by Janet Dailey
RJ looked over his shoulder, then turned back to her. “I was supposed to meet with him but he’s out. Want some help or is that against the rules?”
“Sure. He doesn’t have to know.” One shoulder lifted in an uncaring shrug. “Hardly anyone comes down to this dungeon.”
“Good. Hey, I forgot to say congratulations on your promotion.” He lifted his coffee cup in a saluting gesture and caught her faint smile of pride.
“I guess it’s worth the extra work.” She pushed aside the pepper-and-salt bangs that fell into her eyes when she leaned forward to peer closely at the document on the screen. “The information is going to be shared with the new national databanks.”
“State and federal, right?” He crumpled up his takeout coffee cup and tossed it in the nearest wastebasket, then looked over the files spread out in irregular rows.
“That’s the idea. Connect the dots, catch the criminals.”
“About time,” RJ said. “Some of these old cases could be charged or cleared.”
“The chief thought so. For once I agreed with him.” She stopped what she was doing to swivel her chair and actually look at him, using her feet to get around all the way. Doris was slim and she didn’t create much momentum. “So what brings you here?” she asked.
“I had paperwork for Hoebel to sign. Continuance of claim, that kind of thing.”
“Are you still on official leave?”
“Yup.”
“Take your time about coming back, RJ. You did get a settlement after the shooting, right? Enough to live on?”
“For a while. Not indefinitely.”
Doris sniffed. “After being used for target practice, you should have gotten plenty.”
“Tell that to the insurance company and the top brass,” he replied. “Getting better was all I wanted to do.”
“Ever think about catching the guy who shot you?”
“All the time,” he said. “Who did Hoebel assign to the case after the first guy quit? Hope it’s not the baby boy on the desk.”
“No, it’s not him. I think right now it’s up for grabs, actually,” she replied.
He threw up his hands. “Nice to know a shot cop is such a high priority around here. Is it me? Is it Hoebel? Is it something I said?”
“Uh, he does think you’re a loose cannon—”
Bannon had to smile. “From him, that’s a compliment.”
Physically, he was most of the way back to what he had been, thanks to a rigorous exercise routine he’d devised to rehab his body.
“Hard to believe there are still no leads,” she said. There was an edge of disgust in her voice.
“Who cares?”
“I do, RJ. Anyway, welcome to Cold Case City. Guess that makes me its mayor.” She glanced back at her computer screen. “I wish this was over. I’m only halfway through.”
“Take a break,” RJ said.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“It’s a beautiful day, Doris.”
“And the Art Walk is going on. Wish I didn’t have to miss it.” She gave him a dejected look. “Days like this make me eager to retire.”
“Really?” he asked. “You don’t look old enough.”
“Aww. Aren’t you sweet.” She mocked in amusement, too used to that kind of idle flattery to take it seriously. “But I had my first job before you were a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.”
Bannon decided to be a sport and not believe that either. “Amazing.”
“Not really. I was only a county clerk. Then I was a court reporter. And then an evidence clerk. And now, ta da, I’m a case files manager. Births, deaths, marriages, divorces, lawsuits, crime—I’ve seen it all and filled out the forms to prove it.”
“It never ends.” RJ returned his attention to the files on the table, wondering if any of his older cases were among them. They had been laid out in alphabetical order, he noticed. “Okay. Where do you want me to start?”
“Are you really that desperate for something to do?” She sliced him a doubting glance.
“What letter are you up to?” he asked.
“M.” She slid off her chair to come over to where he was and picked a thick, crammed folder from a group. “The Montgomery case is next. This is the main file.” She set it in front of him.
“It’s a monster.”
“You volunteered,” she reminded him and sighed. “This one’s a mess and there are ten others.”
“Mind giving me a summary of it?”
One eyebrow went up. “You can read, right?”
He grinned. “Big type. Small words. You know me, I just sit on a stump and shoot tin cans for laughs.”
“Don’t make me believe it, Detective Bannon.” She patted the file. “Get started. Do what you can.”
“How come it’s so big?”
“Oh—there are lots of Montgomerys around here, for one thing.” He noticed that she had dodged his question. “The family goes back twelve generations in this part of Virginia. The historical society even gives tours of their ancestral mansion outside of Wainsville—one of those big stately homes that got built, oh, in the eighteen-hundreds. Haven’t you seen it?”
“No. I usually get assigned to drug dealers in doublewides, remember?”
“Of course I do.” She nodded then smiled wryly. “Somehow I don’t think the Montgomerys would know a doublewide if one snuck up on them and bit their butts. They’re rich and always have been.” Her dry tone made the social divide between the Rawlings and the Montgomerys more than clear. “Still and all, they’re not as snooty as some of the newcomers around here.”
“That’s something,” he responded idly.
“I guess.” Doris turned back to her work. “Go ahead and start sorting what you can. I’ll finish the one I’m working on while you do.”
“Okay. Take your time.”
He took off his leather jacket and slung it across the back of a folding chair, then settled his long frame into the seat, ignoring a sharp twinge in his back when he sat down. RJ opened the Montgomery file and noticed that the earliest forms had been completed on a manual typewriter. He picked up the first piece of paper and read the basics.
Victim: Ann Spencer Montgomery.
Adult/Child: child.
Age: 3.
Nature of crime: abduction.
At a later date, someone had scrawled four bleak words across the paper.
Still missing. Presumed dead.
Presumed dead. Not declared dead. Officially still considered missing. Curious, Bannon began turning pages of the thick file and soon became engrossed in it for the better part of an hour. “This is one hell of a case,” he said softly and glanced at Doris. “How come I never heard of it?”
“You were a kid when it happened, Bannon.” She sounded a little surprised by his interest. “It was before your time. Before you knew it all,” she added in a teasing way.
“Yeah, sure. But—Ann Montgomery was abducted at the age of three.” He grabbed a pad of paper and pencil and jotted down some quick figures. “That means she would be twenty-nine now if she somehow survived.”
“That’s correct,” Doris agreed.
Pulling out the old reward poster and the bank document clipped to it, Bannon scanned them both. The money was held in a trust that would terminate on Ann’s thirtieth birthday. “There’s a year to go on this reward.” He couldn’t imagine why the case was being closed. The female victim was still officially classified as missing and a million-dollar reward was still in force for information leading to her safe return.
Decades had gone by. Her family had faith, he’d give them that. Some people would cling to hope forever when no body was found. A few abducted children had turned up alive, years later, but the odds were solidly against this little girl. He flipped through the documentation, feeling a rush of hunting instinct. It felt good. Like his old self was back.
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Copyright © 2010 by Janet Dailey
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