Forever Man (8 page)

“Natalie was—
is
—my best friend. We were at a dance together. The other night. She was supposed to come over to my house after it was done, but she ended up here with Jimmy.”

“So you weren’t with her when…?”

“No. J.J. and I went back to my house instead.”

“J.J.?”

“My boyfriend. Jack Sallinen, Jr.”

Mr. Owens eyes searched the crowd of volunteers. “Which one of these young men is your boyfriend?”

“He isn’t here,” she said. “His dad wouldn’t let him help.”

“Isn’t that a little odd?”

“Not if you knew his father. Mr. Sallinen can be controlling. And, occasionally, pretty mean.”

“That’s unfortunate. His mother didn’t have a say?”

Katie shook her head. “Divorced. His mom lives down state, in Grand Rapids. Because of the distance, he only sees her every few months.” She grimaced. “I think it’s more because she doesn’t want to see her ex.”

“Another shame,” he said. “It must be hard for the young man, having only him and his father. This J.J.’s lucky to have you.”

“Oh, he’s not alone,” Katie replied. “J.J. has a brother. He’s only eight, but he’s real sweet. Has some rare form of autism. Von…something.”

“Kliner’s?” Mr. Owens supplied.

“Yeah,” Katie said, her eyebrows drawing together. “Von Kliner’s syndrome. But how…?”

The man shrugged. “I must have read about it somewhere, and the name stuck. You have to admit, it’s pretty unusual.”

“That’d be an awfully strange coincidence.” She was feeling cold now, in the pit of her stomach, and she didn’t think it was due to the weather. “No, I think there’s more to it. The way you came up with that name. It was fast—almost like you were expecting to hear it.”

Mr. Owens was quiet for a moment. Then: “Sounds like you’re the one stretching coincidence.”

Katie brushed a strand of hair from her face. Here was a stranger, someone who came out to help search for a girl he’d never met, and he also happened to know about an obscure autistic illness. That cold feeling was spreading to her knees, making her feel weak. “You know, I think I should get back to the search.”

“Wait,” Mr. Owens said, his hands held up, his palms out. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Also…I have to apologize. I’m afraid I wasn’t completely honest with you. A friend of mine, someone dear to me, had von Kliner’s syndrome.” His shoulders dropped, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “That’s how I knew the name.”

“Right,” she said and started to back away. “And the dog ate my homework. Now, if you don’t mind—”

“Please,” Mr. Owens said. “I’m telling the truth.”

Katie paused. “All right, then why lie about it? Why not tell me about him from the start?”

“
Her
name was Jesse. And talking about her is painful.”

“Was? You mean—she’s dead?”

Mr. Owens nodded. “Some years ago.”

“Did she die young?”

“When you get to be my age, everyone seems young. But yes, she died far too soon. It was tragic.”

She could hear the sorrow in his voice and was inclined to believe him. Then a thought occurred to her. “It’s Jesse, isn’t it? She’s the reason you’re here.”

Mr. Owens eyes widened slightly, as if her question had surprised him. “What do you mean?”

Katie tried to pull her thoughts together. “Maybe Natalie’s situation is similar to this Jesse’s—enough that it brought out some feelings in you.” Enough that he wanted to help with the search. “By helping now, you’re helping your friend—or her memory, I guess.” She made a vague, frustrated gesture with her hands. “Oh, I don’t know what I mean.”

The man’s smile returned. “You’re a remarkable girl, Katie.”

Katie could feel her face grow warm at the compliment. “Not really. All it takes is a little thought.”

“A little thought is a rare thing nowadays,” he said. “But, I think you’re right. We should continue with the search.” He gestured to the handkerchief. “You can keep that, if you like.”

She looked down at the white cloth gripped tightly in her fists. She forced her fingers to relax and stuffed the handkerchief into her pocket.

“Thank you,” Katie replied. “And thank you for helping today.”

Mr. Owens raised his hand as if he were tipping an invisible hat, a gesture Katie found curiously out-of-date.

“My pleasure,” he said. “Now, let’s go find your friend.”

It wasn’t until Mr. Owens had walked away that she realized, despite their long conversation, she still knew next to nothing about him.

He had avoided answering most of her questions.

Izzy Morris zipped up her black police jacket, closing it against the chill breeze from the northwest. Still, she shivered as she watched the wind carry an oak leaf along the ground, a tiny, fragile hand tumbling, spinning, cartwheeling, waving goodbye.

I refuse to say goodbye, she thought. Even if I have to cut down every tree between here and Black Pine Lake, I will not lose you, Natalie. I promise.

But God, it was so hard.

Several yards down the trail, Gene Vincent emerged from the woods, brushing leaves and pine needles from his pant legs. He made his way over to her, his limp more pronounced than earlier. Instead of showing his usual lopsided grin, his face was drawn tight with worry.

“Any luck?” he asked, giving her a quick hug.

Izzy shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. There has to be
some
sign of where she went. I mean, she sure as hell didn’t fly away.”

“No, she didn’t,” he said. “Which means something will turn up. Give it enough time. Let these people finish their search.”

“You’re not hearing me, Gene.” She lowered her voice, forcing him to lean toward her. “We found Natalie’s blood on a tree branch, and there was some on the ground under it. But the blood, it’s just…there. We can’t find any trace of it leading off in any direction. How is that possible? How can a person be bleeding and not leave a
goddamn blood trail
?”

“Calm down,” Gene said, not unkindly. “I don’t have an answer. Besides, you’re the cop, not me.”

“A lot of good that’s done me,” she replied. Nat had been missing for almost thirty-six hours now, and she still had no idea what had happened or where her daughter was.

“Don’t start second guessing yourself. You’re an excellent cop, Izzy. Keep doing your job and you’ll find her.”

“I wish I had your confidence in me.”

“Stop it,” he said. “You’re starting to sound like the old Izzy.”

The old Izzy. By which, Gene meant the young Izzy—the teenager who had been consumed with doubts about herself, always feeling inadequate, inferior. Those feelings had pushed her to excel at everything she did, with little regard given to the feelings of others. That kind of attitude had quickly alienated the other kids, except for two: the thin, somewhat nerdy brainiac who would later become her husband, and the larger, more athletic boy with the funny rock-’n’-roll name.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She nodded toward the black man who’d been talking with Katie Bethel. “Who is that guy?”

Gene turned and saw Bart Owens stepping over a small deadfall. “He’s the musician I hired to play at the Lula.” He filled her in on what little he knew about Owens.

“So what’s he doing
here
?” Izzy asked.

“Said he wanted to help with the search.” He paused. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Izzy said, staring at Owens. “You did the right thing.” The man had gotten her attention because she knew some criminals liked to revisit their crime scenes. They got off on watching the police trying to catch them. But to the best of her knowledge, none had ever been this bold about it.

“By the way,” Gene said, interrupting her thoughts. “I had some trouble with Denny and Chet last night.” He told her about what had happened and about Denny’s racial slur.

Izzy’s eyes drifted over to Denny Cain, who was crouched behind the tree where they had found Nat’s blood, his hands carefully sweeping aside leaves and sticks. Stanley’s assistant manager and the father of the late Jimmy Cain had been given bereavement time from work. In fact, she had been surprised when he’d shown up this morning to help with the search.

Izzy looked back at Gene. “He really said that, huh?”

“Yup, though I shouldn’t have been too surprised. We don’t have much pepper mixed in with the salt up here.”

“You grew up here,” she said. “You know how people in these rural Upper towns are.”

Gene shrugged. “Doesn’t make it right. Anyway, after he said it, I gave him and Chet the boot.”

“You didn’t let them drive, did you?”

He gave her a flat look. “You know me better than that. Denny came by the Lula early this morning for his keys. Apologized for being a jerk. As far as I’m concerned, we’re good. Hell, he even helped clean the place up while I went to make the morning deposit.” Gene frowned. “I never thought to ask him how he got home. Or back to the Lula.”

“What about Chet? He ever come by for his keys?”

“Not that I know of.”

Izzy thought for a moment, then gave a mental shrug. Right now, she had bigger problems to deal with than Denny and Chet. “I want to get back to Mr. Owens for a moment. You say he’s from Nashville?”

“So the man told me.”

“Do you know for a fact that he came from Nashville?”

Gene frowned, as if the question had caught him off guard.

Izzy didn’t wait for an answer. “And do you know
when
he got into town?”

“Well,” Gene said. “He walked into the Lula around three yesterday. I kind of assumed….”

“So you really don’t know where he’s from or when he got here?”

“No,” he admitted, a bit sheepishly. “I guess not.”

She pulled out a small notepad and began jotting down notes.

“Wait a minute,” Gene said, putting a hand on her arm. “You think Owens might have something to do with this?”

Glancing up from her notepad, she said, “Can you prove to me he doesn’t?”

“Well…no, of course not. But I heard Jimmy was torn open, his ribcage ripped out. Owens doesn’t look big enough to do that kind of damage.”

“No, he doesn’t. But he
is
new in town. That alone means he gets a closer look.”

There was a commotion, some raised voices. And then Detective Sten Billick came storming out from behind a copse of alders. He was dragging Stanley Morris by the arm.

Red faced, Stanley yelled, “Get your fucking hand off me, you fuck!”

Sten kept his rock-like grip on Stanley’s arm, half-dragging him along the trail until they’d reached Izzy and Gene. Then Sten released Izzy’s husband, but not until after he’d given the pharmacist a shove that almost sent him tumbling to the ground.

Izzy rushed forward and caught Stanley before he fell.

“Give it back!” Stanley shouted as he struggled to get around her and charge at Sten. “Give it back, asshole!”

Izzy got both hands on her husband’s chest. Gene stepped up and grabbed one of Stanley’s arms. Denny had come to stand near them, his face pulled into a curious frown. Bob Talbert was hurrying up the trail, drawn by the noise.

“
Give it back!
” Stanley shouted, spittle flying from his lips.

“Stanley!” she shouted back. “Stop it! That’s enough!”

Her husband let out a hiccupping cough, which evolved into a rattling breath. “He stole it from me.” He was pointing at Sten. “Make him give it back.”

She kept a restraining hand on Stanley’s chest and turned to face Sten. “What’s he talking about?”

Sten reached under his jacket and removed a gun from his waistband, a nickel-plated .38 Smith & Wesson with sandalwood grips.

“He was carrying this,” Sten said, lifting the revolver. “I noticed the bulge in his jacket pocket.”

Izzy stared at the gun, not sure if she should believe what she was seeing. But there was no denying it.

Turning back to her husband, she said, “You took one of my guns?”

Stanley glared at Sten, then shifted his attention to her. “After what happened, do you think I’d set foot in these woods unarmed?”

“We have
kids
out here,” she said, stunned at his lack of forethought. “What if you had mistaken one for an animal and opened fire?”

Stanley’s mouth twisted, his face turning scarlet. “I know the difference between a bear and a person. I’m not an idiot.”

Izzy gaped at him. He’d been a hunter for years, knew damn well how many people were killed in shooting accidents.

Before she could tell him exactly that, Katie Bethel called out her name.

“Chief Morris! Over here! I think I found something.”

The girl stood near the tree where Natalie’s blood had been found.

“We’ll deal with this later,” Izzy told Stanley and Sten.

Sten placed the gun in his pocket. “You’ll get this back, Dr. Morris.
After
the search is finished.”

Stanley looked like he was going to protest again. He opened his mouth.

Before he could speak, Izzy said, “You heard him. After the search.”

Fury smoldered in her husband’s eyes. She’d essentially pulled rank on him, and he hated it. She tensed, ready for another verbal assault. But then, with a final, resentful glare, Stanley shut his mouth. Rubbing absently at his chest, he mumbled, “Sure. Whatever.”

Izzy let out a sigh, and Gene let go of his friend’s arm. Stanley pushed past them and started walking toward Katie Bethel. Izzy hurried after him, followed by the others.

“Whatever it is,” Izzy called out, “don’t touch it.”

Katie nodded, pointing to something on the ground. Izzy crouched down. There, nestled among the leaves and twigs, was a piece of dark plastic a little larger than the tip of her thumb. Roughly triangular, it looked thicker at the base, and there were corrugated marks like crosshatches along the wider bottom. Izzy could see swirls of light brown within the black plastic; it looked like creamer being stirred into coffee.

“Bob, get some pictures of this,” Izzy said to Sgt. Talbert, her heart racing.

Bob Talbert set down an orange evidence marker and then snapped several photos from various angles. After he was finished, Izzy donned a pair of latex gloves and picked up the piece of plastic.