rattled it off. He’d called there a few times recently. Jackson asked for the manager, then held his hand over the mouthpiece. “Go get us some coffee. Bobbie always brews some of the good stuff about this time of day.”
Eric knew the front desk clerk well. He’d spent a lot of time on the phone with her over the years. She always brought her own fresh-ground coffee to work and charged fifty cents a cup for it.
“Hey, Eric, good to see you.” Bobbie filled two ceramic mugs with coffee.
“Thanks, Bobbie. You remembered how much I hate Styrofoam.”
“It hasn’t been that long. Besides, you’re the only one who brings my mugs back.” Her phone rang, so he headed back to the Violent Crimes area.
Jackson was keying information into his computer. “You’re right. They haven’t seen or heard from her.”
“What now?”
“You should fill out a missing persons report, but don’t get your hopes up. We’re understaffed and underfunded as usual.” Jackson looked up. “People do a lot of strange things after they’ve been victimized. It’s called post traumatic shock syndrome. Why don’t you ask around some more, talk to her friends? I’ll bet she’s hiding somewhere, licking her wounds.”
“What if I’m right? She could be dead before you decide to do anything.” Eric was almost shouting now.
Jackson looked a little hurt. “We’ll do what we can. Think about it. Why would anyone kidnap her? Is her mother rich? Has there been a ransom demand?”
“People get kidnapped for other reasons than money.”
Neither of them wanted to speak about such horrors out loud.
Finally, Jackson said, “File a missing persons report. I’ll ask for the case.”
The phone rang, and the detective picked it up. He listened for a moment, then responded in an excited voice. “What’s the address again?” Jackson scribbled something, then slammed down the phone. “Let’s go, Schak! I’ve got a lead on the clown and the cowboy.”
Schakowski jumped up and grabbed his jacket all in one motion. The two detectives bolted from the room. Eric decided to follow in his car. The clown and the cowboy had robbed Jenna. Maybe they had kidnapped her too.
Chapter 10
Monday, Oct. 30, 8:45 a.m.
Reverend Carmichael kept his morning service short. He had more important things on his mind today than leading his congregation. He figured by setting a good example and providing an ideal environment, he made it possible for them to live a spiritual life without heavy-handed guidance. For the next week or so they would be in God’s hands while he kept a close watch on Jenna. As anxious as he was to get down to the clinic, Carmichael felt compelled to stick to his morning routine so he wouldn’t arouse any curiosity.
Usually he was up at six, followed by an hour of Bible reading and prayer. Then breakfast at seven in the dining hall crowded with rough wooden picnic tables, amidst the women and children who gathered around to ask questions, present him with homemade gifts, or simply enjoy his company for the few minutes that they could. Morning service was held at eight in the chapel. Attendance was not required, but few ever missed it. He had noticed Rebecca’s absence for the second day in a row and decided to make time to see her. Perhaps her pregnancy was giving her morning difficulties. Some women seemed to suffer horribly while carrying out the Lord’s work, and others never had a sick day. It was the one aspect of pregnancy he had never been able to diagnose or properly control.
Morning chores were next. A rotation chart was posted in the main hallway and, even though his name was not on it, Carmichael always did his share. Today he went with Faith and the crew into the fields to pick the last of the second potato crop. Anyone who wanted to eat had to help gather and prepare food. It was the way he was raised. There were no exceptions. Even his father, who never did a single other household chore, would slice
Eric knew the front desk clerk well. He’d spent a lot of time on the phone with her over the years. She always brought her own fresh-ground coffee to work and charged fifty cents a cup for it.
“Hey, Eric, good to see you.” Bobbie filled two ceramic mugs with coffee.
“Thanks, Bobbie. You remembered how much I hate Styrofoam.”
“It hasn’t been that long. Besides, you’re the only one who brings my mugs back.” Her phone rang, so he headed back to the Violent Crimes area.
Jackson was keying information into his computer. “You’re right. They haven’t seen or heard from her.”
“What now?”
“You should fill out a missing persons report, but don’t get your hopes up. We’re understaffed and underfunded as usual.” Jackson looked up. “People do a lot of strange things after they’ve been victimized. It’s called post traumatic shock syndrome. Why don’t you ask around some more, talk to her friends? I’ll bet she’s hiding somewhere, licking her wounds.”
“What if I’m right? She could be dead before you decide to do anything.” Eric was almost shouting now.
Jackson looked a little hurt. “We’ll do what we can. Think about it. Why would anyone kidnap her? Is her mother rich? Has there been a ransom demand?”
“People get kidnapped for other reasons than money.”
Neither of them wanted to speak about such horrors out loud.
Finally, Jackson said, “File a missing persons report. I’ll ask for the case.”
The phone rang, and the detective picked it up. He listened for a moment, then responded in an excited voice. “What’s the address again?” Jackson scribbled something, then slammed down the phone. “Let’s go, Schak! I’ve got a lead on the clown and the cowboy.”
Schakowski jumped up and grabbed his jacket all in one motion. The two detectives bolted from the room. Eric decided to follow in his car. The clown and the cowboy had robbed Jenna. Maybe they had kidnapped her too.
Chapter 10
Monday, Oct. 30, 8:45 a.m.
Reverend Carmichael kept his morning service short. He had more important things on his mind today than leading his congregation. He figured by setting a good example and providing an ideal environment, he made it possible for them to live a spiritual life without heavy-handed guidance. For the next week or so they would be in God’s hands while he kept a close watch on Jenna. As anxious as he was to get down to the clinic, Carmichael felt compelled to stick to his morning routine so he wouldn’t arouse any curiosity.
Usually he was up at six, followed by an hour of Bible reading and prayer. Then breakfast at seven in the dining hall crowded with rough wooden picnic tables, amidst the women and children who gathered around to ask questions, present him with homemade gifts, or simply enjoy his company for the few minutes that they could. Morning service was held at eight in the chapel. Attendance was not required, but few ever missed it. He had noticed Rebecca’s absence for the second day in a row and decided to make time to see her. Perhaps her pregnancy was giving her morning difficulties. Some women seemed to suffer horribly while carrying out the Lord’s work, and others never had a sick day. It was the one aspect of pregnancy he had never been able to diagnose or properly control.
Morning chores were next. A rotation chart was posted in the main hallway and, even though his name was not on it, Carmichael always did his share. Today he went with Faith and the crew into the fields to pick the last of the second potato crop. Anyone who wanted to eat had to help gather and prepare food. It was the way he was raised. There were no exceptions. Even his father, who never did a single other household chore, would slice
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