Have You Seen Her?

by Karen Rose

  Nancy rubbed her forehead with one hand while sliding her half-glasses off her nose with the other. “How long will that take? To develop the Teflon coating, I mean.”

  Sandra shrugged. “Five or six years.”

  Steven watched them all from his own chair. “But how about the vics, Sandra? How long before you develop a Teflon coating so that they don’t stick in your mind?”

  Sandra’s face sobered. “Never.”

  Steven sighed. “Me either.” He looked around. “Has anyone seen Kent or Meg?”

  “Meg said she had an appointment,” Nancy said. “Haven’t seen Kent since this morning.”

  “Here I am,” said Kent, huffing a little bit. He plopped into a chair. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Well, let’s get started, folks. Thanks for coming back this afternoon. We’ve got news.”

  “From the McDonald’s search this morning?” Sandra asked, leaning forward.

  “I wish,” Steven replied grimly. He placed a sheet of paper on the center of the table. “Look.”

  His team gathered around the paper he’d already had analyzed six ways to Tuesday. “No prints, no identifying marks,” he told them. “Just rather general directions on where to find Samantha Eggleston. It was dropped off with the mail this afternoon. I got it an hour ago.”

  “In the mail?” Harry asked sharply.

  Steven shook his head. “Nope, just with it. No utilization of the U.S. Postal Service.”

  “Good,” said Harry.

  “I agree,” said Steven. If their killer had used the U.S. Postal Service or even a fax they would have found themselves tangled ass-deep in Feds. “It’s a printed sheet—came off a standard laser jet printer, just like the one in our office.”

  “And hundreds of other offices,” Sandra muttered. “ ‘Find her before it’s too late. If you can,’” Nancy read and looked up at Steven. “Too late for what, I wonder.”

  “I wondered the same thing,” Steven said. “Either she’s still alive, or—”

  “Or she’s dead and he wants us to find her before the animals do,” Harry finished grimly.

  “This is nowhere near the two other clearings,” Sandra commented. “Is there a pattern? Like that nutcase who bombed mailboxes picking cities that made a happy face on the map?”

  Steven winced. He hadn’t considered that. He’d ask Meg if a map pattern like that matched the profile she’d created of their killer. “I marked them on the map. No pattern yet that I can see.”

  “But we only have three points,” Harry said.

  “Let’s pray we don’t have four,” Steven returned. “I’ve sent some state uniforms over to secure the site and informed the local town sheriff. He’s going to meet us there. He says the indicated area is huge, so we’ve got a long night ahead of us. Harry, I’d like you to come with me.”

  Harry sighed. “I’ll grab some barf bags.”

  Steven almost smiled. “Sandra and Nancy, keep plugging away at the list of ballplayers.”

  “We’ve contacted ten of the players with priors so far,” Sandra said. “They’ve all got alibis for Thursday night and the night Lorraine went missing.”

  “Keep going. When you’ve exhausted the list of priors, start in on the gentle folk.” Steven looked over at Kent who hadn’t taken his eyes from the note. “What, Kent?”

  Kent glanced up, then reglued his eyes to the paper. “This, right here.” He pointed to a small mark in the lower left corner of the page.

  “I saw that,” Steven said. “It’s some kind of design. Why, does it mean something to you?”

  Kent nodded and tilted his head to one side, taking in the design from a different angle. “This side of it, right here. This looks like it might match the tattoo on Lorraine Rush’s scalp.”

  “The one that was mostly gone,” Harry said thinly and Kent looked up with a nod.

  “That’s the one.”

  Steven got up and stood behind Kent, looking over the young man’s shoulder. He squinted, trying to focus. “How can you tell, Kent? There wasn’t a hell of a lot left of that tattoo.”

  “I had the ME take some photos and I had them blown up. Posted them above my desk and I’ve been looking at them every chance I get. I’m pretty sure, Steven. This is the mark.” Kent turned in his chair so that he could meet Steven’s eyes and once again Steven was impressed with the intelligence mixed with compassion he saw there. “And when you find Samantha’s body—if you find it before it’s scavenged—I’ll bet you find this mark on her scalp, too.”

  Steven blew out a breath. “It’ll be dark soon. Kent, come with me and Harry. If we find something I want you to be able to start on the scene before dark. Nancy, run that mark through your database. I want to know where it came from. Sandra, I guess you have enough perps to question so that if Nancy takes a break to run this design you won’t be twiddling your thumbs.”

  “Unfortunately, I have plenty to do,” Sandra said dryly and again Steven almost smiled.

  “Then let’s go, folks. Everyone be on call.”

  Everybody moved but Sandra who remained seated. As the room cleared, her face clouded and Steven felt his gut twist. Twist more, anyway. She had something to say she didn’t want the rest of the team to know. Yet. Steven watched her look anywhere but at him. What Sandra had to say would be personal, then.

  His mind went to Brad, God help him, and for the first time he admitted that whatever was troubling his son could be more than emotional. It could be illegal.

  But not like this. He looked up to the bulletin board where he’d pinned the photo of Lorraine Rush’s body. He refused to believe whatever was troubling Brad could be anything like this.

  When it was just the two of them, Sandra picked up her notebook and moved to the seat right next to him. “You want it sugar-coated or straight?” she asked.

  “Just spit it out, Sandra,” he said, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.

  “Okay. When I looked at all the games that were played in the week before the disappearance and crossed it with people who had access to both victims one possibility popped up.”

  Steven swallowed. Brad didn’t know either girl. Did he? Steven realized he hadn’t even asked himself the question. But why would he? he asked himself defensively. “Who?”

  Sandra sighed. “Father Mike Leone.”

  Shocked, Steven could only stare. “No.”

  Sandra shrugged. “I’m sorry, Steven, but it lines up. Both girls were part of his parish. And there’d been some kind of church league tag football game the weekend before. I asked Anna Eggleston if Samantha was involved and she said that Samantha didn’t normally go to those games, but that last weekend she did because it was a special game. Father Leone was there.”

  The twisting in Steven’s gut became full nausea. “He was there. He didn’t play a good game.”

  Sandra looked as ripped up as he felt. “It was one of those special games, Steven. Old versus young. The priests and church faculty played the church’s teen team. Father Leone played. And I understand from a few other teens who were there that he did play a pretty good game.”

  Steven looked away, not sure how to manage this latest stress. “Does Harry know you were looking at Father Leone?”

  Sandra shook her head. “No. I thought you should know first. I asked everyone so that no one would know what I was really asking. If he’s innocent—”

  “You could ruin one of the best men that ever lived,” Steven finished bitterly.

  Sandra laid her hand on his arm. “I know, Steven,” she said quietly. “But if he’s guilty...”

  “He’s not,” Steven insisted. “I know this man. He’s simply not capable.”

  “But you’ll let me investigate, won’t you?” Sandra asked, just as quietly.

  Steven fixed his eyes on the photos of Lorraine Rush. Before, beautiful and vibrant. After... Someone had done this to her, had robbed a vibrant girl of her very life. Violently. It wasn’t Mike. Steven knew it deep do
wn. But he also knew he had a responsibility to Lorraine and Samantha and their families. And crazy as it sounded, Mike would agree.

  “Yes,” he whispered, then cleared his throat. “Don’t do anything without coming to me first.”

  Wednesday, October 5, 5:30 P.M.

  Helen set the casserole dish on the table. Tuna casserole. One of the boys’ favorites and one of the easiest things to make. She hated it worse than liver, but two outa three wasn’t bad.

  “Boys!” she yelled up the stairs. “Dinner!”

  Footsteps pounded on the stairs and Matt appeared and plopped in his chair.

  “I’m starving, Aunt Bea.”

  “You’re always starving, Matthew. That’s hardly earth-shattering news.” She turned toward the open doorway. “Brad! Nicholas!”

  “I’m here,” Nicky said and slid into his chair. “Y’ don’t hafta yell.”

  “Sorry,” Helen said, appropriately chastised. “Where’s Brad?”

  “Probably sulking in his room,” Matt said cheerfully. “He’s grounded for life, after all.”

  Helen frowned at him. “Your brother is not grounded for life. It’s only for a week.”

  “Might as well be for life,” Matt said, shoveling casserole on his plate.

  “And you would know,” Helen said dryly. “You, who have experienced the joys and woes of grounding for many weeks of your own life.”

  “Yep,” Matt said, just as cheerfully, digging into his plate with a fork. “But not this week. I’m golden,” he added, his mouth full.

  “Put down the fork and go tell your brother it’s time for dinner.”

  “Golly gee whiz, Aunt Bea,” Matt whined and Helen lost control of her mouth and smiled.

  “Go,” she said, popping him on the head with her oven mitt. “Now.”

  Muttering, Matt complied and Helen turned to Nicky. “Well, how was your day, Nicky?”

  Nicky shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Anything special happen?”

  “No, ma’am.” He looked up and brightened and Helen felt a tug at her heart. “This weekend Jenna said she’d take me and Cindy Lou to the park to teach her to sit.”

  “I remember,” said Helen and told herself to call Jenna and remind her of her promise. There was no way she’d let Nicky become disappointed if she could help it. “Where are your brothers?” she demanded, craning her neck to see around the corner.

  She heard footsteps on the stairs, heavier this time, and Matt reappeared, his freckles standing out against his pale face. “I found this on Brad’s bed,” he said, quietly holding out a note.

  Helen scanned it and felt her heart stop. “Oh, Lord God. Your brother’s run away.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Wednesday, October 5, 6:00 P.M.

  IT GOT DARK TOO DAMN EARLY. WELL, TECHNICALLY it got dark the same time as it had the night before, Steven thought, but the night before they hadn’t mobilized twenty cops, forty-odd volunteers, and a canine cadaver unit to search for what in all likelihood was a very dead teenaged girl.

  “There’s two hundred acres of wooded land inside the circle you drew,” said the local sheriff, a big burly man named Rogers. Rogers tapped the map they’d laid out across the hood of Steven’s car. “It’ll take us three days to cover that much ground, even with the dogs. You sure you boys can’t narrow the field a little bit?”

  “We could call the killer and say pretty please, can you give us better directions,” Harry said sarcastically. Sheriff Rogers glared and opened his mouth to say something uplifting, no doubt.

  “Harry,” Steven cautioned.

  Harry made a face. “I’m sorry. I interviewed sex perverts all day and I’m no company for decent people.”

  Sheriff Rogers relaxed. “Who said I was decent people?” he asked kindly. “It would help if you boys could get a chopper in here. You could see the clearings, assumin’ that’s where he’s put her.”

  “That’s where he put the last one, and where he probably intended to put this one last Friday,” Harry said. “Except he was interrupted by the old man’s dog.” He looked over at Kent who was staring at the map. “How is the dog, by the way?”

  Kent looked up and pushed his glasses up his nose. “He’ll pull through.”

  “You’ve been keeping tabs on the dog?” Steven asked, surprised.

  “He’s been keeping tabs on the lady vet that sewed up the dog,” Harry corrected with a smirk and Steven watched Kent’s cheeks redden. “Cute little thing, she is,” Harry added with a sly wink and Kent’s cheeks went even darker.

  “Back off, Harry,” Steven said mildly, although the tone of his voice belied the turbulence inside him. Harry’s careless comment sent his brain flying to the mental picture of Jenna he couldn’t erase from his mind. Was she okay? He’d planned to call her this evening, to see if he could stop by and discuss the night before . . . Heat spread through him despite the chill in the air. Just as heat had spread through him each time he thought her name. This was ridiculous.

  So why couldn’t he make it stop and concentrate? On his job? On Brad? On anything other than the kaleidoscope of emotions she made him feel? From undeniable want to a guilt that gnawed at him every time he remembered the hurt look on her face when he walked away last night.

  He had to fix that. Make her bewildered hurt look go away. His mind flashed to the belligerent contempt he’d seen in Brad’s eyes this morning. He had to make that go away, too.

  Dammit, he had to fix something in his life.

  He forced himself to focus on the map spread out on the hood of his car. Rogers was indeed correct. There was no way they’d search the entire area on foot in anything less than three days. “I’ll call in a chopper at first light tomorrow morning,” Steven said. “For now”—he pointed at the lower left corner of the circle on the map—“we keep searching here. Everybody’s got flashlights. I’ve got a spotlight in my trunk, so when we find her, we can light up the area. We can at least keep the animals away until morning.” He set his jaw. “If she’s here, we need to find her.”

  “Before every wild animal in the forest does,” Kent said. Harry grimaced. “I—”

  Steven’s cell phone jangled and he pulled it from his pocket and checked the caller ID, motioning Harry toward the woods at the same time. “Check on those volunteers, Harry. I don’t want them trampling anything important.” He put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Helen. This really isn’t a good time. Can I call you back later?”

  “No, Steven,” Helen said, her voice shaking. “This is important.”

  Dread had him standing straighter. “What? What’s happened?”

  “Brad’s run away.”

  Steven sagged back against his car. “How do you know?” “He left a note.”

  Like mother, like son. Another goddamned note. “Did he say where he was going?”

  “No, no he didn’t.” Her voice wobbled and he knew she was crying. “Steven, I need you here.”

  He looked around and made a decision. Harry was ready for an increase in responsibility. And even if Harry wasn’t, he’d have to become ready pretty damn quick. “I’ll be home in half an hour.”

  Wednesday, October 5, 6:30 P.M.

  Wednesday was meat loaf night at the Llewellyn house. Allison’s meat loaf recipe had belonged to her mother. The dear, departed Mrs. Llewellyn must have been a god-awful cook too.

  Jenna looked down at the generous helping of meat loaf topped with ketchup and felt her stomach roll. It looked a little too much like . . . dead possum roadkill. She swallowed hard and heard a snicker to her right.

  Charlie nudged her. “Possum pie,” she whispered with a grin.

  Jenna swallowed again and frowned. “How do you know about that?”

  “I heard about it from kids at school.” She lifted a shoulder philosophically. “You know how gossip is. It was all the talk in the cafeteria.” She grinned again, wider this time, the light from the chandelier glinting off her braces. “Especially since today th
e cafeteria ladies made goulash.”

  Jenna grimaced and pushed her plate away. “That’s it. I’m done.”

  Allison frowned from across the table. “You haven’t even started yet.”

  “I’m sorry, Allison. I just don’t have a lot of appetite today.” Jenna nudged Charlie less than gently when the little girl snickered again. “Shut up, Charlie,” she gritted through clenched teeth.

  Allison looked from Jenna to her daughter suspiciously, then set into her own meat loaf with fervor. “I suppose that’s understandable, under the circumstances.”

  Jenna looked at Charlie who shook her head and shrugged. “What circumstances?”

  “Well, Saturday, of course,” said Allison impatiently, then true horror flooded her face when Jenna made no show of understanding. “You’ve forgotten about Adam? Jenna, how could you?”

  Saturday. October eighth. The day of Adam’s “passing.” Jenna closed her eyes as guilt layered over all the other emotions churning in her gut. How could she, indeed? But somehow between the revulsion at the gift left swinging from her ceiling, frustration at all the antics of Rudy and his friends and Blackman’s unwillingness to stop them, combined with a healthy shot of sexual frustration over Steven . . . she’d forgotten.

  She heard the sound of Allison’s fork clattering against her plate.

  “I think it’s just disgraceful,” Allison said, anger tightening her voice.

  “Allie,” Seth started, but Allison cut him off. “Disgraceful, Dad,” Allison repeated with disgust. “Letting that man . . . that policeman she’s only known a week— not even a week! Coming to her apartment, staying until midnight last night. She’s let him make her forget about the man she was supposed to marry! I call that disgraceful.”

  Jenna’s eyes flew open and immediately fixed on Seth’s face. He looked very guilty.

  “Mrs. Kasselbaum,” Jenna said darkly. She could see the chain of events clearly now and it pissed her off. Temper flared and she was just too damn tired to clamp a lid on it.

  “You know what a gossip she is,” Seth said weakly.