As promised, Reese was at the gate waiting for her. After quick greetings and grabbing her two bags, they hurried off to his car.
“You got one of the new ones,” Meeker noted as she slid into a 1942 Ford Coupe. “How did you rate not getting stuck with one of the older, well-worn members of the FBI’s mechanical fleet?”
“When they jerk you out of Hawaii,” he said with a laugh, “and back to winter in Chicago, they feel they owe you. Now, let me catch you up on what I’ve found out since we last talked. After all, you’d rather talk about that than cars.”
“Let me have it,” she anxiously replied.
After they’d pulled out of the parking lot and pointed the maroon sedan south onto the highway, he gave her the scoop. “A local sheriff did a bit of legwork for me, and based on my description he was able to confirm that a woman who looks like Clara Hooks or Clara Baker is staying in a farmhouse about a quarter mile outside of Koshkonong.”
“Koshkonong?” she asked.
“A little town in the south central part of the state. Not far from the Arkansas border.”
“Koshkonong,” Meeker said again.
“The locals call it Kosh,” Reese informed her. “Now back to what I know. A little girl has been spotted with this older woman. The car in the drive matches the one Beverly Coffman saw Baker bring when she came to her house—a black midthirties Dodge. It has a large dent in the front fender.”
“That information sounds solid,” Meeker said as she nodded. “Do we know who lives at the house?”
“The man’s name is Mike Burtrum. He’s middle-aged and is somewhat a hermit. Moved to town about a year back. Bought the place where he lives with cash. Doesn’t get out much. Goes to the grocery store about twice a month, and along with food he buys lots of cigarettes.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Same initials as the handyman in Oakwood and the prison guard. This guy’s not very imaginative.”
“Mr. Burtrum also holds his cigarettes the same way as Mr. Burgess, according to our source.”
Meeker checked her watch. “How long will it take us to get there?”
“We’ll be there by five.”
“And we are sure the local cops haven’t spooked them?”
“The sheriff has his mouth taped shut for two reasons. One, he’s scared of the FBI, and the other is the reward’s still out there, and he doesn’t want to share it.”
She glanced at a two-story Victorian home along the road. As she studied the gingerbread pattern on the porch railing, she posed one final question, “Are we going in alone?”
“No,” the man answered. “I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”
She turned her attention from the house back to the driver. “No, I’m fine with that as long as no one is trigger-happy. I don’t want Rose to get hurt.”
“I’ve read about the cases Melvin Purvis handled. He always went in with more firepower than he needed just in case something unexpected happened. So I have Austin Ross and J. P. Adams coming in from Little Rock. They were down there working on a bank robbery case.”
“I remember Adams,” she said. “I trust him.”
“There is a part of my plan that requires a woman,” Reese continued.
“Really,” she said with a grin. “What do I do?”
“Not you,” he shot back. “The guys are bringing along a gal from the secretarial pool. She’s had some experience on the stage in high school and college, and we need those skills.”
“We do?”
“Let me hang on to one of my secrets for a while,” he quipped, a twinkle in his eyes.
As they left the St. Louis city limits heading south on Route 66, she eased back against the Ford’s Bedford cord upholstery.
“Finding Rose Hall sure would put Hoover in his place,” Reese noted, as if reading her mind.
“I really don’t care about what old J. Edgar thinks,” she softly replied. “I don’t care about ‘The Grand Experiment.’ It’s not nearly as important as giving that child back to her parents. You have no idea what that would mean to me.”
“I think I have a better idea than you realize,” he assured her. He paused for a long time before adding, “What was your sister’s name?”
“Emily,” she said softly. “I don’t really even remember what she looked like.”
“Don’t you have pictures?” he asked as he reached over to turn the heater down a bit.
“No,” she sadly answered. “Dad destroyed them after mom died. He got rid of everything that was hers. It was as if he were trying to wipe out every facet of her existence. And he was successful except for one place.” She grimly shook her head. “He couldn’t wipe her out of his mind, and that killed him as surely as it killed Mom.”
“I can’t imagine,” Reese proclaimed. “I really can’t imagine that kind of pain.”
“It’s with me every day.” She sighed. “That’s why I pushed Eleanor into getting me a job with the FBI. You all are the ones who deal with kidnappings. I wanted to be there and help bring somebody’s kid home.”
“Looks like you’re about to do that,” he assured her.
“Maybe,” she said, “but let’s not get excited just yet. Let’s hope she’s still there and this wild goose chase is about over. When Carole Hall gets her kid back, then I will celebrate. But not until then.”