For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
“I’ll try,” she finally said. It couldn’t hurt to get other people looking for Em.
* * *
After canvassing the park one more time, Radhauser got into his patrol car and backed out of the lot off Winburn. He mentally crossed Brandy Michaelson off his list of suspects. He’d cancel her polygraph. He knew it deep in his gut. Aside from a moment that some might call carelessness, that kid didn’t have anything to do with Emily’s disappearance.
One of the hardest things about a kidnapping investigation—with a child’s life in danger—was knowing when to call it a night. Radhauser needed sleep, but didn’t know how to stop being a detective. As he drove toward his ranch, he couldn’t escape the feeling he’d turned his back on Emily Michaelson.
His thoughts leaped to Brandy. He knew exactly how she felt. He’d been too busy and self-important to listen to his wife and go with her and Lucas the night of the accident. Too busy to even remember the last words he’d exchanged with them. He wanted to be able to sleep without his first wife and son entering his dreams. Time. It was a river that kept moving. There was no way to stop it and no way to go back and change the moments he regretted.
It was after 2a.m. when he pulled into his driveway. The night was cool, lit by a full moon, and littered with stars. He hit the remote for the garage door, parked, and turned off the ignition. In the mudroom between the garage and the kitchen, he sat on the bench and pulled off his boots. He tiptoed through the kitchen, where Gracie’s birthday cake sat untouched on the counter. Sometimes he hated his job.
On his way down the hall to their bedroom, he stopped in front of Lizzy’s door and inched it open. The nightlight cast a warm glow on the room they’d redecorated for her fourth birthday, just two weeks before.
Gracie had painted the room a soft pink and added a border of pink and teal dragonflies. They’d bought a twin trundle bed—planning ahead for the nights Lizzie would have sleepovers with a friend. He kneeled beside her bed, fingered the quilted bedspread Gracie’s mom had made, and watched his daughter sleep.
She wore a lavender nightgown with a ruffle at the bottom. It was bunched up around her thighs. She was on her back, sprawled sideways across the bed, her mouth open and moist. Her thumb must have slid out at the moment she drifted into sleep and landed still cocked next to her cheek.
Someone else’s daughter was missing, but his Lizzie lay safe in her own bed.
He pressed his lips to her cheek and she curled into his arms without waking, so willing to surrender into love.
After a few moments, he laid her back down in the center of the bed and covered her with her quilt. He picked up her stuffed bunny that had tumbled onto the floor and tucked it beside her. “Sweet dreams, darlin’ girl,” he whispered.
Despite his need for sleep, it was difficult to leave her room tonight. But volunteers were gathering at dawn to canvass Lithia Park again, along with the surrounding neighborhoods. He closed his eyes and said a prayer for his daughter.
Again, his thoughts returned to Emily.
“Why did you take her?” he whispered. He knew from experience that once he understood the why, he could likely figure out who.
His eyes were still closed when he felt the pressure of a hand on his shoulder.
In her long, white nightgown, Gracie looked almost ethereal in the moonlight. Without saying a word, she took his hand and led him into their bedroom, then climbed back into bed. He undressed and lay down beside her. “I’m sorry about the birthday cake.”
“Shhh,” she said. “We’ll have it with coffee for breakfast.”
He didn’t tell her that he’d be gone long before she and Lizzie had breakfast.
“I saw the mother on the news,” she said. “Are you any closer to finding her little girl?”
“No. Not one solid lead. And I’ve got an eighteen-year-old half-sister who believes it’s all her fault.”
“Poor kid.” When Gracie stroked the side of his face, he wished he’d taken a few minutes to shave. She tucked her head into his shoulder. Her neck still carried a hint of the rose-scented soap she always used.
He’d been lost after Laura and Lucas died, and Gracie had brought something solid and alive back into his life.
But he had no real talent for words and had never found a way to say the many things he felt. “You know how much I love you and Lizzie, don’t you?”
She ran her hand over his cheek. “After I turned off the news, I sat on the floor beside Lizzie’s bed and watched her sleep for over an hour. They’d have to institutionalize me if anything like that happened to her.”
He stroked her hair and wished it were some other night. “We won’t ever let that happen.” Even as he uttered the reassurance, he feared it might not be true. Time was a traitor. You planned and waited for the good things. But bad things happened fast. And he knew, better than most, they could happen to anyone.
For a few moments, they lay holding hands and listening to the restless flutter of the bedroom curtains in the early morning air. Then Gracie rolled over on her side and the steady sound of her breathing descended into the rhythm of sleep.
Caring too much was a dicey thing for a detective. The work required objectivity and a clear head. He needed to be concerned enough not to appear callous or cynical, but able to walk away and make the difficult decisions when necessary. He knew he wasn’t doing a good job with the walking away part. A detective who allowed his emotions to get tied up in a case was the worst kind of fool.
Though he tried for over an hour, Radhauser couldn’t sleep. He slipped out of bed, tiptoed into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. He sat at the table, meticulously reviewed his interviews and notes again, hoping to find something he’d missed—anything that might lead him to Emily.
* * *
Brandy jerked awake in her own bed. She lay, paralyzed in the dark, until her fear found a name.
Emily.
Both feet touched the floor. She was still wearing the same muddy-kneed jeans, T-shirt and hoody she’d worn the night before. She bolted through the darkened hallway.
Her dad had closed the door to Emily’s bedroom as if that barrier could make them stop feeling the life that no longer went on inside that room. It didn’t work. The closed door was like a bruise you could run your fingertips over and feel the pain. The walled-off section of their home made Brandy’s eyes fill with tears just passing by on her way to the bathroom.
She hurried into the kitchen. Officer Corbin was gone. In the dim light from the nightlight above the stove, she saw her dad was asleep at the oak table, his head dropped onto his crossed arms. His shoulders rose and sank, his breath ruffling the paper napkin beneath his coffee cup in steady waves.
The sun slipped from behind a cloud and caught in the window. Its bright heat warmed the air so gradually she was barely aware of it. She checked the clock on the stove. Six-thirty. Emily had been missing for fifteen hours. Brandy turned away. The maps, with the streets each volunteer was to canvass highlighted in orange, were stacked on the counter next to the flyers. She grabbed both stacks and headed for the park.
* * *
Detective Radhauser was one of the first to arrive in the Winburn parking lot. His job would include instructing the volunteers on evidence-gathering procedures. He made a quick sweep of the area around the playground, hoping to see something that might shed new light on Emily’s disappearance. At just after 7a.m., the sky opened up and rain came down in silver sheets that fell over the Ashland hills, soaking down through the tree canopies. It drummed on the tin roof of the restroom at Lithia Park and pocked Ashland Creek and the pond where the ducks and swans floated.
Damn. Rain was the last thing they needed. He hurried through the downpour to the volunteer staging area set up in the community center across the street from the park. He spotted Brandy and a woman he assumed, because Brandy had told him she’d planned to arrive early, to be Daniel Michaelson’s se
cretary, Lois. It was a wooden building, with one huge room that smelled like pinecones. Folding chairs had been set up in long rows.
Standing behind a row of tables at the back of the room facing the chairs, Brandy collated packets—maps, a spiral notebook with a pen tied to it, a stack of Help Us Find Emily posters, a roll of tape, a spool of yellow ribbon, and a loaded staple gun. Lois handed them out to the volunteers as they took their seats.
Brandy stopped working and hurried over to him. She told him the new things she’d remembered. About the excitement in Emily’s voice when she’d said, “Bumblebee no sting big Pooh. He no nap.” The way Emily loved that big Pooh in the toy store window, and how she wouldn’t have mistaken it for just any bear costume because of the yellow T-shirt and the big bumblebee on his nose. She reminded him of what both Kent and Mrs. Wyatt had told her.
“Good,” he said, impressed by her critical thinking. He remembered the curious prints he’d photographed on the floor of the restroom. Could the kidnapper have carried a big stuffed animal meant to entice Emily? Not very likely. Besides, Kent claimed a big bear was carrying Emily. More like the prints came from someone dressed in a bear costume. He pulled out his notebook, jotted a reminder to interview the toy store owner. He needed the name of the individual who bought the giant Pooh bear. Maybe they’d turned it into a costume.
“The bulletin board is a great idea,” he said. “Keep looking at it—going over and over in your mind what happened. You may remember other things. And calls are coming in from people who were in the park yesterday. We’ll have a solid lead soon.”
“We already have one,” Brandy insisted. “And I plan to talk with her again.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. This is my last warning and I mean it. Leave the interviewing to the police.”
She looked away.
He understood how bad she felt and how much she wanted to help, but he couldn’t let her sabotage his investigation.
“Mrs. Wyatt opened up to me,” she said. “Not you. And what about Kent? You were the one who asked me to interview him.”
She had him there. “That was a special situation. He trusted you. And you did a good job. Probably better than I could have done.”
Brandy smiled, then returned to compiling packets.
Radhauser watched her for a moment before turning his attention to the room. All the available chairs were now filled with volunteers. He gave a brief orientation and some instructions on interviewing, making sure each resident looked closely at Emily’s photo. He gave them a list of the proper questions to ask during their neighborhood canvasses, and described Emily and the outfit she’d been wearing. And though he doubted they’d find much, he hyped them up about the importance of their mission, how they might uncover the one piece of information that could lead the police to Emily.
“Don’t touch any evidence,” he said. “Leave it exactly the way you find it. Report anything suspicious to your team leader. Pieces of fabric or clothing you may see in the bushes, places where the ground appears to be disturbed. I don’t care how unimportant it may seem. I want to know about it.”
Moments later, volunteers from Josephine and Jackson County Search and Rescue, along with neighbors, Eagle Scout troops, students and teachers from both Ashland High School and Southern Oregon University fanned out in all directions. They moved through the rain, slowly, deliberately, the way he’d described to them in his orientation. Some searched the park and the wooded areas surrounding it on foot. Many of the search and rescue teams went on horseback. Student volunteers tied yellow ribbons to telephone poles along Main Street and used staple guns to tack up the flyers bearing Emily’s photograph.
When he was confident the searchers understood their mission, Radhauser returned to the police station.
Vernon met him at the door. “Glenard Dewar, Senior, owns a cabin at Emigrant Lake.”
The lake was only five miles southeast of Ashland. “Go check it out,” Radhauser said. “Take Murphy with you. Walk the land around the cabin and look for anything suspicious. It’s a long shot, but you never know.”
Around 10a.m., Radhauser oriented a fresh group of volunteers. Some posted fliers in store windows and replaced those on trees and telephone poles the rain had destroyed. Others formed lines to sweep across fields and meadows, and head down dirt pathways to search woods. He instructed them to look behind bushes, in ditches, barns, abandoned cars, and old refrigerators, everything that was in their path.
A few moments later, the canine unit arrived. The tracking dogs sniffed Emily’s sneakers and one of her shirts Brandy had taken from the bathroom hamper. For a while they just ran around in circles, and he’d nearly given up when one of them leapt across the stone and wood-planked bridge over Ashland Creek. He stopped in the middle and sniffed the rock wall, then looked at his trainer.
“The kidnapper stopped here,” the trainer said.
Radhauser thought about the sneakers, the way they were tied in double knots. A picture formed in his mind. The kidnapper had perched Emily on the rock wall and taken off her shoes. But why take the time to tie a double knot? He remembered what Brandy had told him about Emily’s shoes being untied. Was the kidnapper sending a message to her parents?
The dog raced forward.
Radhauser and the dog’s trainer followed. The dog ran down the bank of Ashland Creek, stopped and looked at his trainer again, then turned and headed back up the bank and toward the south end of the Winburn parking lot. He circled one of the parking spaces for a few moments before he gave up.
“He’s lost the scent,” the trainer said.
“Could it be that this is where the abductor’s car was parked?” Radhauser asked.
“It’s likely,” the canine officer said.
Radhauser thought about Mrs. Wyatt and what she’d said to Brandy about a costumed adult putting a little girl into a car in the Winburn lot. Maybe it was time he got a warrant and paid her another visit.
Chapter Seventeen
It took Mrs. Wyatt a few minutes to get to the door. She opened it a small crack. “This is harassment,” she said when she saw Radhauser standing on her porch. “Why can’t you people leave me alone?” Her breathing was heavy. Behind her, the television blared out a talk show.
“I assure you I don’t want to be here,” Radhauser said. “But a little girl is missing and I can’t stop looking until I find her.”
“I already told you I didn’t see anything. And I sure as hell don’t have that little girl.”
“You told the victim’s sister that you did see something.”
Mrs. Wyatt looked at him hard. “That girl was extremely kind.”
“Listen to me,” he said, fighting to keep his voice calm. “I know some of your reports haven’t panned out, but—”
“You didn’t have to make me feel like I’m one of those crazy crank callers you see on television.” Her dark eyes blazed.
He tried to imagine what she felt, the embarrassment of her weight, and the humiliation of having been caught seeking attention. “You’re right. But I did investigate every lead you gave me.”
“You never thanked me or showed one iota of appreciation for how I watch out for people. My late husband founded our neighborhood watch.”
“I’m sure he was a good man, but I need you to tell me about the car you saw in the Winburn parking lot. About the person in costume.”
“I already told that girl what I saw.”
“I need you to tell me. That girl won’t be bothering you again.”
“She was nice to me.” The door opened. Mrs. Wyatt filled most of it. “Unlike you, she was no bother.”
“Please, Mrs. Wyatt, just tell me what you saw.”
She smiled and took a step back. “Has my careful surveillance actually provided you with a lead?” A trickle of sweat rolled down her jaw and into the neck of her ugly flowered dress.
Though she’d never given him anything but a headache, he nodded and then told her about the
dog stopping near the south end of the Winburn lot after sniffing Emily’s sneakers. “Did you see a small child wearing a red jacket being put into a car seat by someone in a bear costume?”
“I did, indeed.”
“Are you positive it wasn’t someone carrying a life-sized stuffed animal and a little girl? Could that person have put the stuffed animal into the front seat?”
She thought about that. “I don’t think so. I mean…I noticed he didn’t take the bear head off before driving away. But I did see a little girl in a red jacket. And a stuffed animal couldn’t have put her in the car seat.”
Though she’d probably seen an attendee of the fair put his or her own child into the safety seat, Radhauser couldn’t take any chances. “You may have witnessed something important this time. Could you be specific about the car and the exact spot it was parked?”
“Will I get my name in the paper?”
“There’s a good chance. That is if your information leads us to the missing child.”
“Is there a reward?”
“The family is offering a $5,000 reward.”
She moved out of the doorway.
He stepped inside.
On the television, Geraldo Rivera introduced his guests, three men who liked to wear lace panties. The audience clapped. Radhauser shook his head.
“I’ll let you look through my binoculars,” Mrs. Wyatt said. “I can identify the exact spot where the getaway car was stashed.”
* * *
When Brandy spotted Stone, she avoided him. Embarrassed by her late night phone call, she headed out of the park.
He caught up with her. “Did you bring me a copy of the song?”
She slipped the melody and lyrics out of her backpack and handed them to him.
“It was amazing,” he said. “Really moving.”
She looked away and kept walking.
“We can team up,” Stone said. “I mean, it might be easier for you to be with someone you know.”
When Time Is a River Page 17