Into Thin Air

by Karen Leabo

  “This is serious. It’s about Justin’s adoption.”

  Immediately he stiffened. “For chrissakes, Chloe, are you going to start that again?”

  “Yes, and I’m not going to let it go until I get some answers. You keep brushing it off, like it’s not important.”

  “It’s not important. We have Justin. He’s our child now, and that’s all that matters.”

  “I don’t agree. I want to know about his biological mother.”

  “She’s entitled to her privacy.”

  “But you know who she is, don’t you?”

  Don looked away. “I...”

  “Please, Don, don’t lie to me. In all the years we’ve been married, we’ve always been honest with each other. It’s the whole basis of our marriage. So tell me the truth.”

  She could see the inner struggle reflected in Don’s face. Please, please, don’t lie, she prayed.

  “I know her name,” he finally admitted with a sigh. “Travis slipped. He shouldn’t have, but he did. Chloe, don’t stir things up for her. She’s starting her life over.”

  “Is she?” Chloe asked sharply.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, judging from the medical fees we paid, the girl had some problems. Did she survive childbirth?”

  “I don’t know the details of—”

  “Yes, you do. Damn it, Don! You do know. You’ve known Travis longer than you’ve known me. He told you, didn’t he? He told you that Justin’s mother is—was—Marcy Phelps.”

  Don grew very still, and a strange light came into his eyes, the glazed look she had seen in the eyes of an animal frozen by headlights. As quickly as it had come, the light was replaced with anger. Unreasonable anger.

  He grasped Chloe’s arms in a painfully tight grip, and his voice was almost a growl. “Now you listen to me. I will not sit here and let you interrogate me like some criminal. You will drop this subject. And you won’t mention your paranoid suspicions to anyone else.”

  “Let go, you’re hurting—”

  He gave her a little shake. “Do you understand?”

  “Completely.” Dear God, she’d been right. Her suspicions had been a shot in the dark. She hadn’t really believed that Marcy Phelps was Justin’s mother. All she’d wanted was for Don to deny it, to reassure her that the adoption had been legal and fair. He hadn’t.

  Now she would have to take matters into her own hands.

  He released her, and his face relaxed into a more normal expression. “Would you like to go out to dinner?”

  So, just like that, the subject was closed. How could he calmly sit there and talk about eating? “No. I think I’ll go over to Mother’s and see how she’s getting along with the baby.”

  “What happened to our evening alone?”

  “I’m not in the mood.” The words were full of barely suppressed fury. She couldn’t remember ever speaking to Don like that before.

  He watched her with a troubled expression as she rose and crossed to the closet in the foyer to get her coat.

  During the short drive to her mother’s house, Chloe realized that any action she took might lead to her losing Justin. That was a possibility almost too horrible to contemplate. But she couldn’t rest easy—wouldn’t be able to look herself in the mirror—until she knew whether she had adopted Justin at the expense of a young girl’s life.

  * * *

  Amanda had to admit one thing—Odell took care of her girls the best way she knew how. After those rocky first few days she had fed Amanda well, made sure she got plenty of exercise, saw to her “spiritual” needs by teaching lessons from the Bible and allowed her eight to ten hours of sleep each night. The only work Odell required of the girls was housekeeping, mending and some light yard work—raking and so on. They were given clothing when they needed it, and daily showers were required.

  If not for the fact that they were prisoners, it really wasn’t a bad life. And that’s what Odell was counting on, Amanda was sure. Because the Good Shepherd Home was relatively comfortable, the girls became complacent, biding their time until they had their babies and would be released. Supposedly.

  But Terri had other suspicions as to what fate actually awaited the girls. As soon as Amanda had slipped Terri the copy of Morse code written on wrapping paper, they had begun communicating in earnest—although Terri’s spelling was appalling—staying up half the night tap-tapping on the pipes. Amanda had learned that four girls had already had their babies and left the home. But if they’d been released, why hadn’t they brought the cops here? That was the first thing Amanda would do when she gained her freedom.

  She had to agree with Terri. If those four girls were alive, Odell would have been caught by now. Which of course meant that she and/or Terri had to escape, no matter how acceptable conditions at the Home seemed to be.

  So long as it wasn’t raining, the girls spent at least an hour each day exercising outdoors. Usually they just walked briskly around the large, fenced yard behind the house, but on this mild and sunny day, Odell had organized a badminton game. This worked out well for Amanda and Terri, because they were able to exchange a few whispered words during the excitement and confusion.

  “I think I’ve figured out the weak link in the chain,” Terri whispered as their team rotated positions.

  The two girls had already suggested and discarded various plans for escape that ranged from wresting Odell’s shotgun away from her to poisoning and electrocution. But Odell’s security was too tight, her precautions excessive. Amanda wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Odell was a former prison warden.

  Amanda gave Terri a questioning look, waiting for her to elaborate on her new idea.

  Terri surreptitiously nodded toward her left and behind her. Confused, Amanda’s gaze followed in that direction until it rested on...Henry. He stood to the side, watching the game, scratching Phoebe the bloodhound on her wrinkled neck. Although he appeared relaxed, his gun was within reaching distance.

  Henry, a weak link? Amanda didn’t think so. He was strong as an ox and blindly loyal to his aunt. In Amanda’s estimation, they had even less chance of overpowering Henry than they did Odell.

  It was Amanda’s turn to serve, and the team rotated once again. Terri tossed the shuttlecock to Amanda. “He’s sweet on you,” she whispered. “Think about it.”

  She did think about it, the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, and she decided that Terri might be onto something. Although he wasn’t obvious about it, Henry did seem to show Amanda a little favoritism. He’d brought her extra soap and lotion, served her generous portions of food and definitely had smiled at her a couple of times.

  They couldn’t overpower Henry, but if he really did have a crush on her or something like that, perhaps she could use that to her advantage. Bringing her soap was a long way from helping her to escape, but she could subtly encourage him and see where it led. He was a grown man, and he hardly ever left the home, so he probably didn’t have a woman. He might be really desperate for some female affection.

  Yes, this plan, distasteful as it was, had possibilities. After all, wasn’t the sexual urge the strongest of mankind’s biological needs? Perhaps Henry’s need for intimacy with a woman would be stronger than his desire to please Odell.

  The plan wouldn’t be without its dangers. Henry had keys to every lock, which meant he could enter her room at will. He could rape her if he wanted to. But she was counting on the fact that Odell was a pious woman and wouldn’t condone sexual misconduct under her roof.

  As soon as the girls were locked into their rooms for the evening and all was quiet, Amanda removed the metal shade from her lamp and peeled the insulation off the pipes in the corner of the room. It was going to be a long night.

  * * *

  Caro had barely been at her desk five minutes on Wednesday morning, contemplating the impossible list of things she had to do for her own cases as well as Lomax’s, when a shadow fell over her. She looked up to see Russ Arki
n standing there. If anything, he looked worse than he had on Christmas—more like a vagrant than a prosperous businessman.

  She felt terrible for the insensitive way she’d treated him the first time he’d come in. If any man needed a little compassion and understanding, it was Russ.

  She managed a smile. “Russ. What can I do for you?”

  He dropped a small plastic bag on her desk. “I received this in the morning’s mail. It’s a letter from Amanda. I probably shouldn’t have opened it. I should have brought it directly to the police. But I just...had to....”

  “I understand, Russ. A letter, huh? Written in her handwriting?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s great! That means Amanda is alive.” Or at least she was at some recent point.

  “I only handled it by the edges, in case you could get fingerprints off it or something,” Russ said.

  Caro nodded. “That’s good, you did right. You know I’m no longer the lead detective in Amanda’s case.”

  “I know. I talked to that Lomax guy. But I trust you. And you’re still helping with the investigation, right?”

  “Yes, I...you trust me? But I was wrong. I thought Amanda had left of her own accord, and I was wrong.”

  “It was a fair assumption to make, based on your experience, I imagine. And I was being pretty obstinate. Anyway, you’ve worked hard on the case and you’ve been thorough. If they took it away from you, it wasn’t because I complained.”

  “Is that what Lomax told you? That they took the case away from me because I wasn’t doing a good job?” That son of a bitch.

  “No, no, not in those words,” Russ said hastily. “He just explained that since the case was no longer a simple Missing Persons complaint it had been handed over to Crimes Against Persons. That they were better equipped, you know.”

  Yeah, like they have bigger brains in CAPERS? Caro stifled the illogical negative thought. “About the letter.” She opened the plastic bag and peered inside. It contained two loose-leaf pages, folded in half, and the envelope they’d come in. The envelope was postmarked just the day before, December 26, from Kips Point, Texas. “Does Kips Point mean anything to you? Do you know anyone there?”

  “No. I never heard of it before today. But I checked a map. It’s only about fifteen miles from Taryton.”

  Good, that would save her the trouble of looking it up. “You read the letter, of course. What does it say?” Caro’s hands trembled as she gingerly pulled the pages from the bag by the edges so as not to disturb any latent prints that might still be identifiable.

  “You’re going to read it, anyway,” Russ said as he pulled over a chair and sat down. “See for yourself.”

  Caro scanned the two pages, penned in a neat and very distinctive style. In it, Amanda said she had left home because she needed to do some thinking, and she had abandoned her car because the license tags were about to expire and she didn’t want to be pulled over, and she didn’t have money for gas, anyway. She told her father where to find the car, instructing him to pick it up and keep it safe for her. She said she was staying with a friend, that she was safe and warm and well fed, and she would contact her father when she was ready.

  Caro read the few paragraphs again. On the surface, it seemed to explain away the circumstances of Amanda’s disappearance. But the explanation about the car was pretty farfetched.

  “Do you believe this is on the level?” Caro asked. “Is this something Amanda would do?”

  “Absolutely not. She would never abandon her car. I mean, if she’s staying with a friend, why didn’t she just park it in her friend’s driveway?”

  “Because she knew the police would be looking for the car, and she didn’t want them to find her?” Caro theorized, although the scenario seemed unlikely.

  “She wouldn’t need to go to such lengths. If she wants to stay with a friend, she can stay with a friend. I wouldn’t object. But forget about motives and such, and look at the letter again. Don’t you notice something peculiar about it?”

  Caro did as Russ had asked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Okay, well, I’m no detective, but remember me telling you that Amanda was a state spelling bee champion? Look at the spelling in that letter! ‘All right,’ a-l-r-i-g-h-t. ‘Decision,’ d-i-c-i-s-i-o-n. ‘Grateful,’ g-r-e-a-t—”

  “Yes, yes, I see!”

  “I think Amanda wrote that letter under duress, and she was trying to signal me with those spelling errors.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I’m ashamed I didn’t catch it right away. You have a very clever daughter, Russ. I’ll take this down and show it to Lomax, and then we’ll take it over to Physical Evidence for tests. You’ll have to come with me. They’ll want to get a set of prints from you, to eliminate any of yours that might have gotten on the letter—even though I know you were careful.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “This is great,” she said as she placed the letter and envelope in clear plastic document protectors. Unable to contain her enthusiasm, she said again, “This is absolutely great!”

  “Do you have to act so damn happy about this?” Russ asked, looking rather disgusted. “My daughter has been kidnapped and is being held captive somewhere, suffering God knows what.”

  “But she’s alive. Frankly, Russ, up until you showed me this, the chances of her being found alive were dropping with every day that passed.”

  “Oh.”

  “But now we have another piece of physical evidence. If we can’t find fingerprints, the PES folks might be able to trace the paper, though it’s a long shot. And we still might be able to track down the guy who abandoned Amanda’s car. I’ll keep you informed, I promise.” She touched his arm, wanting to reassure him. “We’ll find her. I swear to God, if she can be found, we’ll do it.” She stood decisively. “Come on, let’s go. It’s only a short drive to PES. And when we’re done, I want you to go home and eat or sleep or something. Maybe shave, change your clothes? You look awful.”

  Lomax wasn’t at his desk, so Caro took the letter and Russ to Physical Evidence. That chore taken care of, she dropped Russ off at his car, then parked her five-year-old Caprice in the lot by the municipal building. She noticed Austin’s black Bronco, parked crookedly in a space that wasn’t a real space. Didn’t that guy ever park legally?

  At least he was at the station somewhere. She couldn’t wait to show him the photocopy of Amanda’s letter. He would love it. He seemed to delight in finding little bits of evidence and offbeat clues that would shed light on an investigation—like those letters Marcy Phelps had written to her older sister. Caro had started reading them aloud in the car on the way back to the station, and Austin had nearly crowed every time Ray Seifert’s name came up. The girl had obviously been smitten with Mindy’s boyfriend, and he had become a main candidate for the father of Marcy’s baby—and possibly her kidnapper as well.

  Problem was, he couldn’t be located.

  Caro found Austin at his desk, having obviously just returned from somewhere. He still wore his brown leather bomber jacket over faded jeans that flouted the department’s dress code. His aviator-style sunglasses were shoved on top of his head, his hair was tousled, and his face was slightly windburned.

  He must think he looks pretty sharp driving around like that in his cool, shiny Bronco, she thought, not sure whether she wanted to smile or frown. Nah, on second thought, he didn’t just think he looked good. He probably had a line of cars with women drivers trailing behind him everywhere he went. He would look even better on the weekends, driving his own car, the silver Jaguar she’d seen in the picture.

  She was supremely annoyed to discover she found Austin Lomax attractive. Of course, any human with two X chromosomes would find him attractive. Unfortunately, he knew it.

  “Hey, Caro, what’s up?” he said as he dumped an armload of file folders and a large white bakery bag onto his desk.

  Caro looked at her watch. “Sleep in this morning?”

&n
bsp; “As a matter of fact, I was up in Denton,” he said cheerfully, ignoring her attempted dig. He was almost as good at that as Tony. “Ray Seifert was seen at his old address less than a week ago. The Denton police have agreed to stake the place out. Oh, and get this. He has another sexual-assault charge pending against him. Sixteen-year-old.”

  “Hot damn. He’s our man,” Caro said, forgetting her earlier peevishness. She watched as Austin removed a huge cinnamon roll from the bag and took a bite out of it. “Do you have any idea how much butter is in one of those things?” she asked. “Your arteries aren’t just going to harden, they’re going to petrify.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I brought an extra one for you.”

  “You did? Oh, good, hand it over.” She was hungry, she realized.

  “Any particular reason you’re lurking around my desk this morning?”

  “Mmm, yeah. Geez, this smells wonderful.” She chewed and swallowed her first bite of cinnamon roll before continuing. “Russ Arkin received a letter from his daughter this morning.”

  Austin’s eyebrows flew up. “No kidding? And you had to wait until my hands were good and sticky before you told me. Where is it? What’s it say?”

  Caro repeated the text of the letter from memory as best she could, then explained about the spelling errors and Russ’s feelings about the matter.

  Austin was duly impressed. “You already took it over to PES?”

  “I didn’t want to waste any time. I should have brought you a copy.”

  “That’s okay, I trust you. I’ll see a copy of it later.”

  That was the second time that morning someone had told Caro they trusted her. Illogically, it made her feel warm inside. Or maybe that was just the cinnamon roll.

  She wiped her hands on a paper napkin. “Well, I guess I better get back to—” She halted as Austin’s phone buzzed.

  He picked up the receiver. “Corporal Lomax.”

  She started to walk away. She had a million things to do, and apparently so did he. But he snapped his fingers at her, and when she turned he gestured impatiently for her to come back. His expression was intense as he listened to his caller.