CHAPTER 14
Early on the morning of the third day after Sarah’s disappearance, Tracy opened the front door to find Roy Calloway standing on the porch, kneading the brim of his hat. From his expression, Tracy knew Calloway had not come bearing good news.
“Morning, Tracy. I need to speak to your father.”
Tracy had dragged her parents home when darkness had made searching the hills above Cedar Grove no longer practical. She had worked beside her father, who had been using his den as their command center. He had called police stations, congressmen, everyone he knew in positions of power. Tracy had called radio stations and newspapers. Sometime after eleven, as her father studied a topographical map, Tracy had curled up in one of the red leather chairs to take a fifteen-minute nap. She had awoken beneath a blanket, the morning sun streaming through the leaded glass. Her father remained seated at his desk, the sandwich she’d made him the night before untouched. He was using a ruler and compass to divide the topographical map into quadrants. She got up to make coffee but found a pot already brewing in the kitchen. Her mother had evidently left earlier that morning without awakening her. About to pour a cup for her father, she’d heard the knock on the front door.
“He’s in his den,” she said.
The sliding doors behind her were already pulling apart, and her father stepped out, fitting his glasses behind each ear. “I’m here,” he said. “Tracy, make some coffee.”
“Mom has a pot brewing.” She followed them into the den.
“Did you speak to him?” her father asked.
“He says he was at home.”
Tracy knew they were talking about Edmund House.
“Can anyone verify that?”
Calloway shook his head. “Parker worked the night shift at the mill and got home late. He says he found Edmund asleep in his bedroom.”
When Calloway didn’t immediately continue, her father said, “But?”
Calloway handed her father Polaroid photographs. “He has scratch marks on the side of his face and the back of his hands.”
Her father held one up to the light. “How did he explain these?”
“He said a piece of wood exploded on him while he was working in the metal shed where Parker makes his furniture. He said it splintered and cut him.”
Her father lowered the picture. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Neither have I.”
“These look like someone raked fingernails across his face and arms.”
“I thought so too.”
“Can you get a search warrant?”
“Vance already tried,” Calloway said, frustration seeping into his voice. “He called Judge Sullivan at home. Sullivan turned him down. He said there wasn’t enough evidence to invade the sanctity of Parker’s home.”
Her father massaged a kink in the back of his neck. “What if I call Sullivan?”
“I wouldn’t. Sullivan goes by the book.”
“He’s been in my damn house, Roy. He comes to my Christmas party.”
“I know.”
“What if he has Sarah there? What if he has her somewhere on that property?”
“He doesn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s Parker’s property. I asked if I could take a look around, and he gave his consent. I searched every room and every building. She isn’t there and I didn’t see any sign to indicate she had been.”
“There could be other evidence—blood in his car or in the house.”
“There could be, but to bring in a forensic team—”
“He’s a Goddamn felon, Roy. A convicted rapist who has scratch marks on his face and arms and no one to account for his whereabouts. How the hell is that not enough?”
“I said the same thing to Vance, and he made the same argument to Judge Sullivan. House did his time for that crime.”
“I called King County, Roy. House got off on a damn plea because the police screwed up. They say he raped and beat that poor girl for more than a day.”
“And he did his time, James.”
“Then you tell me, Roy, where’s my daughter? Where’s my Sarah?”
Calloway looked upset. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”
“So this is what, just one big coincidence? They let him out, he comes to live here, and now Sarah’s missing?”
“It’s not enough.”
“He has no alibi.”
“It’s not enough, James.”
“Who then? A drifter? Someone passing through? What are the odds of that?”
“The bulletin is out to every law enforcement agency in the state.”
James Crosswhite rolled up the topographical map and handed it to Tracy. “Take this to your mother down at the American Legion building. Tell her to give it to Vern and get the teams together. We’re going back out. This time I want the search done in a systematic manner so there is no margin for error.” He looked to Calloway. “What about dogs?”
“The closest team is in California. Flying them is a problem.”
“I don’t care if they’re in Siberia. I’ll pay whatever it takes to get them here.”
“It’s not the cost, James.”
Her father turned to Tracy as if surprised she hadn’t left. “Did you hear me? I said get going.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Do as I say, damn it!”
Tracy flinched and stepped back. Her father had never raised his voice to her or to Sarah. “Okay, Daddy,” she said, walking past him.
“Tracy.” He gently touched her arm, taking a moment to regain his composure. “You go on, now. Tell your mother I’ll be down shortly. The sheriff and I have a few more matters to discuss.”