Where's Ellen? (Mystery) (MPP A JOE MCFARLAND / GINNY HARRIS MYSTERY Book 1)

by Stuart Safft

  Joe’s thoughts related to his feelings about Ginny. He clearly respected her as a detective and was often impressed by how well she dealt with all types of people — victims and their family members, witnesses and even the perps or suspected perps, as well as their colleagues in the PD and the prosecutor’s office. She also often was the first one to string together various clues and bits of information to reach a logical, and often correct, conclusion. But, at this point, his thoughts were of a more personal nature.

  He recognized and accepted how their relationship had grown from partner to partner and friend to partner and best friend. But he struggled with his more romantic thoughts. Glancing over at Ginny, he couldn’t help but concentrate on the few cute freckles sprinkled across her nose. He found Ginny to be very attractive and smart, and he liked her upbeat and engaging personality. He had come to realize that she cared about him, and he had similar, albeit unstated, feelings for her. Each time he envisioned getting romantically involved with her, the baggage he was still carrying around from Chicago jumped to the forefront and redirected his thinking. Will I ever get over, not forget but get over, what happened in Chicago so that I can get on with my life? he would ask himself.

  All of a sudden, Joe braked hard and swerved to the right, narrowly missing the tan Ford pickup that had stopped at the red traffic light in front of them. “Whew! That was close,” he said as he ignored the glaring look and the middle finger of the middle-aged driver.

  Ginny forced her mind and then the conversation back to the present. “Yes, it sure is outrageous when some cars stop for a red light. But seriously, Joe. First thing this morning, you get all upset that they assigned this, and I quote you, ‘half-assed case’ to us. Now, a few hours later, you’re even more pissed that they took it away from us. I don’t get it.”

  “It’s not that ‘they’ took it away from us; it’s that it was the high and mighty FBI who took it away from us. Now that the FBI is interested, I’m interested; there must be more to this than we, or I should say I, first thought.”

  As they pulled up to the Sanders’ street, Joe flashed his badge to the firefighter blocking further entry. The firefighter got into the fire engine and moved it forward a few feet so that Joe could pass. Joe drove through and parked only a few feet from where the fire chief had set up his command post. Joe and Ginny got out of their car and walked over.

  “Hello, Chief. Good to see you again. Find anything?” said Joe.

  “All kinds of crap, from old tires to a refrigerator to some bones of a dead animal. But nothing useful so far. And we’ll be shutting down soon as dusk rolls in.”

  “Gotcha. We’ll hang around for a while to check out the volunteers and bystanders. Never know, if there’s a perp, he or she could be among them, helping search, maybe being there when the body is found, maybe even finding it. Not that we know there’s a body in this case.”

  It was now late afternoon, and the search teams were beginning to return to the starting point in front of the Sanders’ house. They reported in to the fire chief and returned the radios to the fire engines. Their disappointment at not finding anything useful was evident from their faces and their body language. So was their exhaustion, from the long, arduous and thirsty day. Both the fire chief and Steve thanked each person who had helped with the search.

  After initially nodding a quick “hello” to Steve, Joe and Ginny observed each searcher and bystander as best they could. Joe and Ginny stood next to each other across the street from where the bystanders were standing behind a yellow tape marked “FIRE LINE — DO NOT CROSS.” Ginny, standing on Joe’s right, focused on the people directly in front of them and off to the right. Joe did the same, but to the left. Several times, without turning their heads toward each other, they’d single out an individual, speaking quietly. “Ginny, check that guy in the bright blue shirt to the far left.” “Joe, that firefighter at my 2 o’clock seems to be wandering around meaninglessly.” But in the end, nothing or no one stood out as suspicious enough to merit Joe and Ginny taking any action. With a shrug of her shoulders and a disappointed look on her face, Ginny indicated her sense that there was nothing to be gained by hanging around any longer. Joe gave Ginny a quick nod, and they both started walking to where the fire chief and Steve were standing.

  “Sorry, Mr. Sanders, but we didn’t find anything helpful,” the chief was saying.

  “Well, I appreciate all your efforts. And those of the others,” replied Steve.

  “Don’t mention it. You’re very welcome. We all want to help any way that we can. Good luck; I’m sure things will turn out OK.”

  Joe heard the fire chief’s words “Good luck” and knew how inadequate they were, even before he looked over at Steve and saw the blank look on his face. Was that look disbelief that the search was over already, with no results? Was it relief that no body had been found? Or was it a mask, hiding something, a mute affirmation that things were working well so far?

  And then moments later, the table, the map and the remaining water bottles were back in the fire chief’s SUV, the two engines with some of the volunteer firefighters on board and the ambulance pulled away and all the other volunteers drove off. Joe and Ginny nodded to Steve and left without saying anything to him.

  CHAPTER 7

  Exhausted, worried, frustrated and all alone, Steve slowly walked back up his driveway and into his house. He looked and acted like a lost puppy. He felt that he should be doing things to help find Ellen, but he was at a complete loss as to what those things could or should be. He checked for voice messages on the house phone and on his cell phone, and he checked for e-mails, but there was nothing related to Ellen’s disappearance. Steve called his boss to tell him what had been going on since early that morning and explained why he wasn’t at work that day and that he wouldn’t be in to work the next day.

  “Oh, my God. Of course, Steve. I can’t begin to think what you must be going through. Take all the time you need and please let us know if we can do anything to help.”

  “Thanks, Mark.”

  “Let’s hope that Ellen turns up shortly and that she’s uninjured. Rest assured that everyone here will be thinking of and praying for you and Ellen.”

  “Thanks,” mumbled Steve as he hung up the phone, slouched down into his favorite recliner and sat there staring at the wall.

  A few minutes later, the doorbell pulled Steve out of his dazed numbness. He rushed to the door. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Sanders? Mr. Steven Sanders?” asked Martin.

  “Yes. And you are?”

  “I’m Assistant Special Agent in Charge Martin and this is Special Agent Florio. We’re with the FBI.”

  “FBI? You’re here about my wife. But you’re not … I mean it hasn’t been 24 hours ...” Steve stopped, then looked hard at them, afraid. “What? Do you have some news? How bad is it? Please!”

  “No, we don’t have any news yet. Sorry. Yes, it’s normally the case that the FBI doesn’t get involved until the individual is missing at least 24 hours, but, given the circumstances here, we’re making an exception.”

  “’Circumstances here?” asked Steve.

  “May we come in and talk with you?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure. Sorry. Please come in.” Steve led them to the same room and the same seats where he had sat with Joe and Ginny only a short while ago, although it seemed more like days ago to Steve. “What’s going on?”

  “Regarding your question about ‘circumstances,’ ” said Martin, “although we weren’t issued the BOLO that the local police sent out, we quickly became aware of your wife’s disappearance.”

  “How?”

  “Shortly after 9-11, we implemented several system changes to help us be more proactive. We have arrangements with most of the larger cities across the country whereby they send us copies of all arrests they make, warrants they request and BOLOs
they issue or receive. We then run all this against our databases of known and possible terrorists, wanted felons and everyone with security clearances.”

  “And that’s how you found out that my wife is missing?” asked Steve.

  “That’s correct. The computers matched the BOLO with her security clearance. Mr. Sanders, we know that in your wife’s role at Tycon Technologies, she works on and has access to classified military information,” said Martin.

  “Well, sure. A few of her divisions develop and manufacture systems for the Navy and Air Force. I don’t know exactly what these things are, but Ellen has a Top Secret security clearance from the Department of Defense. Do you think that has something to do with her disappearance?”

  “We don’t know yet,” responded Martin. “But we’re keeping an open mind to any and all possibilities at this point. Did your wife have any confidential work-related papers here at home?”

  “Probably. I don’t know for sure, but she’s always lugging around reams of paper from work. But, if it’s not allowed, I’m sure she didn’t bring any classified papers home.”

  “May we check? Where does she work at home?”

  “Yes, sure.” And Steve led the two agents to Ellen’s home office. They made a cursory look-see but found nothing troubling. “Does she have a briefcase? A laptop? A cell phone?” asked Martin.

  “Yes, they’re all are on the counter in the kitchen.” Steve led them to the kitchen and pointed to the briefcase.

  “May we take these with us?” asked Martin. “I’d like our experts in the office to go through them.”

  “OK.”

  The FBI agents then asked Steve to retell the entire series of events of that morning. He did so, putting up with numerous interruptions by the agents asking at what time, why, with whom, and so on.

  Martin, with a very occasional assist from Florio, asked Steve several questions about Ellen’s background, her friends and relatives, and where she had worked before Tycon Technologies. Many of their questions seemed to focus on Ellen’s security clearance and her work.

  “One other thing,” said Martin.

  “Yes?” responded Steve.

  “We know that you initially called the local police and that they, in fact, visited you here.”

  “Well, yes, that’s true. They …”

  “We understand,” interrupted Martin. “But we urge you to have no further dealings with them unless it’s through us.”

  “What do you mean? Why? I don’t understand,” responded Steve.

  “This is a bit delicate,” said Florio. “But it is important enough that it has to be said.”

  “OK. Say it,” said Steve.

  Martin jumped in. “Don’t get us wrong. They’re fine people and they mean well, but they’re way over their heads in a case like this. Detectives McFarland and Harris are small-time detectives on a small-time police force in a small town. I’m sure that they’re perfectly capable of handling a burglary or a hit-and-run accident, but a missing person, perhaps except for a senior citizen wandering off, not to mention a possible kidnapping, is out of their league. This is the type of thing that the FBI has the special training and experience to handle.”

  “Yes, but …,” Steve started to say before he was interrupted by Florio.

  “In fact, we met with these two detectives and their chief earlier today, and we had the case officially turned over to us. This is very important. ‘An orchestra can only have one conductor’ or ‘too many cooks spoil the broth.’ Or pick your own metaphor.”

  “The important thing,” added Martin, “is that we call all the shots so we don’t start tripping over each other and racing off in all directions. We agreed to keep the local police fully informed about this case and to request their help if and when we think it can be useful.”

  “We just wanted to make sure that you were clear about these arrangements,” concluded Florio.

  “I understand,” confirmed Steve.

  “OK, then,” said Martin.

  Getting ready to leave, with Ellen’s briefcase, laptop and cell phone held by Florio, Martin asked, “Do we have your permission to put wire taps on your home, work and cell phones in case it’s a kidnapping and the kidnappers call?”

  “My God! So you do think it’s a kidnapping?”

  “No. We don’t think anything yet. As I said earlier, we want to be ready for anything.”

  “Oh, OK. That makes sense.”

  “The wire taps?” prodded Martin.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” responded Steve.

  “OK. Thanks. The taps will be set up shortly. And just for your information, we’ll be getting a court order for a wiretap warrant so that we can monitor any calls to your wife’s cell and office phones as well.”

  “That’s OK. You don’t need the warrant. I’m also giving you my approval to tap those phones.”

  “Thanks. But we still need that warrant. We don’t need a warrant for your phones if you give us approval, but only your wife, not you, can approve our tapping her phones. A warrant will cover our not having her approval.”

  “Oh, OK.”

  As the FBI agents left, Steve stood by the front door watching them get into their car and drive off. Steve was still worried and even more bewildered than he had been before their visit.

  CHAPTER 8

  As the sun began to set, everything seemed to slow down. Through his front window, Steve watched the street lights come on, lights in the houses across the road glowing as his neighbors settled at their dinner tables, no doubt talking about the commotion that had filled the street for much of the day. For Steve, it was so still and quiet that it was unsettling. Without realizing it, he turned from the window and went to the family room, where he sat down and focused on the large, flat-panel TV screen despite the fact that the TV was not turned on. Time seemed to have stopped for him as he repeatedly reviewed the events of the day and tried to make some kind of sense out of Ellen’s disappearance. His understanding didn’t increase at all, but his fear and worry did. He had never felt more alone and helpless.

  The lights were on even later, at 10 p.m., in the third floor offices of the FBI in Cincinnati. Martin and Florio were in the small conference room at the end of the hall. Florio was standing in front of the white board, black marker in hand. Martin was half standing and half sitting against the table, with his arms crossed and facing Florio. It became clear that Florio was not just the silent gofer for Martin; it was Florio who had obviously done the most thinking on this and had organized his thoughts in an easy-to-comprehend way.

  “So there are two possibilities,” said Florio. “Her disappearance either is or is not related to confidential military information. If it is, she’s either acting voluntarily or is being forced, physically or otherwise, to act this way. In any case, hubby could be involved.”

  “And if it’s not related to military info?” prompted Martin.

  “Easy. It could be a kidnapping or a faked kidnapping, again with or without her husband’s involvement. Or it could be murder for the insurance. Or money’s not the motive. Maybe it’s emotion, more personal.”

  “More personal?”

  “Either she’s run off to be with someone else or to just get away from her husband, or her husband has killed her for cheating on him, or he hired someone to kill her,” responded Florio without a second’s hesitation. “And that covers all the logical possibilities, except for aliens from Mars coming down and grabbing her.”

  “Yeah, and I think we can exclude the aliens possibility, at least for now,” said Martin. “But how do we narrow down and exclude some of these other possibilities?”

  “Very easy, sir,” Florio replied, winking and giving a playful salute. “By good detective work. But can we first go home and get some sleep and then start fresh in the morning?�
��

  “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day, Frank,” replied Martin as he picked up his wrinkled suit jacket and headed for the door. Florio followed closely on his heels.

  CHAPTER 9

  The next morning, Joe and Ginny were sitting at their desks facing each other.

  “So what do you think the deal is with Mrs. Sanders?” asked Ginny. “I know it’s not our case anymore. But even though they can give our case to the FBI, they can’t turn off our curiosity.”

  “Right you are,” replied Joe as a smile spread across his face. “I could be wrong, but I still think the FBI is probably all wet if they think this is a kidnapping, much less a case of a spy running off.”

  Nodding her head, Ginny responded, “We agree on that. But what do you think it is?”

  “I haven’t moved far from my initial thoughts. I still think it’s most likely that either her husband killed her or she ran off with a lover. But I’m open to all the other possibilities, especially given the Feebies’ interest.”

  “Well, at least you’re consistent. What next?”

  “Whaddaya mean?” asked Joe, with the smile broadening across his face. “Wasn’t that you, Detective Virginia Harris, who was sitting next to me when we were clearly told to drop this case and let the Feebies play with it?”

  “Yes, that was me. But I know you too well. You’ll no more give up this case than you’ll give up breathing.”

  “Jeez, and I thought I was so good at concealing my thoughts. How about we take a short drive to talk with her employer?”