Missing Daughter
Page 1
Families with nothing to hide don’t have so many secrets
Life can change in an instant. For Ryan and Karen Lane, it happens on the morning they discover their twelve-year-old daughter’s window open, their beloved Maddie missing from her bed.
Police investigate. Suspicions swirl. A teenage boy admits he was outside her bedroom window the night she disappeared. A halfway house for convicts recently opened in the neighborhood. The Lane family is thrown into turmoil, then detectives turn their sights on them.
No one is ruled out. Not Karen, with her tragic past, who argued with her daughter. Not Ryan, with his violent streak. Not Maddie’s thirteen-year-old brother, Tyler, who heard voices in her room the night she vanished.
Days, weeks, months, then agonizing years go by without answers, the Lanes fearing that Maddie is gone forever...until a stunning twist shocks everyone, plunging the family deeper into a world of buried secrets whose revelations threaten the very foundation of their lives.
Praise for the novels of Rick Mofina
“Rick Mofina’s books are edge-of-your-seat, thrilling page turners that don’t let up.”
—Louise Penny, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Six Seconds should be Rick Mofina’s breakout thriller. It moves like a tornado.”
—James Patterson, New York Times bestselling author
“Six Seconds is a great read. Echoing Ludlum and Forsythe, author Mofina has penned a big, solid international thriller that grabs your gut—and your heart—in the opening scenes and never lets go.”
—Jeffery Deaver, New York Times bestselling author
“The Panic Zone is a headlong rush toward Armageddon. Its brisk pace and tight focus remind me of early Michael Crichton.”
—Dean Koontz, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Rick Mofina’s tense, taut writing makes every thriller he writes an adrenaline-packed ride.”
—Tess Gerritsen, New York Times bestselling author
“Mofina’s clipped prose reads like short bursts of gunfire.”
—Publishers Weekly on No Way Back
“Mofina is one of the best thriller writers in the business.”
—Library Journal (starred review) on They Disappeared
“Vengeance Road is a thriller with no speed limit! It’s a great read!”
—Michael Connelly, #1 New York Times bestselling author
Also by Rick Mofina and MIRA Books
LAST SEEN
FREE FALL
EVERY SECOND
FULL TILT
WHIRLWIND
INTO THE DARK
THEY DISAPPEARED
THE BURNING EDGE
IN DESPERATION
THE PANIC ZONE
VENGEANCE ROAD
SIX SECONDS
Other books by Rick Mofina
A PERFECT GRAVE
EVERY FEAR
THE DYING HOUR
BE MINE
NO WAY BACK
BLOOD OF OTHERS
COLD FEAR
IF ANGELS FALL
BEFORE SUNRISE
THE ONLY HUMAN
For more information, please visit www.rickmofina.com.
Rick Mofina
Missing Daughter
This book is for my brother, Stephen.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Epilogue
Acknowledgments and a Personal Note
Grief fills the room up of my absent child...
—King John, Act III, Scene iv, William Shakespeare
BOOK ONE
1
It was almost midnight when Ryan and Karen Lane returned home after dinner and a movie, neither of them knowing that within a few hours their lives would be changed forever.
Ryan parked their Ford Escape in the driveway beside his pickup truck. Karen got out first, a little ticked because he’d been sullen much of the night. She shut her door with more force than was needed, leaving him to take a long breath. He looked at the lettering painted on the doors of his truck—Lane & Sons Drywall Contractors—and considered everything that those words signified, feeling the full weight of them before he followed his wife into their house on the west side of Syracuse.
Inside Ryan noticed the smell of pepperoni and onions mingled with what he thought was a hint of marijuana. Karen was in the kitchen talking with Crystal, their seventeen-year-old sitter.
“Oh yes, they were good, Mrs. Lane,” Crystal said. “Tyler kept telling me that now that he’s turned thirteen you won’t need me to sit.”
“No, not true. Not yet. I’ve been over that with him.”
Ryan counted four empty soda cans on the table. He knew that the kids and Crystal never drank more than one soda each with pizza. Then he spotted a large empty Doritos bag on the counter and looked at Crystal, who’d caught his observation. She started running water to wash dishes, and collected the pizza box and soda cans quickly as if hiding evidence.
“Did you have anyone over tonight, Crystal?” Ryan asked.
Crystal looked at him, blinking several times.
“No, I didn’t, Mr. Lane.”
“Did you invite your boyfriend over after the kids went to bed?”
“No, Mr. Lane.”
“Because there are four soda cans and only three of you were home tonight.”
“The delivery guy brought four. They came with the order. I drank two.”
“You know our rules and what it means if you break them.”
Crystal’s gaze bounced from Ryan to Karen.
“Oh my God, are you firing me?”
“No,” Karen said, glaring at Ryan. “What’s this? Nobody’s getting fired. Ryan, she said she didn’t have anyone over. We’re sorry, Crystal, we’re just a little tired.” Karen reached into her bag for her wallet and pulled out two twenties. To Ryan that was a lot of money, especially now. But Karen had continually assured him that Crystal’s rates were low. Extending the cash to Crystal, Karen said: “I can drive you home, honey.”
Crystal didn’t move or speak, staring at both of them for an awkward moment that ended when headlights raked across the walls.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lane, but I texted Zach. That’s him now.”
“Boy, that was fast,” Ryan said.
“I texted him as soon as I saw your lights. He doesn’t live far. Thank you, Mrs. Lane.” Crystal snatched the money, grabbed her jacket, shouldered her bag and started for the door.
“Crystal. Wait,” Karen said.
* * *
Karen caught Crystal at the door. “Don’t mind my husband. It’s all right.”
Fighting tears, Crystal said, “Mrs. Lane, I like Maddie and Tyler.”
“And they like you. Listen, everything’s fine. We’re just going through some things right now that have nothing to do with you, okay, sweetie?”
Crystal absorbed her explanation, nodded, then reached for the door.
Karen left Ryan to brood in the kitchen while she went down the hall to check on the kids, starting with her daughter, Maddison.
Quietly opening the door, she found her asleep on her side. One leg had escaped from her blankets. Karen pulled the sheets over it then took in the room, fragrant with shampoo, the ceiling a galaxy of glow in the dark crescent moons and stars. In the dim light, Karen surveyed her posters of singing idols; shelves populated with her stuffed bunnies and bears, her phone in her hand. Taking care, Karen gently pried it from her daughter’s fingers and set it on her night table.
Kids these days.
Karen’s heart ached a little because like her brother, Maddison was growing up fast, and Karen was not ready to see her little girl become a full-fledged teen. Lately their arguments over Maddison wanting to date boys were becoming more pointed and echoed in her mind.
“The answer is no. No dating. You’re only twelve, Maddie!”
“I’m mature for my age! You don’t understand anything, Mom!”
Karen smiled a tired mother’s smile as she gazed upon her.
Oh, I understand, sweetheart. There’s so much in this life you’ve yet to learn, believe me.
Tenderly she stroked Maddie’s hair.
Bottom line, kiddo: I love you more than you’ll ever know.
Karen closed the door, stepped across the hall and opened the door to her son Tyler’s room. It was all hard-core boy; his walls were papered with posters of the flag, Black Hawk choppers, Humvees and a Hercules warplane deploying flares.
His shelves held trophies, plaques, photos, comic books and his collection of hunting knives. On his desk was his gaming stuff, and his computer covered with stickers. Tyler kept nagging them for a new laptop, an expense they couldn’t afford right now. Karen met the empty eyes of the skull on his bookshelf, a full-size plastic model he’d gotten from a friend.
That thing always creeps me out.
In one corner, Tyler’s skateboard rose like a rocket from his clothes heap.
Karen touched one photo she’d taken the time they went camping near Lake Placid, Tyler and Maddie laughing their heads off. Tyler’s arm was wrapped around Maddie. Now here he was, sleeping on his stomach, Maddie’s big brother and protector.
Love you, sweetie.
Karen kissed his cheek and left, closing the door behind her and reflecting on her life. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, like in movies and books.
And maybe I’m not perfect. Who is?
So her dream of being a nurse instead of a grocery store cashier didn’t come true; so they were facing tough times with Ryan’s business. Karen was still thankful, acknowledging that while she didn’t get what she wanted, she had what she needed and considered herself a blessed woman.
Alone in the kitchen Ryan poured himself a glass of milk.
What the hell am I gonna do?
Drinking at the sink, he looked through the window and searched the night for answers while replaying the meeting he’d had earlier that day at the bank. He’d sat across the desk of Henry Driscoll, the manager who’d assessed his application for the loan he needed to save his drywall business.
As Driscoll clicked at his keyboard and calculator, Ryan’s eyes went to the diplomas and awards on the wall, then the credenza with photos of Driscoll and a smiling attractive woman standing in front of the Colosseum in Rome and the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
Ryan took stock of his own life. He and Karen didn’t have college degrees. She was a cashier. They’d never been to Europe. He twisted his wedding band and stared at his callused hands. The corners of his thumbs were dried and cracked. He hadn’t cleaned off all of the tiny white flecks of compound on his scarred knuckles. These were his diplomas, earned from his work as drywall contractor, a job he loved; a job by which he defined himself.
My hands look like my old man’s.
Ryan thought of his father, dead seven years now, and how he’d started the drywall business dreaming that his boys, Ryan and Cole, would take over. Cole wasn’t interested but Ryan was, ever since he began learning the job working summers while in high school. He remembered hefting four-by-eight sheets of plywood, hoisting bags of plaster, mastering how to plumb a site, hang and align drywall, make the right mix, how to feather, how to make seams invisible. Ryan saw the art and honor in creating smooth new walls and ceilings, enclosing the spaces in which people work and live.
Driscoll’s chair creaked and he sat back, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lane. But we can’t support your request for a working capital loan.”
“I’m only asking for short-term.”
“The interest rates are too high for your current financial situation.”
Ryan stared at Driscoll, a new guy who’d been assigned to him after the bank’s merger with a bigger one. Driscoll leaned forward.
“Mr. Lane, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Surely you know the facts. The loan on your business has been extended a number of times. Your revenues have decreased for the last three quarters, your cash flow is weak and the recent cancellation of two major jobs has hurt you. Your debt load is straining you. You’ve got payroll for five employees, including yourself. You have rent and insurance payments on your shop and payments on your truck.”
“But once the city approves the three new developments things will move fast. We’ll get contracts. I just need capital to see us through this rough patch.”
“The proposed developments are no guarantee of contracts. That’s not collateral.”
“What about our life insurance policies, on me, my wife, my son and daughter? Could I use those as collateral?”
“In some instances, some banks will accept them as collateral, but it won’t work here. I’m sorry, but right now more debt is not sustainable given your weak incom
e statements. It costs the bank as much to process a small loan as it does to process a big one. The truth is that since consolidation the bank has been extremely risk averse.”
“This business has been in my family for thirty years, and we’ve always met our obligations. Always.”
“I understand and respect that, but your numbers are diminishing.” Driscoll read the figures he’d jotted on a yellow pad, worked on his calculator, then tapped out a verdict on Ryan’s company. “Look, it’s almost certain that Lane & Sons will only be viable for another eight months, nine at best. You risk foreclosure. You may have to consider selling or ending operations.”
“Shut it down?”
Ryan’s memory rushed back to winter mornings watching his dad at the kitchen table drinking coffee before heading to work in the dark. Coming home in the dark, carrying an empty lunch box, plaster dust in his clothes, the creases in his hands caked white.
On his hospital bed, tubes going into him as the cancer took him.
Ryan stared at Driscoll’s crisp button-down shirt, his tie precisely knotted, and the bandage on his baby finger, likely from a paper cut. Driscoll, with a few clicks pronouncing a death sentence on all his old man had worked for, all he had entrusted to Ryan.
Driscoll cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Ryan, but that’s the reality.”
“That’s the reality, is it?”
Indignation burned in Ryan’s face with such intensity Driscoll was taken aback, and his Adam’s apple rose and fell as Ryan stood and glared at him.
Now, in his kitchen staring into the night, Ryan was still reeling, even after the movie Karen had suggested they go see, “to take your mind off things for a while,” a thriller about spies and assassins that he’d barely paid attention to.
A hand touched his shoulder.
“Hey,” Karen said. “You were a little hard on Crystal, don’t you think?”
“She had Zach here.”
“We were seventeen once. Besides, she’s not the thing you’re mad at.”
Ryan turned to his wife, knowing she was right.
“I can’t lose the business.”
“I told you, ask Cole for help. There’s not much else you can do.”
“I would never go to him for this.”