The Burying Place

by Brian Freeman

  Those were the two possibilities. Someone from outside the house came and stole Callie, or someone inside the house took her away. Underneath the OUTSIDE header, he scribbled several bullet points:

  Stranger or local?

  Had to be Callie or could have been any baby?

  Ransom or other motive?

  Needed to get to house, get in, get away

  Alive or dead?

  Where is she now?

  Underneath the INSIDE header, he wrote different comments:

  Alive or dead?

  Accident or murder?

  Marcus or Micki? (Both?)

  Where is she now?

  Stride stared at what he had written. In the past two days, his team had reconstructed the movements of Marcus and Valerie Glenn - and their baby - over the five days leading up to the disappearance. Members of the Grand Rapids Police and the Itasca County Sheriff's Department had checked every building, house, store, and street in Grand Rapids and Duluth visited by the Glenns during that time, hoping to find a witness who remembered something or someone unusual. The follow-up was continuing, but so far they had no credible evidence of an intruder watching the Glenns or their home.

  He wasn't surprised. Grand Rapids was a small town. Even Duluth was small compared to a large urban center like Minneapolis. He doubted that a stranger could identify a target and plan a kidnapping in such a tightly knit region without leaving some kind of trail for them to follow.

  So maybe it wasn't a stranger. Maybe it was someone who already knew the Glenns, their baby, and their home. But if that were true, he didn't know how someone local could hope to hide a stolen baby for any length of time without being discovered. How long could you really do that? A week? A month? Sooner or later, someone would expose the secret.

  Assuming that Callie was still alive. If not, it was easy to hide a body in the northern woods.

  The other question was why. Why would an outsider go through such risk and trouble to abduct Callie Glenn? There had been no ransom demands, and Grand Rapids was an unlikely locale in which to scout designer babies or white slaves. Not that Stride could entirely rule it out. Evil had a way of reaching its fingers even into the remote corners of the world.

  He turned his attention to the INSIDE half of the board, which in his mind offered a simpler and more plausible explanation of the crime. Either Marcus Glenn or Migdalia Vega had used the time between ten thirty and one o'clock to make Callie disappear. He had a much easier time ascribing possible motives to either of them, and he had evidence in hand that both had been lying, or at the very least hiding important aspects of their relationship.

  Stride knew he needed to talk to them again, and he chose to start with Micki. She was the weak link.

  He grabbed his leather jacket and took the stairs to the ground floor. His car was parked on the street outside. He headed southeast on Highway 2, where there was no traffic to slow him down. It was Sunday; everyone was in church. As he drove, he finally thought about the one subject he kept trying to push from his mind.

  Serena.

  Last night he had slept alone. Actually, he had tossed and turned in the empty bed. He had thought of Serena at home in their cottage in Duluth, and the distance between them made him feel as if she were another of the pieces of his life stranded on the far side of the canyon. He could imagine her face, hear her voice, and feel the softness of her skin, and yet for all that, she had become flat. Two-dimensional. Like everything else in his world. He told himself that he was in love with her, but he didn't feel it, because he didn't feel anything.

  When his phone rang, he thought it might be Serena, and he wondered what he would say to her. Instead it was Maggie.

  'Hey, boss,' she said brightly. 'I miss your face.'

  Stride relaxed and smiled. 'Back at you, Mags. What's going on?'

  'I have a quick update on the farmlands case. I offered kinky favors to one of the techs down at BCA to bump our blood sample to the top of the list.'

  'Good.'

  'He's gay, by the way, so I told him you'd pay up, not me. Hope that's OK.'

  'Anything for the team,' he told her.

  'I thought you'd feel that way. Anyway, I got the results back, and it's bad news. No hits. He's not in the system.'

  'Damn.'

  'Yeah, nothing ever comes easy.'

  'How's Troy Grange doing?' Stride asked. 'You saw him yesterday, right?'

  'He's hurting. His oldest girl is a wreck, and he had to leave the baby with his in-laws. I told him not to give up hope, but he knows the score. Trisha's not coming back.'

  'Yeah.'

  'Speaking of tough guys,' Maggie said, 'how are you?'

  'Me? I'm fine.' The same old lie.

  'A little bird told me you weren't so good.'

  Stride tensed. 'You talked to Serena?'

  'Uh huh.'

  'It's no big deal,' he said.

  'It sounded like a big deal to me. And to her.'

  'I don't really want to talk about it, Mags.' 'Yeah, well, that's just too damn bad,' she snapped. 'You think you can blow me off like that? I'm your best friend.'

  'I know that, but this isn't easy for me—'

  'I don't care if it's easy or hard. What the hell is going on with you?'

  Stride closed his eyes and opened them again. The empty highway spilled off the edge of the horizon. 'It's not Serena. It's me. I'm struggling.'

  'Give me details.'

  He didn't know what to say. 'I wish I could, Mags. I may as well be dead. I don't care about anything. Not a damn thing.'

  'I don't like to hear you talking like that,' she said.

  'Neither do I.'

  Maggie was silent. Stride slowed and turned off the highway as he reached the intersection that led toward the rural town of Sago. A cloud of dirt rose behind his tires and trailed him down the deserted road.

  'When are you coming back to Duluth?' she asked.

  'I've got a couple meetings at City Hall the day after tomorrow.'

  'I want to see you.'

  'I appreciate the thought, but there's nothing you can do. This is my problem.'

  'Don't be such a hero. Get an early start. I'll make you breakfast.'

  'You?' Stride asked.

  'Damn right. A couple sausage McMuffins and some of that twisty cinnamon roll kind of stuff.'

  Stride laughed. 'OK.'

  'I'll see you Tuesday morning.' She added, 'And hey, can I tell you something?'

  'Sure.'

  'I'm sorry I wasn't with you.'

  'What are you talking about?'

  He heard her voice catch with emotion, which was unusual for Maggie. 'On the bridge. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you fell. That was the hardest thing for me, not being there when you needed me.'

  'There's nothing you could have done,' Stride said.

  'Maybe, but I'm still sorry.'

  Stride thumped his fist on the aluminum door of Micki Vega's trailer. Curtains were drawn across the windows, but he saw her pickup truck parked in the dirt nearby, and he smelled bacon frying. When no one answered, he pounded again.

  'Micki, it's Lieutenant Stride. Open up!'

  He heard the rattle of a chain as Micki unlatched the door and peered out. Her dark hair was loose and frizzy. She had bloodshot eyes. She wore flannel pajama bottoms and a pink halter top. Her feet were bare.

  'You woke up my mama,' she told him, her voice cross.

  'You didn't answer.'

  'I thought it was that damn chica from the papers. Blair Rowe. She's been hassling me all weekend. Did you tell her about me?'

  'No.'

  'Well, she found out anyway. I'm fucked.'

  'I need to talk to you, Micki,' Stride said.

  'Talk about what?'

  'Callie Glenn.'

  'I already told you everything I know, which ain't much. Leave me alone, OK?'

  'I have more questions. Can I come inside?'

  'Hell, no. I don't want you bothering my mama.'
/>   'Then put on some clothes and come out here.'

  Micki scowled. 'Whatever.'

  He waited for her in the middle of the dirt road. Through the slanted trunks of the birch trees, he could see the slope of the Sago Cemetery fifty yards away. Dots of snow flurries drifted in the air and landed on his skin in cold flecks. It was a quiet morning, with almost no wind. The trees seemed to be holding their breath.

  Micki joined him two minutes later. She'd shoved her feet into boots, and she wore a blue down coat. Her black hair spilled messily over the collar. She took bites from a bagel and a crispy piece of bacon.

  'So what do you want?' she demanded, her mouth full.

  'I know about your baby,' he said.

  Micki blanched. She stopped chewing, and a few crumbs clung to the side of her mouth, which she wiped with her sleeve. Her cheeks flushed with anger. 'Fuck you. That's private.' 'Callie Glenn is missing, and now I find out that you had a baby that no one knows about. Coincidences like that make me suspicious.'

  'Who told you?' Micki asked.

  'It doesn’t matter.'

  'Yeah, nothing matters when you're trailer trash, right? Other people get to scream about their privacy. Not me.'

  'Where's your baby?' Stride asked.

  'I don't have to tell you a thing.'

  'Is he inside the trailer?'

  Micki jabbed a finger toward the cemetery. 'He's in the ground. Are you happy?'

  'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Tell me what happened.'

  'What's to tell? I got knocked up. I couldn't afford the pill, and I was dating a guy who thought rubbers were for homos. I learned my lesson. My knees stay shut from now on.'

  'Who was the father?' Stride asked.

  'Nobody. Some farm kid.'

  'I think it was Marcus Glenn,' he said.

  'Dr Glenn? Are you crazy? No way. I told you I'm not sleeping with him.'

  'So how did he get involved?'

  Micki shoved her hands in her coat pockets. 'When I found out I was pregnant, I didn't know what to do. I don't have any insurance. I wanted to get rid of it, but Mama said that was a sin. So I asked Dr Glenn for help.'

  'What did he do?'

  'He knew I couldn't go to a hospital, so he arranged for a nurse to come here. She was supposed to deliver the baby, too, but I never made it that far.'

  'How far along were you when you lost him?'

  'Three months,' Micki said. 'It was just one of those things. I didn't do anything wrong.'

  'When was this?'

  'Last summer. August.'

  'So Valerie Glenn was already pregnant when you miscarried?'

  'How should I know? I mean, I guess she was, but I didn't know. Dr Glenn never talked about his wife having a baby.'

  'What did you do with your child?' Stride asked.

  Micki's eyes flashed. 'I buried him.'

  'What about the nurse? What was her name?'

  'Nurse Regan. She was a scary bitch to look at, but she was nice. Even after I lost the baby, she came back to help me. My head was all screwed up, and she told me it's normal to feel that way.'

  'Did you know that she was having an affair with Dr Glenn?' Stride asked.

  Micki looked genuinely shocked. 'Dr Glenn and Nurse Regan? No, I didn't know that.'

  'Did you ever see them together?'

  'Sure, a couple of times, he drove her here to see me. That doesn’t mean anything.'

  'Has Regan Conrad been in touch with you recently?'

  'Me? No. Why would she?'

  Stride didn't hear a lie in her voice. 'I'm sorry, Micki, that must have been a terrible experience for you.'

  She shrugged. 'I was upset, but God calls the shots, not me.'

  'Where did you bury your son?' he asked.

  'On the other side of the road,' she said after a long pause. 'It happens a lot around cemeteries, you know. My mama and I hear noises out here at night, and I'll find places where the dirt's been dug up.'

  'People bury things in the woods?' Stride asked.

  'Yeah. Sure. I keep a collection of things I find out there. Photos of pets. Silly stuff like rings and corks from wine bottles. I think it makes people feel better to bury something near the cemetery. Like they figure God is nearby. If you dig in the trees, I bet you'd find a lot of bones.'

  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  Serena found Valerie Glenn at her sister's home on Sunday afternoon. Denise Sheridan and her husband lived in downtown Grand Rapids, on a forested lot near the river. It was a small home for a family with four children. Its wood siding was dirty and needed paint, and several of the red roof shingles were missing. A fishing boat sat on a rusted trailer by the side of the house, and the yard was strewn with old toys. Half a dozen mature pines dwarfed the house and blocked it from the street.

  Denise answered the door. Her face was pinched and impatient. When she saw Serena, she jerked a thumb down the hallway behind her. 'Valerie and Tom are in the living room. I've got to check on my youngest.' She lowered her voice and added, 'Do you have anything new?'

  Serena shook her head.

  Denise frowned and went upstairs, where Serena could hear the squeal of children. She found her way to the living room, which was a boxy space, crowded with old furniture. An upright piano was pushed against one wall, with stacks of sheet music piled on the bench. A little boy, no more than five years old, sat on the floor, humming as he pushed a red crayon around an illustration of a cow in a coloring book. The house smelled of burnt toast.

  Valerie Glenn sat on the leather sofa, looking luminously out of place. Her clothes, her make-up, her hair, were all perfect. By contrast, the leather where she rested her slim arm was worn, with cuts and punctures bruising the surface. She had a sad, far-away smile as she watched the boy playing on the floor at her feet.

  A man sat next to Valerie and held her hand. He was about forty years old, with gray strands lining his brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wasn't heavy, but he had the stocky shoulders and slight beer gut of a typical Grand Rapids outdoorsman. His jeans had a frayed hole in the pocket, and the sleeves of his sweatshirt were rolled up past his elbows.

  'Oh, hello, Serena,' Valerie murmured, looking up as she saw her in the doorway. 'Have you met Tom Sheridan?'

  'I haven't.'

  Tom got up from the sofa. He was a big man, but his handshake was gentle. 'I'm Denise's husband.'

  'And who's this?' Serena asked, squatting down in front of the boy on the floor.

  'This is Evan,' Tom said. 'Evan, can you say hello?'

  The boy didn't look up from his work on the coloring book. 'Hello.'

  Serena laughed and straightened up. 'You have a budding artist,' she said.

  'I just wish he didn't practice on the bedroom walls,' Tom replied. He sat down again and put a comforting arm around Valerie's shoulder. With a glance at his sister-in-law, he said to Serena, 'I hate to be the bad guy here, but we're getting frustrated.'

  'I understand. So are we.'

  'How could Callie just vanish into thin air?' Tom asked.

  'Believe me, we're doing everything we can to find her,' Serena said.

  'I know the drill, Ms Dial. I'm married to the law. I know you can't snap your fingers and get answers for us. But I'd be lying if I didn't tell you how worried and impatient we all are. Every day makes Callie feel further away.'

  Valerie glanced at the television in the corner of the room. The sound was low. 'Is there anything you can do about the media?' she asked. 'I know it's free speech and all, but I feel like they're trying to destroy our family. Did you see Blair Rowe last night? She was spreading all these lies about Marcus. Who's going to look for Callie if they think that my husband is a monster?'

  'The best advice I can give you is not to watch,' Serena said. 'Even if it's garbage and gossip, it helps having Callie's photo on the news night after night. The more people who see it, the more likely we are to find her.'

  'She's right, Valerie,' Denise said, strollin
g into the living room behind Serena. She moved a stack of children's books from the cushion of a recliner and dropped into the chair with a groan. She chewed a fingernail and contemplated her sister. 'I know Blair Rowe. She's a wet- behind-the-ears brat who thinks this is her big break. Forget about her.'

  Tom Sheridan looked at his wife with concern. 'How's Maureen?'

  Denise shrugged. 'Fine.'

  'Our youngest has Down's syndrome,' Tom explained. 'She doesn’t hear well, and she becomes quite agitated if she wakes up from a nap and one of us isn't around.'

  'You don't need to share our life story,' Denise snapped.

  'It's nothing to be ashamed about,' Tom said.

  Denise's eyes shot daggers at her husband. 'Did I say I was ashamed?' She bent over and closed her son's coloring book. 'Evan, can you take this to your room, please? Thank you.'

  There was silence among the adults in the room while the boy gathered his crayons and headed upstairs. Denise watched him go, her arms folded over her chest. 'Honestly, Tom, what are you thinking? Talking like that in front of the kids.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  Denise didn't reply.

  'Maureen's condition has been a struggle for us,' Tom continued, with an apologetic smile at Serena. 'As if four kids weren't enough of a challenge to begin with.'

  'Oh, for God's sake,' Denise barked. She flew out of the recliner and stomped through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. The doors flapped madly before slowing down. Serena heard the clatter of pans and the exaggerated noise of cupboard doors opening and closing.

  'I'm really sorry about this,' Tom told her. 'Bad day.'

  'Don't worry about it.'

  Valerie stood up. 'I suppose you'd like to talk to me.'

  'Yes, I would.'

  She nodded and bent down to hug her brother-in-law. 'Thanks for everything, Tom. Really.'

  Tom held on to her hand. 'Call if you need anything at all, OK?'

  'I will,' Valerie said. She said to Serena, 'Shall we take a walk?'