Every Waking Hour

by Joanna Schaffhausen

  He crept forward again to eavesdrop on the investigation into Chloe Lockhart’s disappearance. The room vibrated with a tense energy he recognized as the mobilizing fear that accompanied a missing child. Phones rang, seemingly without end. Chloe’s unsmiling face beamed out from all the computer monitors. Reed studied the photo, remembering the moodiness that had gripped his older sisters when they were on the cusp of puberty. Mama would compliment a hairstyle or outfit choice, and the wearer would stomp back to her room and change immediately. Chloe’s refusal to light up for the camera—or whoever was behind it—could be mere adolescent pique or a sign of something more troubling.

  Ellery stood across the room, deep in conversation with a man who Reed deduced must be her captain. The man had a roll of antacids in his hand, and he was chewing through them like they were candy. Reed wondered whether this was an old habit or a new one acquired when he began to supervise Ellery this past summer. She’d survived her suspension from active duty, and now Boston was giving her a tryout as a detective. No one could argue that she didn’t get results. But her track record of dead bodies and near misses, coupled with her infamy from the Coben case, rendered her radioactive within the department.

  As though she felt him staring, Ellery looked up at Reed and waved him over to her. Reed tried not to appear too eager to join the loop as he strode over to stand near Ellery’s side. She angled her body away from him. “Captain, this is Special Agent Reed Markham.”

  The captain stuck out one beefy hand. “James Conroy,” he said as he gave Reed a firm shake. “Hathaway told me you happened to be at the fair today when the Lockhart girl went missing. How about our good fortune that the FBI’s number-one child finder is vacationing here in Boston. I hope you can help us out.”

  Reed looked sideways at Ellery, whose face, as usual, betrayed nothing of her thoughts. “I’m happy to help if I can,” Reed said mildly.

  “Good. Great, even. The Lockhart girl has been gone almost five hours now. What do you think about putting out an Amber Alert on her?”

  Amber Alerts went out to the general public in cases of child abduction or endangerment. In Reed’s opinion, they did not have enough information yet to know whether Chloe was in danger. More than 90 percent of missing kids were runaways, and most returned home within a day or two. “It’s the cell phone in the trash can that concerns me,” Reed said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Most kids Chloe’s age would need surgical amputation to remove their phone from their hands, let alone willingly toss it in the trash. But I would wait to put out the alert until you’ve interviewed the parents.”

  “We’re working on that. Her mother’s a surgeon at Mass General, and she’s in the O.R., apparently. We have an officer waiting to pick her up as soon as she’s free. The father is some bigwig at Fidelity. Chloe’s nanny, Margery Brimwood, reached him on the golf course. He’s on his way down here now.”

  “What about Chloe’s friends?”

  “According to Margery, her best friend is a kid named McKenna MacIntyre,” Ellery said glancing at her notes. “Margery contacted McKenna’s nanny, who explained about Chloe’s disappearance to McKenna’s parents. They’re bringing her down for an interview.”

  “I know Judge MacIntyre,” Captain Conroy said. “He’ll appreciate the gravity of the situation.”

  Ellery twitched with obvious impatience. “If we wait on the alert, aren’t we killing valuable time?” Reed knew it had taken more than a day before law enforcement accepted that Ellery was abducted and not a runaway. Her family was poor, her home life chaotic, and Ellery’s time hadn’t been closely supervised or monitored. She’d been out alone on the streets of Chicago the night she went missing, and her mother had admitted, shamefaced, that this situation was not unusual.

  “The BOLO went out as soon as we received the report. We’ve put out a description of her to every officer in the city.” Conroy looked to Reed. “More eyeballs couldn’t hurt, though. Push all the buttons you got, yeah?”

  “It’s your call. Eyeballs help, yes, but they are most useful when trained in the right direction. Knowing more about Chloe’s habits is crucial at this stage.”

  He didn’t have to guess the roots of Conroy’s indecision. The named players in this drama so far included two nannies, a judge, a surgeon, and some financial poo-bah. All this added up to the fact that Chloe came from money, and money knew how to make noise. A misstep either way would be bad for the Boston PD. Sound the national alert for a kid who’d just run off to make trouble for one afternoon and they could be airing a wealthy family’s dirty laundry for all to see. Keep quiet about a girl who’d been abducted and the fallout could bring all the local parents down to headquarters, demanding answers and impeding any further investigation.

  A commotion near the front doors halted their conversation and a silver-haired man in khaki shorts came striding into the precinct. “Where’s my daughter? Who’s in charge here?”

  “Mr. Lockhart?” Conroy asked.

  “I’m Martin Lockhart, yes. Where is Chloe?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to determine, sir. It would help us if you could—”

  “Where’s Margery? Margery was supposed to be watching her.”

  “We’re interviewing Mrs. Brimwood now, sir.”

  “I want to talk to her. She’s paid fifty thousand dollars a year to watch one little girl. How the hell does something like this happen?”

  “Martin, let’s hear what he has to say, okay?” Another man, slightly younger, with black shorts and expensive running shoes, stepped forward to put his hand on Lockhart’s shoulder. He flashed a set of white veneers at the officers. “We all want the same thing here.”

  “I didn’t get your name,” Conroy said.

  “Stephen Wintour.”

  “He’s my attorney,” Lockhart said, and Reed and Ellery exchanged a look that asked what kind of father stops to bring a lawyer along when his daughter’s gone missing. Lockhart must have sensed the question in the awkward pause. “Stephen was also my golf partner for the afternoon. He was with me when I got the call.”

  “I’ve known Chloe almost since birth,” Wintour added. “Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

  “Jeffries, could you show them to interview room two, please? I’ll be right with you.” As Lockhart and Wintour were led away, Conroy turned to Reed. “Look, it isn’t every day we get the FBI to weigh in without going through the official rigmarole. Would you mind taking a listen while I talk to this guy and giving us your opinion?”

  “Of course not.”

  Boston’s setup was old enough that they still utilized a one-way mirror. Reed stood with Ellery outside the interview room while Conroy sat with Lockhart and his buddy at a metal table that had been bolted to the floor. Conroy had a legal pad on which to take notes, and Reed was intrigued to see the lawyer pull out a pad of his own. Conroy had an officer round them up bottles of water, and while this was happening Reed looked to Ellery.

  “Your captain doesn’t know about us,” he murmured.

  Her lips curled in an ironic smile, but she did not look at him. “The whole world knows about us, Agent Markham. I think the USA channel just ran a new movie last week.”

  “I don’t mean the Coben case.”

  He waited. “Do you always tell your boss who you’re sleeping with?” she asked.

  “I think all my trips up to Boston speak for themselves on that point.” He’d made the journey at least once a month, but Ellery had yet to come stay with him in Virginia since they had consummated their relationship. He’d envisioned her at his family holidays or playing board games at the kitchen table with Tula. He wanted to play the piano for her and show her around D.C. He’d even sent her links to a dog park near his condo. Bring the hound, he’d texted her. He can size up the local squirrel population. Ellery always demurred: Maybe someday. As the months flew past and he lived his half of their relationship out of a roller bag, Reed felt more keenly the pieces of himself
he left behind to be with her and wondered whether Ellery would ever want to see them.

  “You don’t need to stay here on my account,” she said steadily, her gaze fixed on the men inside the interview room.

  “At the moment, I’m here for Chloe.” He leaned over and turned up the volume to hear the conversation more clearly.

  “How old is Chloe?” Conroy was asking, even though they knew the answer to this. Reed approved of the technique: when facing a distraught or combative witness, start with easy questions with concrete answers.

  “She’ll be thirteen in two weeks. The end of August.” Lockhart swallowed visibly. “The day she came into the world was the happiest of my life.”

  “I feel the same way about my kids,” Conroy replied. “What about Chloe—any brothers or sisters?”

  An odd pause. “No, it’s just Chloe. Her mother and I had her later in life.”

  “I see. Where does Chloe go to school?”

  He looked confused. “It’s summer. School’s out.”

  “But when it resumes, where will she go?” He named a school Reed was not familiar with and indicated Chloe would be starting eighth grade in the fall. “A tough age,” Conroy allowed. “Kids want more independence, start keeping some parts of their life secret.”

  “Not Chloe.”

  Ellery gave a small snort of disbelief. At thirteen, Reed knew, she’d been roaming the streets of Chicago, begging for pocket change. Reed thought of Tula singing to herself, legs swinging under the table as she colored a rainbow pony, and he feared for his future. “Did you ever think about running away?” he asked Ellery.

  She folded her arms. “Every damn day of my life.”

  Inside, Conroy marched Lockhart through a series of questions that did not help Reed feel more comfortable in his role as an absentee father. Who were Chloe’s friends? Not sure. Maybe he’s heard the name Jenna a few times. What were her favorite stores to shop in? “Ask Margery. She knows.” The name of Chloe’s doctor? They would like access to her medical records, if permitted. Teresa makes those appointments, not him. With obvious pride, Chloe’s father could name his daughter’s accomplishments—first place in a piano concerto competition, straight A’s, a talented forward on her soccer team—but he had no idea what her typical day was like.

  “I don’t get home until almost eight. Her mother sometimes much later. Chloe is often in bed by then and we don’t want to disturb her. Children need sleep, right?” He seemed to be looking to Conroy for validation, and Conroy gave it.

  “My teenagers couldn’t get enough of it, but they wanted to do it all in the daylight hours. They’d sleep past noon if we let ’em. Chloe’s not a night owl?”

  Martin seemed to be searching for answers. “She has a television in her room. Video games. Sometimes I see the light flickering under her door at night. I’m sorry, I don’t see what these questions have to do with finding my daughter.”

  “We have every available officer out looking for her.”

  “How many abducted-kid cases have you worked?” Ellery asked Reed, still not looking at him.

  Inside the room, Lockhart had his head in his hands. “Twenty-four.” Reed didn’t have to do the math. The children he always remembered.

  She nodded to herself. “How many did you bring home?”

  He hesitated. “Nineteen.” A high average, but the gap gnawed at him on the nights when his own sleep proved elusive.

  “Alive?”

  He didn’t want to say. Not to her.

  Ellery persisted, turning and pinning him with her stare. “How many came back alive?”

  He hesitated another beat. “Three.”

  Ellery turned around again, her mouth set in a grim line. “I know this is difficult,” Conroy was saying. “We’re just trying to cover every angle. Is there anyone at all you can think of who might have wanted to hurt Chloe?”

  “H—hurt her?” Lockhart’s face twisted. His mouth opened and a wheezing sound emerged, like a deflating balloon.

  The lawyer, Wintour, spoke for the first time since the interview began. “You mean like someone with a grudge? She’s a little girl.” He laid a hand on Lockhart’s arm. Wintour might have made the gesture to comfort him, but to Reed, it looked like a caution: Don’t say anything. Let me handle it.

  “You might be surprised at the complexity of a middle schooler’s life these days,” Conroy replied. “What about it, Mr. Lockhart? Anyone who might have wanted to help Chloe disappear, even if only for a few hours?”

  “Disappear?” His chin quivered. His voice was hoarse when he answered. “No. There’s no one. Are we done yet? Shouldn’t you be out looking for Chloe rather than asking me all these questions?”

  “He’s lying,” Ellery remarked to Reed. “Or at least there’s something he’s not telling us. His kid is missing—why hold back information now?”

  Wealthy families, he knew, weren’t used to answering questions they didn’t care to answer. Reed had lived for decades with an explosive secret right within his DNA. However, he’d seen enough of his father’s infidelity over the years to have a guess as to what Martin Lockhart might be hiding.

  “Detective Hathaway?” A uniformed officer poked her head around the corner. “The mother just arrived. What do you want me to do with her?”

  “I’ll handle it. Thanks.”

  Curious about Chloe’s other parent, Reed trailed Ellery out to the bullpen to get a glimpse of Teresa Lockhart, who stood trembling amid the chaos. She was tall, with close-cropped blond hair worn in a trendy, almost spiky ’do that Reed was surprised to see on a married, fifty-something surgeon. Her blue eyes were darker than her daughter’s striking aquamarine hue, and they were wet with tears. Ellery introduced herself and the woman collapsed into the nearest chair.

  “You haven’t found her? I prayed the whole way here it wasn’t true.”

  “We’re looking everywhere. I promise you.”

  Teresa Lockhart didn’t seem to hear her. She accepted the box of tissues that Ellery passed to her and took a fistful as the tears welled up inside her once more. “Not again,” she said. “This can’t be happening again.”

  3

  Happening again. The words vibrated like a live wire inside Ellery, the one Coben had installed as surely as if he’d cut her open and strung it taut through her ribs. Her skin rippled under her clothes and a buzzing started in her ears. Focus, she ordered herself. Find Chloe. Aloud, she asked, “Do you mean that Chloe has disappeared before?”

  “Not Chloe. Trevor. He didn’t disappear.” Teresa Lockhart broke off with a sob and covered her mouth with one hand. “He—he was murdered.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Ellery searched her memory banks for any trace of the name Trevor but came up empty. “Who was Trevor?”

  “My son.”

  “Your son?” she echoed, confused. They had verified with the nanny that the Lockhart family consisted of three members: Martin, Teresa, and Chloe. Ellery cut her gaze to Reed, but he looked as startled by this development as she was. She also noted the gawking eyes of the officers around them. “Mrs. Lockhart, would you mind coming with me to a quieter space where we can discuss this further?”

  Teresa shredded the tissues in her hands with nervous fingers. “I don’t understand. Shouldn’t you be out looking for Chloe?”

  “We have a hundred people on the street right now doing just that. You can help us most by giving us a detailed account of your day and how you interacted with Chloe. Come this way, please.” She shepherded Teresa toward a windowless interview room with a cheap table and several folding chairs. Trailing behind them, Reed made a gesture at himself—Should I join?—and Ellery hesitated just a moment before nodding. This case was rising like quicksand around her and she wanted someone on the outside with a rope. “Can we get you anything? Coffee, water, soda?” Ellery asked as they entered the room.

  “No, thank you.” Teresa paced the narrow confines while Ellery and Reed took their seats. She twisted her han
ds together and muttered something to herself that Ellery couldn’t decipher. The nervous energy radiating off the woman was contagious and Ellery had to take a steadying breath to keep herself calm.

  “Won’t you please sit down a moment so we can talk?”

  Teresa stopped in her tracks and looked hard at Ellery. “Hathaway. That’s your name, right? I read about you. You’re that girl, the one who—”

  “Yes.” She could choose any fill-in and it would be correct. The girl who got away. The one who lived. Who shot a murderer and refused to apologize for it. The girl, now a woman, who had one last chance to keep this new job and carve out a slice of life that belonged to her and no one else.

  They stared at each other some more as Teresa seemed to weigh whether or not to trust her. At last, Teresa pulled out a chair and perched on the edge like a bird. “And you’re him, then.” She glanced at Reed. “The one who found her.”

  “Reed Markham, ma’am. Yes, I’m a special agent with the FBI.”

  “The FBI is involved already?” With the strain in her voice, Ellery couldn’t tell if Teresa found this prospect reassuring or alarming.

  “Not officially. I was at the fair today when Chloe went missing.”

  “When did you last see Chloe?” Ellery asked her.

  Teresa’s restless hands skimmed the plastic edge of the table. “I’ve been trying to think. It was Thursday … no, Wednesday night. I stopped in her room when we got in from dinner. She was listening to music and texting on her phone.”

  Three days ago. Ellery made a note of it. “I see. Have you been traveling?”

  “No.” There was an edge to Teresa’s reply. “I have a demanding but somewhat unpredictable surgical schedule as well as other work obligations. This week we had a benefit dinner for the Children’s Cancer Fund. Chloe is busy with school, dance, and music lessons. We don’t always see each other face-to-face, but we keep in touch all the time. See?” She reached down into her Coach handbag and pulled out a sleek silver phone. She called up her most recent text to Chloe: Have a great time, but don’t eat too much junk! Win a bear for me & your dad. Love you! Ellery saw the text had been marked as read by Chloe at 10:08 A.M., but there was no reply. “Do you mind if I have a look?” Ellery asked, extending her hand for the phone.