“No, sir. As long as we have reason to believe your wife did not leave of her own volition, we will search for her.”
He hung up, knowing he should have told Simonides his plans––asked permission even—but he didn’t want to risk that the detective would try to dissuade him. He had to talk to Greg Hamaker himself. Hear for himself what the man had to say.
It hadn’t taken him three minutes on Google to find Hamaker’s business address and a phone number. A home phone, he was pretty sure, since it came via a local area-wide phone directory.
“Hello?” The feminine voice sounded wary.
He hesitated. He hadn’t thought of Hamaker’s wife. He wondered if she knew about Greg’s invitation to Jill. The answer to that question would tell him a lot about the guy’s intentions, but he would give Hamaker a chance first. “May I speak to Greg, please?”
“May I tell him who’s calling?”
“This is Mitchell Brannon.”
“You’re . . . Jill’s husband.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. Is Greg there?”
“The police have already talked to him. I. . . I don’t know what else you want from him.”
“Mrs. Hamak–– I’m sorry . . . Is this Greg’s wife?”
A long pause. “Yes.”
“I’m just trying to get any information I possibly can about my wife. You probably know that Greg and Jill were high school . . . friends. I know they’d been in con––” He clipped off the word. He didn’t want to hurt an innocent woman, but if Hamaker had any information about Jill, he didn’t have a choice. He tried to make his tone caring. “I know they’d been in contact in the weeks before Jill disappeared. On Facebook. I’m hoping your husband might be able to shed some light on what happened. We have nothing else to go on. I’m just––I’m desperate for anything at all that might give us a clue to where my wife is.”
She sighed. “Just a moment. I’ll get Greg.”
He heard their murmured conversation in the background, then a terse reply. “This is Greg.”
“Greg, this is Mitch Brannon––Jill’s husband. I take it you’ve heard that she’s missing.”
“Yes, I––I’m sorry. I truly am, but I don’t appreciate you calling my wife and disrupting my family. And I don’t appreciate the police breathing down my neck. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Mitch clenched his fist tighter around the pencil. “You are one of the last people Jill talked to. And the police are asking about it because she didn’t tell anyone that you two were meeting in Kansas City.”
“Like I told the detective, Jill declined my invitation.”
“But she first accepted?”
“Just a moment.”
Mitch couldn’t hear all of the muffled conversation, but he got the impression that Hamaker had asked his wife to leave the room.
“Listen, Brannon. Your wife and I are old friends. I hadn’t talked to Jill since college. We connected on Facebook, I found out she was going to be in town, and I suggested we get together for coffee. She called and cancelled. End of story.”
“No, it’s not the end of the story, because my wife never came home. And if you know something you’re not tell––”
“Listen, Brannon, I am sincerely sorry about Jill. I was shocked to hear about it. But like I said, I’ve told the police everything I know. There’s nothing more to say, and I don’t wish to be involved further. If you have anything else to say, please talk to that detective. I have nothing more to offer.”
The phone went dead. The guy had hung up on him. Didn’t that indicate some level of guilt?
But what if he was telling the truth? Mitch tried to put himself in Hamaker’s place. Not that he would ever try to connect with one of his old girlfriends without Jill being there, or at least knowing about it. But if he had been the last one to see a friend alive, how awful––how mortified––he would feel to be a suspect. He would worry about his reputation with the school district and the community. If Hamaker was innocent as he claimed, he and his family must be worried that this would affect their livelihood.
And yes, it had probably caused some strife between the guy and his wife. It wasn’t fair to ruin another man’s life just because he was suffering. He needed to let it go.
But he couldn’t. Something about Hamaker’s attitude wouldn’t let him dismiss it so easily. He needed to look the man in the eye. Only then could he be sure he was telling the truth.
Chapter 12
Wednesday, September 8
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hamaker is out of the office. Did you have an appointment?” The well-dressed woman behind the desk of Hamaker & Associates was friendly enough, but Mitch thought she looked rather cautious. He wondered if the police had confronted Greg here in his office.
“I don’t have an appointment, but I need to speak with Mr. Hamaker. With Greg.”
“May I ask what this is concerning?”
“It’s a personal matter. I’d rather not say.”
“I can give you his number.” The receptionist slid a business card from a brass display on the shiny desktop and handed it to him. “You may leave a voice message and have him return your call when he’s available.”
“Thank you, but it really is urgent that I speak with him in person. When do you expect him back?”
“Probably around two o’clock, but he has appointments all afternoon. Would you like to set up an appointment for later this week?”
“No. I’m here from out of town. I drove quite a distance to speak with him. May I ask where he is right now? Maybe I can catch him at lunch or––”
“I’m sorry, I’m not free to give out that information.”
Mitch looked at his watch. An hour and a half before Hamaker was due back. “Could I wait for him in his office?”
“You’re welcome to wait here in reception.” The woman was definitely getting suspicious. “I would recommend leaving a voice mail message for him though. I could call for you, if you like. But he’ll need to know what this is concerning.”
“Yes. I guess . . . that would be good.”
“Your name?”
“Mitchell . . . Mr. Mitchell.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “He’ll know what it’s about.”
Hamaker probably wouldn’t make the connection, but Mitch was banking on curiosity getting the better of him. Mitch started to take a seat in a plush leather chair at one end of the reception room, but an idea came and he changed his mind.
He thanked the receptionist and reached for the door. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”
He went out to the parking lot and drove around behind the building. Just as he suspected, there was a reserved space for G. Hamaker. Mitch pulled his car into a space beneath a tree across from the executive parking. His chances of getting to talk to Hamaker were far greater if he caught him before he went inside the building.
He pulled out his cell phone and checked his messages and then his e-mails. More condolences and a text from Shelley letting him know the kids were doing fine. I’m winning at gin.
He smiled, grateful again that Shelley had been willing to come over and keep the kids company––and cover for him, since he hadn’t told Evan and Katie where he was going.
The purr of a car’s motor and a flash of silver made him look up. A late-model Lexus slid into G. Hamaker’s parking lot. Mitch wiped sweaty palms on his thighs and got out of the car.
He took a deep breath. Here goes. “Mr. Hamaker?”
The man who turned to face him was nothing like Mitch remembered from Jill’s high school photos––or from the images on Hamaker & Associates’ website, for that matter. His graying blond hair was clipped short and he wore wire-rimmed glasses. He was taller than Mitch expected and looked like he spent his lunch hours at the gym. “Yes?”
Mitch strode toward him, arm outstretched in a manner friendlier––and far braver––than he felt. “I’m Mitchell Brannon. Jill’s husband.”
Greg Ham
aker shook his hand, though he seemed reluctant. “How can I help you?”
“We spoke on the phone last night . . . I just have a few more questions. I thought it might be better if we talked in person.”
“I told you everything I know.”
“Please. Could I take just a moment of your time? I’ll keep it short, I promise. I know you’re busy.” It took every ounce of self-restraint he had to maintain the polite, diplomatic demeanor. “I wonder if Jill said anything––either when she accepted your invitation or when she called to cancel it––that might tell you what her state of mind was.”
“She seemed to be . . . herself. What I remember of her. It had been a long time since we’d talked.”
“But she did accept your invitation initially? To get together?”
“Listen, Brannon, I’ve told the police everything I know. That’s who you should be talking to. You had no right to call my house and you have no right to come to my place of business and––”
“And you had no right to invite my wife on a date!” He was losing it and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop the accusation from leaving his lips.
“I meant nothing at all by the invitation. It was a simple lunch between friends. If Jill implied otherwise, she was mistaken. The only thing––”
“She didn’t imply anything because she didn’t tell me about it. Period.”
“I don’t know why that makes me a suspect. I did nothing wrong. Jill called me the day we were supposed to have lunch and said it wasn’t going to work out. She didn’t give me a reason and I didn’t press her. End of story. Now I wish you’d lay off and leave me alone.” He started for the back door to the building, fists clenching at his side, but before he entered, he turned on Mitch. “You’ve turned this into a federal case and it’s threatening my marriage. If you try to contact me again, if you set foot on my property again, I will call the police and have you escorted off.”
Was he serious? “Well, excuse me if I have inconvenienced you in any way.” He immediately regretted his sarcasm and worked to control the rage roiling inside him. “Listen . . . I’m trying to find my wife who has apparently vanished into thin air. Surely you can put yourself in my shoes and see that you’d want to talk to me if I was the last one who’d been in contact with your wife before she went missing.”
“I have cooperated with the authorities in every way. I’ve told everything I know. You’re harassing me for information I don’t have. I’m finished.” With that, he grabbed the fancy door handle and disappeared into the building.
Deflated and trembling, Mitch crossed the parking lot and got into his car. Something about Greg Hamaker’s story didn’t ring true. Mitch didn’t trust the man any farther than he could throw him, but they couldn’t get a conviction on a hunch.
What now? He put the key in the ignition, but he was too upset to drive. He gripped the steering wheel and closed his eyes.
He had no inkling of where to turn next. Every avenue had been exhausted. Even the police and the missing persons agencies were at a loss. He only had one recourse, and though he knew it was the most powerful thing at his disposal, right now it felt futile. But he had nothing else. Nothing.
If he’d been anywhere but his car, he would have slid to his knees. Instead, he bowed over the steering wheel and rested his forehead on his hands. “God please . . . Help me. Help Jill. Help us . . .”
He hadn’t shed a tear since this whole nightmare had begun, but he wept now. Wept bitterly––and prayed for all he was worth.
Thursday, September 9
Mitch grabbed the remote and turned the TV up a notch, wishing Evan and Katie didn’t have to hear it, but not willing to miss what the reporter would say. The TV had been on day and night for five days now.
Jill had now been missing for almost one hundred forty hours, and it seemed with every hour that passed, the authorities scaled back their efforts. It didn’t help that everything had been closed for the holiday weekend and now they were playing catch-up at every level.
Simonides had chewed Mitch out for confronting Greg Hamaker. “You need to let us handle this investigation. If you have any information, if you think of anything else, you let us know and we’ll handle it. But you can’t go hunting down people who’ve already been cleared. We will keep you apprised of what’s going on, but the last thing we need is vigilantes taking things into their own hands.”
Mitch apologized, knowing he deserved the reprimand. The detective softened a little, and assured Mitch they were doing everything possible, and that Jill would remain on the active missing persons databases as long as there was no proof she hadn’t disappeared voluntarily. But Mitch sensed that Simonides was beginning to believe––or maybe had always believed––that Jill didn’t wish to be found.
They would never convince him of that. Never.
Over the last four days, besides interviewing as many of the teachers in attendance at Jill’s conference as they could track down, the authorities had talked to friends and family. Those same friends and family had formed unofficial search parties, combing the countryside between Kansas City and Sylvia for any clue that might lead to Jill’s whereabouts.
Complete strangers from as far away as St. Louis, Cape Girardeau, and even Springfield, had joined the search, but when Mitch looked at a map and saw the intricate web of intersecting county roads and back roads––all the possible routes Jill could have taken if she veered from the Interstate and main highways, his optimism flagged. The area was so wide with virtually nothing to go on, that it felt like the proverbial hunt for a needle in a haystack. There was a bit of comfort in knowing they all––authorities and civilians alike––were doing everything they possibly could to locate Jill. Still, none of it mattered if it didn’t bring her home.
Shelley’s presence in their home had cheered the kids up a little. And him. Mitch wasn’t sure how they would have managed without her. As word spread through their little town of Sylvia and beyond, the doorbell rang again and again with neighbors, church friends, and coworkers from his school and Jill’s, offering their condolences and prayers.
Shelley had come over each morning as soon as she saw lights on in their windows, and she stayed each evening until Mitch insisted she go home. In between, she kept up with the kids’ laundry and answered the door––thanking friends and fiercely turning away the reporters that hounded them.
Tonight, as had become their habit, the four of them ate supper in front of the TV, a Mexican dish someone from church had brought by and Shelley had warmed up.
“I've got next week off from work,” she said, trying, he knew, to sound casual.
“The whole week?”
“Yes, so whatever you need me to do, I’ll be available.”
He knew Shelley well enough not to argue, and he silently blessed Jill’s friend for everything she’d offered them at a time like this.
“Evan, I think you and Katie ought to find out about getting your class assignments sent home. I don’t want you guys to be too far behind when you get back to school, and it’ll help the time go faster while we wait.”
Katie glared at him. “Dad, how can we even think about school right now?”
Evan shook his head in agreement. “There’s no way I could concentrate on anything else. And besides, I wouldn’t know who to call to get our stuff.”
“A few more days won’t matter, will it?” Shelley said softly. “Maybe I can help you guys check with the school tomorrow . . .” She looked between Evan and Katie. “We could at least get some online reading assignments so you guys aren’t swamped when you get back.”
He appreciated her diplomacy. As much as he wanted Evan and Katie here, with every hour that went by with no word on Jill, he feared what his precious kids might have to experience when news finally came. As much as their presence comforted him, it was tempting to just send them back to school. It about killed him to imagine having to see their anguish if bad news came to the house about Jill, and h
e––
He couldn’t finish the thought. Not even in his mind.
“I know how you feel, guys. I don’t think I’d be worth anything at work either.”
“You don’t have to work tomorrow, do you?” Shelley looked appalled.
“No . . . My superintendent insisted I take the rest of the week off.” Mitch knew he wasn’t in any shape to go back to work yet, but the thought of sitting around watching television, waiting for some morsel of information, was something he couldn’t let himself think about.
They all turned at the sound of scratching on the patio doors. TP sat on the other side, looking in the French doors. Mitch went to let him in. If the look in TP’s eyes was any indication, the dog was in mourning along with the rest of them. And yet, TP had quit looking for Jill after that first night. Mitch took TP’s head in his hands and caressed it, even as he turned away from the doggie breath that wafted up to him. “Come on, boy. Come inside. You could use a Milk-Bone.” He grabbed a treat from the laundry room and followed the dog back to the family room.
Shelley reached out to stroke TP’s neck as he brushed by on his way to Katie’s chair. The dog plopped down beside Katie, who seemed to have taken Jill’s place in his affections.
“Hey! Turn up the TV!” Evan set down his plate and grabbed the remote. “It’s about Mom.”
“Still no sign of the Sylvia teacher missing since Friday. Brannon failed to return to her home in this small south-central Missouri town after attending an educator’s conference in Kansas City, Kansas.”
They sat like statues, listening as the anchorwoman gave a dispassionate––and disheartening––report.
“That’s right here! In Sylvia,” Katie pointed to the images on the screen. “That’s our house!” She had her laptop open on her lap and immediately started typing furiously––no doubt keeping her classmates who were away at colleges across the country up to date on everything that was happening.
The Face of the Earth Page 9
