The Shadow's Edge (2 page)

             
                                                                                   
3

              The pickup was parked in a natural pullover area about five hundred yards past the long turnoff into the old Crandall farm. It struck me as an odd location. If Callie had decided for some reason to walk to the farmhouse she had left herself a long hike back to it for no apparent reason. But the only other farm in sight was at least as far away so it seemed that she
had
done the unlikely.

             
Mystified that she would choose to visit this place I wasn’t yet particularly distressed over the fact.

             
My knock at the door was answered by a disheveled looking young woman in her twenties holding a baby in one arm. Another child, a girl about three years old, stood beside her. “Hello,” the woman said pleasantly. “Can I help you?”

             
“Sorry to bother you,” I responded. “I’m looking for my wife. I see her pickup is parked just up the road a bit.” I pointed in the truck’s general direction. “I assumed she must have stopped here for some reason.”

             
The woman’s eyes went wide in wonder as she peered in the direction I had indicated. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry, she didn’t stop in here. I haven’t seen anyone all day.”

             
The only other possibility now appeared to be that Callie had been picked up by someone. But why on earth would she choose this location to meet? And what possible explanation could there be for her leaving her vehicle way out here?

             
“I wonder if I could ask a favor of you, ma’am?” I said.

             
“Yes?” I could tell by the look on her face that she was hoping I wasn’t going to ask to be allowed entry. Way out here, on her own with two little kids, she would be understandably reluctant to allow a complete stranger into her home.

             
“If I left you a phone number, could you phone and let us know if you happen to notice anyone come back for that truck?”

             
“Sure,” she said, relieved. “I could do that.”

             
“Thank you.”

             
I dug a small notepad and pencil from my shirt pocket and scratched out a note for her. When she saw Miles’ name she looked at me questioningly. “Is this Miles and Betty Wilson’s number?” she asked.

             
“Yes, ma’am.”

             
“So, it’s Callie you’re looking for?”

             
“Yes, again,” I answered.

             
“Then … you’re Jack Parmenter.” When she completed the statement her voice was very low, like she was suddenly aware she was in the presence of someone very dangerous.

             
“I’m Callie’s husband,” I confirmed.

             
I half expected her to slam the door on me and throw the bolt for safe measure but she surprised me by saying, “I’m very sorry for all the pain and heartache you’ve experienced in your life, Mr. Parmenter. I know there are those who would never forgive what you did but, being a mother of young children, I think I can understand how someone could be driven to … well, you know.”

             
“I appreciate your kindness,” I said, lingering through an uncomfortable silence. “Well, I’ll be going now.”

             
“Goodbye,” she said. She stood in the doorway and watched as I climbed back in the Chevette. She waived shyly when I pulled away.

             
When I drove back out onto Thornhill Road I pulled up behind the pickup again. I got out and had another look around. Beside the fact that Callie had come out here and apparently decided to abandon her vehicle, two things struck me as odd. First, the keys were in the ignition. And second, there was some loose dirt on the road a couple of feet from the pickup’s driver’s side door. These facts did not necessarily mean much but it did cross my mind that leaving the keys behind might be consistent with someone leaving their vehicle in haste. As in an abduction.

             
I opened the door and slid in behind the wheel, putting the seat back a few inches to accommodate my height. I looked around to see if there was a note of any kind but found nothing. I started the motor and checked the gas gauge. She didn’t appear to have had engine trouble.

             
I didn’t feel right about leaving the vehicle unprotected this way but neither did I want to make it impossible for Callie to gain access if she returned. So I scratched out another note, telling her I had the keys and she should go to the old Crandall place and phone Miles’ number. We’d come right out and get her. I folded the note and put it on the little lip in front of the speedometer where she’d be sure to see it once she got in.

             
I drove back to town and pulled up at the diner. To the left of the entryway there was a public telephone that I used to call Miles. I asked if there had been any word on Callie. He told me there hadn’t been. I filled him in on what I had found and then said I was going to report her as missing to the local police. Miles told me the chief’s name was Kyle Jessup and I got the feeling by the way he said his name that Miles didn’t have any great respect for the man. When I hung up I went into the diner and found Kat relaxing in one of the booths, thumbing idly through a fashion magazine. There was nobody else in the place at the moment, the lunch crowd having just evacuated. I handed her the keys to her car along with two twenties. “Sorry I didn’t have time to fill it up for you,” I said.

             
“That’s okay,” she replied. “You want a coffee?”

             
“I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got to go have a talk with Chief Jessup.”

             
“You in some trouble?” she asked.

             
“Don’t have time to talk right now,” I said. “Thanks for the loan of the car.” I left quickly, walked across the street, and took a left to where the Colville Police Department occupied an unimpressive building at the end of the block.

             
A reception desk sat unattended. I found Jessup alone in a small office in the corner, tilted back in his chair with his booted feet propped up on the desk. There was a placard on the desk identifying him by name and title. It was hard to judge his age; he could have been anywhere from forty-five to sixty. His salt and pepper hair was thick and wavy and his face was heavily pock-marked, turning what would have been handsome features into something more along the lines of sinister. He made no move to adopt a more professional pose when I entered. “Help you?” he muttered. He drew heavily on an unfiltered cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling.

             
“I’m here to report a missing person,” I said as respectfully as I could given the circumstances.

             
“And who might be missing?” he said in a dismissive tone, like he could not give a monkey’s hairy ass what the answer might be.

             
“Callie Parmenter,” I said. “I’m her husband. Name’s---”

             
“Well, as I live and breathe,” he interrupted me. “Jack Parmenter.” His tone would best be described as callous.

             
“Right.”

             
He dropped his feet to the floor and pulled his chair up to the desk, then stamped out his cigarette in an ashtray that was already overflowing with butts. “So just when did your lovely wife go missing, Mr. Parmenter?”

             
“She left the Wilson home this morning---”

             
“This morning!” he said, interrupting me again. “Now that don’t hardly constitute a missing person in my book.”

             
I was tempted to unload on him but I knew that it might very well transpire that I would need this guy’s cooperation before this was over and so I put a good deal of effort into keeping my cool. “Not normally, Chief,” I said. “But I found the truck she was driving abandoned out by the old Crandall farm on Thornhill Road just now. There’s no sign of her anywhere.”

             
“And just when did you get into town, if I might ask?”

             
“A little before noon,” I said. “I came in on the bus from Augusta.”

             
He squinted at me and held the look for several long moments. “Okay,” he finally said, “I’ll look into it. I’m sure it doesn’t have anything to do with your wife but we got a report of shots fired out that way this morning. There’s an officer out there right now looking into it.”

             
I’m sure the color must have completely drained from my face on hearing this news. “Gun shots?”

             
“That’s right. And uh, you mind telling me where you’re staying?”

             
“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “The Wilsons will know how to reach me.”

             
Jessup stood up from his chair and straightened his gun-belt. “I like to know where ex-cons are staying in my town. You let
me
know how to reach you.” There was heavy emphasis on ‘me’. “You got that?”

             
“Yes, I’ve got it,” I said. “But just so you know … Chief … I served my full sentence. I’m not on parole – there are no restrictions on my movements.” I moved to the door, then turned back before stepping through it. “I’ll be in touch.”

             
“Probably best if you leave the keys to the truck,” he said. His manner wasn’t exactly arrogant but it was something close to that.

             
I walked to his desk and dropped the keys in front of him.

             
During my law enforcement career I had come into contact with a good many small town cops who thrived on the power a badge and gun inferred on them. Almost without exception the contact was fraught with tension and problems. I didn’t see this one as being much different.

             
Having now met with Chief Jessup I was inclined to understand why Miles might not find him a particularly impressive individual. I certainly wasn’t left with a feeling of great comfort that a coordinated and cohesive effort was likely to be made to find my missing wife. I walked back to the diner and phoned Miles once again to bring him up to speed on my lack of progress so far.

             
“I’m real worried, Jack,” Miles said. “I don’t like the idea of her bein’ out there on ‘er own somewhere.”

             
“I know,” I said, “I don’t like it either. But I don’t know what else I can do right now. I’ll check in with Jessup again in an hour to see what he’s come up with.”

             
“Jack, I gotta say, Jessup is not high on the list a people I hold a lot a respect for.”

             
“I kind of picked up on that earlier.”

             
There was a lengthy pause during which the only sound was Miles’ labored breathing. “Far as I’m concerned the man’s a shit-heel.”

             
“Okay,” I said. During the years I had known Miles I had never known him to make an inaccurate judgment on anyone. I tended to put a lot of credence in his opinions. “Is Jessup the whole deal here?”

             
“No, there’s an officer name a RJ Fordham – decent enough young guy - and a reserve officer they call in whenever they need ‘im. Name’s John Croop.

             
“So why the dislike for Jessup?” I asked.

             
“I dunno. Just never cared for him or his style.”

             
“That’s it?”

             
“Well, that and the fact there was a young woman reported missin’ here a few months ago and Jessup ain’t done a damn thing ta get any answers about where she might be – hasn’t taken it serious at all.”

             
“Are you thinking that whatever has happened to Callie might be related?”

             
“I hope not but, the truth is, I can’t help but wonder if it ain’t a possibility.”

             
“Are any of Callie’s things gone? Any chance she planned to be away for some length of time?”

             
“Nope. She didn’t take anythin’ with her far as we could see.”

             
“I’m going to get a room at the hotel. You’ll be without wheels till Jessup decides what to do with the pickup.”

             
“That’s okay.”

             
“I’m not sure what to do about Bix,” I said.

             
“Have a word with Carmella at the hotel. She knows Bix. I don’t think she’ll mind if he stays with ya. By the way, Jack, you okay for money?”