Missing Person

by Matt Lincoln

  Jack puffed himself up to shoot off a retort, but Barrett got there first.

  “Enough!” he shouted, startling everyone in the room. “Both of you quit it. Arguing isn’t going to help Malia. And it’s giving me a headache, so please, just shut up.”

  I stared at Barrett in mild shock. I hadn’t known that the quiet man was capable of such a display, but there was a hard look in his eyes that he fixed on Rachel and Jack in turn, making sure they knew that he meant business.

  “Mr. Harrison, pack a bag like Agent Greyson said,” Barrett continued. “Ms. Bane, I’ll let you on this case if you’ll agree to abide by my decisions, whatever they might be. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack and Rachel muttered almost in unison, and Barrett nodded firmly, sealing the deal.

  “Good,” he continued. “Ms. Bane, I want you to go home. I’ll send an officer to both make sure you’re safe and make sure that you stay there. You’re no good to your daughter if you run yourself ragged. Let us handle this for a bit.” Barrett’s voice softened as he spoke until his tone was gentle and understanding.

  Rachel looked like she wanted to push back, but after a moment, her shoulders sagged, and she nodded, utterly worn out. Barrett gestured to the two officers standing outside. One of them came in and gently took Rachel’s arm to lead her out of the house while the other stepped up to Jack, following him toward his bedroom to pack a bag.

  “We’ll speak with the neighbors. When they’re awake, of course,” I said once Malia’s parents were out of the house.

  “Fine by me,” Barrett agreed. “I’ve still got people sweeping the area. We’ll pool our information, yeah?”

  I gave him a thumbs-up just as Cal reappeared at the end of the hallway leading to both bedrooms.

  “No fingerprints,” they announced. “Not that I was expecting to find any. Ward knew what he was doing.”

  I checked my watch, hiding a yawn behind my hand. We still had a few hours before we could reasonably start knocking on people’s doors. “Let’s take a walk around the block. Maybe we’ll spot something. Then we can get some breakfast.”

  The lack of sleep was starting to get to me, and I hoped a little activity would help jumpstart my brain again.

  “I need to change before we talk with Jack’s neighbors,” Lex said, gesturing to her sweatpants and cardigan ensemble. I checked what I was wearing. I hadn’t actually registered what I’d been throwing on, more concerned with reaching Rachel as quickly as I could, but I was pleased to realize I had on a reasonable combination of a dress shirt and slacks.

  We stepped out of Jack’s house and down onto the porch, and I breathed in the deep air. Even with the humidity, it felt better than the tragedy-stricken atmosphere inside. Cal, Lex, and I made a circuit around the house itself, cutting through the yard to see if we could spot any points of forced entry or even bootprints, but everything looked normal. Then we expanded our search radius to the entire block. I kept an eye on the road, looking for any tire marks that might be out of the ordinary, but the area was sleepy and quiet.

  “I’m worried about Rachel,” Lex said as we turned the corner, headed for the backside of the house. “Obviously, we’re all worried about her, but it’s more than just her daughter’s disappearance. This could consume her. Change her.”

  I nodded slowly in agreement, stooping by the curb to see if the mark on the road was a tire mark or just a slash of dirt. It was dirt. My knees cracked as I rose again. “I know. We’ll have to keep an eye on her. We’ll stop her before she does anything she’ll regret. Agreed?” I held up my crooked pinky, and Lex and Cal wrapped theirs around mine in turn.

  As we rounded the final corner on the block and started back toward the street with our cars, I dug out my phone and searched for the email that Rachel had sent with the U.S. Marshal’s number in it.

  “This is Marshal Marta Graham,” the voicemail said. “I can’t make it to the phone right now. Leave a message, and I will get back to you.”

  I sighed as the phone beeped at me. I hated leaving messages. “Marshal Graham, this is Agent Jace Greyson with MBLIS. I work under Rachel Bane, down in New Orleans. Her daughter has been kidnapped by Simon Ward. It happened just a few hours ago. The NOPD is taking her ex-husband to a safe house, and we’ll be interviewing the neighbors in the morning. Give me a call when you get this.”

  “She’s going to kick us off the case,” Lex predicted. We stood in front of her red Chevy Cruze, the dew damp grass curling up over the toes of my shoes.

  “Yup,” I agreed.

  “We’re not going to let that stop us,” Lex guessed.

  I cracked my neck. “Definitely not.”

  Beside me, Cal grinned, their expression sharp and fierce. They’d been silent for much of the walk around the block, which was unusual for them, but then, we’d all been relatively quiet, focused on our search for any shred of a clue.

  “I’ve always wanted to disobey direct orders,” Cal announced.

  “That’s not a comforting thing to hear,” I said, and they laughed, tipping back their head. I grinned, glad for this small sliver of levity, but it fell away rather quickly, unable to support itself under the heft of the night’s events. “Lex, meet me back here at eight? That way, we can catch people before they leave for work.”

  Lex nodded, the motion half-aborted by her sudden yawn.

  “I’m going to head into the office,” Cal decided. “I’ll start poking around in a few places and see what I can find. Also, I’m pretty sure that Rachel will come in rather than rest in her house like she’s supposed to, so someone should be there.”

  “Good idea. We’ll all reconvene in a few hours and come up with a game plan,” I said, and our little group broke up. Cal climbed into Lex’s car to get a ride back to their apartment, and I crossed the street to my own vehicle. For a long moment, I just sat in the driver’s seat, staring at my hands where they rested on the wheel. Everything came crashing down on me all at once. The early hour. My fear for Malia. My worry about Rachel and Jack. The violence that had occurred in that house. The uncertainty of what would happen next. I took one deep breath and then another. I just needed to approach it like I would any other case and take it step by step. Easier said than done.

  I turned the car on and drove off, easing around the three police cars parked along the street. I hoped they would be gone before the neighbors started to awake. We didn’t need to advertise Rachel’s and Jack’s grief to the whole block. I lived only five minutes away, so it wasn’t long before I was safe inside my own house and able to breathe properly again. I washed my face and brushed my teeth and found my badge in yesterday’s jacket.

  Then I went out to find some breakfast, needing to be on the move so that I would stay awake. There wasn’t much open this early, but I drove around for a bit, killing time until I found a place that had just turned on its lights. I ate in the corner of the diner and tried to call Marshal Graham a second time, but I got her voicemail again. I didn’t leave another message. One was enough.

  As the clock edged closer to eight o’clock, I paid my bill and left the diner. The streets were a little busier but still relatively quiet, and there was a faint haze in the air, the humidity made visible by the rising sun. I pulled onto Jack’s street at the same time as Lex did, though she came from the opposite direction, her red car easily recognizable.

  We parked across from each other, just to the right of Jack’s house. Lex had swapped her sweatpants for a black suit with a silky red blouse underneath. She had a large cup of coffee in hand, which she took a swig from as I crossed the street to join her. The police cars were gone, and Jack’s house was dark, with all the blinds drawn and the door tightly shut, giving no indication of what had happened there last night unless you were already in the know. My phone rang just as I stepped up onto the sidewalk, and I recognized the marshal’s number on the screen. I held up one finger to tell Lex to wait for a second.

  “This is Agent Greys
on,” I said into the phone.

  “Agent Greyson, this is U.S. Marshal Marta Graham,” the woman on the other line replied. Her voice was low and melodious, professional. “I just got your message. Thank you for calling to inform me of the development. You’re sure it was Simon Ward?”

  “We don’t have definitive proof,” I admitted. “He didn’t leave any fingerprints behind, and he wore a mask, so our witness didn’t see his face, but we feel there’s no one else it could be.”

  Graham sighed, the sound crackling as the reception went funny for a second. “I thought something like this might happen. Of course, I hoped I’d be wrong, but Ward made no effort to hide his hatred of Amherst and the rest of the team.”

  “What can we do?” I asked. “The New Orleans MBLIS office is at your disposal.”

  “Nothing,” Graham replied rather sharply, and I blinked in surprise. Lex stood beside me, but I hadn’t put the phone on speaker, so she cocked her head to the side and looked at me questioningly. “I don’t want you or especially Director Bane involved in this. This is U.S. Marshal jurisdiction, and we will handle it. You’re too close to things. It’s too personal. I don’t want you getting in the way. Do I make myself clear?”

  I glanced around the street we stood on, getting ready to question Jack’s neighbors.

  “Crystal clear,” I said flatly.

  “Good,” Graham replied. “I’ll be in New Orleans by this evening, and I’ll use your office for a base. We’ll speak again soon. Good day, Agent Greyson.” And then she hung up on me.

  I slowly put my phone away and then looked at Lex. “So we have a problem.”

  8

  “What do you mean we can’t work on the case?” Lex demanded after I relayed my conversation with Marshal Graham to her. She threw her hands into the air disbelievingly.

  I shushed her, a finger to my lips. “I know it’s not ideal, especially with her setting up her base in our office, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to drop the investigation. We’ll just have to be careful.”

  “We’re going to get ourselves shut down,” Lex hissed. “This is a bad idea.”

  “Would Rachel drop it?” I asked, and Lex paused, the first word of her oncoming tirade hanging off her lips. Slowly, she closed her mouth, thought about it, then shook her head.

  “Exactly,” I continued. “She’ll go after Ward no matter what Marshal Graham says, and it’ll be better if we’re on her side.”

  “You’re right,” Lex agreed. “We should hurry then. We need to touch base as a team before the marshal gets here.”

  I nodded, and so we made our way to the first house, the one just to the right of Jack’s residence, on the corner of the street. It was a small place, though there were extravagant flower beds out front, lining the porch. The plants dripped with color, made sharper by the white walls behind them, and I saw several bees bumbling lazily across the vibrant petals.

  I grasped the brass knocker on the door, rapped it several times against the wood, and then stepped back to wait. When there was no answer after a minute, I tried again, louder this time, and I heard the clatter of steps down the hall.

  “Just a second,” a voice called, clearly annoyed.

  The lock clicked, and then a young man yanked the door open, glaring balefully out at us. His hair was still tousled by sleep, and he had pillow lines across his face. He squinted against the sunlight, his feet bare and his robe tied hastily around his waist.

  “What?” he demanded. We had definitely woken him up.

  I showed him my badge. “We’re with MBLIS. Could we have a moment of your time?”

  “What the hell is MBLIS?”

  “We’re a federal agency,” I said. I’d gotten very good at explaining what our small agency was over the past few months. “We’re investigating an incident that took place last night. Could we ask you just a few questions?”

  The young man frowned and pulled his robe a little tighter.

  “Incident?” he asked.

  “There was a break-in next door,” I informed him. It was mostly the truth. I didn’t want to shout the news of Malia’s kidnapping to the wind. That was need-to-know information.

  “A break-in?”

  I really hoped this guy wasn’t going to repeat everything said.

  “Yes. Could we come in?”

  “Sure.” He stepped back so Lex and I could enter, holding his arms around him. The place smelled a little musty, as if the windows hadn’t been opened in a while, and I could hear an air conditioner working overtime somewhere deeper in the house. There was a futon rather than a couch in the living room, a beanbag chair beside it, though that seemed to function more as an extra laundry hamper than an actual chair. The kitchen table was covered in mail and several potted plants in need of watering, leaving barely any room for eating, and the young man rubbed at the back of his head, a little embarrassed. “Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “That’s okay. And we’re sorry to wake you. What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Zack.” He cleared more mail off a couple of chairs and pulled them out for us to sit on.

  Lex and I settled down on the chairs across from Zack, and he perched on the edge of his. His hands reached out compulsively to straighten the piles of mail in front of him.

  “Do you remember hearing anything out of the ordinary last night?” I asked. “This would have probably been about two a.m.”

  Zack bit his lip as he remembered the previous night. It always took people a moment to put anything they might have seen or heard into the context of that question. “Maybe, actually. I stay up pretty late, so I was awake at around that time.”

  I perked up. That was the eternal problem with crimes that happened at night—people were always asleep, so this was a promising start.

  “I heard a bit of a commotion,” Zack continued. “I couldn’t really tell you what it was. I thought it was just a television turned too loud or something. And then I heard a car take off with its tires squealing. I thought it was strange that someone was in such a hurry that late at night.”

  “Did you see the car?” Lex asked.

  “It was a gray hatchback. A Subaru, maybe. I happened to look up as it drove past my window.”

  “Did you happen to catch the plate?” I said, but Zack gave me a look.

  “Why would I have caught the plate?” he asked, and just a second later, he blanched, seeming to realize that he’d just sassed a federal agent. He cleared his throat and went on quickly. “Sorry. No. I didn’t see the plate.”

  “That’s okay. A gray hatchback is still helpful,” I assured him, and he relaxed again.

  “Was anyone hurt?” he asked.

  “No,” I lied. “Just a smash and grab. We should go. Thanks for your help.”

  I stood, and Lex followed suit, smiling at Zack and offering him her hand. Zack saw us to the door, looking a little lost in his dark blue bathrobe, and he watched as we descended the porch steps, closing the door only when we reached the sidewalk.

  “A gray Subaru hatchback. That’s something,” I said to Lex, shielding my eyes from the sun with one hand.

  “It’s a pretty common car, though,” Lex pointed out. “It would be better to have a plate number.”

  I shrugged. I was going to take what small wins we could get. It was the only way I’d be able to keep moving forward through this case.

  There were four other houses on the street, though we got no answer at two of them, and all the windows were dark, so I figured the residents had already left for work. The fourth home was right across the street from Jack’s, and if anyone else had seen something, it would hopefully be this one since it had the best view.

  I rang the bell, and the door cracked open an inch before it was caught by a chain. A single eye peered out at us, the rest of its face shrouded by shadow.

  “No solicitors,” a man snapped and then slammed the door in our faces.

  I blinked and looked at Lex. She shoo
k her head, shrugging, and I rang the bell again.

  “I said no solicitors. And I’m already signed up to vote, so don’t ask me about that either!” the man called from inside.

  “We’re not—we’re federal agents,” I replied.

  “Ha!” the man cackled. “Nice try. Now get off my porch.”

  I tried again. “Sir, we’re agents with MBLIS. We’d like to ask you a few questions about an incident that occurred on this street last night.”

  “Now I know you’re lying. There’s no such thing as an em-bliss. Go away before I call the cops. It’s illegal to impersonate a federal agent, you know.”

  I held my badge up to the peephole, hoping he’d be looking through it. Instead of answering, the man turned the sprinklers on. We were mostly protected on the porch, but a few cold droplets hit my face, and I flinched, wiping them away.

  “Sir!” I called, trying to keep the annoyance from my voice.

  “He’s not going to open up,” Lex said, touching my elbow to get my attention. “I’ve met people like him before. You could bring a battering ram down here, and he still wouldn’t open the door.”

  “Fine,” I said and gave one last, ineffectual glare to the door. Then we dashed down the front walk, under the many wet arms of the sprinklers. I held one hand over my head, trying to protect the integrity of the pomade that held my curls in place as water speckled my shoulders and face. We made it to the street and out of the reach of the man’s defense system, and I stopped and looked back at his house with half a mind to shout one last, parting blow. But I decided it was beneath me and that I should just let it go.

  “Let’s head back to the office,” I sighed instead. I checked the time. It was mid-morning, and the marshal had said she would arrive in the evening. Plenty of time to formulate our own plan.

  Lex and I drove separately back to the MBLIS office. I barely focused on the road, more concerned with trying to brainstorm solutions to our problem. We were still in that early stage of too many questions and too few answers, and it put me on edge, made me feel hot and itchy underneath my skin no matter how high I cranked my car’s A/C.