“Last time we worked it,” said his partner, “he pulled it all into a conference room, and one of us was always working that room until there were simply no more questions we could think to ask. No offense, but we’ve been at this case for twelve years and it’s not going to yield. To tell you the truth, we’re glad it’s not going to be us this time.”
“Have you any personal theories about what happened?”
“A truck hauling a camper, it’s a gas guzzler,” said the first cop. “They stopped to fill up, someone saw money in the form of that new tricked-out truck. A gun to the boy’s head and tell the dad to drive, what’s he going to do? The truck and camper were likely sold to a chop shop a state away before their friends even called to report the family didn’t arrive. Makes me churned-up angry, but it’s what’s logical. There’s a plot of ground with three bodies a state away that will eventually turn up.”
She nodded thoughtfully. She turned to the other deputy. “And you? A personal theory?”
“Variation on the theme. They were carjacked and ended up near Canada or Mexico. Convenient cover for someone who needed to stay under the radar, then killed once they weren’t needed. Why else risk taking three people if not primarily for their vehicle? You have your offenders who like children, your guys who want to grab a pretty woman, and a subset who just hate cops, but to take all three? It’s not logical if one was the preference. There are much easier targets than three people who would have been tight with each other, tuned in to where each other was, at whatever stop they made for gas or food. Someone needed the truck, and liked the idea of the camper as it gave a nice cover.”
“It was one of those hard-sided Airstream travel trailers,” the other officer added, “not the type where the roof cranks up that has canvas sides. It could move contraband easy enough. A guy with a gun in the trailer with the boy, another in the truck with the husband and wife, who’s going to look twice or think something’s wrong?”
Evie found it an interesting premise. “You think they crossed with someone who got control via the boy or maybe the wife, and under duress they drove far away in the first few hours, were outside the search zone from the very beginning?”
They both nodded. “You can’t find the truck or camper, you can’t find the bodies, which after some point in a search means they aren’t there to find,” the second one continued. “This area has been searched hard, and it’s still searched every spring and fall when the ground shifts from freeze and thaws and rains by friends and family who go out hiking, hunting, and looking for clues. The woods around here are being systematically covered. It’s the respectful thing you do-‘I think I’ll go out and look for the Florists’ when it’s a nice evening and you have an extra few hours. There are grid maps of what has been searched, what’s next to cover. The deputy’s cousin kept that map updated at first, then later it went to his nephew to update. They keep current copies of it available at the library’s entryway brochure rack, so you can pick one up and go to an unsearched grid if you’re inclined to help.”
“That’s very useful to know. Thank you, officers. I appreciate the insights.”
“We wish you luck, ma’am.”
After they left, Evie flipped the lock on the door while considering what the officers just told her. A local guy would know where a search had been done, where people were heading next. It would be easy enough to move something you didn’t want found into an area already searched. But a lot of people wandering around… the officers were right. If there was something nearby to find, in twelve years someone would have stumbled on it.
But that gave her another thought. Had there been any homicides in the last dozen years that might be the death of someone who had discovered a detail about the Florist family’s disappearance? Someone killed before they could report what they found? If the killer was still local, it made sense that he’d been doing what he could to keep the crime under wraps.
It was worth putting on the wall. Evie went and picked up a marker and wrote Other homicides over the last decade, adding to her list. She could sense actual progress. Small maybe, but progress just the same.
Gabriel Thane
Gabriel laid down the pages of names on the table, including suggestions from his father. There were more violent people in the county than he initially estimated, but it was still a manageable number. He glanced over at Evie. She was right-the sheriff’s office had interacted with most on more than one occasion. While his deputies might be able to add a few more to the list, it was mostly complete. He got up to open the cooler, get out cold drinks. Without comment, Gabriel set two Tylenol tablets on the table beside Evie, a soda beside the pills.
She looked at the time, reached for the pain relievers. “No wonder the headache is coming back with a vengeance. I should have taken something an hour ago.”
“It might also have something to do with all the reading. We both need a break. Come, take a walk with me.”
She conceded his point, pushed her chair back, and rose. He locked the building behind them, called George to cover on-site security until they got back. “Let’s walk to the bakery and see what’s left. Everything goes for half price in the evening.” He nodded that direction and set out at an easy pace, so she could work the stiffness out of her back.
He could tell the stitches were bothering her by the way she’d occasionally run her finger along the edge of the gauze. “Tell me something I wouldn’t know about you. Easy stuff qualifies at this point. Where do you live? Cubs fan, Cardinals? Like big cities, visit downtown Chicago occasionally, or avoid it at all costs?”
She glanced over at him, apparently decided he was mostly making conversation and letting her choose the topics, and nodded before casually replying, “I rent a house in Springfield, near the State Police headquarters, and tend to fill it with garage-sale finds. I’m only a Cardinals fan, but camouflage it with a Cubs hat if I happen to be north of Interstate 72. Let’s see… what else? I mostly work alone, as we’re short-staffed at state investigations. I seriously miss having a partner. I like to drive and think about cases. I stay as far away from the madness of crowds as I can, though I love the ethnic food, the music diversity, and the art you can only find in a big city. Mostly the food. If I could transport that out, I’d be thrilled. Moroccan food, Indian, Thai. You could talk me into about any road trip if there were meals like that as part of the journey.”
He liked the mix she’d given. “An interesting set of answers.”
“I can add a few more: I enjoy cooking but am not a very good chef. I’m a lover of comedies, old movies, romances, have a building tolerance for watching sports. Oh, and I hate the smell of gunpowder. Seeing as how I’m a cop, that might be worth mentioning.”
That remark diverted him from her personal life for a moment. “Ever pull your weapon on the job?”
“Twice, both backups of another officer in a tight situation, but it’s been a long time. I like the Bureau of Investigations, which is mostly paperwork, talking with people. I’m a good shot, steady, calm, decisive. You have to be in this business for the sake of the cop beside you, but because I don’t like shooting, I’m probably more serious than most about my time on the practice range. I shoot a hundred rounds three times a week, after the workday is done, as it’s important to be accurate when tired. If I don’t like the results, I shoot another hundred rounds. The discipline isn’t the problem. I just don’t like guns and the smell. I tolerate carrying a firearm because it’s a job requirement.”