by JP Ratto
“No?”
“Doctor Clancy told us there was some decomposition so it might be difficult. He asked us if Karen had any distinguishing physical traits. In fact, she has a small strawberry birthmark on her lower back.”
I thought it was clever and considerate of the medical examiner to find a way to spare the Martins. Although many parents and next of kin find it necessary to see for themselves, a decomposed corpse vaguely resembles the person who lived.
“I’m glad it wasn’t your daughter.”
“Yes, you can’t imagine how relieved we were,” Sarah said. “But, Doctor Clancy then asked Daniel if he would be able to identify her. Karen’s friend Mary was to visit.”
“Were you able to make an identification?” I asked Daniel Martin.
“Yes…” Martin paused and rubbed his eyes with the back of his fisted right hand. “Yes, it’s Mary Wells. We’re heartbroken for the parents. Sheriff Grange is trying to contact them.”
“We still don’t…” Sarah Martin’s words caught in her throat and she began to cry. Daniel finished for her.
“We don’t know where Karen is. Sarah and I went away for a few days. Karen said she and Mary would spend the time together, catching up. Mary’s parents were traveling to Ohio and planned to drop her off here.”
“And did you speak to Karen while you were away? Did they tell you their plans?”
“She sent us a text after Mary arrived to say everything was fine and they were going to hike the trail and probably camp out.”
“Camp out? The two girls by themselves?”
“Oh yes,” Sarah said. “Many young people in Broome hike and camp out together. She’s done it before. There are designated campsites. The Sheriff’s office is very good about checking up on them.”
“Did you give Sheriff Grange this information?”
Daniel Martin nodded. “Yes, we did. She said they already cleared the campgrounds and if Karen and her friend were among them, they’d be back in town. But you never know. Some teens have been known to wander into deeper woods to make camp.”
“When was the last time you spoke to Karen?”
Sarah hesitated. “We haven’t spoken to her since we left for Virginia. You know kids. All they want to do is text.”
“When was the last text?”
Sarah twisted her hands together. “The day they went camping—in the morning. We didn’t hear from her that night and figured the girls were busy enjoying each other’s company. Then we fell asleep, and when I tried to text and then call the next day, there was no answer.”
Daniel Martin spoke. “We intended to stay a few more days with my wife’s brother, but came back so we could make sure everything was all right.”
“But it wasn’t.” Sarah Martin’s voice shook. “Oh God, we have to find her.”
Before they succumbed to their panic, I wanted to make it clear I was there to help find Karen.
“I can help you, but I need to ask you a few more questions.”
Sarah wept against her husband’s shoulder. He held her tight.
“Yes,” he said. “Anything you want to know.”
I gave the Martins a few minutes to compose themselves. I was sure they were mentally chastising themselves for not keeping in better touch with their daughter. Granted, Karen was almost eighteen years old, but children are never too old to keep tabs on—even grown children. In this age of cellphones, the young tend to prefer communicating via text messages than with phone calls. I’m old fashioned. I like to hear the person I’m conversing with—besides, I can’t type worth a damn.
Sarah Martin made coffee. It was good and strong. I had a feeling after my conversation with the Martins that I would be up for a while.
“I understand your daughter is adopted.”
Sarah Martin took her husband’s hand and squeezed. She nodded.
“Yes.”
Daniel Martin eyed me with suspicion.
“Who hired you, Mr. Holt?”
Since Karen would reach the age of majority within the year, she could decide to reunite with her mother if she chose. It was best to be honest with the Martins.
“Her birth mother.”
If the Martins appeared worried before, they looked terrified after I told them who hired me.
Daniel Martin shook his head in disbelief. “That’s impossible.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked. “It’s highly probable that in many adoptions birth parents and children will opt to search for each other. Does Karen know she’s adopted?”
Both Martins averted their eyes from me. Sarah glanced around the room. Tears slipped down her face. Daniel closed his, took a deep breath, and looked at me.
“No. She doesn’t know.”
Before I could say anything, Sarah spoke. “It wasn’t up to us. We were told not to tell her. We were told neither parent wanted to know her. Ever.”
I could absolutely believe Senator Grayson would not want the little matter of an illegitimate love child getting in the way of his rise to the presidency. But from what Janet Maxwell told me, she had hoped to find a way to raise the child herself if she could. I remembered Maxwell’s mood shifts during our meeting at McAllister’s.
“Thank you for speaking with me. I assure you I will do whatever I can to find Karen.”
Chapter 30
Deciding to locate Karen Martin before calling Cain, Ronnie Glick drove back to Broome.
Clean-shaven and dressed in tan cargos, t-shirt, and sneakers, he stood among the crowd gathered outside the sheriff’s office. He pulled his khaki ‘life is good’ cap down over his eyes and listened to the conversation around him.
Since his earlier visit, the town had filled with tourists drawn to the trails and shopping. But the real attraction was the mystery regarding the cause of death and the identity of the body found off the main hiking trail.
From the information swirling through the crowd, Glick learned the victim was a young woman, eighteen years old. When he heard someone say the Martins were brought to the medical examiner’s office, Glick was surprised. He never expected the girl to turn up dead.
Ambling away from the crowd, he walked to a pub, and after scanning the menu in the window, went inside.
***
I left the Martins feeling like I gave more information than I received. At least they verified the body in the morgue was Mary Wells. Doctor Clancy was set to complete the autopsy. Based on ID from Daniel Martin, the medical examiner would contact several dentists in Stowe for records to verify her identity.
In spite of all the evidence of abduction, Sarah and Daniel Martin still held hope Karen was safe. Karen’s backpack was found where the girls had planned to camp. Other than that, the campsites yielded no other clues as to what happened between the time they arrived at their destination, which was still not determined, and when Wells’ body was discovered.
I’d been up and out since early morning. The coffee the Martins offered helped to keep me going, but I needed a meal. I drove back into the town square. I had my heart set on a hungry man dinner of steak and potatoes. Next to the small café where I lunched was a pub style restaurant, the Grog and Hog. According to the list of fare in their window, ribs and pulled pork were their specialty. But a blackboard menu standing out front advertised a twelve-ounce prime rib.
My mouth watering, I pushed through the wood and etched glass door. The inside was more hip than I expected for a rural, small-town establishment. The high beamed and tin ceiling gave it a spacious feel. A shelf around the perimeter held empty beer bottles of many domestic and imported labels. The walls alternated between tan brick and berry colored wallpaper.
Photographs of hikers on trails and in the mountains hung above every table. Upholstered chairs and teak tabletops with iron bases took up one side of the large room. The bar, booths, and high-top tables were on the other. Two front windows let in ample light so the atmosphere was upbeat and modern.
A young girl rushed by, telling me
to sit wherever I liked. I passed the long, well-stocked bar and opted for a booth in the back. I slipped into the seat, stretched out my legs in front of me, and grabbed the beer list. Someone came to stand at the end of the table.
“So, what do you recommend?” I asked, still perusing the list.
“I recommend you leave Broome and let me do my job.”
I recognized the husky voice. Raising my eyes to Madeline Grange, I caught her signature glare. She still wore her uniform, except the top two shirt buttons were undone and her hair hung loose at her shoulders. I could tell by her expression she wasn’t in a social mood. I ignored it.
“Sheriff Grange, would you care to join me? Then you can tell me why I’m being run out of Dodge.”
Her mouth twitched, and I saw what I thought might be the making of a smile. The sheriff removed her cellphone from her pants pocket, placed it on the table, and slid into the seat opposite me. Her lips tight, she resumed her glare. I gave her my most disarming grin, which had no effect whatsoever.
“By the way, thanks for the nod about the girl not being Karen Martin. I appreciate it.”
“Really? Is that why you intruded on the Martins, interfering in my investigation in the process?”
“Interfere? How was my visit to the Martins’ interfering?”
Her glare deepened. I was not intimidated. Her eyes relaxed and she sighed.
“As you undoubtedly know, Daniel Martin has identified the girl as their daughter’s friend Mary Wells.”
“Yes.”
“Karen Martin is still missing. She is a person of interest in the investigation.”
A person of interest meant suspect.
“Do you think Karen had something to do with her friend’s death?”
“I can’t rule anything out. In fact, the Martins are also of interest at this point. Can you understand why I didn’t appreciate you speaking with them?”
I shrugged. “Those scenarios never occurred to me.”
Even though I said that to Sheriff Grange, they did, but I didn’t believe the Martins could murder their daughter and her friend. I wasn’t so sure about Karen Martin. With parents like Grayson and Maxwell, there’s no telling what psychosis she might have inherited.
“With all due respect, Sheriff, why didn’t you instruct them not to speak about the case? And if they’re suspects, why is there no police detail on them?”
“I did instruct them. I also thought you’d come to see me first. We have limited resources and haven’t charged them with anything. I sent a deputy to check on them, and they told him you’d been there.”
“How can I help?”
“I’d appreciate it if you would stay out of my way.” Sheriff Grange’s tone was light but strained. I knew she was under a lot of pressure.
“I still have a job to do,” I said. “Even though I know where Karen Martin lives, I have to ascertain she’s alive. I have a client to inform.”
Crossing her arms on the table, Sheriff Grange leaned toward me.
“If the autopsy shows the girl we found died as a result of foul play, then I have a killer to catch.”
As a former police officer, I understood the sheriff’s position. Again, I offered her my expertise.
“Sheriff, as you admitted, you don’t have enough resources for an investigation that encompasses such a wide area. I could be of service to you. You never know what I might turn up.”
“Maybe,” she said as her cell vibrated. I could tell someone was informing her on some aspect of the case. When she ended the call, she looked as if she was debating on whether or not to tell me what was going on. “That was Brimmer. A young man came forward to say his girlfriend and her friend went camping the other night and he hasn’t heard from them. He became concerned when he heard about the body we discovered. I need to question him. He says he knows where they made camp.”
“That’s great. Funny, the Martins never said anything about a boyfriend.”
“He says they didn’t know. They just started seeing each other. Steve got the impression he was more serious than Karen was. He said she’s very independent.”
I grinned at the woman sitting across from me. I knew the type.
“Would you mind if I tagged along?”
“I’d prefer to question him myself. But I’ll call you when I’m done, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Okay,” I said. It was more than I expected.
I planned to do some poking around in the woods. The sheriff closed Moose Horn Trail. Still, that left a lot of outlying territory to cover—areas beyond the designated campgrounds.
I assured Sheriff Grange I wouldn’t speak with any more of her persons of interest and would wait for her call.
The waiter came to take my order, which the sheriff took as her cue to leave. I sipped my beer and watched with pleasure as she strode toward the door. She acknowledged a few patrons along the way, twisting around to share a few words with a man at the bar. He touched her elbow, leaned in, and whispered something to her. I could feel my brows knit together and my lips tighten.
Madeline Grange laughed. She had a beautiful smile, which disappeared from her face the instant she caught me watching her. Had she seen my disapproval? Or was it something I hadn’t felt in ages—jealousy? She turned and left.
Chapter 31
Dead men tell no tales. The saying echoed in Cain’s head. And dead women.
He started to pour himself a drink and then thought better of it. That’s what got me in this mess to begin with—I need to keep a clear head.
But he didn’t want to think clearly. He didn’t want to think about what, in a state of desperation and inebriation, he’d done. In spite of his arrangement with Crocker, Cain was shocked when he came across an internet news story about the death of a young woman in Broome.
He had told him not to kill the girl. Didn’t I? Cain tried to remember his last conversation with Crocker. “I’ll do whatever is necessary.” Shit.
Douglas Cain always had an eye on the Martins, wherever they lived. He knew exactly where to send Crocker. The mercenary said he had found an abandoned property, “perfect for what I have in mind.”
Cain didn’t want to know how Crocker planned to deal with Holt. He didn’t care. Who am I kidding? Why send in a killer if you don’t expect anyone killed?
Cain reasoned that if Holt was out of the way, he could handle Maxwell. But the discovery of the young woman’s body threw Cain’s mind into turmoil. He needed to verify Karen Martin was still alive and had tried to contact Crocker again, without success. “I’m done talking to you. Don’t call me again.” There was little consolation in knowing whatever Crocker did would be quick, clean, and untraceable to him. God, I hope so.
And where the hell is Glick? Ronnie Glick’s car showed up at his garage. So far, though, he had no word from the retired police officer.
His mind raced from one problem to another. What’s up with Todd? He began to think Grayson had overreacted to Janet Maxwell’s attendance at the fundraiser. It had done nothing to hinder the success of the event. Grayson had made another impromptu speech before thanking everyone and wishing all a safe trip home. The senator’s earlier restiveness caused by Maxwell’s appearance waned as the night wore on, which allowed Cain to relax. If that was even possible.
Grayson’s change in demeanor had puzzled the lawyer. One minute he was chastising Cain for not handling Maxwell, the next he’s toasting his success and telling Cain everything will work out.
What the hell happened? Well, I’m not a murderer. No matter what Grayson thinks he wants.
Chapter 32
Ronnie Glick slunk down in the booth at the Grog and Hog and waited for the waitress to bring him another beer.
He had panicked when Lucas Holt breezed past him and slipped into the next booth. Glick had almost felt the pain of retaliation the PI would undoubtedly inflict on his body if he had recognized him. The North Carolina PI was all bold-and-bluster when he had backup, bu
t a one-on-one with the six foot three investigator should be avoided at all cost.
Since his last meeting with Holt, Glick had cut his hair, shaved his mustache, and donned lighter clothing. He won’t know me. He hoped and prayed. He also turned in the Jeep for a sedan with local plates.
Glick’s attention peaked when the sheriff joined Holt. They spoke in low tones, but he was able to catch a few words. So the girl in the morgue is not Karen Martin.
He was about to get up and search out the waitress for his check, when the sheriff rose to leave. An agonizing half hour passed before Holt finished his meal. Holt slid from his booth. Glick’s heart raced when the PI stopped beside him, rummaging in his pocket for change. A couple of coins dropped to the floor. Holt bent to scoop them up. Glick could feel Holt’s eyes on him. He had nowhere to go trapped in the booth.
“Hey,” Holt said.
Ronnie Glick broke into a sweat as a hot rush of terror washed over him. He swallowed hard and waited for Holt to make a move. The PI spoke.
“Nice hat.”
Glick raised a shaky hand. “Thanks,” he mumbled without looking up. He watched Holt leave the pub.
Whew. Life is good.
***
This bad situation can only get worse.
In his Manhattan office, Douglas Cain yanked the tie from his neck and struggled to maintain his composure.
He couldn’t breathe. The mounting stress of what Crocker would do or had already done drained his energy and consumed his thoughts. The lawyer wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He pulled out his cellphone and, for the fourth time that day, entered Ronnie Glick’s number. To Cain’s surprise, his rogue employee answered.
“Glick, why haven’t you returned my calls,” he shouted into the phone. “Where the hell are you?”
“Sorry about that, sir. I’ve been working the case.”
“What case?” Cain couldn’t believe the balls on Glick. “You don’t have a case! Where are you?”
