by V. K. Powell
“She already had a girlfriend but didn’t bother to tell me.”
“Ouch. Sorry, pal.”
“Easy come, easy go. Now go shower before I start humping your leg.”
Being in Pam’s place felt more like home than anywhere else she’d been, until the lake, so she adjusted quickly. After a hot shower, she dressed and headed back to the den. When she walked in, Nate had claimed her spot on the sofa and was drinking coffee and eating donuts he’d obviously brought in.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
He wiped the powdered sugar off his lips. “Didn’t. Was on my way to work and saw your shiny little red car in Pam’s driveway. Thought she might let me in, since I had a fresh box of Dunkin’. I won’t ask why you’re not at the lake with Ms. Short, Dark, and Sexy.”
“Good idea.” She refilled her coffee mug and joined them, declining the offer of her favorite chocolate-glazed custard-filled pastry. “So, what’s up?”
“Got a call this morning from my phone-company contact. Pay dirt on the number Jack called from school.” He grinned and stuffed half a donut into his mouth.
She rolled her eyes. “Really? Where is it? Chew fast or I’ll choke it out of you.” Pam shook her head. They both loved Nate, but he could be a pain in the ass.
“The number is listed to a resident of Windsor, Colorado, population around twenty thousand, home of mostly nothing, in the middle of mainly nowhere.”
She gave him an exaggerated stare, as if that made one ounce of difference when he held a tidbit of information she desperately wanted. He clearly savored making her wait. “Who is it?”
“The number is registered to our dead guy, Steven Temple.”
She and Pam high-fived each other. “Yes!”
“So the little scoundrel was telling the truth about his father’s name,” Pam said.
Nate nodded. “He was also telling the truth about him being dead. According to the local newspaper, Steven Temple died six months ago of a massive heart attack. He’s survived by his wife, Karla Temple, and son, Ryan Jackson Temple. And it turns out little Jackie boy has called this number every day he’s been here. So, not really missing at all.”
“I’ll be damned,” Pam said.
“He could still be missing. Just because he’s been checking in doesn’t mean his mother knows where he is. Do we have any idea about the connection to Greensboro?” Leigh asked.
“Nope, that part is still a mystery, but at least we have a place to start.” Nate took a swig of coffee and reached for another donut. “What now?”
“Obviously our first priority is reuniting Jack with his mother, but if we tell him we know who he is, he might leave before that can happen. I say we contact Karla Temple ASAP. Pam?”
“Agreed. Do you want me to take care of that from CFS?”
“Would you mind if I handled it?” She looked from Pam to Nate and they shook their heads. “I know you’ve been working on this too, but I feel a connection with him, maybe because we’ve both lost our fathers.” Maybe also because he could relate to her mother, something she’d never been able to do, and she wanted to understand how. “I need to check in with Captain Howard this morning, and then I’ll make some calls. Thanks, guys. And, Nate, I’ll drop that item I borrowed from you yesterday off on your desk. Will that work?”
“Sure.” She saw the light dawn when he realized she was referring to the old homicide file he’d secured from records.
By the time she pulled into the station parking lot, she’d decided to call Karla Temple right away. She wouldn’t make her wait another minute to know where her son was. If Karla needed to make flight arrangements, she could get started. She dialed the number she’d memorized and waited.
Several rings later a recorded message announced: The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this number in error, hang up and dial your number again. She did and got the same response. What the hell? Why would Karla Temple disconnect her phone when she’d been getting daily calls from her missing son? Something was definitely off. It looked like a trip to Windsor, Colorado was in her future.
As she entered the back door to the Detective Division, Leigh met Anita Howard in the hallway returning from the canteen. “Good morning, Leigh. Please tell me you’re on your way to my office and I can offer you a decent cup of coffee instead of that rotgut from the canteen.”
“Yes, ma’am, to both.”
When they’d settled in the two leather swivel chairs in front of Howard’s desk, Leigh got to the point. Anita Howard didn’t mince words and didn’t like stall tactics or evasions. “There’s been a development in Jesse Quinn’s case.”
Captain Howard’s left eyebrow arched slightly over her deep-brown eye, the only indication that Leigh’s news was unexpected. “Oh?”
“In my recanvass of the area, I found a witness who’d never been interviewed about the missing-person case. He was a soldier who lived in the apartment building behind the club.”
“How did the investigators miss him initially?”
“He was deployed on a training exercise out of the country the day after and didn’t return for months. So even if they’d followed up later, they could’ve missed him.”
“Nice try, Leigh, but I’m not buying it. They should’ve been more diligent. What else? You’re holding something back. Come on. We’ll sort it out together.” One of Howard’s strong suits had always been her willingness to listen to all theories and suggestions.
“There was a homicide at the club the same night Jesse Quinn went missing. We never considered the two were connected because of the big time lapse between the reports. And why would we assume a missing teenager could be involved in a murder?”
“Are you saying the two incidents are connected?”
Leigh nodded.
“How?”
“I think Jesse Quinn witnessed the murder. This new witness, who also saw the shooting, said the killer took her.”
“Jesus.” Anita Howard seldom showed emotion, but she pursed her lips and the muscles along her jawline tensed. “It’s our job to look at all possible scenarios. If the suspect took this girl, he most likely killed her too. And if that’s the case, we’ve got another very cold murder on our hands instead of a missing teenager.” Leigh was quiet as she allowed Captain Howard to process this latest information. “I assume you’ve reviewed the homicide case? Anything?”
“No, ma’am. Nothing that connects the two, other than the location. The case is still open but inactive.”
Howard placed her coffee mug on the corner of the desk. “So we’re no closer to finding out what really happened to this girl than we were.” Leigh shook her head. “And don’t you dare blame yourself. We didn’t create this mess, but one way or another, we’re going to clean it up, even if it takes the rest of my career.”
“Is there anything else you want me to do, Captain?”
“Have you talked with her family at all?”
“Apparently they moved shortly after Jesse disappeared. I couldn’t find a record of them anywhere.”
“We’re in a holding pattern at the moment. In a few months, I’ll have Crime Stoppers run both cases again and see if anything shakes loose. Thanks for all you’ve done.” She stood, shook Leigh’s hand, and escorted her to the door. “And only a couple more weeks until you’re back at work. You’re missed around here.”
“Thank you, ma’am. And by the way, I’m going out of town for a few days. If you need me, call my mobile.”
On the way back to her car, she phoned Pam and filled her in on her plan. She declined Pam’s offer to accompany her to Colorado and asked her to update Nate. She hadn’t bothered asking the department to fund the trip. No supervisor would authorize a home visit sixteen hundred miles away, especially for a suspended officer who shouldn’t be working cases.
She should just call the local authorities and have them contact Karla, but a personal visit would answer
a lot of questions and ease her mind about sending Jack home. She had to do it, and if that meant springing for her own plane ticket, so be it.
Chapter Seventeen
Macy was still reeling from disbelief the next morning as she repacked the skull in the evidence box, taped it, and wrote her initials over the seal. She’d watched Leigh move out yesterday from the safety of her cottage, ignoring her knocks and calls, unwilling to expose herself to any further hope, disappointment, or pain. She was angry with herself more than Leigh, because she’d opened up to her emotionally and sexually. Hell, she’d even shared her fledgling relationship dreams with her. And Leigh had rewarded her vulnerability with more betrayal. Today she was going straight to the source, or as close as she could get.
She drove to the police station and followed the familiar route to the Crimes Against Persons squad. When she deposited the box on the first detective’s desk with a body attached, she felt relief and an odd sense of joy.
“Give this to Rickard and tell him it’s my last one. The photos of my reconstruction are in here.” She handed him the envelope containing the camera card and turned to leave.
“Hey, I can’t take this,” the young detective said.
“If you want to break the chain of evidence, that’s on you. It’s not my problem any more.” She was finally free. The vacant spot in the center of her studio table now represented something more hopeful and enjoyable. Leigh had opened that possibility, and even without her, Macy would never have to go back to the darkness of forensics work.
She asked a records clerk how to find Leigh Monroe’s supervisor and followed the directions to a reception area decorated with the latest furnishings from the seventies. She was glad the city didn’t waste taxpayers’ money on interior decorating, and the petty side of her was happy police officers didn’t luxuriate in style.
When the receptionist ushered her into a private office, a very attractive African-American woman with intense brown eyes, silver-gray hair, dressed in a flattering business suit, greeted her. “Good morning, Ms. Sheridan. I’m Anita Howard.”
She’d expected a gruff, overweight man whom she would immediately detest, just like the one who’d dismissed Jesse’s case all those years ago.
“Please have a seat.” Captain Howard motioned toward the chairs in front of her large desk. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“That’ll be all, Barbara.” She dismissed the young assistant with a genuine smile that made her eyes sparkle. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sheridan. I’ve heard about your forensics work with the Crimes Against Persons squad for years. How may I help you today?”
Macy didn’t want to like this woman, but her professionalism and attentiveness inspired respect. “I’d like a progress report on the Jesse Quinn case.” Anita Howard’s eyebrow arched slightly, but otherwise her facial expression didn’t change. “It’s been a very long time, and I don’t want you people to think she’s been forgotten.”
“Ms. Sheridan, I assure you we people have not forgotten any of our unsolved cases, especially not Jesse’s.”
The response wasn’t what Macy expected. She was prepared to launch into a diatribe about the incompetence of the police department and the insensitivity of closing a missing teenager’s case too quickly. Howard’s assurance took her off guard. “So, what can you tell me?”
“Nothing new, I’m afraid.”
“Is anyone actively working her case?” This was Howard’s opportunity for full disclosure, to admit that Leigh was somehow currently involved.
“I’m not at liberty to say, at the moment, and I apologize for that. I can see you’re very passionate about this.”
“Passionate doesn’t begin to cover how I feel. This case has been a significant part of my life for sixteen years, and I won’t rest until I know what happened to my best friend. Now, I repeat, is anyone currently working on her case? I need to know.”
Anita Howard leaned forward. “Forgive me for prying, but what’s happened recently to elicit this poignant plea? I know cases remain quite emotional to family and friends, but few hold on to such strong feelings for so long. Do you know something that could help us?”
When she looked into Howard’s eyes, she saw Leigh’s emerald ones staring back at her, beseeching her to listen, to understand, but she hadn’t. Her pride and ego had gotten in the way again—just like the first misunderstanding they’d had. All the feelings Leigh had resurrected in her erupted and she wanted to cry. She stared down at her hands, clenching them into fists to control herself. “No.” Her voice sounded like a choking whisper. “I don’t.”
Captain Howard took her hands and forced Macy to look at her. “I’m going to tell you a story. But before I do, you must promise you won’t draw any hasty conclusions from what I say, and you won’t repeat it to anyone. Can you do that, Ms. Sheridan?”
She nodded. “Macy, call me Macy.”
“Very well, Macy.” She sat back in her chair, took a deep breath, and glanced at a photo on her credenza of a slightly older woman, seeming to draw strength from it. “Sixteen years ago we had a young female training officer on patrol with a feisty new female recruit. They were dispatched to assist detectives on a missing-person case. Their jobs were to help with a grid search for the body and evidence and to do a preliminary canvass for witnesses. They did their part and were dismissed by the detectives. But something about the case bothered the coach and trainee that night and for years to come.”
“What are you telling me?”
Anita Howard held up her hand. “I’m just telling you a story, remember? Do you want to hear the rest or should I stop now?”
“Please go on.”
“The detectives who handled, and subsequently closed that case two weeks later, rose through the ranks in the police department to become respected and highly decorated lieutenants, sergeants, and investigators. The training coach was eventually the first African-American woman promoted to captain, and she was assigned to the Youth Division. And the trainee, a very bright and committed woman, became the best detective in that division.
“When this captain took control of the Youth Division, she was finally in a position to order a review of any incident under her command. But if she chose to review this particular case, she’d have to be discreet, because these same men could cause her, and whoever assisted her, a great deal of trouble.”
“Oh, my God. Leigh.” The words were out before Macy could edit them.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry, please continue.”
“That’s about it. But if this captain and detective were conducting any kind of follow-up investigation on a case like this, it would be essential that it be done quietly. You understand that, right?”
She nodded.
“The detective would be forbidden from discussing it with anyone.” She glanced at the woman’s picture on her credenza again. “And trust me, I know how difficult it is to hide things in this profession from the ones we love.”
Anita Howard rose and started toward the door, the meeting obviously over, but Macy wasn’t leaving until she knew how to get in touch with Leigh. “I appreciate this, really, but I have to talk to her.”
“Who are you talking about, Ms. Sheridan? We were speaking hypothetically.” Howard’s eyes narrowed as she stared at her, as if willing her to understand her point.
“Thank you for that enlightening story. Now let me tell you a true story you might be able to help bring to a happy ending. A withdrawn, socially challenged woman developed feelings for a certain detective. But the detective withheld information about a case very close to the woman’s heart. This woman took the detective’s silence as a sign she didn’t care for her and had intentionally lied to her, not that she was duty bound to keep quiet. This woman acted very badly and wants desperately to make amends, because, you see, she’s in love with the detective. Where do you suppose that woman might find Detective Leigh Monroe?”<
br />
A wide smile brightened Captain Howard’s face and her shoulders relaxed. “I’m afraid I don’t know. She told me yesterday that she was going out of town.”
“Any idea where?”
“None.”
“Do you think her friend, Pam Wilkinson, might know?”
“If anyone would, it’d be Pam.”
Gayle is out of town. Macy didn’t want to believe Leigh would go back to her, regardless of their status. “Thanks for your time and for that interesting story, Captain.”
“My pleasure, Macy, and good luck.”
She didn’t think she could possibly leave the police station feeling any worse than when she arrived, but she did. Leigh had tried to tell her the truth, in spite of being professionally bound to remain silent. For that she felt better. And she was certain Captain Howard and Leigh were reviewing Jesse’s case. That was also good news. But Leigh was gone, probably out of the country with Gayle. She’d been terribly unfair, and now she had to live with it…and without Leigh.
*
The residence Leigh was watching could’ve been any ranch-style house in the world. The beige siding and deep-green shutters appeared recently painted, and the grass was freshly mowed. She’d imagined her and Macy in a place like this, living a normal life—another dream that would never come true. She’d rented a car and driven the fifty-five miles from the Cheyenne, Wyoming airport to Windsor, Colorado, arriving down the street from Karla Temple’s house two hours ago. She didn’t usually conduct surveillance when delivering good news, but something about this case didn’t feel right. So far, she hadn’t seen anyone leave or enter the residence, but the same nondescript sedan had passed three times.
The rest of the afternoon, Leigh circulated in the neighborhood to keep from being reported to the local police. She’d walked within two car lengths of the sedan, close enough to determine it was a government-issued vehicle and the occupants were feds. Why would they still be interested in Steven Temple? Maybe he’d been in the Mafia and they were keeping tabs on the wife, in case she had knowledge of or access to illegal assets. Whatever the federal scenario, she wasn’t interested in getting involved.