The Green Children: A Sycamore Moon Novel (Sycamore Moon Series Book 3) (4 page)

 

 

 

 

Maxim hadn't yet reached his car when the call came in. It was the marshal himself, probably expecting a progress report.

"Hello, sir. I just spoke with the mother, but it looks like Annabelle Hayes was in the custody of her father when she went missing."

"I see," he said with a measured tone. "Where is he?"

"Close. He lives in a condo in Bellemont."

Marshal Boyd jumped quickly. "So the Coconino County Sheriff's Office would've responded to the missing persons call. They should have notified you."

"That's if the disappearance was reported at all," countered Maxim. "According to Olivia Hayes, the husband never contacted her."

Maxim could hear the marshal's disappointment. "We're still dealing with too many unknowns."

"Not for long," said Maxim, slightly annoyed at the marshal's impatience. Boyd asking about the case was harmless enough, but Maxim hated not having the answers. Frankly, it surprised him that Boyd was on top of the case this early in the day. Usually the dawn hours were Maxim's time to be alone. "I'll see you at the station after I pay him a visit."

"That needs to wait," asserted Boyd. "I need you in the front office to address the press."

The detective stopped outside his personal car, an Audi TT coupe. "The reporters can wait until we have a bead on this. A 'no comment' should do for now."

"It will not, Detective. I've already scheduled the press conference. It's in half an hour."

"What?" Maxim thrust his head into his hand. "Annabelle's barely said ten words to us. I just now talked to the mother. This case is only a few hours old."

"Perhaps Annabelle's involvement is, but Hazel Cunningham already has traction countywide. This is a hot button in the community right now. An Easter weekend tragedy. The discovery of Annabelle Hayes only makes this more newsworthy."

Maxim grimaced. "Can't we let Coconino handle the press for now?"

"This isn't just a county concern any longer. Now that the Sanctuary Marshal's Office is involved, we need to put a face on it. We need to let the public know that our office is doing everything it can for our children."

It made perfect sense. Marshal Boyd was a politician. Managing appearances for his father the mayor was his primary concern. Sometimes Maxim feared it was more important to the man than solving the crimes, that the semblance of preserving the peace trumped actual peacekeeping.

"So you want a two-minute fluff job. 'The marshal's office is putting its full weight behind this.' That sort of thing."

Boyd didn't answer immediately. He lived in a world of bullshit, comfortably padded by its confines. Stripping it away made him feel naked.

"Yes."

"Fine. But I need to keep it quick. Wrapping up Annabelle's involvement will be a piece of cake, but it isn't the only matter here. Hazel Cunningham is still out there."

"I am confident you can manage," returned Marshal Boyd. "You're my best detective."

Maxim snorted. "I'm your only detective." Then he hung up the phone.

 

 

 

 

Diego sat on his bed wearing nothing but an old pair of jeans. He leaned forward, elbows on tattered knees, fists clamped together in front of his face, waiting in silence.

It was a meager apartment, barren of all the little things that made life a joy. Devoid of color and personality save for a single picture of his sister Angelica; to Diego, the space was just a few rooms with a kitchen and a bed.

It suited him because he hated being cooped up inside. Riding his motorcycle on the open road was his thrill, his escape from the ordinary. Now, that's what his life was. Ordinary.

Diego had been awake for a while, but his thoughts paralyzed him. A series of wild memories had turned into a series of dead-end jobs. Leaving the service, abandoning Detroit, landing in Sanctuary—it all seemed so far away now. Worse, it all seemed so pointless.

It wasn't easy to think about, but he forced himself. So he sat there, unmoving. Taking stock.

Diego knew he was on the edge of something. He knew he had a choice. Julia Cunningham needed him. He'd promised he would help her. But even if he kept to his intentions, he wondered what good they were.

He swiped his phone from the nightstand and dialed Maxim. After a few rings it went to voicemail, and he slammed the phone down in disgust.

Diego hopped to his feet and nervously paced the room. This wasn't him. Mulling over options.

Thinking.

That realization gave him a chuckle. The biker was at his best when he simply acted. He often paid the price for his rash decisions, but at least the pot got stirred. At least he took action.

So why did he doubt himself now?

He trudged to the living room and flipped the TV to the local news.

Diego jumped when he heard a knock on his door. His alarm turned to excitement and he hurried to answer. To find more answers. To see a clear path.

Still not fully dressed, he swung the door open to see Henriette glowering at him.

She was a cold woman, in her fifties, with buzzed gray hair. She spoke deliberately, as if to assert her superiority. "Rent's late after the third," she said sternly.

Diego sneered. Henriette wasn't the problem, but she wasn't the solution he'd been seeking. He rolled his eyes and shuffled to the kitchen bar. He picked up the check and handed it to her.

"I'm sorry. Yesterday—"

"Is this one going to clear?"

Diego pulled back and feigned a polite smile. "That last time was just a mix-up. This check's good. I included the twenty-dollar late fee."

The woman eyed the check as if it were a window directly into his bank account. She accepted it while remaining dissatisfied. "If you have trouble remembering the first of the month, you should write a note and tape it to the inside of your door."

Diego stared blankly at her. "That's a good idea." He pained another smile and nudged the door closed. The woman acted like his mother, but he knew it was his own fault. All he had to do was drop the check in the deposit slot on time and he would never have to see her again.

He leaned against the door with a deflated sigh. He'd been in Sanctuary a year and a half now. He never figured he'd blow through his finances so fast. It wasn't an issue when he rolled with the motorcycle club—they had money coming in from their extracurricular activities—but now Diego was on the straight and narrow. And on his own. That was really dawning on him for the first time.

The volume of the TV carried over a familiar voice. Diego approached the flat screen and saw Maxim Dwyer standing in the marshal's office entryway, speaking to reporters.

 

 

 

 

Maxim cleared his throat.

"It's important to keep in mind that this is an ongoing investigation. Annabelle Hayes is safe and under medical care. There's no evidence of an actual crime yet, but it's our duty to look into the matter."

The Sanctuary Marshal's Office didn't have a press room so they handled these situations with as little pomp as possible. Maxim Dwyer stood outside, in front of the station doors. The marshal and patrol sergeant were behind him at each side. There was no podium, just a gaggle of reporters pressed together at the base of the steps, shoving cameras and microphones forward.

"Is this connected to Hazel Cunningham?" one of them asked.

"Not necessarily," he answered. "We are, of course, exploring that possibility, but at the moment these are separate cases. The Coconino County Sheriff's Office is running that investigation, and we are assisting them in the matter. In the spirit of cooperation, I'd like to take this opportunity to reach out to the public, see if anybody knows anything. Homeowners should search their properties. Everybody should keep an eye out in the parklands. If anyone sees anything, please call 911 and the proper authorities will be dispatched immediately."

"It's been more than twenty-four hours. Is it already too late for her?"

"Certainly not." Maxim smiled in practiced patience. His plan was to focus on Sanctuary's case and deflect attention from Coconino's, but he had to do his part for the still-missing girl. His small mention would need to be enough for now. "But I'll leave the questions about the Hazel Cunningham case to the sheriff's office."

A woman spoke up. "Isn't it irresponsible to allow Annabelle Hayes time to recover while another child is still in danger?"

Maxim studied her. The black woman was the only reporter of the bunch he didn't recognize. She was shorter than everybody else but had a personable face. That meant she could ask the serious questions without appearing to be on the attack. But she was. Her question was loaded.

"As a detective," he stated with detachment, "I need to defer to the insistence of the medical staff, but that doesn't mean the investigation is at a standstill. It is the duty of our office to be thorough and expedient for the people of Sanctuary. We are doing everything we can for Hazel Cunningham, but it doesn't help her to jump to conclusions and assume these cases are linked."

The reporters asked questions all at once. One man's deep voice rose above the others. "But you're not dismissing the possibility of a serial abductor?"

Maxim sighed. The media's MO was to stir up panic first then get the facts later. Half the reason for these press conferences was to assure the public that the world wasn't ending. "There's absolutely no evidence of that at all. We're not discounting any possibilities, but neither are we entertaining dangerous speculation."

"What about the autistic girl?" asked the mystery woman. "Alice Radford?"

Maxim blinked plainly into the cameras. He hadn't heard the name before. "Can you elaborate?"

The reporter raised a single eyebrow. "Alice Radford went missing in Williams last year. She wandered back home a day later."

Yes. Maxim remembered now. The autistic girl had been eleven years old. She'd gotten separated from her parents during a local parade. The county had been on full alert until she returned, unharmed. He'd understood the girl wasn't highly functional and was lucky to have found her way back.

Maxim nodded to present the cameras with calm confidence. "Yes. Unfortunately, situations like these are not entirely uncommon. Sycamore—excuse me—Coconino County has sprawling forests and flatlands. The territory's too large to cover easily and slows down rescue operations. That's why it's important we don't panic and assume the worst when we lack immediate results. Nine times out of ten getting lost is just that: getting lost. It can still be a dangerous matter but we should temper our conclusions. In the case of Alice Radford, there were no signs of foul play, but as that is under the jurisdiction of Williams PD and the sheriff's office, you should contact them with further questions."

Maxim stared hard at the woman. She didn't appear satisfied with his answer, but that was normal with reporters. His expression dared her to continue, but she didn't have a follow-up question.

Another reporter: "Are Annabelle's parents being investigated? Why didn't they report their daughter missing?"

Maxim considered. It was bad form to immediately attack the parents in cases like this, but it was par for the course. Once children were found, if their cases didn't add up, the questions pointed more sharply to the parents. Now that Annabelle was okay, it was open season.

In truth, detectives often had the same suspicions.

"The marshal's office is still reviewing all available information. As of now, no charges have been filed against anyone."

"Isn't it negligent of them to not know where their twelve-year-old daughter was?"

Maxim glanced at Marshal Boyd before he answered. "That hasn't been determined yet." His answer was curt. It obviously displeased the reporters.

The woman spoke up again. "But isn't it true that neither the mother nor the father had seen Annabelle since Friday? Who was responsible for her for three days?"

It surprised Maxim that she knew that much. The reporters were well versed in the case. Because they were doing background as soon as Hazel Cunningham had been reported missing, they essentially had a day's head start on him. Maxim wondered what outlet the woman worked for. She didn't wear any obvious branding.

"All I can say at this time—"

She interrupted him. "Is it true that Annabelle Hayes was camping in the woods over the weekend with her friends?"

Maxim paused. He wasn't prepared for this. He flashed the marshal an I-told-you-so expression but Boyd stoically faced forward.

The detective didn't know anything about camping in the woods. He hadn't spoken with the father yet. This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to hold this press conference yet.

"We can't comment on specifics at this time," said Maxim firmly. "All avenues are still being investi—"

"Should we alert families not to go camping for the time being?" asked someone else.

More hysteria. But the woman in particular seemed to know specifics. She had a source of real information, possibly the father. The detective had a lot of catching up to do.

Maxim cleared his throat again. "As always, minors should be under the supervision of a parent or guardian."

Another outbreak of voices competed for his attention. Maxim put his hand up to quiet them. The woman ignored his request. "What
can
you tell us about what happened to Annabelle Hayes?"

The detective pouted. This had been a mistake. How could he project confidence to the media if he didn't even know what he was investigating?

Before he could speak, Marshal Boyd stepped forward. "That's all we have for you at the moment," he said, putting his hand on Maxim's shoulder. "Detective Dwyer has pressing business. As the case develops, we will share more information."

An uproar consumed the small crowd. The sergeant opened the door to the marshal's office and Maxim stepped backwards into the station. Boyd turned to look at him, his blue eyes crystalline daggers.

So far, this hadn't been Maxim's best day.