Fatal Heat

by Diane Capri

  Marilyn’s job was to walk both parents through the interview and get as much information as she could before that happened.

  She pulled out her notepad. “Tell me about last night and the last time you saw Emily.”

  Alicia turned watery eyes on her husband and he cleared his throat.

  “It was our anniversary.” His voice was coarse and rusty, like he’d broken a long vow of silence. “The day was normal. The kids went to school and came home. We went to work and came home. At about six o’clock, our friend, Tim Wagoner, came over to watch the kids for the evening so Alicia and I could go out and celebrate, just the two of us.”

  Marilyn had seen Wagoner around town a few times, but couldn’t recall having spoken to him more than once or twice. She scribbled down the name.

  Alicia piped in nervously. “He’s a good friend of ours. He really helped us when we were first getting settled in town. We’ve known him for years.”

  Marilyn nodded, careful not to say that stranger danger was a myth. Far more often, the people you knew, the ones you least expected, committed these crimes.

  It was too early for theories, though. She encouraged the Cabbots to continue.

  “We went to Vincenzo’s and had dinner. We’d had a little to drink. A bottle of wine,” Alicia said, heat rushing to her face.

  “Maybe two,” Owen added. A devastated expression settled over his heavy brow.

  “But when we got home, the children were in bed asleep. There was nothing unusual about it. We thanked Tim, kissed the kids good night, and went to sleep ourselves.” Alicia shook her head, clearly in distress. “Oh my God, how did we not hear someone in the house stealing them right from under our noses?” Her husband’s face settled into a mask of regret.

  If Owen was admitting to two bottles of wine, he could very well have swallowed more. They might have passed out and slept through the kidnapping. Possibly.

  Marilyn pursed her lips. A firm knock sounded at the front door. “That’s probably the crime scene investigation team. They’re here to take a look at the kids’ room. Please excuse me for a moment?”

  Both Cabbots nodded as Marilyn made for the door. She noticed a man’s hat on the side table and gestured to it. “Whose is that?”

  “Pastor Tim’s,” Owen said. “He wears it all the time. He must’ve forgotten it last night when he left.”

  She nodded and turned her attention back to opening the door. The head investigator, a stern-looking woman named Mirabel Vasquez, gave her a stiff nod. Marilyn moved aside as Vasquez and her male assistant walked in, laden with equipment.

  “The room is on the second floor, at the top of the stairs.” She ushered them in the right direction.

  Marilyn’s deputies, Pippa and Brady, trailed behind. “You two, walk the perimeter of the house. Tag anything that seems even remotely unusual.”

  Marilyn bustled out the front door and made her way to the sauna that was her car. The emotion inside the house blanketed everything like the stifling air, weighing her down.

  Sliding into the driver’s seat, she started the engine and turned the air conditioning up full blast. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she located her personal phone and dialed Jess Kimball’s number.

  Marilyn knew the famous journalist well. They’d worked together before.

  Jess kept a sharp eye on child kidnappings. For years, she’d been traveling the country working tirelessly on behalf of crime victims, hoping to find her own son, who’d been taken when he was barely a toddler. Jess was an expert and she’d be more than willing to help if she could.

  The line clicked to life and then Jess’s voice came through, “Hey there, stranger.

  What’s going on?”

  “Unfortunately, nothing good.” Marilyn opted to rip off the bad news fast. “We found a girl dead this morning. I just left the parents. It appears that their young son is also missing.”

  Jess’s silence filled the connection. Marilyn gave her a chance to absorb the news. Every time Jess heard a story like this, it had to eat away at her soul, but that level of empathy and commitment was what made her such a bulldog.

  “Okay, lay it on me,” Jess said, her tone clipped and all business.

  Marilyn relayed the particulars of the body, and the information she’d gathered from the Cabbots. “Any chance you could head down here and help out?”

  “I wish I could, but I’m on another case at the moment.” Jess paused. “I’ll make some calls. See if there’s been anything similar reported. As you get more details, please—”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “My one piece of advice here, Marilyn? I feel sorry for anyone who suffers this as a parent. Believe me, I know how that is. It’s worse because you know these parents, and the kids. But everyone is a suspect. The odds are…” Jess trailed off because Marilyn didn’t need her to finish.

  Whoever took the children more than likely knew them. Well enough that neither of the Cabbot kids had put up much of a fight. They’d most likely walked out of that house, thinking everything was just fine.

  And now at least one of them was never coming back.

  Marilyn swore and stuffed her cell phone back into her pocket.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was barely nine o’clock and the summer sun beat down on her car forcing the air conditioning to work overtime with very little success. Droplets of sweat pooled along her brow and dripped down the back of her neck.

  Forty-eight hours.

  She imagined she heard the ticking clock.

  Somehow, even with her small crew, she had to interview the Cabbots, all their friends and family, everyone who could possibly know or have seen the kids—school, teachers, day care, bakery employees, truckers at the truck stop, too.

  She was exhausted just thinking about it. But first, she’d go inside and get the preliminary information from the crime scene techs.

  She stepped from the stifling hot car into the marginally cooler morning, and covered the winding path to the door quickly. The doorknob scorched her palm as she turned it.

  Wincing, she looked up to find the lead crime tech staring.

  “Jane,” Marilyn said, “What do you have for me?”

  The older woman shook her head. “Not much of anything in the bedroom. Nothing broken, the window was still locked. Luminol did turn up some trace blood on the girl’s pillowcase, though.”

  “Probably from a nosebleed.” Alicia had appeared at Jane’s shoulder. She must have overheard the conversation from her seat in the kitchen. “She always gets…” She stopped short, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then corrected herself, “she used to get nosebleeds in the middle of the night during summertime. The doctor said it was because of the dry heat.”

  Jane nodded. “That would be consistent with what we found. It was deep in the fibers of the pillow case, which was covered by the blankets, and nowhere else. We’re pulling prints. We need prints from the parents to exclude them.”

  Marilyn looked to Alicia, who nodded, “Of course.”

  “Sounds good. Give me five more minutes and they’re all yours.” Jane tipped her head in a clipped nod and stalked off.

  Marilyn guided Alicia toward the kitchen. Alicia settled onto a stool while Marilyn pulled out her notepad. It still only had one name written in Marilyn’s precise hand—Tim Wagoner, and then later, she’d added, Pastor. Before the day was over, there’d likely be two dozen or so names on the list.

  “Okay, we’ve found no obvious signs of a struggle. So far, we have no point of forced entry. Do you lock your doors every night?”

  “Yes, but,” Alicia looked at her husband, “I don’t recall if we did last night.”

  “I locked up same as always, right after Tim left.”

  “Do you leave a spare key somewhere? Inside or outside the house?” Marilyn asked.

  Alicia shook her head. “I saw on television that you weren’t supposed to.”

  “And does anyone else have the keys to
your house other than the two of you?” Marilyn asked, a little more firmly this time. “Really think. Anyone who watched the place during a vacation, maybe?”

  “No, nobody—” Owen started, but he was interrupted by the smack of a window opening and colliding with the sill. Brady had been studying the window panes along the kitchen wall, and he blinked in surprise before turning to face Marilyn.

  “This one was unlocked,” Brady said. “Slid right open.”

  “But I…” Alicia looked from her husband to Marilyn and back again. “I always keep the windows locked. I don’t…”

  “What about last weekend? When you were heavy cleaning? Didn’t you pop the windows out and wash them?” Owen prompted.

  “I did,” Alicia said with a nod. “I locked them all back up. But maybe I missed one. It’s possible. Oh my God, please don’t tell me. Are my children gone because of me?” She shuddered and slumped forward.

  Marilyn turned her attention back on Owen. “Is there anyone I can call? Someone who can come and support you both?”

  “My mother,” Alicia sniffed. “Her number…” She pointed to the fridge.

  On the gleaming surface of the fridge was a sticky note with the words “Emergency Contacts” written in red, curly letters.

  “The pastor’s number is on there, too. Call him here to pray with us,” Owen added, then focused on rubbing his wife’s back.

  Marilyn moved over to the fridge, reviewing the names. She snapped a photo of the list with her cell phone before she called Alicia’s mother.

  It was, she supposed, a small service to break the news of Emily’s death for the Cabbots, to save them from saying the words themselves just yet.

  The pastor and Alicia’s mother arrived in record time. No more than fifteen minutes had elapsed. They joined Alicia and Owen in the living room.

  The foursome held hands, heads bowed, as the TV droned quietly in the background.

  “Dear Lord,” Pastor Wagoner’s voice quavered, and his face was pale, but he pressed on, glancing from Alicia to Owen as he prayed.

  The prayer went on for a long moment. When it was over, Marilyn stepped in and pulled Owen aside.

  “It’s a formality. And I’m sorry. But we’re going to need you down to the Medical Examiner’s office to identify the body as soon as they’re ready.”

  She watched his expression carefully as she spoke. He remained impassive, nodding as he wiped away the one tear he’d shed as he prayed. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “I need to talk to the pastor about his time with the kids last night.”

  Owen nodded, then crossed the room to tap Pastor Wagoner on the arm. He whispered to Wagoner, who shot her a glance and nodded. Marilyn flipped to a fresh page in her notebook.

  Okay, Pastor Tim Wagoner, last to see the Cabbot children both awake and alive.

  Let’s see what you know about all this.

  Marilyn guided Wagoner outside. The crime techs needed more space. And she didn’t want the family to overhear.

  The sun was higher in the sky now and it hammered down in a nearly tangible way.

  She ushered him under the little, shaded stoop.

  “Sorry to drag you out in the heat. Hopefully we won’t be too long,” she said.

  “Anything I can do to help.”

  “You’ve known the family for a while?”

  “Probably four, five years, something like that. Helped them rustle up some business for their bakery.” He shook his head and closed his eyes briefly. “They’re good people.

  Emily and Billy are good kids. Such a tragedy.”

  “Tell me what happened last night, as specifically as you can.”

  “Not much to tell. Alicia and Owen were celebrating their wedding anniversary. They needed a sitter. I volunteered.”

  “Did you have a close relationship with the children?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re implying. Same as the other families who invite me to their homes.” His brow wrinkled into a deep frown. “I mean, Marilyn, I don’t have to tell you—this is a small town. We all know each other.”

  She nodded and made a note. “Were the kids acting unusually in any way last night?”

  He considered that and shook his head. “Not that I noticed. Emily was excited because she won the coin flip to pick a movie. I warmed up the dinner Alicia left for us. When the movie ended, we frosted some cookies Alicia made earlier. After that, Emily read a chapter of one of those books Billy likes. We said our prayers and they went up to bed.”

  “And what did you do after they went to sleep?”

  “I watched SportsCenter,” he said with a half-smile. “Even men of God like sports, you know.”

  Marilyn feigned a grin. “I meant after the Cabbots returned home. What did you do next?”

  Brown caterpillar eyebrows pulled tight and his thin face grew heavy with creases.

  “Am I under suspicion, Sheriff?”

  “Nobody is accusing you of anything, Tim,” she answered carefully. “I need to get a solid timeline, to rule out as many people as I can. So we’re free to focus on the people who can’t account for themselves.”

  He watched her a moment before he cocked his head. “Well, I said good night to the Cabbots. I went to the gas station near my house where I filled up my car and picked up a bottle of water. I think I still have the receipt in my wallet. The church reimburses me for car expenses. Which is a good thing, given how much gas that big, black monster guzzles.”

  Marilyn waited.

  He rustled in his back pocket and pulled out a worn brown leather billfold. He let it fall open and grabbed a wrinkled paper sticking out from the top.

  After a cursory glance at the slip, he handed it over. “Looks like it was eleven thirtysix last night.”

  Marilyn took the receipt. “And after that?”

  He shrugged. “I went home and hit the hay.”

  “I do have an awfully nosy neighbor, Mrs. Willis. She can likely tell you whether she saw my car in the driveway.” He paused and when she didn’t dismiss the matter out of hand, challenged, “Would you like her number?”

  “For formality’s sake, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. We depend on our police.” He rattled off the name and phone number.

  “Thank you.” Marilyn wiped a drop of sweat from her brow, glancing down at her notebook, as if she was searching for questions. “One last thing. Mr. and Mrs. Cabbot.

  Are they—”

  “They are impeccable. Mind you, Owen does have his demons, but he and Alicia are truly fine people and wonderful parents.” He pursed his lips into a grim line and glared at her. “They would no more hurt those kids than, well, rob a bank or something. If that’s what you’re thinking, just get that out of your head right now.”

  Marilyn kept her face impassive. “Thank you so much for your time.”

  “You have my number should you think of anything else,” he said gruffly, as if he’d been sorely offended and wouldn’t soon forget her impertinence. She followed him into the house and rounded up her deputies.

  Pippa spoke first. “I compiled a list.”

  “Good,” Marilyn said. “Let’s go outside.”

  After they shared notes and divided the names, Marilyn returned to her black car oven and read over Pippa’s list. The first name was a familiar one—James Valetti, the middle school science teacher. Pippa thought it odd that Valetti spent quite a bit of after school time with Billy. No school today, Saturday, but Pippa had located his home address.

  In a few short minutes, Marilyn pulled up in front of the squat, yellow bungalow across town. Valetti was out front washing his car, a sleek, black Jaguar. She wondered briefly how he’d paid for it on a local teacher’s salary.

  When Marilyn stepped from her unmarked sedan, he froze. Of course, he was familiar with local law enforcement vehicles. Everyone in town recognized them on sight.

  Valetti’s response raised her internal radar.

&n
bsp; “Morning, Sheriff.” His short brown hair was mussed, and he wore a dirty, greenstriped T-shirt long enough to cover the indecent shorts that barely covered his ass.

  “James, do you have a moment?”

  He nodded and set down his soapy sponge. She broke the news to him, watching his reaction with a practiced eye. His face blanched when she said Emily was dead and Billy was missing.

  “Those poor people.” He shook his head and blinked a few times. “How terrible.” “Yes,” Marilyn agreed.

  “What do you need from me?” He asked, abruptly, swiping his eyes with the back of one hand.

  Her gut said something about his reaction was off. “Well, as I understand it, you were close with Billy. Is that right?”

  “He was—is—certainly a bright child. He stays after class on Wednesdays for extra science tutoring—he’s a natural.”

  “I see.” She nodded. “Has Billy, or Emily for that matter, been acting strangely or nervous or anything at all in school?”

  “I can’t say that they did.” Valetti rolled his thumb over his bottom lip. “They’re pretty quiet kids, though. Well behaved. Better than a lot of the pampered little monsters, you know?”

  “I see.” That the two kids were well adjusted was something everyone apparently agreed upon.

  Still, his sudden tense shift when he was referring to Billy made her uneasy. “Do you assist other gifted students after school hours? Or just Billy?”

  His face blanked. “Not regularly. Billy entered a rocket exhibit. He wanted to win the contest. I was—am—helping him with his model, which was darn good, by the way. He might actually take first place.”

  A boney knee shook and his hands fidgeted. His gaze darted to her hulking black car again.

  Something wasn’t right here. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the man was acting squirrely, setting her internal radar abuzz. “We need to account for everyone between the hours of eleven last night and five this morning. Where were you during that time, James?”

  “Oh, I was at home,” he answered quickly. “I mean, here.”

  If the quiver in his voice had anything to do with Emily and Billy, she might take him out right here. “Anyone who can confirm?”