Chained Guilt (Hidden Guilt (Detective Series) Book 1) (7 page)

              Being a fifteen-year-veteran officer, I had worked hundreds of accidents, but I’d never approached one knowing it involved one of my loved ones. It gave me an odd, eerie feeling that made me sick to my stomach.

              “Are you sure you can handle this, David?”

              “Just drive,” I snapped back. “I don’t have a choice.”

              The uneasiness in my stomach grew more intense. My head rang and hundreds of thoughts clouded my mind. As we approached the crashed vehicle, I held my emotions in check. I couldn’t fall prey to my fear or I’d be useless. It took me a second to get out of the vehicle, and when I finally did, I had to force down the trembling that sought to overcome me. Wilcrest stood by my side, but I remained stoic, tough as it was. I wanted to wail in anguish, to shout my fury into the night, but I couldn’t. When the officers and emergency crew noticed my presence, a somber mood fell over the rain-soaked group. No one spoke.

              Captain Wilcrest had never had a reason to think I might do something irrational, but he watched me cautiously. I knew what he was thinking. I had never been in this position before. He knew stress affected people differently, and I had to be emotionally drained; he was right. Usually, I was the one assessing people in this manner.

              Captain Wilcrest spoke to me. “David, we’re doing everything we can and then some.”

              He placed a hand on my shoulder in assurance, but I didn’t respond. I just looked at the railing, bent and battered where Miranda’s car had crashed into it. Then I started diagnosing the scene as a police officer rather than a husband.

              “We’ll probably be able to get a clearer picture of what happened when we get some daylight behind us,” the captain continued. “You know how these things work, David.”

              As calmly as I could, I spoke. “I know who’s behind this. He would do anything to protect his reputation. My initial hunch back at the house had been to pin this on our child killer. But he’d have no reason to kidnap Miranda, other than to terrorize me. Carter, on the other hand . . . . If he’d found out about Miranda’s report, he had every reason to want—to need—her gone.”

              “Everyone loves her; you know that,” the captain said. “Use your head. We’re proceeding to process the scene, but it may take some time.”

              I just stared at him. “Captain, do we have divers in the channel?”  My voice sounded wooden, even to me. I could tell Captain Wilcrest didn’t want to say anything to upset me any further. He thought long and hard before he responded.

              “David, as your boss, I can’t let you do anything that would put your life or the lives of other officers in jeopardy. As your friend, I understand your wanting to dive right in with a flashlight and begin looking around. But I think deep down we both know there’s not much we can do down there right now.”

              “There is plenty I can do right now,” I disagreed. “I’m going to find that asshole Carter and put two in his head.”

              “Carter? The mayor?” Wilcrest said in surprise. “David, be reasonable.  I know you two have your differences, but to suggest that he’d murder . . .  I don’t like the man either, but I doubt he’s capable—”

              “Miranda was doing a special. This stays between me and you. She was almost done with it, and she said heads would roll. Guess whose name was at the top of the list?”

              “What kind of investigation? I mean, on what grounds? What do you know?”

              “Nothing. I don’t know anything specific. She wanted it to be a surprise to me and everyone else, but I know he was the head honcho. I also know she was finishing it up tonight, and it was due to air tomorrow.”

              “David, don’t hold out on me here. If you know something, spill it!” He frowned. "If Carter was behind this, how do you explain the note?”

              “Like I said, Cap, I don’t have anything concrete, but she’d spent a year on this and said jobs would be lost and jail time might be issued. Other than that, I don’t know. I asked her several times for a hint, but she wouldn’t budge. Carter is smart. He watches the news; he hears the chatter. This would be a perfect chance to get rid of her and make it look like this child killer is behind it. Remember our serial has been targeting kids.”

              The other officers were diagnosing the scene as we talked, measuring the length of the skid marks leading toward the railing. I glared at those telltale black marks. What had made Miranda lose control? They had already searched her car, looking for anything that might have fallen from her hands and caused her to take her eyes off the road. They’d found nothing.

              As I turned my attention back to the captain, an officer approached us.

              “David, we have reason to believe there may have been another car here. We’ve spotted a second set of fresh skid marks about twenty feet down the road. Maybe somebody stopped to help and then left. Maybe they took Miranda to a hospital or something. So far, we’ve not located any Jane Does at nearby hospitals, but we’re still checking.”

              “Cap, you know what I need right now,” I said. “Get these guys back so I can work.”

              A few minutes later, Wilcrest and I stood alone on the scene, just as I liked and needed. I turned to the captain.  “Let’s do it.”

              “David, are you sure?”

              Without validating his question, I began. “Tire skids indicate the vehicle came in fast after the crash. Anticipatory. Small car, probably a four-door. The rain has washed away the tire tracks, or I’d be able to tell you what kind. I don’t know how this asshole planned it so perfectly, but the rain has effectively obliterated most of the evidence.”

              Minutes turned into hours. With each second, I grew increasingly impatient and less hopeful of finding Miranda alive somewhere below the crash site. People had survived this kind of thing before, but the condition of Miranda’s car meant she had been traveling at a high rate of speed. Probably hurrying home to see me after the late night at work. I’d made her feel guilty by saying I might fall asleep waiting for her. Now, as fate would have it, I was wide awake, still waiting for her arrival.

10

As daylight approached, additional officers flooded the scene in an increased effort to find my wife. She was well liked and respected by my colleagues. Several had left for the night, but once word got around, they returned. I could tell they were pouring everything they had into finding Miranda.

              I sat down on a rock, took my cell phone from my pocket, and decided to call my daughters to reassure them that the entire force was out looking for their mother. The house phone rang and rang—a hundred times, it seemed—before my youngest daughter answered the phone.

              “Karen?”

              “Daddy, did you find Mommy yet?”

              “No, sugar, not yet. Daddy is still looking. I just wanted to check in on you guys.” 

              A long silence ensued. Then I heard a dull thud as the receiver dropped to the hardwood floor. I listened to the heart-wrenching sounds of my daughter’s sobs. I had never felt so helpless in my entire life. I could do nothing but listen to her cries and wait until she’d recovered enough to pick up the phone again. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited. Finally, I heard her scratchy voice.

              “Daddy . . . are you still there, Daddy?”

              Swallowing hard, I choked back my emotions and forced myself to sound calm. “Karen, honey, please tell your sister I called. Don’t give up. I promised you I would find Mommy and I will. I love you.”

              “I love you too, Daddy,” she whispered. She sounded like she was about to cry again.

              “I have to go back to work now, honey. You be a good girl for Daddy, okay?”

              “Yes, Daddy. You go look for Mommy.”

              I stuffed my phone back in my pocket and looked around.  Daylight had arrived. It was supposed to be in the low seventies today with no wind. It would be a gorgeous Texas morning, boasting an orange-sherbet sunrise, but for the fact that my wife was out there somewhere. I had to find her.

              The scene overflowed with officers and the media. Some of Miranda’s coworkers had also arrived, including her boss, who offered to help in any way possible.

              As we talked, I spotted Wilcrest walking in my direction. I thanked Miranda’s boss and met the captain half way.

              “David, we need to talk.”

              I followed my boss a short distance away. He pointed toward a cluster of smeared footprints near the side of the road.

              “It looks like a car could have been here on the side of the road before Miranda approached. We can now see a trail of spots where traffic cones had been placed. Maybe someone was faking car trouble and put out the cones to divert her attention. Maybe a light was flashed at her car, or maybe someone stepped out in front of her to flag her down. We don’t know. Miranda has the biggest heart in the world. You know she would have stopped if she thought someone needed help. What we do know is the cones are gone. We checked with the city, and they said no work was being done on this section of road last night. We’ve been scanning the lake all morning. Nothing. No jewelry, no clothing, no reason for us to believe she went into the water. We’re treating this as a kidnapping now, David. We definitely believe foul play was involved. Is there anyone—?”

              I knew where Wilcrest’s next words were going. “No.  No one. She has no enemies.” The harshness of my tone registered on Wilcrest’s face.

              “Obviously she does.”

              I frowned. He was right. “Only John Carter would have done this,” I said, my calm voice belying my raging emotions.

              “You mean the investigation we talked about last night?  Do you really believe Carter is behind this?”

              “Like I said, I have nothing concrete,” I told him. “As far as I know, the story was still under wraps, but I suppose she’d been snooping around and asking questions. Still, I don’t think anyone had put it all together. She was careful not to let that happen. That’s one reason why the project took so long. She spaced out interviews and file searches weeks apart to try to keep suspicion down.”

              Wilcrest nodded. “You may have something there. But be careful and tread lightly. If Carter is behind this and thinks we’re on to him, any trail you might have picked up will vanish.”

              I had to think like a cop now and not a husband. I wondered about the details of the story Miranda was working on.  Maybe someone had caught wind of her investigation, and Carter indeed wanted to silence her.

              Wilcrest told me I should go home and be with my girls; there was nothing else I could do at the scene. I hated to agree with him, but he was right. My adrenaline drained, I felt fatigued from head to toe, both mentally and physically.

              Wilcrest signaled for an officer to drive me home. I rode the entire way in silence. As we pulled up to the house, I saw Karen sitting in the living room window, her elbows perched on the sill. She flung open the front door and raced toward me as I scrambled from the police car.

              We were all devastated, and I knew my little girl didn’t understand what was happening. Neither of us said a word. I held my crying daughter close and tried my best to comfort her. I happened to look at the upstairs windows and caught a glimpse of Hilary staring down at us. When I made eye contact with her, I was stunned by what I saw in her gaze. It wasn’t the pain or sorrow I expected, but a look of anger and hatred. Then Hilary stepped away from the window, and the curtains fluttered back into place.

              I knew the coming days and weeks would be tough, especially if Miranda wasn’t found. Or worse . . .  

11

I lifted Karen into my arms and headed inside. The officer who’d dropped me off had asked if he could do anything for me, but I’d waved him off.  I sat Karen down on the living room couch and told her to stay put while I went upstairs to get her sister. I knew Hilary was angry and upset, but we needed to talk. I knocked once and opened the door without waiting for her reply. Her room gave me an eerie feeling. Her posters of Madonna, Kid Rock, and various other musicians almost came to life—like they were staring at me, ashamed of me. As usual it was a pigsty, with books, magazines, and clothes strewn everywhere. She sat on the edge of her bed, her back to the door. I walked over to her and sat down on the bed—not too close, but close enough to reach out to her if she wished it. I watched a tear trickle down her cheek.