Macy shook her head. “I don’t know. It was out of my sight line. We lifted some tire impressions though. Might be able to find a match that way.” She knelt down to take a closer look. “This looks like it’s been cleaned recently. Who’s the owner?”
“Carla’s teenage son, Sean. Turns out he’s quite good on a bike. Lots of trophies in his room.”
“I wonder how he is with a gun,” asked Macy. “How old did you say he was?”
“Old enough. He turned nineteen in March.”
“Have you brought him in?”
Lou gestured toward the empty driveway. “His truck is gone and it doesn’t look like anyone has been home for a few days. I’ve put an APB out on him.”
“Do we have a phone number for him?” asked Gina.
“Yep, but he’s not answering,” said Lou. “We found a few pay-as-you-go phones in the house so it’s possible he’s using one.”
“Did you get anything off them?” asked Macy.
“We’ll see, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. They appear to have been wiped clean.” Lou started walking toward the house. “They’re bagging everything in the house worth taking—two computers so far, but they’re ancient. We found a thick folder containing Lloyd Spencer’s medical history. Until seven years ago he was fully employed. Then he rolled his quad bike up near Darby Lake and messed up his back. He could barely walk without a cane. No way he was riding that bike.”
“What about Carla?”
“We’ll interview her friends and family. Someone should know.”
“Did you find the gear the shooter was wearing? I’ve been looking into different makes. I think a company called Alliance probably manufactured it. It’s pretty high end and has a distinctive logo.”
“Plenty of gear inside the house, but so far I don’t think they’ve found anything made by Alliance.”
“Sean could have dumped the gear,” suggested Gina.
“Then why not get rid of the bike too?” said Lou.
“The fact that it’s so clean is suspicious,” said Macy. “How many teenagers do you know who take such good care of their stuff?”
Lou led Macy and Gina to the side entrance of the house. “Sean Spencer may be the world’s only exception. Compared to the rest of the house, his room is rather well kept.”
Macy slipped on a pair of shoe coverings before entering the one-story ranch house through the kitchen door. The smell of spoiled food was so strong she covered her mouth. The queasiness that had hit her so hard on the drive up from Helena was back. She stepped around what looked like engine parts and nearly tripped over a pile of discarded pizza boxes. There wasn’t a square inch of the kitchen and living room that wasn’t covered with clutter.
“It sure looks like the family went downhill in a hurry,” said Macy.
Gina opened a cupboard and a box of cereal tumbled out.
“Carla may have been in rehab, but if this house is anything to go by I’d say she was losing that battle.”
“Macy,” said Lou. “I spoke to the head of the center where Carla attended counseling. She’s expecting your call.”
“Did she have any insight?” asked Macy
“She said it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve been fooled by an addict. Carla was also attending a twelve-step recovery group that meets in the church on Main. I’ll get the name of her sponsor.”
“Might be worth attending a meeting to see who shows up,” said Gina.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Lou. “They have a tendency to scatter when law enforcement arrive.”
* * *
Macy could see nothing but sadness. She picked up a child’s drawing. Five stick figures stood in front of a brightly painted house. The two smallest figures were almost identical except one was pink and one was blue. Carla Spencer had a crayon red mouth and long golden hair.
“Whoever is fostering the younger children needs to be informed,” said Macy. “Sean may try to make contact.”
Lou found a remote control and turned on the television. There was only static.
Ryan entered the living room, looking flustered. “It will take us ages to process this mess.” He handed Lou a stack of unopened bills. “Internet and cable have also been disconnected. We’re lucky they still have power.”
“Anything aside from the discarded cell phones that strikes you as interesting?” asked Macy.
“I’ve been working in Sean’s room.” Ryan led them down a dark hallway. “The boy was obsessed with three things—bikes, girls, and keeping a well-ordered world.”
“Two out of three are normal,” said Macy. “Anything else?”
“A couple drawers have been cleared out and there’s no laptop. Our boy may have left in a hurry.”
“Are you sure there was a computer?” asked Lou.
“Cables are still there,” said Ryan.
Sean’s room didn’t fit in with the rest of the house. The first thing Macy noticed was that the door could be locked from both the inside and the outside. The bed was made with care and the remaining clothes in the dresser were folded neatly. Posters of everything from dirt bikes to heavy metal bands covered the walls. Trophies he’d won in competitions filled a low set of bookshelves.
Macy picked up a framed photo.
“Is this Sean?” she asked. “He looks about ten years old here.”
Lou nodded. “Yes, that’s him.”
Sean was a dark-eyed boy with a shock of black hair and an easy smile. He stood with an older man who had his arm draped casually around the boy’s shoulders. The background was filled with mountains and motorcycles. There was definitely a family resemblance. Macy turned over the frame and took the picture out. There was no writing on the back.
“I see a family resemblance. Could this be Sean’s real father?”
“Not sure,” said Lou. “There’s no father listed on his birth certificate and for the past ten years Sean has used Lloyd’s surname.”
“And before that?”
“Carla’s.”
Macy pointed to a collage of snapshots that was taped to the wall. Blue eyed and sparrow thin, a bleached-blond female with a quirky fashion sense pulled a selection of purposefully awkward faces in many of the photos.
“Do we have any idea who this girl is?”
Lou peeled off a photo that was above Macy’s line of sight and handed it to her. “This one has Xtina xxx written across the bottom. Could be short for Kristina. Doesn’t look like your typical local girl.”
“We should check his school anyway,” said Macy. “She might have been there at the same time as Sean.”
Ryan held up a framed high school diploma. “Sean graduated a year ago. He’s due to start school at Montana State University in Bozeman this fall. Seems like he was trying to rise above all this. It would be a shame if he was involved.”
Lou Turner placed the photo of Kristina into an evidence bag. “He probably took a year off school to earn some money. He sure as hell wasn’t going to get anything from Carla and Lloyd.”
Macy gazed at the carefully organized desk and couldn’t help but think of the solitaire game. Future university student or not, Sean was starting to look interesting.
She glanced up at Lou. He seemed deep in thought. “We need to find Sean,” she said. “Have you started interviewing friends and family yet?”
Lou nodded. “It’s a large and unruly clan. I’m afraid we’ve got a rather packed schedule this afternoon.”
* * *
Carla Spencer’s older sister, Donna, lived with her husband in a mobile home that was parked within yards of Route 93. Macy left Gina in the car so she could start making some inquiries over the phone and went in to meet them on her own. They’d both been on disability for years. Donna sat in a reclining armchair elevating her swollen ankles. The bedroom door was ajar and through the opening Macy could see the flickering light of a television screen.
“Jay’s tired,” Donna said. She straightened the gray sweatshirt that k
ept riding up her belly. “If you want to talk to him, you’ll need to come back tomorrow.” She took a sip of the coffee Macy had prepared and grimaced. “Needs more sugar.”
Macy was perched on the narrow sofa. She’d had to lean forward to avoid the three cats that were lying on the top of the backrest catching the afternoon sun. The home was clean but cluttered. Stacks of everything from hubcaps to newspapers to overstuffed garbage bags were squeezed into every available crevice. Beyond the back fence eighteen-wheelers passed within twenty feet of the home, rattling the dishes stacked next to the sink.
“Donna,” said Macy, eyeing what looked like cat hair floating in her coffee. “When was the last time you saw your sister?”
Jay shouted from the bedroom. “Every time Carla’s rent was due she’d come here asking for money.”
Donna rolled her eyes. “Jay, keep your trap shut. That’s family business.”
“Actually,” said Macy, putting her cup down. “That’s the type of thing we need to know.”
“My sister and her husband overdosed on drugs. What business is their financial situation to you?”
“As we’re in the middle of an active investigation I’m not at liberty to say.”
Donna pursed her lips. “Six months ago they tried to get us to take their kids off them. Like we have any room here. We can barely feed ourselves on our disability checks. No way we could have afforded a bigger place.”
“The state has since put them into care,” said Macy.
“Oh, I know all about that. It was me that let the police know how bad things had gotten over at their place. Imagine being so obsessed with getting your next fix that you’re willing to sell your kids.”
Macy’s pen floated in the air. She’d thought she’d heard it all, but apparently not.
Donna sniffed into a tissue. “When Lloyd wasn’t using he was mean as fuck. Those kids needed to get out of there. I warned my sister that it was either Lloyd or her babies and she chose Lloyd. There was no way she was ever going to get clean with him still living there.”
The bedroom door opened and Jay stood in the threshold. He had tubes coming out of his nose and wheeled an oxygen tank with him into the room. Macy moved up to make room for him on the sofa. The cats scattered as soon as he sat down. His hair was thin and gray and he smelled strongly of cigarettes and alcohol. Open sores covered his wrists. He yanked down his shirtsleeves to hide them.
“I thought I’d better get in here before Donna mouths off and says something she regrets later,” he said.
“You’re one to talk,” said Donna.
“Well,” he said, breaking into a toothless smile. “At least I’m not all talk.”
Macy tried again. “What kind of money were they asking for?”
“Last time it was three grand,” Jay snorted. “Seriously, where in the hell did they think we were going to get that kind of money?”
“To be fair,” said Donna, shifting her weight one buttock at a time, “Carla was really broken up when she lost her kids. I heard she got herself into a recovery program. I was hopeful it was the kick up the backside she needed.”
Jay rubbed his nose. “Serves them right losing their kids. They don’t deserve them. Not after what happened.”
“That’s enough, Jay. We’re talking about my dead baby sister here.”
Macy tapped the table with her pen. “Did something happen that we need to know about?”
“Nah,” said Jay, adjusting the tubes going up his nose. “Nothing specific. Same shit, different day, near as I can tell. Always fucking everything up.”
“Did Carla ride a dirt bike?”
Donna frowned. “She once did a fair amount, but it’s been years ago now. Sean is the one who rides. Took after his father, which considering what a loser Carla turned out to be, is just as well.”
“Do either of you know where we can find Sean?” asked Macy.
Donna looked at Jay and Jay shrugged.
“Our son, Kyle, might know,” said Donna “When things got rough at home Sean crashed at Kyle’s place. Might be there now.”
Macy handed Donna a pen and a pad of paper. “Do you mind jotting down his details?”
Donna wrote with a firm hand. “I’ll give you his work number as well. He’s been away in Missoula visiting friends, but he arrived back today. Good boy, that one.”
Macy held up a photo of Sean’s girlfriend, Kristina. “Do either of you recognize this girl? She may be in a relationship with Sean.”
Jay and Donna took turns looking at the photo. Jay frowned and Donna squinted.
“Carla didn’t say anything to us about her,” said Donna.
“Did Sean get along with his mother?”
“They fought, but considering the situation with Lloyd, that’s hardly surprising. I know he loved his mother, but there was only so much he could take. Sean learned not to rely on Carla a long time ago. He brought his brother and sister here on more than one occasion.”
“What about his relationship with Lloyd?”
Jay coughed into his hand. “Lloyd beat him up pretty bad a couple of times.”
“Did anyone report it?” asked Macy.
The pair remained silent and Macy guessed that was a no.
“Did Sean have much contact with his real father?”
Another shrug from Jay. “Scott knew to stay clear of that house.”
“You know him?”
“Not well. It’s been a good ten years since I saw him last.”
“Got a last name?” asked Macy
Jay shook his head and Donna remained tight-lipped.
Macy gathered her things. “I really appreciate you taking the time to speak to me.” She handed a business card to both Jay and Donna. “I’ll be in touch. Please let me know if you hear from Sean.”
* * *
Macy sat alone at a table near the coffee shop’s front windows watching the entrance to Flathead Valley Security, where Donna had said her son Kyle worked. Situated in a strip mall that ran along Main Street, the company was wedged between a Mexican restaurant and a dry cleaner. The door opened and a slightly built man with blond hair stepped out with two females. Both women gave him long hugs. He smiled as he spoke to them, but his expression darkened once he set off across the road. Dressed in a polo shirt and pair of freshly pressed chinos, he had the air of someone who took life seriously. Macy noted that his posture was slightly askew. His left shoulder drooped. According to his parents, Kyle Miller was twenty-nine, but Macy would have never guessed it. Kyle didn’t look old enough to buy a beer.
The woman behind the counter joked with him.
“What’s gotten into you? This isn’t your usual time.”
Kyle gestured toward the only occupied table. “Client meeting.”
“Sweetheart, you go on. I’ll bring your coffee over.”
Macy rose from her chair and held out her hand. “Thank you for coming to meet me.”
He winced. “Sorry,” he said, rotating his shoulder and making a face. “Do you ever get frozen shoulder?”
They sat down across from each other.
“On occasion,” said Macy. “It’s awful.”
“It’s from sitting at a computer all day. It’s been worse than ever this spring.”
“Do you take anything for it?”
“Addiction runs in my family. Medication is not an option.”
“I’m sorry. This must be difficult for you.”
He reached for a napkin and pressed it to his eyes. “You have no idea. We’ve had near misses in emergency rooms, interventions, incarcerations.” He paused. “And now this.”
“I heard your parents have had issues in the past.”
“They’re okay now, but I have to be vigilant. My mother is finally off her meds, but Dad still slips occasionally. He has a problem with the bottle. I’ve been working with them. We pray together. I’d like to think it helps.”
Macy gave him a small smile. “You sound more like a minister than a
computer engineer.”
“I guess you could call it social engineering. I like to help out in the community where I can. Mentoring, sponsoring at AA, that sort of thing. I’m worried about what I’m seeing.”
“And what are you seeing?”
“Now that the government has realized they’ve got a crisis on their hands they’re handling it all wrong. They’re cutting off the supply of prescription painkillers without funding programs that could help people who’ve become addicted to opiates. People are turning to heroin instead.” He took a deep breath. “It’s incredibly frustrating.”
“There’s been a spike in heroin overdoses throughout the country.”
“Is that what killed Carla and Lloyd?”
“We believe so.”
“Carla was in rehab. I was so hopeful she’d turned a corner.”
Kyle looked up at the approaching waitress and smiled as she handed him a mug of coffee the size of his head.
“Thank you.” Kyle took a sip of his coffee. “This is my only addiction.”
“I like to live dangerously. I mix it up with a little Diet Coke.”
“Now, that is living on the edge.”
“Kyle, when did you last speak to your aunt and uncle?”
“Carla came by a couple weeks ago. She apologized for Lloyd showing up the day before asking for money and then went and did the same thing. The only difference was that Lloyd threatened me with physical violence and Carla used emotional blackmail.”
“Did they give any indication that they might be planning something?”
Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Like a suicide pact?”
“No, like a kidnapping.”
He took a quick glance around the room before lowering his voice.
“Excuse me,” he said, leaning in close.
“Kyle,” she said, keeping a close eye on his reaction. “Your aunt and uncle were involved in Philip Long’s kidnapping and murder. Their fingerprints are all over the house where he was held and the stolen van that was used in his abduction was parked near their bodies this morning.”
“That’s crazy. They wouldn’t—”
“I realize that it’s a lot to take in, but we really need your help.”
He raised his voice. “Where’s Sean? Is he okay?”
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