“Any problem with the neighbors?”
She shook her head. She kept her distance from her neighbors except for inevitable pleasantries about the weather or school-related topics. The only thing she could think of was when a single retired bachelor down the block complained about William and Annie cutting across his yard as they walked to school, and she told the sheriff about it. The sheriff made a note.
“What about your extended family? Is there money there? Would a kidnapper have a reason to hold your children for ransom?”
“My mother cleans houses and tends bar in Spokane,” Monica said evenly. “My father has been gone for years. We have nothing.”
“Any others?”
She thought of her cousin Sandy in Coeur d’Alene, the only cousin she knew. Sandy was married to a city councilman and had four bright kids. She’d invited Monica to picnics and family functions for a while, and used to call to invite her to church. Sandy had even said maybe she could help Monica “meet a nice man.” Sandy knew about what happened to Billy, as everyone did. They were decent gestures from a decent woman, but Monica couldn’t bring herself to accept. She didn’t want to be Sandy’s project, or the object of her effort at good works. Monica had been too stubbornly proud to accept help. Sandy rarely called anymore.
So many people-Sandy, the banker Jim Hearne, her neighbor down the street who was always inviting her to church and bingo night-had tried to help her since the divorce, but she never saw it as help at the time. Hearne especially had watched out for her, and had always been there to help in his quiet way. She often saw the attempts as interference, or as pity. That had been a mistake, Monica realized now. Maybe if she’d opened up more, there would have been someone to take William fishing.
The sheriff raised his hand. “Like I said, I need to rule out every possibility. This is bound to be uncomfortable for you.”
She nodded again. “Not as uncomfortable as having my children missing.”
The sheriff smiled sympathetically, then his eyes hardened. “This Tom Boyd. A neighbor reported that she saw him leaving your house last night. She said he was visibly angry, and she heard him yell and slam your door shut. She said she heard you yelling, too. Was there some kind of disagreement?”
No, she thought. The sheriff can’t be going in this direction. “We had an argument.”
“What about?”
She swallowed. “Tom found out his fishing rod and vest were missing. He thought Annie had taken them. He didn’t get along with Annie very well, and I told him to leave.”
She knew how that sounded. So: “But I’m sure Tom had nothing to do with it. The kids were gone for a long time already when it happened.”
The sheriff asked her for the time of the argument.
“It was around six,” she said. “I waited two more hours before I called you.”
She could see Carey calculating it in his head. Tom would have had enough time, and enough light, to track down Annie and William.
“Tom called me last night,” Monica said. “It was after ten. Maybe ten-thirty. He asked whether my kids had come home.”
“How did he sound?”
Monica swallowed. “He was drunk. He was at some bar.”
Carey nodded, as if she’d confirmed something. “He was seen last night at the Sand Creek Bar. The bartender said he was inebriated. Still in his uniform, very distraught and upset. They refused to give him more drinks, and he got angry and left around eleven.”
Monica seized on the words inebriated and distraught.
“Someone who knows Tom Boyd says he can have a violent temper,” the sheriff said. “He’s a bodybuilder, right? Maybe some steroid use? Would you say he has a violent temper, Miz Taylor?”
SHERIFF CAREY asked questions for another half hour. She answered them honestly, and could see how the sheriff was building a case against Tom. No, she didn’t know he’d been arrested twice for assault. No, she didn’t know Tom’s ex-wife had accused him of beating one of his children. How could she not know that, she asked herself. She felt stupid, duped. Again.
“I don’t think it was Tom,” she said, finally, after the sheriff stood up and slipped his notebook in his pocket. “If it was him, wouldn’t he have taken his fly rod back? Isn’t that the reason you’ve come up with why he would even try to find my children?”
“I thought of that, too,” Carey said, clamping on his hat. “But it could be your kids lost it before he got there. Or he just couldn’t find it in the dark. We’ll have to ask him about that,” he said ominously.
“I just can’t believe it,” she said.
Carey stood there, silent, as if he had more to say before he left. She looked up.
“Tom didn’t show up for work this morning,” Carey said. “His supervisor said he didn’t call in, either. Tom’s not at his house, and no one saw him come home last night. His truck is still missing. He was supposed to turn it in last night, but he didn’t.”
“His UPS truck?” she said incredulously.
For the first time, the sheriff almost smiled. “You’d think we’d find a vehicle that distinctive easy enough, wouldn’t you?”
“I just can’t…” She didn’t finish, knowing she had said it before.
“I think we’ll get this thing wrapped up pretty quickly,” the sheriff said. “I hope and pray it will be for the best, but we just don’t know. We hope like hell we can find him and bring your kids back, unharmed.”
She watched him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I wish I had more men to work this, Miz Taylor. I’ve only got four deputies for the whole county. Three of ’em are up there on Sand Creek right now, searching it with a state crime-scene team that arrived this morning. I’m starting to get calls from all over. Newspaper reporters, even some producer from Fox News in Spokane. Missing kids are big news, you know. If we can tie Tom Boyd to your kids, we can issue an Amber Alert, but it doesn’t meet that standard yet. I looked it up. The first criterion is that law enforcement must confirm that an abduction has taken place. We don’t know it to be true. We can’t just go panicking everyone this early.”
“This early?” she said, astonished.
“Miz Taylor, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. We don’t even consider a person missing until then. Not that the newspeople care. I’m stalling them for now, but they’re keeping me busy. Luckily, though, I have an ace in the hole.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Now, he grinned outright. “Four experienced, seasoned investigators have volunteered to help us. They showed up this morning and asked what they could do. After I talked with ’em, I gave them the authority to run with it, and already things are happening. We’re lucky as hell.”
She was confused. “Who are they?”
“LAPD’s finest,” he said. “Retired cops who’ve worked dozens of situations like this. They told me they want to serve their new community and keep it safe. Within a couple of hours they helped me establish a command center, and they’re the ones who figured out Tom Boyd. We’re damned glad to have them here, Miz Taylor.”
She nodded. For the first time, she felt a lift of encouragement.
“I know you want to stay by the phone,” he said, looking around the kitchen. “I think you should, too. But you need some help around here. Some support. Is there anyone we can call to stay with you?”
She had no relatives nearby, and few friends. Sandy was on a cruise with her husband and family. She thought of Jim Hearne, the banker who had always been kind to her, but knew how improper that would seem.
“That woman, Fiona Pritzle, keeps offering to come stay with me,” Monica said. “But I don’t think I want her help.”
Carey agreed. “I’ll ask one of the volunteer investigators to come over, if you don’t mind. We want to cover all the bases. If someone contacts you with a report on your kids, we want to know right away. We want to screen the call. And, if someone has your kids…”