Missings, The (7 page)

“I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“We’ll talk a little more about your behavior when we get home.”

She had apologized but sometimes her parents wanted to talk about things more. Fine with her. Especially since they had a balloon.

“We won’t be releasing this balloon, Stephanie. But after the family celebration you can keep it in your room if you’d like.”

“Really? Just for me? I mean—for David, then for me?”

“We’re still going to talk when we get home.”

“Okay. But I really am sorry.”

Her mom paid for their purchases and they walked to the car. Stephanie carried the balloon very careful to protect it as she got in the back seat. Belted in, she looked toward the store and saw the two men again.

“Mommy, do those men know us?” Stephanie asked.

“What men, honey?”

Stephanie pointed while her mother started the car. From the tiny slice of her mommy she could see in the rearview mirror, she saw her mom stare. And she thought maybe her mommy’s hands shook a little bit before they gripped the wheel.

Aspen Falls Mountain College

Friday, September 21

The warmer than usual day shocked Chase’s system. He pulled his shirt away from his body, the idea of a shower sounding like a game plan. He looked up at the clear sky and hoped for a late afternoon rain. Unlikely. A group of racers zipped passed him on their bicycles, and he enjoyed the breeze they stirred up.

Chase hadn’t found one thing in the last couple of hours that amounted to a hill of spent shells. Part of it might be the fact that some of the professors at Aspen Falls Mountain College were younger than he was. He not only stood out as a cop, he stood out as old. But this old cop knew elimination was part of the investigation process, and he really wanted to eliminate some possible scenarios this afternoon.

He had five minutes before his meeting at the Student Union with John Bohnert, High Priest for the coven on campus. It was easier to walk than drive and hunt up another parking spot, so Chase picked up his pace and hustled to the appointment.

Chase loved this campus. Students were casual and a lot more ethnically diverse than you’d expect at a remote mountain college in Colorado. As he hurried along, he watched as students gathered together, the sun dappled by shade from the mature trees on the campus. A few kids tossed a Frisbee around. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

He smelled fresh popcorn. The AFMC Union, a hundred and eighty degrees from the few tables and vending machines Chase remembered at his own alma mater, included a movie theater, bookstore, art gallery, two types of dining, a game room, study areas, and meeting rooms. New, modern, and filled with the chatter and laughter of young people, it sure didn’t seem like a witch hangout. And that scared him.

Bohnert had suggested they meet in the art gallery on the second floor. Quiet, uncrowded, it was a place to size one another up without any prying eyes from Bohnert’s rather private group. From there they could go to the retail dining area on the first floor.

Chase stepped onto the second floor and a rush of creativity assaulted him. Powerful artwork pulled him, demanded his attention. This quality from students? He meandered between mediums, enthralled at what he saw. Sculptures beyond his imagination, watercolors and oils, mixed media and even quilts.
Quilts
?

“Detective Waters?”

He spun. A regular-looking kid approached him. A kid who looked like any number of Angela’s friends, only older. Clean-cut, a T-shirt emblazoned with the school mascot, and a backpack loaded with what Chase assumed were books. Nothing about this good-looking young man screamed
witch
. Did he have the right guy?

“John Bohnert?”

Bohnert nodded and lead the detective back to the staircase where he began the descent. “We quit wearing black pointy hats years ago. Funny thing, when we got rid of those, our warts magically disappeared.”

Chase might not have liked the idea of witchcraft, and he might not have liked this guy’s flip attitude, but he had a few questions he needed answers to. He’d play the humble role. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Detective. We deal with it all the time.”

Settled in a somewhat private table in one of the restaurant areas with soft drinks and fries in front of them, the young man glared at Chase.

“I agreed to meet with you for one reason only. To impress upon you that covens are not cults. We don’t hurt animals or people, and to be considered a cult is patently ridiculous, not to mention offensive.”

“Fair enough.” Chase took a sip of his drink. Not the time to discuss philosophical issues and what may or may not cause harm. He needed information. “Do you know of any cults on the campus that might harm animals or people?”

A group of kids walked passed them—a couple of them bounced off the edge of their table like pinballs—and Chase watched Bohnert for a reaction. He seemed to will himself to be calm. Closed eyes, a deep breath. Chase suspected anger management classes but said nothing.

Bohnert put his elbows on the table and laced his fingers. “Detective Waters, even a benign group such as a witches’ coven must keep a low profile to keep our members safe. Not only from physical threat but from emotional and professional threat as well.”

Chase figured that
parental threat
had to factor in there somewhere but he continued to hold his tongue.

“Can you imagine the lengths a group of people who actually caused harm to others would go to in order to remain private?”

“I admit, Mr. Bohnert, that I am ignorant of much of your practices and beliefs, and I appreciate the time you’re taking to share some of it with me. However, you or your members are much more likely to have a fix on a possible cult than I am, wouldn’t you agree?”

The self-assured college kid’s right eye twitched and Chase saw a flicker of uncertainty shadow his face. “I suppose that might be true.”

Chase handed him his card. “If you hear any whisper of cult activity, particularly if it involves any kind of sacrifice or mutilation, please contact me. Day or night.”

He slipped Chase’s card in a pocket without looking at it.

“May I ask another question?”

“I’m not stopping you,” Bohnert said.

“Do your parents know what you’re involved in?”

Bohnert went back to silent mode and Chase wondered if he’d lost him as a resource.

“My parents are dead.

The Waters Home

Friday, September 21

Chase took the piece of paper Bond handed him and glanced at the kitchen table where Angela and Stephanie were busy writing their private messages to David. Stephanie’s apparently required crayons. He looked back at his wife.

Balloons were so much simpler.

“Have you written yours yet?” Chase asked. Maybe he could just sign his name to whatever Bond had come up with.

She nodded toward the countertop where Chase saw a sealed envelope.
Damn.

“Why don’t you go to your study and take a few minutes?”

Chase cleared his throat. “Uh… yeah, sounds good.”

He felt as if he were walking through a dimly lit tunnel. His study loomed both familiar and foreign. On one hand Chase applauded his family’s social conscience. On the other hand he wondered exactly how bad a few balloons could be.

He sat at his desk and waited. What the hell was he supposed to write on this piece of paper?

Images of his son floated into his mind. David calling him “Dada” for the first time and reaching chubby arms out to be held. First steps when he would fall into Bond’s arms, and then fall into his—and oh, the laughter when he did. The night his normal spit-ups took on a wild element, he hit a raging fever, and they sat in the ER afraid they might lose him. T-ball and two-wheelers.

David. Working with him on the roadster. Listening to jazz together and beginning to talk about girls.

His son.

And all too soon, the day they lost him. Long QT Syndrome. A whacked-out electrical function in his heart. Inherited. A complete surprise to both of them. Chase would never forget that day. All the paperwork at the hospital. All the things he and Bond had to sign while their son lay dying. The consent forms for tests and more tests and finally to discontinue life support, when all he wanted to do was take his son and run. The terrible finality of their situation when they agreed to donate David’s organs. He and Bond signing that last authorization.

Guilt and recrimination came later—blame too. And finally, after a long time, understanding and acceptance came because they had no other choice. If they were to survive intact as a family, they had to figure out a way to get through each day.

What could he write on this paper that would even come close to the loss? What would David want to hear? A tear fell on the paper before Chase even knew his eyes had filled.

He swiped the sheet and then his face. Picked up a pen and wrote three words:

Chase folded the paper, but didn’t move to rejoin the rest of his family. Suddenly he wanted to spend a little more time with David.

A few minutes later Chase heard a soft knock at his door.

“Are you ready?” Bond asked. “Do you need a little more time? The girls are getting anxious.”

I’m never ready for this, Chase thought. How could a person ever be ready for this? Bond had tried so hard, come so far from those first dark days. He didn’t want to say anything to drag her back down.

The four of them sat outside in front of the stone fire-pit, nobody saying anything. Each burned their message to David, beginning with Stephanie and ending with Chase. Stephanie read hers aloud, word by word. Angela, tears streaming down her face, choked out a happy birthday sentiment to her brother—one of the rare times their dramatic daughter didn’t have a lot of words. Or drama.

Chase watched as his wife—the mother of his children—knelt before the fire pit. She closed her eyes, then focused her attention on each of them as she spoke.

“David Robert Waters, we love you. We mourn you. We mark you in our hearts today. You enriched our lives, and our love for you will keep you alive forever. Each of our lives will continue with grace and optimism, richer because you were, and are, a part of them. We will live strong and we will live fully, not only to honor our own lives, but to honor yours.”

Chase moved to his wife, added his envelope to the fire, and held her close.

Later, as he got in his car to go back to the station, Bond stopped him.

“Something you should know.”

He’d been married to a cop’s wife long enough to know this could be important. He waited.

“I think someone was watching us when we were at the store,” Bond said.

Aspen Falls Police Department

Friday, September 21

Daniel and Terri were already in the meeting room when Chase walked in later that afternoon, the murder board standing where they’d left it the last time they’d been together. Had it been only this morning?

“Sorry I’m late. What do you guys have?” Chase was frustrated beyond endurance by the amount of information he didn’t have. Hopefully his team had experienced a better day.

“Not much on either her cell phone or her social network pages,” Terri said. “But I did use them to reconstruct a calendar of sorts over the last thirty days.”

“Good. We’ll get to that,” Chase said. “Daniel, were you able to get anything else off her computer?”

“She’s so clean she’s invisible. Other than her social network pages and sites related to either economics or social work, she only spent significant time on one of those ask-a-doctor sites.”

“Was it before August fifteenth?” Terri asked.

Daniel checked his notes. “Nope. After. August twenty-ninth.”

Terri shook her head. “That’s weird. What I could piece together is that the last month has been completely normal except for a visit to Emergency on the fifteenth of August. She said she either had a cold or the flu.”

“She went to Emergency for the flu?” Chase sipped some bitter coffee and made a face. “No wonder medical costs are so high.”

“Uninsured people use the emergency rooms in hospitals like doctor’s offices. They don’t have a choice,” Terri said.

“Some do and some don’t,” Daniel said. “Illegals are the real abusers of our system. They shouldn’t even be here.”

“Are you saying they have a choice?” Terri asked.

“Damn right. They chose to be here illegally. They can choose to go back where they came from. Leave our resources to people who have a right to them. To people who actually pay for them.”

“Okay guys,” Chase said. “We’re getting off track. Can you tell us what pages she specifically went to on that ask-a-doctor site?”

“She searched all over the place but most of her time seemed to be spent on the pages for kidney function and vaginal infections,” Daniel said. “Nothing useful.” He looked at Chase. “What did you find?”

“Not as much as you did. I’m thinking cults are not the answer but if you want to join a coven, I have a contact.”