The Burying Place

Chapter Nine

Stride returned from the cemetery late on Friday afternoon and parked outside the Itasca County Courthouse in Grand Rapids, where the Sheriff's Department was housed. The three-story building took up an entire city block and included space for most of the county offices. He and Serena were lucky to have a top-floor office not much bigger than a closet that served as the war room for the investigation.

He passed the granite veterans' memorial and under the snapping US flag on his way to the building entrance, but before he went inside, his stomach growled. He realized he hadn't eaten anything but a chocolate donut since dinner the previous night, and he was running low on caffeine to keep himself awake. On the other side of 4th Street, he spotted a Burger King restaurant, and he crossed the street to grab a late, greasy lunch.

In the parking lot, he passed a rusting Ford Taurus. A wafer-thin woman sat in the driver's seat and wolfed down a double Whopper and an oversized pop. Their eyes met, and she spat a bite of her sandwich into a paper bag and hurriedly rolled down her window to wave at him.

'Hey!'

Stride stopped. The woman spilled out of her car, trailing the smell of fried food, and jutted out her hand. He shook it and wiped ketchup from his fingers.

'It's Lieutenant Stride, right? I'm Blair Rowe with the Grand Rapids Herald:

He groaned. 'No interviews, Blair. If I had something new, I'd tell you. I've got ten minutes to eat and then I need to get back inside.'

'Ten minutes is great. Perfect. Off the record, just background. Please?'

The last thing Stride wanted was to eat lunch with a reporter, but this was one case where more media exposure was a good thing. He needed Callie to stay on the front page until someone came through with a solid lead. 'Ten minutes,' he said.

'Great, fabulous. Go get lunch, and I'll meet you at a table inside. I really appreciate it, Lieutenant.'

Stride ordered a chicken sandwich, skipped the fries, and added a Diet Coke. By the time he got his tray of food, he saw Blair Rowe at a window table, waving both arms to get his attention. She'd already consumed most of her hamburger and was shoving three fries into her mouth at a time.

'How do you stay so thin?' he asked.

'Adrenaline,' she replied.

Blair never stopped moving. Even as she stuffed food in her mouth, she tapped her fingers on the table and crossed and recrossed her legs as she shifted in her chair. He felt a little motion sick, watching her.

'You're reporting on the Callie case for CNN, right?' he asked her.

'Yes! This is big, big, big. I'm going to be on Nancy Grace tonight. They want someone who knows the area. For once in my life, it pays to be in nowhere-ville, Minnesota.'

'Congratulations.'

She ran right over the irony in his voice. 'Thanks! This is a hell of a break for me. I mean, you know, it's a terrible thing, but I can't tell you how cool it is to be part of a national news story. My mom is TIVOing every broadcast. Normally, Grand Rapids in the off season is slow. If a clown throws up at some kid's birthday party, that's news here in November.'

Blair's thick black glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose. She pushed them up with her index finger.

'Have you been at the newspaper for long?' he asked.

'Two years,' she replied, sucking pop through her straw. 'I'd love to get to the Cities, but the dailies are shedding jobs left and right. It sucks to be a journalist right now. Who knows, maybe I can make the jump to TV. I never really thought about being on-air talent, but it's fun when the red light goes on.'

Stride didn't reply. Blair's intense personality felt like machine-gun fire, and he doubted how well it translated to the intimate medium of television. He also didn't think she had the coiffed, blown-dry, perfectly sculpted look of an on-air reporter. Her brown hair was stringy, and he could tell from the thickness of her glasses that she was almost blind without them. The glasses magnified her dark eyes and made them look larger than life. Her face was narrow, with a nose like a bumpy ski slope and a pointed chin. He saw a couple of pimples she was hiding with make-up, and her white teeth needed straightening. She wasn't really ready for her close-up.

Blair finished her hamburger and licked her fingertips. She glanced furtively around the half-empty restaurant and leaned forward. 'So you know the question everybody's asking,' she whispered. 'Did Marcus Glenn do it?'

'No comment,' he said.

'Oh, come on, Lieutenant. We can help each other out. I know Grand Rapids inside and out. My dad's worked on the floor of the UPM mill his whole life, and my mom teaches seventh grade English. This is my town.' 'So?'

'So there aren't many secrets around here. Heck, why do we need turn signals? Everybody knows where everybody else is going. You think I haven't heard rumors about Marcus Glenn for years?'

'What rumors?' Stride asked.

Blair grinned. She pushed her glasses up her nose again. 'You first.'

'This isn't a game, Blair. We're trying to find a little girl.'

'I know, but we both have our jobs to do. Mine is to stick my nose into everyone else's business.'

Stride took two bites of his chicken sandwich and decided he wasn't hungry anymore. He pushed his tray away. 'I have to go.'

'OK, OK,' Blair interrupted, grabbing his arm. 'I'll show you mine, and you show me yours. The word on the social circuit is that Marcus and Valerie Glenn's marriage is shaky. Really shaky. Did you know she sees a shrink?'

'How do you know that?'

'I keep telling you, it's a small town. Doctor-patient confidentiality isn't worth much when people have two eyes in their head. They see who goes in which doors in town, you know?'

Stride was silent.

'She's already had at least one nervous breakdown,' Blair continued. 'Everybody knows why. Marcus has a parade of other women. He flies off for weekends in Vegas, and you can guess what he does down there. It's a screwed-up family living in that house.'

Stride shrugged. 'Show me a family that isn't.'

'Yeah. Point taken. Everybody's got secrets. But I have a nose for what smells bad. Have you been to the hospital in Duluth where Marcus practices?'

'My partner is going there tomorrow.'

'I was there this morning,' Blair said with a smug smile. 'Hardly anyone will talk about him. They're scared.'

'Why?'

Blair tilted her bag of fries to drain the last crumbs and salt into her mouth. 'I love fries. Does anyone not love fries?'

'What are the hospital people afraid of?' Stride repeated.

'If Marcus doesn’t like you, you're fired,' Blair told him. 'No one would go on the record about him. But you know how somebody does something bad, and his neighbors and friends all say, no way, not him, couldn't be. Well, no one at the hospital was rushing to tell me that Marcus was innocent. What they did say was that they were surprised he and Valerie ever had a baby at all.'

'That doesn’t mean anything.'

'I hear you, Lieutenant. You have to play it close to the vest. Just answer me this. Can you rule out the possibility that Marcus Glenn murdered his daughter?'

'As far as I'm concerned, Callie is alive, and I'm going to find her,' Stride said. 'The best thing you can do is keep her face on the news, so someone sees her.'

Blair chewed on the end of her straw. Underneath the table, her knee bounced, rocking the table so hard that Stride's pop sloshed over the side. 'Oh, I will, but if there are skeletons in Glenn's closet, I'm going to find them.'

'Just don't withhold evidence from us,' Stride snapped.

'Withhold it? Are you kidding? You'll see it on CNN.'