She spoke first. “How are you doing?”
He almost laughed. “I’m okay.”
He wasn’t, of course. He’d never be okay where Kelly Ann was concerned. She would fester under his skin always, like an infected wound. But at least now that it appeared her baby was alive, Lund might be able to do something to lance that infection. “I want to help.”
“The deputy fire marshal—”
“I want to help you find Ethan.”
“And if you get a handle on the arsonist, you’ll be doing that.”
“Val, please.”
At first he thought she might lie, say of course, she wasn’t shutting him out. To his relief, she said nothing at all.
Lund was the first one to break the silence. “Are you going to see him?”
“Right this minute? I’m going to call the DCI, get an Amber Alert in motion, and tell Carla Tiedemann her son might be alive. Hess can wait. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Not until his sentencing.”
“And then he’s going to prison.”
Lund shook his head. “Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I don’t like the timing of this.”
“I don’t like anything about this. But Hess isn’t our problem here. Whoever took Ethan Tiedemann is.”
Lund rubbed his chin, stubble scraping under his fingertips. He was so used to focusing his energy on Hess, it had become his default setting. “You’re right. The arsonist.”
“If I find anything on my end, I’ll call. I know it’s important to you.” She turned away and started for her car.
“Val.”
She kept walking.
“Val,” he said louder. “I’m sorry.”
She paused. Half-turning, she glanced at him under the drape of her hair. “I’m sorry too. I wanted to tell you every single day.”
Val
One of the first things Val had done as chief was write a district policy for cases of missing and abducted children. They’d had few occasions to use the plan, the latest a week ago when a twelve-year-old habitual runaway whose family had just moved to the area had gone missing. Until this morning’s fire, Val had made finding Emily Lang and ensuring her safety the main focus of the LLPD, and she was working on enlisting the whole town. Now they had two children to find.
Val’s first call went to Oneida.
“Good news, I hope?”
“The dog didn’t pick up anything.”
“You’re not messing with me, are you?”
“I know better than to mess with you. The boy was not killed in the fire.”
Oneida let out the kind of whoop she usually reserved for Aaron Rodgers’s touchdown passes.
Pulling the phone away from her ear, Val waited for the dispatcher’s glee to die down. “Done?”
“I was bracing myself for the worst.”
“We all were. I have to warn you, though, that’s the good news. The bad is that it looks like our arsonist is also a kidnapper.”
“You want me to prepare an Amber Alert?”
“Immediately. Where’s Carla Tiedemann now?”
“At the Doghouse.”
“A tavern?”
“Nikki Sinclair rents out cabins. She had a vacancy she donated to the cause.”
Val had never guessed the stripper-turned-bar-owner was a Good Samaritan, but somehow it didn’t surprise her. The people in Lake Loyal were many things, but the majority were nothing if not charitable. “Olson will be heading up the fire investigation.”
“Let me guess, you’ll be talking to Carla Tiedemann.”
As the only person in the PD who knew the Tiedemann’s secret, Val had to make this visit herself. She glanced back at the blackened hull that used to be the home of a family she’d sworn to protect. “Has she been calling every two minutes?”
“No. Haven’t heard from her. Poor thing is probably catatonic.”
Or still sedated. “We’ve got to move on this, Oneida. We’re already hours behind.”
“This is me you’re talking to. I already finished half of my duties while you were taking a breath. Worry about yourself, and give that poor woman a hug for me.”
Since her first visit to the state, it had been clear to Val that Wisconsin took its taverns seriously. Most small towns sustained their fair share, and Lake Loyal was no different, supporting as many watering holes as mom-and-pop shops, grocery stores, and churches combined. But while downtown Lake Loyal was plenty charming, The Doghouse nestled on the outskirts in one of the prettiest areas the whole state had to offer, a picturesque montage of wooded bluffs and rolling farmland, rivers, and lakes.
At least it was pretty in any season other than the tired brown of March. This time of year the land seemed to be holding its breath for spring just like the area residents; the snow long since melted, yet the warm days, lush green of grass, and explosion of leaves and flowers still just out of reach.
Val pulled into the gravel parking lot. Perched on the side of a bluff, the converted old farmhouse overlooked Lake Loyal itself, the downtown snuggling along one shore, Rossum Park and the nature preserve hugging the other. The Doghouse catered to vacationing hunters and anglers, area farmers, snowmobilers, and the occasional group of Harley riders looking for adventure. But despite the heavy drinking, nearly all male clientele, Val’s biggest problem with the Doghouse was its owner. Known around town as Nikki Sin, the woman refused to comply with the state-wide smoking ban. Not only did she light up constantly herself, she encouraged anyone who walked through the door to do so as well.
An evangelist spreading the gospel of lung cancer.
When Val arrived, the tavern was open for breakfast, but there wasn’t a soul in the place, just the ever-present haze of smoke in the air. She passed the simple wooden bar and passed the single pool table. “Nikki?”
A head popped up from behind the bar. Nikki changed her hair color more often than she changed her clothes, and today’s shade was a caramel brown with streaks of purple. “For the love of God, it’s a regular Grand Central Station in here.”
Val blinked, trying to clear the blur to no avail, and glanced around, feeling as if she’d missed something. “No one’s here.”
“Not in the bar, because then they might actually order pancakes or a Bloody Mary, and I might actually make a living.” She ran her fingers through her multi-colored hair, pushing it back from her face and revealing an abbreviated ear, the lobe missing in the half-moon shape of a human bite. Something Val had never felt comfortable to ask about.
“Let me guess,” Nikki said. “You’re here to see Carla Tiedemann. Just like everyone else.”
“I know Officer Weiss is here. Who else?”
“You just missed Channel Five.”
Val groaned inwardly. No doubt they’d heard Carla’s husband and presumably her child had died in the fire. When the news broke that the toddler was abducted, they’d be back.
In a child abduction case, the media could be either a valuable asset or a pain in the asset. But if they found out Ethan Tiedemann’s real parentage, pain wouldn’t even begin to cover it.
It was the kind of story twenty-four-hour cable news lived for.
“Oh, and there’s the doctor.”
“The doctor?”
Nikki pulled a pack of smokes from her pocket, flicked one into her mouth, and positioned a monogrammed Zippo. “Apparently she does house calls.”
“You aren’t really going to light up right in front of me, are you?”
She lowered one lid in a wink. “I have nothing to hide, Chief.”
“Why don’t you suck on your cancer stick outside while you’re showing me the way to these cabins of yours? I don’t have time to be writing tickets just now.”
“Follow me.” Nikki flipped the lighter’s cover back, and striking a flame, she started for the exit. She touched fire to tobacco a few feet from the door and flashed Val a little smile.
“What are you? Thirteen?”
“Forever young.”
Nikki led her up a short trail and around an outcropping of the purple-tinged quartzite common to the Baraboo Bluffs. On the top of the ridge nestled half a dozen cabins. About three hundred square feet each, the tiny structures looked just big enough to house a kitchenette, a small bathroom and a single common room. Officer Jimmy Weiss sat in a lounge chair in front of the closest, his head dropping onto his chest, bobbing awake, and then dropping again.
Val could hardly blame him. It had been a long night for all of them, and his shift was now closing in on thirteen hours. “Are any of the other cabins occupied?” Val asked Nikki.
“Not since the snow melted. Don’t get a lot of tourists dying to see Wisconsin in March. Come May, I’m fully booked.”
As they approached, Weiss scrambled to his feet. “Chief.”
Val thanked Nikki and turned her attention to her officer. After filling him in on the turn the case had taken, she knocked on the cabin door.
A woman with dark, bobbed hair and wire glasses opened it. “Chief Ryker.”
“Doctor…”
“Pender.”
“Right.”
The psychologist had moved to town a little over a year ago, right after the Hess ordeal. She’d made a splash by spending her extra time starting free support groups for first responders and others in town who were having problems dealing with all that had happened in their backyards. Val had done her duty and recommended the groups to her officers, but she’d never attended herself. Her resistance hadn’t been some kind of macho cop thing, not really. She didn’t see the need. Hess behind the bars of a maximum security prison would heal her just fine.
“Carla is your patient?”
“She’s in one of my groups. Is there news?”
“I really need to talk to Carla.”
“Sure thing.” Pender stepped aside, swinging the door wide.
Carla Tiedemann sat perched on the edge of the pull-out sofa, every muscle tense, as if waiting for a job interview. Still pretty, she looked smaller than Val remembered, as if the pressures of the past few hours had withered her like a plant stressed by drought. She gripped her hands in her lap, the baby-pink polish on her fingernails chipped, and looked up at Val with red-rimmed eyes. “You found him?”
“There have been some developments,” Val said, keeping her voice steady.
The woman wrapped her arms around her waist, as if trying to brace herself for the worst. “Okay.”
“It would be better if we were alone.” Val shot Carla a pointed look. She wasn’t sure who Carla had told about Ethan’s parentage and Val needed to be direct. “We need to talk. About this whole situation.”
It took a few seconds, but finally something clicked in Carla’s eyes. “Would you mind waiting outside, JoAnn? Just a few minutes?”
“Not a problem.” The doctor gave them both a close-lipped smile and stepped out, shutting the door behind her.
“Ethan?” Carla said as soon as the third woman was gone.
“Your son was not in the house.”
“Not in the house?”
“He didn’t die in the fire.”
She shook her head. “You’re saying he’s…”
“Missing.”
“Like, someone kidnapped him?”
Val handed her a card printed with the number for dispatch and her own personal cell. “We have a lot of people working on this. The county. The state’s Department of Criminal Investigation. Even the FBI is consulting. But you can call me anytime for updates.”
Carla stared at the card, her eyes unfocused, as if she wasn’t registering.
“I can’t even imagine your shock over all this. I want you to know that many, many people are committed to finding your son. But we need your help.”
“My help?”
“First, I need pictures of Ethan.”
“The fire…”
“Do you have a Facebook account?” In the past few years, Facebook had become one of the biggest assets small town police work had ever known. Want to know what high school kids went to the kegger last weekend? Who got a new gang tattoo? Who tagged the Baraboo River bridge? Facebook held the answers, right there at law enforcement’s fingertips. “Maybe you posted some photos of Ethan there?”
“Ah, yeah. I did.”
Val collected her Facebook information and password, texting it to Oneida. In addition to photos of the little boy that they could circulate, Carla’s page would also contain a list of friends, a place to start the investigation.
“Do you usually work as late as you did last night?”
“At the vet hospital, I do. One of the veterinarians I work for, he’s out of town for a while. So I take up the slack when we have animals that need more care after regular hours.”
“So you’ve been working late every night?”
“For the past week, and the next two. I’ve been taking time off from the library.”
Val made a note to look at coworkers from both of Carla’s part time jobs, the Lake Loyal Animal Hospital and the Baraboo Public Library. “Did your husband usually turn on the security system before he went to bed?”
“Scott? He turned it on every time he came through the door.”
“Even when you were at work?”
“Even during the day on weekends. He’s paranoid. I sometimes forgot, but he never did.” A sob bubbled up from her throat, and she clapped her palm over her mouth, as if attempting to hold it in. “You don’t think…”
“Don’t think what?”
“Oh, God.” Sobs wracked her slight frame.
Val waited for her to regain control. She wished she knew what to say, what to do, but she’d never been good at that sort of thing. Her sister Melissa had always filled that role in their family, always being there for others, always making things easier. It was a gene Val simply didn’t have. “I know this is tough,” she finally said.
Carla nodded, but Val knew it was a lame attempt.
“It’s just… I don’t know… could I have forgotten to set the security system? Is all this…” She folded forward, head in hands.
“It’s not your fault, Carla. It’s the fault of whoever set the fire. Remember, your son is still out there. We need to focus on him.”
She sat up, swiping at her eyes and cheeks with her palms, but the tears didn’t stop flowing. “You’re right. Whatever you need.”
Feeling horrible for the woman, Val pulled a small notebook and pen from her purse and handed them to Carla. “I need you to make some lists for me.”
“Lists?”
“Why don’t we start with everyone who has a key to the house or knows your security system code.”
“You’re talking about my friends, people I trust.”
“I’m just covering all the bases here, Carla.”
“Yes. Of course.” She lowered her head over the notebook and wrote down a few names. “What else?”
“Did you have any problems with neighbors? Family? Anyone?”
“Of course not.”
“Work?”
“The animal hospital has been nothing but supportive. The library too, but I don’t work many hours there.”
“How about Scott’s body shop?”
“He was the boss.”
“Disgruntled employees?”
“Of course not. They all loved him.”
“How about people in other parts of your lives? Think.”
“There’s no one.”
Val hunched forward, mirroring Carla’s body language. “How did you meet JoAnn Pender?”
“One of the vets I work for, he lives next door to her, on the lake. His wife tried one of her groups and thought Dr. Pender might help Scott.”
“So Scott was her patient?”
“At first just him. Since we adopted Ethan, he became really paranoid. I thought he should talk to someone.”
“Paranoid? How so?”
“I don’t know…
reading all sorts of books, buying guns, one of those black steel police batons that telescopes out.”
“An ASP?”
Carla nodded. “Weapons like that were Scott’s obsessions. Over the last year… he changed. He was angry. Scared, although he’d never admit to it. He thought Dixon Hess would try to get his son back.”
Val nodded, careful to keep her expression neutral. Lund would heartily agree with Scott Tiedemann’s fear. So would Val, for that matter. “I’ll need a list of the firearms.”
“I doubt I can remember them all.”
“Do the best you can.” Val nodded at the paper in front of Carla. When the woman was finished writing all she remembered, Val continued. “Did you tell anyone the identity of Ethan’s biological father? Did Scott?”
“No. Except for Dr. Pender, of course. I didn’t tell her, but I think Scott probably did. Scott kind of decided what we should tell her and what we shouldn’t.” She lifted a shaking hand to wipe her eyes, and it suddenly struck Val how much Carla reminded her of Lund’s dead wife Kelly.
Both fragile.
Both victims.
Neither in control of their lives.
Kelly was lucky to have Lund in her life. Carla didn’t seem to have any luck going her way at all.
“We never should have stayed here. Once we adopted him, we should have moved far away. I wanted to do it, just pick up and go, but Scott’s job… he wouldn’t leave. He got mad whenever I brought it up.”
“I know it was hard.”
“Hard? Scott always said you wouldn’t…” She dropped her hands, and balled them into fists at her side. “I promised him you’d protect us.”
Val opened her mouth, then closed it. Her chest hurt for the woman. If this was her, if that child was Grace, if the man killed in the fire was Lund, she wouldn’t just be as angry and desperate as Carla, she would be hurting someone. “I’m so sorry.”
Carla’s sobs were dry now, retching breaths, painful to hear. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if physically holding herself together. “Scott said you were as much to blame for all those people dying as Hess was. Now I see he was right.”
Val felt the words with the sharp pain of a kick to the ribs. As much as she wanted to explain how many precautions she’d taken, how seriously she’d treated the threat, how the evidence wasn’t yet in, the result was the same.
Burned Too Hot: A Thriller (Val Ryker series Book 2) Page 5
