One Day Gone

by Luana Ehrlich

  I admit I felt a little guilty not telling my dad about Lizzie’s doodles and the possibility she may have come to Centralia to do research for an article she was writing on Judge Woodard.

  However, when Curtis and I were teenagers, my dad had often kept us in the dark about the cases he was working on—even though we were running surveillance, taking photographs, and providing him with backup—so I told myself turnabout was fair play.

  * * * *

  After entering the courthouse on the ground floor, where the city’s administrative offices were located, I started looking around for the building’s directory.

  I found it posted by the elevators.

  I learned there were two courtrooms on the second floor, and the third floor was made up of other government offices, including the county tax assessor’s office and the sheriff’s office.

  Since my objective was to see if Judge Woodard had made an appearance in one of the courtrooms on Monday, I pushed the button for the second floor. The moment I did so, the doors opened and Detectives Ross and Springer stepped out.

  I could have been mistaken, but I had the feeling they’d been arguing about something on the elevator.

  “Good morning, Detectives,” I said. “I thought I might see you in Centralia today. How’s it going?”

  Ross smiled and bobbed his head up and down. “About as well as could be expected.”

  Springer said, “We haven’t learned anything new about Lizzie Allen, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Springer sounded irritated, but I didn’t figure it had anything to do with me, so I ignored it. “I’m surprised to see you here at the courthouse, Detectives. Did someone report seeing Lizzie here?”

  “No,” Ross said, “we haven’t encountered anyone who remembers seeing Lizzie in town on Monday. We just stopped in here at the courthouse because the sheriff’s office is located up on the third floor, and we wanted to pay him a courtesy call.”

  “As long as I have you here, would you mind telling me what you saw on the bank’s security video that helped you identify Lizzie’s vehicle? Was it just her license plate or did the camera actually capture an image of Lizzie herself?”

  “It was just the license plate,” Ross said. “The bank’s video captured an image of her Lexus as she drove down Main Street toward First Street. We’ve looked at the surveillance videos from the other two banks, but her Lexus wasn’t on either one of them.”

  “I guess that means she was just cruising through town.”

  Springer shook his head. “No, the patrol officer who first spotted her Lexus told the detectives who questioned him that he saw the Lexus parked on a side street. Since the windows were tinted, he didn’t see if there was anyone inside.”

  “Which street was that?”

  He pointed in a northeasterly direction. “It was Jackson Avenue. That’s just off First Street.”

  “I’ll go check it out. Maybe someone saw her.”

  Detective Springer shrugged his shoulders. “Suit yourself, but we did that already. She was parked next to a vacant lot behind the courthouse. I don’t know why you’re so concerned about her. Senator Allen didn’t seem all that worried about his daughter last night when he was answering questions about her on national television.”

  Was that why Springer sounded irritated?

  Was he upset he was having to spend all his time searching for a rich college kid whose famous parent admitted she may have just taken off for a few days of fun and relaxation?

  “I can assure you the senator was a lot more worried about his daughter than he was letting on,” I said.

  Ross spoke up. “So what are you doing here at the courthouse?”

  “I just stopped in here to use the restroom. I brought my dad with me so he could help me canvass the businesses in town. Hopefully, we’ll find someone who spotted Lizzie here on Monday afternoon.”

  “I think you’re gonna find that’s a dead end,” Springer said. “We’ve already shown her picture to several people, and we haven’t found anyone who saw her.”

  “You could be right, Detective.”

  “Well,” Ross said, giving me a brief wave, “we’ll see you around. We’re about to head over to the police station now.”

  “I’ll let you know if I come across anything of interest.”

  Once they left, I rode the elevator up to the second floor.

  I figured the best place to start making my inquiries about Judge Woodard was the clerk’s office, and when I stepped off the elevator, I followed the sign posted next to one of the courtrooms that pointed around the corner.

  After entering the double glass doors, I stepped up to a wooden counter where I was met by a girl who appeared to be about eighteen years old. She was dressed in a t-shirt and blue jeans and her hair was in a ponytail.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, looking up from her cell phone.

  “I hope so,” I said. “I was supposed to meet a friend of mine here outside the criminal courtroom, but I’ve been waiting for him for over an hour, and he hasn’t shown up yet. I wonder if you’ve seen him.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  I turned my phone around and showed her Judge Woodard’s picture. She looked at it for a few seconds while vigorously chewing a large wad of pink gum.

  “No, I haven’t seen him today. That’s Judge Woodard, isn’t it?”

  I tried not to show any reaction.

  “That’s right. Do you know the judge?”

  “I don’t really know him, but we talked for a few minutes when he was here on Monday.”

  “He was here on Monday?”

  “That’s right.”

  I shook my head. “I sure thought he told me he’d be here today.”

  “When he was here on Monday, he didn’t say anything about meeting anyone, but since he kept walking over to that window and looking outside, maybe that’s what he was doing; maybe he was looking for you.”

  I glanced over at the window and said, “Yeah, I guess one of us got our dates mixed up. He didn’t happen to leave anything for me, did he?”

  “No, like I said, he never mentioned you. He said he was visiting relatives in Centralia and wanted to stop in and see the courthouse.”

  “How long was he here?”

  “Oh, maybe twenty minutes.”

  I was afraid she might not believe the story I’d just given her about the judge if I brought up Lizzie’s name, so after I put away my phone, I thanked her for her help and headed toward the door, pausing by the window to take a quick look outside.

  The window was located on the northeast corner of the building.

  From the second floor, Judge Woodard would have had a perfect view of Jackson Avenue—not the entire street, just the section of road in front of the vacant lot where Lizzie’s car was parked on Monday afternoon.

  For the past several days, I’d tried to convince myself Lizzie’s disappearance didn’t have anything to do with Judge Woodard.

  Now, I suspected Lizzie’s disappearance had everything to do with Judge Woodard.

  Chapter 20

  I called my dad as soon as I left the courthouse and asked him to meet me near the gazebo in front of the building. As I sat down on the park bench and waited for him to arrive, I considered my next move.

  Obviously, I had to check out Jackson Avenue and the neighborhood around the area where Lizzie had parked her car. Even though Detective Springer had insisted no one had seen Lizzie, I couldn’t leave Centralia without verifying this for myself.

  That meant I needed to tell my dad about Lizzie’s connection to Judge Woodard. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to help me.

  I was amused at myself when I realized I wasn’t looking forward to telling him why I’d kept this information from him. Here I was, a grown man, and I was feeling a little nervous about telling my dad I hadn’t been completely honest with him.

  When he sat down on the bench beside me, he sounded frustrated. “I’ve got nothing for yo
u, Son. No one remembers seeing Lizzie.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. She didn’t come here to go shopping.”

  “Does that mean you know why she was here?”

  I nodded. “I believe she was here to meet someone. Before I identify who it was, I need to explain some things.”

  “I’m listening.”

  He looked a little confused when I started my explanation by describing Senator Allen’s policy concerning how the R & I Group was to conduct an investigation into a nominee for the federal courts, but when I mentioned the need for secrecy, something clicked with him.

  “Does this have something to do with the judge who has the gambling problem? Is that why you asked me about my case?”

  I nodded. “When I was in the courthouse just now, I found out Judge Cameron Woodard—he’s the judge I told you about—was here in Centralia on Monday afternoon.”

  “Are you saying he met with Lizzie at the courthouse?”

  “No, I don’t believe that’s how things played out, but I’ll explain more about that later. First, let’s talk about the judge. Naturally, what I’m about to tell you needs to stay between the two of us.”

  “Of course.”

  I gave my dad a fairly detailed account of my investigation of Judge Woodard, including the fact I’d received an anonymous letter from someone accusing the judge of having a gambling problem.

  Then, I told him what I’d discovered about Lizzie.

  He seemed fascinated by her efforts to uncover the truth about the judge and all the risks she’d taken. “Sounds like she has the investigative skills to be a good detective.”

  “Or an investigative reporter. If that’s the direction she’s headed, she’ll probably be a good one.”

  The last thing I brought up with him was the page of doodles I’d found in her apartment. After I told him what I thought they meant, he said, “So you think Lizzie spoke to the judge on Monday morning, and they made plans to meet here in Centralia?” he asked.

  “That’s my conclusion. Maybe it was a follow-up to her interview with the judge last Wednesday or maybe there could be something romantic going on between them, but whatever the reason, the young lady I just spoke to in the clerk’s office said Judge Woodard kept glancing out the window in her office.”

  “Like he was waiting for someone?”

  “Exactly, and that window overlooks Jackson Avenue, which just happens to be where Lizzie’s car was parked on Monday afternoon.”

  “Hmm. That’s interesting.”

  “We need to find out if anyone spotted her and the judge together. If you’re up for it, I thought we’d walk over to Jackson Avenue and take a look around.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  * * * *

  Dad and I walked down Main Street over to Jackson Avenue where on-street parking was only allowed on the east side of the street.

  A vacant lot covered about half the block on that side, whereas the property on the opposite side of the street—directly behind the courthouse—was a parking lot for courthouse personnel.

  According to the signs posted on the entrance to the parking lot, only cars displaying a courthouse personnel sticker on their windshield were allowed to park in the restricted lot. All other vehicles would be towed.

  Farther down the block was an office building, which was occupied by several attorneys, and next to it was a dentist’s office. Dad and I questioned the receptionists in both buildings.

  Neither one of them had seen Lizzie.

  As we walked back up the block toward the courthouse after seeing the office buildings, he said, “There’s not much traffic on this street.”

  “No, and there aren’t any CCTV cameras either. Let’s check out the courthouse parking lot and see if there’s a parking attendant around.”

  We didn’t see a parking attendant, but when several people began leaving the courthouse for their lunch break, Dad and I took the opportunity to ask if any of them had seen either Lizzie or the judge around the place on Monday.

  No one had seen Lizzie, but one man recalled seeing the judge on Monday afternoon. “He was driving a white Cadillac, and I remember thinking I’d never seen that particular car in the lot before.”

  “Did he have a parking sticker for this lot?” my dad asked.

  The man shrugged. “I didn’t notice that.”

  After the man had left, I gestured up at the window on the second floor of the courthouse where the clerk’s office was located. “I suppose you could make the case the judge was just worried about his car being towed, and that’s why he kept glancing out the window.”

  “But you’re not buying that explanation, are you?”

  “No, my gut tells me he was watching to see when Lizzie arrived, and once she did, he left the building. The clerk said he wasn’t in her office for more than twenty minutes.”

  “No one saw Lizzie here, so she probably never got out of her car.”

  “Maybe the judge just texted her,” I said, “and then she followed him somewhere.”

  “Really? You think she would have done that?”

  I shrugged. “She’s not the cautious type, and it’s not like she didn’t know who he was.”

  I motioned across the street. “Let’s take a look at where Lizzie’s car was parked, and then we’ll go get some lunch.”

  As soon as we crossed the street, a black Ford Taurus pulled to the curb. Detective Springer was driving, but it was Detective Ross who got out of the car to speak with us.

  “Hi, Detective,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “We wanted to let you know a vehicle matching the description of Lizzie’s car has been found at Finger Lakes State Park. We’re on our way over there to check it out now.”

  “Was there any sign of Lizzie?” I asked.

  “No, no sign of her. The car was parked at a campsite, but no one was around.”

  “Would you mind if we followed you?”

  He quickly glanced over at Springer. “No, get inside. We’ll take you over to your vehicle, and you can follow us from there.”

  Five minutes later, Dad and I were following Detectives Ross and Springer over to a campsite in Finger Lakes State Park.

  * * * *

  Finger Lakes State Park was located on Highway 63 north of Columbia. It was a popular recreational site for all the Boone County area. My family and I had gone hiking there several times a year.

  The park was a heavily wooded area covering over a thousand acres. The seven lakes—which jutted out from the wooded areas like human fingers—were used for all kinds of water sports.

  Accommodations around the lakes ranged from campsites to state-owned lodges and cabins, and private citizens who owned property in the area also rented out their cabins to guests during the peak summer season.

  Dad and I didn’t have much to say to each other for the first ten minutes of the ride over to the park. I was concentrating on following Detective Springer, while trying to figure out what Lizzie might have been doing at Finger Lakes Park, and I had a feeling Dad was sorting out things in his mind as well.

  When Springer signaled that he was about to make a right turn into the next entrance into the park, I said, “This is the entrance to Rock Bridge Trail. Do you remember when we used to hike up here?”

  “Oh, yeah. Good times. I don’t remember many campsites in this section of the park, though.”

  “No, neither do I.”

  “Do you have any idea what Lizzie was doing up here?”

  “No, but I’m hoping the police will find something in her car that will give us some answers.”

  After we drove a couple of miles into the park, Springer veered off to the right and parked his vehicle along the side of the road behind two patrol cars. I pulled in behind him.

  Up ahead, I could see a black Lexus.

  All four doors were standing open, and the trunk was up.

  The Lexus was parked in front of one of the basic campsites, which was little more than a
small clearing with a picnic table. There were at least a half dozen officers standing around the picnic table.

  Detectives Ross and Springer walked up to the group, while Dad and I lingered behind and tried to look inconspicuous.

  As discreetly as possible, I took out my cell phone and snapped some pictures of the Lexus and the surrounding area. When Dad noticed what I was doing, he took a position on my left, which more or less shielded me from the police officers speaking to the detectives.

  I nodded at him when I was done. “Got what I needed.”

  A few seconds later, Detective Ross walked over to speak with us.

  “Here’s what we know. Some hikers in the area noticed the vehicle yesterday afternoon because they didn’t see any camping equipment, and there was no one around. When one of the hikers returned this morning and nothing had changed, he notified the park police who got in touch with us.”

  “Any idea how long her car’s been here?” I asked.

  “My guys say probably a couple of days.”

  “So maybe Tuesday?”

  “Sounds about right. As soon as our forensic team does its work, we’ll know a lot more.”

  “Is there anything in the vehicle? Laptop? Purse? Camera?”

  He shook his head. “There’s nothing. It’s clean.”

  “How long will it be until the media descends on this place?”

  “Not long. The lieutenant received a request this morning for an interview from one of the cable news networks. Now that Ms. Allen’s vehicle has been found, no doubt media attention will increase.”

  “I know it might be difficult to keep a lid on this development, Detective, but I assure you the senator will appreciate your efforts.”

  He nodded. “Copy that. We’ll leave it up to you to contact Senator Allen.”

  “I’ll inform his chief of staff, and he’ll let the senator know Lizzie’s vehicle has been located.”

  Dad reached out and offered Detective Ross his hand. “Thanks, Connor. I owe you one.”