Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned (27 page)

Twenty-seven

Pete had just stepped out of the shower when he heard his cell phone. Slinging a towel around his hips, he charged out of the bathroom and snatched the phone from his dresser. The clock next to his bed showed it was a few minutes past eight p.m. and the phone screen indicated the caller was his evening shift officer. “Kevin, what’s up?”

“We may have a situation here.”

“What kind of situation?”

“Mrs. Romanakis called to report a missing child.”

Pete reached into his closet for a clean uniform. “Go on.”

“She said she’d been babysitting and took the girl and her two kids to the pool at Phillipsburg Park. Says she only turned her back for a minute to get some ice cream at the concession stand and when she looked back, the girl was gone. She tried calling the girl’s father, but there was no answer.”

“Get the fire department out there to start a search. And get Seth and Nate to come in to help. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Um, that’s not all, Chief.”

Pete stopped with one leg in his uniform trousers. “What?”

“This missing girl? It’s Madison Farabee.”

“Damn it,” Pete muttered.

“And there’s more.”

“More?” What else could there be?

“A report just came over the air. There was a shooting at the Sleep EZ Motel in Brunswick.”

Pete shifted the phone to his other ear as he pulled on his shirt. “There are
always
shootings at the Sleep EZ Motel in Brunswick.”

“Yeah, but this time the victim is Holt Farabee.”

Pete’s jaw tightened. “What’s his condition?”

“All I know is he’s being transported to Brunswick Hospital.”

In other words, he was alive. So far. Pete wondered if Zoe knew. “Any word on Ryan Mancinelli’s whereabouts?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Put out a statewide BOLO on him. Wanted for questioning in the shooting of Holt Farabee. And call Ashley to make sure he hasn’t contacted her.”

“On it, Chief.”

Pete hung up and tossed the phone on his bed. He was tucking in his shirt when the phone rang again. Zoe’s name came up on the screen. He hadn’t expected to see that happen again anytime soon. Clearly she knew about either the shooting or Maddie’s disappearance. Or both. “Hey,” he answered.

“Holt’s been shot.” Her voice was so fragile it sounded as if it might shatter.

“I know.”

“I need you to find out who he used for a babysitter for Maddie. Probably the one he’d left her with the day his house blew up.” Zoe’s words tumbled over each other. “I need a photograph of her. Before Holt lost consciousness, he told me someone was going after her, but he didn’t get a chance to tell me who or where Maddie is. Wayne needs a photo—”

There were some muffled voices in the background and it sounded as though she’d dropped the phone. “Zoe?” Pete said. “Are you still there?” As he strained to make sense of the garble, one question echoed in the recesses of his brain. What the hell was Zoe doing with Farabee when he’d been shot?

More muddled, incomprehensible voices filtered through the phone before she came back on the line with a sob. “Wayne just told me he’s received word Maddie’s missing.”

“Yeah. I’m on my way to the park now.” Pete grabbed his duty belt and his Glock and strode out of the bedroom. “Zoe, what exactly did Farabee say to you after he was shot?”

“What I just told you.
He
is going after Maddie. But I don’t know who ‘he’ is.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find her. Where are you?”

“At the Sleep EZ. But I’m coming back there to help with the search.”

Pete slammed through the door between his kitchen and garage. “You’re too upset. I don’t want you behind the wheel.”

“Earl’s driving.”

So she was there in an official capacity. “Good. I’ll call you if I hear anything.” When silence was the only response, Pete looked at the screen. She’d hung up. He let out a growling breath and climbed into his SUV.

Trees cast long shadows across the road as Earl gunned Medic Two north on Route 15, heading back to Phillipsburg. Zoe hung up her cell phone, all too aware the search for Maddie would be racing nightfall.

“What did your nurse friend say?” Earl asked.

“Holt made it to the Emergency Department alive, but he’s in critical condition.” Zoe stuffed the phone back in her pocket. “They’re getting him ready for surgery.”

“He’ll make it.”

Zoe glanced at Earl’s profile. “You have a crystal ball?”

A brief smile played on his lips. “No. I have kids. He’ll fight for every breath so he can get back to his daughter.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Earl took his eyes from the road for a second to meet Zoe’s. “We have to concentrate on finding her. He’ll want her there when he comes out of surgery.”

Zoe rested her forehead against the passenger window and watched the familiar scenery. What on earth was going on? First the gas explosion appeared accidental, but turned out to be rigged. Then the fire at the barn. Then Stephen Tierney’s murder and his body moved into her basement. Now Holt was fighting for his life, and Maddie… Zoe closed her eyes. She couldn’t let herself think about what Maddie might be going through right now.

Someone had it in for Holt. That much seemed clear. But who? And what did Tierney have to do with it? Holt may have had a motive to kill him, but who else? None of it made sense. Zoe opened her eyes again as they passed the Kroll farm. Home. For the moment. What would that beautiful hillside look like dotted with oversized, cookie-cutter houses populated by city folks who thought they wanted to live in the country?

What would Vance Township be like without Pete?

Zoe shifted away from the window and didn’t realize she’d groaned out loud until Earl gave her a concerned glance. “Are you okay?”

“No. Not even close.” But she wouldn’t allow the pain of losing Pete and her home to distract her from what mattered most. Finding Maddie.

Less than ten minutes later, Earl turned into the park on the hill overlooking Phillipsburg.

Zoe had vague memories of her dad bringing her here when she was a tot, pushing her on the swings, catching her at the bottom of the sliding board. As a teen, the picnic benches in the grove of trees had been a prime make-out spot. And the pool was always a welcome reprieve in the heat of summer. This evening, the usually peaceful recreation spot had transformed into yet another major emergency response scenario.

Both the Phillipsburg borough’s and Vance Township’s fire departments were on scene. The volunteers weren’t wearing bunker gear, but carried walkie-talkies and were working their way through the trees and underbrush bordering the park. State troopers, county police, Vance’s and Phillipsburg’s officers were scattered about, speaking with groups of picnickers, swimmers, and families, whose plans for the summer evening clearly had not included this.

Zoe picked up the mic. “Control, this is Medic Two. Show us on standby at the Phillipsburg Park.”

“Ten-four, Medic Two. Twenty forty-two.”

Almost nine o’clock. If Maddie was still here, somewhere, it would be dark soon.

Nausea slammed Zoe in the pit of her stomach. If Maddie was still here, what condition was she in? And if she wasn’t here, who had her and what was he doing with her?

Earl took the mic from Zoe and clipped it to the dash. “Stop imagining the worst.”

She looked at him. “You do have a crystal ball, don’t you?”

He opened his door. “Nope. Like I said before. I have kids. If it was my daughter out there…” He shook his head as he climbed out.

Zoe fell into step at Earl’s side. They headed toward the center of all the action where a pair of State Troopers, Bruce Yancy, and Pete gathered around a map spread on the hood of one of the county police vehicles.

“Is there anything we can do?” Zoe asked.

All the men glanced up, but her eyes stayed on Pete.

She expected him to chastise her for getting involved in the case, and she was ready to dig in yet again. But instead he asked, “Any word on Farabee?”

She relayed what she’d heard from Cindy.

The fire chief shook his head. “That family has been through hell in the last week.” Yancy aimed a pencil at her and Earl. “You two should stay here at the staging area. If we find the girl and she needs medical help, I don’t want to have to track you down and drag you out of the woods to treat her.”

For once in his life, Yancy had the tact to not mention the possibility of needing her deputy coroner training.

“Chief Adams,” someone called out.

They all turned. Seth was hurrying toward them, leading two women and three fair-haired little boys.

“What have you got?” Pete asked.

Seth motioned to one of the women, a short, rotund bleached blonde wearing a huge blue t-shirt, which hung almost to her knees and covered whatever shorts or bathing suit she had on under it. “Mrs. Carter may have seen Maddie.”

Zoe’s heart quickened. “Where? When?”

Pete held up a hand to her without looking away from the woman.

The blonde pointed in the direction of the pool. “Sherrie and I were sitting on a bench over there watching the boys swim. I spotted a man leaving with a little girl.” She nodded to Seth. “The same little girl in the picture he showed me on his phone. I’m sure of it.”

“What picture?” Zoe whispered.

Pete shushed her. “What time was this, Mrs. Carter?”

“About an hour ago. I thought it was odd because I’d seen the little girl with Bonnie Romanakis and her kids just before that and the man hadn’t been around then. I just figured maybe the dad came to pick her up.”

Zoe resisted telling her “the dad” was currently fighting for his life.

“What did the man look like?” Pete asked.

The blonde shrugged. “I didn’t pay too much attention. He had on khakis, I think, and a dark polo shirt.”

Pete produced a photo. Zoe caught enough of a glimpse of it to know the man in the picture was Ryan Mancinelli. “Is this the man?”

Mrs. Carter squinted at the photograph. “I honestly don’t know. I only saw him walking away from me.”

“But you’re sure it was Maddie Farabee with him?”

“Positive. She turned and looked back as they were walking away and I thought she looked a little upset. Like she really didn’t want to leave yet.”

Or like she didn’t want to go with this man. “Was she resisting him?” Zoe asked.

“You mean like he was taking her by force?” Mrs. Carter said. “Oh, no. He held her hand, and they walked away as nice as can be.”

Pete moved closer to the woman. “Did you notice what kind of vehicle they got into?”

“Sorry. No.”

“Is there anything else about this man you can tell us? Anything at all?”

She pondered the question. “Well, I did notice one thing.”

“What?”

Mrs. Carter gave an apologetic grin. “He was very…nicely put together. You know? Like he worked out a lot.”

Zoe pictured Ryan Mancinelli standing on his porch Friday night during the traffic accident in front of his house. Tanned and muscled from days of construction work in the hot sun, “nicely put together” definitely described the man.

One of the Phillipsburg police officers had located a second witness to Maddie’s exit from the park. This witness, a teenaged girl, was equally positive the child in question was Maddie, but her description of the man was even vaguer than Mrs. Carter’s. The teen did, however, see the vehicle they got into. A big pickup. Possibly black. Or maybe dark blue. Or it might have been brown. And it might have had printing on the side, although she wouldn’t swear to it.

Pete knew Mancinelli drove a black Ram pickup, but as for make and model, the girl didn’t even know what those terms meant.

Pete put out an Amber Alert with Maddie Farabee’s photo, courtesy of the babysitter as Zoe had suggested. Included in the report going out across the tri-state area was the possibility she
might
be with Ryan Mancinelli in a dark-colored pickup.

The search was called off, although a few die-hard firefighters broke out their flashlights and continued traipsing through the underbrush on their own. Pete figured it was their way of managing the sense of helplessness.

The same helplessness he’d seen in Zoe’s face when he’d sent her back to the ambulance garage with a promise to keep her in the loop. She’d promised the same.

Keeping each other in the loop was something they’d both failed at miserably as of late. Maybe if they’d done a little more sharing—no—if
he
had been a little less pig-headed, Maddie Farabee might not be in danger right now.

Pete was feeling his own share of helplessness. Instead of going back to the station, he called Nancy to come in and man the phones. She’d agreed without hesitation. No doubt she was suffering the same affliction as everyone else. Maybe worse, since her brother-in-law was involved. He’d asked her if she was okay with working under the circumstances, and she’d insisted her only concern was getting the missing girl back. From the tone of Nancy’s voice, the legal system would be the least of Mancinelli’s worries if he harmed a hair on little Maddie’s head.

The night dragged on into early morning. Pete monitored the radio chatter while cruising the township. Activity was light, as though the entire county was holding its collective breath, waiting for a break in the case. The only emergency call came around three a.m. for a one-vehicle crash. Nate responded and radioed in only minor injuries to the driver, although the ambulance crew was transporting him to Brunswick just in case. The airwaves once again fell quiet.

Unlike Pete’s brain.

Where would Ryan Mancinelli take Maddie? And why? This case was playing havoc with Pete’s gut. He’d sensed something was hinky from the start, and nothing had happened in the last week to convince him otherwise.

His cell phone rang as he coasted to the stop sign next to Parson’s Roadhouse. He dug in his pocket.

Wayne Baronick’s name flashed on the screen. “Hey, Pete. I just spoke to the lab.”

“At this hour?”

“Yeah, well, the tech owed me. The gun next to Holt Farabee in the motel room? Registered to Ryan Mancinelli.”

Pete eased into the parking lot. “Guess their friendship went sour.”

“There’s something weird though.”

Of course. “Weird? How?”

“No prints. The gun had been wiped clean.”

Pete rolled that one around in his already upset gut. “If you’re going to shoot your buddy with your own gun, why wipe it clean and leave it there for the cops to find?”

“Been wondering that myself. One other thing, although it may not mean much.”

“What?”

“All the stuff we collected in Zoe’s basement? Mostly it was trash. Old stuff. Probably been down there for eons.”

“Why do I sense a ‘but’ in there?”

“
But
there was one scrap that seemed new. Clean. A torn piece of black plastic.”

“What kind of black plastic?”

“Like from one of those big trash bags. Only heavy. Really heavy.”

Pete’s phone pinged. “Hold on a second. I’ve got another call.” He tapped the screen. Incoming call from Nate. “What have you got?”

“What I’ve got,” the officer said, “is Ryan Mancinelli.”

The fact Pete’s suspects kept turning up as victims crossed his mind. “Please tell me he isn’t dead.”

There was a long pause—too long—before Nate responded. “Well, not yet.”