Going Gone

by Sharon Sala

  The police were on the scene within minutes. They bagged the manila envelope and his keys and briefcase, and started looking for witnesses.

  The guard on the night desk confirmed the time Charles had left the building. They looked at security footage, but the parking lot was too dark for them to tell what had happened. Trent showed up on the footage when the headlights came on in his car, but when he passed the bumper, he disappeared. A few minutes later they could see a van leaving the parking lot, but with no identifying marks and no way to see the color or the tag number, it didn’t further the investigation.

  They called his secretary and asked when she’d seen him last. When she learned about her boss’s disappearance, first she cried, and then she went into duty mode and came back to the office to help Detective Jenkins, the cop who’d caught the case. She went through Trent’s files with steel-eyed diligence, giving Jenkins a list of names and backgrounds on past clients who might be holding a grudge. The man was a lawyer, and lawyers pissed a lot of people off.

  * * *

  Cameron and Laura were eating late after their session at the gym. She was quiet all through dinner. All the joy of her upcoming wedding had been crushed by what was happening.

  Cameron knew her well enough not to push. If she wanted to talk about something, she would let him know. When they began cleaning up the kitchen, he turned on the television to catch part of the late news. He was drying pans and putting them away when the local newscast was interrupted by a breaking story. They both stopped to watch.

  “...just now on the scene of what appears to have been an abduction. Local lawyer Charles Trent, who was paralyzed from the waist down over twenty years ago, has disappeared. A cleaning crew in the building where his office is located noticed his vehicle door open and his wheelchair lying on its side in the parking lot.”

  Charles Trent’s picture came up on the screen as the newscaster continued to talk.

  “Police are looking into his past cases, searching for disgruntled clients.”

  “I know him,” Cameron said as he walked up behind her. “I’ve seen him trying cases in court. Nice guy. Never let his condition get him down.”

  Laura leaned against him without comment.

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the back of her ear.

  “We’re nearly through here, honey. Why don’t you go take a nice hot bath...soak the soreness out of some of those muscles? I’ll finish up.”

  She turned around and hugged him.

  “You’re the best, and I’m sorry about your friend. Maybe they’ll find him alive.”

  Cameron frowned. “It’s not likely. When cops and lawyers go missing, it’s usually because they’ve pissed off the wrong bad guys. So go soak your sweet self. I’ll be in to check on you later...just to make sure you haven’t fallen asleep in the tub.”

  He watched her leave, eyeing the drag in her step and the slump in her shoulders, and wondered if the self-defense lesson was the cause of this sadness. Had it put her back in that victim mind-set she’d tried so hard to get past?

  * * *

  Laura stripped in the bathroom and clipped her hair high on her head so it wouldn’t get wet. She eyed the silver cross hanging between her breasts as the tub filled, then turned away and added some of her favorite bath salts. She slowly eased down into the heat with the bath pillow behind her neck, then took a deep breath and closed her eyes, all but floating in the hot, steamy depths.

  Five minutes turned into ten, and she was trying to decide whether to get out or add some more hot water when an explosion rocked the house. The lights flickered as she climbed out of the bathtub in a panic. She grabbed a large bath towel, wrapping it around her body as she bolted out of the bedroom screaming Cameron’s name.

  Cameron was in the living room watching television when the explosion sounded. He jumped up from the sofa and ran to the windows as flames began spiraling up above the housetops nearby, then heard Laura scream. He turned just as she came running down the hall, dripping water as she went.

  He caught her in midflight and swept her up into his arms, then headed back into the bedroom.

  “Hey, honey. You’re going to freeze out here like this. Let’s go back and get you dried off and dressed, okay?”

  Laura was shaking as she clung to him.

  “Did you hear that explosion? Are we in danger? What happened?”

  “Yes, I heard it. I don’t know what happened, but I’ll find out in a bit. Right now, let’s get you dried off.”

  He handed her a towel and went to get some sweats out of the dresser while she finished drying.

  She was sitting on the closed lid of the commode when he came back into the bathroom. She was staring at the scar on her leg and the bruises on her body, wondering how much all of that would show when she went for the fitting for her wedding dress in a couple of days.

  He frowned. “Did you get all those bruises this evening at the gym?”

  “I guess,” she said.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  She blinked and then looked up at the devastation in his eyes.

  “You didn’t hurt me. I wanted to do it.”

  He shook his head and then handed her the sweats.

  She put on the pants and was pulling the top over her head when they began hearing sirens.

  Cameron rushed out of the bathroom with Laura right behind him.

  The moment she looked out the window and saw the flames for the first time, her training kicked into gear. She grabbed the landline phone and quickly called the police.

  “Reston P.D.”

  “Please connect me with the officer in charge of this shift.”

  “One moment, please.”

  Laura waited a few moments and then heard a click, followed by a gruff voice.

  “This is Lieutenant Sharp.”

  “Lieutenant, this is Laura Doyle with the American Red Cross. I live in Reston and just heard an explosion. I can see the flames from my home. Can you tell me what happened? I need to know what, if any, emergency services might be needed.”

  “I don’t know details, Ms. Doyle, only that a gas main exploded. We’ve had conflicting reports of two, maybe three, blocks being leveled, but I can’t confirm that.”

  Laura closed her eyes, imagining the devastation.

  “Thank you. This was very helpful.”

  She hung up.

  “A gas main exploded in a residential neighborhood. Initial reports are that two or three blocks have been leveled. I have to get down there and see for myself what’s needed.”

  She started back down the hall toward the bedroom, but Cameron was right behind her.

  “I go where you go on this one,” he said.

  She didn’t argue.

  Within ten minutes they were in the car and on their way toward the blaze. Cameron moved quickly through the streets, taking alleys and small side streets to get closer to the fire, and then they ran into a roadblock.

  Laura got out of the car, leaving Cameron behind the wheel, and flashed her credentials as she looked for someone in charge.

  She was directed to an officer another block down the street and gave Cameron a quick wave before jogging toward him.

  Cameron never took his eyes off her, and when she returned a few minutes later, he was waiting.

  She leaped in the car, buckling her seat belt as she talked.

  “Take me home. I have enough information on my home computer to initiate emergency services, and then I’ll go from there. If I have to drive into D.C. to my office later, then so be it.”

  Cameron quickly turned around and headed home.

  “What happened? Does anyone know?”

  “I doubt it, but I saw live footage on the lieutenant’s laptop. Four blocks on both side
s of the street are leveled, the worst I’ve seen. They can’t search for bodies because of the fire, and they’re evacuating at least ten blocks in every direction until the gas has been shut off. It looks like a war zone.”

  Cameron shook his head, thinking of all the people who had been eating dinner, watching TV or sleeping in their beds. They probably never knew what hit them.

  * * *

  The next morning dawned cool and brisk. It was Lucy Taft’s favorite time of year. She dressed in a pair of old wool slacks and an even older fuzzy sweater. She added her favorite corduroy jacket, and took her pruning shears and a basket as she went outside to deadhead the last of the flowers in her garden.

  The garden was too large for her now, but she refused to give it up. She hired people during the hot weather to help with the weeding and mowing. But when the days began growing shorter, the nights colder and Mother Nature began putting her babies to bed, it was all hers.

  She set the basket aside and began clipping old blooms from her chrysanthemum bed with a steady snip, snip. She’d been at it for at least fifteen minutes when she heard footsteps behind her. Thinking it was probably Mildred coming to urge her back inside, she ignored them.

  “Excuse me,” Hershel said.

  Lucy stood up and turned around. “Oh, Mr. Leibowitz! I thought you were Mildred coming to talk me into going inside, and I didn’t want to go. It’s so nice out this morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is nice,” Hershel said, eyeing her pruning shears. “Those are some wicked-looking scissors you have there.”

  She glanced down and then shrugged. “I guess. I’ve had them for ages, and they do the job. Do you garden? I love to garden. I like to do my own deadheading, too, don’t you?”

  She didn’t wait for him to answer as she moved on to the next patch in need of cleaning up.

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and began following her along the path.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m a strong proponent of taking care of my own business. I don’t butt into other people’s business, either.”

  Lucy missed the double entendre as she reached across a bed of marigolds to snip off an old rose hip she’d missed before. It didn’t do to let them go to seed like that. William Harold always believed it weakened the main stalk.

  She put the clipping in her basket and thought about her grandson, William Herman. Someone had done too much pruning on him back when he was young. He didn’t have a lick of William Harold’s backbone, and it was a damn shame.

  Her thoughts turned to the explosion she’d heard last night and something occurred to her. She stopped and turned around, eyeing Paul with such intensity that he thought she was about to out him.

  “You were out late last night.”

  Breath caught in the back of his throat. He frowned.

  “Yes, I was. And you were up late, as well. I saw you standing at the window looking through a pair of binoculars.”

  Lucy was so curious to learn what had been on fire that she missed the sarcasm.

  “I know. The explosion was so loud it woke me, but I couldn’t see anything but an orange glow over the rooftops, even with my binoculars. I mentioned your late arrival hoping maybe you’d seen it on your way home and knew what had happened.”

  Hershel was so relieved he wasn’t going to have to kill her—yet—that he almost laughed.

  “Oh, so that’s what you were looking at. I thought you were looking at me.”

  Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. All of a sudden she felt threatened and had a sense that this conversation could have turned out much differently.

  “Well, yes, of course I saw you drive in, but I’d been at the window for at least fifteen minutes. So you didn’t see the fire?”

  “No, ma’am, although I did smell smoke when I got out of my car. Maybe it will be in the morning paper.”

  “It wasn’t. I looked. Probably happened after they’d put the paper to bed. I should have stayed inside to watch the news this morning. I’m sure it’s on TV, but I wanted to do this while the day was young.” Then she shrugged. “No matter. I’ll call one of the boys. They always know what’s going on.”

  “Oh, your sons live in the area?” Hershel asked.

  “Not my sons. The boys...you know...CIA. I still have connections. William Harold was one of them once.”

  Hershel’s belly rolled. Good thing he’d found out now. He did not want the spooks on his ass, too. He gave her what he hoped was a congenial smile.

  “Yes, ma’am. Well, I’ll say good morning and be on my way. I need to do a little grocery shopping.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” she said, and went back to deadheading.

  She heard the engine start, but she didn’t turn around. He didn’t seem to like being watched—at all.

  Eleven

  Laura had been on the phone most of the night calling some of her local volunteers as well as suppliers, making sure the basics would be on-site. Then she called her boss to let him know she wouldn’t be coming in. This was her hometown. She wasn’t going to abandon it to someone else when she’d spent the past ten years going all over the country helping other communities just like this.

  She left her house just before dawn dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a red hoodie that zipped up the front. She’d learned a long time ago that noticeable colors helped people find her more quickly. Although Cameron was still at home, he promised to stop by before he left town, just in case she needed his help. He was still dragging his heels about going, although this day trip to Virginia for a follow-up on a case had been in the works since last week.

  Laura didn’t argue. She hadn’t been out on a disaster site since before the plane crash and was hoping this didn’t trigger an anxiety attack.

  Daylight was only moments away as she drove up to the blast site. She needed to see what they were dealing with before heading to the shelter. After flashing her credentials, she went past a barricade that an officer moved aside for her.

  Having a local volunteer who had offered the use of a very upscale motor home for a temporary headquarters was a coup. She couldn’t count the times she’d bunked in a tent or in the building with the evacuees, which often made it difficult to work. Having privacy and a place to sleep was invaluable to her job.

  She saw the motor home parked less than a block down and drove up behind it to park. She got out with her iPad and a travel mug of coffee, and knocked on the door. Laura recognized the owner, Bea Thomas, a sixtysomething ball of energy.

  “Laura! Come in, come in. There’s coffee on the stove.”

  Laura smiled as she climbed the steps. “Hi, Mrs. Thomas. Thank you so much for offering the loan of your motor home.”

  “Call me Bea, and you’re very welcome. It’s just been sitting in the driveway since my husband died. I’m happy to put it to good use.”

  Laura was impressed that a woman so small could handle a vehicle this large.

  “Thanks again, Bea. And getting right down to business, have you heard anything from the first-shift volunteers? Last night I told them all to meet here. That was before I had confirmed the Wesley Methodist Church as our first shelter.”

  Bea dug through some paperwork on the table and handed her the list.

  “These are the ones who have already reported in. I did what you asked me to do this morning and sent them to the church. Also, there was a man here earlier, said his name was Kevin Holmes.”

  “Good. He works for the Red Cross, too. Where did he go?”

  “He went to the blast site.”

  Laura nodded. “I’m going to go find him, but I’ll be back soon. If anyone else shows up, send them on to the church, as well.”

  “Will do,” Bea said.

  Laura looked up Kevin’s number and called it as she began walking. The smell was
sickening, and the smoke from the smoldering debris hung motionless in the air.

  He answered on the first ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Kevin, it’s me, Laura. Where are you? I’m walking into the area right now.”

  “I’m all the way down at the other end. I’ll head your way. There’s nothing we can do here other than leave word with the searchers as to where we’ll set up.”

  “Who’s in charge?” she asked.

  “Right now there’s a fire marshal and an arson investigator here, so probably them.”

  “Are there any survivors?” she asked, and then heard his breath catch.

  “No.”

  “What’s the death estimate?”

  “Not sure yet, but four blocks of personal residences on both sides of the street are gone. You do the math.”

  “Dear God,” Laura muttered. The smoke was making her eyes burn, but it wasn’t the only thing that brought on the tears. It was the sight of all this devastation and the thought of being a witness to the final resting place of so many dreams. “Are there any bodies?”

  The catch in his breath was more pronounced this time.

  “Not a whole one.”

  Laura stopped. She wiped the tears away and took a deep breath.

  “We can do this, Kevin.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Never apologize for empathy. Why don’t you go ahead to the church and start setting up? I see some men in fire gear. I’m going to talk to them, and we’ll meet up at the church later.”

  “Will do. The truck should be there with the cots. Are we expecting to shelter the people who were evacuated from the surrounding areas?”

  “Yes, or at least most of them. See you soon.”

  Laura pocketed her phone and increased her speed, anxious to finish here as quickly as possible. After introducing herself and meeting the fire marshal, who corroborated everything Kevin had just told her, she left her card and information on where the Red Cross would set up and asked them to direct anyone in need of food or lodging to the church.