Newspaper reporters, even some producer from Fox News in Spokane. Missing kids are big news, you know. If we can tie Tom Boyd to your kids, we can issue an Amber Alert, but it doesn’t meet that standard yet. I looked it up. The first criterion is that law enforcement must confirm that an abduction has taken place. We don’t know it to be true. We can’t just go panicking everyone this early.”
“This early?” she said, astonished.
“Miz Taylor, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. We don’t even consider a person missing until then. Not that the newspeople care. I’m stalling them for now, but they’re keeping me busy. Luckily, though, I have an ace in the hole.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Now, he grinned outright. “Four experienced, seasoned investigators have volunteered to help us. They showed up this morning and asked what they could do. After I talked with ’em, I gave them the authority to run with it, and already things are happening. We’re lucky as hell.”
She was confused. “Who are they?”
“LAPD’s finest,” he said. “Retired cops who’ve worked dozens of situations like this. They told me they want to serve their new community and keep it safe. Within a couple of hours they helped me establish a command center, and they’re the ones who figured out Tom Boyd. We’re damned glad to have them here, Miz Taylor.”
She nodded. For the first time, she felt a lift of encouragement.
“I know you want to stay by the phone,” he said, looking around the kitchen. “I think you should, too. But you need some help around here. Some support. Is there anyone we can call to stay with you?”
She had no relatives nearby, and few friends. Sandy was on a cruisewith her husband and family. She thought of Jim Hearne, the banker who had always been kind to her, but knew how improper that would seem.
“That woman, Fiona Pritzle, keeps offering to come stay with me,” Monica said. “But I don’t think I want her help.”
Carey agreed. “I’ll ask one of the volunteer investigators to come over, if you don’t mind. We want to cover all the bases. If someone contacts you with a report on your kids, we want to know right away. We want to screen the call. And, if someone has your kids …”
“I don’t mind.”
“His name is Swann. Ex-Sergeant Swann.”
“I know him,” Monica said dully.
“Yes, he told me that. He wanted me to ask you if you minded if it was he.”
She thought of Swann’s kind face and manner, his sonorous voice. He had been obscure, though, and so set in his ways. She felt he was always watching her as a cop watched a subject, not the way a man watched a woman.
“It’s okay,” she said. “He’s a clean freak. Very organized. He’ll probably help me out with all of this.”
The sheriff snorted and reached out his hand.
“We’ll do our best to find your kids, Miz Taylor. I’ll ask Mr. Swann to bring you something to eat. I’ll call the doctor to come by again as well.”
Saturday, 10:14 A.M.
S ORRY TO KEEP you waiting,” Jim Hearne said to Eduardo Villatoro as he slipped back behind his desk. “That was a local rancher. A friend of mine. A good man.”
Villatoro settled into the chair the rancher had just used, his briefcase on his knees. He watched as Hearne gathered up a thick file with the name RAWLINS on the tab and put it on the credenza behind him. Digging in his breast pocket for a card, he leaned forward and handed it to Hearne.
Hearne read it, a glimpse of recognition in his clear blue eyes. “Detective Villatoro of the Arcadia, California, Police Department, now I remember. You called and asked for a meeting a few weeks ago. All the way from Southern California.”
“Thank you for meeting with me. I’ve retired from the department since then.”
“Congratulations,” Hearne said, his face showing what he was thinking, that the meeting wasn’t official after all but of a personal nature. And maybe a waste of Hearne’s
“This early?” she said, astonished.
“Miz Taylor, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. We don’t even consider a person missing until then. Not that the newspeople care. I’m stalling them for now, but they’re keeping me busy. Luckily, though, I have an ace in the hole.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Now, he grinned outright. “Four experienced, seasoned investigators have volunteered to help us. They showed up this morning and asked what they could do. After I talked with ’em, I gave them the authority to run with it, and already things are happening. We’re lucky as hell.”
She was confused. “Who are they?”
“LAPD’s finest,” he said. “Retired cops who’ve worked dozens of situations like this. They told me they want to serve their new community and keep it safe. Within a couple of hours they helped me establish a command center, and they’re the ones who figured out Tom Boyd. We’re damned glad to have them here, Miz Taylor.”
She nodded. For the first time, she felt a lift of encouragement.
“I know you want to stay by the phone,” he said, looking around the kitchen. “I think you should, too. But you need some help around here. Some support. Is there anyone we can call to stay with you?”
She had no relatives nearby, and few friends. Sandy was on a cruisewith her husband and family. She thought of Jim Hearne, the banker who had always been kind to her, but knew how improper that would seem.
“That woman, Fiona Pritzle, keeps offering to come stay with me,” Monica said. “But I don’t think I want her help.”
Carey agreed. “I’ll ask one of the volunteer investigators to come over, if you don’t mind. We want to cover all the bases. If someone contacts you with a report on your kids, we want to know right away. We want to screen the call. And, if someone has your kids …”
“I don’t mind.”
“His name is Swann. Ex-Sergeant Swann.”
“I know him,” Monica said dully.
“Yes, he told me that. He wanted me to ask you if you minded if it was he.”
She thought of Swann’s kind face and manner, his sonorous voice. He had been obscure, though, and so set in his ways. She felt he was always watching her as a cop watched a subject, not the way a man watched a woman.
“It’s okay,” she said. “He’s a clean freak. Very organized. He’ll probably help me out with all of this.”
The sheriff snorted and reached out his hand.
“We’ll do our best to find your kids, Miz Taylor. I’ll ask Mr. Swann to bring you something to eat. I’ll call the doctor to come by again as well.”
Saturday, 10:14 A.M.
S ORRY TO KEEP you waiting,” Jim Hearne said to Eduardo Villatoro as he slipped back behind his desk. “That was a local rancher. A friend of mine. A good man.”
Villatoro settled into the chair the rancher had just used, his briefcase on his knees. He watched as Hearne gathered up a thick file with the name RAWLINS on the tab and put it on the credenza behind him. Digging in his breast pocket for a card, he leaned forward and handed it to Hearne.
Hearne read it, a glimpse of recognition in his clear blue eyes. “Detective Villatoro of the Arcadia, California, Police Department, now I remember. You called and asked for a meeting a few weeks ago. All the way from Southern California.”
“Thank you for meeting with me. I’ve retired from the department since then.”
“Congratulations,” Hearne said, his face showing what he was thinking, that the meeting wasn’t official after all but of a personal nature. And maybe a waste of Hearne’s
Similar Books
