Missings, The (3 page)

Chase thought about his two John Does in the morgue and wondered if there might be a connection.

Rachelle Benavides, Elizabeth’s younger sister, just seventeen, a part-time student at the Aspen Falls Mountain College Outreach Program, hadn’t returned home when expected. The girl had graduated high school early and enrolled in the program without skipping a beat. She had chosen to focus on economics and social work, and was very serious about her future. The only boyfriend in her life attended CU in Boulder. Chase got the contact information, but instinct left him inclined to believe Elizabeth when she told him she didn’t believe her sister had run off to see him.

“She is a dedicated student, Detective Waters. She is not a flighty teenager. And Anthony is equally dedicated to his education.”

Rachelle had plenty of family and friends who loved her. And that included a very determined sister.

And she was Hispanic.

When you have a dead body with no ID and no one looking for him, plus no fingerprint matches, you’ve got a cold case before it even gets warm. And Chase had two of them. Two male unidentified DBs that were going nowhere fast.

And they were both Hispanic.

Chase stood and stretched his back and shoulders, ran both hands through his hair, then reached for his sports coat by the door. He didn’t really need the jacket, but guns made some people nervous, and the coat hid his weapon well. Fingering the inside pocket he pulled out a package of red licorice twists. “Would you like some licorice?”

The young woman shook her head. Her shoulders sagged and she closed her eyes. Chase knew what had happened. He’d seen it in interrogation rooms. He’d seen it disciplining his kids. He’d experienced it personally when David died. When people give up, they visibly deflate. Whatever force holds them up and keeps them going escapes with an exhale. He stuck a twist in his mouth and bit off the end.

“I need to talk to your parents and see your sister’s room.”

Elizabeth stiffened in her chair, shoulders pulled back again, but made no move to get up. “I should probably tell you that my mother doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Why is that?”

The girl blushed and for the first time since she’d been escorted to his office by the desk sergeant, wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Chase understood. He’d dealt with suspicion and distrust while working on cases in the past, especially where minorities were concerned. There were plenty of cops who hadn’t helped race relations in the past. Hell, his own lieutenant ranked as bad as any of those idiots.

“If you think something has happened to your sister—and I’m inclined to agree with you—the sooner I get the information I need, the sooner we’ll find her.”

The girl nodded and rose to her feet while Chase picked up his phone and punched a couple of numbers.

Chase finished off the strawberry-flavored licorice twist and spoke into the phone. “You working on anything right now?” He looked at Elizabeth and smiled. Hoped he looked reassuring. “Good. Meet me at my car. We’ve got a missing girl and I want you to come with me to check out her computer.”

Chase didn’t really need Detective Daniel Murillo to check out any computer. He could bring the computer back to the station for that. He needed Daniel Murillo as eye candy. Maybe keep the situation a little more in control. Maybe get a few more answers.

Daniel would hate it if he knew.

The Waters Home

Wednesday, September 19

Bond Waters carried her iPad toward the kitchen. She wanted to review the agenda for the library board meeting and make sure her Realtor could meet her at a possible site for her antique store on Saturday. She passed the entrance to the family room and could hear Angela and Stephanie. Her Mom antennae picked up a frantic element to their whispers, and then she heard a sob.
Time for a detour
.

The second she entered the room both girls fell silent.

“What’s going on?” Bond sat on the couch between her daughters. She waited. “One of you needs to start talking.”

Angela, fourteen, pinched her lips and folded her arms. Stephanie squirmed. Although not always the case, eight year-old Stephanie was the weak link in whatever the two sisters had been discussing this time. Bond squared her body toward her youngest child and waited.

“It’s a secret, Mommy.”

Something cold and shard-like shook loose from Bond’s memory, but with a skill honed from years of experience she slammed it back and closed the lid, almost but not quite able to pretend nothing had happened.

“Some secrets are good to keep, some are not.”

Angela sniffed. “A secret is a secret, Stephanie Marie.”

Bond shook her head. “That’s not true.”

“What’s the difference?” Stephanie asked.

“Well, there’s the present kind of secret. That’s a good one, right?”

“Uh-huh. Like birthday presents.”

“Then there are the kind of secrets that might be bad to keep.”

Stephanie shoved her hands under her butt.

Shadows dipped in and out of Bond’s vision and a heaviness pressed on her chest. Her nose wrinkled at a remembered scent.
Please God, not my daughter
.

“If either one of you are ever hurt, or worried about something or someone, those are not the kind of secrets to keep. Those are things you need to talk to us about.” Bond paused. “Me and Daddy. Not each other.”

Angela tipped her chin higher and Stephanie inched closer to Bond’s side.

“Some girls are being mean to Angela. They say she’s a narc because of Daddy.”

Bond reached out and held Angela’s arm. Her relief about the scope of this problem made her want to laugh but she also recognized that to Angela, being called a narc was right up there with being a nerd. “Stephanie, leave your sister and me alone for a few minutes, will you please?”

Twenty minutes later, Bond scrunched the phone up to her ear with her shoulder. “Mother, I really don’t have time for this.” She nodded at the clay sculpture Stephanie held up to her for approval, and went back to putting some kind of dinner together for her family, phone still pressed against the side of her head.

The refrigerator door open, she watched McKenzie, their Bichon Frise, rush up, grab something from the lower shelf, and run like four-legged lightning out of the room. She had no clue what he had snatched. Meanwhile, her mother continued to drone.

“Darling, you need to be exposed to culture again. You need to be around important people. You
need
to come home.”

“Look, Mom, I can’t just drop everything and go to Chicago to visit you and listen to all your reasons for why I should leave Chase. How many years has it been? Oh, yeah. Eighteen. I’m happy. Get over it.” Bond pulled out an egg and the milk and set them on the counter. She closed the refrigerator door. Her mother could make it hard for her to breathe.

“How can you be happy living where you are? Without any cultural stimulation? Without people to bring out the best in you? Without David?” The mention of David stopped Bond in her tracks.
Crap!

“Don’t go there, Mother.” Bond swallowed and reached for a mixing bowl. Her hand shook.

“I’m just saying that lives go through different seasons. And seasons change. People outgrow each other. People of a certain breeding come to realize they need more. They need their own kind.”

Her mother had called her three times today.
Three
. Her first message had been when Bond had been reading to a kindergarten class at the library that morning. The second had been during her two o’clock library board meeting.

Her mother’s messages both times had sounded petulant. Manipulative. Guilt-inducing. Bond had managed to avoid contact until this phone call. She’d been distracted enough to answer without noticing the caller ID.
My bad
.

“Mother, what’s so important you’ve called me three times today? Is Daddy okay?”

“He’s fine.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“He’s not here, Bond. He’s
fine
.” Celeste Wentworth did not like sharing the spotlight. While her mother prattled on about some half-forgotten classmate and his accomplishments, Bond made a mental note to call her father in the next couple of days.

Stephanie walked up with a drawing this time, and something that resembled either a permission slip or a Parent-Beware teacher’s note.

“Mother, really. I don’t have time to talk right now.”

“I suppose Chase isn’t home and you’re having to do everything without any help. Has he even bothered to call?”

“As a matter of fact, he isn’t, and he did. And frankly, we make it work for us. It doesn’t need to work for you too.”

Silence.

“Well, darling, I’m only trying to—”

“Yep,” Bond said. “
Well
is right. We’re doing
well
, so thank you for asking.” She took the drawing from Stephanie and anchored it to the refrigerator with a heart-shaped magnet. Then held her hand out and waited for her youngest daughter to hand her the other piece of paper.

“Okay, darling. I get this isn’t the best time to talk to you. I’ll try again in a few days. In the meantime, you know I’m always here for you.”

“I know, Mother. Thank you. Good-bye.”

Bond hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. “Stephanie, go tell Angela that dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Bond looked out the window and wondered about the black Mustang parked just up the street with two men inside. They’d been there when her mother had called. They were still there. Lost? On a break of some kind? As she opened the door to go see if they needed something, the driver glanced in her direction, made eye contact, then started the car and drove away.

The Benavides Home

Wednesday, September 19

Chase stepped between mother and daughter, the silence split only by the visual daggers Ramona Benavides hurled in her daughter’s direction. The four of them stood on the front porch, Mrs. Benavides effectively blocking entry, while Elizabeth, Chase and Dan Murillo did a kind of strange dance in front of her.

He bowed his head a little and held out his hand. “Mrs. Benavides, I’m Senior Detective Chase Waters.” He kept his hand out while he made eye contact with the gray-haired woman. She looked away, then back again. When their eyes met a second time, her hand came into his. Slow, hesitant, more out of respect than anything. He did his best to return the respect by giving her hand a gentle squeeze. He dipped his head again and let his hand fall to his side.

“I understand and appreciate your concerns,” Chase said. “But our only reason for being here is to help find Rachelle.”

Chase watched her gaze move from him to the man standing just behind him. “This is Detective Daniel Murillo.”

Daniel reached forward to also offer his hand. “Ma’am.”

“Come in. Before the whole world see.”

Mrs. Benavides backed through the entrance and held the screen open. Daniel grabbed the outer door, allowing her to move ahead of her uninvited guests.

“Please. Room for everyone in kitchen.” The woman moved slowly, giving Chase an opportunity to look around. He had noticed the tidy yard when they walked up to the porch, and the inside reflected the same loving care. Small, but well-maintained. Framed photographs covered almost every surface of the living room as they walked through it to the kitchen. Crosses, from rough-hewn to ornate, and paint-by-number oil paintings blanketed the walls.

Chase itched to begin asking questions related to the case, but knew that would not be the way he’d get any answers in this home. “Do you paint?”

“My husband. Painting the numbers help him to relax.”

The four adults almost filled the room. Chase noted a new microwave tucked on the counter next to an old oven. A large, scarred table dominated the space. It reminded Chase of the well-used, well-loved table in his own kitchen.

He waited for Mrs. Benavides to sit.

“May we?”

“Course. Would you like some cold tea?”

“Very much.
Gracias
.”

Chase watched Ramona Benavides shake her head as Elizabeth walked over to retrieve some glasses out of a cupboard. With a nod to acknowledge her mother—who continued to communicate silently with her daughter by tilting her head in the direction she wanted her to move—Elizabeth veered to another cupboard and took down two of what were clearly the family’s best drinking glasses. Then she straightened her shoulders and took down two more. A moment later Chase sipped some of the best iced tea that had ever crossed his lips. “This is wonderful. I’ve never tasted any tea this good before.”

Ramona blushed. He sensed she still didn’t like him in her house. But somehow, they’d managed to come to a truce. Chase knew the older woman didn’t completely trust him, but for now, they could find a way to work together toward the same end.

Daniel pulled out his notepad and the older woman bristled.

“Please, it’s to help us remember. That’s all,” Chase said.

Chase caught Elizabeth’s attention. “I’m going to ask your mother a lot of the same questions I asked you earlier. Please let her answer in her own words. We never know when something important might be revealed.”

Elizabeth nodded.

Almost a half an hour later, with the answers to all of the questions more or less matching the ones he’d received earlier from Elizabeth, Chase asked if they could please see Rachelle’s room. “We may need to remove some things for further examination, but we will leave you with an itemized list and will return those items when we’re finished.”

“Course.” She waved her arm in Elizabeth’s direction. “You take.”

He needed for it to be just him and Daniel in the room so after Elizabeth opened the bedroom door, he asked her to go help her mother find a good photograph of Rachelle they could have for the file.

The two detectives stood in silence inside the small room for a moment, each getting their own impressions of its occupant.

“You know, we’re lucky they have their own bedrooms,” Daniel said. “I shared a room with my brother until he went into the Army.”