Kathryn poured herself a cup of coffee and typed in Tyler Wade's name in the NCIC database. The image of a brown haired boy popped onto the screen. He had hazel eyes and a carefree smile that showed crooked teeth. She scanned through the information on the page; age, weight, height, date of birth, date of disappearance. The detective who listed the report was Ryan Parker.
The same ominous feeling surged through her as she stared at Tyler's picture. She dialed Ryan's number.
"Hey, it's me."
"Me who?"
She smiled faintly at their back and forth game. "Santa Claus."
"Have I been naughty, or nice?"
"It doesn't matter," she said. "You're getting coal anyway."
"Ouch. So, what do you need?"
"Your listing on NCIC says that Tyler Wade lived with his grandmother?"
There was a long pause on the line. "That's my case, Kat. It may be on the back burner, but it's still mine. Is this why you checked out Ethan's file from the cage?"
"I'm just trying to help. Really. You have your hands full with Little Jane, and I really appreciate you keeping me in the loop. I'm sorry if I'm out of line."
Ryan cleared his throat before giving a resigned sigh. "It's okay. I appreciate the help, even if you aren't supposed to be working on anything resembling a case right now."
Kathryn leaned back in the chair and sipped her coffee. "Good. So, we're cool?"
"Yeah, we're cool."
"Okay. Um...you interviewed the grandmother?"
"Name was Daphne Riddle. I never got the chance to talk with her. She died two days after Mathew filed the report."
"The listing says that Tyler was born in Birmingham, Alabama. Is that where Mathew said he lives?"
"It's what his official statement says. I’ll fax it over. Why?”
The detective's words were like a punch in the gut. She continued to gaze at the picture of Tyler on her computer, and her heart began to race. “He told me he’s from New York.”
“You’ve been following up with him?"
"I talked to him a couple of times, but he's got a bit of a temper. He decided to keep searching on his own."
Ryan gave a dismissive grunt. "Sounds like Mathew alright. Is this as far as you've gotten?"
"Yeah," she said. "Case is so cold it's frozen solid."
"You're wasting your time on it. Just take it easy, Kat. Enjoy the rest of your time off."
The buzz of Kathryn’s fax machine sounded across the room.
"Maybe you're right. Thanks for the info."
"Anytime."
After the conversation, Kathryn pushed away from the desk. It was time to confront Mathew Wade. She grabbed the report and headed out the door.
Chapter Twelve
The darkest times of Kathryn Lincoln's life had been the days when her older sister would need a place to stay. A prominent heroin addict, the only time she would ever show her face was when she needed money or to sleep it off. The fact that Kathryn was a cop didn't bother Patricia one bit. She knew family always came first, or at least that's what Kathryn believed.
Kathryn could speculate until she was blue in the face about why her sister turned out the way she did. Maybe abandonment issues stemming from their father, or maybe her abusive ex-husband pushed her to the brink. Whatever the reason, she was an addict, through and through.
Every single time Kathryn found her sister standing on her doorstep, she was promised that it would be for the last time. Empty promises infuriated her. Still, in her heart of hearts, Kathryn knew that her home was always open for Patricia. Maybe one of those times really would be the last.
Kathryn didn't trust many people due to a lifetime of being lied to. In many ways, she felt it made her stronger. It made her a better cop. She often felt like an expert at knowing when someone was being truthful or not.
Mathew Wade was lying. The only thing she couldn't figure out was why. What purpose did lying serve when it came to finding out what happened to your kid?
What was he hiding?
I’m from New York, so even that’s a million years ago.
She thought about these things while driving to Daphne Riddle's home on the east side of town. If Mathew wasn't being upfront about where he was from, she wondered what other things he wasn't telling the truth about. The thought of domestic issues crossed her mind, but the report Ryan faxed over stated that Tyler was raised in a good home. His mother died during labor, but Mathew really went above and beyond as a single parent. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for his boy.
The two were close. Inseparable. Losing Tyler shattered Mathew's whole world.
Maybe he was lying for a good reason. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them. Even if that meant sheltering people from the truth.
Confronting Mathew might not be the best option. Kathryn needed more information, and she wouldn’t be able to do that alone. She needed him on her side.
She wheeled the Maxima into a mature neighborhood riddled with aging homes. The address led her to a single story A-frame encompassed by a rusted chainlink fence. It had a gravel driveway with a metal carport sheltering an old fashioned Cadillac, baby blue. The curtains were drawn. The place looked abandoned, uncared for.
After a moment, she drove up the street and parked on the curb. Then, she headed back towards the house at a steady walking pace. The brisk air burned in her lungs.
When nobody answered the front door, she went around back. A screen door was left ajar. She drew her weapon and inched the door open.
The inside of the house was a mess. Dirty dishes filled the kitchen sink. Snack wrappers littered the floor. There was a blanket and pillow laying on the sofa in the living room, along with several empty bottles of bourbon.
The place smelled bad. It wasn't just the accumulated filth scattered around the house. There was the faint odor of death wafting through the air.
"Mathew?" She moved down the hallway, checking the bathroom and the only bedroom in the house. "Mathew, it's Kat. Are you here?"
The bedroom stood out from the rest of the house. It was immaculate. The bed was neatly made. A pair of slippers sat at the foot of the mattress, and there was a vanity decorated with vintage porcelain dolls. Kathryn got the feeling that nobody had been inside the room for a long time.
A loud thump made her whirl around. The gun trembled in her hands. Nobody was there. Her uneasiness grew as she continued to explore the remainder of the house. She went back down the hall, into the laundry room just off the kitchen.
The attic ladder had been pulled down.
"Mathew?" she called.
Another thump sounded from above. She aimed her gun at the opening.
A head popped into view. When Mathew saw the weapon aimed at him, his eyes widened. "What the hell? Are you trying to kill me now?"
Kathryn holstered her sidearm and exhaled in relief. "Are you kidding me? I've been shouting your name all over the house. What are you doing up there?"
"Raccoon got caught up here. You can't smell that?"
"Oh." She wrinkled her nose. "That's just lovely."
His eyes darted away for a moment. "Listen, Kat. I wanted to apologize for being such a jerk. Every time I feel like there's a little movement in the case, it gets shut down. It doesn't give me the right to treat you the way I did, though. You're only trying to help me."
"You're right," she said matter of factly. "Apology accepted."
He waved a finger into the air. "That coach is bad news, though. I can feel it. Can we just, I don't know, take a closer look at him?"
Kathryn chewed the corner of her lip. It was hard not to sympathize with the man. She couldn't imagine the pain he's been through the past two years, all the sleepless nights. There had to be a simple reason there was a discrepancy in his initial report. Maybe he wasn't thinking straight. In that moment, she thought of all the times she was there for her sister in times of need, of all the times she held out hope.
"Please," he lowered
his voice. "What have we got to lose?"
"Alright. We’ll follow up on the coach." Her phone chimed inside her pocket, and she caught a glimpse of his smile as she turned to answer the call.
Chapter Thirteen
"I'll have a water," Kathryn told the waitress. "Do you have any fried chicken?"
The waitress, a blonde haired blue eyed pixie, lowered her voice apologetically. "I'm sorry. Can I interest you in our baked chicken parmesan?"
"No." Kathryn handed over the menu. "Just the water will be fine. Actually, make it two waters. I'm expecting someone."
"Coming right up." The waitress bounced off with enough energy to power the small restaurant. In a way, she reminded Kathryn of the girls she wished she could be at that age. Young, carefree, full of pep and ignorant of how the world was capable of slapping you in the face.
The slap she received was a double whammy. She could still feel the heated sting when her father walked out the front door and out of her life forever. If you follow that up with her sister's substance abuse problems, then it was easy to understand how the world had the heaviest backhand.
The waitress swung passed the table, depositing two glasses of ice water from a tray full of plates. The detective noticed the ice pop inside the glass, and the condensation drip down the side. Somewhere, her sister was shooting up. It pained her to think about it, but she knew the facts. She understood that she was losing her sibling slowly, day after day. In a way, she selfishly wished that the pain would have come all at once, like when she realized her father would never come back home. Instead, it was drawn out. Slow, and unyielding. Every time she saw Patricia she looked more and more like a shell of her former self. Her eyes were sunken, her cheeks were thin.
Kathryn took out her cell, scrolled through her contacts, and began a text message.
*Call me.*
Detective Ryan plopped down into the booth across from her, giving her a start. "My bad," he said. "Didn't mean to scare you. Is that mine?"
Kathryn put the phone away and nodded at the second glass of water. "Yeah. It is."
"Thanks."
"Did you know they don't have fried chicken here?" Kathryn folded her arms. "It's unheard of."
Ryan grinned. "Unbelievable."
"Seriously," Kathryn continued. "I've been craving some fried chicken. Like, Nashville hot, you know? All that crunchiness, and the spice is just right." She smacked her lips. "Perfecto!"
The waitress reappeared, but Ryan waved her away.
"You're not hungry?"
"This isn't a date, Kat. I shouldn’t even be here. I’m supposed to be working another case, you know? The girl in the box?”
Kathryn narrowed her eyes. "You wish it was a date.”
His smile was gone, and his eyes became serious. "I didn't want to tell you over the phone. It's best you heard it in person."
"Uh, oh. Sounds like I'm in trouble." Kathryn's tone was mischievous.
Ryan leaned forward and his voice dropped. "It concerns Wade. I remembered how he told you about New York, and how the report claims he hails from Alabama."
Kathryn sipped her water. "I'm listening."
"Yeah, well I followed up on that. Did you know that we have nothing? No dentals, no DNA whatsoever. What I’m saying is all we ever had to go on is Wade's initial police report. Sure, we blasted the photo on local news stations, but nobody came forward. That was two years ago, and this guy has been hanging around town trying to find his boy ever since."
"What has that got to do with the discrepancy?"
"Well." Ryan hesitated. "I sent out bolos, helped with the search team. We even had divers out there on the lake. Nothing." He sighed. "Tyler never turned up because he wasn't here when he went missing."
Kathryn's eyes widened. "What are you saying? Where was he?"
"The report I filed with the NCIC had a few similarities with another report from upstate New York. The name was a match. The photograph was similar, but the dates were wrong. The location was wrong. The circumstances surrounding the disappearance were wrong. I made a few phone calls and eventually found out more details on the New York case."
Kathryn clicked her tongue. "You're telling me this was a clerical error?"
"No. I'm telling you that Mathew Wade filed two different reports in two different states."
"What?" Kathryn was astonished. "Why would he do that?"
Ryan took a long gulp of water. "The guys full name is Joseph Mathew Wade. He didn't provide a middle name to New York. He was purposefully being deceitful."
Kathryn turned her gaze back to the cubes of ice in her glass. "Does he have a history of violence?"
"Not exactly," Ryan said. "The department in upstate New York was just as surprised as we are right now. He didn't have a history of anything until the day he drove his family's four door sedan off a bridge in winter. The car took on water. Wade kicked out the driver's side window and swam to the surface. His wife, Mary, drowned. His son was in the back seat. When investigators pulled the car out of the river, he wasn't there. A dive team was sent out." He slumped back in his seat and sighed. "They never found Tyler."
"Jesus." Kathryn continued to stare at the ice water. "I can't imagine what that must have been like."
"Joseph Wade never gave up, though. Initially, his son's case was priority number one and he was very thankful for the help and support from police. After a month, that thankfulness turned to impatience. After three months, it became anger. He started to conduct his own investigation, but all he did was piss off a bunch of locals by pointing fingers. I'll be honest with you, he was just grasping at straws."
Kathryn nodded. "Still is. What about the grandmother?"
"That's legit." Ryan took another drink from his glass. "Tyler used to visit her right here in Ashbridge. Every summer."
"So Wade starts to think that his boy ran away to grandma's house. She dies when Wade gets there, and he's left without any solid answers. He hangs around town, conducting his own investigation, visiting all the places Tyler hung out, and becomes convinced that something happened to his son here in Ashbridge. But why did he file a separate report?"
Ryan leaned forward again. "Because in New York, he kept snooping and prying, desperate to convince everyone that his son was still alive. The police finally had enough and told him that he would be charged if he continued to disturb the peace."
Kathryn pushed her glass away. "He didn't want them to know. He also hasn't done anything wrong here in Montana. Nothing that would warrant an arrest."
"No." Ryan shook his head. "Not yet. I think what's happening is more than an unwillingness to accept the truth, or even guilt. Wade lost the most important people in his life the night he drove off that bridge. He's been searching for so long that it's become a part of who he is. It gives purpose to his life."
"Since Wade heard about Larry Rainer on the news, he must have been convinced that somehow his boy was tangled up in that mess. Bet it reinvigorated his search." Kathryn paused and chewed the corner of her lip in thought. "Do you think he's dangerous?"
"Do you?"
Kathryn stood and tossed a couple bills on the table. "I think he could be. So far, the only person he's hurting is himself. Time and time again."
Ryan looked up at her with a furrowed brow. "Do you know where he is now?"
Chapter Fourteen
It was night. The floodlights around back were on. Fingers of fog threaded through the pines like ghosts spiriting between the trunks.
"His phone keeps going to voicemail." Sweat dappled Kathryn's forehead despite the near freezing temperature.
"You know we can't go in unless he answers," Ryan said. He glanced at the dark windows of the A-frame. "Unless he invites us."
Kathryn pulled the screen door open. It gave a loud screech that sent shivers racing along her spine. "He's expecting me."
"Fine." Ryan stepped cautiously behind her. "If anything comes of it, we're here to do a wellness check."
"Nothin
g wrong with that."
The door was unlocked. Kathryn wondered if Mathew had lost the key, or if he was raised in a place where locked doors were unheard of.
It was dark inside the house. She searched a wall for a switch, and flipped it on. Light flooded the kitchen and spread into the laundry room.
The faint odor of death still clung to the air.
"Don't like this." Ryan whispered the complaint. "Not one bit."
Kathryn nodded at the ladder stretching down from the ceiling. "Mathew? Are you up there?"
There was no reply.
She drew in a breath, held it, then started up the ladder. Her eyes widened while trying to process what she was seeing.
A dusty desk sat in the corner with a Tiffany lamp brightening the space around it. Shadows reached across the floor, circling a large cork board riddled with notes, photographs, and newspaper clippings. Different colors of yarn appeared to represent some sort of timeline that she couldn't understand.
"This doesn't look healthy." Ryan emerged from below and stood next to her. He pointed at an image of Larry Rainer pinned to the board. An orange thread connected it to an amateur photograph of Selena and Kathryn. "Guess he's been following the case for a while."
The Runaway Train Page 7