Missing Page 6

  “You think he’s killed him?” He defiled the silence. She shook her head, letting the question whistle through the room. “How long does he keep his victims before they’re... killed?” Adam asked, his only response, a shrug from Madison’s quaking shoulders. “I tried reaching out to a friend of mine in forensics; there wasn’t much he could disclose about the bodies without breaching his contract with the precinct.”

  “He’s not dead.” Madison sat up straighter, her teeth clenched. There was a hollow emptiness that whisked through Adam’s home. Almost like there had been life long forgotten. The bright summer green walls wailed, the homey browns of the parquet welcomed and yet his home breezed with an empty cry. “Can we just not, jinx Ethan’s case?” Adam heaved a sigh.

  “You want to tell me what happened with Tucker Miller’s case instead?” She could hear it, her teeth grinding against each other. She swallowed a lump. Since the funeral, she hadn’t spoken much about the passing of her son, she’d thought about him, but she’d always shied away from the wave of hysteria that sat heavy on her chest at just the mere thought of him.

  A soft cold cackle slipped into his living room, it was Madison’s, and it was careened with unease. “There’s nothing to tell.” The couch dipped further, he’d turned to her. In her chest, her heart threatened to burst from her ribs; if it beat too fast would it just stop? She’d entertained the meandering thought. Her lips parted, her words eluded her. She clamped her lips shut and let her eyes travel to his; they were a spring green that waited.

  “Tucker loved hide and seek.” She pushed through her lips, ignoring the chill that scooped her chest and the subtle whispers in her ears that she had been a bad mother, a failed mother. “We would always play and he would always win. One day, he’d insisted on playing and I’d insisted on working that night... Now that I think about it, I don’t even remember what I had been working on that seemed so important at the time. He’d grumbled but he’d gone to his room and hours later there’d been a break-in, Adam...”

  “He’d been taken.” Adam finished for her. “And you called the police, and they hadn’t done anything.” Adam paused. He frowned. “What about Clive, your husb...Ex-husband, where had he been through all this?”

  Madison thought for a second. “Clive had been on a business trip to Mississippi. He’d returned shortly after the burial.” She’d missed him, his soothing words, and his warm embrace. She’d never been the kind of wife to hold back her man. He had a career of his own to build; she’d held her own pretty well without him before, she could always do it again. She had.

  “And Tucker didn’t belong to Clive?” Adam asked. “I say that because, well... you had him with you when you moved in next door at eighteen.” She nodded.

  “I got pregnant for Tucker after a drunken night at my junior prom. Lordie knows Julia wasn’t too pleased with me showing up to all our family cook-outs sporting a bump, but I would have rather had my arms chopped off than to lose Tucker.” She still lost him.

  “I’m just throwing this out there, but do you sincerely think Clive was all too happy with you bringing a kid into your marriage?” She sprung to her feet.

  “You think Clive killed Tucker?”

  . . .

  The rain poured heavy from the dark clouds sprawled across the skies. They’d billowed in from the west, the downpour tilted ever so slightly, almost at an angle to purposely slap against the windows and doors. If this were any other night, Adam Walker would have lavished in the music of the storm, a beat to his thunderous thoughts. This wasn’t any other night. For one, the whiskey haired beauty he’d had his eyes on for one too many years was in his home, and with her easily accompanied the soft floral fragrance that he’d grown with time to liken to her.

  He hadn’t bothered with a response, but let the quickly ceasing night respond for him. “You think Clive killed Tucker?” Madison Miller asked again, the soft pat-pat of her feet against the parquet, but a whisper in the storm. Her words weren’t as loud as before, she’d toned it down. She seemed whirled in a gale of her own thoughts. On his feet, Adam drifted to the dresser by the entrance. “Well...It would explain his sudden disappearance...” She turned to him, to Adam by his front door. She seemed pale white, almost as if she’d seen a ghost. He’d done this to her, his words, what they implied. “No! This can’t be... no. He wouldn’t kill my son. Why would he?” His steps were slow, hesitant, her eyes had trailed his form, just until he was next to her, in his beefy hands, a body of documents he’d accumulated with time. He peered at her. Many nights he’d wondered just how he would shed more light on Tucker Miller’s case; she hadn’t exactly reached out to the former detective that lived next door. Thinking about it now, he ought to have reached out to her.

  “I looked into the officers who’d investigated Tucker’s case,” He handed her the file. It was heavy, at least to her. It would explain the sudden distress that clouded her eyes, and the one woman struggle to keep the papers from scattering onto the floor. “They’d all been relieved of their duties on the force with no particular reason. I found this odd and asked around...did some digging; they were bribed by a man under the alias Patrick Hunter.” Her eyes glimmered, her brows dipped. He had a bad feeling the name was all too familiar.

  “That was his father’s name.” She dropped back into the couch, its soft cushions crinkling. “Clive always talked about his father who, albeit was never there. He always answered to his mother’s last name, Green.” She flipped through the papers and documents Adam had compiled. “Clive Patrick Green.” She whispered almost calling out to him.

  “Further diggings lead me to the kidnappers accosted for the crime; Bert Lance and Ricky Fisher, employees of the WCCB.” He’d seen it, the single tear christening her cheek. He wished he hadn’t.

  “But... why didn’t you arrest him when you learned all this?” Her heavy breathing laced her words.

  “It’s beyond police jurisdiction if the case has been deemed cold. The ball was never in my court, Madison, but it’s in yours. You can still do something for Tucker. It’s late, but it’s never too late.” She nibbled on her bottom lip. He was doing this for a reason, he was helping her. Why then did each escaping tear from those sapphire blue eyes hurt him?

  Maybe it had a little to do with the fact that the whiskey blonde haired woman next door was beginning to cloud a lot more than just his thoughts.

  *

  Clive Greene wasn’t picking his calls. Madison Miller had already spent the better half of her morning ringing his line. She’d left more than enough voicemails; she’d said nothing of her bothersome discussion with Adam. But at the very least, she needed to see him. Was he purposely busying her calls? Should she pay him a visit? Was he even in the state? He had to be, they’d spoken but a month ago when he’d resolved her rent dilemma. Was he ignoring her because he was of the belief that she needed more money? If she had enough to sustain herself and her rent, she wouldn’t have to give him such an impression. In her defence, she’d received more of the furniture and useless toys from the divorce; he’d walked away with a larger share of the alimony. He’d saddled up with the best divorce attorney Charlotte had and she? She’d had to endure a state provided public attorney who’d clearly been handling three other divorce cases within the time line of hers.

  It hasn’t stopped; the gentle tapping of raindrops against the window. The drizzle hadn’t let up in the slightest. She wouldn’t go after her ex-husband, but sitting around waiting for a call from a serial lunatic didn’t seem like much of an option either. No, she needed to do something with her time; something with the words that had thumped against her skull, something until she’d received instructions on what to do about Ethan’s case. It was there about 9:15 A.M., much too early to catch a lawyer, but not too early to join a search party. She hadn’t heard much from the detective in charge after she’d been hauled down to the station for questioning, but she’d listened in and picked up just enough to know there would be a search part
y gathered outside Cortland Cotswold with detective Ryan Gates, officers Todd Wilde, Gerald Hopkins, Peter Jenkins and the Mecklenburg County Sheriff, Chad Griffin as well as the residents of Bertonley and Hartness Avenue. So Madison Miller needed to get her hind end going while the going was good.

  The parquet was dead-cold almost like the chill of marble on a crisp winter morning. She lunged for her shoes; mere flip flops kicked half-hazard beneath the bed. Adam Walker’s apartment was ghost-quiet, save for her presence. Had he stepped out for a jog? He ought to have returned... shouldn’t he? Through the bedroom door, her eyes danced across the room, sweeping the living room and dining area for the man she’d lived next to since she’d moved in at eighteen. Clearly, something was wrong, why else wouldn’t he be in his own home? Unless he’d received a visitor, one he didn’t quite feel comfortable with her meeting. Had Alexander Hemmings dropped by? Were they outside negotiating Ethan Daniels’ freedom? And why did the thought cripple her?

  Pat, pat... Pat, pat... Pat, pat, her footsteps pealed gently, slowly against the floor. She stopped by the window, the one gawking out onto Adam Walker’s lawn. Madison Miller’s legs were noodles, her throat clogged with a scream. Adam Walker was by the porch, he wasn’t alone. Was that Hemmings? He hadn’t given her a description of Alexander Hemmings, but from what she’d heard from his sorrow woven call, she imagined he was a stout small man with eyes of death and skin of bleach; he would reek of cheap cologne and cigarettes, and would have on a clearly over worn wife beater and washed jeans. That looked nothing like the man occupying Adam’s attention. Whatever the case, she couldn’t linger idle as a broken clock. If it was him, the alleged serial child killer, he would turn his attention to her. After all, he’d called her that night and not Adam Walker.

  Pat, her heart thumped in pace of her steps. Pat, thump, pat, thump, pat... her fingers curled around the door knob. If it was him, he would talk to her directly. If it was him, he would give her instructions, a ransom... He would turn to her with a wicked grin and those eyes sunken and sleep deprived as they were would run up and down her slender form, and at that moment she would feel more than positive that her noodle legs would cave and she would drop to her knees, hurling out everything she’d consumed the previous day.

  The soft scent of wet grass dallied through her nostrils, the pitter-patter of a drizzle was a melody off tempo with the slowed beat of her heart. She recognized the man by rails, the man she’d expected would be gathered at Cortland Cotswold. Detective Ryan Gates didn’t bother with her presence, almost expecting her to breeze past him and into the snappy morning shower. She lingered. He turned to her, frustrated to say the least. “And how might I help you... Miss...?”

  “Miller. Madison Miller.” She supplied.

  “Well, Miss. Miller, if you don’t mind, I am in the middle of a conversation I would rather stay between Mr. Walker and me.” Gates bit, urging her to scurry along. The beefy man proceeded to shoving his hands into his pants pockets. To Madison, Gates resembled a Southern style Claes Bang. Her eyes climbed to Adam next to her who seemed internally troubled.

  “Hmm... I wonder if the Sheriff knows you’re flaking off an official search party for a conversation.” Madison made herself comfortable. Whatever they were sharing, they could do so with her around. Whether she liked it or not, she was involved in this case, and the sooner everyone digested that fact the easier things would flow.

  “What do you want in particular Miss Miller? Well, besides threatening a federal officer which is a punishable offence.” Ryan Gates said. She hadn’t made any threats, she had however implied.

  “I want to know what is going on, here,” She gestured to the gap between them. “... And with Ethan Daniels’ case.” Both men shared a look, one that left a deep churning feeling in her gut as dread set up camp.

  . . .

  With a soft dawn creeping up on Cotswold, Alice Sanders could barely believe the turnout at her home. She’d barely slept, too distraught with Ethan’s situation. So she’d prepared finger sandwiches in their dozens, she’d hand squeezed lemons into a jar and shoved it into the back of the fridge; all an attempt to pry her stirring mind from wondering just what that poor boy had to be going through. She could only imagine it, what each kid had to go through. And although his case differed from those boys that were taken from their walks home from school, from their bus rides, from Cotswold elementary, there was no bone of doubt in her body that it was the same madman behind Ethan’s kidnapping.

  “There’s a larger gathering over on Cortland Cotswold. Folks are saying it might turn into a press conference for the people of Cotswold.” Bailey rattled from the couch. Although the search crew Alice and Roger had gathered over night hadn’t turned up the boy or any clues, she’d felt just a little more at peace with herself. She’d tried for the boy, and she wasn’t going to stop there. She’d started a movement. She would join a bigger one, and with people flowing through every street, she was positive Ethan would turn up. He had to.

  “Really?” Inquired Leah Donovan from Hartness Avenue. “So the police were able to get something together.”

  “Took them long enough.” Old man Rogers sighed.

  “What time’s that kicking off?” Alice asked.

  “Any minute now, I was talking to Roger about it and he’s outside talking to the rest of our petty party.” Alice clenched her jaw. Not only was this girl a bimbo, she was ignorant too. But that didn’t matter, Ethan did.

  “We can meet up with them and set off from there.” Alice voiced. “Lord I hope we find the poor child.” She whispered more to herself. She knew she wasn’t the only one affected by the poor child’s disappearance. There were many more that were just as disgruntled, many more that were willing to set aside a night of sleep to bring home the poor Daniels boy.

  Chapter Eight

  “ Since you are already acquainted with Mr. Walker, I suppose there’s nothing to hide?” The Southern Claes Bang pealed his eyes from Madison’s curious sapphire blues. Gates looked in desperate need of a smoke; agitated and glittery. Maybe the warmth from the cigarette could get some colour into his dead cheeks, the ambling thought merely drifted through Adam Walker’s mind. He wore a blank look, eyes of spring greens, muddled. For a moment, a relative silence settled in amidst the dwindling drizzle; the gentle wind, morning kisses on a dazed Adam Walker. A degree of whiplash was expected for his involvement in Ethan Daniels’ case; for the testimony he’d made to his precinct on Madison Miller’s behalf. She hadn’t asked him to have her back, from what he’d known about her, she didn’t need much help, she’d never needed much help. Why then had he gone ahead to play the knight-in-a-not-so-shining-armour? Maybe it had a little something to do with the green feeling in the pit of his stomach; a feeling out of left field, a mere reaction to Officer Jenkins’s ceaseless questions.

  Ryan Gates fired on; “It’s no secret your buddy here worked for the CMPD as a homicide detective and my former partner.” Adam Walker hadn’t just worked for the CMPD; he’d been one of the best, relying on his gut and training. But he’d been off base during his last assignment; one that had cost him his badge and reputation. In a sense, he’d learned from his shortcomings, the CMPD was a body built on bureaucracy; they cherished their lengthy procedures. He only wished he didn’t need to be caught at a raid rubbing elbows with Charlotte’s most wanted drug dealer before he’d learned that. “He’s between things right now and needed my help getting him back on the horse, problem is he has just about totalled all chances of that after being hauled down to the station and questioned as a suspect for Ethan’s kidnapping.”

  The look of anguish that veiled Madison Miller’s features lit an inferno in his gut. Twice! His gut had let him down twice! Her feet were rooted in place, her ears opened. As if Gates hadn’t already done enough damage, he pressed on. “And as for Ethan’s kidnapping, the CMPD is slumped for suspects.” There was a glimmer in her eyes. Adam couldn’t miss it for the world, and with that glimmer brought
the bitter warmth of apprehension.

  “What about the call?” Gates leaned against the porch rails. It whined beneath his weight. “Your officers promised they would trace it, that they would get back to me.” There was fierceness in her tone, an underlying accusation.

  “It was a busted lead from a payphone here at Cotswold, whoever called you, for whatever reason either knew you were going to sell them out and wanted you to do just that, or knows exactly what he’s doing and is being extremely careful."

  “He’s going to call again, the kidnapper, the killer. He’s going to give me instructions on how to get Ethan back.”

  “And you are telling me this because? Aren’t you worried he’s going to find out your little scheme of working with the police? That he’s going to kill the boy in a fit of rage?” At his words, Madison tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. Alexander Hemmings was the puppet master who’d strung the CMPD like ragged dolls. And just as sure as Adam was about his passion for the Durham Bulls, he could bet that the mere thought of the police getting closer to catching him had to be a thrill of some sort.

  “And the Daniels home didn’t turn up any new clues? What had the intruder used to shatter the windows? Were there strands of hair or fingerprints left at the scene?” Madison asked streaking a hand through her uncombed hair. Adam didn’t need anyone to point it out; he’d noticed it all on his own. He’d spent more time focusing on Madison than Gates. He’d contacted his former partner, once more to negotiate a way back into uniform that didn’t involve dangling valuable information over the Sheriff. And yet, his eyes of spring had rather trailed his neighbours’ graceful movements, her gentle expressions.