Chained Guilt (Hidden Guilt (Detective Series) Book 1) (8 page)

              I had offered many words of condolence to hurting families. I had attended funerals, been beside family members as their loves ones died, and yet I found myself at a loss for words for my daughter in her own time of need. I reached out, gently clasped Hilary’s hand, and tugged her off the bed. Then I guided her downstairs. She took a seat beside Karen without saying a word. I sighed and offered them an update.

              “So far, we’ve come up empty-handed. They’re still looking for her, but beyond that, there’s not much I can tell you.”

              I told them where her car had been found. “We really don’t know what happened. Something made her swerve from the road, or maybe she was tired and fell asleep.” I paused. “There’s no sign of her being injured, but there would be no logical reason for her to walk away from the scene.” I shook my head. “We just don’t know.”

              The girls digested what I told them. The awful reality was sinking in; I could see it on their faces. Karen asked me if the lake had been searched. I glanced at her, thinking it was terrible that such a young child could make the connection between the location of her mother’s car and the lake below. I calmly assured her it had also been checked.

              Hilary placed a comforting arm around her little sister’s shoulders while I sat on the coffee table in front of them. I fought back tears as I spoke quietly to my daughters. I had to be strong for them. Anything less was unacceptable.

              When my cell phone rang, my heart leapt with hope. I pulled it from my pocket and glanced at the number. It was Wilcrest. With staggering disappointment, I answered.

              “David, it’s Wilcrest. We did some research on those cones. The city was out here yesterday doing some road work after all. They mentioned leaving a cone behind. That leads us to believe someone or something forced her off the road. We haven’t found anything, but we’re still dragging the lake.”

              I waited for Wilcrest to continue, while my girls stared at me with hope in their eyes. I shook my head.

              “Miranda could have traveled a long way during the night. We have a big search area, David, you know that. You’ve been involved in such searches before, and you know what we’re up against. In the meantime, don’t do anything stupid.”

              “Like what?” I asked. He didn’t reply. I knew what he meant, though. He meant for me to stay away from the mayor. He didn’t have to worry. I wasn’t going to go off half-cocked. I told the captain to keep me updated and ended the call.

              “Did they find her, Daddy?”

              “No, Karen, not yet. They think your mother might have lost control of her car and then walked off.”

              I knew I wasn’t being completely up-front with them. They seemed to know it too—or at least Hilary did. I could tell by the way she looked at me. I knew foul play had been involved, but I wasn’t ready to tell them I suspected she’d been run off the road and maybe dumped into the lake.

              Karen sagged against her big sister, and I moved from the coffee table to sit beside them.  With Karen cushioned between us, I sang softly, as Miranda had when both girls were tiny babies:

              “Hush little baby, don’t you cry. Daddy’s gonna sing you a lullaby.”

              Eventually, the girls fell asleep right there on the couch, huddled together. They had been up the entire night before, hoping and waiting for good news, and they were exhausted.

              I finally left them to their slumber, and stepped into the kitchen. I needed to eat, but my appetite was nonexistent. I stood there, staring blankly into the refrigerator when my phone rang.

Again, my heart went into overdrive. Again, I felt crushing disappointment when I saw the call came from my father-in-law, Tom.

              Earlier, I’d asked Captain Wilcrest to call Miranda’s parents to tell them what had happened and to ask if they knew anything about the project Miranda had been working on. I hadn’t wanted to alarm her parents, but we were grasping at straws, and any lead, from any source, would be vital. 

              My father-in-law and I had never gotten along. Tom thought his daughter could do better than me. Much better, as he bluntly put it.  Miranda had told her father I was the one, and she was in love. I wasn’t ready to hear the words I expected to spew from Tom’s mouth.

              Tom Pete was a successful business man, a Princeton graduate, and a good friend of many local politicians, including John Carter. Miranda’s mother, Grace, had been a housewife her entire life.  Rosa, Miranda’s former nanny, did all the real work, as Grace spent much of her time shopping and gossiping with the other ladies from the country club.

              “Hello, Tom,” I said, my voice subdued.

              “David, I just want you to know we don’t blame you for any of this. Captain Wilcrest called us last night and told us what happened. Unfortunately, Miranda didn’t tell us what she’s been working on these past few months. Apparently it was very hush-hush. I just wanted to let you know we’re leaving now and should arrive later this evening to help with the girls.”

              I felt relieved that they had not found fault with me for Miranda’s accident or disappearance. I blamed myself enough and really didn’t need it from anyone else.

              I thanked Tom and left it at that. I said nothing of my fears regarding who she’d been researching. After all, Tom knew Carter well. And I didn’t mention the scenarios running through my head: Maybe the cone left in the road had caused her to swerve. Maybe it had been placed in her way on purpose. Maybe the nut-job serial had come at me directly, hitting where it would hurt me most. Or maybe Carter had planned the whole thing. Right now there were more questions than answers. 

              We wrapped up the conversation with Tom’s promise to see me in a few hours. I barely made it back to the fridge before my phone rang again.

              “David, we’re pretty certain now that something went down here,” Wilcrest said, getting straight to the point. “We found some blood off the side of the road, near the drainage ditch about twenty yards from the front of Miranda’s car.”

              My heart pounded as I waited with bated breath for him to continue.

              “Looks like a dragging pattern. It’s already begun to seep through the drying soil. There are tire tracks nearby. Maybe she was placed into another vehicle. We’ve already made more calls. Still no Jane Does at any hospitals. Not yet. That doesn’t tell us if she was alive or dea . . .  It doesn’t tell us what state she was in, but you know as well as I do we have to move fast.”

              I knew Wilcrest was right. If we didn’t find Miranda soon, we would probably never see her alive again. My girls needed their mother, and I needed my wife. A wave of grief washed over me, followed by overwhelming guilt and frustration. Who had taken Miranda? I should have been able to find more clues at the scene. Was this guy better than me, or had he done his homework and simply avoided the mistakes other perps had made?

12

I knew what I had to do. The clock was ticking, and if I hoped to find Miranda before it was too late, I had to act now.  It was after midnight, and I knew no one would be at the city’s office downtown. It was highly unlikely any records of wrongdoing would be there, but that’s where I had to begin.

I alerted the security detail out front, pulled my car from the garage, and sped away.  Once downtown, I parked in an alley behind the city building so I could get in and out without being seen. I knew if I got caught, regardless of the circumstances, I risked losing everything I’d worked so hard for. Still, I knew I had to press forward; it was all I had. I sighed, reached into the glove compartment, and shuffled through the papers. I grabbed the small leather case I’d been searching for and slipped it into my back pocket as I climbed from the car. I opened the trunk and reached for the disposable surgical-type gloves we always wore at crime scenes. I slipped on a pair and, with resolve, moved toward the building.

I approached the back door of City Hall, which I knew was not currently equipped with an alarm system. Being a cop, I was privy to such information. John Carter liked to cut corners; I found myself thanking the man, for a change. I pulled the kit from my pants pocket and picked the lock without any trouble.

With a quick glance over my shoulder, I stepped into the hallway. The horrid, black-and-yellow-diamond-patterned linoleum probably dated back to the forties, perhaps even earlier.

I went straight for Carter’s office and picked my way in within seconds.  I was looking for an inconspicuous file cabinet; anything of importance wouldn’t be easily visible. I quickly scanned the room but found nothing. I heard a noise outside the office and froze in place. Had someone seen me enter the building? Had I been followed?

I eased my gun from the holster at my waist and made sure it was ready to fire. I knew if I were caught there would be no talking my way out of breaking and entering. That’s what it would be. Unlawful search. I didn’t have a warrant.  Maybe claiming temporary insanity would work, given the circumstances. Criminals were certainly using that defense just fine.

I crept from Carter’s office and tiptoed down the hall in the direction from which I thought the noise had come. My heart throbbed so hard, I was certain whoever followed me could hear it. It was dark and I couldn’t see a thing. Who was watching me? Carter? I nearly swore out loud when I saw a stray alley cat that had obviously wandered in through the door I’d left ajar.

I went back into Carter’s office to continue my search. I figured I’d try his computer next but, to my dismay, found only a docking station. Carter had a laptop. I grew increasingly frustrated. My chances of finding Miranda dwindled with every passing second. I knew I had to make the boldest move I’d ever made as an officer, possibly a career-ending move, but I had no choice.

I left Carter’s office and City Hall. I climbed back into my car, peeled off the gloves, and tossed them in a dumpster at the end of the street. Determined, I drove to Carter’s estate with one thing in mind—finding answers.

I parked about a mile away from Carter’s gated community. I knew I wouldn’t be able to just drive in. I walked along the fence line until I found a blind spot the security cameras couldn’t see. I was still in fairly decent shape and had always been an above average athlete – the fence wouldn’t be a problem. As soon as I touched down on the other side I noticed a car approaching. I quickly ducked behind a row of bushes narrowly escaping being noticed. As it turned out it was a security car. This clearly wasn’t one of my best plans but I was desperate. About the time I got to  the driveway of Carter’s home, something happened. I snapped. I had never been a rogue cop, but this was different. My plan to get in and find the laptop had gone out the window. I wanted answers, and I wanted them now. I banged on the front door like a madman until Carter appeared. I could hear him on the other side of the door. I figured he was staring thru the peephole trying to figure out who the mad man was banging at his house in the middle of the night. Finally he slowly opened the door.

Carter stood in the doorway wiping the sleep from his eyes. He peered at me and nodded in recognition. Before he could speak, I grabbed him by the throat, drove him backward into the foyer, and slammed him against the wall.

“Where is she?” I demanded . “What did you do to her, you asshole?”

I’d been trained in criminal interrogation strategies as a police officer and in the military. I was skipping a few steps, but, nonetheless, I would find out what I needed to know. Carter wiggled and squirmed and tried to free himself, but I was too strong for him. “Where is my wife, you piece of shit?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carter blustered.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about! What the hell did you do to her?”

“Take your hands off me!” Carter demanded.

The guy had some nerve. It was after two o’clock in the morning; he was being manhandled in his own house, and still had a pompous attitude.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” I said, pressing against his neck with my forearm as a warning. I could choke him or snap his neck instantly, thanks to my military training, but I struggled to remain in control. For Miranda.

“Where is Miranda? I don’t have time to play games with you!”

Carter coughed harshly, eyes wide with fear as he tried, without success, to pull my arm away from his neck. He obviously noted my fury and tried to placate me.

“Look, Porter,” he gasped. “I know we’ve had our differences, but I can see you’re reacting on pure . . . emotion. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“That’s not what I want to hear,” I said. “You have two seconds to tell me where my wife is, or we won’t have differences anymore. I don’t differ with dead men, and you’d just be one less headache for me.”