Did You Miss Me? (14 page)

‘Again, if it came from where I think, it’ll be family friendly. Where are we on the warrant to check the Millhouse properties?’

‘Signed. BPD’s got two of their homicide guys at the Millhouse residence. I’ve got two of ours on their way to the business.’

‘That’s good. You’ll call me as soon as you know anything?’

‘Of course. Now, I have a question for you, Joseph, and I need you to be honest. Are you capable of leading this investigation? You went looking for the boy because of his connection to your father. Anyone who saw the video of the attack saw you protect Ms. Montgomery. Do the two of you have a personal connection you’d like to disclose?’

‘It’s true that I went looking for the boy because my father asked me to.’ Although he would have done the same had the request come from his worst enemy. Ford was Daphne’s heart. ‘But I would have protected anyone in Miss Montgomery’s situation.’

‘I know, Joseph, because I know you. But you have to admit it was a little extreme.’

‘I saw the shooter pointing a gun in Ms Montgomery’s face and I reacted. And no, there’s nothing I have to disclose.’
Not now anyway
.

‘All right. What’s your next step?’

‘I’m going back to the scene at the alley. The priority is finding Ford and Kimberly. I doubt the Millhouses have stashed them in their basement. And I doubt they’re going to simply tell us. We need all the data we can get to encourage their compliance.’

‘I agree. Keep in contact. And tell Miss Montgomery that we have every available resource working to bring her son home.’

‘Thanks. I will.’ Joseph hung up and listened. Daphne had grown very quiet behind the curtain. He wanted to give her space, but he was going out of his mind worrying, imagining the worst. And that she wore a wig was now back in the front of his mind, tying knots in his brain. Why? What was wrong with her? Was she sick? Dying? Did she have cancer? Something worse? What would this stress do to her?

He’d pulled the curtain back an inch to peek in when a young blonde wearing a white coat approached. She looked familiar. Her nametag said ‘Dr Charlotte Burke’.

‘Just a minute please,’ he said softly, stepping in front of the curtain’s edge.

Burke looked up, studying his face. ‘I’m the doctor Daphne requested.’

‘You know her then?’

‘Yes, from the women’s center. I’m on the board.’

Now he remembered where he’d seen her. It had been at a fundraiser and the doctor had been standing next to Daphne who’d worn a gown of the deepest blue he’d ever seen. The same color as the suit she wore today, actually.
Maybe it’s her favorite color
.
It’s certainly mine
. Daphne had looked like a goddess that night. Burke he barely recalled. ‘You look different here,’ he said.

Burke smiled up at him. ‘I get that a lot. Are
you
okay, Agent Carter?’

‘I’m fine.’ He drew a breath. ‘She hit her head. Didn’t feel too deep a wound, but she might have some broken ribs, from the impact of the bullets. She was wearing Kevlar . . .’ He could see that she already knew all of this. ‘I’m rambling. I’m sorry.’

‘I’ll take good care of Daphne. Don’t you worry.’

He swallowed hard. ‘You need to know . . . She might be sick. She’s wearing . . .’ He leaned down to whisper. ‘A wig. I don’t want her embarrassed, but I’m not sure why she’s wearing it. If she’s on meds, chemo . . . I thought you should know to check.’

Burke nodded, her gray eyes remaining calm. ‘Thank you. If you’ll excuse me . . .’

‘Wait. Her son has been abducted. I’d love to tell you to give her something to sleep, but I need her sharp.’

‘Got it. Now, let me pass, Agent Carter. I need to tend to her.’ She pushed past him and standing there, feeling helpless, he listened, shamelessly.

‘Hey, girl,’ Burke said quietly. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Get me out of here. Please. I have to get out of here. I have to find my son.’

‘That agent lurking outside said you hit your head. Let me see if you need stitches. And then I’ll get you out of here.’

‘Agent Carter.’ The male voice had come from behind him and Joseph turned to see an orderly standing next to the elevator with Stevie Mazzetti, who lay on a stretcher. One leg of her pants had been cut away, her thigh heavily bandaged.

‘Stevie.’ Joseph rushed to her side, grabbing her hand. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Just pissed off.’ Her eyes fought to stay open. She was so pale. ‘Need surgery.’

‘Shit. What did the bullet hit?’ She’d been gushing like a damn geyser at the scene.

‘Artery. Dammit. Am not happy ’bout this.’

‘Neither was Maynard,’ Joseph said, remembering the PI’s face.

Her jaw tightened. ‘Damn that man.’

‘You mean you don’t . . . You and Maynard aren’t . . .’

She forced her eyes open and stared at his face. ‘Don’t go there, Carter. Don’t.’

‘Okay.’ He wanted to take a step back. Her eyes were wild, whether from the pain or something she’d been given for it, he couldn’t say. ‘You just sleep now.’

‘Wait. Don’t go yet. I have a message. From Clay. He said to tell you that he was going to . . . somebody’s house. Two-something. Notification.’

‘I understand.’ The elevator opened, the orderly giving him a move-your-ass look.

‘Joseph.’ She grabbed onto his sleeve. ‘If I die—’

He was surprised to hear her fear. ‘You’re not going to die, Stevie.’

‘Everybody does sometime. And surgery and me . . . we don’t mix so good. So if I do . . . you tell Cordy that I love her.
Promise me
.’

Joseph’s throat closed at the thought of having to say those words to Stevie’s little girl. ‘Stop this, right now. You are not going to die.’

‘And JD . . . You tell him if he names that baby of his “Stevie” then I’ll haunt him.’

‘She needs to go to surgery,’ the orderly said. ‘You have to go.’

‘Wait,’ Stevie growled. ‘Not done. Tell Clay . . . I wish I’d been ready. That I . . . wanted . . . you know.’ Her eyes fluttered closed. ‘If I don’t die, you tell nobody nothin’.’

‘I promise.’ He stepped back, watched the elevator take her away. Stevie was a good cop. A single mother, having lost her husband and five-year-old son to a random shooting while still pregnant with Cordelia. She wasn’t ready to risk her heart again.

Joseph knew the feeling. He hoped for both Stevie and Maynard’s sake that she’d work through her grief faster than he had. His heart had broken ten years ago and it had only started beating again nine months ago. When he’d seen Daphne for the first time.

‘Agent Carter?’ Dr Burke leaned around the curtain. ‘Can you come here, please?’

He was at the curtain before she finished the question. ‘Is she all right?’

‘No stitches were needed. She can go home or wherever you can keep her safest.’

‘And she’s not . . . sick? Nothing I need to do?’

Burke checked her clipboard. ‘I have to see to other injuries. She can go home.’

Guess that means it’s not my business
. Joseph pulled the curtain, finding Daphne standing by the bed, coiffed but fragile. Her head was bowed, her shoulders heavy.

‘Daphne?’ When she met his eyes, his heart clenched. He’d seen too many parents of abducted children with that look in their eyes. The agony, the envisioning of what could be happening to their child at that very moment. The fear that they’d never get them back. The fear of what their lives would be like if they did get them back. He saw the parents’ eyes in his nightmares.

The adults whose spouse or a lover had been abducted wore a different look, just as agonized. It was the look that said they knew that a vital part of themselves had been ripped away, never to be regained. That look he’d seen in the mirror.

‘Go,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘Don’t you stay here another second.’

‘I’m not leaving you unprotected.’

‘There are a dozen cops in the waiting room, here for the cops who are hurt. All of them have guns. I am protected. My son . . .’ Her voice broke. ‘My son is out there somewhere, Joseph. So don’t you dare waste another second babysitting me.’

‘All right. My boss is Special Agent Bo Lamar. He’s got federal agents on their way to your house. They’ll trace any call that comes in. A security team will escort you home. We have Bill Millhouse in custody. I’ll personally question him and his wife.’

‘There’s another son in custody. George. He came in late to court today. He’d been rushing. He was out of breath. Seemed more wired than usual. And then Cindy somehow had a knife in the courtroom. There has to be a connection.’

‘I’ll check it out.’

‘You said Kimberly was missing. She’s the girlfriend that Ford hadn’t brought home.’

He frowned, surprised. ‘You didn’t know about her?’

‘No, I knew about her. Ford told me. He said she was nervous about meeting me. Something about bad prior experiences with the mother of an old boyfriend. Ford’s been giving her space. But he’s told me bits and pieces about her.’

‘Is that why he didn’t want a bodyguard? Because he wanted to give her space?’

‘I think so. Have you notified her family?’

‘An agent from the Philly office should be there now. I’ll be by your house to update you as soon as I can.’ He hated to leave her, but knew he had to go. ‘Be careful.’

She nodded numbly. ‘You too.’

Marston, West Virginia, Tuesday, December 3, 1.00
P.M.

Frustrated, Ford smacked the steering wheel of the piece-of-shit truck he’d stolen from the old man. ‘Out of gas.’
Of course it is
.

He’d driven miles, not passing a single house or another vehicle. He had passed a rusty West Virginia highway marker, so at least he knew where he was. At the same time, he had no idea where he
was
. The nearest city could be fifty miles away.

He could stay or he could start walking. He had a few hours of daylight left. Once the sun went down it would become dangerously cold.
Like frostbite and losing-my-fingers cold
. Not good.
So start walking
.

He shouldered the pack he’d taken from the cabin, then stopped and looked back at the truck. If he could find a scrap of paper and a pen, he could leave a note in case somebody came by. At least someone would know where to look for him.

He opened the glove box, found it empty. There was no registration. Nothing to ID the SOB.
I should memorize the license plate
.
At least the cops will have a place to start
. He felt under the passenger seat and pulled out a small gold purse, the kind with a loop a girl wore around her wrist. Kim had a couple, but this didn’t look like hers.

Ford unzipped it and dumped the contents on the seat. And the hairs on the back of his neck lifted. He picked up the ID first. The girl was young and pretty with long, dark hair. Heather Lipton. It was an ID card from a high school in Wheeling, in northern West Virginia. Heather was a senior, due to graduate in six months.

Oh
. Something finally made sense. He’d demanded the old man tell him where the girl was. The guy’s eyes had flickered, like he was trying to figure out the best way to lie.
I was talking about Kim
. But his gut told him that the old man hadn’t been.

Was Heather back there somewhere? Part of him screamed that he should go back to save her. But he needed help, and he’d passed none back in that direction.
I can help her better if I move forward
.
If she’s still alive
.

It was possible that he was overreacting, that the old man had stolen this purse and that Heather was home right now, safe and sound. But Ford didn’t really think so.

Her purse held a tube of red lipstick that looked brand new, five dollars, a folded piece of paper, and an unused concert ticket dated August 27 of that year.

Ford blinked at the ticket. The band was hot, tickets incredibly hard to come by. Every show had been sold out weeks in advance. If Heather had missed this concert, something was seriously wrong. He unfolded the piece of paper and it all became clear.

The paper was a receipt from Mountain Jack’s Towing and was dated the day of the concert ticket. On it was scrawled:
Picked up, one 2004 Honda Civic, brown
.

Her car had broken down, Ford thought. With a ticket to the concert of the summer, Heather had probably decided to hitchhike. She’d never made it to the show.

What should he do?
Keep to the plan
.
Get help
. He returned the items to the purse, except for the lipstick. For a moment he hesitated. What he had in mind would destroy it. What if there was DNA on the lipstick?

If he died out here, the lipstick wouldn’t matter, so he twisted the lipstick tube and wrote on the windshield in big letters – HELP. Below it he wrote his name and the date. And his mother’s phone number. Finally he drew a big arrow down the middle of the truck’s hood, showing the direction he’d gone.

With my luck the old man will find me first
.
Or the did-you-miss-me guy
.

At least he was somewhat armed. He had several knives in his pack. And a few strips of beef jerky and a couple cans of beans – the best of what he found in the old man’s cupboards. He took one of the jerky strips and started down the road, munching as he walked. He’d have to ration what was left. Who knew when he’d be found.

I hope to God it’s soon
.
It’s getting really cold
.

Baltimore, Maryland, Tuesday, December 3, 1.05
P.M.

Joseph arrived back at the movie theater to find the alley criss-crossed with twine, creating a precise grid that CSU would use to record the crime scene, layer by layer.

In an alley filled with garbage, cataloging the evidence could take a very long time.

We don’t have a long time
. A search of the Millhouses’ home and their hardware store had yielded no sign of Ford or Kimberly. This hadn’t surprised Joseph. He hadn’t expected the Millhouses to stash the kids where they could be easily found. They didn’t have many leads. Yet. This crime scene was key.