“It must have seemed odd that I wasn’t there. How did you explain my absence?”
“Claire, try to focus!” David leaned back in his chair, loosened his tie, and reached for calm. “I covered, all right? Templeton is a bit of a weasel, and Lucy Miller was going on and on about her perfect daughter’s soft heart and how she was probably just so concerned for Janie’s state of mind. How she didn’t mean any harm, and how awful Janie was for causing Heather’s injury.” If Heather was half as annoying as her mother, David could easily understand why Janie had lost her cool. It had been the first time he’d met Lucy Miller, and he’d felt a similar urge. “Templeton’s got no backbone, so he may have backed the Millers, but Booker seemed fair. And that Rimble, I think she might be in Janie’s corner. She was professional, but every time Templeton bent the Millers’ way, she’d remind them of the emotional hurt that Heather had caused Janie.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad they aren’t just blaming Janie in this, then.” He was relieved to see a spark of life return to Claire’s expression. “It sounds like much ado about nothing. This is so unlike her, but she was obviously provoked. I’ve been on the receiving end of some of Lucy Miller’s comments before, and if her daughter is anything like that witch, she’s probably a nasty little piece.”
Tired of the whole mess, David rubbed the back of his neck, eager to get back to work. “They both got off pretty lightly. Each will serve an after-school suspension. The Millers objected, but the principal was adamant that their daughter had violated the school’s antibullying policy.” And the memory of that particular part of the meeting was satisfying. The other parents’ angry protests, and the counselor providing moral support to keep that wimp Templeton standing firm. “Heather serves hers tomorrow, and Janie will do so Friday. The girls are to stay the hell out of each other’s way, and if there’s more trouble, the repercussions will get more serious.” He rose, straightened his suit coat, and reknotted his tie. “You might want to impress that bit of information on Janie.”
“I will.” Claire rose, too, looked anxiously toward the doorway Janie had disappeared through. “Hopefully, she’s in the mood to listen.”
“She will be if you use the right approach. Be supportive. We have no idea what she’s been going through since that girl disappeared from Saxon Falls.” He expected the sharp swivel of his wife’s head, but plowed on, intent on making his point. “For all we know, that Miller girl is the tip of the iceberg. Kids talk, just like adults do. This is hard on Janie, too. It’s easy to lose track of that.” The reminder was as much for himself as his wife. He felt a fresh stab of guilt for not keeping better tabs on what was going on in his daughter’s life.
But the introduction of the DeVries girl had a predictable effect on his wife. Her chin trembled. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but the papers . . . one of the stories has already mentioned a possible link between Whitney DeVries’s and Kelsey’s disappearances. If there is . . . maybe the investigation this time around will—”
“Claire! For once think about the daughter we have, and not the one we lost!” Out of patience and out of time, David walked through the door. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was Kelsey’s investigation. He’d already had memories of it rubbed in his face, sitting in the principal’s office facing that prick Hal Miller. He’d been an arrogant son of a bitch at their first meeting and hadn’t improved in the time since.
When it had become apparent that the two girls were going to serve the same consequence, Miller had tried to throw his weight around. And when that hadn’t worked, he’d transferred his attitude to David. He’d had plenty of the man’s bullshit after Kelsey’s kidnapping. There was no love lost between them, and time hadn’t diminished the level of animosity. Evidenced by Miller’s last muttered remark to David as he’d brushed by him to leave the office.
Your performance of concerned father isn’t any more convincing today than it was in my interview room seven years ago.
Bastard.
Special Agent Mark Foster
November 4
5:34 p.m.
“No! We’ve been through this a dozen times!” Shannon DeVries plucked at the arm of the couch with quick, nervous movements. “Why aren’t you doing something?” Her voice grew louder. A little wild. “Why aren’t you finding my daughter instead of asking us the same questions over and over like a broken record?” She sprang up from the couch on that last word as if propelled and paced agitatedly. “It’s like being stuck in that movie Groundhog Day. We just keep reliving the same horrific hours, and nothing changes. You people are useless!”
Mark glanced at Brian DeVries to gauge his mood. The man made no move to calm his wife and looked one step away from having his own outburst.
Dealing with parents was always a minefield. Managing one who was law enforcement required a degree of diplomacy that Mark feared he hadn’t yet acquired in his twelve years as an agent. Normally, the trick was to soothe and elicit information at the same time. To rewrap what they already knew with any new facts that could be shared to give them a sense of progression. DeVries saw through those efforts. And despite being a cop, he was as impatient as any other parent would be with less-than-lightning-speed results on his daughter’s investigation.
Mark couldn’t totally blame him. If he were in the man’s position, he’d be chewing glass by now.
“Don’t think that because I’m here talking to you that nothing is being done for Whitney. Agent Craw is conducting more interviews as we speak. We’ve got local officers manning the tip line and investigators following up on every single lead that comes in. We’ve submitted details of your case to federal databases, and we follow up on each hit we get. We’ve got more personnel back at BCI headquarters chasing down details they don’t have to be on scene for.” He gave Shannon a reassuring smile. “You’ve got a regular battalion working on your behalf, even if you don’t see most of them.”
It was impossible for a civilian to understand the myriad paths this investigation had already explored. Or the way each path would branch off for each of the tiniest facts. But he’d gotten Shannon’s attention, and that was step one. She returned to the couch, sank down, seeming calmer.