A Son's Tale

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “Okay.” Morgan was fine with staying.

  Cal would be there soon.

  Confused, wondering how she could even think about the man without going into a blind rage, Morgan turned her thoughts to the only thing that mattered. Getting Sammie home safely.

  * * *

  IT HAD BEEN A LONG time since Cal had been in a police station. He’d spent most of his years in a self-imposed prison to keep himself and his father away from the police.

  Sitting with his father on one side of a table in a small, windowed interrogation room, he tried to find the absence of emotion that had seen him through life. Their attorney, Jim Brown, a man Cal knew from the junior arts league board, sat at one end of the table. Detectives Martin and Sanchez sat opposite Frank and Cal.

  “We’ve already told our attorney that we’ll cooperate fully,” Cal said as soon as introductions were done. Martin had only acknowledged knowing Cal by a nod of her head. “My father and I have nothing to hide.”

  He wasn’t going to wait to be interrogated, to let them run this interview. He wasn’t going to be trapped into saying something incriminating about his father by their twisted ways of wording questions.

  “As I told Detective Ramsey Miller from the Comfort Cove Police Department in Massachusetts, my father and I have nothing to do with their missing box of evidence.”

  Frank’s quick intake of air beside him was not comforting. Still, Cal couldn’t worry about his father at that moment if he was going to save him for the years to come.

  He should have told his father about Ramsey and the missing evidence. He should have told Morgan about Claire Sanderson and the suspicions regarding his father.

  He hadn’t. He’d done what he thought best, and it had all backfired. It was time to make things right.

  He and Frank had been silent in the car on the way to the station, but they both knew this was somehow tied to Claire Sanderson.

  Ramsay Miller had been poking around. Cal had been a fool to relax at all, to think even for a second that Miller would do as he’d said and inform Cal first if he found anything.

  “We appreciate your willingness to cooperate,” Detective Martin said.

  “I assume Miller is on his way down?”

  “I called Detective Miller,” Martin said. “I haven’t heard back from him yet.”

  “Neither my father nor I have been in Massachusetts, nor do we know anyone who has, nor have we hired anyone to visit the state for us. We have no use for the evidence stored in the Comfort Cove Police Department evidence room. As I’ve already stated, we have nothing to hide, just as we had nothing to hide twenty-five years ago. You already have our complete testimony on that score and Ramsey Miller is now in possession of the book I’ve been writing, which not only chronicles the events directly preceding and following Claire Sanderson’s disappearance, but also includes every bit of my research on that and other abductions that have taken place. My father is in no way connected to any other case on record.”

  Frank sat up straighter. And Cal realized, hearing his own words, what he’d probably just exposed. To himself as well as to the rest of the people in the room. He’d not only researched other cases to try to explain Claire’s disappearance and therefore exonerate his father, but he’d done the research to convince himself that his father wasn’t living a double life.

  “Mr. Whittier?” Martin waited until he met her gaze. Cal was having a hard time sitting still. He just couldn’t live his entire life under suspicion, going after nothing for fear of losing it, losing what he had when he went after it.

  He’d lost Morgan’s trust by his own lies and omissions.

  And that wasn’t Martin’s problem. He focused on the detective. Give her what she wants and get out.

  “While we are indeed concerned about you and your father’s suspected connection to Claire Sanderson and you’re sitting here because of that connection, our primary concern right now is not Miller or Sanderson or missing evidence.”

  “What is it, then?” Frank spoke up beside Cal.

  Martin looked at Cal’s father, clearly suspicious. “Mr. Whittier, when was the last time you saw Sammie Lowen?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. I took him to basketball tryouts. I saw him safely to the gym door. The coach was right there, checking the boys off his list as they arrived. Tryouts were closed. Before that, I saw him on Tuesday afternoon. My son brought him over for basketball practice. We were out in the driveway the entire hour and a half he was there. My son was in the house. Sammie’s mother picked him up just after five.”

  “Have you seen or heard from him since yesterday?”

  “No, I have not.” His father said evenly. Calmly.

  How in the hell could he be so calm? The first time in twenty-five years his father had any association with a child—as a favor to Cal—and the cops were going to try to make something of it?

  Because of George Lowen.

  Sanchez was watching the exchange between Martin and his father.

  “My father has never done anything that would in any way hurt Sammie Lowen.” Cal spoke softly. “I’ve been present for each and every practice. My father’s been coaching him as a favor to me. Sammie made it through the first cut of tryouts because my father took the time to work with him and prepare him.”

  Elaine Martin glanced at him, but quickly returned her attention to his father, brushing Cal’s remarks aside.

  “Think carefully about any contact you’ve had with Sammie, Mr. Whittier,” she said, leaning forward. “We know that Sammie Lowen received a phone call this afternoon. We’re checking his cell phone records and your son’s, as well, as we speak. I don’t want to find out that you’ve lied to me.”

  “I’m certain I have had no contact with the boy.” Frank looked her straight in the eye.

  “What’s the complaint here?” Jim Brown spoke up. He glanced at Cal. “I know you said you wanted to speak for the two of you, but I’m uncomfortable with this line of questioning when we don’t yet know why we’re here.”

  Cal had filled Jim in as completely as he could in the minutes they’d had together regarding Claire Sanderson’s disappearance and the subsequent hounding of his father.

  “Sammie Lowen is missing,” Martin said. She and Sanchez watched Cal and his father intently.

  “Missing?” All of the fight went out of Cal. And then he jumped up. “Sammie is gone again? From where? For how long? Where’s Morgan?”

  Sanchez was on his feet and beside Cal before he’d known he stood. “Sit down, Mr. Whittier,” he commanded, at which time Cal dropped back to his seat.

  “Hold on, son. They need our help here.”

  “Anything you say can and may be used against you in a court of law,” Jim reminded them of the rights they’d been read.

  “Did Sammie run away again?” Cal asked. “That doesn’t make sense. He had tryouts this afternoon. Second cuts. He wouldn’t miss those.”

  “We don’t know anything yet,” Martin said. Cal didn’t believe her. “But we’re treating this as an abduction.” She looked straight at Frank.

  “Are you charging my client with anything?” Jim asked.

  “No, sir, we aren’t. But we’ve already received a warrant to search his home and intend to hold him until we’ve done so.”

  “I know where he is.” Frank’s words fell like a bomb in that little room.

  And Cal’s life burst into flames.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-O
NE

  EVERY EYE IN THE interrogation room was on Frank Whittier.

  “Where is Sammie Lowen?” Elaine Martin asked.

  “I shouldn’t have said it like that,” Frank said. “If the boy’s been kidnapped I’m wasting valuable time here. And his face being plastered all over the news a few weeks ago in conjunction with George Lowen was certainly an invitation to any lowlife who might want to try to make a quick buck.”

  “Mr. Whittier,” Sanchez spoke, his voice low and menacing. “If you know where that boy is, now is the time to tell us. It only gets uglier from here.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Jim said. “Please be aware that anything you do say could implicate you.”

  “Dad, if you know where Sammie is, tell them. Now.” Cal didn’t need to think about that one. They lived right. It was the only thing they had going for them.

  If his father was sick, in trouble, Cal would help him. Later. After Sammie Lowen was safely in his mother’s arms.

  “I just think I know where he’d go if he left on his own,” Frank said. “I don’t know who called him. But I can’t imagine anything less than a catastrophe calling that young man away from second cuts. If he left on his own, you can bet it had something to do with that phone call. Last week, Sammie was over playing basketball the day his mother went to court for the custody hearing. He told me about someplace he’d seen, a place to hide. He said that’s where he’d go if the courts took him away from her. But I got the impression he’d go there anytime he thought he was in danger. Maybe something in that phone call scared him, made him think he had to hide.”

  “Where, Dad?” Cal’s throat was dry. Rough.

  Frank looked at Elaine Martin. “I’ll take you to the spot. Sammie trusts me and I’m breaking that trust. I want to be there for him if he’s in trouble.”

  “Okay,” Martin said as Sanchez nodded. Cal had a feeling they’d agree to just about anything that would get them to Sammie more quickly.

  “And because I think my son deserves to see that his father is worthy of the trust he’s placed in him all these years, I want him to accompany us, as well.”

  “You ride separately and he stays in the car with an officer,” Martin said, without even looking at Cal.

  “That’s fine.”

  “Mr. Brown?” Martin looked at Jim.

  “You realize that they think you took the boy,” Jim said to Frank. “You leading them to him is evidence they’ll use against you in court.”

  “I know.”

  Jim looked at Cal, who nodded.

  “I’ll have my phone on,” the attorney said, and they all stood.

  * * *

  MORGAN SAT WITH HER parents. She paced the small waiting room, thankful for its privacy. She wondered if Detective Morgan was with Cal and his father. And if Sammie was okay. God. Was her son alive?

  Sammie’s face had been all over the news just a few weeks before. Everyone knew now that he was George Lowen’s grandson. She thought about ransom calls and kid mills, and the horrible things that sick people did to little boys. Sammie was small for his age.

  And cute as could be.

  He also had a big mouth. Would her son mouth off and get himself in trouble with his captors? Or would he be able to use his lungs to attract attention and save himself?

  She almost hoped that Frank Whittier had taken him. Sammie knew Frank. He hero-worshipped him. He wouldn’t be frightened.

  Until…

  What would Frank do with him?

  Frank couldn’t be responsible. There had to be some other explanation.

  But what if he was?

  The low rumble of her parents’ voices as they occasionally conferred penetrated her thought processes, but nothing could soothe the horrible ache in her heart.

  Had she really been stupid enough to put her son’s life at risk? Was she really that incapable of reading people’s motives?

  “Mr. Lowen?” A uniformed police officer opened the door, a man in a brown suit and a tall, thin, older man standing behind him.

  “Yes.” George stood. “Michael. Thank you for getting this done so quickly.”

  Assuming the man was the private detective, or the new head of security for Lowen Enterprises, Morgan paid attention.

  “Everything is ready,” the man her father had called Michael said. “We just need your signatures.”

  That was her father, always ready, and because he was ready he could be counted on to save the day. Why hadn’t she seen all this before?

  “Morgan?” Her father called her over to the table in front of the couch upon which they’d been sitting. “I’ve got some friends with FBI contacts. If I have custody of Sammie, with legal rights to make calls and decisions, these contacts will do as they’re told. We’re going to get a lot more attention more quickly here. There are people who will pull strings for me just because they’re afraid not to. I’m not proud of that fact, but at the moment, I will use whatever leverage I have to get Sammie safely back to us. You said you were going to bring the boy to our place, anyway, so I went ahead and had Michael draw up custody papers and courier them over here for us. Once I have it on paper that I’m Sammie’s legal guardian, I’ll begin calling in favors.”

  Even now, George Lowen was wielding his power. If she wanted the most assurance that she’d get her son back, she had to do as her father wanted. Give him his heir. She struggled to breathe. But she nodded. And moved to the table to sign her father’s papers.

  * * *

  SITTING IN THE BACK of the unmarked sedan with Sanchez, Cal watched the similarly unmarked sedan in front of them, keeping his eye on the back of his father’s head. Martin was riding with Frank.

  For all of their blandness, their attempt to not draw attention, both cars were being driven by uniformed police officers.

  Frank leaned forward, giving directions, Cal surmised, and Martin raised an arm, between Frank and the driver. Cal gritted his teeth, clenching every muscle in his body to keep himself from reacting.

  They’d get through this. They’d go home together. And if need be, they’d move on. They knew the ropes.

  He’d lost Morgan. Once Sammie was safely back in her care, there was nothing left for him in Tyler, Tennessee.

  If Sammie made it back to her care. She’d brought Cal and Frank into Sammie’s life. And now her father had reason to use that choice as another sign of Morgan’s poor judge of character.

  Frank had been a good influence on the boy. He’d never thought Frank’s past would be used against Morgan. It wasn’t like his father had an order to stay away from children. The man could work in a day care if he wanted to. If they’d hire him.

  Frank just hadn’t wanted to bring more suspicion on himself. That was why he’d made a conscious decision to stay away from children.

  They were a couple of blocks from the junior high where Sammie had his tryouts. Sammie was familiar with the area, Morgan had told him, because they’d played Little League on a field there. And he’d been in the school for various functions, like a banquet where he’d received an award for being the player with the most catches in his age group.

  Thinking of Morgan hurt like hell. But he knew it was nothing compared to the pain she had to be feeling right now. Hang on, beautiful lady, he thought, over and over. Hang on. We’ll bring him home to you.

  Cal was surprised when they pulled into the school parking lot. Martin got out and his father slid out right behind her.
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  His father was handcuffed to the detective.

  The twosome approached the car in which Cal sat.

  Sanchez rolled down the window and Martin stuck her head in. “Your father wanted me to tell you that there’s a metal cover in the floor down the hall from the gym. It’s normally covered by a big rubber floor mat. Sammie saw a guy go down there once a while back. He’d thought it would be a cool place to go to take cover. Something about army guys and hiding out. Then when the thing came up with his mom and he was at the school for basketball tryouts he remembered the hole. He told Frank that he’d be safe there if they tried to make him live with his grandfather. That way he could play basketball when everyone was gone at night.”

  Martin sounded doubtful.

  “I’d have radioed ahead to have someone else check on his story, but he didn’t tell me this until about sixty seconds ago. We’re going in.”

  “Be careful, Dad,” Cal said.

  “Yep.”

  Martin moved forward and Frank walked beside her with his head held high.

  Completely helpless, Cal sat in the backseat of the police car and watched his father walk away.

  * * *

  PAPERS SIGNED, MORGAN SAT, wavering between numbness and despair, waiting for word, any word, from anyone. She no longer had energy to pace the room. Or make conversation. When she’d put her name on the papers and watched as Michael notarized them, something vital inside of her had died.

  She wasn’t an optimist anymore. There wasn’t always a brighter side.

  And still, she cared about little else than her son’s safe return. Whether he was in her custody or not, she would always be his mother.

  Detective Rick Warner stopped by to see them. He told them little, only that they’d questioned Cal and Frank and had a potential lead on Sammie’s whereabouts. They’d let them know more when they could.