A Trace of Vice. Блейк Пирс
in her feet as she tried to catch up to the van that was peeling out and driving off. She recalled the sense of helplessness that had overcome her as she realized the van had no license plates and she had almost no description to offer the police.
Ray was familiar with how much she was always affected by this moment and sat quietly in the driver’s seat while she worked through the cycle of emotions and gathered herself for what was to come.
“You good?” he asked, when he saw her body finally relax slightly.
“Almost,” she said, pulling down the visor mirror and giving herself one last check to make sure she wasn’t a total mess.
The person staring back at her looked much healthier than she had just a few months ago. The black circles she used to have under her brown eyes were no longer there and they weren’t bloodshot. Her skin was less blotchy. Her dirty blonde hair, while still pulled back in a utilitarian ponytail, wasn’t greasy and unwashed.
Keri was closing in on her thirty-six birthday but she looked better than she had at any point since Evie was taken five years earlier. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the sense of hope she’d had since the Collector had hinted all those weeks ago that he’d be in touch.
Or maybe it was the real possibility of romance with Ray on the horizon. It could also have been recently moving out of the ratty houseboat she’d called home for several years into a real apartment. Or it might have had to do with her reduced consumption of large quantities of single malt scotch.
Whatever it was, she noticed more men than usual turning their heads when she walked by these days. She didn’t mind it, if only because for the first time in forever, she felt like she had some power over her often out-of-control life.
She flipped the visor back up and turned to Ray.
“Ready,” she said.
As they walked up to the front door, Keri took in the neighborhood. This was the northernmost part of Westchester, adjacent to the 405 freeway and just south of the Howard Hughes Center, a large retail and office complex that dominated the skyline in this part of town.
Westchester had a reputation as a working-class neighborhood, and most of the homes were of the modest, one-story variety. But even those had exploded in cost in the last half dozen years. As a result, the community was a mix of old-timers who’d lived here forever and young, professional families who didn’t want to live in cookie-cutter developments but somewhere with personality. Keri guessed these folks were the latter.
The door opened before they even got to the porch and out stepped a clearly worried couple. Keri was surprised at their age. The woman – petite, Hispanic, with a no-nonsense pixie cut – looked to be in her mid-fifties. She wore a nice but well-worn women’s suit and old but immaculately maintained black shoes.
The man was easily half a foot taller than her. He was white, balding with tufts of grayish-blond hair, and spectacles hanging around his neck. He was at least as old as her and probably closer to sixty. He was more casually dressed than she was, in comfortable slacks and a crisp, buttoned-down plaid dress shirt. His brown loafers were scuffed and one of his laces was undone.
“Are you the detectives?” the woman asked, reaching out her hand to shake theirs even before getting confirmation.
“Yes, ma’am,” Keri answered, taking the lead. “I’m Detective Keri Locke of LAPD’s West Los Angeles Pacific Division Missing Persons Unit. This is my partner, Detective Raymond Sands.”
“Good to meet you folks,” Ray said.
The woman beckoned them in as she spoke.
“Thank you for coming. My name is Mariela Caldwell. This is my husband, Edward.”
Edward nodded but didn’t speak. Keri sensed that they didn’t know how to begin so she took the initiative.
“Why don’t we have a seat in the kitchen and you can tell us what has you so concerned?”
“Of course,” Mariela said, and led them through a narrow hallway adorned with photos of a dark-haired girl with a warm smile. There had to be at least twenty photos covering her entire life from birth until now. They came to a small but well-appointed breakfast nook. “Can I offer you anything – coffee, a snack?”
“No thank you, ma’am,” Ray said as he tried to squeeze against the wall to maneuver around and into a chair. “Let’s all just sit down and get as much information as possible as quickly as we can. Why don’t you start by telling us what has you worried? My understanding is that Sarah has only been out of touch for a few hours.”
“Almost five hours now,” Edward said, speaking for the first time as he sat down across from Ray. “She called her mother at noon to say she was meeting up with a friend she hadn’t seen in a while. It’s almost five p.m. now. She knows she’s supposed to check in every couple of hours when she goes out, even if it’s only a text to say where she is.”
“She doesn’t ever forget?” Ray asked, keeping his tone neutral so that only Keri caught his underlying skepticism. Neither of the Caldwells spoke for a moment and Keri worried that Ray had offended them. Finally Mariela answered.
“Detective Sands, I know it may be hard to believe. But no, she doesn’t ever forget. Ed and I had Sarah later in life. After many failed attempts, we were blessed by her arrival. She is our only child and I admit that we are both a little, what’s the word, hovering?”
“Helicopter parents,” Ed added with a wry smile.
Keri smiled too. She could hardly blame them.
“Anyway,” Mariela continued, “Sarah knows that she is our dearest love in the world and amazingly, she doesn’t resent it or feel stifled. We bake together on weekends. She still loves to go to ‘take your daughter to work’ days with her father. She even came with me to a Motley Crue concert a few months ago. She dotes on us. And because she knows how precious she is to us, she is very diligent about keeping us in the loop. We established the ‘text where you are’ policy. But she’s the one who chose the two-hour rule.”
Keri watched both of them closely as they spoke. Mariela’s hand was in Ed’s and he was gently stroking the back of hers with his thumb. He waited until she was done, then spoke up.
“And even if she did forget, for the first time ever, she wouldn’t have gone this long without getting in touch or replying to any of our texts or calls. Between us, we’ve texted her a dozen times and called half a dozen. In my last message I told her I was calling the police. If she had received any of those, she would have reached out. And as I said to your lieutenant, the GPS on her phone is turned off. That’s never happened before.”
That unsettling detail hung in the room, threatening to overwhelm everything else. Keri tried to squelch any movement in the direction of panic by quickly asking the next question.
“Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell, may I ask why Sarah wasn’t in school today? It is a Friday.”
Both of them looked at her with surprised expressions. Even Ray appeared taken aback.
“It’s the day after Thanksgiving,” Mariela said. “There’s no school today.”
Keri felt her heart drop into her gut. Only a parent would know that kind of detail and for all practical purposes, she no longer was one.
Evie would be thirteen now. Under normal circumstances, Keri would have been negotiating how to ensure child care for her daughter so she could work today. But she hadn’t had normal circumstances in a long time.
The rituals associated with school breaks and family holidays had faded away in recent years to the point where something that used to be obvious to her no longer registered.
She tried to respond but it came out as an unintelligible cough. Her eyes got watery and she lowered her head so no one could see. Ray came to her rescue.
“So Sarah had the day off but you didn’t?” he asked.
“No,” Ed answered. “I own a small paint store in the Westchester Triangle. It’s not like I’m rolling