried to follow.
“You got something?” King asked.
“Maybe,” Graves said, glancing around as they walked. “I looked into it, like you asked before the press conference. And Frank might be right—strange things are turning up. Maybe that’s why there have been no breaks in the case. Anyway, I found stuff missing from the case files.”
Chief King looked at Frank, then back to Graves. “What kind of stuff?”
“I’m still pulling it together,” Graves said. “But it looks like someone on the staff.”
“Who?” King demanded.
Graves shook his head, as they reached the parking lot and weaved between the cars, all of which were covered with white plastic. This parking lot apparently was an auxiliary lot of new cars for the Honda dealership across the street.
“I can’t say yet,” Graves said. “But it does seem to be someone in the department.”
“Administration?” Frank asked. “A secretary or janitor?”
“Sadly, I don’t think so,” Sergeant Graves said, shaking his head. “One thing I did find out for sure was that some of the tip line calls have been deleted.”
“Dammit,” King said. “That sounds like someone covering his tracks. And those aren’t accessible by just anyone.”
“Stan is working the tip line, right?” Frank asked.
King and Graves glanced at each other.
Graves nodded. “Yes, he is. I’ll look into that. But also, I was thinking about this, Chief. That money this morning, from the ransom—maybe it’s not safe in the station.”
They walked in silence for another minute, then made it to the sidewalk and crossed Garber Avenue to the McDonald’s, heading inside.
“You might be right,” King said when they’d gotten coffee and were seated. There was an attached play area, separated from the restaurant by large windows. Seeing the kids inside, playing and sliding on the equipment, Frank thought of Jackson.
“Should we secure it offsite?” King continued. “One of the banks? Or maybe Shale should take it.”
“I don’t know,” Graves said. “I’m not sure who to trust.”
King nodded. “You should take it,” King said to Sergeant Graves. “For now, until we get it figured out.”
Graves shook his head, smiling. “No, thanks,” he said. “I don’t even like handling that kind of money—too much pressure. I didn’t even like being in charge of it between the park and the station. I like the bank idea.”
King turned to Frank. “You wanna hold it?”
Frank was quiet for a moment, and then nodded. “I hate to agree, but if it is someone on your staff, the bank idea won’t fly—the information about which bank will get out. I can secure the money. There’s a safe in my hotel.”
Graves nodded, agreeing.
“Offsite is best. And it should be Shale or Mr. Harper to hold the money. We know they both are clean—they came into the case late.”
Chief King nodded, making up his mind.
“Good thinking,” he said. “Okay, Frank, we’ll escort you home today and get the money squared away in the safe at your hotel.”
They sat, continuing to discuss the case before returning to the police station. The hours dragged on—Frank was so bored he even pitched in and staffed the tip line for a while, but nothing came of it. Frank did it mostly to observe Stan, but the man wasn’t working the same shift and wouldn’t be in until later in the day.
Most of the other police officers were either out on routine patrol or getting set up for the big HarvestFest event taking place that night downtown. As the sun slid down the sky and peeked in the western windows of the police station, King came around carrying a cardboard box.
“You ready?” he asked.
Frank nodded. “Yup. Let me grab my stuff.”
They walked out to the parking lot together, talking casually as they passed through the station. As far as anyone could tell, they were just carrying files out to their cars. A few reporters leaned against their trucks, but after a few “no comments,” they left Frank and King alone.
They got to the Taurus and King set the box in the passenger seat.
“Okay,” King said. “Secure that, then come out tonight, if you want—it’s four now. We’ll all be working the HarvestFest, which starts at seven.”
Frank nodded. “See you there.”
He drove back to the hotel, glancing over at the box of money several times. It made him nervous to be holding that kind of cash but also a little excited—if someone on the police force was dirty, and they found out he had the money, they might make a play for it. They might come for it, and for him. And, if he managed to not get killed, it could be a huge break in the case.
The first problem occurred when he lugged the heavy box into the hotel and set it down on the front counter.
“No, I’m sorry,” the young woman behind the counter said. “We don’t have a house safe, just the safes in the individual rooms.” Frank didn’t want to get into the details, or freak out the young lady by saying he had SO much money it wouldn’t fit in the room safe. Instead, he just nodded and carried the box upstairs.
If someone was coming for the money, they’d have to go through him.