Chasing Amanda (25 page)
“Molly? Did you give them the stuff you found?” he repeated more sternly.
“I went there,” she said coyly.
“Mol, I thought we agreed that the best thing to do was turn that stuff in. You can get in so much trouble!” His voice sounded flat-out angry.
“Well, I went there with every intention of turning it in!” she insisted.
“Mm-hm.”
“I did! I was going to, and then when I got there, Officer Brown was…I don’t know…annoying me, and I got to thinking—what if I gave them the stuff, and they just filed it away? You know how they let cases just die out? And then I thought, well, maybe there’s more that I’m supposed to know—to gain—from the necklace and wrapper. Maybe I just haven’t looked hard enough yet.”
“Give it in, Molly. This is no time for bullshit. This is real trouble. You’re withholding evidence!” Molly waited to hear if his voice would soften. It didn’t. “Molly, what do you think will happen when they find out? They’ll go, ‘Oh, it’s Molly Tanner, no problem, we’ll overlook it!’”
“No!” she protested. “But…I just thought that a few more days wouldn’t hurt. Maybe I’ll track her down today, maybe tomorrow. Who knows? But something didn’t feel right,” Molly paced her office. “It felt like a betrayal to give it to them. They aren’t even doing anything to find her!” she said too loudly.
“Do what you want, Molly, but just think of Erik and me, okay?” Cole asked, his every word biting. “What will we do while you sit in jail wondering how you could have been so stupid?”
Molly’s bravado deflated. She knew he was right, to an extent. “Cole, they don’t know I have it. They could never know how long I’ve had it!” she pleaded. “When I turn it in, I’ll say that I just found it. Besides,” she took a deep breath, and mumbled, “the fingerprints would be gone now anyway.”
“What?”
“The fingerprints,” she raised her voice. “They’d be gone now anyway! I’ve touched it! It’s been in my bag! I screwed that up!” The admission weighed heavily on her. She had screwed up—again.
“Great!” he fell silent.
The silence was worse than when he had been yelling at her. Molly closed her eyes tightly, her tentative voice sliced through the silence, “I think I saw Kate Plummer disappear today.”
“Tell me,” he said flatly.
Molly told him the details of the vision, which he promptly told her was probably transference—that she had taken the details that she already knew, coupled with the guilt that she still carried for Amanda’s death, and that her mind had run with them.
Molly rolled her eyes,
Always the fact man.
“I saw her dress. If I could find out what she was wearing when she disappeared, that would tell me if it was her or not,” she retorted.
“And how does that help find Tracey?” he snapped.
“I don’t know!” she said, exasperated. “Look, I’ve got to go. The police are sending someone over. I’ll call you later.” She hung up the phone before the tension could grow any thicker. She stared at the phone, wondering how she’d ever be able to repair the damage that she was creating in her marriage and knowing she wouldn’t let another child’s life end if she could help it.
Molly pushed aside her frustrations with Cole, and mentally raced through her to-do list:
1. Look up Kate’s clothes when missing.
2. Who was in the cellar?
3. Call Hannah.
Molly turned on her computer, and, while it booted up, she walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She leaned against the sink and looked outside where Stealth and Trigger sat by the back door. She let them inside, and Stealth pushed his body against her leg as he walked by. The comforts of home settled around her, making her feel sad for Tracey, for Kate, and for Amanda. Their safety had been abruptly stolen away from them.
The phone rang, and Molly immediately hoped it wasn’t Cole, then hated herself for the thought. Reluctantly, she reached for it, cursing herself for choosing a decorative phone instead of one with caller I.D.
“Hello?”
“Molly Tanner?” The voice sounded like a teenage girl’s.
“Yes? Who is this?”
“Someone wants you to know there’s a guy who can tell you what happened to Kate Plummer.”
Molly’s heartbeat quickened. “Who is this?” she asked anxiously. “What guy?”
“I don’t know,” the girl was irritated, rushed. “I just know that I’m supposed to tell you that, like, you have to find the guy.”
“Where? Where do I find this guy? Who are you?” Molly pleaded desperately.
“She paid me to tell you this,” she said in an annoyed, exasperated teenage fashion. “I don’t know where to find the guy. I don’t know anything about this,” the girl spat her answers. “She said, like, he would know about Tracey, too.”
“Who paid you? I’ll pay you twice as much to tell me who paid you!” Molly said eagerly.
“No, I can’t. I want no part of this. I…I have to go—”
“Wait!” Molly yelled. “Just tell me who told you to call.”
The caller covered the phone. Molly heard muffled voices. When the caller returned to the phone, she asked, “Who is Kate Plummer?”
Molly sighed, deflated. The girl was merely a pigeon—a messenger. “Who paid you? Please tell me!” she pleaded. “A child’s life is at stake.”
“What?” Molly heard fear in the girl’s shaky, unsure voice.
“A child has been abducted—Tracey Porter. If you know anything, please, please tell me. This is life or death!”
“Jesus, I’ve heard about that girl,” she said. “I saw her on the Missing Children flyer that came home from school. Fuck! I don’t want no part of this!”
“Wait! Who told you to call me?” Molly begged. “She may be involved. I may be able to save the girl! I’ll pay you! I’ll do anything you want!”
“Shit! Fuck this shit!” The girl yelled distantly, as if holding the phone at arm’s length. She pulled the receiver close again, “I don’t know, alright!” she yelled. “Some woman! That’s all I know!”
Molly’s heart sank with the resounding
click
. She yelled, “Goddamn it! Give me a fucking break!” Molly stared at the phone as if it were evil, “Goddamn you! Help me find her! This is goddamn bull shit!”
For the next hour, Molly played the phone conversation over and over in her mind, like a bad rerun. She had tried to use *69 to trace the call, to no avail. She had called the operator only to be told that they didn’t offer a tracing service—she’d have to go to the police. When the doorbell rang, the dogs went crazy, barking and jumping up at the front door. Molly was frustrated. She tried to ignore the door, hoping the person would just go away.
There was another hard rap at the door, “Mrs. Tanner?” a deep voice boomed through the door. “It’s me, Sergeant Moeler.”
“Just a minute!” she called out, remembering their appointment and trying to decide if she should mention the phone call, knowing they’d tap her phone if she did. Undecided and flustered, she answered the door.
The stocky man she had seen when leaving the interrogation room stood before her looking serious, then quickly smiled, revealing large, square, white teeth. Stealth and Trigger’s tails wagged excitedly next to Molly.
“Heel!” she commanded, and they obediently came to her side. She managed a smile, “Hello, Sergeant, thanks for coming.”
“Sorry I’m early, ma’am. I had a break so I decided to head over.” His face was warm and his blue eyes friendly. His neatly-combed brown hair and ironed uniform gave him a youthful look. He extended his hand to Molly, and Molly shook it, pensively.
She stepped aside. “Come in. They bark but don’t bite unless they hear the secret command,” she smiled.
They sat in the living room, and he pet Stealth and made playful sounds toward Trigger. Molly was confused by the relaxed man who sat before her. His personality in stark contrast to the stern look he’d given her in the hallway at the police station.
“They think anyone is fair game,” Molly attempted small talk.
“I love animals. I have a Great Dane and a Pomeranian.”
Molly lifted her eyebrows.
“I know, strange mix,” he said. “The Dane was mine, and the Pomeranian belonged to a victim. I just couldn’t let it go to the shelter. Anyway, they’re best buds now. Rex, my Dane, thinks Tippy is her puppy. She’s very protective. Cutest thing when they’re curled up together.”
Molly was surprised by his open and bright demeanor.
In a more serious tone, he said, “So tell me about these leads.”
She was no longer on edge from the phone call, relieved to hand over the worries of the day to someone else for a while.
Molly started to explain about the notes she had received, and Sergeant Moeler cut her off. “I’m interested in the notes, but quite frankly, Mrs. Tanner—”
“Molly.”
He nodded, “Molly. Mike,” he smiled again. “You were dead-on in the interrogation room.”
“But how—” Molly shook her head, then it dawned on her. “Two-way mirror?”
He shrugged.
“So Officer Brown sent you over because he thinks I’m crazy? Or party to the crime?” Molly turned away angrily.
“No,” Sergeant Moeler said, then corrected himself, “maybe, but that’s not my intent. I came because I’m curious. How did you know about the interrogations?”
Molly stewed in her growing anger. “If you’d like to talk about the anonymous notes I’ve been getting and how they might lead to Tracey, that’s fine, but I’m not going to discuss my visions anymore. I’m not a circus freak. I seriously wanted to help, but I can see that no one at the police station takes me seriously.” She stood, as if ready to walk him to the door.
He didn’t move.
She put her hand on her hip, “Sergeant Moeler, I don’t know what you expect to find out about me.”
He stood, his body relaxed next to Molly’s tension-ridden self. He spoke easily, “Molly, I’m not trying to cast you as a circus freak, and I’m sorry if you felt that way. I’m not curious out of voyeurism. I’m curious because we never know what lead will take us to find the missing girl.”
Molly questioned his motives, staring silently.
He handed her a business card, “Look, here’s my number. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll listen,” he paused. “Do you want to show me those notes?”
Warily, Molly acquiesced. When she returned with the notes, she asked, skeptically, but with a sense of hope, “So what do we do now?”
“
We
do nothing. I have to hand this over to the officer in charge.” Sergeant Moeler gathered the notes and stood to leave.
“Officer Brown?”
“Do you have a problem with Officer Brown?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Well,” she hesitated, ran her fingers along the desk as she looked in the distance, “not a
problem
, really. It’s just that…well, let’s just say that I’m not sure he is really going to take me seriously, and I don’t see him as a go-getter. I get the idea he’s more of a sit-and-let’s-see-what-happens type of guy.”
Sergeant Moeler laughed, a quiet, confirmatory laugh. “Well, at least you read people well, but there’s more to him than you see. I’ve worked with him for three years, and it never fails to amaze me how it appears he’s doing nothing all day, and then he solves cases,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that. I don’t have a choice, Molly. I have to give him the information. He’ll delegate it, probably, and I’ll try and stay on top of it.”
Molly fell onto her living room couch, propped up her feet, and questioned her motive for not revealing the phone call, which seemed to have slipped her mind the minute Sergeant Moeler had walked into the house. The dogs panted in Molly’s face. She shooed them away. Reluctantly, they sulked to the other side of the room and lay down.
Just as she began to relax, her cell phone rang. She debated letting it go to voicemail and begrudgingly pushed herself off of the couch to retrieve her phone;
Hannah Slate
flashed on the screen.
“Hello?” she could not hide her irritation.
“Molly!” Hannah’s voice was overly enthusiastic.
“Hannah, hi, how are you?” Molly faked levity.
“I’m just fine, thanks,” she said. “I was just going out for a walk and thought you might enjoy coming with me. I was so sorry to have missed you yesterday.”
Molly’s first inclination was to decline, but then she reconsidered.
“Hannah, I hope you know where we’re going,” Molly said, “because I’m totally lost.”
“Of course I do,” Hannah laughed. “Did you think I’d bring you out in the woods and leave you here to find your way out?”
When she paused after her strange statement, Molly knew a moment of nervous fear—half wishing she had left a trail of crumbs like Hansel and Gretel.
“Come on, Molly,” she tugged on Molly’s sleeve. “I’ve been in and out of these woods for over thirty years. We’re nearing Schaeffer Road by now, I would say.”
“How the heck did we get
there
without crossing White Ground?” Molly asked, perplexed.
“We did cross it, at the other end of the stream. You were just too busy to notice,” Hannah stopped to rest.
Molly set her backpack on the ground and crouched next to a stream that snaked through the woods.
“This is one of my favorite places,” Hannah said. “Come here a minute. I want to show you something.” She walked up the slight incline, looking carefully at all of the large trees.
Molly watched Hannah from behind, her ponytail swayed with each step, her body tall and strong. Hannah splayed her hands on a large beech tree, gazed upward.