Dustin reluctantly allows me to tie his boots, staring awkwardly past my shoulders. “Don’t you dare say a thing,” he warns. “Or I’ll kick you with this boot.”
I instinctively draw my knees together, but don’t expect a kick. We may joke around, but I know where to draw the line. Either of us would take a bullet for the other, tying his boots is nothing. “Shut up and let’s go.”
This late at night, River Bend feels like it’s sleeping, waiting for morning and the wonder of Christmas. Only a few cars pass us as we drive through town towards the addition of Crestwood listed as Laruen Whitlow’s last address. None of the cars are light colored, four door sedans, which, in itself, shows how few cars are out.
The Crestwood housing addition rarely gets police traffic. The residents are mostly executives with jobs in Fort Wayne that they commute to or other professional types. The neighborhood consists of about twenty large lots of an acre or so each. Large houses grace the carefully manicured lots, many with extra detached buildings. Each house was designed to resemble a mixture of late-Victorian and modern architecture. Tall windows, round turrets, wide porches and plenty of gingerbread accents grace each home. Outbuildings that look like carriage houses, elaborate play houses, or even wrought iron greenhouses, dot many of the yards.
“I always loved this neighborhood,” I tell Dustin. “The old style of homes was so pretty. Add in a big kitchen and walk-in closets, and I’m sold.”
“Keep dreaming,” he says. “Not on our salary.”
Even the light displays are tastefully done. If we were here for another reason, I’d enjoy the drive. Maybe I’ll bring Gabby out here sometime just to walk around.
“Look at that play house,” I point to one of the back yards. “It actually looks like a ship. Wouldn’t Walker love that?”
“That princess castle is two stories high,” Dustin says with amazement, anxiously jumping at any topic other than the one that brings us here in the middle of the night.
“Olivia would go nuts.” I am so enthralled by the playhouses, I miss the address listed for Lauren Whitlow. I stop on the road and back up. Her house is across the street from the princess castle house.
Once I pull into the drive and turn off the lights, Dustin and I take a moment to collect ourselves. We’ve been joking around all night, avoiding the obvious out of self-protection. Now we’re here. If Jared Whitlow still lives here, he either has the kids with him and the whole case will be wrapped up soon, or we’re about to ruin his life.
If he’s not here, we have a whole other problem.
Either outcome isn’t good.
An animated group of white-lighted deer lift and lower their heads in the front yard. A tree that fills the entire front window of the house pours light onto the porch. A tree that would have been full of gifts in the morning.
“Maybe no one’s home,” Dustin says. “It’s likely the husband moved out. This is listed as his address, but maybe he didn’t change it yet.”
“Or maybe Eric Landry was just a family friend and the Whitlows were happily married.”
Even as I say the words, I don’t believe them. If Jared Whitlow’s wife and kids were out with a friend and not back by now, he would have called it in. Or at least be up pacing the floors.
Besides the movement of the deer decorations, the house is still. From the driveway, we can’t see any lights on inside besides the Christmas tree.
We have to try, anyway.
Ice crunches under our boots on the steps up the front porch. Lovely, fresh cut pine swags hang from the front porch railing, the scent of the wood drifting on the breeze. Before we knock, we look through the large front window dominated by the tree. I can see past the tree, through the living room and into the kitchen in back. “I got nothing.”
At the far end of the porch, a rounded section of the house juts out, then reaches three stories high. Dustin cups his face and looks inside.
“Some kind of office, maybe,” he says. “No one inside.”
The front door is double wide. Each side is dark wood with cut glass windows. A massive wreath of fresh pine adorns one of the doors. Using the back end of my flashlight, I bang on the other door. If anyone is home, they will hear it.
A dog barks from inside, the high-pitched yip frantic and insistent.
I knock again, louder.
The dog goes crazy, scratching and clawing at the wooden front door. Growling and yapping like it wants to tear our socks off if he can just get to our ankles.
“Cujo,” Dustin jokes.
“Thinks he is, at least.”
One more knock, just to be sure.
“Pickles, stop it,” a mumbled voice says from behind the door.
Dustin and I exchange surprised looks. Someone is home after all, but it’s not Jared Whitlow.
“Be quiet you dumb dog,” the woman says. “Who’s out there?” she asks loudly. “It’s late, what do you want?”
“Detectives McAllister and Hartley with the River Bend Police Department,” Dustin says, holding his badge near the glass window in the center of the door. “Is this the home of Lauren Whitlow?”
“Oh my God,” the woman wails. The dog makes a sudden squeal of pain and I imagine the woman kicked it out of the way. “What’s happened?” She fumbles with the lock and the handle. “Pickles, get away!”
“Can we come in?” I ask as gently as possible.
With a final rattle of the handle, the door flies open. “What happened to my daughter?” The woman demands.
Chapter 8
LUCAS
The look of terrified expectation on the woman’s face is an expression I’m familiar with. A police officer at your door at any time of day is cause for alarm. A late at night visit by detectives when your loved ones aren’t home is a nightmare come true. I want to sink into the porch, to slink away like the harbinger of horror that I am. I want to say, “Your daughter is fine. We’re just going door-to-door to wish everyone a Merry Christmas.” I want to be home in bed, Gabby curled next to me, Olivia in the next room dreaming of Santa.
I swore an oath, and this is part of it.
“May we come in, ma’am?” Dustin asks softly.
Lauren Whitlow’s mother wraps her thick robe tighter around her, shrinking into the white fabric sprinkled with red snowflakes. She clings to the opening under her chin as if closing her robe completely can protect her from what’s coming.
“Come in.” She backs away from the door, away from Dustin and me. Her eyes are wide and fixed on us as if we are killers in a slasher movie. She looks ready to turn and run.
“I’m so sorry we are here,” I say, holding my hands up in an open, non-threatening gesture. “Are you Lauren Whitlow’s mother?
She nods, but keeps backing up until she runs into the wall on the far side of the front room. Startled, she makes a small sound of pain. Pickles the dog, thankfully has stopped barking and cowers behind her legs, peeking his fluffy white face out now and then from the hem of the red snowflake robe. “I’m Teresa. I came to visit Lauren and the kids for the holiday.” She works the robe under her chin, squeezing and releasing the fuzzy fabric. “Where are they?” Teresa looks wildly around the room, searching for the clock. “It’s really late. Lauren and the kids should have been home by now. Ian and Cora’s bed time was hours ago. Oliver would of course beg to stay up. Lauren probably will let him, but Ian and Cora….”
“Teresa,” I say gently, placing a hand on her elbow and leading her to an oversized loveseat near the expertly decorated tree. “Please sit down.” She lets me guide her to the chair and sinks into the deep blue cushions. She pulls the decorative pillow with a reindeer embroidered on it from behind her back and holds it to her chest. Pickles jumps onto her lap, his body shaking against the pillow. The lights of the tree fall across her terrified face, reflect on the tears swelling in her eyes.
I don’t dance around the issue. I’ve found being direct and clear is the best way to deliver the blow. Like tearing
off the largest band-aid in the world, I tell her the news quickly.
Dustin and I turn our eyes away out of respect as Teresa absorbs the initial shock and crumples. I struggle to keep up my professional armor, my professional detachment. I search for something to focus my eyes on while we wait for Teresa. The massive Christmas tree dominates the room. A few presents are under the tree already, each one tagged with “From Grams.” The presents waiting for the missing children burns my heart and spurs me to be a bit more blunt than I normally would.
“Teresa,” I interrupt her sobs. “I know this is difficult, but we need to ask you a few questions.”
She blinks rapidly and wipes her face on the collar of her robe, leaving a smear on one of the red snowflakes. “I’ll do the best I can,” she says bravely.
“What can you tell us about Lauren and Jared’s marriage?” Dustin asks. “She and the kids were in the car with a different man.”
Dustin made the statement as neutral as possible, but Teresa takes offense.
“Lauren was not having an affair, if that’s what you’re trying to insinuate.” She sits up straighter and a more natural color returns to her face. “Lauren and Jared have been separated for nearly a year now. They are only married on paper at this point, and that was going to be final next week. The other man was Eric.” Her voice catches on his name, realizing afresh that he has passed, too. “Eric and Lauren have been dating for several months. He’s a good man. Nothing scandalous was happening.” Teresa lifts her chin, daring us to defy her.
“We weren’t insinuating anything like that,” I assure her. “With the kids in the car, we didn’t think Lauren was sneaking around.”
Teresa nods, one firm dip of her head.
“Back to Jared Whitlow,” Dustin says. “This is listed as his address. He obviously doesn’t live here, so do you know where we can find him?”
Teresa practically bounces in her seat with hope. “Do you think he has the kids? He wouldn’t hurt them, so they could be safe at his house right now, sound asleep.”
Dustin does his best to quench her growing hope, “The children were picked up by a light colored four door sedan. Jared doesn’t own one does he?”
“I don’t think so. He’s been driving the truck, and Lauren drives the red car. How do you know the kids were taken in a different car?”
Dustin looks at me, and I answer for him. “A consultant on the case saw them climb into the car. She was too far away to make out more than the vague description. She did say the kids went willingly and didn’t seem to be in distress.”
Teresa thinks on the information. “I don’t know who that might have been, but then again, I’m just visiting. I live in Louisville and only come up here once or twice a year. Normally, Lauren and the kids come to me for the holidays. She’s so proud of this house, she wanted to spend Christmas here. They just moved in here in January. Wasn’t long after that, she and Jared started having problems.” She absently pets Pickles, and mutters, “If she’d come to me, none of this would have happened.”
Fresh tears slide down her cheeks, drip off her chin and fall on the dog. She makes no move to wipe them away, and Pickles doesn’t notice.
Dustin prods gently, “Do you have an address for Jared? Or his phone number?”
Teresa answers, emptily. “He moved to the Autumn Hills Apartments. I don’t know which apartment, but Oliver said their back patio is close to the park. Said it was the only good thing about the place.”
Dustin steps into the next room to call the information in so Jared Whitlow can be located.
While he’s gone, Teresa scrubs at the tears and rubs her face hard. “Oliver is such a good boy. He’s just turned nine. Cora’s only five, but she acts like she’s Ian’s mommy. Please find them. Please find my grandkids.” The raw emotion on her face, etches another scar into my memories of faces I’ve changed with my life shattering news.
“We are doing everything we can,” I assure her, patting her hand. Pickles growls low in his throat, warning me to stay back. “Is there anyone who you can call to come stay with you tonight? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Teresa shakes her head. “My husband died a few years ago. My friends and most of our family are in Louisville. Lauren’s brother is there, and my sister.” She pulls the pillow tighter against her chest, her words begin spinning out. “Oh my, I have to tell them what happened. And it’s Christmas. Oh Lord. I can’t do that to them, but they have to know.” Her eyes dart around the room as if looking for her family.
“The calls can wait,” I interrupt her, pulling her back to the conversation. “At least until morning. There’s no one in River Bend that you are close to?”
Her eyes fall on a table near the front door. “Not really. I know Jared’s mom, Paula, pretty well. She’s been friendly with Lauren through the divorce. She even brought that tray of cookies over earlier this evening, right before Lauren left.” Teresa crushes the pillow under her chin. “I can’t be the one to tell her the kids are missing. I just can’t. Have you told Jared yet?”
Dustin returns to the couch. “We have officers at his apartment right now looking for him.”
“Right, right,” Teresa mumbles. “Of course.”
“Where were Lauren and Eric and the kids tonight? Did they go to a party or something?” asks Dustin.
“The kids weren’t here. They were spending the night at their dad’s. Lauren wasn’t happy about it, but she wanted to keep the peace, you know. The divorce was almost final and she didn’t want to rock the boat. Plus, the kids would be home in the morning and we’d have the whole day together.”
“So how did the kids get in the car?” Dustin asks.
“Lauren and Eric were going to spend the evening at a friend’s, but right before they left, Jared called. I didn’t hear the actual conversation, but I could tell by Lauren’s tone that something was wrong. When she hung up, she was upset, and gloating a little bit, if I’m honest. She said to me, ‘Told you he couldn’t handle it on his own.’ She and Eric left soon after that. I assumed to pick the kids up from Jared’s, but I didn’t ask any questions.
“Jared was supposed to have the kids all night?”
Teresa nods and pulls Pickles close to her chest. “They should never have been in the car with Lauren and Eric. They should be safe at their dad’s right now, not out with God knows who.” Her voice breaks on the last note. Pickles squirms against her too tight grip, and she lets him go.
“We’ll find them, Teresa. They went willingly into the car, just focus on that. If they know their abductor, the odds are good they aren’t being hurt.” I hope she believes the line. Truth is, nothing about a child abduction is normal.
The word abductor makes her flinch and tears stream quietly again. Straining to hold herself together, she asks, “Do you need anything else from me right now? I’d very much like to be alone.”
Dustin and I get to our feet, taking the hint. Dustin gives her a card along with the line about calling if she needs anything or thinks of anything that can be helpful to the investigation.
The word investigation makes her flinch again. Dustin sees the flinch, and his face pales another shade. “Are you sure you don’t want to call anyone to come be with you tonight?” he asks.
Teresa clenches the robe closed under her chin again. “Honestly, Detective, I just want to take a Benadryl, crawl back into bed and pretend none of this is real. Tomorrow, I’ll call my son and my sister and I’m sure they will be here by afternoon. For now, I want them to enjoy the holiday. There’s nothing to be gained telling them the horrible news now.”
She holds her back stiff, as if relaxing at all will cause her to crumble to the floor. Dustin and I hesitate at the door, ready to let ourselves out. “You are quite a woman, Teresa.” The words pop out of my mouth before I realize I’m going to say them. “Lauren and your son are lucky to have had you as a mother.”
Maybe it’s the recent betrayal of my own mom, or the quiet dignity
of the mother standing before me, but my professional code breaks. I pull the woman into my arms, and she slumps against my vest. Her entire body shakes, her control slipping away. Her sobs are heavy and deep, each one cutting into my heart.
I can’t imagine her pain, don’t want to imagine it. All I can do is hold her and make this moment, right here, a little better.
Dustin politely looks away, pretends to be interested in the decorations on the table near the door and the plate of cookies brought by another woman whose grandchildren are missing. He rubs at his shoulder, digs out another pill from his pocket and dry swallows it.
After a few minutes, Teresa pulls away, wiping her red and blotchy face with the collar of her robe. The ram-rod tension of her body is a little looser. “Sorry, about that,” she says nervously, backing away.
Dustin saves me from having to answer, from acknowledging my lapse in decorum. “We’ll be in touch as soon as we know anything.” He flicks his eyes at me, then opens the front door and steps onto the porch.
“Thank you, Detective,” she says in a voice so low, only I can hear. “I really needed that.” She makes a strangled sound that’s half way between a laugh and a squeal. Flustered, she latches onto her deeply ingrained manners. “Here, take one of these cookies,” she hands me the treat, her fingers shaking, then makes the odd half laugh sound again.
“Thank you,” I say genuinely, pulling one of my own cards from my shirt pocket. “This is my card. If you need something, even if it’s not about the case, just call me, okay.”
She takes the card and presses it to her chest. “I will.”
“I hate leaving you here alone. Promise you’ll be safe, and call me if you need to talk, or to whatever.”
She nods soberly, understanding the meaning under my words. “Don’t worry, Detective Hartley. As I said, my son and my sister will surely come tomorrow. I won’t be alone.” She picks up Pickles, his fluffy white curls blending into the white and red pattern of her robe.
I hear Dustin shuffling on the front porch and cold air is pouring in through the open door. “You watch after her,” I say to Pickles. “Take good care of her.” I’m not sure why I’m stalling. We have a mountain of work to do tonight to find the missing kids. Dustin clears his throat and I take the hint.
Message of Murder 04-Message in the Snow Page 6