by Frank Zafiro
“There,” he pointed.
Kopriva saw a silver Ford Taurus parked in the small dirt driveway behind the house. The back yard was fenced in and the gate at the driveway was closed. A mangy, yellow dog lay in the corner of the yard in a patch of sunshine. Next to the dirt driveway was a small, detached garage. It was barely large enough to be called a one-car.
“What’s in there?” Kopriva asked.
Fred shrugged. “Fifty years of junk.”
Kopriva nodded, then turned and walked back into the living room. Fred trailed behind him.
“Satisfied?” Nancy asked him bitterly when he returned.
“Yes,” Kopriva answered. “When was the last time you saw your grand-daughter, Mrs. Henderson?”
More tears rose in her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. “She’s six now. Oh, Jesus!” Nancy leaned her head back against the headrest of the chair and wailed. “It’s been five years since I’ve seen my precious grand-daughter! Five years since she’s seen her Grammy! Oh, Jesus God!”
Kopriva waited while she half-sobbed, half-wailed. When the sounds she made subsided, he spoke again. “Have you had any contact at all? Telephone calls, letters, pictures?”
“Not in five years,” she sobbed.
“Nothing at all?”
“Oh, you bastards!” Nancy roared at him. She stood suddenly and threw her beer can down on the floor at her side. The liquid foamed and gushed out onto the floor. “You think I had something to do with this?”
Kopriva suppressed a sigh. “No, ma’am. Like I said—“
“You’re tormenting me!” she shouted. “I haven’t seen her in five years and now you come here and torment me?”
“We’re trying to find her, ma’am,” Kopriva said.
“You think I took her?” Nancy shrieked at him, stabbing her finger in the air. “Search my house, then! Search it, goddamn you! Search it and then get out there and fucking find my grand-daughter!”
Kopriva considered, then shook his head. “I don’t want to search your house. I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Either search now or get out!” Nancy yelled, waving her arms wildly. “I’m sick and tired of your accusations!”
“I don’t need to search your house, ma’am. I just need—“
“Then get out!” She pointed at the door. “Get out! Get OUT!”
Kopriva hesitated. He looked at Fred, who appeared unaffected by Nancy’s radical mood swings.
He’s used to it, Kopriva realized. This must be par for the course.
With an audible sigh, he rose and walked toward the door. Behind him, Nancy sank into the chair and sobbed violently.
“We should search,” Willow whispered to him as he passed.
Kopriva shook his head. “She’s not here.”
He turned the knob and walked onto the porch.
Willow followed. “If they’re going to let us,” he said urgently, “then we should search. We should make sure.”
Kopriva motioned toward the house. “That woman is so crazy she couldn’t plan a shopping trip, much less an abduction.”
Willow frowned. “Maybe so. But we should make sure.”
“There’s no point.”
“She’s offering,” Willow said. “That’s the point.”
The door swung open and Fred Henderson stood in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, officers,” he said softly. “She’s…not well.”
“Apparently,” Willow muttered.
“Is she on medication?” Kopriva asked.
Fred nodded somberly. “Several. And the beer doesn’t help. “
“I don’t imagine it does,” Kopriva said.
“Then news like this comes along,” he twirled his hands slowly. “It sets her off.”
“Is she always so…” Kopriva trailed off.
“All over the place?”
Kopriva nodded.
Fred shrugged. “It depends. The less she takes her medication, the more beer she drinks, the more she’s like this.”
“I’m sorry,” Kopriva said.
“You’re just doing your job,” Fred said. “Will you call when you find Amy?”
“Of course.”
“That will calm her down, I think,” Fred told him.
“I’ll make sure someone calls.”
“If you have any other questions, officer, please come by.” Fred pushed the thin strands of hair from the side of his head across his bald top. “Anytime.”
“Thanks, Mr. Henderson.” Kopriva extended his hand.
Fred looked at it briefly, then reached out and took it. He shook hands limply, then turned and closed the door.
EIGHT
1748 hours
The knock at the door made Gio jump. He walked out of the kitchen and to the front door.
Jill Ferguson stood at the door holding a casserole dish. She smiled nervously at Gio.
He opened the door and let her in.
“Is Kathy awake?” she asked.
He nodded. “In the living room.” She’d been in there since the chaplain left. He’d promised to return if she needed him again, but Kathy had thanked him and said she’d be all right. The chaplain had urged her to get some sleep. Gio hoped she would and promised to wake her if any news came in, but he knew the mother would sleep little, if at all.
Jill brushed past him and he caught a whiff of the casserole and her perfume. She disappeared into the kitchen, then reappeared a moment later without the dish and went into the living room.
Gio closed the front door and wandered back into the kitchen. He glanced at the clock. It was almost six o’clock. His stomach grumbled.
He thought about going into the living room, but decided against it. The two women needed their privacy. Maybe Jill could bring some comfort to Kathy. Or, like he’d mentioned before, maybe she’d lash out at her.
Straining his ears, all he could hear was the muffled sound of the television and soft, feminine voices. Obviously, though, Kathy was welcoming the support.
Gio stood over the casserole and inhaled deeply. It smelled like cheese and potatoes.
“Adam-257, a status check,” his radio crackled.
“Code four,” he said into it. “And I’ll be off the air. Contact me via landline.”
“Copy, Ad—“
He snapped off the radio. That was just like a dispatcher. They don’t status check you unless you’re on a break or a detail like this one where you didn’t need it.
“Go back to your card game,” he muttered at the radio, and took another sniff of Jill’s casserole. He thought he detected onions.
Ten minutes later, Jill Ferguson came into the kitchen. She’d been crying, but she gave him a warm smile. Wordlessly, she turned the oven on and slid the casserole onto the rack.
“It’s ready to eat now,” she said, brushing a lock of her red hair out of her face, “but you can keep it on warm all night if you need to.”
“Thanks,” Gio said.
“I don’t know if Kathy will feel like eating, but this way she doesn’t have to worry about it and neither do you.”
“Thanks,” Gio repeated.
Jill started toward the door and motioned for him to follow. Once they were on the porch, she said, “You’ve got to watch her a little closer, okay? She was watching the news when I went in. They ran a story about Amy.”
Gio’s face fell. “Oh, jeez. I’m sorry. I thought she might need to be alone.”
“She probably did. Just not alone with the evening news.”
Gio swore under his breath, then asked, “Was it bad?”
Jill shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” she told him. “The reporter didn’t make it sound any worse than it is. And it’s over now, anyway.”
“Still,” he said. “I should have thought of that.”
She didn’t argue the point, but she let it die. “This has been hard on her. But having you here helps, I think.”
“I hope so. How’s Kendra?”
Jill frowned. “Not herself. She’s quieter than usual. And she cried after that detective left.”
“I’m sorry. It has to be rough for her. That could have been her instead of Amy.” Gio regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.
Jill’s face fell. “I know. Anyway, good night.”
Gio watched her go down the walk and into the night.
1844 hours
“Look at that stack,” Tower said.
Kopriva stared at the three tall stacks of manila folders on the table in front of them. Browning stood next to him and said nothing.
“Who’d have thought so many sexual sickos live in River City?” Tower asked.
“I’m never having kids,” Kopriva said, and both men chuckled at him.
“You gotta get laid before you can have kids,” Tower joked and added, “kid.”
Kopriva smiled. He thought about telling them that he was regularly sharing a bed with Officer Katie MacLeod, but he kept his mouth shut.
“They all come from the west side, anyway,” Browning said. “They get out of prison and come over here for a fresh start.”
“Fresh meat is more like it,” Tower groused.
Browning nodded in agreement, then clapped his hands. “Okay, boys, here’s the battle plan, per Lieutenant Crawford himself. We are to begin the arduous task of going through these stacks of sex offenders for another couple of hours. Then we are directed to go home and get some sleep and report back here promptly at 0600 hours. At that time—“
“What do you mean, go home?” Kopriva asked.
Browning and Tower looked at him and said nothing. He felt heat rushing to his face.
“We can’t just go home while this girl is missing,” he said. “We’ve got to keep at it until—“
“Until we make a mistake?” Browning asked.
“Until we find her,” Kopriva muttered.
Tower clapped Kopriva on his left shoulder, causing him to wince sharply. Tower drew back his hand apologetically. “Sorry, kid. I forgot.”
“It’s all right,” Kopriva lied. “I do, too, sometimes.”
Tower nodded at him, then said, “Look, Stef, it’s like this. We need to stay fresh throughout this process, too, or we’ll miss something. We’ve got an officer at the victim address in case there’s a ransom call. Crawford said the phone lines are being recorded. Patrol has a copy of the description the witness gave me. A teletype has gone out. We’ll dig into this pile of scumbag sickos—” he motioned toward the stacks of files—“tonight and keep with it tomorrow. It’ll work out.”
Browning watched the exchange dispassionately. “We have to play the odds, Stef. The odds are that either she’s being held for ransom or that she’s already dead.”
Kopriva was stunned at what he took to be Browning’s indifference. “And what are the odds of each of those being true?”
Browning shrugged. “There’s been no ransom call yet. Her father is a mid-level inspector for a clothing manufacturer. I’d say ninety-ten against the ransom scenario.”
“What if she’s still alive?”
“Then she needs us at the top of our game,” Tower said, and Browning nodded.
Kopriva shook his head. He was tempted to say that their whole line of reasoning sounded like chicken shit to him, but he realized he had no experience to speak from.
“Relax, Stef,” said Browning. “We’re not going home yet.”
“And,” Tower said, “if Crawford bails before we do, then we might just be crashing upstairs in the down room for a few hours.”
Then Kopriva understood. There was the academy and then there was the way it was on the street.
“I don’t think Crawford is going to be able to micro-manage this case after today, anyway,” Browning said, reaching for the nearest file. He pointed at it and asked Kopriva, “You know what you’re looking for?”
“Yeah,” Kopriva answered. “Age and gender of victims, for starters.”
“Let’s start with just that,” Tower said. “Then we’ll run the ones we single out through the computer for custody status and see who’s even still out of jail.”
“We’ll want to check to see who has a probation officer, too,” Browning said. “Easier to search their place that way.”
“Why’d you say that about Lieutenant Crawford?” Kopriva asked, grabbing a file of his own to review.
Browning smiled. “Well, I had the misfortune of following up on that stop that Norris and Gilliam made down in East Central, right?”
“Yeah.”
“The driver was a black male who felt that he was being singled out because of his race.”
“Which he was,” observed Tower.
“True,” said Browning. “His race and his van. He consented to a search of the van. I didn’t find anything other than a couple of bowl’s worth of marijuana in the glove compartment. I gave the man a pass on that. After that, I went and searched his house, again with consent. His bride was not very pleased with having a couple of white men wearing guns opening her closet doors, even if they were accompanied by a middle-aged black man.”
“You searched the house, too?” Kopriva asked.
“Of course,” Browning said.
“Even though you didn’t think it was the guy?”
“I may not have thought it was the guy, but he matched the description and so did his vehicle. I had to follow the lead as far as it went.”
Kopriva looked troubled.
“Confused?” Browning asked. “Well, here’s the point. Between my following up Norris’s stop and the way patrol is likely to stop every van moving tonight, I am certain that the El-Tee will be up to his armpits in angry black citizens by tomorrow morning. Leaving us,” he said with a grin, “to actually solve the case.”
“Ta-da,” Tower intoned and tossed the first file into the discard pile. “Deceased,” he explained.
“How’d your trip to the grandmother’s go, Stef?” Browning asked.
Kopriva shrugged. “She’s as crazy as her daughter said. It was like that old movie where that woman has all those different personalities?”
“Sybil?” Browning asked. “With Sally Fields?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“I thought that was Faye Dunaway,” Tower said, opening another file.
“It was Sally Fields,” Browning said.
“Pretty sure it was Faye Dunaway,” Tower said, paging through the file.
Browning shook his head at him. “No. It wasn’t.”
“Pretty sure.”
Kopriva smiled at the banter between the two men. Gallows humor was the way a lot of officers coped with the darkness of the job. But since coming to work light duty in the detectives division, he’d seen a different kind of humor, more of a disassociative one. Detectives argued and joked about everything but police work. The only time they seemed to talk about the job was when they had to or when they were drinking and couldn’t help it.
“Doesn’t matter,” Browning said. “You can wallow in your ignorance.” He turned to Kopriva. “Go ahead, Stef. Finish. She was crazy, you said.”
Kopriva nodded and described her behavior for the two detectives. He didn’t mention her offer to search the place, feeling a little foolish. When he was done, Browning rubbed his chin in thought. Tower picked up another file and flipped it open.
“You think she’s involved?” Browning asked.
“Nah.”
Browning looked over at Tower. “So we’re oh-for-two.”
“I hit all the houses on the block where Kendra said they grabbed Amy,” Tower said. “Nobody saw anything. Same thing on Amy’s block.”
“Make that oh-for-three, then,” Browning said.
“Not necessarily,” Tower said. “A bunch of people weren’t home when I canvassed. I spread my business card around. Maybe someone will call in.”
“Anyone who wasn’t home when you canvassed probably wasn’t home when the snatch happened, either.”
“Well, thank you, Captain Optimism.”
Browning shrugged. “Just the facts, ma’am.”
Tower tossed another file on the discard pile. “Likes boys,” he explained.
“At this rate, we’ll be done before midnight,” Kopriva said.
“Hardly,” Tower said. “Something will come along and screw up that plan. Murphy’s law.” He looked at his watch. “I’m going to give Stephanie a call and let her know I won’t be home. Then I’m going for caffeine. You guys want some food?”
Kopriva shrugged, but Browning said sure.
“I’m not going for sandwiches, Ray, so you can forget your tuna and mustard special. It’s pizza or nothing.”
Browning feigned disappointment. “Ugh. Just get something cold to drink if you’re getting pizza.”
Tower gave him a reproachful look and held up two fingers. “Two things, huh?”
“What?”
“One, I’m going to David’s Pizza, okay? So the pizza will be delicious. And two, I’ll make sure to bring some cokes for Stef and me and some candy-ass diet for you. I’ll even bring you a straw.”
Browning removed a money clip from his pocket and peeled off a ten-dollar bill. Kopriva reached for his wallet, but Tower held up his hands. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll cover you. It’s the least we can do for exposing you to this stuff.”
“It’s better than the runaways I’ve been working,” Kopriva said.
Tower took Browning’s cash and headed for the exit door. “Try to finish a file or two before I get back,” he said on the way out.
“He’s in a good mood,” Kopriva said, a little surprised.
“That’s how he copes, I suppose,” Browning said evenly. “Besides, he’s in love. He’s living with the girl he mentioned. Stephanie. He acts differently when he’s single.”
“How do you know that?”
“He’s been on the job for twelve years. Back here for three. He works sex crimes and missing persons, so we end up working together quite a bit.”
“So you psychoanalyze him?”
Browning smiled slightly. “No. I notice things. It’s a by-product of the job, you could say.”