Buch lesen: «Cavanaugh's Missing Person»

Chapter 1

“Hey, Cavanaugh,” a deep male voice called out. “There’s somebody here asking to see you.”

Detective MacKenzie Cavanaugh, currently assigned to the Missing Persons Division of the Aurora Police Department, looked up from her computer. She raised her intense blue eyes in time to see Detective Kyle Choi pointing toward her for the benefit of a distraught-looking older woman.

It took Kenzie a full minute to realize that the woman she was looking at wasn’t really old, just incredibly beaten down and worn-out looking, like someone who had spent a great deal of time crying.

She actually recognized the dark-haired woman heading her way.

Kenzie rose from her chair, still trying to reconcile the woman coming toward her with the person she had once known.

Connie Kurtz.

She’d gone to college with Connie not all that many years ago. Ten to be precise. Something had obviously happened to the once upbeat young woman. Something that had stolen the light from her eyes. Connie looked as if she had aged drastically since the last time Kenzie had seen her. Connie had never been heavyset, but her face now had a sunken in appearance, like someone who hadn’t slept or eaten in a while.

The Connie Kenzie remembered had the kind of figure that turned heads while the woman approaching her had lost a significant amount of weight. The clothes she wore hung on her body like they couldn’t find a place for themselves.

“Connie?” Kenzie asked uncertainly, wanting to make sure that this wasn’t ultimately a case of mistaken identity.

Connie offered a spasmodic smile of acknowledgment when she heard her name spoken, but the smile faded away before it had a chance to register.

The woman blew out a long, shaky breath. “When I asked the policeman downstairs for Detective Cavanaugh, he started to laugh and then he asked me, ‘Which one?’” Connie appeared somewhat dazed and bewildered as she repeated the incident. “How many of your family members are there on the police force?”

“A lot,” Kenzie answered, thinking it might be simpler just to leave it that. “Sit down, Connie. Please,” she added when the other woman seemed disoriented.

Rather than taking her seat slowly, Connie dropped into the chair facing Kenzie as if the air had suddenly been let out of her.

Thinking to break the ice, Kenzie asked the haunted-looking young woman, “How long has it been?”

“A long time,” Connie replied. She ran her tongue along her dry lips, as if they were stuck together, preventing her from saying anything further. It was as if she was afraid that if she did, something terrible would become a reality.

Silence hung between them.

Kenzie tried again. “Is there something I can do for you, Connie?” she asked.

She was unable to think of a single reason why someone she’d known from three classes when she was a college senior would deliberately seek her out now—unless it was for professional reasons.

“I hope so.” The words came out slowly, like bullets fired cautiously and one at a time.

Since she’d begun working in the Missing Persons Division, Kenzie had become accustomed to talking to distraught family members, spouses and/or girlfriends and boyfriends. Getting any sort of viable information at times required a great deal of patience. Kenzie prided herself on being up to the job.

There were other times when interrogation was called for, and she was just as good at that as she was at displays of patience and employing kid-glove treatment with fragile people. It seemed to her that this situation called for use of the latter.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, Connie,” Kenzie coaxed, then told her, “Take your time.”

Connie swallowed nervously. “You know, I’m probably just being paranoid,” she said.

It was obvious that she was trying to talk herself into believing that. Kenzie could see that the woman was twisting her fingers together so hard, they looked as if they could just snap off at any moment.

Kenzie put her hand protectively over the other woman’s hands with just enough pressure to make Connie stop twisting her fingers like that.

“Paranoid about what?” Kenzie asked gently.

Rather than answer, Connie said in a voice that almost broke, “He’s probably sitting on some beach, or vacationing in the mountains—like I told him to.” Connie looked at her, desperation once again entering her eyes. “You know, he used to talk about going to the mountains.” Tears were sliding down her thin cheeks now.

Kenzie reached over on her desk and extracted tissues from a box she’d brought to the office to help her cope with her last cold. She offered the tissues to Connie, who took them after a beat, wiping away the telltale trail of tears from her face and dabbing at her eyes. She crumpled the tissues in her hand, as if holding them would somehow give her strength.

“Who’s sitting on some beach or vacationing in the mountains, Connie? Who are you talking about?” Kenzie asked, thinking that Connie had to be talking about a boyfriend who had suddenly stopped returning her calls and pulled a disappearing act.

When they were in college together, Connie had had a social life that would have kept three other women on their toes and busy. Heaven knew that Connie had never wanted for company. More than once Connie had offered to “fix her up,” but their taste in boyfriends were worlds apart. Back in those days, Connie was attracted to guys who easily came under the bad-boy heading.

On the other hand, if she had brought someone like that home, said “bad boy” would have been summarily threatened with bodily harm if he didn’t vacate the premises voluntarily and immediately. She’d grown up with four brothers, a father and countless cousins, all of whom were incredibly protective.

Of course, that didn’t keep her from making her own bad choice in the end, Kenzie thought ruefully. She forced herself to focus on the woman crying next to her desk.

More tears slid down Connie’s face as she choked out, “John Kurtz. My father.”

“Your father?” Kenzie repeated, confused. “You’re talking about your father?” she asked again.

Connie wiped away the tears from her cheeks and then blew her nose, as well. She took in a deep breath and released it.

Kenzie pushed the box of tissues closer to her. “Why don’t you begin at the beginning.”

Connie swallowed, struggling to get hold of herself. “I guess that would be when my mother died.”

Kenzie could remember a vivacious, lively redhead who had attended their graduation. They had that loss in common, she thought.

“I didn’t know,” she apologized. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Connie. When did your mother die?”

Connie closed her eyes, as if summoning the memory was painful. “A little over three years ago.” Opening her eyes, she looked at Kenzie. “My father became almost a hermit after she died. It was understandable at first—” A sad smile punctuated her statement. “They’d been the classic high school sweethearts who got married right after graduation. My mother worshipped the ground my father walked on—and the feeling was mutual,” she added with feeling.

Her voice cracked as she tried not to cry.

“Take your time,” Kenzie told her again even though she really wanted to hurry the woman along and pull the words out of her throat. She tamped down her impatience. Kenzie was the type who always read the end of a book before she then turned to page one. She had always had an insatiable need to know how things turned out before she ever got to that part.

But in this case, she kept quiet, letting Connie tell her story at her own pace, in fits and starts.

Connie sighed again, as if that would somehow shield her from what she was talking about.

“Anyway, when she died, Dad just withdrew into himself. I thought he’d come around eventually, but when he didn’t, I tried to get him to go out, to see people again. He thought I meant that he should start seeing other women—and maybe I did—but I told him he was wrong. And that it was also wrong just to sit home and brood day after day the way he was doing.”

Connie sniffed and looked off, no doubt reliving the incident she was describing.

“And we got into a terrible argument, said some things we both regretted—at least I regretted them,” the other woman said with a deep sigh. “Anyway, my father broke off all communication with me. I was angry, so I decided the hell with him.” A sad smile curved the corners of her lips. “But, well, he’s my father so I decided I should try to mend this breach between us. I called him—and called him—and I just couldn’t reach him,” she said with a note of desperation. “After a couple of days, I started to get this uneasy feeling that something was wrong so I went to his house. And he wasn’t there,” she cried, trying her best to keep her voice in check.

“Maybe your father did go on that vacation,” Kenzie suggested.

But Connie shook her head from side to side. “My father’s a very detail-oriented person. If he ever did decide to go on a vacation, he’d notify the post office to have them hold back mail delivery. Or, at the very least, he’d have his neighbor pick up his mail for him.”

She looked at Kenzie with fresh tears in her eyes. “His mailbox is one of those large models—he used to get packages with kits in them,” she explained. “Anyway, there was so much mail in the mailbox, it was overflowing. There’s mail on his lawn, Kenzie,” Connie cried, as if the sight of that mail had literally caused her pain. “So much mail that it’s noticeable from the street.” She let out another shaky breath before she could continue. “Anyway, that’s when my father’s neighbor called me.”

“Your father’s neighbor had your number?” Kenzie asked.

Connie nodded. “I gave Mr. Moore my cell number right after my mother died so he could call me in case my dad did...something stupid or got too sick to call or... You have to understand, my father wasn’t himself after my mother died...” Her voice trailed off. And then she sat up a little straighter, her eyes holding Kenzie’s prisoner. “Something’s happened to him, Kenzie. I just know it.”

“Not necessarily,” Kenzie told her in a very calm voice. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Connie. You have to think positive,” she advised the other woman. She kept her voice even, almost cheerful. “This could all be a just a misunderstanding or he just needed some time to himself, or—”

“Or he could be lying in some alley, bleeding or dead,” Connie cried, interrupting Kenzie. “Tossed aside like so much garbage.”

“You don’t know that for a fact, Connie, and until you have reason to believe that’s the case, I want you to focus on positive thoughts,” Kenzie instructed, keeping her voice just stern enough to get the other woman’s attention.

Connie covered her face with her hands, crying again. “I should have never yelled at him,” she said, her voice hitching, “never told him that he was acting like an old man when he had so much of life to live still in front of him.”

“Sometimes fathers need to be yelled at,” Kenzie told the other woman with sympathy.

Connie raised her head, her eyes pleading for some sort of reassurance. “Have you ever yelled at yours?” she asked.

Kenzie laughed. “More times than I could even begin to count,” she told Connie.

It wasn’t true. At least she hadn’t yelled at her father in years, but that wasn’t what this woman needed to hear right now. She needed to be able to assuage her conscience in order to think clearly, so Kenzie told her what she wanted to hear.

Connie nodded, sniffling and once again struggling to get control of herself. “Then you’ll look for my father?” she asked hopefully.

Kenzie nodded. “You just need to fill out this paperwork and we can get started on our end.”

Kenzie opened up the large drawer to her right and took out a folder that was filled with official-looking forms. Beneath the folder she had another file folder filled with forms that were already filled out.

Those she had already input into the system over the last couple of years. Some of the people on those forms had been found, but there were still a great many who hadn’t. Those people bothered Kenzie more than she could possibly say. Not because they represented opened cases that counted against her, but because they represented people who hadn’t been reunited with their loved ones. People who might never be reunited with their distraught loved ones.

She didn’t know what she would do if she ever found herself in that set of circumstances. Which was why, her Uncle Brian had told her when he’d assigned her to this department, she was the right person for the job.

* * *

Connie broke down and cried twice during what should have been a relatively short process of filling out the form.

The second time, Kenzie kindly suggested, “Do you want to go outside and clear your head?”

But Connie bit her lower lip and shook her head, refusing the offer. “No, I want to finish filling out the form. And then I want to help you find my father.”

She could relate to that, Kenzie thought. But even so, she had to turn Connie down. She smiled patiently at the woman. “I’m afraid that it doesn’t quite work that way.”

Connie looked at her, confused. “How does it work? I don’t mean to sound belligerent,” Connie apologized. “I thought I could help, because I know all his habits. But I just want to know how you find someone.”

“A lot of ways,” Kenzie answered matter-of-factly. “We talk to people at your dad’s place of work, to his neighbors, find out if he had a club he liked to frequent more than others—”

Connie cut her off quickly, shaking her head. “He didn’t.”

“All right,” Kenzie said, continuing. “A favorite restaurant, then—”

Again Connie shook her head. “My father didn’t like fancy food and he didn’t believe in throwing his money away by having someone else cook for him when he could do a better job of it himself.”

“How about his friends?” Kenzie asked. “Did he have anyone he was close to?” she asked, already doing a mental sketch of a man who had become a loner in his later years.

Connie shook her head just as Kenzie had expected her to. “My father stopped seeing his friends once Mom had died and after a while, his friends stopped trying to get him to come out.” She sighed again. “I guess they all just gave up on him—like I did.”

“It’s not your fault,” Kenzie underscored. “And I’d still like to have a list of his friends,” she told Connie. “One or two of those friends might not have given up trying to get him to come out of his shell,” she said to the other woman.

Connie looked almost wounded. “You mean the way I gave up?”

Part of her job, the way Kenzie saw it, was to comfort the grieving. Guilt was a heavy burden to bear. Kenzie did her best to help Connie cope.

“You had your own life to live, your own grief to deal with over the death of your mother,” Kenzie insisted. “And you didn’t give up on your dad. You just gave him a time-out so he could try to deal with the situation on his own.”

Connie sighed. “When you say it that way, it doesn’t sound so bad,” she told Kenzie, a trace of gratitude in her voice.

“And it’s not,” Kenzie told her firmly. “Sometimes you can’t drag a horse to water, you have to let him see the water and then clear a path for him so that he can go to it at his own leisurely pace.”

Connie’s mouth curved. “I never thought of my father as a horse,” she commented.

“Maybe more like a mule?” Kenzie suggested with a smile.

Connie sighed. “He could be so stubborn, there was just no talking to him.”

Kenzie nodded. “I know what you mean. I have a few relatives like that of my own,” she told the woman. She saw a little of the color returning to Connie’s thin cheeks. “Feel better?” she asked.

“A little,” Connie admitted. “I’ll feel a whole lot better once you find him,” she said.

“So will I,” Kenzie assured the other woman. When people came in to file a missing person report, she took great care in making those people feel as if this was a joint undertaking and that she was in this together with them. It seemed to help them hang on. “Now, if you could give me as many names and addresses of your dad’s friends, that would be a great help.”

“I’ve got my mother’s old address book at home. I kept it as a souvenir,” Connie explained. “Will that help?” she asked.

“That will be perfect,” Kenzie assured her.

“And you’ll find my father?” Connie asked again, desperately needing to hear Kenzie make a promise to that effect.

“We’ll do our very best to find your father,” Kenzie told her.

Connie nodded, rising to her feet. “Okay. I’ll get that address book to you today,” she promised.

“That’ll be great,” Kenzie told her.

In her opinion, Connie looked a tiny bit better as she left the office.

Now all she had to do, Kenzie thought, was to deliver on her promise and everything would be fine.