Into Thin Air

by Karen Leabo

  “Dr. Wayrick hasn’t arrived just yet,” Nancy Frieze said, scurrying into her little cubicle of a reception area. She ran her index finger over a page in an appointment book. “His first appointment is at nine, but he usually gets here well before that. Could I ask what this is about?”

  “It’s a confidential matter,” Austin replied, though he tried to keep his tone friendly. He might need the woman’s cooperation later.

  The phone rang and she answered it, immediately launching into what was obviously a well-rehearsed spiel about exactly what services the Women’s Services Clinic offered. Austin tried not to listen.

  “What a depressing place,” Caro said softly as they found two chairs in the waiting room. “I can’t believe poor little Marcy came here. She must have been terrified.”

  “I imagine she was terrified even before she came here. It doesn’t sound like her parents did a very good job of preparing her for real life.”

  At eight o’clock Nancy Frieze unlocked the front door. Immediately two black women entered, one in her teens, the other probably her mother. They signed in at the desk, then settled as far from Austin and Caro as possible, whispering to each other.

  They probably believed Caro was a patient, Austin thought, and that he was her boyfriend, ready to fork over hundreds of dollars rather than take on the responsibility of a child. He felt an immediate and illogical protective instinct surging through his body. He wanted to announce to everyone who entered the clinic—and several more women did—that Caro wasn’t pregnant.

  He was about to demand that Ms. Frieze let them wait in the doctor’s office when she called them. Dr. Wayrick had arrived, presumably via some back door, and was ready to see them.

  Dr. Thurman Wayrick wasn’t at all what Austin had expected. He was tall, distinguished, with just a touch of gray at his temples. Then again, what was an abortionist supposed to look like, Boris Karloff?

  The doctor smiled as he held out his hand and introduced himself. “And you are...?”

  “Detective Corporal Austin Lomax.”

  “Detective Corporal Carolyn Triece,” Caro said, shaking his hand. “We don’t want to waste any more of your time than necessary, so we’ll get right to the point. We have two teenage girls—one missing and presumed kidnapped, possibly dead by now, and one who was already found dead, her baby missing. They’ve both been connected to this clinic. First we want to verify that they were patients here. And then we want to find out if the connection means anything.” Austin pulled the subpoena from his jacket pocket and laid it on the doctor’s desk.

  Dr. Wayrick’s eyes widened. “You think someone here is involved in something criminal? Kidnapping? Murder?”

  “Perhaps unknowingly,” Austin clarified, not wanting to alarm the doctor excessively. He wanted Wayrick to be cooperative, not panicked. “Someone who works here could be unwittingly providing the perpetrator with information–names of patients, that sort of thing.”

  “Everyone who works here understands that our patient files are confidential,” Wayrick said, obviously outraged. “If any sort of information is leaving this office, it’s either being stolen...or one of my employees is in serious violation of medical ethics, not to mention inviting a mammoth lawsuit. I take it you’re referring to the Arkin girl. Amanda Arkin—that’s it, isn’t it?”

  Austin was surprised Wayrick had volunteered that information. “Then you can verify that she was a patient here?”

  Wayrick looked over the subpoena before answering. “Certainly. When her disappearance made the headlines, everyone here was talking about it. We all remembered her—although I didn’t actually perform any procedure on her, you understand. She came primarily for counseling, as many of our patients do. Despite what you might think, we do more than just pregnancy terminations here.”

  “What about Marcy Phelps?” Caro asked. “Was she a patient also?”

  Wayrick seemed to consider the question carefully. “I can’t recall the name, but I’ll have my office manager look in the files.” He started to pick up the phone, but Austin stopped him.

  “We’d prefer it if you didn’t talk to anyone else on your staff about this matter, at least for the moment.” He pulled Marcy’s yearbook photo out of his pocket and showed it to Wayrick. “That’s Marcy. She would have been here last June.”

  While he waited for a response, Austin held his breath. What if Seifert had gotten the name of the clinic wrong? Austin had had to prompt Ray’s memory, he recalled.

  Wayrick studied the photo, then sucked in his cheeks and looked up. “Yes. Yes, I remember this girl. I believe I gave her an initial exam, verifying her pregnancy. I remember her because she wasn’t taking the news well. I had to give her a sedative.”

  “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” Caro said. “Can you give us a list of current employees who also worked here during the time of Marcy’s visit?”

  “That’s not a problem. We’re a small staff here. And three were hired recently, so...” He quickly wrote down the names Caro had requested. They included another doctor, two nurses, Nancy Frieze and the staff psychologist, Virginia Dreyfus.

  “They’re all good people, I assure you,” Wayrick said. “I can’t imagine any of them being involved in anything even remotely underhanded.”

  Austin ignored the testimonial. “Do you keep employment records here? Specifically, records of sick days and vacation days?”

  “Yes, of course. Unfortunately, that’s one of the unpleasant little tasks I do myself—writing the paychecks. I have personnel files right here,” he said, rising and walking to a small filing cabinet in the corner of the office.

  “Can you check and see who was here on June 6?” Austin asked.

  Although it took a few minutes, Wayrick patiently went over paycheck stubs for that period and all the accompanying paperwork. And his conclusion was that no one had missed work that day, the day Marcy Phelps had disappeared. And everyone was present and accounted for on the day of Amanda’s disappearance, too.

  Of course, Wayrick could be lying. Austin didn’t discount that possibility. The doctor seemed awfully eager to please. Maybe too eager.

  Austin looked at Caro, hoping for a clue as to whether she thought he was coming clean with them. He remembered how astute she’d been in catching Seifert’s lies. But she merely looked bored. Deceptively bored, Austin was sure.

  He decided they should leave for now, regroup and discuss how to proceed. They advised Wayrick to keep their conversation confidential. “If anyone asks, tell them your wife’s car was broken into last night, and we’re following up on it.”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll do that,” he said with a conspiratorial smile. He seemed to be enjoying the cloak-and-dagger stuff.

  “Oh, just one other thing,” Caro said when they were almost out the door. She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse. “I have one additional name—Julie Yates. And this is her picture. Ring any bells?”

  Austin looked on impatiently as Wayrick examined the picture, which had obviously been faxed to Caro yesterday.

  Wayrick was no longer enjoying himself. In fact, his face had gone rather pale. “Yes, this girl was also a patient. Again, I examined her and verified her pregnancy, and as I recall we scheduled the procedure, but she didn’t show up. That’s not uncommon. Don’t tell me something happened to her, too.”

  “Bingo,” Caro said softly.

  Chapter 11

  Caro and Austin spent another couple of hours questioning the clinic’s employees. None of them were able to recollect anything of value. The only person who might have been able to shed some light on things—Virginia Dreyfus, the psychologist—had the day off. They would have to catch up with her the following day. Wayrick assured them that, despite the fact that tomorrow was New Year’s Eve, the clinic would be open and Dr. Dreyfus would be there.

  “What are you waiting for?” Austin asked the moment they were alone in the car. He jerked the Bronco into reverse, nearly stripping the gears in
the process, and roared out of the parking place while Caro was still struggling with her seat belt. “Aren’t you going to say ‘I told you so’?”

  Caro’s first instinct was to soothe the beast. But on second thought, she had done absolutely nothing deserving of anyone’s anger, especially Austin’s. “Aren’t you going to say ‘thank-you’? ‘Good work, Caro’? Or are you so wrapped up in your ego that you can’t acknowledge the fact that my shot in the dark paid off?”

  He took a deep breath. “Just clear it with me next time you want to take a stab at something on your own. I want to know everything you’re doing on this case at all times.”

  “Oh, yes, sir.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

  “Machismo doesn’t become you. Lighten up, Lomax. I informed you first thing this morning. If I’d asked you yesterday, you probably would have said not to bother, and I never would have stumbled onto Julie Yates.”

  He said nothing—probably because she was right and he was wrong and he knew it, she thought uncharitably. This was one of those times she wanted to shake him.

  A call on the cellular phone saved them from continuing the argument, much to Caro’s relief. Austin wasn’t the only one with a temper.

  “Corporal Lomax,” Austin said after clicking the phone open. His face immediately relaxed into an easy smile. “Hey, Dean.” He looked at Caro and added, “It’s my brother.”

  His brother? Austin had never mentioned his brother.

  “Holy...any details?” Austin asked, instantly alert. Then, after a pause, he said, “Thanks, Dean, I appreciate it,” and clicked the phone shut. Then he hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Damn!”

  “Who’s your brother?” Caro asked. “What did he say?”

  “He works in the DA’s office,” Austin answered distractedly. “He said Smith, Clovis and Beaman has filed Chapter 11, and Travis Beaman reportedly has left with his wife on an extended vacation to the Orient.”

  Caro’s curse was a whole lot more colorful than Austin’s. “Do you think Beaman flew the coop because of anything we did, or just to escape creditors?” she asked.

  “Could be either, or both. But why don’t we pay a little visit to Smith, Clovis et cetera and see if we can’t shake something loose.”

  “Without a search warrant?”

  “Maybe we can bluff or sweet-talk our way into those records. Their offices aren’t far from the station. It’s worth a try.”

  “I’m game.” Privately, Caro thought Austin would have more luck with sweet-talk than with intimidation—especially if it involved convincing female secretaries to let him have his way. That’s how it worked with her, anyway. She found herself wanting to please him whenever he turned on the charm. But the moment he got bossy, her back went up and she would purposely try to thwart him.

  When they arrived at the law firm, everyone there seemed to be in a state of shock. The receptionist looked like a ghost who’d lost its way back to the graveyard. She offered no argument when Austin demanded to see Beaman’s secretary. There was obviously little work going on. Every office they passed was either empty or contained little clusters of people talking in hushed voices.

  Beaman’s secretary, an attractive older woman, appeared close to tears. She was in the process of boxing up the contents of her desk. Apparently Caro and Austin had arrived just in time.

  “Where’s your boss?” Austin asked.

  “Oh, it’s you again,” said the secretary, whose nameplate identified her as Ms. Paladin. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know where Mr. Beaman is. He didn’t show up for work this morning.”

  “We heard he left the country.”

  “And us holding the bag. It wouldn’t surprise me,” she said wearily. Abruptly she plopped into her desk chair and put her face in her hands. “What do you want?”

  “I want to see a file. Just one file. A quick peek, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

  She looked up, her mouth firming in resolve. “You must know, Detective, that I can’t let you look at confidential—”

  “I can get a search warrant,” Austin interrupted. “Have you ever seen what happens when the police are given free rein to search for something as small as a file folder? They turn drawers upside down. And they aren’t obligated to straighten things up when they’re done, either.”

  “That may be, but—”

  “Corporal Triece, you stay here and make sure those files don’t go anywhere. I’m going to get a warrant. And, Ms. Paladin, you might consider what it would mean to your career to be named as an accessory—”

  “Oh, all right,” the secretary said, clearly having reached the end of her rope. She actually sniffed back a few tears. “I’ll get you the damn file, but not because of your silly threats. I’m cooperating because I’d like to see Travis Beaman nailed. What file are you looking for?”

  “Krill,” Austin answered. “Don and Chloe Krill. An adoption.”

  Ms. Paladin appeared confused. “What does that case have to do with embezzlement?”

  Oh, boy, Caro thought. It looked as if Travis Beaman had his fingers in more than one sour pie.

  “Could you just get it, please?”

  Ms. Paladin shrugged, then led them into a huge file room. She went right to the K’s, and in moments produced a slim manila folder, which she handed to Austin.

  He laid it on a small table in the corner of the room, shoved his glasses onto his face and scanned the contents greedily, with Caro peering around his shoulder.

  “Here it is,” he said matter-of-factly, though Caro knew he was anything but. “The biological mother’s name is Patricia Smith, 4662 Fairfax. Would you copy this page for us?” he asked the secretary.

  “No, I can’t,” she said, standing up straighter. “I could get in serious trouble for even letting you into this room. If you return with a search warrant, I’ll be glad to hand over the file. But the movers are scheduled to come tomorrow and box up this whole room.”

  Caro was already writing down the name and address in a pad she kept in her purse.

  “I understand. Thanks,” Austin said to the secretary. He gave her a sympathetic smile, as if apologizing for his earlier, antagonistic behavior. “No one will ever know we were here.”

  Caro felt glum as they left the law firm. “So I was wrong?” she asked when they were on the elevator.

  “Maybe, maybe not. Let’s make one more stop before we go back to the station.”

  “Let me guess, 4662 Fairfax?”

  “You got it.”

  The 4600 block of Fairfax was in one of the more modest Highland Park neighborhoods, but Caro guessed that, despite the unassuming little houses and small front yards, some of these properties were valued at more than a quarter million dollars.

  “What are you going to say to these people?” Caro asked. “You can’t just bang on the door and ask if their daughter had a baby out of wedlock.”

  “Sure I can. You’re too polite, Caro. But, actually, I don’t think I’ll have to say anything.” He slowed the car down. “There’s 4652, 4658... Ha! And 4664. There is no 4662.”

  Adrenaline surged through Caro’s body. “Hot damn! I’ll bet there’s no Patricia Smith, either.”

  They parked the car and knocked on a couple of doors and asked the people who answered if they knew of any Smiths who lived in the immediate neighborhood, just to be sure. But no one had heard of Patricia Smith.

  “Now what?” Caro asked, although she knew what she wanted to do.

  Austin smiled wickedly. “Let’s pay a call on Chloe Krill.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” They were closing in for the kill, and it felt good.

  Although the Krills’ neighborhood was less than a five-minute drive away, it was much more grand. The houses here could rightfully be called “estates.” The Krill house in particular was one of the most opulent, a huge but stylish English Tudor with mullioned windows and beautifully aged red brick. No one answered the doo
r.

  An old man was raking leaves from the lawn next door. While Austin walked around to the back of the house to see if there were any signs of life, Caro approached the neighbor. “Excuse me, but do you know where the Krills might be?”

  The old man eyed her suspiciously, then shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

  She took her badge out of her jacket pocket and held it out for his inspection. “It’s very important that we get in contact with them,” she said. “Would you have any idea where they might be?”

  “Oh, police, huh? Well, uh, I haven’t seen ‘em around in a day or two. Since Don has family up north some place, they might be visiting for the New Year’s holiday. That’d be my guess, yes, ma’am.”

  Caro handed him her business card. “Would you call me when they come back? I mean, if you see their cars, or you see anyone moving around at the house.”

  “Yes, ma’am, certainly. What’s this all about?”

  “It’s a private matter,” she replied.

  Austin returned, shaking his head to indicate he hadn’t found anything useful. Caro thanked the neighbor for his help, and she and Austin climbed back into the car.

  Caro let out a great sigh. “The next-door neighbor says they’re out of town. Maybe I shouldn’t have flashed my badge at him. He’ll probably run right to the Krills the moment they come home.”

  “If they come home. For all we know, they left the country with their buddy Travis Beaman. If they’re afraid someone might challenge their right to keep the baby...”

  “I sure as hell hope they didn’t skip town.” Her mood was fluctuating from adrenaline-charged elation to despair from minute to minute.

  “We’ll put the house under surveillance,” Austin said.

  “Can we do that?”

  “I think Raines’ll go for it. Something big is going on. All the evidence points to it. We don’t have it strung together yet, but any fool could look at all the little trees we’ve collected and see a forest. Three girls, all patients at the same clinic, all missing, one found dead, her baby gone...”