by Robin Mahle
“He won’t. I’ve established the boundaries. I don’t think he’s the type to push beyond them.” That remained to be seen. He’d hinted around at things while they were working the Copeland case, but she tried to put that in the back of her mind. “Besides, he reminded me that you once did the same thing.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. When I first moved here. When I entered the Academy. Remember you asked me to present the Hendrickson case with you?”
“Well, yeah. I remember, but how did he know that?”
“I don’t know. Must’ve been in my records somewhere.”
Nick held his gaze at the road ahead. “Right.”
2
The beefy aroma of microwaved meatloaf wafted through the station house. Although it only mildly camouflaged the musty odor that usually inhabited the space. The Crown Pointe Police Station was housed in a fifty-year-old building in need of some repair, like most of the buildings in this town.
Inside, the walls were adorned with seventies-style wood paneling, painted white only recently to help conceal their outdated appearance. That was done by the kids from the local high school who wanted to do some good in the community. Despite what many believed, there were still citizens of Crown Pointe who wanted to improve their town.
But for the deputies, of which there were only two, their days consisted mostly of answering calls related to drug overdoses, a few petty thefts, and rising domestic violence. Right now, however, was lunchtime.
“Peggy makes a hell of a meatloaf.” Deputy Shane Lazaro nosed the Tupperware dish with delight as he walked back to his desk. The twenty-three-year-old with kind brown eyes and a goofy smile hailed from Missouri. He moved to Crown Pointe with his wife after her father passed, her mother too frail to be on her own. Now he was a cop in the small town. “You want some? Plenty here.”
“No thanks. Got a ham and cheese sandwich waiting for me in the fridge. Guess I could take a break and eat some lunch.”
“That there is what they call Pavlov’s dog, my friend,” Lazaro said.
“Whatever you say.” Deputy Eric Slocum, a few years older than Lazaro, was born and raised in Crown Pointe and had once been a high school football hero. He hiked up his brown uniform pants and made his way to the breakroom, but not before the front door burst open. He swung back around.
“Where’s Chief Tate?” A woman, harried and panic-stricken, entered the station. Her eyes darted back and forth, her stance wide as if ready to lunge.
“Mrs. Waverly, what’s wrong?” Slocum approached her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Calm down and tell us what happened.”
Lazaro was already on his feet and waited for whatever it was the woman he knew well had to say.
“It’s Joanne. She hasn’t been home in two days and I just got a call from Tommy’s mother. He hasn’t been home either. You have to find them.”
“Mrs. Waverly, now I know you understand that Joanne has been prone to going missing on occasion. And she usually turns up after a few days. Don’t you think this could be the same thing?” Slocum said.
“Normally, I’d be inclined to agree with you, Eric, but I don’t believe that is the case this time.”
“And why is that?” Lazaro asked.
“Because I called Karen and you know how close those two girls are. Like peas in a pod. She said Joanne usually swings by after the checks come out. You know, to do whatever it is those two girls do.”
The officers eyed one another, knowing exactly what it was they did.
“Look, I know how this sounds. But I’m telling you, this is different. Please, I need you both to believe me.”
“Okay,” Slocum began. “Come sit down over here and tell me everything you know. From the last time you saw Joanne to right now.” He led her to his desk.
“I need to see the chief. Please, can’t you get him? He’ll know what to do.”
“Let’s get a statement from you first. I believe Chief is on a call just now anyway.”
She sat down but continued to shake her head. “You know what, no. I’m sorry, Eric. I need to see the chief. This can’t wait. I have a God-awful, terrible feeling about this. Please. Now you have to help me find Joanne.” Mrs. Waverly stood again and headed toward Chief Tate’s office.
“Ma’am.” Lazaro followed her. “Ma’am, just hold tight.”
“No, I will not.” Her voice raised. “Chief Tate?” She knocked on the door. “Can I speak to you please? It’s urgent.”
“He’s on a call. Please come back and sit down.” Lazaro took her arm.
“I will not.” She ripped it away. “And don’t you dare touch me again, you hear me?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean anything by it.” But before he could continue, the chief opened his door.
“What’s with the hollering? I had to cut my very important conversation short thanks to all the racket.” A towering beanpole of a man, Chief Tate emerged from his office. His middle-aged eyes narrowed with concern.
“I’m sorry, Chief. Mrs. Waverly is here because of her daughter,” Lazaro said.
“I see.” He peered down at her. “What’s going on here, Kim? You looking for Joanne?”
“Yes, sir, I am. I’m sorry for the ruckus, but like I was telling Eric over here, she’s been gone too long and it just isn’t like her. And her friend Karen said she didn’t come by when she was supposed to and I’m just at my wit’s end trying to figure out where she’s gone.”
“Okay. Okay, now. Just calm down and come into my office and tell me everything.” The chief led her inside and eyed his men to follow. He returned to his desk, placing his hands atop it, and laced his fingers. “Go ahead and start from the beginning. You say Joanne hasn’t been home in a few days?”
“That’s right.” She briefly scrutinized the deputies, implying they’d been dismissive of her concerns. “Well, you know, the checks came the other day.”
The chief nodded.
“And she left with Tommy first thing and hasn’t been back since.”
“And you say you called Karen Biggs and she hadn’t seen her either.”
“No, sir. And that’s what caused my hackles to raise. That’s just real unusual. And then I hear from Tommy’s momma and she says he hasn’t been home neither. So now I’m getting real concerned.”
“Course you are.” The chief leaned back in his chair. “But you know how Joanne can get sometimes. She’s no stranger to the kickers. And with the price going up so high, it’s getting harder to find, and so it’s entirely possible she and Tommy went out farther to go and get ‘em.”
“Chief Tate, Henry, I know you think Joanne is some dirt bag drug addict. And maybe you’re right. But she’s still my daughter. I love her and I think something real bad’s happened to her.”
“Kim, I do not think for one second Joanne is a dirt bag anything. She’s just a young woman who’s been struggling. You know how much I care about the people of this community. And how hard it’s been trying to stop this epidemic. People around here need my help. And I do not judge. That is something only the Lord Almighty has the right to do. So Eric and Shane will take a drive around town and talk to some people. See if anyone’s spotted her or Tommy in the last couple days.” He eyed his officers. “You two think you can get on that this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir, we can,” Lazaro replied. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Waverly. I meant no offense and neither did Deputy Slocum.”
“Then it’s settled.” The chief peered back at Mrs. Waverly. “They’ll take a look around and get back with me today. I’ll call you if we find anything. I promise.” He stood from his desk.
“Thank you, Henry. I sincerely appreciate it.” She raised from the chair and turned toward the deputies. “I’m sorry if I was out of line. But I’m sure you can understand my position. If it were your daughter…”
“We understand, Mrs. Waverly,” Slocum replied.
They waited for her to leave before the chief s
poke again. “You know the drill. Check the usual spots. Ask around. I’m sure we’ll find her holed up in Devil’s Den, but just do what you can.”
“Ten-four, Chief.” Slocum patted Lazaro on the back. “Come on, let’s go see what we can dig up.” He headed out but stopped short and turned back to the chief. “I suspect if we find her, we’ll find Tommy Conroy too. If that’s the case, should we call up his ma?”
“Well, I guess that depends on what you find. Why don’t you just touch base with me first. We’ll go from there.”
Woodbridge, Virginia was where Kate had called home for the past few years after leaving San Diego amid tragedy. With arms wrapped around her for warmth, she leaned against her SUV parked alongside the curb in front of a church near Nick’s bayside apartment, a place she now shared with him.
The evening temperature was dropping and her breath was visible in the air. She spotted Nick emerge from the church and walk down the stone steps toward her. “Hey. How was the meeting?”
“Fine. More of the same.”
His indifference to the meetings was a point of concern. “You don’t feel like you’re getting much out of them anymore?”
“I suppose I do. It’s just… hard. Hard listening to people who were really bad off. And those who still seem to struggle.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m ready to get out of here.”
“Say no more.” She entered the driver’s side and waited for him to close the passenger door before pressing the ignition. “I’m still proud of you.”
“Don’t be. I’m just doing what I should’ve done a long time ago.” He paused a moment. “But thanks anyway.”
Kate pulled away and headed back toward their apartment. “I know it hasn’t been easy. And I also know you’re doing this mostly for me. But I think you should get to the point where you feel like it’s more for you. And that it’s doing you good.”
“I said I’d get help with my drinking and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Okay.” A change in topic was needed if she wanted to avoid confrontation. “It’s nice out tonight. Cold, but clear.”
“Uh-huh.”
Kate left it alone after that. He’d been going to AA meetings since she came onboard at BAU. And while he’d stopped drinking, he also stopped doing much of anything else except work. But she figured it would just be a matter of time and he’d come back around. He always did.
“Quinn hasn’t said anything to you about me, has he? About the meetings?” Nick asked.
“Of course not. I haven’t told anyone. You asked me not to and it’s no one’s business anyway.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She eyed him again before pulling into the parking garage of their apartment building. “Is there something you’re not telling me? You seem really on edge.”
He opened his door. “I’m just tired. I don’t mean to snap at you.”
They were quiet until reaching their unit. Nick unlocked the door and closed it behind Kate as she entered.
“You hungry?” Kate walked into the kitchen. “I haven’t eaten dinner yet. I could whip up something for us.”
“Yeah, sure. I could eat. Look, I’m sorry if I seem upset. I’m not.”
“You sure about that?” She pulled out a pan from the bottom cabinet and began filling it with water.
“Not about the meetings. I know it’s what’s best. I guess it’s the job. The team. I just get the feeling they’re keeping me at arm’s length. Like they still don’t trust me.”
“Have you talked to Unit Chief Cole about this? He was their boss before you. He might be able to offer some insight.”
“I don’t want to run to him with every little concern I have. It just feels different. Not like what we had at WFO.”
“I miss them. Our old team. But this was what we wanted, right? Moving up and moving on?”
“I guess so.”
The living room of Lynn and John Floyd was reminiscent of the time Ronald Reagan was entering his second presidential term. Burgundy couches and walnut tables, complete with glass inserts. Its glory days, however, much like those of the former president, were long gone. Well-worn, with throws covering the bulk of the couches’ surfaces and ring marks adorning the tables. But it was where they called home. And it used to be a home filled with love and laughter—and prosperity. But those days were gone too. Prosperity wasn’t a word tossed around in reference to a place like Crown Pointe.
John Floyd had been a miner, a foreman, for many years, until the industry dried up. Now he was well past his prime, walked with a limp and had a tricky back. Lynn had been a manager at the Big Bear diner. Now she had the diabetes and bad feet. Neither held such positions of high regard anymore.
As they sat on the sofa, counting the pills, Lynn began, “Looks like we might need to make another trip. I guess it’s my turn. Better get it set up for tomorrow.”
“It’s best. You’re going to have to find another clinic, though. Last I heard, the center shut down. DEA came in and busted the doc.”
“Damn it. We’re running out of places to go, John.”
“I know that. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Besides, I hope we’ll be done with all this soon.”
“We set out to make a difference and that’s exactly what I aim to do. Don’t go second-guessing this now. What’s done is done. She deserved better. We both know that.” Lynn stood. “I’ll head out in the morning. Be back before supper. I’m off to bed now. Fixin’ to be a long day tomorrow.”
Lynn Floyd held on to the grab bar and stepped on the bus. As she made her way down the aisle, a young man in uniform stood up to give her his seat. “That’s very kind of you, young man, but I’m not so old you need to step aside. Go on and sit down. I’ll be just fine. And thank you for your service.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He returned to his seat.
She found a place to sit near the back, which was fine. It was closer to the bathroom. The long journey and weak bladder was an arduous combination, so this spot would suit her.
The driver closed the door and the bus pulled away from the terminal. Lynn had made this trip before. So had John. The job was to get to the clinic, get the prescription, which was easier than getting Sudafed at the CVS, then go back home. Easy as pie. But John was right. They, being the Feds, were cracking down. Which was a good thing, but not for the Floyds. This was what they needed to do to survive. If this source dried up, they’d have to turn to something worse. And Lynn didn’t like the idea of trying to score heroin. That was tantamount to walking into the belly of the beast and she wasn’t interested in doing that. But as the old saying went, “Needs must when the devil drives.”
She was awakened hours later by a passenger who sat down next to her and had to remind herself she was on the bus to Florida.
“I’m so sorry to wake you,” the woman said.
“It’s all right. Can you tell me where we are?”
“Tallahassee.”
“Oh. Well then, I should thank you. I’ll be getting off at the next stop.” Lynn prepared for her departure, making another trip to the bathroom, but this time, to freshen up her brunette hair that was now mashed down on one side thanks to her having fallen asleep. Upon brief observation, she picked at the gray sprigs that had appeared in larger numbers. “Nothing a bottle of color from the drug store can’t fix.”
The bus was slowing and the time had come for her to do her job. And that was to appear in pain and wait for the doctor to issue her prescription. She hadn’t seen this one before, but he was all too willing to put pen to paper and scratch out a three-month supply of OxyContin. And why not? He was paid a hefty sum by the insurers, the drug companies, and anyone else looking to make a buck off the suffering of human beings. It would’ve been fine if she was really in pain. But these doctors didn’t care. They didn’t order x-rays or do exams. She’d be in and out inside of fifteen minutes, script in hand, and heading off to the clinic’s in-house pharmacy.
And that was exactl
y how it went down. “Thank you very much, ma’am. You have yourself a nice day.” Lynn placed the bottles of Oxy inside her purse and left the clinic. Outside, the sun was shining bright on this winter’s day in Florida, although she wished to have spent the day doing something—anything else. But she wasn’t doing this for her. This wasn’t even for John. This was for their daughter.
The next few hours, Lynn couldn’t sleep. Which was fine. It would’ve meant a rough night had she fallen asleep again. It was already pushing 6pm, and by the time she got back home, it’d be almost eight.
The journey had come to an end, and Lynn walked off the bus and through the terminal, back to her car. It was the only car they owned, but John didn’t drive anymore. He was on disability now. Not that he suffered all that much. The occasional hitch in his stride, throwing out his back. The disability was just another way to bring in some money. Most everybody was on some sort of government help around here. How else were they going to survive without decent jobs?
On her return home, in the darkening skies, she opened the front door and found John in front of the television. “I’m back.” She set her purse down on the nearby kitchen table and retrieved the bottles.
“You get ‘em?” His voice carried into the kitchen.
“I got ‘em.” She walked into the living room, where he anxiously looked on. “Three months’ worth, just like we talked about.”
“Good. You did good, sweetheart.” He reached for her hand. “Remember why we’re doing this. I know it ain’t easy.”
Lynn revealed a tempered smile and took hold of a photograph sitting on a side table. “I know who we’re doing this for.” She peered at the picture of their daughter. In her cheerleading uniform when she was happy, healthy, and beautiful. But that all had changed.
“I’ll never forget neither.”
3
The northern part of Crown Pointe had once been a thriving area. In fact, in the late 1990s and early 2000s, an apartment building sprouted up with the help of Federal aid dollars and a non-profit, which had since left town. The building had been cheaply built and was already in disrepair. Several units were vacant and the people who did live there were all Section 8, a subsidized government housing program.
