“You can take her home, and we can talk later,” Officer Abbott said.
“What the hell is this? I told you, our girls are dead.” He bunched his fists. “Why bring us back in? Do you think this is funny, messing with our emotions like this?”
Abbott put his finger to his lips. “Mr. Rushner, lower your voice. I didn’t do this.” He gestured for Cache to follow him. “The lieutenant will be with us shortly.”
“Give me a minute to make sure she’s okay.”
“Of course.”
Cache went out the front doors of the station to spot Adaline sitting in the car, her head leaning back against the seat, her eyes closed. He went back in and approached Abbott. “We do need to talk, and we need to talk now.”
Abbott opened his arm, leading him into what appeared to be the holding room, a small enough space to fit a card table and two chairs. There was barely any room for much else.
“I have some questions, and you need to get some things off your chest about this case. So why don’t you start by telling me what’s wrong with your wife.”
“Why are you being so secretive and bringing me in this room?”
Clearing his throat, Abbott sat down in a chair. “When you lose someone you care for, everything changes. We change.” He gulped. “I gave up on wanting to save people. Just trying to be a lifeline for them.”
Cache dug his fist into his pant leg. “She’s decorated a room in our new house for the girls. She puts plates on the table for all of us, and she wants things to be ready for when they come back to us.” Cache paused and wiped his eye. “You saw it when you were at our house.”
“She’s in shock. With what you’ve been through, that makes sense,” he said. “What happened that morning?”
Cache moved his chair backward. “I’d left early to get my oldest daughter, Leora, a present. It was her birthday that week, and she kept asking for a camera. She seemed obsessed with needing one at that very moment, but you know how impatient kids are.” He paused. “My youngest asked if I could play in the snow with her. First snow of the year. I asked for a raincheck and left to get Leora’s gift on the way to work.
I missed my last moment with Eliza.
“Then what happened?”
“An officer called me an hour after I left saying there had been an accident.”
“What did you see when you got home?”
“Adaline didn’t know where the girls were. Once the police took our statements, they hoped she could provide some information that would lead to finding the girls,” Cache said.
“Did she provide any information about who took them?”
“No. Not a thing.”
“Were you angry with her?” Officer Abbott raised his eyebrows.
“To be honest, a little bit. I just wanted to know something, anything, that happened from the time I left until the time I got back.”
“Do you think what she said was true?” Officer Abbott asked, folding his arms over his chest.
“I believe she believes it’s true. Other than that, I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you believe your wife?”
“I just don’t think she’s with it. She’s confused. Like I mentioned before, she has massive PTSD. I’m afraid she’s going backward with all the recent trauma.”
“Mr. Rushner, I need to ask this. Do you think your wife would hurt your children . . . or other children?”
Cache stood from his chair and ground his teeth. “Officer, my wife grew up with abusive parents who treated her like shit, but if there’s one thing I’m positive about, Adaline would never harm our children. She loved those girls.”
“I’m sorry. I had to ask.”
Cache’s shoulder’s lowered and his jaw loosened. “I understand. I’m just tired of reliving this.”
“You believe your girls are dead?”
“Yes. They did an autopsy report, and it was verified that the bodies were our daughters. Believe me, I wish I wasn’t such a realist sometimes, but I am. If the cops say that they’re dead, then they must be. Why would they tell me otherwise?” he asked, out of breath.
“How has your wife been acting lately?”
“She’s changed,” Cache said. “I expected that. She’s struggling in her own way, but she seems like a whole different person—withdrawn, tired, depressed, and she gets angry or upset over everything. She’s impulsive and neurotic all the time.
“She could probably use some counseling.”
“I don’t know if counseling will be enough. It would be a struggle, but well worth the try.”
“I can help you with that. Here’s a psychologist I wanted to refer you to. Here’s her number.” Abbott handed him a piece of paper.
“Thank you. Should I wait for your lieutenant, or can I go?”
“I’ll give him the information. You can leave, and here’s my card too.” He cleared his throat. “I know how tragedies can make you turn into your own worst nightmare. Get her some help before it’s too late.”
“Will do.” Cache thanked him again and headed to the car to find the door wide open, and Adaline was long gone.
Twenty
Officer Abbott
Salt Lake Police Station
2:00 p.m.
Abbott sat at his desk with his hand under his chin, staring at a page full of scribbled notes he took while talking to Mr. Rushner.
Something’s not right. He seemed too calm.
Mrs. Rushner was a different story, but she at least showed emotion to what was going on. His eyes felt heavy and his head ached.
“Abbott, what were you doing with Mr. Rushner?” Lieutenant Stalk asked.
“Gave him the number for his wife that you requested, sir.”
“Why don’t you head out and take the rest of the shift off? This is a hard case after everything with your daughter.”
He clenched his jaw and rubbed his bald head. “Not yet. I’ve got to get this file finished before I have you look over it.” Abbott cleared his throat. “Do you think the Rushner case could be connected to other cases?”
“Why? There’s no evidence showing a connection to other cases.”
The necklaces, ages, resemblance of the girls.
Abbott looked down at the floor. The kidnapper could be targeting certain young girls. His Aspen, Leora, maybe others.
Lieutenant Stalk scratched his mustache. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing.”
He peered at Abbott and raised his eyebrows. “If you say nothing’s going on here, I believe you.” He walked toward his office and shut the door behind him.
Holding his wrist, Abbott felt for his bracelet, only to feel smoothness. The bracelet wasn’t there. Looking over his desk, he frantically moved picture frames and papers to find only dust. Abbott traced his steps back to his car, holding on to his wrist.
I can’t lose it.
Looking in the window of his car, he saw the colorful bracelet on his seat, summoning him. Smiling, he unlocked the door and grabbed it, putting it back where it belonged. He paused to take a deep breath and went back into the station.
His headache made it hard to focus. Abbott went to the restroom and turned the faucet on. Leaning his head down, he took a handful of water into his hands and splashed it on his face. The water helped him to wake up a little more.
Focus.
He grabbed a paper towel and dried his face and hands, removing the excess water from his fingers. Opening the door, Abbott fumbled in his pocket to pull out some aspirin. Since he stopped drinking, headaches occurred regularly from withdrawals. He craved a sip of vodka at least a couple of times a week, but his AA meetings and his regular AA buddy calls helped him to repress the urge. Abbott put the aspirin in his mouth, tilted his head back, and felt them go down his throat. He flicked his bracelet and opened the bathroom door, bumping into the lieutenant.
“Got another headache?” the chief asked.
Abbott nodded. “I’m going to head out.”
“All right. See you tomorrow.”
He put his coat on, then walked out to his car. Starting the engine, he drove down the street to an abandoned gas station and pulled over. Taking a deep breath, he took out his phone.
He scrolled through the photos he took the day his daughter went missing. The details of the object were already etched into his mind, from the gold chain to the silver owl centered in the middle. But the green eyes of the winged bird haunted and teased him. Just like the first time he held it when it was left in his daughter’s place.
Mocking him.
He was a cop, yet he couldn’t protect his own child, and the bastard thought he’d leave a token showing he now possessed his most precious gift.
Abbott growled and covered his face. An owl necklace at another crime scene. He held his chest.
No. How is this possible?
Could the person who kidnapped Aspen be back to start again with other families?
Twenty-One
Cache Rushner
Tuesday, November 9th
2:00 p.m.
He glanced down the street. This wasn’t the first time Adaline took off because she was upset. She avoided her problems like the plague. He took out his cell phone and dialed her number, only to hear her ringtone nearby.
Great, just great.
Cache peered into the car to find her phone on the passenger seat right next to her purse.
Why would she leave her purse?
When Adaline got upset, she would leave her phone at home. She had a hard time staying mad at him for long and would give in if he called, so she never took it with her. But her purse? Glancing down the street again, he squinted against the blare of the sun. A post office and laundromat sat across the street and, right next door, a hamburger joint. The Adaline he knew four months ago never ate when she felt upset, but so much had changed, maybe she would now. Further down the street, a large patch of ice invited skaters to take a spin.
The girls loved to ice skate. The snow always made them happy.
A car horn honked, pulling him from his thought. He jogged across the street and down to the skating rink that had enough power to light up the whole city. A family of four held hands, all covered from head to toe in winter gear. One little girl with blonde curly hair had a pink princess snow hat with matching gloves and boots. Her little sister had the same outfit except in purple. They laughed and giggled as their dad twirled them in the air while he skated. Their mom watched from the cold ground where she had fallen for the third time since Cache watched, but she was in good spirits. The little girl would pull her mom up only to have her mother pull her back down and hug her tight. They played this game a few times.
This was supposed to be their family. It was their family, a few months ago.
Someone sniffled from behind him. Cache turned and spotted Adaline sitting on a bench, dabbing at her raw nose.
“Addi? Why did you leave? I was worried,” he said, sitting down next to her.
“I got tired of waiting in the car. I know you were talking about me. For once, I’d like to not be treated like a lunatic,” she whispered underneath her breath. “I’m not crazy, Cache.”
“Ad, I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“You don’t? Because I’m pretty sure you do. You walk on eggshells around me,” she said, looking at the ground.
“I don’t. I promise.”
“That’s it. Stop lying to me. You don’t believe that the girls are alive, do you?”
“They’re not alive. They died.” He paused before he continued. “I need my wife. Please. Stop this nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” she said, raising her voice.
“Please, lower your voice. There’re families here.” He grabbed her hand. “Why don’t we talk at home?”
Adaline looked at the family skating on the ice rink. “We were happy like that once. Remember?”
“We can still be happy like that. We have each other.”
“How can we have each other when you don’t trust me? I don’t like the way you look at me—like you think I’m going to explode and lose it any moment,” she said. “I need you, too. Do you know that I left the grand opening of my store?”
Cache’s face fell. “I saw the news last night when you fell asleep. I was hoping you’d tell me yourself. Why did you lie to me? Trust goes both ways.”
“I told you it went great because I didn’t want to disappoint or upset you…again.”
“You don’t disappoint me.”
“Stop.” Adaline sneered at him. “For once, tell me how you’re feeling rather than talking to a complete stranger about it.”
Cache held the base of his neck.
“You go first. You haven’t told me anything since the day the girls died. I have no idea what happened, and I need some answers. Ones only you can give me.”
“You think I have the answers? You really think I wouldn’t tell you what happened to our girls if I knew?” She wiped her eye. “Who do you think I am?”
“You believe so much that they’re alive, yet you have no information as to what happened. Look from my perspective; I left my three girls for a short time. You were all safe, happy, and enjoying the snow. I come back to all three of you gone—vanished. All I have left are pictures of burnt bodies and a wife who I don’t recognize anymore.” Cache swallowed hard and glanced back at the family on the skating rink. He wanted that life. The one he couldn’t have anymore.
“I did vanish, and I’m not the same. But neither are you.”
Cache peered back at Adaline. “How can you blindly believe something with no proof? You’ve given me none, yet you’re mad that I’m not following you.”
Adaline clenched her hands together. “I know how I sound. It’s not rational, and I don’t have proof. Things come back to me in spurts, and I don’t understand why. But when you love someone, you never give up on them. When they change, you find a way to see who they are and start to mold back together again.”
“It goes both ways.”
“I agree. We both have to work at this. We’ve both changed, which means I need to see you as you are now, and you need to see me.”
“I can do that, but you have to let go of the girls. They’re gone. We can’t move forward when we’re looking back.”
Adaline laughed. “I guess that’s that. You’ll never believe me, but I’m not giving up on myself and our girls.”
He placed his arm around her shoulder. “I’m not asking for you to give up on yourself.”
Adaline moved his arm from her shoulder and looked away. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t support me,” she said, getting up from the bench. “Please take me home.”
Cache grabbed at her arm as she twisted out of his grip and walked away, not looking back. She used to always glance back when they got in fights, but not this time. This fight was different, and he knew it. He slammed his fists against the bench, making a cracking sound. Pain surged through his fingers. Cache looked up to see people staring at him—just not the right person.
Twenty-Two
Officer Abbott
Tuesday, November 9th
3:30 p.m.
Sitting down at Sally’s diner on Main Street, Abbott took a menu from the shelf. He glanced at the specials and debated which one sounded good. Having a drink was much more appealing than food at the moment. He shook his knee and fidgeted with his fingers.
Come on.
He glanced down at his watch, only to realize the second hand had frozen in place. Abbott tapped a few times, hoping to give it a jolt.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said to a waitress.
“Yes, are you ready to order?” she asked, with the biggest smile he’d ever seen.
Wow. Her cheeks have got to hurt.
He tried not to show his amusement at her extreme enthusiasm. “Not quite, but I would like to know the time.”
“Sure thing,” she replied in a southern accent.
Weird. She just chang
ed voices.
She laughed. “I get that look a lot. I’m trying out for a part as Patsy in the Broadway play Oklahoma. Have you heard of it?”
“I can’t say I have,” he said. “I’m not much for musicals.”
“That’s too bad, sugar. They’re good for you,” she said, smirking. “Gives you more culture. Everyone needs that in their life, you know.” She paused. “Oh heavens, here I am talking, and I can’t remember what you asked for. Guess I’m not getting a tip tonight.” She snorted and patted her leg. He couldn’t figure out if she was laughing or choking. It seemed to be an odd combination of both.
“Um, the time would be great,” he said.
“That’s right. Let me go check.”
The waitress had his nerves tangled in a knot with her energy, and waiting while she barked jokes wasn’t settling his urge to leave.
“Abbott?”
He turned toward the sound of his name.
“Hey. Thanks for coming,” he said.
Sam Wendell hugged him and sat down at the table. “It’s good to see you, man.”
“You, too. Why are you down this way, anyway? And don’t tell me it’s because I called,” he said, punching Sam in the arm.
Sam smirked. “It really was though.”
“Shit, dude. No, really, why are you down here?”
“I just got into town an hour ago for business. Besides, what’s an AA buddy if you can’t call them when you need help?”
“Noted,” he said. Sam still had the same spiky brown hair with red tints on the edges which he had made fun of the last time he saw him months ago. “Still going through your punk rocker stage? You’re thirty now. A tad old for that, don’t you think?” Abbott said, raising his eyebrows at him.
“Yeah, yeah. What about you, tough guy?”
“You’re the same size as I am now. Can’t dog the muscles,” he said, kissing his arm.
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