Donors

by C. M. Sutter

  “Thanks, honey, I’m good.”

  With a hand on each grip, he pushed the wheelchair to the kitchen table and locked the brakes. “I’ll start the coffee, then I have to check on our newest guests. I won’t be long, though. Want the TV remote?”

  “Sure.”

  Sam noticed the worried expression on his mother’s face.

  “Don’t you think you’re getting in over your head?”

  Sam shrugged. “Not sure yet. I’ve never kept anyone alive before. If it doesn’t work, I’ll go back to the way it was. Let me do the worrying, Mom. I’ll figure it out.”

  He poured a cup of coffee for Adeline and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back in a half hour, then I’ll start breakfast.” He turned on the TV and set the remote on the table in front of her. “Your morning soap is about to begin.” He went back to his room and grabbed Molly’s clothes. Then he crossed the kitchen and entered the garage.

  The muffled sounds from the back room only got louder as he turned the key in the knob. Sam walked in and closed the door at his back. Panic-stricken faces stared at him. He hated that part of the process, but with three girls as donors, he might not need to bring home any more women.

  “I have to use the bathroom, Sam, and who are those girls?” Molly said.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He slipped the T-shirt over Molly’s head. “I’m going to unstrap you so you can put your arms in the sleeves. Don’t try anything you’ll regret.”

  She lay still as he unbuckled her.

  “Sit up and put your arms in the shirt.”

  She did as told.

  “Now lie back down.”

  “But I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “You can wait for a few minutes. Now lay down.”

  Molly did, and he buckled the strap tightly across her chest and arms. “Here are your jogging pants.”

  “Are you letting me go?”

  He snickered. “Hardly, but I only need your arm from now on. I’m going to release your legs for a minute. You kick me and you die, understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  He put a foot in each pant leg then loosened the strap across her calves. He slid the pants up to her waist then snugged the strap again. He looked over his shoulder at Kristen and Bethany. “I’m going to bring a bucket out here for you three to use. I don’t want any of you in my house. I’ll be back soon.”

  “But wait—”

  Sam didn’t stop. He closed the door and locked it behind him.

  “What do you feel like eating for breakfast, Mom?” Sam had just entered the kitchen and glanced at the table across the room. Adeline’s head lay slumped on her chest, and the remote had fallen to the floor. “Mom!” He raced across the kitchen and lifted her out of the wheelchair. He placed her on the living room rug. “Can you hear me?” He put his ear against her chest and heard her heart beating. Thankfully, she was alive. He checked her pulse—it was weak. Sam ran to the bathroom and wet a washcloth. He placed it across her head. “Mom, wake up. Please wake up.”

  She moaned and opened her eyes. Sam let out a deep breath and rushed to the kitchen. He filled a glass with orange juice and placed it on the coffee table. “Let me scoot you back against the couch. I want you to drink this juice.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I’m guessing your blood sugar is low or your anemia is getting worse. I’ll be right back.” Sam returned to the kitchen and pulled the refrigerator handle. He stuck his head in the door and saw that only two pints of blood were left on the shelf. In her weakened state, Adeline would need a pint that day. He pulled one out of the refrigerator.

  I need to keep four pints on hand at all times. I’ll be drawing blood after Mom gets her transfusion.

  He returned to the living room and took a seat next to her. “Are you feeling better? Did the juice help?”

  “Sort of, but I’m still a little dizzy.”

  “You need to get back in bed so I can give you a transfusion. You’re getting weaker, Mom. I’m going back to the way I was doing it before.”

  “Sam, I’m dying. Just admit it and let me go.”

  He wiped his eyes. “You aren’t dying yet. The insurance will come through. Until then, I’ll do the best I can.” With the wheelchair at her side, Sam helped Adeline into it and rolled her back to her room. “I’ll get everything set up, but first, let’s get you in bed.” He lifted her onto the bed, slid the pillows behind her, and then pulled the blankets up to her chest. “I’ll get you some water. You need to stay hydrated.”

  Sam returned a few minutes later with a pint of blood and a tall plastic cup of water. A straw poked out of the lid. “Here you go.” He handed her the cup and moved the roller table over the bed. He hooked the bag onto the IV stand and inserted the tube into the port taped to the back of her wrist. He opened the valve. “Do you need anything else, Mom? Want the TV on in here?”

  “Yes, that would be nice.”

  “You got it.” He clicked the remote and placed it on the roller table. “I’ll leave the door open. I don’t want anyone upsetting you, so they aren’t coming in to use the bathroom anymore. I’ll take a bucket out there.”

  “Sam.”

  “It’s okay. They’ll get used to it. I’m going to get them squared away with food, then I’ll start their blood draws. Call my cell if you need anything.”

  He took three bottles of water with straws and six chocolate chip cookies out to the workroom. He placed them on the counter and left. A moment later he was back with a large blue bucket.

  “Here’s your toilet, Molly. It’s either that or piss yourself, your choice.” He glanced at the other women. “Guess you’ll need buckets too.”

  Molly began sobbing. “Just let us go.”

  “Don’t start with me. I have enough problems without listening to your whining.” Sam walked around the room and looked for something that would restrain her but still give her the movement she needed. “Damn it, I can’t think of anything. You’re getting taped. It’s the easiest way to do this.” He released the chest straps. “Sit up so I can tape your hands behind your back. Your legs are getting taped together too. I’ll help you off the table, then you can figure out the rest on your own.”

  Chapter 25

  J.T. read the directions as I drove. I had missed being behind the wheel and needed to let off a little steam. We were into our third day with nothing more than interviews that led nowhere. The color of Molly’s running suit was the most helpful lead we had gotten since arriving on Monday.

  “Okay, First Federal Bank is two blocks ahead on your right, according to the GPS.”

  “Who do we ask for?”

  J.T. pulled his notepad from his inner jacket pocket. He flipped to the last page of notes. “It says her boss was Angela Farrow. I guess she’s the one that suggested the promotion for Molly.”

  “Good, that means they had a nice working relationship. Maybe Molly confided in her too.”

  “Maybe.” J.T. pointed. “Here we are.”

  I turned in to the designated lot for the single-story brick building that looked like any typical neighborhood bank. Double glass doors were positioned in the center of the facade facing the parking lot, and the drive-through banking with three lanes was directly to our right. I parked, and we exited the cruiser. J.T. held the door open. I entered first.

  “Guess chivalry isn’t dead yet.” I gave him a thoughtful smile. “Thanks, partner.”

  A branch assistant, almost like a banking concierge, greeted us. “Hello, how may I help you with your banking needs today?”

  “Thank you, but we’re here to see Angela Farrow.”

  “Certainly. One moment, please.” She stood from her desk near the door and disappeared down a hallway.

  J.T. tipped his head. “There’s one of those fancy coffee machines with the flavor pods. Want one?”

  “Sure, I’ll have a macchiato.”

  J.T. busied himself at the coffee machine while I fl
ipped through banking brochures. He carried over two foamy coffees and stood at my side. “See anything interesting?”

  “You mean an account that will pay me interest on my hard-earned money?”

  “No such thing, right?”

  “These days, not so much.”

  I saw the woman we had talked to a few minutes earlier exit the hallway with a woman at her side. She tried to be discreet as she pointed at us before returning to her desk. The new woman, presumably Angela Farrow, headed in our direction.

  “Hello, is there something I can help you with?” She extended her hand.

  I introduced J.T. and myself as FBI agents, which seemed to surprise her.

  “I understand Molly is missing, but bringing in the FBI? I’m kind of shocked.”

  “Ma’am”—I looked around at the customers coming and going— “is there a private place we can talk? We have a few questions for you.”

  “Oh, of course, my office is right this way.” She led us to a group of offices at the back of the bank. “In here, please.” The plaque attached to the door had Bank Manager stamped across it in gold lettering. Angela opened the door and motioned for us to take a seat. J.T. thanked her for both of us. She rounded the oversized, ornate walnut desk and sat down facing us. “Now, what can I help you with, agents?”

  I pulled a pen and notepad out of my purse and flipped the pages to a clean one. J.T. asked the questions.

  “Ma’am, how close were you and Molly?”

  She seemed to be thinking that over. “Close coworkers, I’d say. We had lunch together twice a week.”

  “Did you share personal information and have private conversations, things you’d keep between yourselves? You know—best-friend secrets, rants about coworkers. Situations you discussed between the two of you but nobody else?”

  “I was Molly’s superior, Agent Harper. That would be inappropriate, and I wouldn’t go so far as saying we were best friends.”

  I wished she would get off her high horse and just be honest with us. We weren’t interested in her ‘bank manager persona’ responses.

  “Ma’am.” I forced a smile. She was giving us generic answers, and I wondered why. “Were you close friends with Molly or not? I doubt if you went to lunch twice a week and only discussed the rising interest rates.” I felt J.T.’s leg bump mine under the desk. I flashed him a “knock it off” frown.

  “We did talk about other things now and then.”

  “Such as?” Getting answers from her was like pulling teeth, and I was about to grab my pliers.

  “Our relationships, or lack of.”

  We stared across the desk and watched her fidget.

  “Okay, we both had relationship concerns.” She rearranged herself in the chair several times, clearly uncomfortable with where the conversation was going. “My husband is cheating, and I’m considering a divorce. I told Molly that. She said she had recently met a guy named Mitchell and was very intrigued by him, but something seemed off.”

  “In what way?”

  “I don’t know, like he was too good to be true and kind of rushing things. She even said he asked her to go away with him for a few days. She hadn’t made up her mind yet since she didn’t know him that well, and—”

  “And what?”

  I wrote as J.T. continued in my place.

  “And she had just gotten the promotion at my suggestion. She didn’t know if the timing was right to leave for a few days.”

  I raised my brows in question. “Why wouldn’t they just go for the weekend? She wouldn’t miss any workdays, then.”

  Angela shrugged. “I don’t know, Agent Monroe. This guy sent up red flags in my opinion, and frankly I was surprised she didn’t show up for work on Monday.”

  “So Molly didn’t have Mondays off?”

  “No, but we have late hours on Mondays and Fridays. Molly was scheduled to work that afternoon for three hours before her promotion party.”

  “I doubt if disappearing without telling anyone is Molly’s MO, then. Am I right?”

  She pressed her forehead then rubbed her temples. “No, it isn’t her MO—it’s not even close.”

  “Did she tell you Mitchell’s last name?” I waited with my pen suspended above the notepad.

  “Yes, um, I remember it was a president’s last name. I teased her about that. It wasn’t Clinton, but it began with a C.”

  “Cleveland?” J.T. asked.

  “No. Carter, it was Carter.”

  I wrote that down. “Is there anything else, even if you aren’t sure of its importance?”

  “Only that she wanted him to meet her parents before she gave him an answer.” She looked at me with concern. “That was something I liked about Molly—she was old-fashioned and kind. You think something bad has happened, don’t you? Why would the FBI be involved otherwise?”

  “Sorry, ma’am, but it’s an ongoing investigation. We aren’t at liberty to discuss it with you. We appreciate your help, though.” J.T. pulled his card out of his pocket. “We’re only a phone call away if you think of anything else.”

  Angela stood and rounded the desk then escorted us to the lobby. “Thank you, agents. I hope you find her soon.”

  After we got to the car and J.T. clicked the door locks, I climbed into the passenger seat. I fastened my seat belt and pulled my phone out of my purse. “I’m calling Sullivan. He can get someone to do a background check on Mitchell Carter, and I think we need to pay the Davis family a visit.” I made the call to the precinct and told Sullivan about our interview. Next I scrolled through my contact list and found the phone number for Mrs. Davis, I hit Call.

  She picked up quickly. “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Davis, it’s Agent Monroe calling. New information has surfaced, and my partner and I would like to stop by and discuss it with you as soon as possible. Would twenty minutes from now be okay?”

  “Certainly. My husband and I are both home. Agent Monroe, is it bad news?”

  “No, it isn’t. Just a few more questions, that’s all.” I heard her take in a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll need your address, ma’am.” She rattled it off and said goodbye. With the address programmed into my phone, I guided J.T. to their house.

  I watched the house numbers as J.T. drove slowly down Emerson Street. “Even numbers are on my side, so theirs should be that blue one.” I pointed at a two-story Colonial two houses ahead. J.T. slowed the car to a crawl. The house number was prominently displayed above their garage door. “Yep, that’s it. Pull into the driveway.”

  He parked, and we got out and followed the freshly cleared sidewalk. Mr. Davis must have shoveled the one-inch snow cover that had fallen overnight. I appreciated it. J.T. rang the bell. The door swung open, and Mrs. Davis stood on the other side. I made sure my badge was exposed.

  “Agents?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Jade Monroe and J.T. Harper.”

  “Please come in out of the cold.”

  I pointed down as I wiped my shoes on the porch mat. “Sorry, but our shoes are wet.”

  She swatted the air. “We’ve got tile floors, so just don’t slip and fall. Let’s sit in the kitchen. I’m brewing a fresh pot of coffee.”

  We followed her out of the foyer, past the family room, and into the kitchen that faced the deck at the back of the house.

  “Please, have a seat. I’ll get my husband. He’s in his office.”

  A moment later they entered the kitchen. Mr. Davis shook our hands and took a seat across from us. Mrs. Davis brought four cups to the table along with the coffeepot then sat down.

  “You said something new has surfaced?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Have either of you ever heard of Mitchell Carter?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Davis gave each other questioning looks. Both shook their heads.

  “That name doesn’t ring a bell with either of us, Agent Monroe. Who is he?” Mr. Davis asked.

  “Were you aware that Molly was seeing someone?”

  “You mean as a boyfriend? W
as it this Mitchell guy?”

  J.T. faced Mrs. Davis. “We’ve just learned from one of her coworkers that Molly mentioned Mr. Carter as somebody she was seeing. He actually asked her to go away with him for a few days.”

  Mrs. Davis wrung her hands. “That doesn’t sound like something Molly would do. Do you think this man has abducted her?”

  I responded as I poured coffee for all of us. “Ma’am, it’s too early to know. The police department is running a background check on him as we speak. I’m sure we’ll track him down before the day’s end and find out more. Has Molly acted different lately, secretive, maybe, or distant?”

  Mrs. Davis wiped her eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. “We both work”—she looked at her husband—“normally, I mean.”

  “Understood, ma’am.”

  “To be honest, she was excited about her upcoming promotion and the party that night. It seemed like she was on top of the world.”

  “She never mentioned anyone having a beef with her?” J.T. asked.

  “Not at all. She was her normal self, upbeat and positive. She enjoyed running, she went out now and then, and she liked her job.”

  I took a sip of coffee and jotted down the comments. “You said she went out now and then?”

  “Yes, with Maddie, a friend from college. They’d go to Penelope’s Café, which is a pretty happening place with the millennials. It’s a strange venue, but the kids like it. They have a small organic restaurant, a bar, and a coffee shop. The only alcohol they serve is beer—all from microbreweries in the Midwest. Live music plays every Wednesday and Saturday night.”

  “What is Maddie’s last name?”

  “Trapp.”

  J.T. and I stood.

  “Okay, thanks,” I said. I’ll double-check to see if anyone from the PD has spoken with her yet. May we see Molly’s room, just to get an idea of who she is?”

  Mrs. Davis pushed back her chair. “Of course, it can’t hurt. Right this way.”

  J.T. added, “We’ll also need her hairbrush and toothbrush sealed in a plastic bag.”

  Mr. Davis took it upon himself to gather those items.