"Twilight, up the slope and in the lodgepoles he prefers, a Hermit Thrush gives voice
to a few tentative notes, then full song -- high, slow, rising, crystalline notes --
drawn out, held savored, then...descending into the fullness of sound
which comes from deep in the chest. - Randy Morgenson"
-The Last Season, by Eric Blehm
Ethan Franco had been holding the spoon perfectly still over his cereal bowl for nearly five minutes as he watched the young blonde woman, with too much make-up on, read from the teleprompter. He rarely paid attention to the news anymore. But the last report had caught his attention.
The shrill sound of the phone ringing startled him, causing him to drop the spoon into the bowl.
"Franco," he answered as he wiped the splattered milk from his shirt with his bare hand.
"Ethan, we have a new story for you to cover."
He let out a long sigh before answering his boss. "Yeah?"
"Olivia Baxter."
"The missing girl? I'm watching it right now, they said there's no evidence of foul play."
"There's more to the story than what they're showing. Come down to the office and I'll explain."
When Franco looked back to the television, the reporter had already moved on to a story about a protest happening outside a clothing factory in Spokane.
The drive to the office was relatively short, but one that Franco mostly avoided. It was a perfect Washington day, but it didn't matter to Franco, it hadn't mattered in three years. He pulled in the empty spot near the front of the banal brick building, ignoring the do not park sign. When he walked into the building the receptionist looked at him expectedly.
"How may I help you?" she asked as her bouncy brown curls bobbed with her voice.
"I work here."
"Oh. Um." She looked around the office quickly, fumbling in her seat.
He walked past her as she stood abruptly from her seat, her mouth hung open with the words she couldn't find.
"Are you new?" Franco called over his shoulder.
"I've been here three months."
"Hmmpf," he huffed under his breath.
Jameson Stone's office stood in the far corner of the building, the only corner with a decent view. Franco walked in while Jameson was on the phone. He looked at the two leather chairs that faced Jameson's desk and the stacked papers on the seats. Franco picked up a stack, letting it drop heavily on the desk, jolting Jameson.
"I'll call you back Carol, Ethan's here." He looked up at Franco as he spoke. "Yeah yeah, I know."
"Carol?" Franco asked as Jameson set the phone back on the receiver.
"Yeah, she's covering the protest."
"Sure she is."
Jameson leaned back, crossed his arms, and ran his fingers through his hair.
Franco watched as he ran his tongue over his snuggle tooth - an annoying habit that Jameson had as long as he could remember. "So what's the story?"
"The Baxter kid isn't the only disappearance in Washington. There was one seven years ago and no one's made the connection yet."
"Is there a connection?" Franco asked sarcastically.
"Not yet."
Franco stood when Jameson cut him off.
"This is your last chance Franco."
Franco sat back down with a heavy sigh. His boss was the only person in his life that refused to call him by his last name. Ethan was the name he shared with his father, a person he'd rather forget. There was only one other time that Jameson didn't use Franco's first name. He crossed his arms in front of him waiting for Jameson to continue.
He handed a manila file to Franco. "That's your trail. You put what you used to have, into this case." He waved his chubby hand over the folder. "If you don't, and I'll know if you don't, you're done here. We've given you enough chances and I'm sorry about what happened three years ago, but it's time to move on."
"I'll do the job, you can keep the therapy session," Franco growled the words.
"Fair enough."
Franco got up with his new case in hand and walked toward the door.
"For what it's worth, I'm really sorry about what happened."
With his back still to his boss, Franco only managed to lower his head in defeat.
Franco sat in his car going through the file. There wasn't much to go on. Three pictures of Olivia Baxter - one her family must have provided, while she was still alive, and two in death. One was at the crime scene where she was curled into a fetal position in the closet and the other was on the autopsy table. One grainy photo from a newspaper clipping was also in the file of what Franco assumed was the missing child from seven years prior. He read the brief paragraph underneath the photo;
Tyler Reed, pictured here, has been missing since 01/07/2002. He was with his aunt, Lorraine Thomas when they had fallen asleep in the living room. Thomas recalls the event, saying that the young boy fell asleep on the floor with his dog. Thomas had dozed off on the sofa and woke up a short time later to find the dog and child both missing. Police searched the home and according to the alarm company the home alarm had not been tripped, though it had been activated at the time of the disappearance. Police searched the immediate area of the home and found no foul play. On 01/17/2002 at approximately 6p.m. the dog returned to the home, unscathed. It seems that the dog had also been fed during the time it was gone. The home has been searched for clues but none have been found. Thomas has taken a polygraph and has passed it. She has never been a suspect in the case of her missing nephew. No sign of Reed has been seen since his disappearance. If anyone has any information on the missing boy, please call the Wenatchee Sheriff's Department.
Franco read the caption several more times and each time his mind drew a blank. He thought perhaps there was a cover up or just sloppy police work, but neither made sense. He couldn't picture a cover up on that scale. That would involve several departments. Sloppy police work wouldn't make sense either for the same reason. He decided it would be easier to start with the Reed boy than with the Baxter girl. After seven years the trail had probably gone cold making it easier for him to obtain information.