20

 

SUNDAY

As the bells of a nearby church rang out the hymn “Faith of Our Fathers,” Jane walked up the steps to the Eld house and knocked on the front door. When it opened, instead of Eld, a young woman with lush copper-colored hair and a nasty-looking rash on her cheeks appeared.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her smile crooked and friendly.

“Mrs. Eld?”

“Holly.”

“My name’s Jane. I was hoping to talk to your husband.”

“He’s not here right now.”

Standing back, Jane took off her sunglasses and gazed up at the second floor. “You’ve got a beautiful home. Have you lived here long?”

“Seven years. We love it.”

“I’ve been driving around. Seems like a nice town—except for all the for sale and foreclosure signs.”

The woman leaned against the doorjamb. “You’re not from around here?”

“No. You know, there’s a house up on Morgan. It’s a two-story Tudor. Larger than the other homes around it. Sits further back from the street. Do you know who owns it?”

Holly glanced over Jane’s shoulder at the CR-V parked by the curb. “The woman’s name is Myra Taft.”

“She a friend?”

“Yes, a good friend. Her husband died a couple of years ago. She teaches up at the middle school with Aaron. How come you’re interested?”

“Actually,” said Jane, handing Holly one of her cards, “I’m here on business.”

Holly read the front, then flipped it over. “You’re a private investigator?”

“Andrew Waltz and Eric Lindstrom hired me to help them find their son, Jack. And Gabriel Born. You know them?”

She hesitated. “I saw the signs around town.”

“I was hoping to talk to Aaron about them.”

“About those boys? He doesn’t know anything.”

“He found Gabriel’s cell phone the day after he went missing.”

“He did?”

“He didn’t mention it?”

She examined the card. “Are you suggesting that my husband had something to do with their disappearance? Because if you are, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong.”

Jane thought it was odd that Holly would immediately jump to such a dark conclusion. “It’s nothing like that. I just wanted to talk to him for a couple of minutes.”

“So, like, you think someone in Winfield took those boys? They could have run away, you know.”

“We have evidence that it was an abduction.”

“I’m sorry. How awful.”

“We don’t know who did it,” said Jane, “but we know why. Money.”

“Doesn’t seem like that would eliminate many people. I mean, who doesn’t need money?”

“Your husband’s a jogger, right?”

“Yeah?” she said warily.

“He sure must be dedicated to jog in this heat.”

She shrugged. “He hasn’t been doing it long. Just the last couple of weeks—since school let out for the year. He runs in the morning and in the evening. It’s cooler then.”

“Is he trying to quit smoking?”

“Smoking?”

“Well, I mean, the two don’t really mix.”

Holly’s reaction suggested she hadn’t thought about it. “No, I suppose that’s true.”

“I hear he’s very well thought of at the middle school. A popular teacher.”

“Depends on who you talk to.”

“Your husband’s had some problems?” Jane could tell by the look in Holly’s eyes that she’d asked one question too many. Holly was done talking.

“Look, Aaron should be back later. If you want to speak with him, you can come back. I should really go.”

Jane was about to thank her for her time, but before she could get the words out, Holly had shut the door.

*   *   *

In the sweltering morning sun, Jane stood with Eric by the side of the farmhouse garage as he let fly with a stream of invective.

“All I can say is, if I didn’t know it before, I do now. This town has more than its share of slimeballs.”

On the west side of the garage, someone had sprayed the word “FAG” in huge black letters. On the east side, the word “DIE” had been scrawled in equally huge letters.

“I called Andrew,” said Eric, walking back toward the house. “He said he’d pick up some paint at the Walmart on the way over.”

They stopped before they reached the front porch.

“Have you heard from Suzanne and Branch today?” asked Jane.

“I called but nobody answered.”

Pushing her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans, she said, “This is hard for me to admit, Eric, but I feel like I failed you. Badly.” Probably not the smartest statement ever made by a professional investigator, but it was how she felt. She couldn’t hide it.

“No,” he said quickly. “You did everything you could. Hell, I don’t know how we’ll ever pay you back the money you lost.”

“Don’t give it another thought. It wasn’t my money.”

“It was your father’s. Cordelia mentioned that.”

“She’s mistaken. The person who gave it to me—who asked to remain anonymous—won’t even miss it.” She’d already made a deal with the devil. Nothing could change that now. “I’m not done,” she added. “I just wanted you to know that I’m following up some leads. I can’t promise they’ll get us anywhere—”

As they were talking, a police cruiser pulled into the yard.

“It’s Steinhauser,” said Eric.

“What the fuck is going on?” demanded the officer, bursting out of the front seat and heading straight for them.

Eric glanced at Jane. “‘Going on’?”

“I just talked to my chief. I’ve been taken off the case.”

“I don’t—”

“Your sister and her husband were in his office when I got to the station this morning. An hour or so after they left, I was called in and ordered to drop my investigation. No explanation. It was given to Bill Jennings. Bill freakin’ Jennings. I’ve been a police officer twice as long as he has.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” said Eric.

Steinhauser turned to Jane.

Eric introduced her as a friend of the family, leaving out the fact that she was a PI. Since it was his call, she went with it.

Steinhauser was older than Jane had expected—gray haired, bowlegged, gut spilling over his belt. With prominent dark circles around his eyes and a body that sagged in the heat, he struck her as a man who was bone weary.

“I don’t know what you folks are trying to pull,” he said. “I’m good at my job. I don’t expect people to go behind my back and make problems for me.”

“You better talk to my sister,” said Eric.

“I tried. I stopped by her house on the way over here. Nobody was home. You can’t expect miracles, you know. I been busting my ass trying to figure out what happened to those kids. They aren’t just names to me. I know them. I care about them.”

“I believe that.”

“What happened back at the station is absolute bullshit. You hear me?” His face looked blistering hot. “You see your sister, you tell her to call me. She’s got my number.”

With that, he got back in his cruiser and backed out of the drive.

“Boy,” said Jane, watching the squad car roar off onto the county highway, “that guy’s got one hair-trigger temper. I don’t think I’d want him around my kid.”

*   *   *

When Jane stopped by Suzanne and Branch’s house later in the morning, she was relieved to see Suzanne’s Prius out front. She didn’t want to drive back to Minneapolis before she’d had a chance to check out Gabriel’s bedroom.

Suzanne answered the door, ushering Jane into the living room and asking if she’d like something cold to drink.

“No thanks,” said Jane. As they walked out to a flagstone patio in the back, Jane explained that she was at the farmhouse with Eric earlier when Steinhauser had arrived, mad as hell that he’d been taken off the case. “He said you and Branch had been in to talk to his chief, that it was all your doing.”

Suzanne sat down in the shade. “It was.”

“Can I ask why?” Jane sat down across form her.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “Have you ever had a bad feeling about someone? That something wasn’t right about them?”

“Sure.”

“That’s how I feel about Steinhauser.” She explained about an altercation between Branch and the cop after one of Gabriel’s Little League games. “That’s why we had him taken off the case.”

“Sounds like the right call,” said Jane.

“Yeah. You’re sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

“Actually, I’m here because I want to look at Gabriel’s bedroom.”

“I don’t know what you think you’ll find,” said Suzanne. “I’ve searched every inch of it and haven’t found anything out of the ordinary.”

“Did Gabriel have a computer?”

“Not one that was connected to the Internet. I use the computer at the church. Branch didn’t need one anymore after his landscaping business died. We felt the dial-up modem was an expense we couldn’t afford.” Running a hand through her hair, she continued, “I’ve looked all over his computer. So did Branch. There isn’t much on it.”

“He’s not on Facebook.”

She laughed. “That’s the last thing Gabriel would be interested in. I’m sad to say that he doesn’t have a lot of friends. Since his dad’s death, it’s been hard for him. Branch has really helped him develop some of his athletic and outdoor skills, but mostly he’s a quiet kid. He likes to spend his free time reading—when he isn’t with Jack at the farmhouse. I’ve been working so much overtime this past year that I was surprised by how many books he had in his room.”

“Books about?”

“Everything. Fiction. Nonfiction. He especially likes fantasy. I think most kids do. Go ahead upstairs and take a look for yourself.” Checking her watch, she added, “I’ve got a meeting at church in half an hour. Something I can’t miss. Is that enough time?”

“I’ll make it work,” said Jane.

Suzanne offered to walk her upstairs, but Jane said she could find her way. She left Suzanne sitting at the table, seemingly lost in thought even before Jane had gone inside.

Gabriel’s bedroom was unusually neat for a boy his age. The closet was organized, as were all the dresser drawers. A twin bed with a brightly colored bedspread hugged one wall. Directly across from it, under the only window in the room, was a low bookshelf half filled with books. Stacks of magazines, a couple of board games, a football, a few framed photographs, boxes of CDs, a mini remote-controlled race car, and a new-looking CD player with fairly large speakers filled up the rest. On the wall by the door was a Hobbit map of Middle Earth. Next to that was a black-and-white poster of the band Boys Like Girls. The juxtaposition seemed like an apt assessment of the inner life of a boy Gabriel’s age. One spoke loudly of childhood, the other of young male sexual angst.

The only part of the room that showed even the slightest disorder was Gabriel’s desk. Jane sat down and began to search the desk drawers. She found the usual. Pens and pencils. Markers. A measuring tape. A road map of Minnesota and one of Wisconsin. A stapler. The bottom drawer had room for file folders, though there were only two. One was filled with school papers, the other with pictures Gabriel had cut out of magazines. Mostly pictures of pretty girls. A few of cars. A couple famous athletes.

Crouching down by the bookcase, Jane saw that he had a boxed set of J.R.R. Tolkien’s works and the complete Harry Potter series. Most of the books looked new. Pressing her finger on the spines as she moved down the row, she did see evidence of an eclectic mind. Gabriel was not only drawn to fantasy, he also seemed to be interested in archeology, geology, karate, botany, photography, ESP, extraterrestrials, and cooking.

Most of the magazines were sports related. At the bottom of the largest stack she found a magazine stuffed inside another magazine. Pulling it free, she found a well-thumbed copy of Guns & Ammo inside a copy of Sports Illustrated. She paged through it, seeing large, dark checks next to various rifles.

“Jane,” came Suzanne’s voice from downstairs. “I need to leave in a few minutes. Are you almost done?”

Jane took one last look around the room, then, still holding the gun magazine, she trotted down the stairs.

“Did you find anything?” asked Suzanne, her briefcase strap slung over one shoulder, car keys in her hand.

“I’m not sure,” said Jane. She showed her the magazine. “Is Gabriel interested in guns?”

“No,” said Suzanne, paging through it and seeing the same checks Jane had. “Branch let him fire a hunting rifle last fall. Maybe that got him interested. It’s not something I was particularly comfortable with. I talked to him about it—and to Branch. I wouldn’t allow a gun in this house if it weren’t for my husband. He keeps everything locked up. I’ve never had any worries about that. But boys and guns—they don’t mix.”

“What kind of firearms does Branch own?”

“A shotgun. A rifle. And a handgun. I can’t be more specific because I’ve never really paid any attention to them. Listen, Jane, if I haven’t said this before, let me say it now. I’m so glad you’re helping us.”

Jane dropped the magazine on a table by the stairs. “Maybe you should wait on that until we see what my investigation turns up.”