I went over and sat down next to him. I let out a sigh. “Right at the moment, I feel like I’m spinning my wheels. I hope something breaks soon.”
He put his arm around me. “I put some leftover pizza in the fridge.”
“Maybe later.”
He surveyed me. “Want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. He held the glass to me, and I took a sip. The burning feel of the alcohol felt good, soothing. I wasn’t a big drinker, not wanting to dull my senses, but a little right at that moment was nice.
I put the cool glass to my forehead and rubbed it around. “That feels good. I’ve had a headache for the last little while.”
He gnawed his lower lip. “You’re not going to like this.”
I exhaled. “What?”
“Your sister dropped by. She wanted to talk to you about your mother’s sixtieth birthday party this Sunday.”
I swore under my breath. I had forgotten about it. I didn’t have time to think about it, and yet I knew I needed to be there. I handed the glass back to Harry a little too forcefully. Some spilled on his hand. He laughed and licked the liquid off his finger. “What’s with you two?”
“You know how it is. Diane and I have never gotten along.”
“I know. You got her out of a jam when you were in college, and she wasn’t grateful enough. Maybe it’s time to let it go?”
There was more to it than that. I’d not shared it with Harry, and wasn’t sure I would. “Diane has never seen me as an equal. I was just there to clean up whatever mess she made. You wouldn’t understand.”
He finished the Scotch and set the glass on the coffee table. “Maybe I would. Try me.”
I stood up and began pacing, my mind briefly returning to the girl in the playground swing. “Diane was always the perfect one, at least that’s what Mom and Dad thought.” I exhaled. “They still think that. She has the perfect career, the perfect husband, the perfect children, and all that. I’m the one who barely made it out of school. And for some reason, I never felt like they thought police work was quite the right career choice for me. A little too blue-collar for them, you know? ”
“You’re not ‘just a cop,’ you’re a lead homicide detective. And you’re a damn good one.”
I stopped and put my hands on my hips. “Harry, I appreciate your saying that. I really do. But sometimes those words can’t erase the past.”
He leaned back against the couch, his dark eyes full of sorrow, with a hint of his own ache from my refusal to let him in. “I know she hurt you.”
A mix of emotions swelled within me, pain, weariness, anger. It was too much to deal with now. I sat down next to him again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He wrapped his arms around me again and kissed the top of my head. “You have to call your sister. She’s still going to need an answer about Sunday.”
I shook my head vehemently. “Not now, okay?”
“You can call her about the party tomorrow.” I could tell he was smiling. “You’ll deal with your sister when you’re ready to.”
“Yeah.”
“Hold on.” He got up, went into the kitchen, and returned with a slice of pizza on a plate. “Eat.”
“Oh, that tastes good,” I said as I took a bite.
He sat down next to me and waited while I ate. My mind was still on Diane.
“She doesn’t get me,” I muttered. “She never did.”
He put a hand on my knee. “Seriously. Try me,” he repeated. “Tell me about it.”
I nodded and put the plate down. I didn’t like talking about this part of my past–this thing wrapped in shame–even with Harry. Maybe it was time to start to trust him, even if just a little bit. I drew in a breath. “A long time ago I made a mistake. I was a sophomore in college, and Diane messed up, did something she shouldn’t have. She was terrified it would screw things up for her, that she’d get kicked out of med school. I stepped in to help.” I frowned. “Turns out, she got off scot-free, but what I did could’ve got me into trouble. I suppose it still could.”
Harry thought about that. “You didn’t have to help her?”
“She was my big sister,” I snapped, “and all I ever wanted was her approval.”
“I know,” he said softly. “You thought this … mistake … would get that for you?”
I laughed derisively. “Yes. Of course it didn’t. And you know Diane. She was, and is, completely oblivious. She’s never acknowledged the risk I took, or that it could’ve cost me the career I wanted. But ….” I gnawed my lip. “I guess, in the end, it was my choice to help her.”
He reached over and turned my head toward him, to look me in the eye. “You don’t have to tell me what you did if you don’t want to. You know I love you no matter what.”
“Oh, Harry.”
“Don’t worry about Diane right now.” He kissed me. “Relax.”
I sighed heavily and returned the kiss, then held out a hand. He used the remote control to turn off the music, then took my hand, and we went into the bedroom. We crawled under the covers, and he held me. Eventually he fell asleep. I lay awake for a long time, but I wasn’t thinking of Diane. I couldn’t get rid of the images of Logan Pickett lying in the dumpster.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next morning, I was up early, having slept fitfully for only a couple of hours. A headache lingered at the base of my skull, and I took aspirin that finally took the edge off. After poring over case notes in the living room, I showered and dressed quietly while Harry slept. I checked my Glock, put it in my hip holster, and went into the kitchen. I fixed coffee and sat on the back porch with a blanket around me. The black night morphed into deep blue, then the sky turned pink and purple as the sun rose. I yawned and went back inside, threw a breakfast burrito into the microwave and turned on the television. I sat and mulled over the investigation as I ate and drank more coffee, the TV droning on in the background with the weather and traffic. Then something caught my ear, a story about a little boy. I almost dropped my coffee cup when the words filtered into my brain.
“… boy was last seen near his mother’s house. If you have any information, please call the Denver Police Department.”
I grabbed the remote and backed up the newsfeed.
“In other news, nine-year-old Samuel Quigley went missing from his home in the Cherry Creek neighborhood last night. His mother, Laurel Quigley, said that he was in the front yard playing when he disappeared. The police haven’t named any suspects at the moment. Samuel was wearing blue jeans and a red T-shirt.” A picture of Samuel appeared on the screen. He had brown hair and eyes, and a cute face. “If you have any information,” the reporter continued, “call the Denver Police Department.” She put on a friendly smile, as if what she’d just reported was meaningless. “Now let’s turn to the weather …”
I tuned out the rest. Samuel Quigley lived in the same neighborhood as Audra Pickett. Another boy missing near there? My cell phone rang. I didn’t immediately recognize the number. I snatched it up. “Spillman.”
“It’s Oakley,” his nasally voice said. “I got the autopsy results last night on Eklund. It doesn’t look like a suicide to me. He didn’t have enough gunshot residue on his hand. It doesn’t add up, so I’m treating it as a murder.”
I muted the TV. “Do you have any clues to who would’ve killed him?”
“Have you been going through the documentation I gave you? You’d think we’d find something in all of it, but there’s nothing suspicious. Except that he was asking about that kid.”
“I know. We’ve been pouring over everything you gave us, and I don’t see anything there. Have you uncovered any enemies, any money trouble?”
“Nope. We’re still talking to people who knew him, but so far this guy is about as clean as you can get. I can’t find anything in his past, nobody says anything bad about him. He doesn’t have a record, and he’s not hanging around any kiddie porn websites. Nothing like that. Oh, did you hear about another kid
going missing in that same neighborhood?”
“Yeah, I just saw it on the news.”
“That means Eklund couldn’t have taken that kid, what’s his name?” he said matter-of-factly.
“Samuel Quigley. Do we have two kidnappers on our hands, or one that tried to set Eklund up?” I asked. “The first kidnapping goes bad, so the kidnapper makes Eklund look guilty.”
“By murdering him,” he mused. “That’s a thought, but who?”
“That’s the question of the hour.”
“I’ve got to go,” he said. “If you find anything to shed light on my investigation, I’d appreciate a call.”
“Right back at you.”
He disconnected, and I unmuted the TV. I watched for a bit, but they didn’t say anything more about the missing boy. I turned it off and called the police station. I got routed until I was connected to the detective who had the Quigley case. I identified myself, then said, “Tell me what happened.”
“Pretty basic,” he said. “The kid was outside playing, the mom was making dinner. When she went out to get him for dinner, he was gone. She ran around the neighborhood looking for him, then called all her friends to help, but he was gone.”
“What about the dad?”
“They’re divorced. He lives in Ohio.”
“Any clues?”
“Not a one, but we’re still canvassing the neighborhood to see what people saw or heard. From what I can tell, the kid and his mom got along, and nobody sensed that there was any trouble. And nobody saw anything unusual in the neighborhood.”
“I want to talk to the mother, if it’s okay.” I told him about my investigation.
“Sure thing, here’s her address. Report back to me, okay? She might remember something else when she talks to you.”
“I will.” I wrote down the Quigley address, thanked him, and ended the call.
I reached for my coffee, then felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. Was there a serial kidnapper on the loose? Was it Gary Pickett? I got up and put my coffee cup in the sink, then heard the shower going. I went back into the master bath and called out to Harry, “Hey, I’ve got new developments on my case. I need to head out.”
He stuck his head out the shower door. “Have a good day.”
I walked over and kissed him.
“When this is finished, I want a little of your time.”
I glanced down. “I could arrest you for indecent exposure.”
He burst out laughing, then grinned at me lasciviously. “Tonight? Bring your handcuffs?”
I kissed him again. “You got it.” I wiped the moisture from my face, gave him a shameless look as my eyes roved over his body, and walked out.
Laurel Quigley lived a few blocks from Audra Pickett in an older red-brick ranch. She answered the door, her face drawn, her eyes puffy. She hadn’t slept at all. When I identified myself, she led me into a small living room that looked as if it had been decorated from an IKEA catalog. I took a seat at a couch with large cushions and she sat on a similar loveseat. I could smell the roses in a vase on a coffee table, the aroma not erasing the strained feel in the room.
“Did you know another little boy, Logan Pickett, who disappeared from his house last Saturday night?” I began.
She nodded. “Yes, I’d heard something on the news, and some of the mothers that I know said something. Since then, I’ve been watching Samuel more closely, and I just don’t understand it.” She dropped her head and wept. “I was fixing dinner and he went out front. I wasn’t even gone that long,” she said through sobs. “How could I be so stupid?” she chided herself.
“Don’t be hard on yourself. It could happen to anybody. It takes no time at all for somebody to make a move.”
“I know, but I should’ve done better.”
“Tell me about Samuel.”
She sniffed a few times, grabbed a Kleenex from an end table and blew her nose. “He’s a good kid. We’ve had the talk about not going with strangers.” She hesitated. “At least I did when he was younger. I thought he’d be more careful. I don’t think he would’ve gone with a stranger, but I guess you never know”
“Would he run away?”
“I don’t think so. He’s a pretty happy boy, and no matter what anybody believes, I’m a good mom. There wouldn’t be any reason for him to run.”
“He’s a good student?”
“He works hard. He struggles some, and I have him working with a reading tutor. I started him with some comics to help with that, then simpler reading. He’s getting better. He loves baseball, and we go to the Rockies games when we can. When he’s in Ohio, his dad takes him to the Cleveland Indians games. Other than that, it’s not been too bad. He spends part of the summer with his dad. That does give me a break, but truthfully, I miss Sam when he’s gone.” She sighed. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
He sounded a bit like Logan, I thought. “Do you have other children?”
She shook her head. “Samuel’s an only child.”
“Is your husband in Ohio now?”
“Yes, the police there went to talk to him.”
That eliminated him as a suspect, I thought. “Have you seen anybody suspicious in the neighborhood lately?”
Another shake of her head. “Not that I recall. I drove all around last night, looking for him, and I didn’t see anybody that I didn’t know. The neighbors helped as well.” She dabbed her eyes. “Samuel was gone.”
“Are you familiar with a man named Ivan Eklund?”
She thought about that. “No, I don’t think so.”
“He takes pictures of the students at Roosevelt Elementary.”
“Samuel goes there, but I didn’t know who took the school pictures.”
“Have you seen a silver Toyota Tacoma truck or a blue Honda Pilot around the neighborhood?” I asked, thinking about the vehicles Gary Pickett and Ivan Eklund drove.
“It doesn’t sound like anybody I know.”
“Have you seen anything different from the norm recently?”
She pushed a strand of hair from her face. “No, nothing has seemed out of the ordinary.”
“Would you mind if I looked in his bedroom?”
“Of course not. The officer who came over already did, but you can look as well.”
I followed her to a small bedroom at the back of the house. It was cozy, with a small bed with a Rockies comforter on it, pictures of the Colorado Rockies teams on the walls, a desk, and a dresser. Two baseball trophies sat on the windowsill.
“He’s on a little league team,” she said when I noticed the trophies. “He’s really good.”
Sitting on the desk was a picture of Samuel in his baseball uniform, holding a bat. The typical pose of a kid in baseball. He was cute. It reminded me of a similar picture I’d seen of Logan on Audra’s Facebook page.
“Nothing seems out of place,” she said. She watched me closely. “Will you be looking for Samuel?”
I shook my head. “I’m working on a different investigation, but if my case overlaps with your son’s disappearance, I’ll let the investigators who are working on his kidnapping know. I’m sure the other detectives are doing what they can.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that at this point, there wasn’t a lot the police could do. “I would continue to look for him. Maybe somebody saw or heard something.”
“I will,” she said. “I already told my work I wouldn’t be in.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m in software development.” She threw up her hands. “How could I work with this?”
“I understand.”
I followed her back to the front door and thanked her for her time. I went outside and as I walked to my car, I called the detective in charge of the Quigley kidnapping, and gave him a rundown of my conversation with Laurel. She hadn’t given me any information that he didn’t have, and he sounded disappointed. He thanked me and I swiped over to a call from Ernie.
“You need to get back to the office.”
I opened my car door and slid behind the wheel. “Why?”
“Ivan Eklund has a connection with Dean Casper.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Time was short and things needed to happen fast. People were asking questions, and soon someone would know.
What about the new boy? Would he listen, would he obey? If so, then everything would be okay. And the agonizing pain would stop.
Calling from outside the door, “Turn out the light.”
After a moment, the sliver of light underneath the door vanished.
Making sure the hood was down, then opening the door.
“Are you hungry?”
The little boy on the bed nodded.
“You’re being good?”
His voice quivered. “Yes.”
“What do you want?”
“To … stay here,” he answered in a tiny, halting voice.
“Do you think you could like it here?” He didn’t answer. “Tell me you want to stay here.”
“I want to stay,” he finally said.
Ah, yes.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“What do you have?” I said as I walked into the room.
Ernie glanced over his shoulder. “Where have you been?” His cigar bobbed as he talked. He saw my look, knowing how much I hated that habit, and he put the cigar into an ashtray.
“Did you watch the news this morning?” He shook his head. “Another little boy was kidnapped.” Ernie grunted, and Spats muttered something under his breath. I filled them in. “I talked to the boy’s mom. The pattern’s similar to what happened to Logan. The child’s name is Samuel Quigley. He was playing out front, and his mom was getting dinner ready. She says Samuel wasn’t out front for very long, and when she went to get him, he’d vanished. Seems to me that maybe he knew his kidnapper because nobody saw or heard anything. The kid seemingly didn’t scream for help, nothing.”
“And here’s an odd thing: Logan and Samuel look a lot alike. Both have brown hair and eyes. Both play baseball. I saw a photo of Samuel in his baseball uniform, and I saw the same kind of picture of Logan when I went through Audra’s Facebook page.”
Deadly Connections Page 20