sweeps month, interviewing a killer behind bars who seemed a reasonable suspect.
“But clearly Mark wasn’t kidnapped,” I said to the Post family.
“In retrospect, yes,” Roderick agreed. “But how were we to know? Waiting seemed prudent. Action seemed rash.”
“Even if he had been taken for ransom, wouldn’t you still want help from the police?”
He explained, as casually as if discussing health-care coverage or automobile-insurance deductibles, that their family had kidnap insurance on his mother, his younger sister, and himself.
“If we had received a ransom demand for Mark, our insurance carrier would have first contacted a private security team with experience in such matters. They would have made the decision when to coordinate with local law enforcement.”
While the Posts didn’t typically reveal that kind of information to strangers, preparation for such financial emergencies wasn’t unusual in their social circle. Roderick’s future brother-in-law would have eventually been added to the family insurance policy. Now that wasn’t necessary.
Roderick seemed more comfortable socially than the other members of his family, yet he deferred to Vivian several times during my visit. His conversation was more relaxed, but he also had less personal stake in the outcome of my investigation than did his sister. That might make him a better source to cultivate.
His mother mentioned that he supervised the Family Foundation. I murmured my admiration for the charitable work done by their organization. He was explaining the political challenges of philanthropy when Madeline suddenly entered the room and the conversation.
“What’s going on?” She clearly wasn’t expecting to find company, particularly not me.
“You remember Riley Spartz from Channel 3,” Roderick said.
Of course she does, I almost blurted out. We just met the other day. You don’t have to treat her like a child. But I kept my mouth shut, except for hello, and let Roderick spin our meeting however he wished.
“Well, Mother and I wanted to discuss Riley’s television story regarding Mark and see if we could lend some assistance.”
“It’s good to see you again, Madeline,” I said.
Madeline seemed confused to find me chatting amiably with her mother and brother. Maybe even a touch peeved. Maybe even a bit suspicious. I stood up on the pretense of stretching, but really stepped aside to give them some personal space.
While Vivian and Roderick, in whispers, assured Madeline they weren’t plotting behind her back and only had her best interests at heart, I admired a wall display of antique photographs of their ancestors. The pictures weren’t the usual boring family head shots but, rather, adventurous poses on moose hunts, African safaris, and deep-sea fishing expeditions.
A glass case held an odd collection of weapons: old guns that looked like they couldn’t fire anymore, knives with feathers on the handles, and ornately carved mallets. Some of the pieces seemed to be from the Old West, others from more exotic locales. I was curious about their history, but before I could inquire, Mrs. Post called for us all to sit down and visit.
It was one of those uncomfortable moments where we all looked at one another but no one said anything. Sort of like a holiday dinner with bothersome in-laws. To help defuse the familial tension, I remarked how nice it was to have both the bride’s and groom’s sides cooperating with my investigation.
“What do you mean?” Madeline asked.
So I explained about Mark’s mother also being on board for the story and how she gave me his laptop and was going to let me dig through his belongings for possible leads into why and how her only son vanished. I remember thinking that bit of news should also ensure the Post family’s continued assistance.
All three Posts smiled. Madeline, gratefully. Vivian, nervously. Roderick, skeptically. For a brief flash, they reminded me of the trio of monkeys who
“But clearly Mark wasn’t kidnapped,” I said to the Post family.
“In retrospect, yes,” Roderick agreed. “But how were we to know? Waiting seemed prudent. Action seemed rash.”
“Even if he had been taken for ransom, wouldn’t you still want help from the police?”
He explained, as casually as if discussing health-care coverage or automobile-insurance deductibles, that their family had kidnap insurance on his mother, his younger sister, and himself.
“If we had received a ransom demand for Mark, our insurance carrier would have first contacted a private security team with experience in such matters. They would have made the decision when to coordinate with local law enforcement.”
While the Posts didn’t typically reveal that kind of information to strangers, preparation for such financial emergencies wasn’t unusual in their social circle. Roderick’s future brother-in-law would have eventually been added to the family insurance policy. Now that wasn’t necessary.
Roderick seemed more comfortable socially than the other members of his family, yet he deferred to Vivian several times during my visit. His conversation was more relaxed, but he also had less personal stake in the outcome of my investigation than did his sister. That might make him a better source to cultivate.
His mother mentioned that he supervised the Family Foundation. I murmured my admiration for the charitable work done by their organization. He was explaining the political challenges of philanthropy when Madeline suddenly entered the room and the conversation.
“What’s going on?” She clearly wasn’t expecting to find company, particularly not me.
“You remember Riley Spartz from Channel 3,” Roderick said.
Of course she does, I almost blurted out. We just met the other day. You don’t have to treat her like a child. But I kept my mouth shut, except for hello, and let Roderick spin our meeting however he wished.
“Well, Mother and I wanted to discuss Riley’s television story regarding Mark and see if we could lend some assistance.”
“It’s good to see you again, Madeline,” I said.
Madeline seemed confused to find me chatting amiably with her mother and brother. Maybe even a touch peeved. Maybe even a bit suspicious. I stood up on the pretense of stretching, but really stepped aside to give them some personal space.
While Vivian and Roderick, in whispers, assured Madeline they weren’t plotting behind her back and only had her best interests at heart, I admired a wall display of antique photographs of their ancestors. The pictures weren’t the usual boring family head shots but, rather, adventurous poses on moose hunts, African safaris, and deep-sea fishing expeditions.
A glass case held an odd collection of weapons: old guns that looked like they couldn’t fire anymore, knives with feathers on the handles, and ornately carved mallets. Some of the pieces seemed to be from the Old West, others from more exotic locales. I was curious about their history, but before I could inquire, Mrs. Post called for us all to sit down and visit.
It was one of those uncomfortable moments where we all looked at one another but no one said anything. Sort of like a holiday dinner with bothersome in-laws. To help defuse the familial tension, I remarked how nice it was to have both the bride’s and groom’s sides cooperating with my investigation.
“What do you mean?” Madeline asked.
So I explained about Mark’s mother also being on board for the story and how she gave me his laptop and was going to let me dig through his belongings for possible leads into why and how her only son vanished. I remember thinking that bit of news should also ensure the Post family’s continued assistance.
All three Posts smiled. Madeline, gratefully. Vivian, nervously. Roderick, skeptically. For a brief flash, they reminded me of the trio of monkeys who
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