I watched a white heron take flight over the river. Reminiscent of the Greek character, Icarus, the great bird beat its wings and climbed toward a mountain of purple clouds that threatened to squeeze the last ounce of light from a crimson sun.
If Detective Lewis had left a message on my phone, I hoped it wasn’t about Molly Monroe.
THIRTY-THREE
We dined on the back porch. The screens kept the mosquitoes out and let the river breeze blow in. A quarter moon rose over the palms while a chorus of frogs competed down by the river. Under light from three candles, Elizabeth finished her grilled snapper, swiping the last piece through the white wine sauce I’d learn to make from Nick. She smiled and said, “All right, I’ll admit it. I’m already spoiled. This is delicious.”
“Glad you like it. We’ll cut the apple pie when you’re ready.” Max sat in a rocking chair across from us. She lifted her head, her belly filled. Maybe.
Elizabeth stood. “I might give my slice to Max. I’m so stuffed. Where’s your bathroom?”
“Through the kitchen, first door on your left.”
“Be right back.”
When she left, I picked up the cell and retrieved my last message. Detective Lewis asked for me to call him. I punched in his number. “Mr. O’Brien, we want to let you know that there’s been a situation with Frank Soto.”
“Situation?”
“You didn’t see the news?”
“No.”
“Last night, in his holding cell, it seems Soto cut himself somewhere that wasn’t noticeable, sucked blood from the wound and acted like he was vomiting blood, faked convulsions. On his way to the hospital, he killed one guard and escaped. I’ve left messages for Elizabeth Monroe and her daughter. I haven’t heard from either. If you happen to see them, you might want to let them know Soto’s on the loose. Good night.”
I inhaled deeply. A great horned owl called out from the top of a live oak. Max lifted her head. Elizabeth came through the door, her face serene, her eyes filled with trust. She looked down at the river, the moon’s reflection quivering off the dark surface. She stood and watched bats catch moths circling the floodlight at the entrance to the dock. There was a series of hoots. Elizabeth turned to me. “That was an owl, right?”
I smiled. “They get talkative around here.”
“When I was a little girl, my brother and I would hear an owl when we visited my grandparents’ farm in northern Virginia. I always felt the owl was talking to us, almost as if the bird was asking us a question… something like… ‘How are you, too?’”
“They’re inquisitive birds.” I set the phone on the table.
“Do you need to make a call?”
“I was just listening to a message. Sit down, Elizabeth.”
“Please, Sean, tell me it’s not about Molly.”
“It’s not.”
“What, then?”
“That message was from Detective Lewis. He said that Frank Soto escaped.”
The trust went out of Elizabeth’s eyes as if someone had unplugged a light. She slowly lowered herself back into her chair, one hand on the table. “Dear, God,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. She reached inside her purse and found her cell. “I left it on vibrate. One missed call. It’s from Detective Lewis.” She pressed a button.
“Are you calling him?” I asked.
“No, I’m calling Molly.” She waited. Pulse beating in her neck. “Molly, call me, sweetheart. The man who pulled the gun on us, Frank Soto, he’s escaped from jail. So please, baby, be very careful and call me to let me know you’re okay. I love you.” She watched the moon rising through the cypress, her eyes settling on mine. “I’m so worried. Not for me, but for Molly.” Elizabeth began punching keys on her phone and left a similar message on Mark’s phone.
I waited for her to finish and said, “I think we should contact the PD in Gainesville. See what they can find. Have them go to her apartment, knock on her door.”
“Would you call them, Sean?”
“Absolutely.” I made the call and dispatch put me through to the watch commander. I explained why I was calling and said, “We’d like for you to check her apartment for us.”
His response was courteous and definitely ex-military. “We had a unit at Miss Monroe’s apartment complex around nineteen hundred hours. Negative results. Observation of the parking lot and subject’s car was not seen.”
“Did the officer try knocking on Molly’s door?”
“Negative.”
“Would you mind going back? See if there are any signs of forced entry. Maybe a neighbor heard something.”
“We can do that.”
I gave him my number and asked that he call me back. Elizabeth looked at me, her eyes probing. She said, “Molly’s in trouble. I felt it earlier. She was reaching out to me.” Elizabeth stepped closer to the screen, the sound of cicadas coming from across the river, moonlight dribbling through the boughs of ancient oaks.
My phone rang. It was the Gainesville PD Commander. He said, “No signs of forced entry. All doors and windows in the subject’s apartment are locked.”
I thanked him as I heard the beep of another call coming in. It was from Dave Collins. “Do you get television reception out there in the boonies?” he asked.
I never liked greetings that began with a question like that. “What’s up, Dave?”
“I was flipping channels and caught a news promo on one of the local stations. They said two hikers in the Ocala National Forest found a box. Leaves and brush had covered it, but their Labrador apparently caught a scent and scratched around in the leaves where the hikers pulled out the box. They said it had a bloody handprint on the side. The blood appeared to be fresh.”
“Did they find anything else?”
“Not according to the news brief. They did say the box was labeled: fragile — contents live butterflies.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Elizabeth Monroe turned into something I’ve seen in few people, man or woman, under similar conditions. Somewhere in her psyche, a force came out and congealed around absolute fear, harnessing the worst kind of horror — fear for the life of her only child. Her mind went into an aggressive stance, refusing to run, willing her being to find out the complete facts as they pertained to Molly. She was composed, almost perfunctory as she asked questions. But I could see a hairline crack just below the paint. “Do they think the blood is from Molly? Did they find her car?”
I didn’t have the answers. From what Dave had learned from the news, they didn’t know if there were any other signs of foul play. I called Detective Lewis and told him that Elizabeth was with me. “Marion County is working the scene as we speak,” he said. “Detective Sandberg has forensics people all over it. Trying to make sure they get every speck they can find.”
“Did they find her car?”
“Not that we’ve heard.”
“Beside the bloody print, no sign of a struggle?”
“Apparently not, at least none that was obvious. They’ll take everything to the lab, and that could tell another story. They’ll use choppers and dogs in the morning.”
“Please keep us posted of anything you learn.”
“Remind Elizabeth Monroe to be very careful. Bye.”
I set the phone down and watched Elizabeth whisper a silent prayer, making the sign of the cross when she finished. I told her what the detective said and added, “They’ll do aerial surveillance in the morning, and also send out search and rescue.”
Elizabeth was silent, wrapped in private thoughts. She stared at the moon, her courage draped in secluded memories, sealed in love and hope for her daughter. “Sean, why… why has this happened?”
“I don’t know.”