The Moment He Vanished (Kendra Dillon Cold Case Thriller Book 2)

by Rebecca Rane

  “I had an accident. I had an accident.”

  Kendra listened intently and didn’t say anything. Josh needed to grab hold of whatever memory was surfacing.

  “I never told anyone that. When you’re a little kid, that’s the same as being bad, having an accident.”

  “What else?” Kendra asked.

  “I was upset because I wasn’t a baby, and I had an accident. How stupid is that? That’s what I remember, not the bastard who took me.”

  Kendra felt the panic and pain from Josh, as though he was still a little boy. The worst thing was the accident, not the fact he was snatched away from his parents.

  “I get it. I was worried about my book report.” She’d had a book report due, and she had to work on it. She remembered that in the first moments of her own kidnapping, her fear was missing a school assignment.

  Josh nodded; Kendra continued. “And then? Is there anything else you remember, maybe something about where they took you?”

  “No, that’s pretty much it. After that, I remember Mr. Tim. That’s what I called Dad in the beginning, Mr. Tim.”

  “Do you know how long it was, what kind of time went by?”

  “No, you have to understand, I couldn’t even tell time and I didn’t know the days of the week at that age.”

  Kendra knew that to be true. What did a toddler know about how long he was anywhere, especially if he was in the midst of abuse or being drugged?

  “Do you remember any friends, names maybe, before you went to live with Mr. Tim?”

  “No, only after I went to live with Dad did things feel more solid. I remember first grade. Things start getting clear from there and fuzzy before it. I do remember some nights I dreamed of my mother. But that’s all it was. A dream. I couldn’t say that I was kidnapped from a theme park from my real family. I didn’t know, not until recently.”

  “Because of the news stories?”

  “That, and they told me mom would get hurt, and it all sounds made up, even to me now, after all we’ve discovered.”

  “I talked to Tim. He wants to do anything he can to help you.”

  “He was good to me. I cannot complain.”

  “He says you were found wandering the streets. Do you remember that?”

  “No… I wish you wouldn’t drag him into this too much. He only did the right thing by me, always.”

  “We needed him. He’s an important link to your childhood. It sounds like a good link.”

  “I’m his son, he’s the dad, he’s afraid I’ll forget about him. He did tell me that last time we talked.”

  “Will you?”

  “I forgot about my mom. Maybe he has a point.”

  “You won’t, you know that.”

  “He’s worried about my health, that this is all going to be a big disappointment. He didn’t want me to go away to college. That’s why I live at home and commute.”

  Kendra listened to Josh express guilt about looking for his real parents.

  “I assure you, you’re right on target with Tim. He wants what’s best for you, even if that’s a new mom or new family.”

  Josh took it in and shifted in his chair.

  “Okay, any word on the DNA lab?”

  “No, but we’re hoping it won’t be much longer. Sit tight. It will be soon.”

  “I can’t wait to show Mom.” There was a hopefulness, a childlike quality to his face, his voice. Kendra wondered if, in some way, he was trying to give Margie what she’d missed out on.

  “Sure,” she said.

  They had enough for the podcast, for now.

  Josh left WPLE.

  It was another powerful interview, and when the DNA came back, there’d be an incredible finish for it. It felt like a fruitful day’s work.

  It felt, for the first time, like they really had a handle on season three. Kendra wondered if this is what experience brought. They were good at cold case podcasting now. Luck had been on their side but so had hard work. For a moment, she let herself feel calm and happy about that fact. They weren’t scrambling for the next episode. They were calmly planning their season. It was a welcome change.

  “What else for today?” Shoop asked as they finished up logging the latest interview.

  “Nothing, let’s get gussied up. We have a boring awards dinner to sit through!”

  “Gussied up? I mean, I know you’re older than me, but gussied up?”

  “Stop.”

  The Cold Trail was up for a Port Lawrence Society of Professional Journalists award for season one’s efforts to identify the I-80 Jane Doe. Art insisted they make a schmoozy appearance.

  “I’m excited you invited Kyle as your date. This season of The Cold Trail is severely lacking in iron-jawed, muscle-bound officers of the law.”

  “He’s not my date. He was an integral part of season two. He saved our investigation and our lives, so I—”

  “—Blah, blah, blah,” Shoop interrupted Kendra’s justifications. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous, and he’s escorting you to a formal event. If it quacks like a date, it’s a date.”

  Kendra rolled her eyes. They turned off the lights of the office. They agreed to meet at the table Art had purchased for the event.

  Even though a formal affair was the last place Kendra wanted to be.

  Chapter 17

  She was getting ready.

  He watched the process from that dark spot, across the river.

  She’d not realized that he was in the abandoned building. That it wasn’t abandoned. He’d equipped it for his needs. But he didn’t advertise it.

  The building had the two things he needed, location and solitude. He’d made sure of that. He’d been gone, off taking care of his mess in Wisconsin.

  There would be no way to connect him to Parker Elmhurst now.

  He’d left one tiny loose end in that situation, a little bit of scientific proof that had now gone, poof. He chuckled to himself.

  They had no idea.

  He watched Kendra Dillon as she slid into a dress. She wore dresses so rarely. She’d been wearing one when they’d met, so long ago.

  This dress was modest. She was modest. He appreciated that about her.

  Modest clothing let her pretty features take center stage. So many women advertised too much. Not his girl. Not his Kendra.

  This was a formal affair, so she slipped into a LBD. That’s what they called it. A little black dress.

  She wore her hair down, in loose curls, instead of her ponytail or bun. It was a Disney Princess style, he thought.

  He wanted to get close enough to smell her tonight.

  He had a plan for that.

  He had a plan to get her to scream, too, a little scream.

  Like the one he’d got out of her when he’d scared her in the parking lot. He’d been observing from far away. He’d been very careful. But tonight, he’d get close.

  Tonight, he’d be close enough to know what perfume she’d dabbed on to her bird-like neck.

  Was it the Dior or the Chanel her mother had gifted her?

  He knew there were only two choices on her bedroom dresser.

  The anticipation of finding out was almost as fun as the terror in her voice when she screamed.

  Almost.

  Chapter 18

  Who were all these men? He didn’t know their names or their faces. They weren’t his mom or his teacher or a policeman.

  He didn’t know how to count very high. That was a problem.

  He only knew that there were a bunch.

  And he wasn’t the only boy. There were other boys.

  He didn’t know where they were now. It was so far away. He didn’t recognize the white street signs. His house had green ones.

  He did know his colors.

  And he was good with directions, before.

  He knew which way to turn to get to the McDonald’s when he had three dollars.

  He didn’t have three dollars very often, but when he did, he could go to McDonald’s.


  And he knew the turns.

  But he was turned around now. He couldn’t figure it out.

  He didn’t cry anymore. He didn’t even want to.

  He knew he would feel funny in his stomach.

  Things burned. He knew that.

  But he’d been hit before.

  When he was bad.

  But these men weren’t them. No, they didn’t hit him.

  They were soft with him.

  He supposed that was better than getting hit or shoved.

  But why wasn’t it? He couldn’t figure it out. It all felt worse.

  He lived here now. And even had a night light. He could have blue dark instead of black dark. But now, the things that scared him were so much darker than black.

  He wished they would hit him. That would be better.

  Chapter 19

  “I hate these things,” Kendra said under her breath to Detective Kyle Carver. She had been told she had to bring a guest. She owed Kyle her life, so did Shoop.

  And she liked Kyle, but she did not like sitting at a big round table waiting to find out if she was going to win something. The Port Lawrence Press Club Awards dinner honored journalists, public relations professionals, ad people, and—for the first time ever—possibly, her podcast.

  Shoop kept eyeing her and winking. Kendra gave Shoop the evil eye back, hoping to indicate that she’d like her friend to stop it.

  “It’s a big deal. You deserve to win,” Kyle said. He was handsome, sweet, brave, and smelled good. Kendra tried to put her distaste for schmoozing aside long enough to appreciate that fact.

  “Thank you.”

  “It is a big deal. Half the people in here are in my sights to hit up for pledges,” Art said.

  Art was the reason they had all attended. They were going to show up, dress up, and play nice, in Art’s words, “or else.”

  Kendra was not sure what “or else” meant.

  Shoop, Kendra, Kyle, Miles, Art, his wife Eva, WPLE News Director Judith French, and her boyfriend rounded out their table. Judith was going to get a lifetime achievement award, so at least that was a good reason to be here. She deserves it, Kendra thought.

  The woman had carved the newsroom out of nothing at WPLE after her days as an anchorwoman were done. In that way, they had a lot in common. They’d found a second life and maybe a better life on their own terms at WPLE.

  “Shh. It’s our category,” Shoop said.

  “The nominations for investigative reporting are Connor Stinson, Your News 19 Greg Grafton, Action News 11, Herb Drew from The Port Lawrence News Daily, and Kendra Dillon for The Cold Trail Podcast.”

  The first season had aired only four months ago, and it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “The winner is… Connor Stinson!”

  It sucked the air out of their table a bit. The staff of WPLE offered polite applause for Connor Stinson. Kendra, for her part, felt relief. Awards were nice for the resume, she knew, but she also knew a press club award and five bucks will get you a pumpkin spice latte.

  The awards rolled on and mercifully finished just as they all finished their crème brûlée.

  “Congratulations, Judith,” Kendra said to the veteran newswoman as she returned to the table.

  “Thank you, and thank you, Art. For letting me do my thing at WPLE.” She’d thanked Art at the podium as well.

  “Like I had a choice,” Art said to Judith, and she acknowledged that, in fact, Art did not have a choice. Judith was a force of nature.

  Shoop leaned over and whispered to Kendra. “She has it figured out. Art doesn’t push her around. She does the pushing.”

  Shoop was right. The more they succeeded at the podcast, the more they’d increase their ability to call their own shots at WPLE.

  Judith French was a class act, and she turned the focus to Kendra and The Cold Trail.

  “Your News 19 was only up for that award based on the train you two started with the I-80 Jane Doe. Without your I.D., the FBI would never have shown up for that case, and there’d never have been that serial killer investigative piece they just won for.”

  “Oh, Connor is a good guy.”

  “Take the compliment and credit where you deserve it,” Judith said to Kendra. It was good advice.

  The conversation moved on to gossip about billionaire CEO J.D. Atwell’s redevelopment of the Port Lawrence riverfront. It was generally being well-received, but there were grumblings too, about whether a pharmaceutical firm should be taking up space that could be for retail. The argument was always about how to bring people downtown and keep them there.

  “Well, as long as Kendra here keeps the podcasts coming, WPLE will get our little share of that windfall,” Art said, a not-so-subtle reminder that The Cold Trail clock continued to tick.

  “We recorded episode two for season three today,” Shoop said.

  “Set to drop tomorrow morning. We added some great background sound, by the way,” Miles added.

  “Good, if I see J.D. Atwell, I’ll be sure he knows,” Art replied. Then the table began to disperse. Networking, which was the main point of any of these things, was underway.

  “I’m going to congratulate Connor and remind him who he owes his recent scoops to,” Shoop said as she scanned the room.

  Kendra laughed, but it was true. It was a competitive business, like any other.

  “What’s the focus for this season?” Kyle Carver asked Kendra.

  “The disappearance of a little boy, back in 2005, Ethan Peltz.”

  “Wow, yes, I remember that case. I was in junior high, I think,” Kyle said.

  “No conviction on it, still, but we have a really strong hook to start the season,” Kendra explained.

  “I would think, with what’s happening right now, that it’s really timely.”

  “Yeah, my sister was telling me everyone is working non-stop on the missing little boy. How’s that going?” Kendra asked.

  Kendra’s focus on the past made her miss the daily news more often than not. Her sister and Kyle were working tirelessly to find a little boy who they could save. Kendra had a flash of fear that the little boys she was searching for were all lost to too much time passing.

  “She pulled me into the task force, yesterday actually. So, it’s ramping up. But the bad news is that we’re ramping up with no sign of him. And there’s just no consensus about whether we’re dealing with a kidnapping situation or if he wandered off somehow and got into trouble.”

  “How awful,” Kendra sighed.

  “Yeah, more for the town. I’m sure your sister told you about the family. AWOL, I hate to say it.”

  That was a strong statement from Kyle. He was the kind of person who saw good in people, even though his job as a sexual assault detective was to investigate the worst human sins. The normally unflappable and cheerful Kyle had a dark cloud over his head.

  “Sounds like the case is getting to you,” Kendra said.

  After speaking to her sister at dinner the other day, she knew the search for Brylon Coleman was now overtaking her every waking hour. She realized that was probably true for the entire department. Kendra stepped out of her own work-obsessed bubble and realized she’d been selfish. The tragedy Kendra was investigating was old. There was no way to change the hurt. There was some freedom in that. A stuffy awards dinner probably wasn’t the best way for Kyle to blow off steam.

  She didn’t worry about her sister. Gillian was a machine and shared Kendra’s dog-with-a-bone outlook on work. Kyle, though, probably wanted a nap or a beer at least.

  “Want to get out of here, take a walk?” Kendra said, and Shoop overheard the offer. She gave Kendra a wink that Kyle didn’t catch.

  “I don’t want to ruin your work event,” Kyle said with concern.

  “Are you kidding?” Kendra put both her hands on her out of character dress and said, “What part of me looks like I like this kind of event?” She smiled, and Kyle looked her up and down. It sparked a little flush in her cheeks.

&
nbsp; “Well, you do clean up very prettily,” Kyle said and returned her grin.

  “Stop, you’re the arm candy at this thing,” Kendra said, and this time she generated an actual laugh from the detective. Kendra leaned into Shoop and whispered, “Say our goodbyes for me. We’re out of here.”

  “Got it,” Shoop said, and Kyle and Kendra made their way out. The banquet hall was on the lowest floor of the swankiest hotel in town, The Riverfront.

  “You up for a little stroll along the river?” Kendra asked, and Kyle agreed. Though Kendra’s feet were just starting to scream; high heels were not her friends. But getting out of the schmoozing was the goal, not comfort.

  They made their way out of the banquet room, past the lobby to the Riverwalk. The night skyline provided a backdrop as they walked along the not yet frozen river.

  “Port Lawrence is looking pretty nice tonight,” Kyle said.

  While Kendra had on her fanciest dress, a simple black cocktail number, she had paired it with a big down puffer coat. It was a non-fashionable combo, but it made walking outside in the winter bearable, even pleasant. She was glad for it now as the two strolled along the water in companionable silence for a moment.

  “I just keep seeing danger. Lucky, Ohio, it turns out, has a lot of abandoned buildings,” Kyle said. They were walking in Port Lawrence, but his head was on the Brylon Coleman case.

  Kendra understood the concept of self-care or downtime didn’t apply in the careers they’d chosen.

  “A lot of things could have happened to him,” Kendra replied. She wasn’t here to make Kyle feel better. That was impossible. They both had a realistic picture of what happened to missing kids.

  “We’ve looked in the immediate abandoned buildings, that’s first, that’s key. But there isn’t a sign of him. The problem would be the nooks and crannies if he wandered off on his own. Did he think a closet was a good place to hide, or fall in some field somewhere we didn’t look?” Kyle said, listing the dangers the boy could have encountered even without something sinister playing into the equation.

  “You’re doing all you can, so is Gilly. That’s something to hold on to.”