Girl Lost: A Detective Kaitlyn Carr Mystery Page 6

  “Yeah, I'm glad to hear you say that, Carr," he says.

  "I'm sorry, I know that I'm on this case, but is there any way I could take tomorrow off? Personal day. I really need to be here for the press conference."

  "Yeah, I understand. How about this? Come back tomorrow afternoon, right after the conference. It's at nine, right?"

  "Yeah," I nod, "they typically are."

  "Okay, well, be there, do the interview, and help out as much as you can, but I expect you back here in the afternoon if you want to keep working on this case."

  I exhale suddenly.

  "Kaitlyn," he says, rarely using my first name.

  "Yeah?" I perk up.

  "I can easily take you off the Kaslar case if it's too much. You can stay there, take a week, and try to find your sister."

  "I don't know.” I hesitate.

  "You have to consider that."

  I think about it.

  The tone of his voice is suddenly soft and it puts me into an uncomfortable situation. It doesn't sound like him.

  "If you make that decision, then you're going to have to know that you're going to go to the back of the line in terms of catching new cases. I can only do this once. Next time something happens, there's a murder to investigate, you're on it. No more days."

  "Yeah, that's not going to work, Captain," I say with a heavy sigh. "I don't know if I'll be able to help or do anything while I'm here in the next few days and I need to save my personal time."

  "That's what I thought you'd say. Good. Okay, so just drive back tomorrow afternoon and I expect you to interview Elin, her boss, the doctor, and all the people who might know about her whereabouts. I expect to see a report tomorrow night."

  "Okay, yeah."

  "It's not going to be a problem, right?" he asks.

  "No, no, not at all," I promise.

  I hang up the phone, put it on the rail, and look out at the neighbor's falling down fence. They haven't lived here in years and use it primarily as a second home to capitalize on the thriving ski market in the winters. As a result, it has fallen into a lot of disrepair, but the people that rent it for the weekends don't really care. The owners, who now live in San Diego, don't either. The only ones who are left with the eyesore are us, or rather, my mom. I wrap my hands around my shoulders, not wanting to go back inside.

  Another strong gust of wind blows through and tosses my hair into my face. I tuck a few strands behind my ears and feel completely out of control. I know that I should stay here longer and look for my sister, but I also need to go back and do my job. If I give up this case, then who knows what kind of case I'll get assigned to next. With my luck, it will probably be a lot more urgent.

  So far, I don't know if Mrs. Kaslar or rather Ms. Moore, since she goes by her maiden name, has disappeared of her own volition. She might have. I just have to do a few interviews and then get back up here. She might even show up and close this whole thing altogether, but if I catch a murder case, then that's forty-eight hours of nonstop work to try to solve it. I'm sure you know that most cases are solved within forty-eight hours and the others, well, they become a little bit more complicated.

  Anyway, my best bet is to do what I told him I would. Stay here, go to the press conference, try to stay there for the beginning of the search, and hope that I can split my time between my two worlds. One thing that I haven't talked to my mom about, or with the sheriff’s department here about at all is a search party. We need to organize that as soon as possible.

  Typically, it's done in liaison with the law enforcement agency overseeing the investigation, in this case, the sheriff’s station, but I haven't heard anyone there mention it before.

  I suck in some air and open the front door. I find Sydney sitting in the recliner looking at Violet's yearbook pictures. In one she's sitting in the commons in the middle school, eating lunch with that innocent grin on her face and AirPods shoved in her ears.

  "That was Captain Medvil," I say. "I have to go back and do these interviews about this possible missing persons case that I'm on, but I don't have to be back until tomorrow afternoon, so I wanted to ask, would you help me organize a search party?"

  "Yes, of course. When?" she asks as if almost an afterthought.

  "We have to start tonight. I don't have much time."

  "Yes, of course."

  8

  Sydney and I work well into the night. My mom goes to bed around nine, but we stay up until at least two. I've never organized a search party by myself before, but I've seen it done. We put out a call and we make posters. We lay out the poster in Canva.com since neither of us are too familiar with Photoshop and we post them on various social media platforms and Facebook groups.

  The basics of organizing a search for a missing person are not very complicated. What's complicated, and harder, is to get enough people involved so that you're able to cover a big enough area.

  Police will usually only conduct searches if they believe that someone's disappearance is suspicious. That tends to be the case for Violet. I want to put together a plan to start the process as soon as possible. Typically, when a person goes missing, you have to ask permission from the landowner before searching anyone's property.

  The last time that Violet was seen was right here on this property and I have already conducted a pretty close search of about a mile radius from here. Ideally when the volunteers show up, you have a record of names and contact details of every single person prior to embarking on the search.

  Typically volunteers under eighteen are excluded because people may be found in all sorts of conditions, dead, or alive. What about in this case? What if some of her friends want to help out? I'm not sure.

  I've participated in a few search operations and it's best to separate people into small teams of eight to twelve people per area, making sure that everyone there knows not to touch anything that could be potential evidence and instead, take a photo of anything that they might think is of significance.

  This all depends on how many people show up to volunteer in the first place. I find a grid of the area online, print it out, and mark it up into grids. Each person in charge of a specific area would be the map holder and that will be the person who will assign people to different areas on the grid.

  The group of eight to twelve people will then be broken down into even smaller groups, if possible, and spread out into the various grids to make sure that every single place is searched thoroughly. If anyone comes across anything suspicious, that area is tagged with a piece of bright colored tape and the police are called, if they haven't already been. Naturally, all cliffs, trees, and ditches have to be checked as well.

  Sydney has never participated in a search and I go over these details with her.

  "What about video cameras?" she asks.

  “I checked with the neighbors around here and there was only one camera that was on at the time and there wasn't anything suspicious on it at all. Two others were disconnected. Of course, the sheriff’s department is reviewing that stuff at the moment. I guess we'll just have to see.”

  "How many people do you think we can get to do the search?"

  "I don't know,” I say. She shakes her head.

  "There's a little bit of activity on these groups that you told me to join and post on, but so far it's all crickets."

  “Well, maybe we'll have better luck overnight. I don't know. In any case, let's get some rest. It’s almost two in the morning,” I say, looking at the time. “I think we've done a lot. We have the invitations, the flyers, and things like that. Let's try to get this search going by ten o'clock. No, by eleven o'clock. Maybe we can have some people volunteer right from the press conference.”

  “That’s not a lot of time.”

  “I know, but I have to get back to work for later. Theoretically, my mom can continue running it or maybe somebody from the department.”

  “Do you still not know how her friend, Natalie, is connected to this?”

  “No, I don't
even know if her disappearance is connected. In fact, I don't really know much about her disappearance at all. Let's just get some rest," I say.

  She follows me to my old bedroom. I have a queen-size bed and we share. When she gets under the covers, I turn off the light and fall asleep quickly, but restlessly.

  The following morning, I wake up early. It's barely six. I'm usually a deep sleeper who needs hours of rest, but the four hours that I’ve gotten hasn't really relaxed me anymore than I was last night.

  I'm wide awake without any caffeine. I tiptoe past my mom's room into the living room as I go to make myself some hot tea, mint, to take the chill off. The house is never very warm. Back in LA, in my apartment, I have poor insulation and single pane windows. I always pay through the nose for heating, but I keep my place warm and a comfortable seventy-four degrees. I can wear a t-shirt if I want to, but most of the time I wear long sleeves.

  That's probably a reaction to having grown up here. It's not that it's just cold outside. It's that my mom runs warm and she doesn't like spending money on heating. So, I grew up always wearing three sweaters and lots of layers nine months out of the year. I promised myself when I went to college that no matter my financial situation, I'd never wear gloves inside while doing homework again. No more sixty-five-degree evenings for me and I've pretty much kept that promise ever since then.

  My phone rings and I'm surprised that anyone outside of work would be contacting me at this hour. When I look at the screen, I see that it's Luke.

  I hesitate. I don't want to answer. I can't remember how many days it has been since we've spoken, but it has been enough for me to get annoyed.

  Finally, I pick up the phone.

  "Why are you calling me?" I ask.

  "What do you mean? I wanted to see how you are and what's been going on.”

  “I thought that you were ignoring me."

  "No, I am out here on the job. Sacramento. Remember?"

  "Yeah, but you said that you would be in touch."

  "Well, I’m sorry I couldn't get back to you earlier. We were doing some undercover work and then some trainings. You know how it is."

  "Yeah. I guess."

  "What's wrong? Are you mad?"

  I hesitate.

  "Oh, shit. I just realized what time it is. Sorry. I'm really wired from being up all night on a stakeout."

  I nod.

  "I'd tell you more, but you know, I don't really want to go into it right now. Can't really go into it right now."

  "Yeah, sure. Of course. Whatever,” I say.

  "Listen, I'm going to be back maybe Friday. Can we grab dinner?"

  I try to think back to what day of the week it is.

  "I'm in Big Bear now about to do a press conference about my sister."

  "Yes, of course. How is that? Any news?"

  “Actually, her friend is missing now, too. She disappeared after she got dropped off. She never came home. No one knows where she is.”

  “That’s unbelievable," Luke says. I hear the creaking of his chair as he sits back. "Really?"

  "Yeah. I don't know. I have no idea if it's related or not. I drove up here last night. I haven't met up with the sheriff yet."

  "How long are you staying?"

  "I have to be back to do some interviews for a case back in LA, so not that long, but I hope that I can at least get the search party going before I leave."

  "Okay. Let me know if you need anything or if there's anything I can do to help."

  "Yeah, sure."

  "Hey," he says after a long pause, "are you okay?"

  "Yeah. I'm just surprised that you called…at all."

  "No, listen, I was not ghosting you. I was just out for work, you know how it is."

  "Yeah, I do," I say, even though I also know that text messages are able to be sent on stakeouts, especially when you have hours of time just sitting in the car, waiting around for something to happen. Of course, I don't say any of this.

  "So, can I see you on Friday?"

  "Maybe," I say, trying to be as casual as possible. "If I'm back home and I'm not too tired, maybe."

  "Okay, good because I'd really like to. I had a good time, Carr."

  I laugh. I like that. A lot of people in this business tend to call you by your last name, but it sounds different coming out of his mouth.

  "Listen, my mom's getting up. I have to go get ready."

  "Okay. Good luck. Let me know how it goes," he says and hangs up.

  I smile looking at my phone. That was unexpected and kind of welcoming.

  "Who was that?" Mom asks, starting the coffee.

  I look around and look at her. A small smile forms on my face.

  "A boy?" she asks, winking at me mischievously.

  "Yeah, maybe," I mumble.

  "You don't have to hide these things from me, Kaitlyn. I'm your mother. I want you to be happy."

  "I know," I say.

  "Was that the FBI agent?"

  "Yes. Apparently, he didn't call because he got stuck at work."

  "Good. Well, if anyone were to understand that it would be you, right?"

  "Yeah," I mumble with a shrug.

  Sydney and I arrive at the sheriff’s station around seven forty-five, a good hour before the press conference. My mom stays home and promises to get there by eight thirty.

  I debated for a while as to what exactly to wear to this meeting because this isn't just having a conversation with a bunch of cops. I have to look appropriate, feminine, and reverential as the sister of the missing girl.

  I of all people know how difficult it is to get the press interested in the story. My mom doesn't. She thinks that every missing girl that she sees on the news is all that there is, but that's not true. The girls that tend to make it on the news are the ones that are cute, pretty, blonde, and white. There are some girls of all races, and all complexions, with all hair colors, that go missing every day, but they don't sell well.

  If they don't make the public care about them in picture form, no one is going to report on them. They might make a statement, throw a picture when the news is kind of light and there isn't much else going on in the world, but you're not going to get the kind of 24/7 news coverage that Laci Peterson or Natalee Holloway got back in the day.

  In order to get that kind of recognition, you need all the pieces of the puzzle to be just right; attractive victim, suspicious circumstances, and a beautiful family. It usually helps if you're well off as well.

  We don't tick a lot of these boxes. My mom is a single mom. My dad was a low-level drug dealer with a record. What helps is that we do live in a small town and people like small town stories. What also helps is that Violet is thirteen and there are some cute pictures of her. She's an innocent victim and I hope that story leads the evening news, at least on some of the channels in Southern California.

  I show up at the station in a delicate maroon blouse that will probably look good on television. It's not something I usually wear, but everything needs to be just perfect in order for this press conference to become a news story.

  Sydney wears her typical work attire; suit jacket, suit pants, heels. Her hair is pulled up in a nice bun, but mine isn't. I don't want to fret with anything, my hair or makeup, when I'm getting ready to go on camera. So, I do it all before I even get here.

  "You look good," Sydney whispers.

  As we walk into the station, I feel extremely overdressed, but that's part of the game.

  The sheriff’s station has low ceilings and poor lighting made up of fluorescents that don't do anyone any favors. I wave hello to the desk deputy upfront and show our identification. He points me in the direction of Captain Talarico’s office.

  I've been there already, but I haven't met this deputy, so, I let him give us the tour. The bathrooms are on the right in the center of the room, kind of in a public place, but oh well. The captain's office is in the far corner. The only place with a little bit of privacy.

  I knock and introduce Sydney. He wa
ves us both in and continues to type something on the computer. He’s in his fifties and the lines on his face are pretty well-ingrained, permanent, and not going anywhere. He has fine hair and a standard issue crew cut with big jowls but surprisingly, striking cheekbones.

  There's a big plastic container with a 7-Eleven logo on it. He takes sips of his ice-cold soda from it occasionally, as he speaks.

  "So, you're a detective as well?" Captain Talarico asks Sydney.

  "Yeah. Homicide, LA."

  "Wow. We got a lot of attractive detectives out in the LAPD now, huh?"

  "Well, you know, they did start hiring more women so the attractiveness level can only go up, right?" Sydney jokes back. She has always been the one who could take the sexist jokes.

  Personally, I wish I could have the same approach, but after years of this, I get really tired of comments about my looks and my makeup, which are basically statements about how I'm probably not as good at my job as a man would be.

  Not a lot of people know this, but a detective's job is to ask questions, to get people to open up to you, and to admit mistakes on television. We do some running around, chasing down criminals, and that sort of thing, but most of the time our job is to get people to confess.

  This isn't a strenuous position, unless you are talking about just the sheer number of hours that you have to put in. Frankly, if we're going to be making blanket generalizations, that doesn’t mean very much.

  I wait for Captain Talarico to say something else, but luckily, he doesn't.

  I don't have to tell him that we are not here in any official capacity. He knows that we're way out of our jurisdiction. So, I bite my tongue when the thought crosses my mind.

  "Any news or anything else since last time we spoke?" I ask.