She swallowed bile rising into her throat, desperately searching for a way to stop him.
“Please,” she whispered. “I can help you. Bring me anything. I’ll give you answers.”
Frederic leaned close to her face, not near enough for her to clamp her teeth upon his cheek, though the thought crossed her mind.
“I could take you and demand answers, Orla - steal you from this place and keep you forever, my little pet. Look at the color flushing your pale face,” he whispered. He shifted lower, and his mouth brushed her nipple.
“Stop,” she shrieked.
He stood abruptly and stuffed a hand over her mouth. He’d left the door open to her room, and he glanced toward it as if concerned someone might come.
“He’s clearly not giving you enough medicine.”
Frederic produced a syringe from his coat.
“Please, no,” she muttered, but he had already slipped the needle into her arm.
The warmth of the liquid rushed through her bicep, and a moment later, he blew the candle out.
Chapter 33
Abe
Abe picked up his phone, punching in the number and the extension for Deputy Waller at the Grand Traverse Police.
“Deputy Waller speaking,” the man said.
“Jeremy, it’s Abe.”
“Oh, hey.” His voice dropped, and Abe knew Waller didn’t want anyone to know who he spoke with.
“Sorry, you guys are probably under a lot of heat.”
Jeremy laughed.
“You could say that.”
“Any prints lifted off the bike?”
“Yeah, nothing in the system, but we’ve got four sets of prints.”
“Good, that’s good,” Abe murmured. “I’m looking for another favor.”
Jeremy sighed.
“You know, Detective Moore would chew my ass if he knew about all these favors.”
“I know, man. I do, but that same detective will be eating humble pie when we nail this guy.”
“With a side of shit soup, I hope,” Jeremy mumbled.
Abe laughed.
“Remember the guy I asked you to run the background check on?”
“Yep.”
“He’s been going to school in Ann Arbor for the last four years. I’m hoping you could call the local cops down there and see if they’ve ever picked him up for anything.”
“Good grief, man. Can’t you find someone else to do your grunt work?”
“I only want the best, Waller. You know that.”
“Yeah, okay. But you owe me, man,” Waller told him.
“Since I owe you, I need one more thing.”
Waller sputtered.
“Just a quick license plate check.” Abe rattled off the license plate of the green pickup from Elder Park.
“You’d best tell your dad the next time he’s trout fishing, the biggest one goes to his favorite deputy.”
“A fish fry is in you near future, Wallace. I swear it,” Abe promised, hanging up the phone.
That evening, Abe played his phone messages.
“Abe, it’s Jeremy. It took a bit of digging, but Spencer Crow was questioned four years ago about a young woman found murdered in Ypsilanti. Apparently, he was the last person to see her alive. Looks mighty suspicious. The officer who questioned him told me he wanted the guy for this girl’s murder, but his mother provided him with an alibi. He also had a lawyer within hours of getting picked up. The license plate you asked about connects to Benjamin Stoops. Address is 12 Misty Lane, Lake Leelanau.”
“Another guy from Leelanau,” Abe muttered, listening to the message a second time to make sure he’d gotten the address right.
“Hey, Dad.” Abe pushed into his father’s house, a pizza balanced on one hand.
His father reclined in his easy chair watching a baseball game. Several beer cans lay haphazardly on his TV tray.
“’Bout time you showed your face around here,” his dad called out. “Your mom has phoned me three times this week. She seems to think you’re ignoring her.”
Abe sat the pizza on the kitchen table and pulled plates from the cupboard. The kitchen was clean except for a few dishes stacked in the sink. His dad’s cat, Flea, stood on the counter, paws on the window ledge over the sink, watching birds picking at the feeder on the back porch.
Abe scratched Flea’s head. The cat leaned into him but kept his gaze fixed on the birds.
“I’ll call her soon. I’ve been busy.”
“I noticed.” His dad gestured to the newspaper next to his chair. The girls’ faces peered out from the black-and-white pages.
Abe felt a little tug in his gut. He hadn’t taken a break from the case since he learned of Orla’s disappearance. He usually took dinner to his dad twice a week and called his mother every other day. He’d neglected both of his parents.
“Your mom wants to come for a visit,” his dad said, taking his plate and settling it on his lap.
He muted the television.
“Really?” Abe asked, surprised. His mother hadn’t been back to Michigan in a decade. Once her mother had died, she had insisted Michigan held nothing for her but bad memories. A divorce, dead parents, why go back?
Abe and his younger sister had moved with his mother after the divorce to Spokane, Washington. When his girlfriend vanished, he adopted an attitude not unlike his mother’s. He wanted to escape the bad memories. He stayed for a few years, finished school, and searched for Dawn, but eventually he moved back to Michigan to live with his dad.
“She figures if she ever wants to see her only son again, she has to come back.”
Abe took a bite of pizza, forced it down. He wasn’t hungry, only aided by an additional helping of guilt. He’d promised his mother he’d visit her that summer, yet August was fast approaching and he hadn’t set a date, asked for a week off work, or called about flights.
“I know you’re busy, son. And it’s important work you’re doing, but take it from a man who’s learned the hard way - you have to put time into the people you love. It’s hard to believe at the moment, but someday you’ll realize there was never anything more important.”
“Yeah, I know, Dad,” Abe sighed.
“No, you don’t. Unfortunately, you’ve got a lot of your old man in you. But listen to me, anyhow. Call your mom tonight. And not to beat a dead horse, but she also mentioned her nonexistent grandchildren and daughter-in-law.”
“Okay, now I need a beer,” Abe grumbled, standing and shuffling back to the kitchen.
“Make it two,” his dad said.
They drank their beer, and each ate two pieces of pizza. Abe barely tasted his but didn’t want the ‘you need to eat’ lecture. His dad put the leftover pizza in the fridge and returned to the living room.
“Tell me what you’ve got,” he said, sitting on his chair, but not reclining.
Abe’s father had been a prosecutor for thirty years. Two years earlier, he’d retired to pursue fishing and getting reacquainted with American sports. He also jokingly referred to himself as Abe’s private counsel.
“The cops have formed a task force. They’re finally communicating between jurisdictions. But they still don’t have a suspect.”
“They don’t, but you do?” his dad asked, a knowing look on his face.
“Maybe. I saw a guy at the park where Orla Sullivan vanished. I did a background check based on a hunch and came up empty. Then Deputy Waller dug deeper. The guy attends University of Michigan. Four years ago, Ann Arbor police questioned him about the murder of a young woman. He was the last to see her alive.”