Intervention

by Terri Blackstock

  So that’s why I turned to drugs.

  Just kidding. I know I can’t pin my habit on my mother’s transparency, though I’ve tried. You don’t throw your life away because your mom has frown lines.

  Barbara closed her eyes, sick that Emily had so clearly given up on life. She hoped her frown lines hadn’t caused Emily’s decline. But Barbara couldn’t help rehashing every time she had peered at Emily through the car window, disapproving of what her daughter was wearing or who she was with or the way she hugged a boy good-bye.

  But wasn’t a mother supposed to chastise her child for disobedience? Of course she was.

  Still, the journal entry left Barbara feeling like she was the villain, the one who’d caused it all.

  She laid the journal in her lap and looked out the plane’s window, trying to steady her breathing as she gazed into the night. After John died, Barbara had been so fragmented and distracted with her own grief that she’d allowed Emily too much freedom. Emily had gotten her driver’s license a year later, and when she’d driven away from home, she drove herself right into trouble.

  For years Barbara thought Emily was in denial about her own bondage. But this journal clearly showed she wasn’t. Maybe Emily really did want to change. She knew she was driving her life off a cliff. She just had to be taught to care.

  Barbara covered her face and begged God to help Emily, wherever she was. He knew what Emily was doing, thinking, smoking, ingesting …

  God was the only father Emily had now. Barbara had to trust him to protect Emily as his own child, even if she wasn’t turning to him.

  nine

  The moment the landing gear touched the runway, Barbara checked her phone to see if Emily had called. No messages, and no missed calls.

  As they pulled up to their gate, she dialed information and got the number for the police precinct closest to the Atlanta airport. She pressed one to have it connect her.

  “What are you doing?” Lance asked as it rang. “Didn’t the cop give you his number?”

  “I’m just checking,” she whispered. “Confirming that he really works there before I call his cell.”

  “Airport Precinct.”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, I was wondering if you could connect me to Detective Kent Harlan.”

  “With Homicide? He’s not at this precinct. He works at the main department. I’ll transfer you.” Just as she’d thought, it wasn’t a hoax. She held until it rang again.

  “Atlanta Police Department.”

  She asked for Detective Harlan again.

  “I’ll have to take a message. He’s not in right now.”

  “Um … that’s all right. I have his cell phone number.”

  She hung up. Lance was staring at her. “There’s a real guy?”

  She nodded.

  “So there’s a real murder.”

  She couldn’t answer. She waited until the airplane came to a halt, then unbuckled her seatbelt and stood. Lance slipped into the aisle and got their bags from the overhead bin. His cheeks were blotched red again, as if he’d been slapped. His emotions always registered on his cheeks.

  Her heart pounded like she’d just run a marathon, and perspiration prickled her neck and her chest again. Her hair stuck to her aching forehead. She dialed the detective’s number.

  He answered after three rings. “Harlan.”

  “Detective, this is Barbara Covington. I’m in Atlanta. Where should I go?”

  “Go to the long-term parking garage. You’ll see where the police cars are. Come to the yellow tape and ask someone to grab me. Have you had any contact from your daughter?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “We have to find her!”

  “We plan to. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  She didn’t know what concourse they were in now, or how far they were from the parking garage. She waited as the other passengers took their time getting their bags from the overhead bins, oblivious to the mother and son with panic on their faces.

  As she waited, she tried to think like Emily. If she was traumatized from witnessing the murder, she couldn’t have gone far. She was probably right here in this huge airport, hiding in a bathroom somewhere.

  “No word from her?” Lance asked quietly.

  “Nope.”

  “We’ll find her, Mom.”

  It was finally their turn to slip up the aisle, and as they bolted into the terminal, she saw that they were in Concourse C. She found the sign pointing them to baggage claim, which she knew should be across from the parking garage.

  “This way,” she said, and took off in a trot toward the underground Tram.

  They rode the train two stops to baggage claim, then rushed out. Hurrying past the people slowing to collect their bags, Barbara found the exit door. Across several lanes of traffic, she saw the parking garage. There was a police car blocking the entrance. That must be it.

  She pulled her carry-on suitcase behind her as she ran to the crosswalk. When she reached the garage, she gave the policeman Kent’s name. He let her in. Deeper into the dim, muggy garage, she saw the crime scene tape.

  “Is this where she died?” Lance asked. “In here?”

  “Must be.” She waited at the tape, trying to see what was in the car the police clustered around.

  “Mrs. Covington?”

  She saw him walking toward her, a tall man, probably six feet. He had light brown hair with a receding hairline, and a tanned, leathery face. He made it to her and shook her hand. “Thanks for coming. I’m Kent Harlan.”

  She nodded. “This is my son, Lance.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He shook Lance’s hand. “Did you bring pictures of Emily?”

  She unzipped her bag and pulled out the framed pictures she’d thrown in. “Here they are.”

  He took them and studied Emily’s image. “Does she still look like this? Hair’s the same?”

  “Yes, just the same. Except she … she doesn’t look as healthy now. Her skin is pale, her hair’s thinner … ”

  He handed the pictures to an officer and whispered something to him.

  “Will I get those back?”

  “Remind us.”

  “What are you going to do with them?”

  “We’re going to make copies and give them to the press.”

  “The press? Please, she’s probably here in the airport. She couldn’t call because I didn’t let her bring her phone, and she doesn’t have more than ten dollars. Detective, what happened to Trish?”

  “Let’s go talk.” He lifted the tape, and they ducked under it. He led her to a bench near the elevator and offered them a seat. She was too nervous to sit.

  “Mrs. Covington, does Emily have any friends here?”

  “I don’t think so. But it’s possible, with MySpace and Face-book. I guess she has friends all over.”

  “You said she was on her way to rehab. What were her drugs of choice?”

  Barbara didn’t know how specific to be. He was a cop, after all. “She used cocaine sometimes, but pills, mostly. Painkillers and anxiety medications.”

  “Are you in the medical field? Pharmaceuticals? Chemicals?”

  “No, I’m an interior designer. Detective, how did Trish die?”

  He seemed to consider how much to disclose. “I’d rather not discuss that right now. What exactly did Emily have with her?”

  “Clothes, underwear, toiletries, her purse … ”

  “Did you watch her pack?”

  “I packed her bag myself,” she said.

  “She left her suitcases in the trunk of Miss Massey’s car. Did you search her purse before she left?”

  Barbara felt that invisible foot on her chest. “No. Things were crazy, and I was trying to get her packed.”

  “Crazy how?”

  “Just … busy. We convinced her to go, and I was trying to get her to the airport on time.”

  He scribbled something in his notebook. “Mrs. Covingt
on, tell us what you know about Trish.”

  “Not much. I only met her last night, and had a few minutes to talk to her then. She works for the Road Back Recovery Center. She’s been sober for five years, and two years ago she bought the rehab where she worked.” Her eyes strayed back to that car. Was Trish’s body still there? She glanced at Lance. His gaze was fixed on the crime scene.

  The detective was still making notes.

  “Detective, what’s being done to find my daughter?”

  He looked up, met her eyes. “We have an All Points Bulletin out on her. Could you tell me what she was wearing? I saw her on the security tape, but it’s black and white. Looked like she was wearing a dark-colored T-shirt. Was it black?”

  Barbara caught her breath. “You saw her? Then she was alive?”

  “Yes. She left the car of her own accord.”

  “Oh, thank God.” She touched her chest and blew out her relief. “Yes, her T-shirt was black. It was one of those bands … Three Eyes … ”

  “Third Eye Blind,” Lance interjected.

  “Yes. So the security camera must have shown where she went.”

  “We saw her get into a car on the other side of the garage. A dark Infiniti sedan. Do you know anyone who drives one?”

  Her relief faded. “No. But you must have seen where they went. Which way they drove.”

  “They left the airport; that’s all we know.”

  Barbara looked at Lance, her mouth open. He shook his head and muttered, “Unbelievable.”

  “Can you show me the video?” she asked. “Maybe it wasn’t even Emily who got into the Infiniti.”

  “I’ll show you a picture I printed out.” He walked over to a case sitting across the garage and came back with a grainy black-and-white image.

  Barbara took it and saw the girl getting into the black car. “It’s not clear. It could be her, I guess, but it doesn’t show her face.”

  “You said she was an IV drug user. Do you think it’s possible that she could have gotten needles past security?”

  “I didn’t say that! I said I had found needles once, but not recently. They weren’t even hers.” She knew that sounded ridiculous. She hadn’t even believed Emily when she claimed her friend had left the needles in her car, that she would never do anything so stupid. Clearly, the detective didn’t believe it, either. “Why do you keep asking that? Did Trish’s death have something to do with needles?”

  He didn’t answer, so she made a guess. “So it was an overdose? Trish really wasn’t sober, after all?”

  “Trish wasn’t shooting drugs, Mrs. Covington. That’s not what I said.” He got up. “The fact is, Miss Massey’s wallet is missing. Your daughter was seen running from the crime scene.”

  For the first time, it hit her. He thought Emily did it. “Wait a minute. You can’t seriously be wondering if my daughter is the killer!”

  Detective Harlan just stared at her.

  “Well, you’re wrong. Emily is not a murderer!”

  “Mrs. Covington, how desperate was she to keep from going to treatment?”

  “Not that desperate. We didn’t chain her up and make her go. She agreed to it.”

  “Why didn’t you take her yourself?”

  She spoke before she thought. “Because I knew she would spend the whole time begging and pleading for me not to take her. I thought an objective third party would make it easier.” She saw the I-told-you-so on his face. “She wasn’t thrilled about going, but she wasn’t desperate enough to kill. I didn’t raise a killer.”

  “But you did raise an addict.”

  Her face flushed with heat as she got to her feet. “I want my pictures back.”

  “Mrs. Covington, you can’t keep us from using Emily’s image.

  If you stand in the way of our finding her, you’ll be obstructing justice.”

  “What?” Tears stung her eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Drugs are a powerful force. Some of them incite violence.” The detective rubbed his face. “Did you know that most of the murders in this country are committed by people desperate for drugs?”

  Barbara grabbed her bag. “Come on, Lance.”

  “Where are you going, Mrs. Covington?”

  She swung around. “To find my daughter! And if you waste your time trying to paint her as the killer, you’re going to miss the one who really did this. Maybe he’s lurking around in this very garage, waiting for his next victim. He could have Emily right now. While you’re being misled by your assumption that Emily did this, she could be in the hands of the killer. Her life could be in danger!”

  “I don’t think that’s the case, Mrs. Covington.”

  She stormed back to the tape, looking for the officer who’d taken Emily’s pictures. But he was gone. Harlan had ordered him to get copies made for the press. Within hours, her daughter’s picture would be on every news station across the U.S. Since the murder had happened in a major airport, it would be of national interest. Besides all the other things Emily would have to overcome, she’d have to deal with this.

  Oh, God, we need your help!

  Lance’s voice shook her out of her thoughts. “Mom, where do we start?”

  Her head was killing her. “We don’t even know if it was her who got into that car. She could still be here, hiding in the airport. The bathrooms are the most obvious place. We’ll just walk through the terminals from restroom to restroom, looking for every possible place our Emily could hide. We can’t get past security without a boarding pass, but neither could she after she left that area, so we’ll comb the places she has access to.”

  They reached the baggage claim area, dodging people as they hurried by.

  “I know my sister, Mom. She’s not a killer. Not even on drugs.”

  “I know she’s not. But she’s in a terrible mess. And I don’t know if we can clean this one up.”

  ten

  We have to think like Emily would,” Barbara said. “Where would she go? What would she do? She only had ten stinking dollars.”

  “That’s it,” Lance said. “She hadn’t eaten, so she probably got food when she got off the plane. Let’s take her picture around to the people who work at the fast-food places.”

  “We can’t,” she said. “It’s almost three a.m. They’re all closed.”

  She saw a woman mopping the floor, so she hurried over and showed her Emily’s picture. She hadn’t seen her. Neither had any of the other employees they found, or the few passengers still walking through the airport.

  They searched for the next two hours. Where had she gone?

  Emily had never traveled alone. She didn’t know about cabs and shuttles, crown rooms and Marta trains. If she’d tried to leave the airport, wouldn’t she have seen how difficult it was and decided to stay? Then again, if she really was the one who got into that Infiniti … Barbara shook off the thought. It couldn’t be true. Emily couldn’t have set up a ride, and she would never have committed murder.

  Barbara thought of buying tickets to anywhere so they could get back into the secure areas, but the Atlanta airport was so massive. The police were probably combing the place, and they had the benefit of security cameras. If they hadn’t found Emily, how would she?

  As Barbara talked with one of the janitors, Lance sat down on one of the vinyl seats, among others waiting for loved ones to come off red-eye flights. He closed his eyes, and she saw him drifting into sleep. She couldn’t force Lance to walk like a zombie through the airport anymore. It was five a.m., and they really were getting nowhere.

  Not knowing what else to do, Barbara took Lance and caught a shuttle to the nearest hotel. She showed Emily’s picture to the man working the desk and asked if she’d come here, but he hadn’t seen her. She rented a room, and wearily, they rode the elevator up.

  Lance looked wiped out as he dropped his duffel bag on one of the beds. “Mom, what if we called her friends and asked if they’ve heard from her? Maybe she called them. Maybe they know if she has friends
here.”

  “I don’t have any of their numbers. I don’t even know most of their last names. The people she’s been hanging with aren’t the kind who come for Sunday lunch.”

  Lance unzipped his bag and reached in. “Well, here they are, right here, on her phone.”

  Barbara’s eyebrows shot up. “You brought her cell phone?”

  “Yeah. Somebody had to think things through. You were freaking out. I figured we might need it.”

  “Good thinking.” She reached for it, but he held it out of her grasp.

  “Say, ‘Lance is daman. I’m glad I brought him because he’s such a big help.’ ”

  “Don’t make me kill you.” She snatched the phone from him. “Did you bring the charger?”

  He winced. “No, forgot that. But it still has enough battery to copy the names and numbers down.”

  Lance bounced down on the bed and soon fell asleep. Barbara sat on the other bed and wrote down all of the numbers in Emily’s contacts list. Taking out her own phone, she started dialing.

  Most of them didn’t answer. It was four-thirty a.m. in Jefferson City.

  She decided to leave vague messages to make them call her back. “Zack, this is Barbara Covington, Emily Covington’s mother. I need to talk to you as soon as you get this. Something has happened to Emily and I need to let you know.”

  There. Hopefully his curiosity would be piqued enough to call her back. She went through the list, leaving similar messages. Only one person answered — Emily’s best friend, Paige.

  “Hello?” Loud music blared in the background.

  “Paige, can you hear me?”

  “Yeah, who is this?”

  “Emily’s mother. Could you turn the music down, Paige? I need to talk to you.”

  The girl cursed, then the music cut off, and Paige came back to the phone. “Okay, what is it?”

  “Have you heard what’s happened to Emily?”

  “No, what?”

  “She’s missing. We can’t locate her anywhere.”