The Burying Place

by Brian Freeman

  Serena interjected. 'Have you interviewed the neighbors along the road?'

  'We woke them all up, and we're working our way up and down the lake. So far, nobody saw any vehicles here after ten o'clock or spotted any boats on the water. It was a perfect night to make a snatch and not be seen. Assuming that's what happened.'

  'What does that mean?' Stride asked.

  'Nothing. This is your show now, not mine. Just tell me where my guys can help.'

  'We need to set up a command center over at your office,' Stride told her. 'We'll need to coordinate media queries, answer the tip line, feed leads for follow-up, coordinate with the FBI, NCMEC, the Wetterling Foundation, etc. This is going to take a lot of manpower.'

  'I can get people from the neighboring counties. We'll get plenty of support.'

  Stride studied the nearby homes, which were ablaze with light. 'You realize this is going to be a media circus, right?'

  'Hey, I was here when the damn ruby slippers got stolen from the Judy Garland Museum,' Denise said. 'That was a circus.'

  'We need to talk to Marcus Glenn,' Serena added.

  'Fine. Talk to him.'

  'You should be there too.'

  'No way,' Denise snapped. 'He won't want me there, and I don't want to be there. We can talk after you're done.'

  'You don't like Marcus, do you?' Serena asked.

  Denise shrugged. 'He's my brother-in-law. What does that tell you?'

  Marcus Glenn was a surgeon and, in Stride's mind, that said it all.

  He wasn't yet forty years old, which meant he had the arrogance of his own accomplishments but hadn't aged enough to confront his imperfections. He wore a frown of impatience and irritation as he paced the sunroom of his estate. He was extremely tall, and his long legs were lean and muscled. He had jet-black hair, cut extremely short, and thick eyebrows. His face was angular, hard-edged and taut, without the sag of a double chin. He wore a burgundy golf shirt with a logo from the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas, pleated gray slacks, and black dress shoes. He had large hands, in which he gracefully moved two cat's eye marbles above and below his knuckles like a magician. Behind him, a glass wall of windows framed him against the black night and the back lawn that led to the lake.

  'Dr Glenn,' Stride said, extending his hand. 'My name is Jonathan Stride. This is Serena Dial.'

  Glenn declined to shake hands and instead slid his hands and the two marbles into the pockets of his slacks. 'Yes, I know who you are. Denise called me. I'm sure you're both qualified and capable, but I have to tell you I would be more comfortable if this investigation were being led by the FBI.'

  'I understand how you feel,' Stride replied. 'Obviously, we'll be coordinating our efforts with the resources of federal law enforcement wherever it can help us.'

  Glenn cut him off. 'Yes, yes, coordination, consultation, I'm sure you all send wonderful memos to each other. I'm talking about expertise. My patients don't come to me because I'm capable. They come to me because I'm the best. I want the best.''

  'I know exactly what you're saying, Dr Glenn,' Stride told him. 'The truth is that we're the best people to handle this situation, not the federal authorities. You want investigators who know the terrain and have relationships throughout the state law enforcement community. The FBI would have to fly in special agents who are unfamiliar with the area, the people, the police, the media, the nonprofit resources, everything we need to find Callie and bring her home safely. These first few hours are very important. We're here, we're good, and we want to help.'

  Glenn rubbed the toe of his dress shoe on one of the marble tiles on the sunroom floor. 'Yes, all right. I apologize for my attitude, detectives. I do appreciate your help. It's been a long night.'

  'Of course,' Stride said.

  He and Serena took seats next to each other on a leather sofa on the wall facing the house. Glenn sat and crossed his legs in an armchair by the windows. He drummed his fingers on his knee.

  Serena picked up a framed photograph from an end table beside the sofa. The picture showed an attractive woman in her early thirties, with flowing blonde hair and an athletic build. Her blue eyes stared beyond the camera, caught in a reflective moment. When Stride studied her features, he could see a resemblance to Denise Sheridan, but God had played favorites between the sisters. Denise had a face you could look at and then put out of your mind. Her younger sister was memorably gorgeous.

  'Is this your wife?' Serena asked.

  Glenn nodded absently. 'Yes, that's Valerie.'

  'She's beautiful.'

  'Thank you,' he replied.

  Stride thought that was what you said if someone complimented your choice of wine, or your choice of decor. He looked around at the sunroom and realized that Glenn collected beautiful things. Eastern European crystal. French wines. Brandenburg photographs. A trophy wife. Those were the perks of his profession.

  'Where is your wife?' Serena asked. 'Does she know that Callie has disappeared?'

  'Yes, of course, I called her immediately. She was staying overnight in the Cities because of the fog, but I'm having a driver bring her home. She'll be here shortly.'

  'I'd like to clarify some personal information, Dr Glenn,' Stride said.

  'Such as?'

  'Can you tell us about your job?'

  'I'm an orthopedic surgeon specializing in knee repair and replacement,' Glenn replied. 'I do surgeries three days a week at St Mary's in Duluth. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Naturally I'm cancelling today's appointments.'

  'Were you home all day Thursday?'

  'I was.'

  Serena smiled at Glenn. 'You have a lovely home.'

  'Translation: am I rich? Yes. Between my income and my investments, I make well over two million dollars a year and have done so for nearly a decade. I've lived in Grand Rapids most of my life, so this would be no surprise to anyone in town who's aware of who I am, which is pretty much everyone. Please don't feel the need to sugar-coat your questions, detectives. If you want to know something, ask.' 'Why don't you tell us what happened this evening?' Stride said. 'I wish there was more to tell. I put Callie down for the night after dinner. I was in my study for the rest of the evening reading medical journals. At ten o'clock, I checked on her and then went to bed myself. When I got up at one in the morning and went to her bedroom, she was gone.'

  'Were you sleeping between ten and one?' Serena asked.

  'I was asleep by ten thirty, so whoever took her must have done so after that. I didn't hear anything.'

  'Do you have a security system?' Stride asked.

  'Of course, but I don't activate it when I'm home.'

  'Who has keys to the house?'

  'Valerie and I do.' Glenn's stoic calm fractured for a moment. 'Oh, and Migdalia has a key, too.'

  'Migdalia?'

  'Migdalia Vega. She's our babysitter.'

  'Where can we find her?' Stride asked.

  'She lives behind the old cemetery in Sago. She's a reliable girl. I can vouch for her character.'

  'We'll still need to talk to her.' Stride added, 'The police officers who searched the house didn't find any signs of forced entry. Do you have any idea how someone was able to get inside?'

  'I don't, I'm sorry.'

  'Has anyone contacted you to say that they have Callie?' Serena asked. 'No.'

  'Sometimes parents don't like to admit it when they hear from a kidnapper,' Serena told him. 'A ransom note may tell you not to inform the police, or a caller may threaten a hostage's life if you involve the authorities. Even in those situations, it's far safer if you do tell us.'

  'I understand, but there has been no contact of any kind.'

  'With your permission, we'll put a tap on your phone in case you do receive calls,' Stride said.

  Glenn hesitated. 'Is that necessary?'

  'Given your financial situation, we have to consider kidnapping a real possibility,' Stride told him. 'Perhaps even a probability. In those cases, you'll generally receive some kind of demand for
ransom. A phone trace is essential.' 'Yes, I suppose so. I'm thinking of privacy considerations for my patients. There are confidentiality issues. I'll have to find a way to deal with it, but that's my problem.'

  'We'll have the trace installed in a matter of hours,' Stride said. 'Speaking of your patients, have there been any issues that could have left a patient or a family member holding a grudge?'

  Glenn's mouth turned upward in an ironic smile. 'You mean, did I kill someone on the operating table? No.'

  'Accidents and misunderstandings do happen.'

  'True enough, but I'm very good at what I do. I've never been sued, which is something of a miracle in my profession.'

  Stride nodded. 'Have you received any threats? Or has your wife?'

  'No.'

  'Have you ever felt you were being followed? Or have you noticed strangers watching you at home or at work?'

  'No, nothing like that. However, there's a mobile home park on the lake, and we do get some unsavory types staying there. I have a large boat, and no doubt many of them have seen me, Valerie, and Callie on the water.'

  Stride nodded but didn't reply. He had seen it before - rich victims pointing a finger down the class ladder. Grand Rapids, like Duluth and other northern Minnesota towns, suffered from an uncomfortable gap between rich and poor. There were wealthy professionals and transplants from Minneapolis who could afford seven-figure lake homes. On the other end of the spectrum was a much larger community of mill workers, waitresses, road crews, and farmers who struggled with the spiking prices for food, gas, and healthcare.

  'How old is Callie?' Serena asked.

  'Ten and a half months. She was a New Year's baby, born shortly after midnight.'

  'Here in Grand Rapids?'

  'No, at St Mary's in Duluth. I wanted Valerie to give birth at my own hospital.'

  'What kind of baby is Callie?' Serena asked. 'How does she act with strangers?'

  'Callie has always been a mellow girl,' Glenn replied. 'She'll behave for just about anyone who smiles at her. In this circumstance, I guess that's unfortunate.'

  'Callie is your only child, is that right?'

  'Yes.'

  'How long have you and Valerie been married?'

  'Eight years,' Glenn replied.

  'Having a baby can turn your life upside down,' Serena said. 'Has it caused any problems for the two of you?'

  Glenn stared at her in stony silence. 'No.'

  'How about your wife? Some women struggle with depression after having a child.'

  'Not Valerie. She was overjoyed. She'd been trying to conceive for years.'

  'I'll want to talk to your wife as soon as she's home,' Serena told him.

  'I understand.' Glenn stood up from the chair and again shoved his hands in his pockets. 'Please keep me posted on the investigation, detectives.'

  Serena nodded. 'Either Lieutenant Stride or I will be in touch every few hours to give you a status report on the investigation, and you can reach us on our cell phones whenever you need us.'

  'Thank you. How long will you need to have police officers tramping around my house?'

  'I'm afraid it will be several more hours,' Stride said. 'We'll have a forensics team here from the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension in St Paul at daylight. They'll do an exhaustive search of the property inside and out.'

  'Hasn't that already been done?'

  'These are experts in handling crime scenes,' Stride explained. 'They'll be looking for trace evidence from any strangers who might have been in Callie's room. Or other evidence to suggest how an intruder came and went.'

  Stride didn't mention what else they would be looking for. In the crib. On the walls. In the sinks. Under the carpet.

  Blood.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Stride found Denise Sheridan alone by the shore of Pokegama Lake on the southern edge of the Glenn property. The white two-story estate shone brightly on the slope behind them, thanks to the lights that glowed in every room of the house. The vast backyard was scattered with birch trees and a deep layer of dead leaves.

  Denise smoked a cigarette. When she saw Stride approaching her down the hill, she took a last drag and flicked it into the water.

  'Sorry,' she said. 'I don't need a lecture right now, OK? About crime scenes or death sticks.'

  Stride wanted a cigarette himself, but he didn't say so. He stood silently next to Denise with his hands in his pockets. Out on the lake, he saw the shore of a small island lined with cedars. The water was choppy and white-capped, agitated by the cold breeze. He noted that the dock for the Glenn boats had already been pulled from the water for the season. Any intruder who approached the house from the lake would have found it difficult to land in the shallows.

  'So how are you, Denise?' Stride asked.

  She shrugged. 'Me? Life goes on.'

  'I meant to send you a card last year when you had the baby. That makes four, doesn’t it?'

  'Yeah, I pop them out like a big furry rabbit,' Denise cracked.

  'How old are they?' Stride asked.

  'Ten, seven, five, and eighteen months. I thought I was done after number three, but Tom had other ideas. It's not like we ever have sex anymore, but he managed to hit the bullseye the one time I got drunk.'

  She extracted the cigarette pack from her shirt pocket and lit another. Tilting her head up, she blew smoke into the air. 'Not that I want to send any of them back. Although, God, there are days.'

  'Managing two jobs and four kids?' Stride told her. 'I'm not sure how the two of you do it.'

  'Neither am I.' Denise glanced behind her at the spread of the Glenn home. 'Sometimes it pisses me off. I go fishing on Pokeg, and I see all these fucking mansions on the shore. Lawyers, doctors, CEOs, rich wives who winter in Scottsdale. And I'm sitting there worried about the gas mileage on my truck.'

  'Sorry,' Stride said.

  'Yeah, look at me, the green-eyed monster.' Denise threw away her second cigarette rather than smoking it. 'I suppose this is the wrong time to say so, but you look like shit, Stride.'

  'Thanks.'

  'It's none of my business, except I just handed you a big case. Was I wrong to get you involved?'

  'I'm fine,' he said. It was the same lie he'd told to Serena.

  'Did you have an audience with King Marcus?' Denise asked. 'I'll bet he wouldn't shake hands with you.'

  'You're right. What's that about?'

  'It's a surgeon thing. He doesn’t want to risk injuring his hands. I think he's germophobic, too.'

  'Tell me what you know about him,' Stride said.

  'Marcus? There are guys who are studs in high school, quarterback of the football team, and then twenty years later they're fat slobs working in a gas station. Well, Marcus is still the stud.'

  'Have you known him a long time?'

  'Sure, he grew up in this area. He was a couple years behind me and Tom in school. He's rich now, but he didn't come from money. His parents owned a farm near Sago. I knew his dad. He was a son of a bitch; nothing Marcus did was ever good enough. Pretty ironic. Marcus was this tall, athletic kid, took the Grand Rapids hockey team to the state championship twice. I mean, you do that around here, and you are a star. But not at home.'

  'I'm surprised he stayed around the area,' Stride said.

  'Yeah, well, Marcus is a Minnesota boy. Went to the U of M and did several years at Mayo before coming home. I think he likes being the big fish in a small pond up here. Being this hotshot surgeon. All the girls coming after him.'

  Stride wondered how much Denise's opinion had to do with Marcus and how much it had to do with her sister, marrying him and living in their estate on the lake. 'Valerie's stunning,' he said. 'I saw a photograph.'

  Denise kicked at the dirt. 'Oh, yeah. Valerie got the good genes.'

  'That's not what I meant.'

  'It doesn’t matter. You're not telling me anything I haven't dealt with my whole life. I won't say it doesn’t get old hearing how gorgeous my baby s
ister is all the time. And yes, you don't have to say it, I'm envious. Who wouldn't be?'

  'How did she hook up with Marcus Glenn?'

  Denise laughed sourly. 'Valerie never wanted anything but Marcus Glenn. She had a crush on him back when she was ten years old and he was a teenager on the hockey team. She had guys drooling after her throughout high school and college, but she'd made up her mind that Marcus was the only one she wanted. When he came back to Grand Rapids, she was the hostess at the country club, and that's when he noticed her. It took her another couple years to land him, but my sister is nothing if not determined.'

  'You make it sound mercenary.'

  'Hey, if you're beautiful, money is your birthright. That's life. I don't think Valerie went after Marcus because he had money. That was just an expectation. She was always going to have the lakeside mansion. Me, I've got the shack by the river, the mortgage, all the crap called real life.'

  Stride let the silence stretch out between them. Then he said softly, 'Denise, her child is missing. Maybe you should cut her some slack.'

  'I know. You're right. Look, I try not to let it eat me up, but some- limes it does, OK? You wanted the whole truth. I'd like to tell you I'm a bigger person, but Valerie's always been the golden child, and I've been jealous of her my whole life. Hell, I'm sitting at home with four kids, and now all I'm going to hear is, poor Valerie. Does that make me petty? OK, I'm petty.'

  'What's this really about, Denise?' Stride asked. 'I don't think it's lust sibling rivalry.'

  'I'm sorry,' she said, wiping her eyes. 'I'm scared for Callie. And yeah, I'm angry, too. I warned Valerie that something like this might happen, and she didn't listen to me.'

  'Something like what?' he asked.

  'I told her not to leave Callie alone with Marcus,' Denise said. 'Ah.'