Buch lesen: «Looking for Sophie»
“I can’t tell if it’s Sophie and my ex-husband from this picture.”
Garnet continued to explain, “It’s too far away and fuzzy. If the man is my ex, he’s had a makeover. Yet this girl’s smile is so like Sophie’s my chest aches to see it. I’d give anything just to hug her again.”
Without warning, Garnet burst into tears and the snapshot fell to the floor.
Unable to stand by while she fell apart, Julian did what came naturally. He wrapped Garnet in a tight embrace. Feeling her stiffen, he immediately let go. However, her tears didn’t stop.
Saying a silent to hell with it, Julian moved in again, and held her until her tears were spent.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Roz Denny Fox has been a RITA® Award finalist and has been placed in a number of other contests; her books have also appeared on the Waldenbooks bestseller list. Roz currently resides in Tucson, Arizona, with her husband, Denny. They have two daughters.
Dear Reader,
The most asked question of an author is “Where do your ideas come from?” The answer is as diverse as the stories themselves. For me it’s usually a snippet I read about or overhear that nags me to write my own version, as it was in this case.
A few years ago a reader wrote to say she’d read one of my books. In the letter she mentioned truth being stranger than fiction. Her husband, she said, a postman, was instrumental in reconnecting a child – pictured on one of the lost-children cards he delivered – with the child’s mother. Off and on I found myself wondering how it has all worked out. But since I didn’t know the “real” story, I made up how I’d like such a reunion to turn out. I like happy endings, and I like good people. I took liberties with this story that probably aren’t true to life. Especially as I have a friend in social work who says domestic abductions rarely end well. More often than not the child ends up hurt, because children love both mum and dad equally.
In this book I wanted to delve into the feelings and emotions of two parents involved in such a case. And since it’s fiction, I really wanted the best possible ending for my stolen child, Sophie Patton. I hope you like her story.
Roz Denny Fox
PS Readers can contact me at PO Box 17480-101, Tucson, AZ 85731, USA or rdfox@ worldnet.att.net.
Looking for Sophie
ROZ DENNY FOX
MILLS & BOON
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CHAPTER ONE
JULIAN CAVENAUGH closed the folder and pushed his chair back from his desk. He and his partner, Rick Barnett, had finally cracked the case after four months of tracking leads, many of which had gone nowhere, leaving everyone frustrated. Even as a veteran detective in one of Atlanta’s grittiest precincts, he felt good about putting another alleged murderer behind bars. His chief had suggested he take a vacation now before plunging into his next case. Rick had already taken his family to Florida for sun and fun. But Julian hadn’t decided yet. Too much downtime could make him lose his edge.
He was, however, toying with the idea of going fishing with his dad for a couple of days. Even though his family lived just thirty miles outside Atlanta, Julian hadn’t seen them since Christmas. His crazy schedule hadn’t allowed it.
His phone rang, jerking him back to attention. “Cavenaugh,” he snapped.
“Julian, it’s Mom.”
He gripped the receiver tighter, thinking maybe he’d conjured up this call. “What’s wrong?” Neglectful or not, Julian couldn’t remember his family ever phoning him at the office. They left messages at his apartment or on his cell because no one wanted to bother him at work.
“It’s your dad.” Beth Cavenaugh’s voice sounded odd.
“Is it his heart? How bad? Damn, we all warned him at Christmas to lay off the rich desserts.” Julian glanced at the wall clock. “If I leave now, I can be in Mosswood in under an hour.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you. Your father is well enough.” Beth lowered her voice. “He’s done it again, Julian. Sam is positive he’s recognized one of the kids on his route from a card. Oh, I shouldn’t bother you. I did try Taggert and Josh first, but they refuse to talk to him. And he’s not listening to me. I’ve reminded him he’s only got six months until he can retire and the department will drop the earlier reprimand so he goes out with a clean record, but Sam claims this isn’t about him. And… Julian…what if he’s right this time?”
Shutting his eyes, Julian rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, I just closed a big case—the west-end serial murders. You’ve probably seen it on the news. Chief MacHale wants me to take some time off. Let me tie up some loose ends here, then I’ll come down to see you tomorrow. Maybe I can reason with Pop.”
“Oh, would you? I didn’t want to ask, but this is so much like the last time. He’s a stubborn old coot when he gets it in his head that he’s right. It’s not like he’s even seen this little girl up close. They’re a fairly new family on his mail route. I just want him to be careful and not make wild accusations again.”
Julian tried to reassure his mother. “Don’t worry. I have avenues to check that we didn’t have before.”
Beth seemed relieved and before hanging up they arranged that he’d arrive around one the next day.
Julian sat quietly for a moment, letting his thoughts drift back to the disaster that had his mother concerned even now. He’d been a high-school sophomore. Tag and Josh were in junior high and Celeste still in grade school. Tag had invited a new friend home for supper. After the boy left the Cavenaughs, Sam had pulled out a card sent by the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Sam delivered one or two of the cards along his route every week, and he kept copies for himself. The whole family had agreed the new boy was a dead ringer for a kid listed as missing from a nearby state.
But within hours of Sam calling the hotline all hell broke loose in sleepy Mosswood. An FBI team swept in and the scandal that followed their investigation was huge. Bigger than huge. Tag’s friend wasn’t the missing boy. And rather than praising Sam Cavenaugh for doing his civic duty, the boy’s dad, rich as Warren Buffett, did his best to get Sam fired. Mr. Miller was so angry over the scrutiny and suspicion he and his family were forced to endure, he closed a factory he’d recently opened in town. A hundred residents lost their jobs.
For a while, the Cavenaughs were pariahs. If the NCMEC hadn’t supported Samuel, he would’ve been fired. The agency spokesman released a statement asking where lost and stolen kids would be if people like Sam Cavenaugh never stuck their necks out? All the same, an official reprimand went on Sam’s record. It took years for the town to forgive and forget.
Julian knew that his father had done the right thing. All cops relied on citizen tips in their cases. Still, Julian understood why his mom was worried.
Julian quickly exited his shared office and left his file on the murder case in the clerk’s out-basket where Rick Barnett had already left his. Down the hall, he knocked on Chief MacHale’s door.
“I don’t want to see you for at least two weeks,” Conrad MacHale said, signing and dating the vacation request Julian handed him. “No two or three days and you’re back.” MacHale paused to examine him more closely. “Man, you look like hell—like you haven’t slept since this case started. Go relax. Get on that motorcycle you’re so fond of, find a hot date and have a good time. Just don’t come back for two weeks. A month would be better, but we can’t spare you that long.”
“In a month a guy could forget how to do the job.”
“I doubt that.” MacHale’s laugh was dry as he passed Julian a copy of the form. “Your record’s one of the best in the precinct, if not the whole town.”
Julian left the chief’s office smiling, but without responding to the rare compliment. Mac didn’t give them often and he wouldn’t appreciate gushy thanks. All the same, his comment went a long way toward relieving Julian’s fatigue. And he was tired. This last case had taken a long four months.
Still, there was no job he’d rather have. A collar like the one he’d just made made up for all the crappy days. Their team had solid DNA evidence linking Fred Struthers to a string of rapes and murders in a normally secure section of town. With Struthers in custody, residents and cops could breathe easier.
As he left the building, heading home, Julian remembered his folks hadn’t been overjoyed with his career choice. They both had safe jobs, as they pointed out. Sam had delivered mail for almost thirty years come rain, snow or blistering sun. Beth sold real estate part-time. Their combined income left them comfortably middle-class, and had made it possible for their four kids to attend university. At thirty-one, Tag managed a swank Atlanta hotel. Josh, twenty-nine, was a news anchor at the local TV station. Celeste, the baby at twenty-eight, worked as a neonatal nurse now that her twin girls had started school.
Julian’s siblings were all happily married and had given his folks grandbabies to spoil. He would’ve thought they’d be happy with that. But any time he made it to Mosswood for family gatherings, he felt subtle—if not overt—pressure, to get married. One Cavenaugh or another would invite an unsuspecting single woman to dinner for the express purpose of shoving her at Julian.
Celeste, married to a doctor, had once asked if he ever met women at work. He grinned to himself, recalling her face when he’d said, “Sure, sis. Hookers.” That had effectively put an end to questions for that meal. Of course, he knew Celeste was asking if he met any nice single women cops. Cops marrying cops worked for some, but Julian preferred not to talk shop 24/7. When he got home, he wanted to leave the world’s troubles behind. His time off was erratic, which made regular dating difficult. It was a big reason why, at thirty-three, he was still unmarried and okay with it. Mostly. At times, he envied his siblings….
THE NEXT DAY, after packing the saddle bags on his custom black-and-chrome Ducati Monster, Julian cruised the back roads to Mosswood. He loved feeling the wind in his face. Spring in Georgia could be muggy or mild; today was pleasant. Sunshine filtered through a canopy of hickory and sweet-gum trees, late-blooming dogwoods still had enough waxy blossoms to entice photography buffs out of their cars.
The scent of honeysuckle permeated the air, and Julian glimpsed a pair of yellow-throated warblers flitting among the bushes. He’d forgotten how freedom felt.
He didn’t bother planning how to approach his dad. Sam Cavenaugh’s love for his kids wasn’t complicated. Julian knew they’d be able to talk openly and honestly about what was worrying Beth.
Julian motored along his parents’ treelined street. His family’s redbrick home complemented a backdrop of well-tended flowerbeds and a manicured lawn. Julian and his siblings had grown up here, and the sight of the house always made him nostalgic. Of the four Cavenaugh kids, Julian was least likely to ever need a five-bedroom home. Still at every get-together, he said, “Remember, if you two ever want to downsize, I’d be happy to take it off your hands.”
His mom must have been watching for him. Julian had barely parked his bike in the drive and removed his helmet when she burst from the house, ran to meet him and engulfed him in a hug. Like all her boys, Julian towered over Beth’s petite five-two frame. Because she loved to cook, she tended to be on the plump side. The fact Julian looked gaunt didn’t escape her eagle eye.
“Sakes alive, I can see there’s no doughnut shop near your station. Well, no matter, I’m fixing your favorite meal tonight. No objections, now,” she said when Julian opened his mouth. “And I’ve invited a nice young woman to join us. A new member of my gourmet cooking club. Such a sweet girl. I just know you’re going to love her.”
“Ma, I came because you asked me to talk to Pop. If this visit is really about you matchmaking, I’m getting right back on my bike.”
His mother kept a firm hold on his arm as she steered him inside. “Honestly, I thought you prided yourself on juggling a dozen cases at once. Are you saying you can’t meet a pretty girl and head your dad off at the pass?”
“I’m saying I’m not looking for a wife. If that’s why you invited the gourmet cook to join us for dinner, uninvite her. Besides, the fewer people who hear about Pop’s sighting another missing child, the better.”
“You’re right.” Beth pouted a bit as they entered the house, but she picked up the phone anyway, so Julian knew he’d made his point.
He’d unpacked a few shirts and was seated at the kitchen table enjoying a cold beer, when his dad ambled in from work. Sam greeted his son with a slap on his back that morphed into a sort of hug.
“Hey, stranger. I hear you caught the guy you were looking for. Congratulations! I assume that’s why Mom and I have the pleasure of your company. Good work, son.”
“Thanks. It was a tough case. The chief wants me rested and ready to testify at the trial. I thought I’d see if you felt like tossing a line in the river. Why don’t you grab a beer? We can go sit on the back porch and discuss the best fishing hole.”
“Sorry, son. You’ll have to go fishing alone. I’m involved in a bit of surveillance, myself.”
“Oh?” Julian feigned surprise.
“Let me get that beer. And then we’ll go out where your mom can’t overhear us. She thinks I’m a meddling old fool but I know I’m right this time. Actually, I’m glad you’re here. This is right up your alley.”
Julian had thought he’d have to pump his dad for information. This was almost too easy, he decided, twisting the cap off a second bottle of light beer.
Once they’d settled into matching wicker rockers, Sam leaned toward Julian and began his story. “There’s this new family on my postal route, see. They moved in about four months ago. A mom, dad and three kids. Two boys go to school and, like normal kids, are out tossing a ball or riding bikes when they get home. The girl, a pretty little tyke, looks out the window until someone inside notices and closes the drapes. I call that odd. Something’s not right. So, I go to my file of missing-children cards and bingo, I see a kid that could be her, only younger. Same hair, same heart-shaped face. If you were me, wouldn’t you call the hotline?”
Julian took a swig from his bottle and rocked back in his chair. “I might remember the last time this happened and take it kinda easy, Pop.”
“Yeah, yeah. That other time was unfortunate. I missed a big clue. That boy was out around town, attending school. I’m smarter now. I’m keeping an eye on this family.”
Julian picked at the label on his beer. “You see any evidence this girl’s being abused?”
“No. But, shouldn’t a five-or six-year-old be in school, or out playing with her brothers? If they are her brothers. She’s blond as blond can be. The boys are dark eyed and dark haired. Dad’s got long black hair. He ties it back like some young fellas do. I’ve only seen the mother once. She has sorta nut-brown hair.”
“The man, does he act sneaky or is he a tough-guy sort?”
“Uh, he’s not real neighborly. Grunts hello if I’m putting mail in his box when he arrives home from work. He’s blue-collar. He always wears jeans and a work shirt and they’re often greasy. A couple of Saturdays I’ve seen him in the driveway shooting hoops with the boys. And they barbecue out back.”
“Sounds like a normal family. He play with all three kids?”
“Their fence is six feet high. I’m not about to give myself away by peeking over it. I’m telling you, Julian. My gut tells me something’s fishy.”
“You’re real close to retirement, Pop.”
“Now you sound like your mom. You think I should turn a blind eye?”
Julian fidgeted. His dad clearly felt the girl didn’t belong to that family. While he’d come here to help his mother talk his dad out of doing something foolish, Julian understood gut feelings. Sometimes acting on them broke a case. Even knowing that his mom wouldn’t appreciate it, he couldn’t help saying, “I could fill in for you on your route the next couple of days. See what I observe. I still have the relief-worker status I got that time you wrecked your back.”
“That’s an idea. I’ll pick up the mail from the station and tell my boss that I hurt my knee but you’re home and can help out. He’ll jump on that. He hates the hassle of requesting a relief person.”
“I remember that. I’d rather go fishing, but surveillance is my forte.” Julian didn’t add that if he could prove that Sam was definitely wrong, Beth could stop worrying.
Rather than take Sam’s postal cart the next day, Julian loaded mail in his bike saddlebags. He took his cell phone along so he could snap pictures from a safe distance. Before heading off, he studied the card with the photo of the missing girl. It was a grainy black-and-white shot. “Pop, this kid was last seen in Anchorage, Alaska, over a year ago. It’s a stretch to think she’d wind up in backwater Georgia. Another thing, don’t kids this age change a lot in a year? I’m thinking of Celeste’s twins. I see them occasionally, but at each visit they look so different I don’t know which twin is which.”
“Their smiles and face shape don’t change.”
Julian had to give give his dad that. He started the Ducati and drove off. Most old-timers on the route knew him and many expressed concern for Sam. Julian stuck to the story about his dad’s bum knee.
His father had told him which house to watch for, so when he got there, Julian took his sweet time sorting out the mail. A few bills addressed to Lee Hackett, some junk circulars. Julian had timed his delivery to coincide with school dismissal. Sure enough, two grade-school-aged boys stopped to admire his motorcycle. Introducing himself, Julian handed them the mail while casually asking their names.
“I’m Toby, he’s Gavin,” the youngest said. “Our dad used to have a blue Harley,” he volunteered.
“Cool. Did he sell it?” Julian asked, gazing into the open, empty garage attached to the side of a small house that sat back off the street.
“I meant our real dad. He died. Uh, maybe Lee had a bike, too. I bet he fixes them. Lee’s a mechanic.”
“Ah…so, Mr. Hackett’s your stepfather?” Julian tucked the rest of the mail back into the saddlebag.
Toby hesitated before saying, “Lee wants to adopt me and Gavin. Mom said it takes money, though. More money than we’ve got.”
The older boy grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him up the drive. “Where’s the old dude who usually brings our mail?” He eyed Julian suspiciously.
“My dad wrenched his knee. The doc wants him to stay off it a couple of days. When I was your age I helped with his route. I’m down from Atlanta on vacation.”
A woman stuck her head out a door opening into the garage. “You boys get inside and change out of your school clothes. Who are you talking to?”
“The mailman’s son,” the eldest boy shouted.
Julian glimpsed a curly-haired girl poking her head out around her mother’s leg. The boys’ backs were turned, so he opened his cell and snapped two photos. By the time the youngest boy turned back, Julian had punched in Josh’s number and wandered back to his bike with the phone at his ear. Toby waved nonchalantly before he and his brother ran into the house.
Josh picked up as Julian casually straddled his bike, giving the appearance of being in no rush to leave. “Hey, son of a gun, I wangled a few days off. I’m staying with the folks, but Mom’s up to her usual tricks. Last night I talked her out of inviting a woman to dinner. Tonight I need an excuse to escape. You and Dawn going to be home later?”
Josh sounded delighted, so the brothers made plans to get together. Julian was stowing his phone when he noticed the girl peering out between the front drapes. He got off two more quick shots before one of her brothers yanked her out of sight and their mother appeared. She stared at Julian, then adjusted the panels. He definitely got the feeling that she didn’t want him hanging around.
He wheeled his bike down the street to the next mailbox, stopping where the woman could see him if she chose to look. And Julian thought maybe she did, so he took his time delivering the mail and making chitchat with neighbors.
He made a point of passing back by the Hackett house on his way home. Luck was with him. A man was pulling into the garage as Julian motored past. He noted the license number on the unremarkable minivan.
The minute he reached his parents’ home, he logged on to a secure Web site and ran the plate through the state system. It checked out okay. The van was licensed to Lee Hackett at that street address. A separate probe didn’t turn up any prior convictions or outstanding warrants for Hackett in Georgia. For kicks, Julian tried Alaska. Nothing showed up there, either.
He found his dad out back weeding. “Pop, can you take another day off? I’d like to do your route in reverse so I hit Hackett’s about the time he gets home from work. One of his sons told me he probably fixes motorcycles. I might be able to start a conversation. So far, though, they seem fine. One of the neighbors told me the girl, Leah, has asthma. That could explain her staying indoors. Or maybe the parents are worried about stranger abductions. Some folks are these days. Or couldn’t they just be antisocial?”
“I suppose.” Sam removed his gardening gloves and walked back to the house with his son. Julian handed back the missing-children card. “Thanks for digging in, son, and for finding out Hackett’s not wanted by the law.”
“No problem. I put out discreet feelers on the mom of the missing girl through a P. I. contact who can access background info on anyone. That report will take a day or so, provided she hasn’t left Alaska. By the way, I’m having dinner with Josh and Dawn tonight. Will you tell Mom? And remind her she doesn’t need to set me up with the woman from her cooking club tomorrow night, either.”
Sam gave a robust laugh. “I told Beth that gal doesn’t have enough spunk for you, son. But your mom’s not gonna rest until you’ve found a wife.”
“Then she won’t rest for a long time.”
His dad’s laughter was slow to die. “What’s that mean? You saying you’ve been in one of those closets?”
That was about the last remark Julian expected from his dad, and it took him aback. Finally, he was able to laugh. “No, Pop. I like women just fine. I’m picky, that’s all. I’m holding out for someone like Mom.”
“That’ll take a lot of looking. Your mother is one in a million. Oh, I know she gets upset with me. But she’s a peach. And I’m a damn lucky man.”
“Yep, but Mom’s worried you’re mistaken about the Hackett girl. Another reprimand could lose you your pension. Is that the way to repay Mom’s love and loyalty?”
“Well, now. Why not just come right out and call me a doddering buttinsky?”
“It’s not that, Pop. I want you to think about the risks and proceed with caution.”
“I am. I haven’t called the FBI or the missing kids hotline.”
“Good. I’ve got two weeks off. My time is yours on this. The girl on the card, Sophie Patton…she’s been missing over a year. Trails go cold. Just…don’t get antsy.”
“As long as they don’t look like they’re packing up. School’s out soon. The NCMEC folks told me last time that people running with stolen kids don’t usually stay in one spot longer than a school year. I asked Hackett once why his daughter wasn’t in school with her brothers. He said at least three times in the space of a minute that she’s only four. She looks older to me.”
“When’s school out?”
“Two weeks.”
THE NEXT DAY Julian felt even more pressure to turn up something useful on Lee Hackett. Both of his brothers and their wives had expressed their concern about his father’s meddling at dinner the previous evening. Tag and Raine had declared Sam was nuts. Josh and Dawn asked Julian to put a stop to what they were sure spelled disaster. And the four of them were dead certain he was way off base.
Julian ended his deliveries at the Hacketts’. They had a package with their bundle of mail, a box addressed to Toby Roberts. The return address was a Mrs. Leland Carter of Macks Creek, Missouri. Toby, Julian recalled, had been friendly, the boy who said Lee Hackett wasn’t his and Gavin’s real dad.
Julian could’ve squished the package into the mailbox, but decided to take the opportunity to knock on the door. This afternoon it was evident there were children playing in the backyard. Julian heard a ball bounce on cement. He rang the doorbell and caught a glimpse of the blond girl as she swept back the curtain, then scampered out of sight.
A few seconds passed. Suddenly Gavin opened the door. He snatched the package and slammed the door in Julian’s face just as Lee Hackett turned in to the driveway. The man parked in the garage, leaped from his van and eyed Julian warily. “Whatcha want?”
“Just delivering a package that was too big for your mailbox.” Julian walked down the steps, repeating the lie about his dad’s twisted knee.
Hackett’s dark eyes flashed to Julian’s bike. “Great Ducati Monster,” he exclaimed.
Happy his strategy was working, Julian rattled off its stats. Hackett followed Julian to the street and knelt beside the bike, running a work-worn hand over the chrome exhaust. The man knew his motorcycles, Julian decided by the time Hackett excused himself to return to his house.
Julian was fastening his helmet strap when the side door of the house flew open and the blond girl launched herself into Hackett’s arms. Caught off guard, Julian fumbled for his phone. He managed to snap a few shots, hoping that at least one would be good. He took one last picture as Hackett picked up the girl and swung her up and around like an airplane. Hackett grinned at his daughter and tossed Julian a quick wave before going into the house. He looked like any dad happy to be home with his kids after a hard day’s work.
Julian could barely contain his excitement as he rode to his folks’ house to download his pictures. When he finally made it, Julian wanted to rip them out of the printer. “Pop, come here,” he called, setting the first photo on the desk. “Does this girl look like she’s being held against her will?” There was pure joy in the child’s wide smile and in the way she clasped her dad’s face between her hands.
Sam came in from the living room, and had to agree with his son’s assessment. “Yeah. But wouldn’t that be the case if he’s a noncustodial parent? And it doesn’t make him less guilty of a crime. Son, I swear I’d rip this card up if I could be sure that girl isn’t Sophie Patton. Imagine if you were her mom. Hell, what if your mother and I had divorced and the court gave you to her, but I waltzed in and whisked you away? Wouldn’t she be sick about it?”
Julian slid the pictures into a file folder he’d started on Hackett. “Mom would go after you with a shotgun.” They shared a chuckle before Julian sobered. “My inquiry on Sophie’s custodial parent came in from Doug, my P. I. contact. Her mother, Garnet, teaches English at an Anchorage high school. Has for more than five years.”
“Doesn’t prove anything. Maybe she can’t afford to chase after her girl.”
“Hmm. You know, I met a cop from Anchorage a few years back at a domestic violence seminar. Larry Adams. We hit it off,’ cause we’re both outdoor types. He said Alaska has great fishing. Maybe I’ll phone him…see what he can tell me about the old case.”
Beth Cavenaugh walked in on the men and heard her son’s last comment. “Won’t another police officer wonder why you’re asking questions, Julian? Perhaps you ought to fly up there to fish, and poke around by yourself.”
“It’s way out of my jurisdiction. But I’ll see what I can do. Pop, would you promise to let this go until I get back?”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll pay for your flight if your mom can find a reasonable fare.”
THE NEXT DAY, Julian flew over some incredible terrain he wished he could explore on his bike. The landscape was dotted with sparkling lakes and rivers. When the plane landed, Julian picked up a few brochures at the airport, almost forgetting this was more than a fishing trip.
He rented a Jeep and loaded his duffel and a case with his rod and reel. Before he’d left Georgia, he’d phoned Larry Adams, who offered his spare bedroom, but also said he was working odd hours undercover. Julian didn’t mind at all—it gave him reason to find a motel near Garnet Patton’s school. Being on his own also meant he had freedom to snoop. The men had agreed to meet whenever Larry found time to hoist a beer and shoot a little pool.
Julian had done some checking before leaving Georgia and had learned that the school where Ms. Patton taught was in session from August to mid-May. He’d have to work fast. He had no idea how the woman spent her summers. Maybe she taught summer school. But there was every possibility she’d leave Anchorage. He would if his kid had been stolen. He’d be combing the country every chance he got.
As a detective, Julian had played many roles. One of the more effective was posing as a reporter. He checked in to his motel, dug out a battered black notebook and drove to the school. The motel clerk had told him school let out at three.
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