by Gregg Olsen
“No,” she said. “Just thinking about his case. That’s all. He was twenty-two when he got picked up for molesting that student. The boy was seventeen. Consenting. Seems pretty close in age.”
“Still a perv,” Jake said.
As Esther saw it, the law is always black-and-white. It has to be. The shades of gray distinguishing criminals were the province of the district or county attorneys who handled the overwhelming caseload that came through their offices every day. They alone had the authority to decide the shades. Not the police.
“Yes, the law says so,” she said.
An hour later, David Franklin pounced on Esther in the lobby of the Bend Police Department. He was a handsome man, but the anger in his face twisted his features into what reminded the detective of a gargoyle she’d seen on a church in a village in France when she toured there with a high school group. At the time, she’d thought the gargoyle looked like one of their chaperones. Now, however, she saw the missing boy’s father as the physical embodiment of the terra-cotta figure. His eyes had narrowed, and his mouth was a slash of anger.
“You found out who took our son,” he said.
“No,” she said, gesturing for him to follow her to her office. “We haven’t. We don’t know yet what happened, Mr. Franklin.”
“Some pervert got him. I know it. I talked to my buddy at Anthony’s. He called me right after one of your officers chatted him up. Told me about his background. I want to know what the hell you’re going to do with Brad Collins.”
“He didn’t take your son,” she said, closing the door after him.
“You can’t know that. He’s got a record. He was on the river at the same time Charlie went missing.”
“Sit down,” she said. “Take a breath. Please.”
“I won’t sit down, and I won’t have you tell me what to do. Every second matters here and you know it. You need to get that guy in here and grill him.”
“We’ve interviewed him,” she said. “He’s not involved.”
“He’s a pedophile,” David shot back. “That kind of skunk doesn’t change his stripes. He’s into little boys. You know that.”
She shook her head. “His victim was seventeen. He was twenty-two. He’s on the registry—that’s right. But there’s no indication he’s offended a second time.”
“There’s no such thing as a onetime sex offender and you know it.”
“It’s rare, I’ll give you that,” Esther said. “But, again, he was twenty-two and his victim was seventeen. He’s never been known to have the least bit of interest in little boys.” She could see he wasn’t hearing her. He was operating with tunnel vision, and Brad Collins was in his crosshairs at the end of the tunnel. “Now, please go home. We’re working this as hard as we can. We’re leaving no stone unturned. Really none. How is Mrs. Franklin?”
“How do you think she is? She’s drugged up on a sedative and even that doesn’t stop her from crying nonstop.”
“Go home to her,” Esther said. “Take care of her.”
“I can’t go home right now,” he said. “I have a restaurant to run.”
Lee Nguyen sat on the steps outside her daughter’s condo.
“You don’t answer my calls,” Esther’s mother said. “So here I am.”
Esther let out a sigh. “Mom,” she said, “I’ve been busy.”
Lee kept her expression even. “Not busy,” she said. “Just angry at me.”
Lee’s black hair was sprinkled with so much white that it nearly looked like a late-winter snowdrift. It was just as stiff. Lacquered by an overabundance of hairspray. She wore black pants, a white blouse, and a bright pink sweater.
“You are my daughter,” she said. “You owe me the respect of an answer when I telephone you.”
“You drove a long way just to let me know you’re disappointed in me again, Mom.”
Lee hooked her arm in her purse and faced her daughter. “Your silence kills me every day.”
Mom wins. She always does.
“Fine,” Esther said. “Come in, then.”
Lee followed her daughter to the door of the condo. She was a diminutive woman, but she moved quickly. Esther always considered her mother catlike, showing up suddenly to sharpen her claws and then leave.
“Do you have a view?” Lee asked, a reminder that she’d never been there since Esther broke up with her husband.
“No, Mom,” Esther said. “I don’t.”
Inside, the detective went into the kitchen, where she turned on the electric kettle, a wedding shower gift, for tea. Though the space was spotless and nicely decorated with a mix of contemporary art and furnishings, the look on her mother’s face indicated that she didn’t approve.
“Small place,” she said.
“Really, Mom?” Esther said, thinking back to every other aspect of her life her mother had found fault with. Her career. Her clothing. Her almost ex-husband. It would never end.
“Sorry,” she said. “I told myself to make nice, but I think it is hard for me.”
The admission surprised Esther. Her mother had never indicated any faults of her own.
Maybe she’s trying.
They sat at the dining table drinking tea and picking at almond cookies from a box purchased at Trader Joe’s.
Lee put down her cup. “I saw on TV the case you are working on, Esther. I hope that you find that little boy. I hope that you can bring him home to his parents. I don’t know what I ever would have done if I lost you.”
Esther smiled a little.
Her mom was trying.
“There are lots of ways to lose someone,” Esther said.
“Right,” Lee answered. “Lots of ways.”
“I love you, Mom. I just can’t stand your disappointment in me. It hurts me to think that you live in constant displeasure over the choices I’ve made.”
“He was not a good husband.”
She was right, of course.
“Yes. But it’s done. So if we’re going to move on and get along, then we have to let that alone.”
“You could have been a doctor,” Lee said.
Esther smiled. Her mom’s refrain was decidedly familiar. “And that too, Mom. Leave that alone. I’m doing what I need to do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MISSING: SIX DAYS
Amanda Jenkins was sorority-girl pretty, an all-American beauty with the tone and frame of a young woman who loved sports and didn’t have to work out for the sake of doing so. She rented a modest though still expensive apartment above Bend’s Old Mill District. She lived in a second-floor unit with a half-dead Martha Washington geranium, a gift from her mother, next to the welcome mat. When she let Esther inside, she did so being very careful not to let Toby, her cat, snake her way between her legs and out the door. The cat tried that every chance she got.
“She’ll never come back once she gets out to the real world,” Amanda said, shutting the door behind her.
Esther loved cats but was desperately allergic. She wanted to pet Toby, who playfully rubbed against her ankles, but that wasn’t an option. Antihistamines made her drowsy.
“I’m glad you called,” the detective said.
“It feels right,” Amanda said. “Uncomfortable, but right.” The young woman found her way to her sofa and sank into its soft, mint-colored velour cushions. She wore faded blue jeans and a white cotton top. Her red hair was pulled back and hung behind her in a luxurious ponytail. She wore no makeup. Around her wrist was a charm bracelet that she’d later say had belonged to her grandmother. She was a young woman who grew up with a solid foundation. Doing the right thing wasn’t a stretch.
Even when she’d perhaps done something so very wrong.
Amanda cast her green eyes downward. “I don’t want to lose my job. I guess that’s my only concern. But I know that I will. You know, once I tell you what I know.”
Esther was skeptical about Amanda and David’s relationship. Was it purely professional? It was the elephant in the room, a
nd—considering that a little boy’s life was at stake—there was no point in mincing words.
“Are you and David having an affair?” she asked.
Amanda bounced to the edge of the sofa. She didn’t stand up, but she nearly propelled herself to her feet. “No,” she said. “Never. Who told you that?”
“That’s not important, Amanda. You can tell me the truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth. I would never be involved with that man—and it’s not just because he’s married. He’s a complete ass. A jerk. He only cares about one thing and that’s his stupid restaurant.”
“Really, Amanda? Why call me to come over to tell me what a jerk he is? I think that’s pretty much the opinion of half of Bend.”
“And the other half hasn’t met him,” Amanda said.
“From where I sit, yes. Now, we’re in the middle of an investigation, and I need to know why you wanted to talk. If it isn’t about the affair, then what?”
“There is no affair,” she said. “At least not with me. I really don’t appreciate your tone, Detective. I’m trying to do right here.”
“Sorry,” Esther said. “Continue. Please.”
“I’m upset now,” Amanda said, running her fingertips on her charm bracelet like a silver rosary.
“I’m sorry,” Esther said, though she wasn’t. She backtracked, though, keeping her voice quiet and respectful. “Tell me what you think I need to know.”
Amanda waited a second, calming herself before unspooling a string of observations about her boss. Yes, she was pretty sure he was, in fact, having an affair, and she suspected he’d made a morning date with whoever he’d been seeing.
“He lied about meeting a supplier. He treats the suppliers like dirt, then kisses their asses if they bring him something special. He’s always pulling crap on them. Complaining about spoilage. Shorting them. Bad-mouthing them. The one thing he’d never do is miss an appointment with a mushroom or fish guy. That’s how he is. You know, it’s all about the restaurant. His story about where he was that morning was a complete lie. I’m sure of it.”
“So he is having an affair. What does that have to do with Charlie?”
“I don’t know. You should know about it. It was something else that I heard him say one time when I came in early and he was on the phone. Couple months ago. He was in his office and I was restocking the votive candles for the tables in the little alcove right outside. I could only hear one side of the conversation.”
“What did you hear?”
Amanda picked up Toby and proceeded to pet the cat, sending wisps of fur floating into the air. Esther was pretty sure she was going to have a hard time breathing later that day.
“He was talking to someone—I’m not sure who—but he said something about how Charlie had ruined everything.”
Esther kept her expression flat, but inside her a storm was building.
“What did he say specifically? Was he talking about his love life? His relationship with Carole?”
Amanda continued to pet Toby. More cat hair floated in the air. “He said something along the lines of ‘Before that brat was born, I could get whatever I wanted out of Carole.’ She was, in his words, his ‘personal ATM.’”
“Did he say that one time?” Esther asked. “In anger?”
“No,” she said, “he bitched about it all the time. When he wanted to get new linens and was short on cash, someone asked if he could get some money from his wife. Everyone knows she made a bundle at Google.”
“Why didn’t he get money from Carole?”
“Always said, ‘The bitch has me by the balls. She made me sign a goddamn prenup.’”
Esther could be a master of the understatement. She let one fly just then. “He wasn’t happy with Carole?”
“No,” Amanda said. “And she’s nice. A little out there with her weaving, but she doesn’t know what kind of jerk she’s married to. She probably thinks that he loves her for her. I’m telling you, he only loves her for the money. He’s all about the money.”
“Where was he that morning? Do you have any idea?”
Amanda picked at some cat hair on a throw pillow as she thought. “I just know that when he came back and the police were looking for him, he didn’t even seem alarmed. Like he already knew. It made me wonder, but I tried to not think about it. I tried to put it out of my mind but I couldn’t. That’s why I called you.”
Amanda’s charm bracelet began to shake, and she clasped her fingers around it. She was crying quietly.
The detective gave the young woman a moment to pull herself together. She would have reached out to her, offered some comfort, but Toby was in the way.
“I know this was hard,” she said. “I really appreciate your telling me what you know.”
Amanda’s tearful eyes looked into Esther’s. “It’s going to be all right, isn’t it?”
“How do you mean?”
“Charlie’s going to be fine. Right? It’s almost a week. Most kids . . .”
“I sure hope so” was the best she could do.
Back in her car, Esther phoned Jake and let him know of David Franklin’s scorn for his wife and son.
“Holy shit,” the young man said. “That could be big. The motive.”
Esther cautioned him. “It’s a possibility,” she said. “But it wouldn’t be easy for David to get home and take Charlie unseen by anyone.”
“No, but you said you thought that if someone took the boy, it was more than likely someone familiar. If it were a stranger, he would have raised holy hell. At least, most three-year-olds would. One time my sister asked me to pick up my nephew from day care. I know the kid. I was supposedly Justin’s favorite uncle. But he flipped out in front of everyone. It was surreal.”
“Charlie’s dad would have to have returned home to get him, and how could he have been sure the mother wouldn’t have seen him do it? She was home with him, watching him.”
“I guess. Was Amanda sleeping with the dad?”
“I don’t know,” Esther said, looking at the time. “I don’t think so. She says that he was messing around with someone else but that it sure wasn’t her. I doubt she’d let him so much as touch her.”
She told Jake to meet her at the Franklin place.
“I need you there,” she said, pulling into a traffic circle. “We’re going to have a little chat with Carole.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
MISSING: SIX DAYS
Esther and Jake dodged the media—Bend’s mostly—that had remained parked across the street from the Franklin house for nearly a week. Esther recognized one reporter as a stringer for the Oregonian. A missing little boy doesn’t generally catch the interest of news editors unless he’s white and comes from a wealthy family. Charlie Franklin was tailor-made for the media. When Esther worked the missing-boy case in Corvallis, the boy was half Native American, and she practically had to beg the local TV affiliate to do a story. It was an ugly truth that all police officers knew.
Carole met them at the door with anxious, haunted eyes. “Did you find him?” she asked. She looked tired, wan. She wore the same pink sweater that she’d changed into when she gave up the top she’d been wearing when she tore her earlobe. Esther thought that she smelled of alcohol, but it might have been an alcohol-based mouthwash.
“Is Mr. Franklin here?” she asked.
Carole stepped back a little, letting them in. “He had a meeting,” she said. “Do we need him here now? I can try him.” She reached for her phone.
“No,” the detective said. “We want to talk to you. Just you.” Her tone was formal, she knew. She wished that she had a way of communicating with a softer touch, but that morning she just didn’t have it in her. The pressure she was feeling was like a stack of stones planted on her chest. One more, and her rib cage would splinter.
“You don’t have any news about Charlie, do you? What about that pedophile from out of state?”
“No. We’re pretty sure it wasn’t him. We’re a
ll but certain that Charlie wandered off with someone he knew.”
“Who? Who do you think?”
“That’s why we’re here,” Esther said. “We want to find out more about what’s going on with you and your husband.”
Carole wrapped her arms around her thin frame and looked nervously away. “I don’t understand. What are you getting at?”
“Carole, we need some honesty here,” Esther said. “What is going on in your marriage?”
Carole stiffened. “Our marriage is solid.”
“We’ve heard otherwise,” she said, trying to push gently. “We need to get at the truth.”
“What you need to do is find our son. That’s all you need to do. The state of my marriage to David is irrelevant and has nothing to do with what happened to Charlie.”
“You don’t know that, Carole. Look, we don’t like to pry into private matters. We don’t. But in this case there are a few things going on that we need to discuss. We need to better understand the dynamics here.”
“We’re not having this conversation.”
“We need to,” Esther said.
Jake, inexperienced and impatient, spoke up. “Is your husband having an affair?”
Esther gave him a sharp look but noted that Carole hadn’t flinched at the question. Not in the slightest.
“What does that have to do with any of this?”
“Maybe nothing. We need to investigate all possibilities. If there is another party involved, we need to talk to her.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You should probably ask him that question. And so what if he is? What would that matter?”
“We’re trying to figure that out,” Esther said. “Do you know who it is?”
“No,” Carole said. “Not really. I thought I did—I thought it was Amanda Jenkins at Sweetwater, but as I got to know her, I could see that she really didn’t like my husband in that way. Maybe not at all. Besides, I don’t think she is the type of girl who would waste her time on a married man.”
“Then who?” Jake asked.