33 Degrees of Separation (Legacy)

by Rain Carrington

  “Weird. Quiet. Ian’s not obnoxious, well, not all the time, but he’s usually very animated, talkative. Optimistic, happy, it was rare to see Ian down. When he got back from that trip with his dad, though, it was like he’d been replaced with a totally different man. I saw his eyes full of tears twice, and he tried to blame hay fever. He was lost in thought a lot, had his phone turned off. Every time I’d text him and he didn’t answer, I’d ask him about it, and he said his phone was dead.

  “Then, two days ago, I saw him that morning. Still quiet, hanging over his books, but I could tell he wasn’t studying. I asked him again, what the hell was wrong with him. Nothing. All he would say was that nothing was wrong, he just had a lot on his mind. I had classes that day, two, and then I met Cara for a late lunch. I got back home about three, and he was gone.”

  “Clothing, other things missing?”

  “I didn’t notice about the clothes, but he has a lot. If he only took a few things, I’d never know. The thing is…he didn’t take his phone. He never went anywhere without it, like most people. It was sitting on the nightstand in his room, and it was shut off.”

  Pat stared at him, waiting for more, but nothing more came. Rarely did someone under thirty go anywhere without their phone, and they never shut it off. “Could it have gone dead?”

  “His charger is plugged in behind his nightstand, so if it was, he would have had it plugged in, at least I would, anyone would. He always charged it while he was asleep, and it’s a good phone. The charge would last all day, even with Facetime and all.”

  Mysterious was an understatement for all he was hearing. He’d gone in trying not to prejudge Ian Andrews III, but he did. It was human instinct. He heard rich heir, trust funder, and he had a ton of preconceived notions about him. So far, all of those were dashed the moment he started speaking to Denny. He was floundering for the slightest clue about Ian.

  “I need to try to speak to Ian’s parents, maybe get an idea of what might have happened on the trip, and to ask if they know where he could be. They’re not speaking to you, but if they don’t like you, that’s not surprising. They may know where he is and just didn’t tell you, or they heard about it and started investigating on their own. I think I should start there, right away. It might clear up a lot, and then I won’t have to search through his things. If he’s not missing, that could piss him off.”

  As Denny turned all that over in his mind, he laughed a little, dryly, and his eyes were fiery with anger. “I would be so happy and so pissed all at once. I’d be so glad he’s okay, don’t get me wrong, but if they kept that from me? Why would someone do that?”

  Pat tried to choose his words carefully. “Some people, like Ian’s parents, from the little you’ve told me, think they are above everyone else. No one’s feelings, needs or lives make any difference to them. Your pain over Ian couldn’t possibly equal theirs, if they have any. Your concern isn’t taken into consideration because you’re not.”

  “Been that way all my life, man. I’ve always been seen as lesser than other people. I’m not rich, I’m black, so I don’t count.”

  “Oh, Denny, believe me, you count. It’s fear you instill. They’re not dismissive of you because you’re different as much as your differences scare them.”

  He thought to tell him that it was his bank account that scared him more, but Denny would never buy that. In Pat’s experience, though, poor people frightened the rich more than any color or religion did. It gave them a glimpse into what their life would be like without money, and they fought all the harder to stay wealthy.

  “I think I have their address, so I’ll head over there now. Anything else you can tell me that would be good to know before I walk in there, it would be appreciated.”

  Denny smiled again, and he had a wonderful smile, though it was tired and half-hearted. “If I knew anything about them, I’d tell you.”

  “Good enough. I’ll be back here right after I’m finished. Please, get some rest while I’m gone. You look about to drop.”

  “When my friend is found safe, I’ll rest.”

  “Then it’s on me.”

  Chapter Three

  Pat got into his rental and started driving to the west, where the Andrews estate lay between Denver and Boulder. Before he got two miles, though, he pulled off into a grocery store parking lot and called Charlie.

  “Hey, buddy, how’s it going up there?”

  Watching the scuttling of on their errands in front of him, pushing carts of foodstuff and supplies. He was one of them, days off, trudging over the floors, picking out the items that he’d use for the next week. Tedious and part of life. Then, a case would come along for him, and he’d be taken from that monotony. This case felt like that, like something that would keep him in the middle of turmoil. For that, he was grateful, and he had no idea why.

  His friend, waiting on the line for a report, and he had nothing to give. Seeing Charlie there, tapping that pen on his desk, waiting. He cleared his throat, and frowned into the rearview mirror, seeing the harsh lines that frown created. “I am completely baffled, but it’s early on. I’m heading to his parent’s place now to talk to them. Give me all you and Stacy got on them.”

  “More Stacy than me. I gave her my bureau password, which is always a mistake, so she delved into everything she could on these people, the kid, all of it. She’s ready to send it all to your email.”

  Pat grinned, knowing his friend’s tenacious wife and her ways of getting everything she wanted from Charlie. “Have her send it, but what can you give me now? Cliff’s notes version. I need some kind of ammo, or at least information before I step through those mansion doors.”

  “Well, if they won’t let you in, flash your badge. I’ve called your superiors, and had you transferred to my field office for a month. I figure I can grease the wheels for you while you’re in Denver and you won’t be asked a lot of sticky questions.”

  Surprised, Pat laughed into the phone. “You’re always one step ahead. That’s great, Charlie, and I guess you’re paying me too?”

  “Not a fucking dime,” he admitted, laughing. Once he stopped, he told Pat, “Give Stacy a call. She’s got all the information for you, so it would probably be faster for her to give you the fast version.”

  “Gotcha. Thanks, Charlie.”

  “No, man, thank you. If she’d have sent Steve and Matt out of town to deal with this, Stacy would be trying to juggle our twins and the office. She can do it, shit, don’t ever let her think I doubted her, but she gets so frazzled that she has to vent, and she vents all over me. Mostly for getting her knocked up with two babies at once.”

  “Well, it is your fault.”

  “Fuck you, man.”

  After finding Stacy’s number in his contacts, he called her, and she picked up on the first ring. “It’s about time!”

  “Sorry! I was interviewing the roommate. Let me have it, but not all of it. I need time to study all of it. I’m heading to the parent’s house now to talk to them, and I need to know what I’m walking into.”

  “Well, I have a book of material for you to go over later, I’ve already sent it to your email. For now, you’re walking into a home with seventeen bedrooms and twenty-five bathrooms.”

  Pat couldn’t fathom that. “Who the fuck needs seventeen bedrooms?”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you had twins. I could disappear into one or the other or the other for days at a time…”

  “Stop dreaming and give it to me, Stacy.”

  “Right. Sorry. Well, they are super rich. From what I can find, most of it is inherited. They’ve been rich since as far back as I can find. The father owns stocks, bonds, all that, but his business is a little sketchy. He owns a few businesses, real estate, but he doesn’t seem involved much with anything except this import/export business. It’s insured for three billion but never seems to bring in more than five million a year. There are not a lot of details about it, so I’m still investigating that.”

  �
��Okay, so he’s a crook. A good one, who knows how to play the system. Big surprise.”

  “There are no secret mistresses that I can find. They’ve been married twenty-nine years, had Ian when they were two years in. She’s never worked a real job a day in her life, according to her taxes, but she was independently wealthy in her own right, so she never had to worry, even if they divorced. Which…which would seem possible, being they are rarely together. They vacation separately, live separately most of the time. I don’t know why they stay married, frankly.”

  “Religious motivations?”

  “Well, they’re Christian, at least on the surface. Conservative too. They donate to conservative campaigns, but I don’t see anything else associated with that. They are involved in a church in Denver, though with their schedules, I don’t think they could attend often.”

  He was typing all this furiously, though he was sure he’d remember all of it.

  “Ian was sent to three private academies from the time he was seven. Before that, he was tutored by nannies. There are no records of him in trouble with the law, no tabloid pieces on him making the rounds of the clubs. He’s never been to rehab, which in itself is a miracle with the rich and young in this day and age. Since starting boarding school, he went home three times a year, where the three of them would take pictures and pretend to be the perfect family.”

  “You sound bitter, Stacy.”

  “I am! They have this wonderful kid, who by all accounts, was well behaved and smart, handsome, and they ignore his existence. I bitch about my babies, but I would never have a nanny or boarding schools raise them, no matter how much money I had.”

  Pat knew he’d feel the same, if he had children. “I concur.”

  “Anyway, the private jet that Andrews owns, one of them, I should say, left on Monday and didn’t return until Wednesday night. A few passengers listed, Ian and his father included. They went to a private airstrip in Virginia.”

  “Virginia?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know where they went from there, but I can maybe find out. That is a lot of time together for two men who barely spent the night under the same roof since Ian was seven.”

  Pat shook his head, though she couldn’t see that. “Strange. Denny actually mentioned that. Ian leaving with his father. He thought it strange too.”

  “If they know where he is, then they’re not letting on, Leo told us. If they don’t, they don’t seem to be worried about it. There have been no missing persons reported. Get a feel for it, for them. Let me know what you find out.”

  “I will. Thank you for the help, Stacy.”

  “Right after, call me. I want to know what these assholes are like.”

  “Will do,” he said before ending the call. Looking over his notes, he knew he had to approach the parents cautiously. People like them didn’t like scandal or rumors, so he could use that as a sticking point.

  The community of huge homes was gated, and he had to wait to be let through. All it took was his badge to get in, but driving to the biggest home in the community, he could see that the Andrews family lorded over the place. He was followed by security and met at the Andrews driveway with more. Escorted up the long, wide drive, he saw eyes on him, and once he parked in the back, with the enormous garage that had to be able to fit at least twenty vehicles looming in front of him, two security men opened his door and walked with him around the home to the back doors.

  They let him into the home, and he was taken to a room down a gilded hallway. The inside was like a palace, all done in marble, sleek golden chair rails over marble wainscoting, oak paneling on the upper walls. Modern and old-world designs collided beautifully, simple lines but gold and silver trimmed furnishings and accessories.

  The room where he was taken was a study, the walls lines with inlaid walnut shelves filled with books and precious vases, crystal orbs, plaques and awards. There was a Faberge egg on a golden block stand and on a shelf directly behind the desk sat what looked to be a solid gold chalice with inlaid jewels like rubies and emeralds. The narrow desk held only what looked like a rough diamond paperweight and picture of Ian Andrews and his parents.

  Ian’s father, Ian Junior, was standing behind the desk, and extended his hand over it for Pat to shake. “Special Agent Castaldo?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m here to inquire about your son’s disappearance.”

  He was offered the chair in front of the desk, which he took, and Ian’s father sat behind the desk. Pat cut his eyes to the picture, a beautiful family with fake smiles. Ian looked just like his father, only thirty years younger, and his mother could have been a twenty year old blonde supermodel.

  Ian’s father’s hair, like Ian’s, was chestnut colored and thick. Where Ian’s was a little wild and free, his father’s was combed back into a strict style, and shorter. He was tall, maybe six foot, gently squared jaw, long nose and chiseled cheekbones. Eyes were blue and sharp, lined with lashes darker than the hair on his head, and lips perfectly shaped like two bows held by the hands of a cherub.

  “Thank you for seeing me, sir. I was told you were reluctant to discuss the matter.”

  His voice monotone, if not a little mocking, he asked, “And who told you that?”

  Pat didn’t flinch at the question as Ian Junior tried to stare him down. “Your son’s roommate, sir. He reported that he tried to contact you about the matter, and you wouldn’t see him.”

  “And why would I? My son is twenty-seven years old and he took off to have some fun for a few days. There is no indication that anything is amiss, no ransom demands. Why would I speak to a man who is trying to create drama where there isn’t any?”

  Choosing his words carefully, Pat inquired, “Oh? Do you know his whereabouts?”

  It was a question Ian Andrews Jr. was probably expecting but didn’t have an answer for. “As I’ve said, he’s twenty-seven years old. I don’t expect him to check in every day. If anything untoward happened, the police surely would have notified me.”

  “You’ve spoken to the local police?”

  “That’s really none of your concern, Special Agent Castaldo. Have they called you for help with some investigation of my son of which I wasn’t aware?”

  It was Pat’s turn to try not to squirm, as the question was valid. “No, sir. Your son’s roommate is a friend of a friend, and I was asked to come in and ask a few questions. I’m not here in an official capacity. Yet.”

  “And yet you showed your badge to gain entrance.”

  The smirk on his face told Pat he’d contacted lawyers about the legality of the act, but Charlie had saved him there. “My supervisor knows I’m doing this favor and granted me permission to use my FBI credentials. If we can possibly head off a tragedy, we like to get a jump on things.”

  “Your supervisor’s name?”

  “Charles DeSoto, head of the San Antonio field office.”

  As Andrews wrote the name onto a pad he’d taken from the slim drawer of his desk, he nodded, never losing the smirk. The air in the place was privilege, riches beyond what Pat could fathom, and Andrews seemed to swim in that. No one could touch him, and a flea like Pa could only annoy him, never giving him more trouble than that. “I’ll have my attorney give him a call.”

  “Please do.”

  Once the pad was back in the drawer, Andrews looked him in the eye again, narrowed stare unflinching. “If there’s nothing else, Agent Castaldo, I am a very busy man.”

  Pat sat a little straight, the smell of the leather-bound books and the fresh mountain breeze coming in from the open window catching his focus so he could appear more casual than he felt. Andrews was trying to intimidate him, staring him down, the veiled threats of thousand-dollar-a-minute attorney’s on retainer, waiting to tear apart a lowly FBI grunt.

  “There is, actually. I’ve been informed you recently went on a trip with your son, and you didn’t return for a few days. It seems to me that after a trip such as that, then his disappearance, maybe the two are connected? Can you
tell me where you went? Maybe he met someone there and returned to visit them without you.”

  “Doubtful. No, special agent, I won’t tell you where we went or why. I’m sure you have resources to find out where, but the why is my business, and my son’s. The privacy between a father and son isn’t illegal.”

  “Of course not, sir.” He had been trying to get Andrews to lie, and he hadn’t taken the bait. It was still a mystery whether or not he knew where his son was, but it was obvious Pat wasn’t going to get a thing from him that could be of use, so he nodded his head and stood, hand out to shake with the man once more. “Thank you for your time.”

  Instead of being grateful for someone’s concern over his son, Andrew’s acted as if Pat was the criminal, having him escorted out of the study and off his property. Once outside the gates of the community, Pat’s eyes found he was being watched still, as he drove away.

  Nothing had been answered for him, but that didn’t make him want to throw up his hands. The opposite, actually. Like one of those silky detectives in a noir film, his curiosity was piqued, and he knew he’d never rest until he had all the answers.

  Pat thought of it, that Ian had left his phone behind. If he’d run off, which Pat was starting to suspect more and more, why would he leave his phone? He’d want it close, like anyone else that age range.

  Except if he didn’t want it tracked.

  He pulled off the road again to call Stacy. “Hey, can you track his phone the time he was in Virginia with his father?”

  “Of course, with the bureau computer. I still have the password.”

  Pat shook his head, chuckling, knowing how much trouble Charlie would be in if anyone found out about that. “Stacy, stop announcing it.”

  “Secure phone, my friend, courtesy of my own connections. Okay, I’m on there now, and it looks like…wait for it…hmm. Weird.”

  “What?”

  “It shows he never left Denver. Or, well, at least his phone didn’t. There were no outgoing calls or texts from it, and the closest tower shows it was at the airport the entire time. Maybe he dropped it? Forgot it somewhere?”