by Karen Leabo
In a matter of minutes she had the boy on the line and had convinced him that if he didn’t return home, the police would drag him back, as they had the two previous times. She also reminded him that in another four months he would be seventeen—an adult in Texas—and he could go wherever he damn well pleased. She strongly advised him to bide his time. She didn’t want his file to cross her desk again.
She was about to call the parents and let them know their darling was safe when a shadow fell across her desk. She looked up to find Russell Arkin standing there, looking a little worse for wear. He was in casual clothes today, a sweatshirt and gray double-knit slacks. His hair was barely combed, if at all, and he obviously hadn’t shaved.
The shadow of beard on his slightly puffy face looked singularly out of place on a man whom Caro guessed was usually well groomed. His pale blue eyes were filled with accusation.
“Mr. Arkin,” she said, rising slowly and offering him her hand.
He declined to take it. “Why aren’t you out looking for my daughter?”
“I have been,” she said just a shade too defensively. She’d been knocking herself out over this case. She didn’t need to be second-guessed by some guy who thought he knew more about investigation techniques than she did, simply because he was male. “Those fliers you put up have generated dozens of phone calls, most of them from crackpots wanting to cash in on the ten thousand. Unfortunately, all those bogus leads have been wasting valuable time.”
Her words had the desired effect. The fire of accusation receded from Russell Arkin’s eyes. He searched for a chair, found one several feet away, pulled it close to Caro’s desk and made himself at home in it.
Caro hoped he wasn’t planning to take root there.
“Why don’t you tell me what progress you have made?” he asked.
Caro expelled a long breath through pursed lips, trying to decide how much she owed him. She felt sorry for the man, she really did. He was obviously worried to the point of exhaustion about his daughter. But that didn’t mean he was privy to the details of her investigation.
As if there were any details.
All at once, she decided that if she acted like a know-it-all and withheld information from Arkin, it would only be because she was insecure about her lack of progress. And anyway, it was in her best interest to cultivate Arkin’s cooperation. He might yet prove helpful.
“How long has it been since you ate something?” she asked.
He blinked owlishly at her, obviously taken aback by the question.
She stood abruptly. “The barbecue place across the street is open on Christmas,” she said. “It’s not turkey and dressing, but it’s good. I’ll give you an update while we eat lunch.” She put her beeper on her belt, grabbed the quilted jacket off the back of her chair and headed for the exit, giving him no choice but to follow.
Harwood Street was empty of traffic. The only people moving around were a wino, staggering down the sidewalk with his paper bag clutched to his chest, and the parking lot attendant, who paced outside his booth, stamping off the cold. The restaurant, however, was teeming with business, mostly the unfortunate city employees from the old Police and Courts Building across the street who had to work on Christmas.
“This is the only place I know of where you can get a snout sandwich,” Caro commented as she and Arkin waited at the counter.
Arkin made a face. “Does it have nostrils?”
“Uh-huh. Smells good, too.”
He tried, and failed, to hide a small smile.
Good, Caro thought. He must not be in too bad a shape if he could find humor in her crummy jokes. She ordered them both a large combo sandwich, fries and iced tea, then paid for it all before he could even come up with his wallet. She expected that under normal circumstances he wouldn’t stand for that. There was just enough of the macho male in him to want to pay for a lady’s lunch, even when their respective gender roles had nothing to do with this outing. But his overriding anxiety about his daughter had seemingly numbed him to the point that he just didn’t care about anything else.
As soon as they were seated, Caro jumped into her explanations. “The fact of the matter, Mr. Arkin, is that at this point I’m simply waiting for a break. The department has issued a local BOLO—Be on the Lookout—for Amanda. That means every Dallas patrol officer has access to descriptions of both her and the car. The car is usually our best lead in a case like this.
“I’ve talked to all of Amanda’s friends, including several from her dormitory at North Texas, her high school friends, your neighbors and the people at the family planning clinic. Of those who knew she was pregnant, most agree with you—that she was handling the problem well, and that you weren’t putting a lot of pressure on her.”
Arkin’s french fry halted midway to his mouth. “Most? Who said differently?”
Caro couldn’t legally reveal what Virginia Dreyfus had said. The subpoena had given Caro authority to see the information, not spread it around. “I can’t answer that,” Caro said smoothly. “All I can tell you is that I still feel it’s a strong possibility Amanda disappeared of her own accord.”
She could actually see Arkin’s whole body stiffen with anger. “I hope to hell you’re right. But in my gut I know you’re dead wrong.”
Caro didn’t appreciate his choice of words. She abruptly changed the subject. “The only person I haven’t been able to question is Scott Humphrey. His family’s skiing vacation seems rather too convenient, don’t you think? I thought you said he was distraught over Amanda’s disappearance.”
“He was. He is. But...well, his parents don’t know about Amanda being pregnant. He figured if he tried to opt out of the family vacation, his folks would want to know why and then everything would hit the fan.”
“And what a shame that would be. Would Scotty have his allowance taken away? Maybe that fancy car he drives?” Although Caro hadn’t been able to talk to Scott directly, Amanda’s friends had plenty to say about him. He was in premed at North Texas, training to be a doctor like his old man. And he had money and social connections out the wazoo.
“You can joke if you want, but I frankly don’t blame the kid. The Humphreys aren’t easy people. Sure, they provide Scott with a lot of material things, but they put tremendous pressure on him as well. I can’t even predict how they would react if they found out Scott had fathered a child, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.”
This shed a new light on things. All along, Caro had been operating on the premise that Amanda wanted an abortion, and her father, as well as her Catholic background, was pressuring her in the other direction. But what if Amanda wanted to have the child and her boyfriend had pressured her to terminate the pregnancy?
“What did Scott want Amanda to do?” she asked Arkin.
“He said the decision was hers to make.”
“But what did he want? He must have had an opinion.”
Arkin remained silent a long time before answering. “He never said as much, but I think he was hoping she would have the abortion. But Scott’s a good kid. Even after all that’s happened, I hope he and Amanda stay together. He’s the kind of boy I always hoped she would marry. And I can’t imagine, in my wildest dreams, that he would lean on her or argue with her about this pregnancy. Above all, he wanted what was best for Amanda. And I think if she’d wanted to marry him and have the baby, he would have done it and made the best of it.”
Or was that just more wishful thinking on Daddy’s part? Caro wondered. Then another thought occurred to her. “Could Amanda have gone with the Humphreys to Colorado?”
“Not a chance in hell,” Arkin said with absolute certainty. “Scott’s parents made life miserable for Amanda whenever she was around them. They wouldn’t have tolerated her on their family trip, and she certainly wouldn’t have willingly submitted herself to their put-downs. Besides, if she’d wanted to go to Colorado, I wouldn’t have objected and she knows that. She would have told me she was going.”
Another
scenario occurred to Caro, although she didn’t voice it aloud. Suppose Scott had opted out of the vacation by faking illness or something like that? Coughing and sneezing, he would have urged his parents to go on to Colorado and enjoy themselves. The moment the coast was clear, he could have rendezvoused with Amanda, and the two of them might be, even now, honeymooning in Vegas.
Or, paralyzed with fear over the prospect of seeing his career plans derailed because of this unplanned pregnancy, he’d done away with Amanda. Given his own disappearance, Scott’s involvement seemed more likely with every passing hour. Caro wished she had the manpower and the clout to call all the airlines and track down the Humphreys.
She was glad to see Arkin doing justice to his sandwich. He finished the last bite, then took several gulps of sweetened tea.
“You want another?” she asked.
“No, thanks. My stomach isn’t sure what to do with the first one. I guess I haven’t really eaten in a couple of days.”
“I didn’t figure you had.”
“Corporal Triece...do I have to call you that? It seems so formal.”
“My first name is Carolyn, Caro for short.” Normally she didn’t invite that kind of intimacy. With her diminutive stature and little-girl face, she had enough trouble maintaining an authoritative image. But he was right; titles and last names seemed silly when they were sitting here in Dave’s Dive sharing a Christmas dinner of barbecue sandwiches.
He nodded. “I’m Russ. I was about to ask you—”
Whatever his burning question, Caro’s beeper interrupted it. She silenced it with a jab of her finger and glanced toward the pay phone, over which an elderly woman in a pseudo leopard-skin coat had firm control. She’d been standing there talking for at least fifteen minutes.
Arkin—Russ, Caro reminded herself—watched her anxiously. “Do you think it could be something about Amanda?”
“I have six other cases besides your daughter’s,” she reminded him. But in her gut, she knew her sergeant wouldn’t beep her during her lunch break unless something major had come down.
Her own sandwich was only half finished. With regret she left it behind, shrugging into her jacket as she headed for the door. Russ was right behind her.
“I’ll contact you if I learn anything new with Amanda’s case,” she said as she shouldered the door open, meeting a blast of cold air.
He didn’t take the hint, and instead followed her like a bird dog on the scent. Damn it, if this was about Amanda, she didn’t want her father to hear unpleasant news just blurted out. She would much prefer to synthesize any information, filter it, dose it out to him in amounts he could manage. But he insisted on following her up to the third floor.
Sergeant Nona Quayar, Caro’s immediate supervisor, was waiting for her. “Corporal Greene in Auto Theft has some information for you,” she said, her gaze darting from Caro to Arkin and back. The crease of worry between Nona’s eyebrows told Caro more than words could have.
Her call to Dirk Greene only confirmed her suspicions. “Whatcha got for me?” she asked him in a deceptively casual voice.
“The Arkin girl’s car has been found. Couple of fourteen-year-olds were joyriding just outside of Taryton and smashed it into a telephone pole. Authorities there ran a registration on it, traced it to the girl’s father and tried to notify him. But when they got some weird message on his answering machine, they decided to check here to see if the car had recently been reported stolen. I remembered seeing the memo on it.”
“Where did the boys find the car?”
“They say they found it abandoned down by the river with the keys in it.”
Caro paused to blow her nose and collect her thoughts. It was essential that everything get handled just right. “Any sign of Amanda?” she asked automatically. Her words caused Arkin’s complexion to visibly pale, but she couldn’t take time out to worry about his sensibilities. She’d told him to leave, after all.
“One of the boys isn’t very cooperative, but the other says they saw who abandoned the car. There was no clothing found in the car, no obvious bloodstains or other signs of struggle.”
“Where’s the car now?” she asked.
“At the Taryton police’s impound lot.”
“I’ll have it towed here,” she said, thinking out loud. “I want it gone over with a microscope, and the evidence guys can do a better job here than there. I also want to question those kids.” Her mind raced. To question the joyriders meant a trip to Taryton.
Well, a nice long drive would get her out of the office, anyway. She took down all the pertinent information from Greene and thanked him for his alert response. As she hung up, she saw Quayar scowling at her from across the room.
Caro already knew what her supervisor would say: Turn the case over to CAPERS. Amanda had been missing for four days. With the car recovered and no sign of its owner, there was sufficient evidence to indicate foul play.
Caro made a beeline for Nona’s desk. “I’d like to keep the Arkin case for one more day,” she said without preamble. “If I transfer it to CAPERS now, the afternoon will be wasted while the new lead detective plays catch-up, and there’s a lot to be done.”
Nona’s scowl deepened.
“There’s no hard evidence of foul play, no blood or clothing or signs of struggle in the car.”
“What’s going on with your other cases?” the sergeant asked.
Caro was about to answer when Tony strolled into the room. Both women stared at him. “What are you doing here?” Quayar demanded.
“A little too much family togetherness,” he said with a shrug. “Is there a problem?”
Tony was Caro’s salvation. “Tony, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, how’d ya like to take over a couple of my cases so I can make a trip to Taryton? I got a break on the Arkin case.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Nona nodded grudgingly. “You have till noon tomorrow,” she said to Caro. “Just be sure you don’t screw nothin’ up, or CAPERS will be all over both our butts.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Caro replied, adding the ma’am at the last moment. She noticed then that Arkin was still hanging around, listening to the police officers with an attentive ear and a pasty face. “Cheer up,” she said as she returned to her desk, intending to gather together her active cases so she could brief Tony. “This is the break we’ve been looking for. We’ve got a big hunk of physical evidence in the form of Amanda’s car, and a couple of witnesses to boot.”
She didn’t add that finding Amanda’s car minus Amanda was actually a very bad sign, but she didn’t have to. Judging from the look of dread on Arkin’s face, he knew all too well.
Chapter 4
Taryton was like many other small east Texas towns, a farming community past its prime with a crumbling, seedy-looking downtown, a long-abandoned train station, and a water tower bearing a faded Home of the Fightin’ Taryton Tigers painted on the side. Caro had grown up in just such a town, where her father had been a deputy sheriff and her mother a police dispatcher. She had learned to love law enforcement at their knees, and there had never been any question as to what career she would choose.
Her decision to work on the police force of a big city had terrified her parents at first. But she’d been determined to take what her father had done one step further. She’d longed to immerse herself in crime-solving. Stolen bicycles and an occasional domestic disturbance weren’t enough to challenge her, she’d maintained.
As the years passed and she managed to stay out of harm’s way while earning several promotions and commendations, her folks gradually had relaxed and accepted her choice.
Now she was the one questioning her career path. It wasn’t the danger that got to her. Hell, as a missing persons investigator she rarely put herself at any significant risk. What was starting to bother her was the futility, the sameness, the feeling that no matter how many missing people she found, no matter how many criminals she helped bring in, there was a never-ending supply to take their place.
There was also that niggling certainty, growing stronger every day, that justice had little to do with who went to jail and for how long.
As she drove down Taryton’s main street, past the Mayfair Beauty Shop, Arlene’s Flowers and the All-Welcome Insurance Agency, Caro wondered why she didn’t quit the Dallas Police Department and all that pressure. Surely, if she wanted, she could find a position keeping the peace in a little town like this, where it was big news when a couple of fourteen-year-olds stole a car and totalled it.
She had already questioned one of the boys who had crashed Amanda Arkin’s car, a belligerent little snot with the unfortunate name of Dustin Upton. Obviously well coached by his attorney, his story had remained maddeningly static and unhelpful. He said his friend Chucky had picked him up in the red Cavalier, and Chucky hadn’t said where the car had come from. Dustin hadn’t suspected the car was stolen. He never actually drove the car himself, and he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol all night.
The kid obviously was lying through the teeth, but Caro had been unable to make any progress. The local investigating officer, a seemingly sharp guy named Tom Breedlove, had warned her that she would be up against a brick wall. He hadn’t had any better luck with Dustin.
I’ve really sunk to the lowest depths when I can’t crack a crummy juvenile car thief, she mused grimly.
She hoped the other boy, who had been shaken up pretty badly in the accident, would prove more fertile ground. Chucky Hoffman was still in the hospital with several broken bones and lacerations. He hadn’t yet admitted to stealing any car, but his emergency room blood tests had revealed an astonishingly high alcohol content, so his legal footing was shakier than his friend’s. Furthermore, he already had a juvenile record for breaking and entering.
