Cindy speed-dialed the number, then drummed her fingers on her desk until Lindsay picked up.
“Boxer.”
“Linds, I need some advice. It’s important.”
“What’s wrong?”
“No, I’m fine. Can you give a couple of moments to a woman with a missing daughter and grandchild?”
“Me?”
“Thanks, Linds. I’m putting you on speaker. Lindsay, this is Kathleen Wyatt. I’ll let her tell you. Kathleen, this is Sergeant Boxer of Homicide.”
Lindsay said, “Kathleen. What happened?”
“They’ve disappeared into a black hole.”
“Say again?”
Kathleen said, “My daughter, Linda, and her baby disappeared this morning, and her husband has threatened to kill them.”
“You say they disappeared. Is there any indication that they were hurt?”
“My daughter won’t answer the phone. She is always home all day with the baby. I went over there. The house is empty. Her car is gone. I’ve called her and called her, and we always, always speak in the morning after Lucas has gone to work.”
“He’s the husband?”
“Linda has told me I don’t know many times that he’s said that he hates her. He wishes Lorrie had never been born. He’s hit her, but not so it shows. And yes, I’ve called the police.”
Lindsay asked, “Had Linda taken out a restraining order on Lucas?”
“She wouldn’t do it. She’s only twenty. She doesn’t work. She was afraid of him, and also, oh God help her. She loves him. She’s too young. Too dumb. Too needy.”
Horns honked over the phone line. Lindsay was in her car. She raised her voice over the clamor and asked Kathleen, “What was the police response?”
“Today? They say they talked to Lucas, but he had an alibi. His girlfriend, probably. You should see him. Smooth as ice. Lucas. He denies threatening her, them, of course. They have some units searching and they have dogs now in the vicinity of his house. And drones. And they say Linda will come home. And Lindsay—if I may call you that? This time I really think he means to kill them. Or what I really think? It may be too late.”
The words “too late” tailed up into a heart-wrenching howl. The security guard reached for the door, but Cindy put up her hand and shook her head.
Lindsay said, finally, “Go on.”
Kathleen said, “Linda told me his girlfriend is another dummy, younger than she is. He meets these girls where he teaches—”
“Who was the officer who took your complaint?”
“I don’t remember his name. I left his number in my car.”
“Is he a uniformed officer?”
“Yes. I flagged him down. Oh. Bernard. Officer Bernard.”
“Kathleen,” Lindsay said. “I’ll check with Officer Bernard. Give Cindy your number and I’ll get back to you. I agree that if Linda has run away before, she may have done it again. But if a baby has been missing since eight this morning, that’s a police matter. Call the SFPD, major crimes division and ask for Sergeant Murray. Keep your phone charged.”
“I’ve met him. Renny Murray. He doesn’t take me seriously.”
“I’ll call him, too,” said Lindsay. “See how the investigation—Sorry, I’ve to go.”
Cindy said goodbye to Lindsay, watched Kathleen write down her phone number with a shaking hand as she muttered, “You should help me, Cindy. Lorrie is dead. I feel it in my heart.”
Kathleen was crying as if she was sure they were dead. As if she knew.
Cindy said, “It’s almost dark. Go home and call the police again. Did you call Linda’s friends? What about her neighbors? If you hear anything at all, let me know. Wait. Give me that picture.”
Kathleen handed the picture of Linda and Lorrie to Cindy who snapped it with her phone. She told Kathleen that she could run it with a request for information as to the whereabouts without mentioning Lucas Burke.
Tugging at her watch cap, Kathleen muttered a thank you and Cindy walked her out to the elevator. Cindy went back to her office wondering why Kathleen Wyatt had come to her. Was going to a newspaper her way of getting ahead of suspicion? Was she right about her son-in-law? Or was Kathleen Wyatt a paranoid schizophrenic?
She’d talk to Richie when she got home tonight.
And then she’d call Lindsay.