“No,” said Nancy and Fred shook his head.
“What vehicles do you own?”
“A 1983 Taurus,” Fred answered promptly.
“It’s parked out back,” Nancy offered. “You can look if you want.”
“That’s okay,” Kopriva said.
“No, it’s not,” Nancy said, her voice suddenly laced with tension. “You asked, Mr. Big Shot, now…you…go…look!”
Kopriva paused, then rose slowly from the couch. His knee ached in protest as he stood and followed Fred through the kitchen. Willow remained with Nancy.
Dishes were piled high in the sink and the remnants of pork chops sat on a plate next to the stove. Kopriva did his best to breathe shallowly and followed Fred to a window next to the small kitchen table.
“There,” he pointed.
Kopriva saw a silver Ford Taurus parked in the small dirt driveway behind the house. The back yard was fenced in and the gate at the driveway was closed. A mangy, yellow dog lay in the corner of the yard in a patch of sunshine. Next to the dirt driveway was a small, detached garage. It was barely large enough to be called a one-car.
“What’s in there?” Kopriva asked.
Fred shrugged. “Fifty years of junk.”
Kopriva nodded, then turned and walked back into the living room. Fred trailed behind him.
“Satisfied?” Nancy asked him bitterly when he returned.
“Yes,” Kopriva answered. “When was the last time you saw your grand-daughter, Mrs. Henderson?”
More tears rose in her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. “She’s six now. Oh, Jesus!” Nancy leaned her head back against the headrest of the chair and wailed. “It’s been five years since I’ve seen my precious grand-daughter! Five years since she’s seen her Grammy! Oh, Jesus God!”
Kopriva waited while she half-sobbed, half-wailed. When the sounds she made subsided, he spoke again. “Have you had any contact at all? Telephone calls, letters, pictures?”
“Not in five years,” she sobbed.
“Nothing at all?”
“Oh, you bastards!” Nancy roared at him. She stood suddenly and threw her beer can down on the floor at her side. The liquid foamed and gushed out onto the floor. “You think I had something to do with this?”
Kopriva suppressed a sigh. “No, ma’am. Like I said-“
“You’re tormenting me!” she shouted. “I haven’t seen her in five years and now you come here and torment me?”
“We’re trying to find her, ma’am,” Kopriva said.
“You think I took her?” Nancy shrieked at him, stabbing her finger in the air. “Search my house, then! Search it, goddamn you! Search it and then get out there and fucking find my grand-daughter!”
Kopriva considered, then shook his head. “I don’t want to search your house. I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Either search now or get out!” Nancy yelled, waving her arms wildly. “I’m sick and tired of your accusations!”
“I don’t need to search your house, ma’am. I just need-“
“Then get out!” She pointed at the door. “Get out! Get OUT!”
Kopriva hesitated. He looked at Fred, who appeared unaffected by Nancy’s radical mood swings.
He’s used to it, Kopriva realized. This must be par for the course.
With an audible sigh, he rose and walked toward the door. Behind him, Nancy sank into the chair and sobbed violently.
“We should search,” Willow whispered to him as he passed.
Kopriva shook his head. “She’s not here.”
He turned the knob and walked onto the porch.
Willow followed. “If they’re going to let us,” he said urgently, “then we should search. We should make sure.”
Kopriva motioned toward the house. “That woman is so crazy she couldn’t plan a shopping trip, much less an abduction.”
Willow frowned. “Maybe so. But we should make sure.”
“There’s no point.”
“She’s offering,” Willow said. “That’s the point.”
The door swung open and Fred Henderson stood in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, officers,” he said softly. “She’s…not well.”
“Apparently,” Willow muttered.
“Is she on medication?” Kopriva asked.
Fred nodded somberly. “Several. And the beer doesn’t help. “
“I don’t imagine it does,” Kopriva said.
“Then news like this comes along,” he twirled his hands slowly. “It sets her off.”
“Is she always so…” Kopriva trailed off.
“All over the place?”
Kopriva nodded.
Fred shrugged. “It depends. The less she takes her medication, the more beer she drinks, the more she’s like this.”
“I’m sorry,” Kopriva said.
“You’re just doing your job,” Fred said. “Will you call when you find Amy?”
“Of course.”
“That will calm her down, I think,” Fred told him.
“I’ll make sure someone calls.”
“If you have any other questions, officer, please come by.” Fred pushed the thin strands of hair from the side of his head across his bald top. “Anytime.”
“Thanks, Mr. Henderson.” Kopriva extended his hand.
Fred looked at it briefly, then reached out and took it. He shook hands limply, then turned and closed the door.
EIGHT
1748 hours
The knock at the door made Gio jump. He walked out of the kitchen and to the front door.
Jill Ferguson stood at the door holding a casserole dish. She smiled nervously at Gio.
He opened the door and let her in.
“Is Kathy awake?” she asked.
He nodded. “In the living room.” She’d been in there since the chaplain left. He’d promised to return if she needed him again, but Kathy had thanked him and said she’d be all right. The chaplain had urged her to get some sleep. Gio hoped she would and promised to wake her if any news came in, but he knew the mother would sleep little, if at all.
Jill brushed past him and he caught a whiff of the casserole and her perfume. She disappeared into the kitchen, then reappeared a moment later without the dish and went into the living room.
Gio closed the front door and wandered back into the kitchen. He glanced at the clock. It was almost six o’clock. His stomach grumbled.
He thought about going into the living room, but decided against it. The two women needed their privacy. Maybe Jill could bring some comfort to Kathy. Or, like he’d mentioned before, maybe she’d lash out at her.
Straining his ears, all he could hear was the muffled sound of the television and soft, feminine voices. Obviously, though, Kathy was welcoming the support.
Gio stood over the casserole and inhaled deeply. It smelled like cheese and potatoes.
“Adam-257, a status check,” his radio crackled.
“Code four,” he said into it. “And I’ll be off the air. Contact me via landline.”
“Copy, Ad-“
He snapped off the radio. That was just like a dispatcher. They don’t status check you unless you’re on a break or a detail like this one where you didn’t need it.
“Go back to your card game,” he muttered at the radio, and took another sniff of Jill’s casserole. He thought he detected onions.
Ten minutes later, Jill Ferguson came into the kitchen. She’d been crying, but she gave him a warm smile. Wordlessly, she turned the oven on and slid the casserole onto the rack.
“It’s ready to eat now,” she said, brushing a lock of her red hair out of her face, “but you can keep it on warm all night if you need to.”
“Thanks,” Gio said.
“I don’t know if Kathy will feel like eating, but this way she doesn’t have to worry about it and neither do you.”
“Thanks,” Gio repeated.
Jill started toward the door and motioned for him to follow. Once they were on the porch, she said, “You’ve got to watch her a little closer, okay? She was watching the news when I went in. They ran a story about Amy.”
Gio’s face fell. “Oh, jeez. I’m sorry. I thought she might need to be alone.”