Abby knew she should probably tell Carter about the episode on the playground last night, but she didn’t much care for his attitude. Let him do his own legwork. “Sorry. I haven’t seen him.”
Carter didn’t look at all happy with her answer. “If you do see him, I’d appreciate getting a heads-up. We need to know why he’s down here. If someone, one of the families maybe, hired him as an outside consultant, we need to know that, too. The last thing we want is a loose cannon on these cases.”
Translation: Carter had ridden into town to save the day. He didn’t want some hotshot profiler stealing his thunder. He was so easy to read, Abby almost smiled. “If I see him, I’ll let you know.” To Sheriff Mooney, she said, “Is that all?”
“Let me have a word with you before you take off.” He turned to Carter. “Won’t take long.”
Carter took the hint. “I’ll wait for you outside, Sheriff.” He nodded briefly to Abby. “Sergeant Cross.”
Abby turned to Sheriff Mooney as the door closed behind the agent. “What’s this all about?”
Sheriff Mooney shrugged. “Damned if I know, but that boy sure as hell got his Jockeys all in a wad when I mentioned Sam Burke. And the feds always think we have a thing about jurisdiction.” He shook his head.
Abby sat down in the seat across from the sheriff’s desk and leaned toward him. “Agent Carter doesn’t seem to think too highly of the Investigative Support Unit, but they were instrumental in helping to capture the Atlanta child murderer. There’s been a lot of publicity on these two cases. Do you think that could be why Sam Burke is here?”
“As a hired gun, you mean?” Sheriff Mooney pulled a hand through his already unkempt hair. “I don’t know, Abby. He didn’t strike me as the mercenary type.”
Sam hadn’t struck Abby that way, either, but he had lied to them. For all she knew, he’d resigned from the FBI to become a professional profiler, a man who sold his expertise to terrified and desperate families. But it left a hollow feeling in her stomach to think so.
The image of Sam standing on the street, gazing at the playground, materialized in her mind once again. She’d once read that to be a profiler, you had to be able to suspend disgust and outrage, even in the most gruesome crimes, in order to crawl inside the perpetrator’s mind. To understand him. To even, at times, appreciate his cunning. What if that appreciation turned into something else?
Abby thought about Sam Burke’s eyes, so cold and distant. So very dark.
And a chill, like nothing she’d ever known before, coursed through her.
AUGUST IN MISSISSIPPI was hell on earth.
Sam had been in some hot places before, but nothing like this. He’d run the air conditioner full blast in his rental car all morning, but by the time he pulled into Curtis Brodie’s car dealership in downtown Eden, his cotton shirt was already sticking to his back.
He resisted the urge to take off his jacket and loosen his tie, but he’d learned a long time ago that the dark suit, white shirt and polished shoes projected a certain image, an image he hadn’t been able to shed in the month since his resignation. Even though with the passing of J. Edgar Hoover the clothing regulations had been lifted—along with the ban on drinking coffee on the job—Sam never discounted the intimidation factor of the G-man uniform.
Getting out of the car, he shaded his eyes. The sunlight was almost blinding as it bounced off the rows of windshields on the new automobiles that sat baking in the morning heat. There were no customers around that he could see, and unlike most of the car lots he’d visited in his time, no salesman came rushing out to greet him. It was as if the soaring temperature had even managed to beat back ambition and avarice. At least temporarily.
Pulling open the glass door, he stepped into the showroom. Across the lobby, two men in short sleeves and khaki trousers stood talking and drinking sodas, and Sam started toward them. The chatter halted as soon as he was spotted, and one of the men broke away to saunter over.
“Morning,” he drawled. “Interested in owning a Lincoln?” He patted the top of a dark blue Continental. “Not a finer car on the road, I can guarantee you that. And made right here in the good ol’ U.S. of A.”
“I’m not here to buy a car.” Sam took out his credentials and flashed them—just long enough for the man to see the FBI emblem and not the status.
“Alton Clark.” The salesman’s expression grew wary as he stuck out his hand and his voice lowered. “You here about Curtis’s little girl?”
“That’s right.”
Alton shook his head. He was a young man, but he had the hangdog expression of a guy who’d seen his share of bad luck. “Damn shame about Sara Beth. I still can’t believe it. Hell, this is just a lil’ ol’ hick town. Stuff like that goes on in New York and L.A., places like that. Not here in Eden.”
“From what I understand, it’s happened here twice before.”
“Yeah. That’s the scary part. My wife won’t let our two-year-old out of her sight since those little girls disappeared. Won’t even leave him with my mother. Kid’ll probably grow up warped or something, but what can you do?”
Sam heard the underlying frustration and fear in the man’s words, and he sympathized. Every time Jonathan had left the house, Sam had been racked with images from the child-murder cases he’d worked. The innocent faces. The broken bodies.
In the end, it wasn’t a monster that had taken Jonathan away, but the disease that had ravaged him had been no less brutal. Sam had been left with the same terrible question he’d seen in the eyes of all those tiny victims’ parents. Why?
“Is your boss in?” he asked brusquely, shoving the memories to the far recesses of his mind.
“Curtis? Naw. He took off a little while ago. Don’t know where he was going, but he was all dressed up, like maybe he had a meeting or something.” Alton frowned almost imperceptibly. “You might think he’d be out looking for his little girl, but I guess he’s got more important business to take care of.”
“More important than his daughter’s disappearance?”
Alton looked uncomfortable, as if he’d said too much already. He glanced down a hall lined with glassed-in cubicles before taking a few steps away. He nodded for Sam to follow him. Across the room, the second salesman watched them with avid curiosity. “Word around this place is that Curtis has got himself some pretty heavy-duty financial trouble.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know the details, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want to bad-mouth my boss. Curtis has his faults, but he’s been decent enough to me.” Alton paused for a long moment, as if searching his conscience. His gaze finally met Sam’s. “But it bothers me that he’s not out there. You know?”
Sam said noncommittally, “Different people react to stress in different ways.”
“I guess.” But Alton didn’t look convinced. “You got kids, Agent Burke?”
“No.” Sam felt a pang of guilt, as he always did, for not acknowledging his son. But he didn’t want the questions. The pitying looks. He’d never talked about Jonathan’s death with anyone, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“Then maybe you can’t understand this,” Alton was saying. “But if it was my kid missing, I wouldn’t care if the IRS, or the whole damn government for that matter, was breathing down my neck. I’d be out there looking for my boy, and I wouldn’t give up until I found him. I wouldn’t care how long it took.”
His words touched a long-buried memory inside Sam. He remembered sitting in Jonathan’s hospital room one afternoon toward the end. The sunshine streaming in through the window had highlighted the pallor of the boy’s skin, the frailty of his nine-year-old body. He was bald by this time, his lashes and brows gone from the treatments. They both knew he was dying, and Sam didn’t try to pretend otherwise. They’d talked about it quite a bit, but Norah would have no part of it. Sam didn’t blame her. It was a hard thing, letting go.
“When you get to heaven some day, will you come and look for me?” Jonathan had
asked.
Sam had to swallow hard before answering. “You know I will.”
“But heaven’s a big place, isn’t it, Dad?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll keep looking until I find you. I don’t care how long it takes.”
The memory faded, and Sam pushed the remnants of pain away with practiced ease. He couldn’t bring Jonathan back, but two little girls were missing who might still be saved. That was what he had to focus on. That was all he could afford to focus on.
Alton must have taken Sam’s silence for impatience because he said quickly, “Hey, I didn’t mean to bend your ear like that. You got better things to do than stand around here listening to me jaw. Luanne, Curtis’s secretary, might be able to tell you where he was headed.” He pointed toward the hallway. “It’s the office at the far end there.”
“Thanks.”
“Agent Burke?”
Sam had started to walk away, but he glanced back over his shoulder.
Tears glittered in the man’s eyes as he said softly, “I hope you find those little girls.”
Sam nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
“Promise me you won’t stop looking, Dad.”
“I promise, son. I’ll never stop looking.”
UNLIKE THE TINY compartments used by the salesmen, the secretary’s office was plush and spacious, suggesting that Curtis Brodie’s private domain might border on opulent. Leather furniture. Hardwood floors. Fresh flowers. Sam took it all in with a glance, but his gaze lingered on the woman seated behind a large glass-block desk.
She was around thirty, attractive in a fine-tuned sort of way and stylishly attired in a light blue suit that had Designer Label written all over it.
Fancy duds for a secretary, Sam thought. But then, according to Abby, Luanne Plimpton was more than just Curtis Brodie’s assistant.
“Yes? May I help you?” she asked impatiently.
“Luanne Plimpton?”
“And you are?”
He walked across the room and flashed his creds. “Sam Burke. FBI.”
Her gaze didn’t waver, her expression didn’t so much as flicker, but Sam had the impression that it was a struggle for her to remain so placid. Before she had time to scrutinize his ID, he put it away.
“I’m sorry, but Curtis isn’t in at the moment,”she said.
“Actually, I’d like a few moments with you, Miss Plimpton. May I?” He sat down in the chair across from her desk before she could protest.
“I’ve already talked to the police,” she said with a scowl. “I spoke at length with Sheriff Mooney and What’s-her-name. That woman deputy.”
“Sergeant Cross?” An image of Abby immediately formed in Sam’s head. Not that he had to work to conjure it. She hadn’t been out of his mind for more than five minutes since he’d met her, and Sam didn’t like being preoccupied with anything other than a case. Except for when his son was sick, he’d never let personal feelings interfere with his work—which was why he was divorced.
“Yes,” Luanne Plimpton was saying. “Abby Cross. She’s the one.”
Something in her tone suggested that she and Abby hadn’t exactly hit it off. Sam could see why. The two were polar opposites. Luanne Plimpton was the kind of woman who wouldn’t set foot out of her house until she’d spent at least an hour and a half in front of a full-length mirror. The kind who probably drove all the way to Memphis or Jackson to do her shopping and had a standing appointment at the nail salon and beauty shop.
Sam knew because Norah had been just as fastidious about her appearance. There wasn’t a thing wrong with that, but he couldn’t help remembering the careless way Abby had pushed back her hair yesterday in the heat, or the faded T-shirt and jeans she’d worn to search for the two missing children.
It had been obvious that her appearance was the last thing on her mind, and yet Sam couldn’t remember when he’d found a woman so attractive.
He glanced at Luanne Plimpton, finding her carefully cultivated facade not in the least appealing. “How long have you been working for Curtis Brodie?”
She shrugged. “A little more than two months.”
“How long have you been seeing each other socially?” When she didn’t answer, Sam cocked a brow. “A little over two months?”
She gave him a cold appraisal. “I don’t see where my personal life is any of your business.”
“Anything or anyone connected to those missing children is my business.” He was making it his business.
“All right,” she said grudgingly. “Curtis and I have been seeing each other for a while. What of it?”
“Since before you moved to Eden?”
“My, my. You’ve been in town how long? And you’re already up to speed on the latest gossip.” She folded her arms on the desk and gazed at him dispassionately. “Look, there were problems in that marriage before I ever met Curtis. I’m not some home-wrecker, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Are you and Curtis living together?”
“No. Who told you we were? His wife? Sounds like something she’d do,” Luanne said bitterly. “I can’t believe that woman.”
Sam let that one pass. “Why did Curtis send you to pick up Sara Beth at school the day she disappeared? Why didn’t he go himself?”
“He was busy, tied up in a meeting or something. It was no big deal. I’d picked her up before.”
“You didn’t notice anything unusual that day? No strange cars parked near the school? No strangers lurking about? You didn’t see anyone follow you to the drugstore?”
“Of course not. If I had, I would have reported it immediately.” A muscle had begun to twitch very faintly at the corner of her left eye.
“Were there any other customers in the drugstore that day?”
“None that I saw.”
“You didn’t hear anyone else come in after you were inside? There’s a bell over the door, isn’t there?”
She shrugged. “If there is, I didn’t hear it. And neither did Gerald Ferguson.”
“Gerald Ferguson is over sixty,” Sam pointed out, remembering the details Abby had given him. “His hearing may not be what it used be.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. As I said, I didn’t see anyone in the store when I got there, and I didn’t hear anyone come in afterward. I didn’t see any strange cars in the parking lot, no weirdoes hanging around the school or the drugstore, and if I was followed, I didn’t know it. I didn’t see anything.” She looked almost smug after her long recitation, as if she dared him to find a flaw in her story.
Sam decided to change tactics. “Would you say you’ve spent a lot of time with Sara Beth during the last two months?”
“Some.”
“Does she like you?”
She seemed surprised by the question, and for a split second, Sam actually thought he’d ruffled her. But Luanne Plimpton was a pro. She gathered her poise and smiled at him coolly. “You would have to ask Sara Beth that question. But, of course, that’s impossible, isn’t it?”
“For now,” Sam agreed, but inside he was seething. The woman was cold. She showed not the slightest concern for the child’s welfare, not the least bit of fear that Sara Beth might never return.
He stared at Luanne Plimpton for a long moment, until she finally glanced away. Her capitulation seemed to annoy her. “If I were you, I’d be talking to Sara Beth’s mother. Parents are always the number-one suspects in cases like these, from what I’ve read. And I can tell you from experience that Karen Brodie is a real head case. She’s the reason Sara Beth was such a little sh…brat.”
“What do you mean?”
“Karen has some real problems. Bad problems. She can be violent, if you want to know the truth. The way Sara Beth treated me…” Luanne trailed off, shrugging. “She was only emulating her mother.”
“Are you suggesting Karen Brodie is behind Sara Beth’s disappearance?”
Luanne pushed back her chair and stood. It was a tactic Sam had witnessed when he’d interviewed
criminals in prison. The subject would stand, or in some cases even sit on the back of his chair, in order to elevate himself above his interrogator. It was a power thing. “I’m suggesting the woman is spiteful enough that I wouldn’t put anything past her.”
“Has she ever threatened you?”
“Not directly, no. But she’s threatened Curtis.”
“In what way?”
“She threatened to take Sara Beth away for one thing.”
“You heard her say that?”
The woman lifted her chin. The tic at her left eye became even more pronounced. “I didn’t have to hear her. I know what she’s like. Curtis has told me things you wouldn’t believe, including the fact that she tried to kill him once. With a butcher knife. Did you know about that?” Before Sam could answer, Luanne smiled. “I thought not. You’ve heard only Karen’s side of things, haven’t you? She’s not the Goody Two-shoes people around here seem to think.”
“Has she ever taken Sara Beth away without Curtis knowing?”
“Not that I know of.” But Luanne looked pained having to admit it. “Look, if you want to know about Karen Brodie, I suggest you go talk to her yourself. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Just one last question.” Sam rose, putting himself once again in the position of power. “Why did you refer to Sara Beth in the past tense?”
Chapter Six
As it turned out, it was almost noon before Abby got away from the station. The amount of data coming in on both cases was staggering, and she’d taken the time to sort through it all. She didn’t want any piece of information, no matter how trivial, to go unnoticed. No lead to go unchecked. She’d thought from the very beginning that Sara Beth’s abduction was unrelated to the other two, except in the timing, and her gut feeling hadn’t changed in that regard.
Now, as she drove toward Enchanted Hills, a posh subdivision on the north side of town near the lake, Abby tried to separate the two disappearances in her mind and concentrate on the Brodie case.
As in all child abductions, the parents were initially the chief suspects. Nine times out of ten, when a child disappeared, one or both of the parents was responsible. Abby had spoken to Karen Brodie twice before, once with Sheriff Mooney and once alone, and both times she’d come away from the interview with an unsettled feeling.
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