Next, he read every officer’s police report, beginning with Giovanni’s. After Giovanni’s, he read Stone’s, which consisted of three lines. Then he came to Kopriva’s report on his trip to Amy Dugger’s grandmother. The report was short, but well-written. The woman was obviously unbalanced.
Browning sat back in his chair. A feeling of dread settled into his stomach. He’d asked Kopriva if he was sure about the grandmother not being involved. The young officer had been completely certain. Besides, at the time, they were looking for a black driver in a blue van with a Mexican sidekick, so he took the kid at his word.
But what if he overlooked something?
Browning re-read Kopriva’s report and stroked his goatee. The description of Fred Henderson loosely fit the description Kendra gave. Of course, so did twenty thousand other men in River City.
Still.
Taking the file with him, Browning went to the nearest computer terminal. He entered Fred Henderson’s name and received a quick return. No local record. His driver’s license showed an address on Swanson.
Browning ran a Triple-I on Henderson’s name, which would show any felony convictions nationwide. The report was notoriously slow in coming back, as it had to query through several computer hubs across the country. Browning filled the time by running an All-Vehicles-Registered (AVR) check on Henderson. That came back in less than a minute. Henderson owned no vans.
Nancy Henderson’s local record was considerably more interesting. Browning read through the four entries. One was a traffic stop, resulting in an infraction for a stop sign violation about three blocks from her home. Another was a neighborhood dispute over a tree on the fence line between her and a neighbor. The remaining two were Assist Agency calls in which Mental Health Professionals of River City had requested help from the police to get Nancy into treatment. All four reports painted a picture of a volatile, unbalanced woman.
Just like Kopriva wrote, Browning thought. But crazy doesn’t make her a kidnapper.
Browning’s fingers glided over the keyboard. He requested another AVR, this time on Nancy Henderson and waited impatiently for it to return.
He should have explored this angle more with Kathy Dugger, he realized. He should have got a better feel for it, even if it only meant that he was that much more certain there was no connection. But he’d run off after a bum lead given by a six-year-old witness. He chased a lead that should have smelled fishy to him from the very beginning. Once there was no ransom call, you had to suspect sexual motivation for the kidnapping. And how often do sexual predators stray from their own ethnic group? How often do they work in pairs? Especially pairs of mixed race?
Browning frowned. The answer was, almost never.
The computer beeped and he hit the display key.
No vehicles found.
Browning leaned back and considered. Was he overreacting to this curve ball? Kopriva was a good cop, even if he was young. He’d been there at this woman’s house. He would have run into a fair share of nuts out on patrol, so he should be able to judge them. His cop sense would have kicked in if something was wrong. Wouldn’t it? And he would have gone the extra mile to be sure, given that a little girl was missing.
Wouldn’t he?
Browning tapped the keys, bringing up the employee database. He jotted Kopriva’s phone number down, then picked up the telephone and dialed. The phone rang and rang. He waited for an answering machine to pick up, but after eight rings, decided that Kopriva must not have one.
The computer dinged at him.
He hung up the telephone and hit the display button.
Request for III on subject: Henderson, Fred complete.
Browning pushed the display button and read. Moments later, his jaw fell open.
1548 hours
Officer Jack Willow copied the call and hung the mike back on the holder. He shook his head and cursed softly. Somehow, he’d known that he would be going back someday to the address on Swanson where the crazy lady lived with her creepy husband. What he hadn’t expected was to be going there to back up a Major Crimes Detective.
He drove to the house by memory and parked two houses away.
“Adam-259 on scene,” he told Dispatch.
A few moments later, Detective Ray Browning’s unmarked detective’s prowl car pulled up directly behind him. Willow got out of the car and greeted the detective.
“Ray Browning,” the veteran detective said, holding out his hand.
“I know,” Willow said. “Everyone knows.”
Browning gave him a curious look, then glanced at his nametag. “Willow? Did you write that report on the Feeney homicide? Right before Christmas?”
“Uh, yeah,” Willow answered, surprised.
“Jack, right?”
Willow nodded.
“That was a good report, son.”
“Thanks,” Willow said, blushing slightly.
“No need to be bashful about doing good work,” Browning said with a grin. “How long you been on the job?”
“I just made probation.”
Browning nodded. He opened his mouth to ask another question when another detective’s car turned the corner and slid in behind Browning. Willow watched as a younger detective exited the car and approached them.
“What’s going on, Ray?” he asked.
“Detective Tower, Officer Jack Willow.”
Tower gave Willow a nod and a quick handshake. Up close, Willow could see that he wasn’t as young as he thought. He figured Tower to be in his early thirties.
“Why are we here?” Tower asked Browning, adjusting his shoulder holster absently.
“This is the Grandmother’s house,” Browning said.
“The crazy one?”
“Yeah. Her name’s Nancy Henderson. She’s married to a man named Fred Henderson.”
“So?”
“So,” Browning said, “I ran Fred Henderson through Triple-I. He came back with a conviction in Colorado eleven years ago. They faxed me his booking photo. Guess what he was arrested for?”
Tower looked at him for a moment, then his face fell. “No.”
“Yes,” Browning said. “Child Molestation.”
“Son of a bitch,” Tower muttered.
“Could be nothing,” Browning said, “but we should probably check it out.”
“Wasn’t this the crazy woman that Kopriva looked into?”
Browning nodded.
“And?”
“He said she was just garden variety crazy. He didn’t think she was involved. Neither does Kathy Dugger, for that matter. And maybe she isn’t. But it’s the best lead we have right now.”
Tower considered. “Did you call Stef? We could ask him-“
“No answer at his apartment.”
Tower frowned. “It’d be nice to know how she was the last time police were here.”
“She was psycho,” Jack Willow said.
Tower and Browning both turned toward the young officer.
“I was with him,” he explained.
Browning nodded. Tower twirled his forefinger in a “hurry-up” gesture.
Willow cleared his throat. “Well, she was all over the place. She offered us beer, for starters. She was cooperative one minute and then screaming at us the next. No real warning, either. It was just like someone flicked a switch inside of her.”
“Is she on meds?” Tower asked.
“That’s what the husband said. I don’t know what kind.”
“What’d you think, Jack?” Browning asked.
Willow shrugged. “She’s crazy, like Officer Kopriva said.” He paused, then shrugged again. “I still think we should have done the search, though.”
“Search?”
“Of the house.
“Kopriva asked to search the house?” Tower asked, looking over at Browning with raised eyebrows.
Willow shook his head. “No. She offered. Sorta demanded it, actually.”