Missing Person

by Matt Lincoln

  “All I’m hearing are excuses,” Rachel said coolly. “I don’t want excuses. I want results. Get it done.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said as Lex nodded, and Cal sank further down into their seat. This was a side of Rachel we hadn’t seen before. Gone was our amicable friend and easy-going boss, and in her place was someone just a bit scary.

  “Good,” Rachel nodded curtly. “Report to me at the end of the day before you go home and let me know what you’ve found. The U.S. Marshal in charge of the search has agreed to talk with me today and let me in on how their investigation is going, and I’d like to have something to give her in return.”

  “We’ll get on it right away,” I promised, and Rachel smiled in thanks, the expression smaller and more contained than usual, and then she stood and left the three of us alone in the conference room.

  “So, who do we want to call?” I asked the group.

  “One of the Americans is probably our best bet,” Lex said. We’d printed out all the files since it was easier to sift through it all on paper than on the computer, and she flipped through the pages until she found the list of Ward’s old contacts. “They’re both public figures, so their numbers are on record. We don’t want to call them as ourselves. Like you said, we’ll just get the runaround.”

  “Can we pretend to be an old associate of Ward’s? Worm our way in that way?” I wondered.

  Lex shrugged, drumming her fingers against the table as she thought about the suggestion. “It’s worth a shot. We’d have to be careful not to say anything too specific and trip ourselves up. But I think it’s better than saying, ‘Hi, federal agents here, could we have a moment of your time?’”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I agreed.

  “Can I do it?” Cal asked eagerly, dropping their tablet to the table now that they no longer needed to use it as a shield. “I’ve been taking improv classes. I’m pretty good.”

  “Best leave that to us,” I said. “We’ll need you to feed us information from the file. You’re the most familiar with it, aren’t you?” Cal had a nearly photographic memory, though it was very selective, and it was honestly a little freaky.

  “I suppose I can do that,” they said with an overly dramatic sigh.

  I went to retrieve the office phone to make the call since I didn’t want my own number on record in case this went horribly south, and we set the landline up on the conference table between the three of us.

  I looked at my coworkers. “I was thinking we might have better luck getting hold of the power broker. What do you think?”

  “Makes sense,” Lex said.

  “Cal, is there anyone on that list you think I could pretend to be?” I asked.

  “Try Seamus Kant,” Cal said after only a second’s thought. “He was a high-end dealer that Ward worked with to supply drugs and women to illegal parties that Amherst was pretty sure Maxwell Ford—the power broker—either attended or organized. He went to prison around the same time as Ward did but got out on good behavior about two years ago.”

  “Any word on what he’s been up to since?”

  Cal nodded. “Keeping his nose clean on paper. I ran a check on as many of the names on this list as I could. He checks in with his parole officer like clockwork, has a job at a vintage clock store.”

  “A vintage clock store?” I repeated. “Why?”

  “Who knows?” They shrugged.

  “Seamus Kant it is then,” I decided. “We just have to hope that I sound enough like him.”

  “He’s American, so you don’t have to worry about an accent. Besides, who sounds like themselves over the phone?” Cal assured me.

  The case file didn’t have Ford’s personal number on record, so we had no choice but to call his office and hope that we could worm our way into his actual ear. I dialed the digits, then set the phone to speaker and put it on the table, holding a finger up to my lips as I looked at Lex and Cal.

  It rang for so long that I was sure it was going to go to voicemail, but then the line clicked, and a woman’s cool, professional voice came through the speaker. “Office of Maxwell Ford. How may I direct your call?”

  “Hi, hon,” I drawled, figuring Seamus Kant was probably a bit of a sleazebag. “I need to speak with Ford. Connect me, would ya?”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Ford isn’t taking calls right now. He’s a very busy man, as I’m sure you’ll understand. If you tell me what it is you need, I can direct you to one of his assistants. They’ll be more than capable of helping you out.”

  I tsked and made a face even though she couldn’t see it. It helped me get in character. “That’s not going to work for me, sweetheart.” I cringed as I said it, absolutely appalled with myself. “I need to speak with Ford himself. It’s personal.”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Ford isn’t taking calls right now--” his PA repeated, but I cut her off.

  “Why don’t you tell him it’s Seamus Kant calling and see what he says?” I suggested and then held my breath even though I doubted that she would actually recognize the name.

  “Mr. Ford specifically instructed me to not disturb him today.”

  “Just tell him,” I insisted, putting a bit of a nasty bite into the words, curling my lip up into a snarl. “He’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

  Ford’s PA hesitated, and I waited, trying to loom even through the phone. “One moment, please,” she said finally and then put me on hold.

  Lex gave me a thumbs-up and grinned, and Cal had pulled a plastic bag of popcorn from somewhere and was munching on it as if they were at the movie theater. I gave Cal a look and flicked my hand across my throat, telling them to cut it out before Ford picked up the line. Cal pouted at me but put the popcorn back in their backpack.

  We were on hold for almost five minutes. My stomach crawled tighter and tighter with every second that passed, and I was sure the line would suddenly go dead as Ford hung up on us, but just as I was on the brink of erupting out of my seat from all my pent up energy, the hold music cut out again.

  “Mr. Ford will speak with you,” the PA said. There was just the faintest tinge of tension beneath her professional facade. “One moment, please. I’ll transfer you.”

  “Thank you very much,” I said, dropping back into my Seamus Kant persona.

  The phone began to ring again as the PA transferred the call, and I squirmed. Now for the hard part. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the worried look on Lex’s face.

  “What do you want, Kant?” a man’s voice said, deep and full of the kind of gravitas that came from money and power.

  “Ford, how’s it going? Long time no hear, eh?” I exclaimed, voice confident even as my heart thundered away against my ribs, so hard I was sure one of them was about to crack.

  “Kant, if you called me just to exchange pleasantries, I’m not going to be pleased,” Ford said, and the ice in his voice spoke of hidden backrooms and pristine suits and someone else’s bloody knuckles.

  “Lighten up. I was just being polite. Look, did you hear the news?” I wanted to know if word of Ward’s escape had already reached Ford. That might tell us if the two of them had been in contact, even if Ford lied to us.

  “What news?” Ford asked.

  “About Ward?” I added, not quite ready to give up the ghost yet.

  “Kant, don’t play games with me. You know I hate that. Just tell me what you called to say.”

  “Ward escaped from prison,” I said and paused to see if I could hear any sort of reaction on Ford’s end. There was only silence. Maybe his breath had caught. I couldn’t really tell. This would be so much more informative in person. “Have you heard from him?”

  “How did you hear about this?” Ford asked instead of answering.

  “I keep my ear to the ground,” I said, keeping it vague. “Has he contacted you?”

  “Has he contacted you?” Ford countered. I grimaced. He was going to make this difficult. I wasn’t entirely sure what the best answer was, so I went with my gut and too
k the leap.

  “Not yet, but I want back in. Have you heard from him? Do you know where he is? I figure, I make the effort to go to him, and maybe I get myself a promotion, maybe a better cut of the profits.”

  “I thought you’d gone straight,” Ford said.

  I scoffed. “People like us never go straight. So? What do you say? Do you know where I can find him?” I crossed my fingers as if that might somehow help, and Lex flexed her fists on top of her thighs as we waited for Ford’s answer.

  “I don’t,” Ford said, and my heart sank. “I haven’t heard from him. I wasn’t aware that he was out until you called.”

  “Damn, that’s too bad,” I said, trying to not let the full scope of my disappointment color my words. “Well, listen, if you do hear from him, you let me know, yeah? Or tell him that I’m interested in joining forces again.”

  “Fine,” Ford said shortly. “But don’t call here again, Kant. You know how I feel about mixing my businesses.”

  “Right, sorry, it’s just that I lost--” I began, but Ford had already hung up on me.

  “Nothing,” I said, hitting the end call button on the landline.

  “Should we try the senator next?” Lex asked.

  “I guess it can’t hurt,” I said, and she found the number for the senator’s office.

  This time, though, we couldn’t get anywhere near the man. The senate was in session, his assistant said, and she refused to even take a message for us or let us know when the senator might be available. She recognized the name Seamus Kant, I could tell by the way she hesitated just a moment too long after I told her who I was, and she clearly had orders to keep Seamus Kant far away from the senator. I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant for our investigation, but it certainly wasn’t helpful.

  “Damn,” I said, ending the second call. “Zero for two.”

  “Is there anyone else we can try?” Lex asked, and we went through the list of contacts again. Most of the other names were more of the criminal variety, not people we could easily dial up on the phone.

  “Doesn’t look like it. Cal, any ideas?” I said, but they shook their head. If we had the time and the jurisdiction, we could travel to see a few of these people, but that wasn’t an option at the moment. “Alright. I’ll go tell Rachel.”

  I rose from the conference table and crossed the main room to knock on Rachel’s door. She called for me to enter, so I did so, and she looked up from her computer with tired eyes and a worn mouth.

  “Hey,” I said. “We made what calls we could. No luck. Sorry.”

  “I suppose I wasn’t really expecting you to find anything,” Rachel sighed. “Sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

  I waved the apology away. “It’s your job to snap at us. I don’t know what else we can do from here, though, since we don’t have jurisdiction.”

  “Maybe Marshal Graham will throw us a bone. I’ll let you know what she says.”

  I let myself out of the office, sealing Rachel inside with her worry as I closed the door, and then it was back to poring over the files just in case something new jumped out at me. Rachel’s call with the U.S. Marshal did not go well. Though I couldn’t make out what Rachel was actually saying through the closed door, I could tell that her tone was tense and more than a bit angry. Lex and I made eye contact over our computers.

  “Yikes,” I mouthed, and she nodded.

  Rachel’s voice cut off, and there was silence within her office.

  “Should we check on her?” I whispered as the quiet stretched past a couple of minutes, and Lex shrugged, uncertain.

  Rachel’s door opened before we could make a decision. She slumped against the frame, and though her body language was tired, almost defeated, there was still anger painted along her features.

  “We’re supposed to drop it,” she announced. “Marshal Graham doesn’t want us looking into Ward’s escape, even in our free time. She thinks we’ll tip him off or get in the way.”

  I thought about my conversation with Maxwell Ford and wondered if we’d already tipped our hand. I didn’t mention this worry to Rachel.

  “This sucks,” Lex said, tossing her pen to her desk in frustration. “We could help. You’d think they’d want all hands on deck.”

  Rachel sighed and threw a hand in the air. It flopped back to her side a moment later like it had gone numb and dead. “Most federal agencies don’t like to share. They don’t want anyone stealing a collar.”

  I remembered that mentality from the FBI. Heaven forbid if anyone suggested a cooperative investigation. I’d never been a fan of the attitude. I’d always thought it would be good to work with other agencies—more resources meant the case got solved faster, after all—but I’d never said that to anyone. It would have gotten me scorned out of the office.

  “So, what do you want us to do?” I asked, hoping that Rachel would say we should keep up our own investigation anyway, to hell with jurisdiction, but instead, she shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  “We drop it. Sorry. Why don’t you guys take the rest of the day off? There’s not much to do here, anyway.”

  “Are you sure?” I began, but she waved me away and retreated into her office without another word. I blinked at the suddenly shut door.

  “This whole thing has thrown her for a loop,” Lex said quietly. “Especially when combined with everything that’s going on with the custody thing.”

  I nodded, still watching the door. “Should we stay?” I wondered.

  “I don’t know,” Lex shrugged. “I don’t think she wants us to, but that may be why we should.”

  So we did. We picked up some lunch for the office, leaving Rachel’s sandwich outside her door without knocking since we figured she didn’t want to be disturbed. She came out once and almost stepped on the white paper bag on the floor. She seemed surprised to see that we were still there, but she just shook her head and didn’t say anything as she picked up the sandwich bag, offering up a faint smile in thanks.

  I wanted to do something to make all this better, but I knew nothing would help the situation. That feeling of being useless made my skin crawl. I needed movement, action, forward momentum, but the whole office was caught in stasis like someone had pressed the pause button on our lives and then lost the remote.

  7

  Our world snapped back into motion two nights later, and it came with the sharp blare of my phone’s ringtone, startling me out of a deep and dreamless sleep. I groaned, bitterly confused and unable to figure out what was going on or where I was as reality slammed over me. The ringtone was harsh, and I forced my eyes open, wondering when I had changed my alarm and why it had gone off so soon. It seemed I had only gone to bed a few hours ago.

  My phone’s bright screen lit up the bedside table, and I squinted against the blinding beam as I reached for it. It was only then that I finally realized it wasn’t my alarm but a call from Rachel. It was three in the morning.

  Adrenaline shot through me, driving the last of the sleep from my veins, and I snatched up the phone. “Rachel?”

  “Jace.” Rachel’s voice broke halfway through my name, her every emotion laid bare in that single word. Fear and anger and a horrible sort of grief, laced together by her agony. My stomach sank, plummeted, really, and every worst-case scenario roared through my head as I waited for her to speak again. “He took her.”

  She could only mean Ward. “Took who, Rachel?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level and calm in the hopes that that would help keep her calm, too.

  Rachel almost couldn’t speak again. She tried three times, each attempt aborted by a tight clicking in her throat.

  “Malia,” she spat finally, forcing the name out with such force that I could almost feel the breath of it through the speaker.

  My fingers went numb, and I almost dropped the phone, but I clamped to the side of my head and held on for dear life.

  “Ward took your daughter?” I said, unable to believe it even as the words came out of my mouth. That was
the one scenario I hadn’t envisioned.

  “Yes. Please hurry. I need you here.” Rachel’s voice shook, thick with tears, and I could hear someone speaking in the background, though I couldn’t make out any details.

  “Okay,” I said. “Where are you?”

  “Jack’s.” She gave me the address, and I was surprised to learn that we lived in the same district. “Hurry.”

  “I will. And I’ll call the others. We’ll be right there. It’ll--” I hesitated, wondering if I should say it. “It’ll be okay.”

  I thought I heard Rachel murmur, “Will it?” but that might have been my own imagination as she hung up and the phone went dead in my hand. I stared at it blankly for five seconds, trying desperately to process everything that had just been dropped in my lap, and then I erupted into motion, dialing Cal and Lex as I threw on some clothes. Ramirez was out of town, following up a lead on his other case, so I texted him instead, knowing he wouldn’t be able to make it back to help.

  Lex picked up first, her voice bleary and barely there, and I cut her off, hopping on one foot as I tried to pull my shoe on. “You need to pick up Cal and get to this address.” I gave her Jack’s street and house number. “Simon Ward kidnapped Malia.”

  That woke Lex up, just like it did me. “We’ll be right there. I’ll drag Cal out of bed if I have to.”

  “Good. I’ll see you there.”

  The night was black and still as I barreled out my front door toward my car. I could hear crickets in the distance, an evenly spread blanket over the entire city, and I wondered why they hadn’t ceased their chirping. Didn’t they know that something horrible had happened? Had they no respect for someone else’s grief? This whole night was wrong, carrying on as if it were any other Sunday. The stars shouldn’t be shining, crisp and clear. There should be clouds. There should be rain. There should be brilliant shards of lightning carving through the sky, but instead, there was just the heavy humidity and the warm glow of the streetlamps.