The next missing kid was younger than the rest. Just fourteen when she went missing in 2004, Emmie Lindahl was described as a troubled kid. She stared out from her head shot as if she was mouthing fuck you asshole, fuck everyone over twenty one, and basically fuck the world. A curtain of dark hair hung over narrow, catlike eyes etched with heavy, black eyeliner and her pierced lips curled upwards in a sneer. She’d been caught shoplifting at the Wal-Mart out on the highway several times, and her mom, a chambermaid at Betsy Thorson’s motel was quoted as saying I tried everything but I couldn’t do nothing with her. She was a wild one since she was a toddler.
Judging by the comments, nobody seemed too surprised when she went missing– and Nick’s eyes almost fell out – after yet another bush party at the Narrows. Reading even further down the page he did another double take to see Cole Schuler’s name and a quote from him saying, Emmie showed real talent for trumpet. She could have worked towards a music scholarship and turned her world around. So why had Cole played so dumb earlier? Emmie looked like the typical aspiring teen junkie with her hollow eyes and wasted white face. Her Mom even said she’d found packets of dope in her backpack, but she hadn’t known where to turn for help. Seemed to him the school might be the first place, but in all the articles he’d found no statement about her from anyone in authority at the school or from the School District.
Next he typed Chris Bauer’s name into Facebook. About twenty names came up, but none of them matched. His sister, Megan had some kind of shrine to him. Photos of her brother surrounded by hearts and angels and a message in pink that said To Chrissy who was taken from us way too soon. She was listed as living in Fargo, North Dakota – a few hours from Silver Narrows. Nick added her name to the to interview list.
Emmie Lindahl would have been around twenty two if she was still living. He punched her into the search and did a double take when three Emmie Lindahls popped up and right below them a dark haired, sharp-eyed young woman in her twenties appeared. It had to be her. The sneer was still there, though her hair was longer and hung to her shoulders in streaky curls. A line of photos showed her posing in various skimpy bikinis and cropped tee shirts over faded jeans, her lips thrust out into a forced pout, a bizarre contrast to the sneer of her adolescent years. Her profile listed her as a dancer in Chicago. Why hadn’t anyone seen this? A quick scan through the articles following her disappearance showed that Mrs. Lindahl had moved to her sister’s place in Winnipeg, Canada. He added Emmie’s name to the list and decided to have a word with Brad Brenner about the fact that she was apparently alive and kicking and might have some information that could shed some light on some of the glaring gaps in the case.
He was just considering his best approach to Brenner when a message flashed across his phone. It was from Lilah. He scanned it: Crazy roads, staying over tonight. See you tomorrow. L
Staying over where? He tried calling the number, but it just went to voice mail. Either she didn’t want to talk to him or she was in the middle of something. All he knew was his hands were already aching to touch her again and his throat was tight with thoughts of her silky, perfumed body.
10
Brad Brenner was one of those guys with hair so perfect it looked like the hairdo of Ken, Barbie’s second-rate sidekick. He probably spent an hour every morning coating it with hairspray and coaxing it into immaculately spaced spikes.
His office was three doors past The Beanery, so deciding generosity might be the best icebreaker, Nick picked up a couple of coffees for take-out. Brad was the only full-time employee along with a couple of part-timers and about five community volunteers, but when Nick pushed the office door open, he was alone behind the desk chatting on his phone.
His eyes narrowed, but he motioned for Nick to take a seat. Nick put the coffees down and pushed one towards him. He nodded and turned aside, lowering his voice. He was probably talking to Rosie. He kept saying yeah, no, yeah and don’t put too much cream in the Alfredo. Nick swung the chair around and checked out the neatly arranged Wanted posters with their grainy, wild-faced mug-shots, next to the posters asking Missing: Have you seen any of these children? Sure enough, Emmie Lindahl’s snarly little teen face peered out from the picture.
“So what the fuck brings you here, Hendricks?”
“That’s the thanks I get for bringing coffee,” Nick said, swinging back to face the ferrety, blue eyes.
Brad stirred three packets of sweetener into the coffee. “I don’t recall inviting you to my coffee club.”
“You know that shit’s toxic, don’t you,” Nick said.
“Life’s toxic,” he said, slurping the coffee. “Poison lurking round every corner.”
“How’s Rosie?”
“The fuck you care. You weren’t good enough to clean the dogshit from her driveway.”
“Nice, I’m glad we’ve cleared the air. Now I can tell you the real reason I’m here.”
“Fire away, lover boy.”
“I’m working on a new piece for the paper and, in the course of my research I discovered that the young lady you have listed as missing,” Nick pointed up to Emmie’s photo. “Is actually alive and well in Chicago.”
He tilted his head and stared right at Nick. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“You mean you know she’s alive?”
“You got it, genius.”
“Then why is she still listed as missing?”
“Nobody’s interested. Her Mom moved to Canada – seems she was glad to get rid of the kid. She was trouble from day one.”
“But maybe she could shed some light on the other disappearances?”
“No need. My dad caught the pervert. Six years ago. Logger from Wisconsin. Dad retired on a high note when he solved the case of the missing kids.”
“But wouldn’t it seem logical to question her? Just to make sure you had the right guy.”
“You must’ve been watching too much TV, Hendricks. You fancy yourself as a crime reporter now? Tired of coming up with the weekly horoscope?”
He was the second asshole today to insult the Sentinel. Nick bit back a curse. He only had himself to blame. After all, he’d been writing mindless drivel for the past five years. The high school newspaper was more plucky than his sad piece of garbage. But that was all about to change.
“I’m adding some in-depth, gritty stuff to the paper.”
“So now you’re digging around for some dirt?”
“Just looking for the truth. That’s why I need the case files for the disappearances.”
“Like hell. There’s sensitive material in those files.”
“And I’ll handle them with extreme care.”
“There’s no way you’ll get your hands on those papers.”
“Maybe I’ll interview your Dad.”
Brad perked up at that, leaning so close Nick could see the spit scatter over his desk calendar. “You’ll leave the old guy alone. He wants to put all that stuff behind him and spend his golden years fishing and golfing.”
“Last time I checked he was old enough to make up his own mind.”
Nick could almost hear his teeth grinding. “I happen to look out for my Dad. He’s put up with a lot of shit in his life.”
“You know case files are public in this state, Brenner. You either give me them or I’ll request them through the proper channels. Then someone might wonder why you’re so interested in keeping them under wraps.”
He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Good to see you again, Hendricks. I’ll give it some thought and I’ll let you know when I’ve made a decision.”
“I’ll give you a week.”
“I believe I’m the one calling the shots here,” he said, holding the door open.
Nick couldn’t believe the way the day was going. “We’ll see about that,” he said, stepping into the icy wind.
Unable to face the thought of going back to an empty house, he felt like a junkie without a fix, just longing for the sight of Lilah. The smell of
her hair and the feel of her skin under his fingertips. He pulled up at Rusty’s just as Ray Gorman was going inside. Nick hadn’t seen him since the Cari incident, and had no interest in hearing about his teen conquests, but it was warm inside and there was draught beer.
The place was quiet. Most people had already headed home for supper right after work on cold days like this. Only the loners hung out at Rusty’s.
“Hey, Nick. Where’s your girlfriend,” said Gorman in his loud, asshole voice.
Nick rested his elbows on the bar “Out of town.”
“Already got bored with you?”
Ignoring him, Nick ordered a beer. Rusty wiped the counter and snapped the cap off a cold one.
“Has she forgiven me?” he said.
“For what?” He wasn’t going to give up anytime soon.
“Flipping out on that frigid bitch, Cari.”
“She wasn’t impressed.”
He shuffled the chairs aside and moved closer. “Aww – can’t we all be friends again. Go on a double date or something.”
“I’m not sure we’d have anything in common with your teen girlfriends,” said Nick, taking a slug of beer. Gorman stared back as if he’d just received an uppercut on the jaw.
“You spying on me now?” he said, knocking back his Scotch.
“I just heard things,” said Nick, enjoying the sensation of seeing him squirm.
“Well you heard wrong,” he said, pushing his glass towards Rusty and nodding. “As a matter of fact I have a scholarship fund at the school. To help the underprivileged kids get a college education.”
“And of course you’re doing some late night tuition?”
“Fuck you Hendricks,” he hissed.
“Likewise. You know anything about a meth problem among the kids?”
“Every generation has its drug problems, Hendricks. I’ll bet you got your teenage ass busted for smoking pot around the back of your high school. It’s all part of the growing up process.”
“You never saw any of those kids shooting meth?”
“Silver Narrows is not Detroit,” he said, chugging another Scotch and slamming the glass down on the counter. “Pleasure talking to you, Hendricks. Tell Lilah the door’s always open.”
Nick held up his beer bottle as Gorman pulled on his gloves and then left. A cold wind swished into the bar as the door swung open. Rusty cleared away Gorman’s glass. “Fucking pervert, that guy. Got his nose up the skirt of kids as young as sixteen.”
“Rusty,” Nick said, cradling his beer, “You’ve been here a few years. What do you know about those disappearances?”
Rusty’s usually open face seemed to close up tight. He scrubbed the counter with more force. “Keep my nose out of those things as a rule, but I reckon the trucker they caught wasn’t the one.”
A rush of blood went to Nick’s head. “Why do you think that?”
“He wasn’t here at the time of the disappearances. Truckers come and go, but they always show up for at least one drink when they pass through. I never saw that guy before. I reckon that was the first time he ever came here – the night he picked up that little girl. I remember talking to him and he didn’t sound like somebody who’d stopped by before.”
“So why did they pin it all on him?” Nick asked, draining the last of his beer.
Rusty leaned across the bar, his voice almost a whisper. “Old Herb Brenner wanted to tie things up all neat and tidy before he retired. He was that kind of guy. Always had to have the last word. Probably didn’t want that son of his to waste his life chasing the case. Especially since he was sweet on the cheerleader – Tara Anderson. But she hooked up with Aaron Castle’s son, hotshot quarterback Stephen. Then she went missing. Brad was out of it for months. Then he went away to school in Chicago. Became a cop. Nobody was more surprised than his dad.”
Nick did a double take. Brad hadn’t mentioned any connection with the missing kids. He did a few swift calculations. Tara went missing twelve years ago, which meant Brad was now around thirty. It all fit neatly in place. No wonder he didn’t want to open it all up again. And he definitely didn’t want Nick poking around the place digging up old history. But something didn’t sit quite right. If it wasn’t the trucker, then who was it? Was it someone who’d lived in Silver Narrows or maybe was still living there? Somehow that made Nick all the more determined to dig deeper. If somebody in the town was hiding a guilty secret, he was going to make it very uncomfortable for the next little while. Sooner or later scum rises to the surface. And he’d be there to scoop it up.
Nick had been in bed a few hours when he was woken by a loud knocking on the front door. He turned over and checked his phone. It was quarter after three. Struggling into his sweats, he tripped over slippers and mounds of dirty clothes on his way to the door. Who the hell is it? He thought, peeking out of the window by the door. Lilah stood there shivering, hood pulled tightly over her head. The lock was so frozen he could barely turn door handle, but when it swung open she fell into his arms and rested her head against her chest. He pulled her inside to the warmth, slamming the door shut.
“You’re freezing,” he said, peeling off her gloves and rubbing her hands. “Are you okay?”
She looked up at him, her eyes scared and wide. “The drive back was so crazy. I skidded – almost went into the ditch. Then all I could think of was how I could’ve been injured and I’d lie alone there in the freezing darkness and never see you again. I had to drive right here and remind myself how much I’d miss you.” She buried her face in his chest, her body molding to his.
“How did you know where to find me?” he said, feeling her warm breath through his tee shirt.
“You told me, silly,” she said, looking up and cradling his head. Then she pulled his face down to hers and her warm mouth was on his. All reason flew from his head in that kiss. His mouth was hungry for her, and they stumbled together towards the bedroom despite the nagging voice at the back of his mind that said over and over you never told her, you never told her where you live.
11
Soon Nick was spending more time at Lilah’s than at his own place. Once he left the office it was easier to head over to the big house on the lake where Lilah would be waiting with a glass of wine, a roaring fire and some kind of tasty casserole bubbling on the stove or a cut of meat roasting in the oven. He’d lean back on the overstuffed couch, sipping on a full-bodied cabernet thinking life couldn’t get any better than this. Each evening promised a gourmet meal, a heated discussion about books, philosophy or local gossip – and at the end of it they’d make love and he’d wake up with Lilah nestled in his arms. It was the closest to intimacy he’d ever been and now he started to wish it could go on forever. The “M” word – marriage – had even reared its head in his brain. Maybe he could really ask her. And maybe the New Year might be the right time. He couldn’t believe his mind was finally drifting in that direction, but the idea of letting her slip away was too much to bear.
A week before Christmas, Nick drove to her place with a large frozen turkey sitting beside him on the passenger seat. They’d been on sale at the farmers’ market, advertised as “Free Run, antibiotic free, organically fed” birds. After all the meals she’d made for him it was the least he could do to cook her a big Christmas spread, and he’d been known to whip up some pretty good cornbread stuffing and gravy in the past.
The snow had settled in pillowy mounds on the roadside, and all the trees along the driveway were coated with frost. Lilah’s house stood in the bluish half dusk, the windows glowing like gold squares. Suddenly his heart was almost bursting with happiness. What the hell was happening to him? Was this the feeling everyone wrote about and sang about? The joy and the pain and the head over heels turmoil? Was he actually in love? He took a deep breath and parked the car, knowing all he wanted was to hold her in his arms and spill out his feelings like a love-struck schoolboy. Those warm thoughts carried him to the front door, protecting him from the freezing wind chill that blew a
cross the frozen lake and reddened his ears.
The door opened and she was there, hair caught up in a pony tail, cheeks flushed from the heat of the stove. He dropped the frozen turkey to the floor and caught her around the waist, lifting her up until she squealed for him to put her down. She smelled of warm bread and cinnamon and he kissed her so hard she stumbled backwards.
“Whoah,” she said, giggling. “Someone’s glad to see me.” She led him into the kitchen where candles spread a warm, flickering light on the walls. Beyond the tall windows, the frozen white lake was visible, its edges dotted with pinpricks of light where houses nestled among the trees.
She handed him a glass of wine. The red reflection spilled down her arm.
“I thought about you all day,” he said, placing the turkey on the counter. “And how I’m going to make you the best Christmas dinner you’ve ever had.”
Instead of the look of delight he’d anticipated, her face dropped.
“You don’t think I can do it?” he asked, touching her chin and turning her face to his.
“It’s not that, Nick,” she said, her eyes lowered. “I won’t be here for the holiday.”
A rush of contradictory emotions flooded his head. “But I thought – I mean – I just assumed you’d…”
She pulled away from him and took a sip of wine, her face clouded. “I know – it’s complicated. I have to be somewhere else.”
“Where – where do you have to be?” he blurted, realizing it was the first time he’d questioned her.
“It’s – I have -,” she faltered and filled her wine glass again, taking a gulp of it before setting it down again. “I have a grandmother. She’s the one who raised me. She’s in a nursing home - very sick. I don’t think she’s got much time left. This might be her last Christmas.”
Lilah Page 8
