Into Thin Air

by Karen Leabo

  He had a hard time believing this delicate little creature could be army-boot tough.

  If she was so hot, why was she wasting her time in Missing Persons? he wondered. Her transfer had perplexed a lot of people she’d worked with, but she’d never offered an explanation.

  “So Marcy Phelps wasn’t murdered, but she might as well have been,” Caro said when she finished reading the report.

  “The way I see it, whoever delivered Marcy’s baby panicked when Marcy died. They dragged the body to the dam and pitched it, hoping to make her death look like suicide.”

  “And the baby?” she asked, her clipped tones reminding him of a teacher who expects to get a wrong answer.

  “An evidence team is combing the area for signs of another body, but I don’t think they’ll find it. According to the ME, Marcy was full term or close to it when she delivered. Someone out there has her baby.”

  “Which means others might have seen it or heard it. The sudden appearance of a motherless newborn is kind of hard to explain. Are you bringing in the media?”

  He felt even more like he needed to pass some sort of test with Caro, and he was glad he had the right answer handy. “I’ve already got the Public Information office working on it. They don’t think we’ll have much trouble getting the coverage we need. There are a host of little towns around Cedar Creek—Trinidad, Seven Points, Gun Barrel City—”

  “Egad, sounds like something out of a bad Louis L’Amour novel.”

  “All of ‘em have little weekly papers just dying to print up any scrap we’ll toss ‘em about the Phelps case. I guess they don’t see much action out there.”

  “I’d gladly give them some of ours.” Caro glanced at her watch. “Let’s go over the case. I haven’t got much time, but then, there’s not that much to go over.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice it was a pretty slim file you handed over.” Austin hadn’t intended the comment as a criticism, not consciously, but Caro bristled like a porcupine.

  She folded her arms across her breasts in a classically defensive posture. “There just weren’t any leads. I’ve seen people vanish into thin air before, but this one takes the cake. Of course,” she added, “now that we know Marcy was pregnant before she disappeared, that might shed a new light on things.”

  Austin leaned back in his chair, propped his feet on his desk and flipped open the file. Now that he had Caro on the defensive, he intended to press his advantage. It was his turn to ask questions. “Let’s start with the parents. He’s an electrician and she’s a teacher, but what’re they really like?”

  Caro pursed her lips as she thought for a moment. “Nice, mild-mannered, middle-class folks. They’ve been in denial from the beginning, of course. Even after Marcy had been missing a couple of months, they still maintained it was all some kind of mistake, that their darling baby had just forgotten to tell them where she’d gone. When I told them she was dead, they insisted it had to be a mistake. They insisted on seeing her body....” Caro shook her head. “Have you questioned them?”

  “They’re coming in later this afternoon.”

  “Don’t be too hard on them,” Caro cautioned.

  “I’ll be hard on them if it serves my purpose.” He hadn’t meant to snap at her, and he was on the verge of offering an apology, but she appeared so totally unfazed by his sharp words that he let it pass. “It says here that they told you Marcy didn’t date, that she wasn’t interested in boys yet and they weren’t much interested in her.”

  Caro unfolded her arms and relaxed a bit as she became engrossed in the details of the case. “I believed them at the time. Her room was a little girl’s room, with lots of ruffles and stuffed animals. She still read young-adult romances and kids’ magazines, and she wore her hair in pigtails. I don’t think she even wore makeup.”

  “Doesn’t sound like the type to have an illicit affair behind her parents’ backs.”

  “Unless her parents so repressed her that she couldn’t even grow up in front of them. But from what her friends said, she really was somewhat immature. She was interested in boys, but still in that giggly, long-distance sort of way. She was a high school freshman and had yet to go on her first official date. Although...” Caro frowned. “Maybe she was raped.”

  “That could be the answer,” Austin said, wishing he’d thought of it first.

  “Yet another horrifying possibility those poor parents may have to face. I can see it, though. Maybe Marcy was too ashamed to tell anyone, and when she turned up pregnant she was afraid no one would believe her.”

  “Enough to make anyone want to run away,” Austin said. “If she did have a secret like that, who do you think she’d tell?”

  Caro thought for a moment. “There was a teacher she idolized, a Mrs....”

  Austin referred to the notes. “Blaylock?”

  “Yeah, that’s it, Melanie Blaylock. I talked to her. The notes should be in there somewhere. Other than to say Marcy had seemed a little more withdrawn lately, she couldn’t shed any light on the matter.”

  “What about her sisters? Would she have told them?”

  “Mmm, doubtful. The younger one, Debby, is real bright, but she’s only ten. I doubt Marcy would have confided in her. And the older one was away at college. I didn’t like her, by the way. What was her name?”

  “Mindy. Why didn’t you like her?”

  Caro rolled her eyes. “She was very superior in the way only college freshmen can be. Although she’d seen Marcy exactly once since Christmas, she claimed to be an expert on her little sister’s personality—knew everything about her. She was firmly convinced that Marcy had been kidnapped, and she kept smarting off that the police weren’t doing nearly enough.”

  “Ah, so she cast aspersions on your abilities as an investigator. No wonder she pissed you off.”

  “It wasn’t anything personal,” Caro huffed.

  Austin hid a smile as he made a note beside Mindy Phelps’s name. He would enjoy questioning her. She might smart off to Caro, who despite her reputation didn’t appear very intimidating to him, but Mindy might feel differently when approached by a six-foot-two man with a badge and an attitude. Yeah, he knew just how to play that one.

  As for Caro...he wasn’t sure how to play her. She had a strange effect on him, and it wasn’t just sexual awareness—although that was part of it. Maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in years, his mere identity as a police detective wasn’t enough to impress a woman.

  Did he really want to impress Caro? That was ridiculous, he told himself. Anyway, the Phelps case was his now, and she would be returning upstairs. They wouldn’t have much call to see each other. It was probably better that way.

  * * *

  Virginia Dreyfus hated her job. She hated her office, with its cheap furnishings and dusty imitation silk ferns. She hated her boss, Dr. Holier-Than-Thou Thurman Wayrick, who was amassing a fortune off other people’s misery.

  She didn’t even like her clients. Stupid, ignorant women. Most of them didn’t have the sense to get in out of the rain—or to use a condom. She faced them day after day, week after week, one after another, one face blending into the next. She was so tired of smiling and reassuring and trying to shore up their self-esteem, when all the while she wanted to shake them until their pea-sized brains rattled inside their skulls.

  Most of all she hated being told what to do by people who thought they were better than she was—like the snotty detective who was now seated in her office, waving her subpoena and passing judgment as she asked her pseudo-polite questions.

  The telephone message Virginia had received that morning from Corporal Carolyn Triece had given her a case of the jitters. Immediately she’d thought the police had somehow connected her with that Phelps girl, whose body had been identified yesterday. Virginia had delayed returning the call, arguing with herself as to how much of the truth she wanted to reveal. She didn’t mind lying, but only if she was sure she wouldn’t get caught.

  The
n the impatient Triece woman had shown up in person.

  Thank God the detective’s questions were about something else entirely. Amanda Arkin had disappeared. The fact that the police had connected Amanda to the clinic was unfortunate, inconvenient, but not a disaster.

  “I want to cooperate as fully as possible,” Virginia said carefully as she flicked the dust off the silk plant that sat on her desk. “But I feel obligated to protect Amanda’s privacy. It goes against everything inside me to violate her confidentiality.”

  “This subpoena supersedes Amanda’s right to privacy,” Triece said with an impatient sigh. “Anyway, her privacy won’t do her much good if she’s dead. Now, there are only two things specifically spelled out in this document that I need from you. One is Amanda’s state of mind. If in your expert opinion she’s suicidal, I need to know. I told that girl’s father that I thought she’d run off simply because she needed some time alone to think. Do you believe I’m right? If not, tell me now. If Amanda is deeply disturbed, I’ll upgrade this case to critical.”

  Virginia had a good idea where Amanda was. Odell and her propaganda had apparently found a receptive target in the confused, pregnant girl, who was probably now safely tucked away in the Good Shepherd Maternity Home. But of course, Virginia couldn’t tell Triece.

  “Amanda’s father said she was handling her situation very calmly, very rationally,” Triece offered when Virginia remained silent. “Was he right?”

  Virginia assumed a deliberately patronizing manner. “I’m sure that’s what he would like to believe. Amanda isn’t suicidal, nor deeply disturbed, but she’s far from calm and rational. She’s facing a very tough decision. Her strict Catholic upbringing taught her that abortion is a sin, and yet she feels that to have a baby now would ruin her life. This inner conflict has produced a great deal of anxiety. In my opinion, your theory that she left home to think things through—away from her well-meaning father—is quite consistent with her mental state. I would be very surprised if she doesn’t turn up or call in the next day or two.”

  Corporal Triece visibly relaxed, probably relieved to discover that her own instincts were on the mark.

  Virginia felt only a twinge of guilt that she hadn’t told Triece the whole truth. In her “expert opinion,” she thought Amanda Arkin was one of the most rational, intelligent young women to have come through this office. She wouldn’t have even given Amanda’s name to Odell, because Amanda didn’t fit the profile Odell had requested, but Virginia really needed some extra cash.

  It surprised the hell out of her that Amanda had fallen for Odell’s line of bull, but that must be what had happened. Now all Virginia wanted was to give the detective what she was looking for and send her on her way.

  “How was Amanda’s relationship with her father?” Triece asked.

  “I don’t believe that information was spelled out in the subpoena,” Virginia said.

  Triece snorted impatiently. “If you have any concern for Amanda at all, you’ll help me find her.”

  “And have her sue the pants off me for violating her privacy? No, thanks.” She struggled to soften her stance. “Look, I hope you find Amanda, I really do. And if there were anything else remarkable about her case, I would tell you. But there isn’t, and I don’t see the benefit in hashing over bits and pieces of confidential counseling sessions.”

  Triece gave another frustrated sigh. “Just one more thing, and this one is spelled out in the subpoena. I need the names of any friends or acquaintances she mentioned. Maybe you can tell me if she talked excessively about any of them.”

  Virginia pursed her lips, then grudgingly read off several names from her shorthand notes—Amanda’s college roommate, her best friend from high school and, of course, Scott. “Amanda didn’t talk excessively about anyone except a boy named Scott, no last name—”

  “Scott Humphrey, the baby’s father,” Triece supplied. “It was no secret. Everybody who knew she was pregnant knew who the father was.”

  “I can’t recall that she spoke of anyone else,” Virginia said coolly.

  Triece responded with a voice like ice. “If your memory improves, please call me. Amanda’s father is frantic.” She dropped a business card onto Virginia’s desk as she stood and put away her notepad and pen. Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “He’s offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward.”

  “Indeed.”

  Virginia remained impassive until Triece had left. Then she let out a long, low whistle. Ten thousand bucks. Damn. It was almost enough to make her blow the whistle on Odell. But that amount of money would hardly last long if Virginia were unemployed, and she had no doubts that, if she turned Odell in, the vindictive old woman would return the favor.

  Unfortunately, Virginia’s employment opportunities were limited. Not many institutions wanted a psychologist who’d been fired with cause from her last position, much less her last two.

  She’d been lucky to find this job after the incident at Sun Meadows. Thank God Dr. Wayrick was none too picky about her qualifications or her background. And there was certainly no danger that she would repeat her last mistake—romantic involvement with a client—at this place. Dr. Wayrick paid her slave wages, less than half of what she’d made at the swanky rehab clinic. Could anyone blame her for snapping up the deal Odell had offered her?

  Virginia didn’t like Odell. She was a pompous, self-effacing pro-life crusader who would stoop to anything to prevent an abortion. But she had money, and she paid Virginia fifty dollars per name and address of any girl considering terminating her pregnancy. When Odell succeeded in luring one of those girls to the Good Shepherd Maternity Home, Virginia received a kickback of a thousand bucks—in cash, tax-free. So far she had made over two thousand dollars. It wasn’t a fortune, but it helped pay the bills.

  The scheme had seemed a fairly innocent way of earning a few bucks and undercutting Wayrick’s profits. Of course it was a breach of ethics to divulge her clients’ names to anyone, but only a small breach. What was the harm in submitting those mixed-up girls to a bit of well-meaning pro-life propaganda?

  But perhaps there were ramifications Virginia hadn’t considered—like what had happened to the Phelps girl. Virginia tended to forget her clients’ names as quickly as she learned them, but for some reason she remembered Marcy Phelps, a chubby blonde who’d looked as if she ought to be still playing with dolls, not making babies. Since Marcy had been frightened at the prospect of undergoing an abortion, she’d been an ideal candidate for Odell.

  Now she was dead.

  Virginia couldn’t help wondering...if Marcy had had the abortion, would she still be alive? Had pregnancy and birth ruined her life so thoroughly that she’d jumped to her death? The radio newscaster hadn’t specified suicide, but that’s what Virginia theorized.

  The news of Marcy’s death had shaken Virginia up more than it should have. Lately, she’d started toying with the idea of telling Odell their deal was off. Virginia might not be particularly fond of her clients, but she didn’t wish them dead.

  The visit from that Triece woman had cemented Virginia’s decision to disassociate herself from Odell.

  She had been supplying Odell with names for more than eight months now with never a ripple of trouble. Now, suddenly, two girls had come back to haunt Virginia within a twenty-four-hour period.

  She had about fifteen minutes before her next appointment. She closed and locked her office door, then sat down, took a deep breath and picked up the phone. Apparently Odell didn’t live in Dallas, but she had a local answering service. Virginia dialed the number from memory.

  Later that afternoon, Odell returned the call. “What is it, Virginia?” she demanded without preamble.

  “My, you’re cheerful today.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. These girls can bleed the good will right out of a body, sometimes. Do you have another name for me? The home’s pretty near full, but I can always make room for one more in the name of the Lord.”

  “No more n
ames. I’m done with that.”

  A surprised silence followed Virginia’s declaration. “I don’t understand. Surely you don’t think you’re being underpaid for your service.”

  “It’s not the money. It’s my nerves. A police detective is nosing around the clinic. I thought I was going to dissolve in a pool of sweat before she finished with me.”

  “Police...” Odell scarcely breathed the word. “What did they want?”

  “The Arkin girl. She’s missing.”

  “Amanda Arkin?”

  “She’s with you, isn’t she?” Virginia demanded, surprisingly anxious to know whether the girl was safe.

  “Heavens, no. She wouldn’t give me the time of day. I believe she’s quite determined to compound her sin by murdering her baby. Why did the police come to you?”

  Virginia tamped down her disappointment. She’d already started mentally spending that thousand dollars. “The last anyone saw of Amanda, she was on her way to an appointment with me, and her father knew about it. She sure picked a lousy time to go haywire and split. You’re just lucky I didn’t mention your name. I was sure Amanda was at the home.”

  Odell gasped. “Are you crazy? Don’t even think of telling anyone about our arrangement. You’ll get your license yanked for sure.”

  “Damn it, Odell, I wouldn’t really do that. I’m not stupid.”

  “Then just what did you tell them?”

  “I said that Amanda was a very troubled girl, and that I wasn’t surprised she’d run off. That’s not exactly the truth—”

  “Good, that’s good,” Odell said in soothing tones, apparently uninterested in the truth. “Maybe I got to her after all. I’m glad to hear she hasn’t gone through with the abortion, at any rate. Now, what’s this about you not giving me any more names?” She spoke as if she were scolding a puppy.

  “I won’t. I mean it, Odell. I don’t like lying to the police. And then there was the Phelps girl. I assume you know about that case.”

  Odell clicked her tongue. “Yes, I sure do. It near broke my heart when I read about it in this morning’s paper. She was a lost soul, that one. Never did fit in here, although I tried hard to help her. She only stayed with me a couple of months, and then she ran off.”