Girl Taken: A Detective Kaitlyn Carr Mystery Page 3

  5

  On the drive home, my mind goes in circles. I try to decide whether I really believe that my father committed suicide as my mom thinks or was he killed, murdered by someone else.

  My thoughts and concerns about my father were always something that I put on the back burner, partly because I was young and inexperienced, but mostly because it was just too difficult to deal with. I have made it my life's mission to find justice for other people. We call it that because we provide answers, but the truth is that justice is elusive. We bring the criminal, the perpetrator, to justice. If we're lucky, they get time in prison and are taken away from society, so they can't do that to anyone else again.

  But in reality, I don't know how much justice the family of the loved ones actually get. They don't have that person with them anymore. There will always be a void and nothing will ever change that.

  When I get to the red light and stop to wait a tear runs down my cheek. It's all the way to my jaw before I really notice. I bite my lower lip slightly, out of habit. But then I bite it a little bit harder, actually inflicting pain to try to make the tears go away. When the light turns green, my thoughts return to Violet. My father's death has a lot of unanswered questions, but Violet's disappearance keeps me up at night. Who could have taken her? What could have happened to her? What terrible things are they still doing to her?

  Thirteen-year-old girls don't just disappear.

  Some run away, I guess, but then bad things tend to happen to those as well. That's just how the world is out there when you don't have a family or money to get through.

  At this point, Violet has spent many days and nights on her own. Without any financial resources, we all know what can happen to little girls and what they will be forced to do in order to have food to eat and a roof over their head.

  When I get home and Luke asks me about the case of the missing couple, I have a hard time focusing. I shrug it off. I know that their son is concerned and extremely worried, but my mind is elsewhere and for now, I need to give myself the space to be there.

  Luke has made dinner; roasted Brussels sprouts, salmon fried in the pan, Caesar salad with fresh dressing.

  "I thought you might be hungry," he says with a smile and I walk straight into his arms and let him hold me for as long as he wants. "What happened? Is it something bad?"

  “I am just thinking about Violet again."

  Luke nods. He was there investigating the case with the FBI. Technically, they still are, except for we all know that the leads have dried up and it's not exactly at the forefront anymore.

  No one says it. Not the sheriff’s department, not the FBI, not Luke and not me. But deep down I know that the case is going cold and once it does, once it's put back on the shelf and others take the forefront, there isn't much of a chance of getting any further with it.

  "I have to go home," Luke says as he pours me a glass of wine and sits across from me at my small dining room table, which has only recently been cleared of all of my papers and notebooks to make room for dinner.

  Typically, we have dinner on the couch, but Luke has gone all out, even as far as setting up two candles and the place mats.

  So, a TV dinner doesn't seem appropriate.

  "Just for a visit?" I ask.

  "Yeah. Well, my mom's having some health issues. Her shoulder's been really acting up. She called today, said that she tried to get some decorations up from storage and she pulled it pretty badly and she’s sitting with a big ice pack. Met with her doctor and they're pushing the shoulder surgery up. It was supposed to be in two months, but now it's going to be sooner since the doctor has some travel coming up."

  "Oh, wow," I say.

  "Yeah, so I’ve got to go to Wichita."

  I nod with a casual shrug, trying to be the understanding girlfriend that I should be.

  "I'm going to help her after the surgery since she won't be able to move around much and do stuff for herself. I was wondering if maybe you'd want to come with me for part of the time?"

  "Oh, really?"

  "Yeah. I'd like you to meet her and the rest of the family. You could visit, I could show you where I grew up."

  "In Wichita?"

  I don't know why I repeat the name of the city like that, elongating the last bit. I'm not trying to be mocking; it's just a funny sounding name.

  "Yeah, it's not my favorite place, but it's got a lot of memories. Any chance you could come?"

  I think about it for a moment. I do have a number of saved up vacation days.

  "I don't know. I mean, with my sister and this new case, if it's even a case."

  "Well, you know how work is. It’s always there and you do have to take some time for yourself.” Luke pushes, leaning over to me, raising one eyebrow.

  This whole time he has been incredibly supportive and unlike, well, almost any other guy I have dated. He’s never asked me for anything. Maybe a trip for us to get away wouldn't be the worst idea. Except of course, Wichita is not exactly what I had in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of a tropical beach, warm waves, and drinks with little straw hats.

  "Think about it, okay? I'd really like you to come," Luke says, squeezing my hand.

  6

  All throughout dinner, Luke talks about Wichita. He had an average middle-class upbringing, his words, with two parents who came home after work. He's talked about his work schedule a number of times, and how it has left him wanting more in his personal life. He hasn't come right out and said anything to me directly, not about getting married or taking our relationship to the so-called next level, but he has talked about children in that theoretical sense, to let me know that it's definitely something that he wants in his life.

  "Don't get me wrong. There were, of course, lots of things I didn't like about my family. I have a rather dysfunctional relationship with my siblings, friendly, but not at all close. But in general, I think I was a happy-go-lucky kid and I think that my future kids will be the same way, if I'm home more."

  “So, how would that work, exactly?" I ask. "I mean, you have your career, you travel a lot. You work crazy hours."

  I don't bring myself into the conversation, not quite yet, but he does.

  "Well, I was thinking, if we're talking about the two of us, then something would have to give. Otherwise, our kids would spend forever in daycare and with nannies, if we can even afford that."

  Shivers run up my spine. Our kids. I've never been the type of woman who actually imagined having kids. I'd like to have a pet first, but I always felt that it would be kind of selfish of me to get one and then never be around to spend time with it.

  Luke looks up at me, smiling that crooked smile, oozing that charm. He runs his fingers through his hair and then props up his head and looks at me with sad puppy dog eyes. Not so much asking for my pity, but for something else altogether. What, I don't know exactly.

  "Okay. Are you seriously talking about our kids?" I ask point blank, not wanting to parse words much longer.

  "Yeah, I guess I am. Just something I've been thinking about. How about you?"

  "Um, no. No, I haven't been thinking about it. I mean, we're not even living together. We're not even engaged, married, all that stuff."

  “Okay. Is that what you want? I'll marry you right now."

  I sit back in my chair. It's not exactly the proposal that I've been envisioning, not that I've been envisioning one in particular, but…

  "Just like that?" I ask.

  "Yeah. I love you. I want to be with you. I want to have children with you. What more is there to think about?"

  "What about the fact that this might not be the best thing? What about your career? What about mine and everything else we've worked for? I'm not giving up what I have to be a stay-at-home mom."

  "I'm not asking you to, not at all. But I have been thinking about maybe having a career change."

  "You have?" I lean forward.

  "The FBI has a lot of issues. I don't like the bureaucracy. I don't l
ike the hours. It was good for a while, but I want to be home more. I want to have time for you, for a hobby, I don't know, anything. And personally, I'd like to do something else. Do something more positive with my life."

  "I wouldn't say that you don't do positive things now."

  "Well, maybe that's the wrong way of putting it. I guess I look for bad guys and all, but I'm thinking of maybe going and becoming a private investigator, doing something on my own, running my own business. Not be subject to other people’s rules so much."

  I shake my head. "You don't even know what you're talking about." I get up to start clearing the table.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You think you're going to have control over your time if you're a PI? Are you kidding me? Most of your work is going to be people hiring you to spy on their soon-to-be divorced spouses. That's not your own time. You're going to be sitting outside of a hotel room or some apartment building where somebody has their mistress stashed or their new tennis pro and you're going to wait and try to take pictures and catch them in the act. That's going to be the majority of your work, I'm pretty certain."

  "Well, I haven't thought this plan out completely," Luke admits, "but I definitely want something that's a little bit less time consuming."

  He pulls me closer to him and grabs me by the waist as I put the plates into the sink.

  "Will you marry me?" he asks, holding me and looking straight into my eyes. My hands are dripping wet and I grab the kitchen towel from the side to clean up.

  "You know, this isn't the most romantic way to get proposed to," I say, raising an eyebrow.

  "This isn't an official proposal. This is just a feeler."

  "A feeler?"

  "Yeah. Just wondering where you are on the whole thing. We haven't really talked about it before."

  I shrug, not knowing exactly what to say.

  "Think about it. Okay?"

  He holds me tight and close and I let him kiss me and let myself imagine what a life together would be like, coming home from work to him, making dinner, watching TV, letting me unwind from my day, asking him about his. Truth be told, I have no idea what it would be like to live with him. I've had roommates before, but every single one is so different from the ones before that it's hard to compare.

  "Okay. Let me think about it."

  He kisses me again. I start to wash the dishes and Luke clears the rest of the table, putting stuff away that we haven't eaten under Saran wrap and in the bowls that they were brought out in.

  "You know, I've never really thought about kids seriously before. Or a kid for that matter. I mean, Sydney's having one, so clearly it's possible.” I laugh, giving him a little smile. "She's not exactly dependable or any of those things and not the best candidate to be a mother, but I see her changing.”

  As for me, I don't know. It's hard when you can't imagine yourself as a mother to suddenly just decide to do that.

  “So, you really want me to go to Wichita?” I ask, wiping my hands after I put the last of the dishes on the drying rack.

  "Yeah, I do. I want you to meet my family. Some are crazy in a good way. Others, not so much."

  I smile. "I have to rearrange my schedule. It really depends on what's going on with Violet's case and this new one. I mean, I have some days saved up, but that's about it."

  "Yeah. I understand. Well, try. I'd really like you to be there.”

  Terry calls me on my phone right after we finish eating dinner and I already regret the fact that I gave him my direct number.

  “I have to take this,” I say.

  "Can't it wait until tomorrow?” Luke asks, kissing me again, tugging on my arm to try to pull me closer to the bedroom.

  After I hang up, I tell him that I have to go.

  "What if we just make it a quickie?" Luke offers and I consider it for a moment, eventually shaking my head no.

  "You don't even know if anyone's going to be at the marina.”

  "There's usually somebody there 24/7, just making sure that everything's going according to how it's supposed to. I can, at the very least, check to see if the boat's there.”

  Luke looks disappointed.

  “You're welcome to come if you want," I offer, but he points to the laptop. "That's the thing about this work, isn't it? There's always more you can do."

  "You state, as you grab your bag and your keys and put on your shoes," Luke narrates as I get ready.

  I smile and roll my eyes slightly even though I know that he's right. I'm a workaholic and this job aggravates all of those tendencies. You can basically work however long you want. Yeah, I don't get paid for every hour, but there's plenty of overtime, and as long as I'm making progress, someone's happy about that.

  I call Terry back and tell him that I'll meet him at Marina del Rey Marina. I can hear the relief in his voice. Finally, someone is listening to him, paying attention.

  It's hard with cases like this. An adult is free to go missing anytime they want to. In fact, they're free to just leave and take off. So, when their loved ones complain and say that they would have never left them, or never took off, or never gone away on their own, you have to take that with a grain of salt, especially if there are two of them.

  The traffic over to Marina del Rey is atrocious, just like it always is. New people to the city are taken by surprise. Everyone has heard that LA traffic is bad, but they don't quite know how long it takes to go two miles in the middle of rush hour. By rush hour, I mean, a three-to-four-hour time period when people tend to leave work and go back home. The beach communities are particularly plagued by this since a lot of people go there for dinner, for a night out, so the traffic spreads out over a large span of time, seemingly forever.

  After all the years of living here and all the years that I've spent in my car, not so much commuting, but actually working, I feel at home in it. I have my coffee and my water. I have my audio books and podcasts. Recently, I've been experimenting with just listening to nothing, thinking, letting this time be a time to reflect on my life, about my cases, and obsess over what could have happened to my sister. I think of all the things that I should have said, I should have done. Maybe if she had come out to live with me like she wanted to a year ago, none of this would have happened. Something else could have happened, but she definitely wouldn't have gone missing in Big Bear.

  I had looked into getting financial aid for the private school she wanted to go to and getting guardianship, but Mom was completely against giving me even partial custody. I was willing to take out the student loans. I knew that Violet was suffering living up there, feeling as claustrophobic and unhappy as I was when I was a teenager, but Mom wouldn't hear of it.

  I guess I can see why. Violet was only thirteen and I work crazy hours and I'm rarely home and all of my promises to work less can only go so far.

  Still, I have regrets and those regrets continue to plague and haunt me, especially when I don't fill the car with someone else's voices and chatter.

  7

  When I get to Marina del Rey, I see Terry in the parking lot and I gather my thoughts, trying to focus on this and nothing else. I force a small professional smile onto my face and shake his hand with determination.

  A thick crevasse of a line goes straight across his forehead, making him look much older than his thirty-five years.

  I take out my small vegan leather notebook, the one that fits in the palm of my hand, with the pages that the ink doesn't bleed through. It contains notes from my impressions of the apartment. Turning the page, I write down the license plate of Terry's 2017 Honda CR-V in silver. It's an old habit of mine dating back to the first sergeant I ever had. He always told us in class to take a note of everything, no matter how insignificant. I don't need his license plate per se, but I write it down anyway, just in case, so that in the future, I don't have to ask for it. I can also run it through the database if necessary.

  Terry's hand is skinny and clammy, and as jumpy as he appears. He tells me about his wife, who
is expecting their first baby. He then tells me about how excited his stepmother, Ruth, was about the pregnancy, and that Ruth had been like a mother to him, raising him from the age of six. Deacon, his father, retired from owning a gym and was a bodybuilder most of his adult life. He competed professionally, won some money, but mainly he just loved lifting weights and training others.

  "I know what you're thinking. Why don’t I look like that, right?” Terry says, tilting his head and pulling his baseball hat over his eyes. “It's not something I've ever been interested in. My brother, John, on the other hand, is like 270 pounds. He loves all of that.”

  "What is it that you do, Terry?"

  "I'm a software engineer," he says. "I used to work with Microsoft and Google, but now I'm working on something on my own. It's an app."

  “Uh-huh.” I nod. “And that requires money or is it already profitable?"

  "No, not yet. Actually, Ruth and Dad invested quite a bit in it."

  “Oh, really?" I say.

  Money is one of those things that breaks families apart, breaks relationships. If you have a fracture in something, money is surely going to bring it to the end.

  "Yeah. Maureen and I had a nice nest egg saved, but we bought the house in Burbank, and Dad knew how much this meant to me."

  "What about your brother?" I ask.

  "What do you mean?”

  "Was he upset that they invested in you? Or did they give him money as well?"

  "I know where you're going with this.” Terry narrows his eyes. "My family wasn't like that. I mean, Dad and Ruth didn't have that much money. They were comfortable, but we weren't wealthy, if that's what you think. You saw their apartment, right?"