“All you said was ‘Do you know…”’
“Oh, yeah. Do you know if your husband had any enemies, anyone he’d had arguments with recently or in the past?”
“If he did, it wasn’t something he told me about.”
“Any business problems he complained about?”
“He was a supervisor, so he had a lot of people under him. I think he had a good relationship with them. But he never brought his work home. He never complained about anything.”
“What about financial problems? Did you handle the family finances or did Michael?”
“Michael did. I was never any good at math, and after the first few bounced checks, I just let him handle it all.”
Vork sighed, then stroked his mustache. “Okay. When you go home, I want you to look around and see if you can find something that might have the name of your husband’s college or fraternity on it. If we get that, I can put someone on it, track down his friends. Meantime, I’ll alert the sheriff’s department in Vail, let them know we may have a group of people stranded somewhere. Maybe we’ll get lucky. If they’ve got a report of another family member missing, one of your husband’s buddies, we’ll know we’re on the right track. But again, I want to be honest with you, Dr. Chambers. If they haven’t had other calls, they may not put much effort into it. We’re not sure of our facts, and they don’t want to be wasting their time. And sending up a whirlybird in the high country is expensive and risky business. I’m sure they wouldn’t want to put anyone in danger if we didn’t know for sure your husband and his buddies were even out there. I don’t even know where to tell them to search.”
“Then they’re not going to do it, are they?”
“Honestly, I can’t say they will. I wouldn’t. But I will make the call, I promise you that much—”
The phone buzzed, followed by a filtered voice through the intercom speaker. “Deputy Vork, please report to the break room.” Vork shook his head. “Sorry again.”
“There is something else.” The deputy nodded for Lauren to continue. “I got the feeling last night that I was being followed, when I was driving home.”
“You sure about that?”
“I think so. I mean, I was sure of it at the time, but… I think so. Yes.”
“What kind of car was it?”
“I didn’t see it, it was dark out. All I saw were the headlights.”
“How many people were in the car?”
“I–I don’t know. Like I said, it was dark.”
“Why do you think it was following you?”
“Because I made a lot of turns, and it turned with me, always staying about two blocks back.”
Vork regarded her for a second. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you ever had that feeling before, that someone’s following you?”
“I’m not paranoid.”
“If you don’t mind me saying”—Vork crossed his arms over his chest— "maybe your concern over your husband has put you on edge. Being a little paranoid would be a normal reaction, wouldn’t you think?”
“Look, Deputy, I’m the psychologist here. Don’t try—”
“I didn’t say that to make you uncomfortable. But we do get some training in psychology. Helps us to understand the criminal mind and such.”
“Your point?”
“From what I remember, and correct me if I’m wrong since you’re the expert, but isn’t paranoia kind of a reaction to a situation that poses no real threat, or some such thing like that?”
Lauren nodded, her gaze finding the ground.
Vork let that thought hang in the air a long second.
“Well, then,” he finally said, “I’m no doctor, but is it possible that this feeling of being followed is just, I don’t know, an offshoot of the fact that your husband’s missing?”
“No, Deputy, it’s not.” Lauren knew that it was possible, but she didn’t want to admit it out of fear that it could taint everything she had just told him about Michael’s disappearance.
“Is that a professional opinion, Dr. Chambers, or did it come from the heart? Which hat are you wearing right this second?”
Lauren didn’t answer.
The door swung open and the young man who had intruded earlier poked his head in again. “I don’t know if you heard the page, but—”
“Thank you,” Vork said. “I heard it. I’ll be right there.”
The door closed and Vork stood. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance. If you find that note he left, or the name of that college or fraternity, we can take a more aggressive approach. In the meantime, I’ll get all the info out to every officer in California through our CLETS system, just in case.”
Lauren, her eyes still focused on the ground, nodded. “Thanks for your help,” she mumbled. A second later, the door clicked shut.
After Lauren had walked down the hallway and made her way through the front doors, she heard someone call her name. She turned slowly and saw Carla Mae hurrying after her into the parking lot. Lauren stopped, then squinted against the gray brightness and waited until Carla caught up to her.
“Was Deputy Vork helpful?”
“Not really.”
“He means well, he really does, Dr. Chambers.”
“I’m sure he does. Thanks for your help.” Lauren turned and continued on toward her car.
“It’s this murder investigation, it’s got everyone all stressed out,” Carla called after her. “We don’t get many killings here, and being shorthanded and all, it’s made it hard to deal with other important things, like your problem.”
Lauren stopped and turned to face Carla. She did not feel like speaking with anyone at the moment. She wanted to go to her office, rummage through her desk again, and see if she could locate Michael’s information. “Don’t worry about it.” Lauren forced a smile. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure you will be, missy. But we’re going to make sure of it.”
“How’s that?”
“I need a photo of your husband, the sooner the better.” Carla held out a hand and wiggled her thick fingers.
Lauren saw the impatience in Carla’s mannerisms and realized that the woman was serious. Lauren opened her purse and pulled out a wallet-size photo they had taken last year at Dean Porter studios. “Will this do?”
“That’s perfect. We can crop you out. No offense, missy.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going to make up a flyer that we’ll post all over town. And as soon as I get back to the office, I’m going to get our phone tree up and running.”
“Phone tree?”
“Neighborhood Watch. That’s how we do things here. Everyone comes together to help everyone else.”
Lauren allowed a smile to spread across her face.
“Thank you, Carla.”
“Tonight at, say, seven o’clock, we’ll all gather in the middle school gym. Don’t be late.”
Lauren found herself nodding. “I’ll be there.”
Lauren drove to her office in Cameron Park, a ten-minute ride west of Placerville. As she approached the exit off U.S. 50, she dabbed at the perspiration across her brow. Freeway driving was one of the more difficult tasks for an agoraphobic to handle. Blaring music made the ride more tolerable by minimizing all other surrounding stimuli. In this case, an Elton John love-songs CD Michael had bought her a few months ago provided the diversion. She lowered the music, slowed onto the Cameron Park exit ramp, then turned right into the small office complex.
Lauren pushed through the door to her office and sat down at her desk. Six files were piled to her left, and another was lying on her blotter with a microcassette recorder tossed across it. She realized she had never dictated the notes on her new patient, Steven Simpson, the one with the sadistic torture fantasies. She looked down at her pad of scribbled notes and shook her head. Only next week’s visit would tell her if she’d had a positive effect on Steven’s behavior.