by Beverly Long
Six
The lead detective on the Corrine Antler case had been Doug Franklin. He’d retired from the Dover Police Department two years earlier and most nice days could be found on the golf course. A.L. got this from Franklin’s former supervisor, who was still riding a desk for the Dover PD.
“I wasn’t here when the Antler case happened,” Brent Smoke said. “I was hired three years later so it was technically a cold case. But I know that Doug Franklin thought about that child every day, that he never stopped trying to figure out what had happened to her. I’m sorry the two of you are mixed up in something similar. I’d be happy to let you look at our file.”
A.L. wanted to talk to Doug Franklin first. “I’d appreciate any help that you can give us to connect with Mr. Franklin. Perhaps his cell phone number.”
“We don’t, as a rule, give out a former employee’s personal cell number. Even to other officers. But I’ll give him a call. See if he’s available. Why don’t the two of you have a cup of coffee in the waiting area?”
Neither Rena nor A.L. was likely to turn down coffee. It was hot and slightly bitter but no worse than what was brewed at the Baywood PD. And they barely had time to finish a cup before Brent Smoke came to find them.
“He’ll meet you in the clubhouse,” he said, passing an address to A.L.
“Thanks for your help,” A.L. said. “We’ll likely be back later to look at the file. If you could grease the wheels on that, it would be appreciated.”
“Consider it done. Good luck.”
A.L. and Rena walked back to his vehicle and plugged the address into the GPS. Thirteen miles. They were halfway there when Rena turned to him.
“This makes me think of Golf Course John.”
Last spring, he and Rena had been investigating a serial murderer and had stumbled upon Golf Course John, a pleasant enough twenty-two-year-old man who worked behind the counter at the Baywood Golf Course, who A.L. had wanted to kill once he’d voluntarily disclosed that he was dating A.L.’s then sixteen-year-old daughter. “I try not to think of him,” A.L. said.
“You’re confident that’s over?” Rena asked.
“Traci says it is. I am bothered by the fact that she’s going to homecoming with the same boy she went to prom with.”
“Why does that bother you?”
“Well, she says they’re just friends.”
“I’m still unclear. That should make you happy.”
“You would think. But she went to prom with him because she couldn’t go with Golf Course John since he was too old. I can’t help but wonder if the same thing isn’t still happening.”
“So ask her?”
“I have to assume that she’s telling me the truth until I have proof that she isn’t.”
Rena gave him a look. “Tess is coaching you, isn’t she?”
He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “She has a good relationship with her daughter. I could do worse than take her advice.”
“Agree. But I always thought you had pretty good parenting instincts.”
Now he glanced at her. “That sounds like a compliment, Morgan.”
She smiled. “What do you think Doug Franklin is going to tell us?”
“More than the file would. That’s why we’re going to see him.”
When they walked into the clubhouse, a man sitting at a corner table waved them over. He was sixty-something, wearing plaid shorts and a bright green shirt. He glanced at their badges and motioned for them to take a chair. “Tell me what’s happened,” he said, not bothering with any pleasantries.
Rena leaned forward. “Five-year-old female was dropped off by her grandmother at day care. At the end of the day, when her father came to pick her up, it was discovered that she hadn’t been there the entire day. Grandmother swears she handed her off to her teacher at the front door. Teacher says it never happened. She’s been missing for almost twenty-nine hours at this point.”
He nodded. Rubbed his forehead with his index finger and thumb. “Corrine Antler was dropped off by her father. He walked her into the building. She ran ahead. He was fifteen to twenty feet behind. Once he saw her enter her classroom, he left. This was the same routine that they’d followed for months. Her mother came to pick her up that afternoon. She wasn’t there and the teacher in her classroom said that she’d never seen the child.”
“You never made an arrest,” A.L. said.
Doug Franklin shook his head.
“Did you like anybody in particular?” A.L. asked.
“A few different people, at various times. There was a janitor who cleaned the building who had a short rap sheet and a belligerent attitude. But I turned over every stone in that man’s life. I found some shit but never any sign of Corrine.”
“You know where this guy is now?” A.L. asked.
“He’s dead. Three years now,” Doug Franklin said. “One of the last things I did before I retired was update the Antler file with his obituary.”
“Anybody else?” A.L. asked.
“There was a neighbor who lived across the street. Single lady. Never married, never had any children. I had a witness who claimed they thought they saw a child watching television in her living room. But we couldn’t find any physical evidence that tied Corrine to that house.”
“She dead, too?” A.L. asked.
“Nope. Still lives in the same house.”
“You think it makes any sense for us to pay her a visit?” Rena asked.
He raised one mangy eyebrow. “You got a missing kid. You got to do everything you can and then one more thing.”
Rena nodded. “Her name?”
“Rosemary Bracken. Second house from the end of the block.”
“The parents were never suspects?” A.L. asked.
“We looked at them, of course. But they were...well, I guess the best word would be wrecked. Just wrecked. They aged about ten years the first week. After a month, it hurt to look in their eyes. They’re better now, you know. Had to go on. They had a seven-and a ten-year-old at the time. The seven-year-old just graduated from high school last spring. They invited me to the house for the party. We got to know each other pretty well over the years.”
A.L. and Rena exchanged a glance. The idea of socializing with the Whitmans in ten years because they’d bonded over a missing child who was never found made him want to throw up. Rena appeared to concur. “Anything else that we should know?” he asked.
Doug shook his head. “Your case is remarkably similar,” he said thoughtfully. “Is it even possible that it could be the same person responsible for both crimes?”
A.L. thought he heard the faintest bit of hope in the older man’s voice. He understood. The case haunted Doug Franklin. If it was the same person and he and Rena managed to find the asshole, then there could be closure here in Dover. “I don’t know. We can’t ignore the possibility. We’ve got an eyewitness who places two strangers at a restaurant across the street from the day care the night before Emma disappeared. That sound remotely familiar? These guys were described at early to midthirties. Ten years ago they’d have been early to midtwenties. Both white. One is a redhead with a sleeve tattoo.”
Doug Franklin tapped his index finger on the table. “The janitor had a kid. He was maybe nineteen or twenty. Red hair. I don’t remember any tattoos.”
Those could have been acquired in the last ten years. “You know where the kid is?”
Doug Franklin shook his head. “The janitor’s name was Trapper Frogg. I don’t remember what his kid’s name was, which is weird because it was an odd one. Old age, I guess. It’ll be in the file somewhere. I remember talking to him.”
“Great,” A.L. said. “We also want to talk to Corrine Antler’s parents. Just to see if there is any possible connection between them and the Whitmans or anybody else intimately involved in this thing. Can you set that up for us?”
“Yeah, I think so. They’re both teachers so they get off work by 3:30. Can the two of you hang around until then?”
He and Rena nodded. “We’ll take a drive by Rosemary Bracken’s house. And then spend the time reviewing the case file,” A.L. said. “Brent Smoke already offered it to us.”
“The new guy,” Doug Franklin said, his tone not complimentary. “Always wanted to shake things up. Like what we’d been doing for the last thirty years was all wrong.”
Doug Franklin had twenty years on A.L. He’d earned his “Old Guy” stripes. But still, it made A.L. uneasy. Was he on his way to being him? Pissed off about the inevitable change that barreled toward them every day, like a goddamn speeding train.
A few months ago he’d have spent no time thinking about it. But that was before Tess. Who had triumphed over tragedy and likely wouldn’t bother wasting too much time with somebody who couldn’t realize that the good old days might have been great but they were fucking gone.
“Thank you for your time,” A.L. said.
“You’ll let me know, right?” Doug Franklin said, standing up. “If there’s anything in your case that might mean something to me.”
“Will do,” A.L. promised.
* * *
They found Rosemary Bracken’s house without any trouble. The yard was mostly dirt and the house was a square box, painted a dull gray, with one lone red petunia in a small pot next to the front door. “Nice landscaping,” Rena said, nodding at the flower. “Doesn’t make me hopeful.”
“My uncle Joe lives in a similar place. Some people are just low-maintenance.”
“Right. If a fifteen-year-old girl comes to the door who answers to Corrine, I’ll remind you that you think this falls within the normal range.” She turned her head to look at the day care across the street. It was a one-story brick-and-frame building. “This is so weird. I know the building doesn’t look like Lakeside Learning Center but the location is similar. On a corner. Open field behind it. Houses. A few small businesses.”
“No psychic,” A.L. said.
“We haven’t met Rosemary yet.”
They got out of the car. Rena knocked on the door. She was just about to knock a second time when it opened. It wasn’t a fifteen-year-old girl but rather a woman, maybe midfifties, wearing black-and-red pajama pants and a faded black T-shirt that appeared to have been washed about three hundred times. “Ms. Bracken?” Rena said.
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Morgan. This is my partner, Detective McKittridge.” They both held their badges steady while the woman inspected them. “May we come in?”
“Why?” she asked, not moving.
“We’re from the Baywood Police Department, about a hundred miles south of here. We are investigating the disappearance of a five-year-old from her day care. We understand that a similar crime occurred here in Dover about ten years ago and that you lived here at the time.”
While she spoke, Rena closely watched the older woman’s face. But there was no response. Not a blink, a twitch, a gasp, or anything that resembled a normal reaction to hearing that a child was missing. When she was done talking, there was an uncomfortable silence. Then finally, the woman stepped back and motioned for them to have a seat in the living room. There was a couch and one chair. A.L. and Rena both sat on the couch.
“I’m not sure how I can help you.”
“Do you remember the missing child from the day care across the street?” A.L. asked.
“Of course. It was huge news in a town this size. Horrible news.”
She said the last sentence without emotion, as if she might be talking about the price of milk going up. “Did you talk to police at the time?” Rena asked.
“I did. I suspect many of the neighbors did. I believe I got some extra scrutiny because some idiot reported that they saw a child on my couch, watching television.”
“Did that make you angry?” A.L. asked.
The woman shrugged. “It was a waste of everyone’s time. I didn’t like that.”
“I see. What is it that you do for a living, Ms. Bracken?” Rena asked.
“I transcribe medical records. From my home.”
“You always work from home? Never go into an office?” Rena asked.
“Never. It’s part of my deal. I don’t like to go out but I’m a very good transcriptionist. With electronic medical records, many physicians input their own data but there are still some that refuse to do that. They want their transcription turned around quickly. I’m nocturnal. I work at night and sleep during the day, so that allows me to have whatever they’ve left in their queue by 10:00 at night back to them by 6:00 in the morning. They like that.” She glanced at the clock. “These are my sleeping hours. I was just drifting off when you came to the door.”
“Sorry about that,” A.L. said easily in a tone that told Rena he didn’t mean it. “Where were you this past Wednesday around 7:30 in the morning?”
Rena felt some satisfaction. She was now not the only one creeped out by the woman. A.L. was done tiptoeing around.
“I finished work early on Wednesday, probably by 6:00. So I guess I was getting ready for bed,” she said.
“Could anyone verify that?” A.L.
The first hint of a smile crossed her lips. Just a hint. “No.”
“Do you own a vehicle, Ms. Bracken?” Rena asked.
“I do. A 1982 Buick Regal. Green. License plate RB 5050.”
A car that old wasn’t going to have GPS.
A.L. stood. “Thank you for your time. Can we have your cell number in the event that we need to contact you?”
“No cell. Just a home number.” She rattled it off and A.L. wrote it down in his notebook.
Rena had her hand on the doorknob when Rosemary Bracken spoke again. “I hope you find your little girl. I really do.”
Rena managed a tight smile and walked out the door. She could hear A.L. on her heels. Then he stopped. She turned to see what was holding him up.
He’d taken three steps back toward Rosemary Bracken, who stood in her door, watching them. “Had you ever met Corrine Antler?”
“No.”
“Did you know her parents? Had you ever met them?”
Rosemary shook her head. “I didn’t and I still don’t.”
A.L. nodded. “Thank you for your time.” He turned and easily caught up with Rena. Once they were back in his vehicle, she let out a loud breath. “That is one odd woman.”
“Odd doesn’t equate to kidnapper of young children,” A.L. said.
“No GPS in vehicle or cell phone. Limits our ability to track her movements. ‘I’m nocturnal.’” Rena said it in the same flat tone that Rosemary Bracken had used. “How about ‘I’m a weirdo and it’s better if I just hide in my little hole.’”
A.L. said nothing. Just sat behind the wheel and stared at the day care across the street.
“What?” Rena asked finally. “And why did you ask her if she knew Corrine Antler’s parents?”
“I keep thinking about Traci at five. If we believe the grandmother and assume that Emma was at some point in the building, it’s possible for me to see her getting distracted by something she saw outside the back door and going to investigate. Kids are very curious at that age. Now she’s outside. I see three possibilities. Somebody set something up to deliberately lure a child outside. They scooped her up. Or, it wasn’t deliberate but somebody just happened to be there, saw an unaccompanied child, and took her. Crime of opportunity. Or, nobody was there and she simply wandered away.”
“Of those,” Rena said, playing along, “I see the crime of opportunity as the least likely.”
“Agree. And if she wandered away, why haven’t we found her? Lots of people looking for her. I don’t think she’s out there.”
“So that leaves number one,” Rena said. “Somebod
y lured her outside and took her.”
“Which brings me back to Traci. Earlier I was thinking this but now I’ll just say it. At five, she understood stranger-danger. I don’t think she would have willingly gone with anybody she didn’t know or at least hadn’t seen before.”
“So the bad guy either was a known guy or...took Emma against her will.”
“Both possible,” A.L. said. “But if it’s against her will, wouldn’t there be some struggle? Some noise. Something that someone noticed?”
Rena shrugged. “Not hard to overpower a five-year-old child. To silence.”
“I know. But my mind is hung up on the fact that I think she had some familiarity with whoever took her. That’s why I asked Rosemary Bracken if she knew Corrine Antler or Corrine Antler’s parents. To see if she had any familiarity.”
“Don’t you imagine that Doug Franklin asked her that?”
“I suspect so. It might well be in the file. Which we should go review.” He put his SUV in Drive and pulled away from the curb.
“What if it was somebody Emma knew very well who lured her outside? Somebody she wouldn’t have any qualms about going with? Somebody like...one of her parents?”
“Ugly goddamn theory,” A.L. said, without emotion.
“I know. But you and I both noticed the strain between the Whitmans. It wouldn’t be the first time that a parent harmed a child to hurt a spouse.” They’d both seen that just two years earlier when a child had been beaten severely by his father to make the mother pay for her infidelity. It had been a gruesome, ugly case that had been horrible to investigate.
“I know,” A.L. said. “We can’t discount the parents.”
“Or the grandmother. Our discussion five minutes ago was predicated on us believing the grandmother.”
“We know she got to the day care. She told us her route and we were able to verify that with street cameras. And we see her at the end of the block and there’s no child in the back seat. So I think we’ve got a good reason to believe the grandmother.”
“But she’s the only one with a criminal record. And one of the charges was child endangerment.”
