Last Seen. Rick Mofina
about tips?”
“Nothing concrete has come in but we’re following up all possible leads.”
“The neighborhoods surrounding the fairgrounds?”
“We’re still working them but nothing yet.”
“Nothing?” Cal’s jaw muscle twitched and he indicated the squad room. “What about the people working the attraction? The carnies...what did they tell you?”
“Like I said, we’re still talking to everybody and we’re still searching and canvassing. Look, being a Chicago crime reporter, Cal, I’m sure you have an understanding of the anatomy of these types of investigations.”
Cal understood very well.
Price let a moment pass, then said, “There are only a few explanations for what happened. Gage wandered off, was perhaps disoriented, or he was lured or enticed, or he was abducted.”
Abducted.
Here it comes.
Up to now Cal had been hanging on by his fingertips, struggling not to break, fighting to work around the keening in his head. He shut his eyes tight because what he’d feared, what he’d been denying, what he knew in his gut, had swallowed him. Gage was likely abducted and Cal knew from his own reporting experience that if an abductor intended to kill their victim, stats showed they’d do it in the first four hours. And if a kidnapper was seeking ransom, they make contact within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. The likelihood that Gage was dead, or that they’d never see him again, increased with each passing second.
“Cal?”
He opened his eyes, not having realized he’d closed them.
“Until we have a clear picture of what happened,” Price said, “no one is above suspicion. You understand that, don’t you, Cal?”
He swallowed and nodded.
“And you know we have to clear you and your wife so we can cross you off our list?”
Cal nodded.
“Now.” Price sipped some coffee. “Are you okay to keep going?”
Cal thought of Faith across the hall, wondering how she was enduring.
“Cal?”
“Yes.”
Price looked at her notes. “Are you involved in, or do you have knowledge of who may be responsible for, your son’s disappearance?”
Cal shook his head. “No, I’m not involved and I don’t know who took him.”
“Do you or your wife use illegal drugs?”
“No.”
“Has Gage ever been exposed to any form of physical, sexual or emotional abuse in your home?”
Cal shook his head.
“Do you have a gambling addiction?”
“We went to Las Vegas for fun and gambled a little, that’s it.”
“Do you have any debts?”
“Just the mortgage, car payments, credit cards, like most people.”
“Who handles the finances in your household?”
“Faith. We each have separate accounts, but we have joint accounts, too, and Faith uses those to handle household finances.”
“And these separate accounts...they’re private from each other?”
“That’s right. We agreed to do things that way when we got married.”
“All right.” Price made notes, then moved on. “You’re a crime reporter with the Chicago Star-News.”
Cal nodded.
“You don’t really cover much crime here in River Ridge, or the other ‘safe’ suburbs. You cover the big stuff downtown and across the country?”
“Yes, I work near the Tribune building, and if the story’s big enough, the paper sends me wherever we need to go. Although we don’t travel as much these days—they’ve tightened budgets.”
“In your line of work, you report on a lot of dangerous people, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Your stories helped put a lot of people in prison?”
“I just report the facts.”
“This came up at the news conference, so I want to ask—can you think of anyone in your past who may have threatened you? Anyone who might want to settle a score with you? Or anything you may have done to anger someone to the point that they’d want revenge against you?”
Cal exhaled slowly as his mind raced back over his years and the stories blurred.
“People get pissed off and have said things to me.”
“What sort of things, what people?”
“Usually relatives and friends of suspects, or criminals.”
“And what did they say?”
“‘I’m going to kick your ass, you write bullshit.’ ‘Why didn’t you write the truth about such and such?’ But that’s pretty common. I mean, not everyone’s happy with what you report. But I never took any of it seriously.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s just people blowing steam—people say things. No one’s ever acted on anything.”
“So far.”
“No one so far.”
Price nodded and made notes. “You ever cross the line on your job, Cal?”
“What do you mean?”
“Break the rules, get your story wrong, really piss off a subject or burn a source, that sort of thing?”
“What’re you suggesting?”
“Not suggesting anything. Just want to know if you think there’s anyone out to get you.”
Cal steepled his fingers and touched them to his chin. “We covered this, Detective. Yes, I’ve pissed people off with my work.”
“Who, how?”
“I already told you, some people don’t like it when you write the truth about their situation. But that’s part of my job. If I thought for one second that Gage’s disappearance had any connection to my work, to anything I’d done, I’d be screaming that fact to you.”
Price took a moment to process his response.
“Okay, let’s move on. Your newspaper, the Chicago Star-News, has been bleeding staff in recent years and there’s talk online and in the business pages that more layoffs are coming—that’s got to put a lot of stress on you.”
“It makes you think about what you’re going to do if you lose your job. I’ve been with the Star-News a long time and reporting jobs are pretty hard to come by these days.”
“So there’s some stress in your home?”
“No more than anyone else in this economy.”
“What about you and Faith?”
“What about us?”
“Tell me about your relationship. How did you meet?”
Cal remembered the first time he saw Faith. She was on her phone, upset and in tears. He was immediately infatuated. After approaching her, he’d learned that her boyfriend had broken up with her and he thought, Who’d be stupid enough to break this girl’s heart? So he asked her out and they fell in love.
“We met in college.”
Price