Cal called the cop first.
“Leave my father alone, Detective.” The demand was unequivocal. Harassment was against the law. Not that a detective following up on leads in a case was harassment, but there came a point…
“I am doing my job, Professor,” the man shot back. “I have a crime to solve and I will do what it takes to solve it.”
“My father has not been out of this city in several years. He couldn’t possibly have taken your evidence.”
“He could still easily be involved in its disappearance. Like I said, Professor, I will do what it takes.”
Cal leaned one hand against the window frame in his office, looking out over the green expanse below, at the people scurrying to and fro, or basking in the sun on the quad. A couple of guys were throwing a Frisbee.
Standing there in his olive slacks, white shirt and striped tie, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d been that carefree.
“Even if it kills an innocent sixty-two-year-old man?” Cal’s voice was no less steely for the drop in volume. “My father was a respected educator. A man with a whole list of kids he saved from making poor choices. A list that would have been much longer if your people hadn’t branded him so completely that you made it impossible for him to get work. You had nothing to charge him with, but the Comfort Cove police made certain that every time he tried to get a job, someone just happened to get a phone call and somehow the hiring boards would know to look at the missing-child case in Comfort Cove.
“The only job he was ever able to take was his current job as a janitor in an Alzheimer’s unit. And now you’re poking around there.
“My father holds a double doctorate degree from Harvard, Detective,” Cal continued without taking a breath, saying the things he’d said in his mind a million times over the years.
“He has degrees in both psychology and education. He had so much to offer this world and he’s been relegated to hiding out in a rental home and cleaning toilets for a living. And relationships?”
The man hadn’t interrupted and so Cal just kept right on. “How could my father even hope to have one of those? What woman is going to tie herself to a man who is not in jail, who has no sentence he can finish serving, but who will never be free? A man with no credit, who has to live his whole life under the radar? One whose life can be cast with suspicion anytime, anyplace? He’s a good, giving, honest man who has become a recluse because of you people supposedly doing your job.”
He paused, and turned around. Took a deep breath.
“I grieve for Claire Sanderson every single day, Miller. You didn’t know her. I did. I knew her sister, Emma, too. I loved them both. I thought we were a family. Claire’s abduction is an abomination. But killing an innocent man is one also. Taking my father’s life does not give Claire hers back.”
When Miller remained silent, Cal finished on a softer note. “You all have had twenty-five years to find something on my father. You haven’t done it. Look someplace else. Please.”
“We are not focusing solely on your father.” Miller’s tone was softer, too. “But we need to know where that box of evidence is and why it was taken. I am not at liberty to discuss the details of our investigation, but rest assured, Professor, I come to work every day because of the children in this country who are missing, and to hopefully protect those who are not from becoming another statistic. I am not out to get you or your father.”
“So you’ve had your look at us. Now leave us alone.”
“I don’t have my answers yet.”
Cal identified with the frustration he heard in Miller’s voice. He’d matured over the years. And had learned that putting out fires benefited himself and his father more than fueling them did.
Back at the window, he said, “I might be able to help.”
“Help how?” The detective asked with silk in his voice, reminding Cal of a feline ready to pounce on its prey.
If the man thought he was going to deliver his father up, he had another think coming.
“Not like you’re thinking,” he bit out. And then found the control he needed to soften his tone. “I’ve written a book. It’s not done, but it documents what I know about the case. Every memory I have of Claire, of our family, of that day…it’s all there. And everything I’ve found out since is there, too. While working on this journal over the years, I’ve gathered information, not just about Claire Sanderson, but about every single child abduction I could find that took place that year and the following couple of years.
“I’ve been scouring the internet for years—reading old newspaper articles as they’re added to internet archives. Each abduction is filed according to the place the child went missing, but I have charts that also file them according to the type of abduction, age of child, sex of child, number of parents in the home, number and age of siblings, nationality, even date and place of birth. I’ve grouped them in any and every way I could think of to look for similarities.”
He didn’t mention the teddy bear that rested on top of those files.
“I take it, since you’re telling me about these files, that you’re willing to share them with me?”
Everything inside of him said no. Out loud he said, “Yes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
MORGAN MADE IT to lunch with five minutes to spare. Because she’d planned on meeting her father, she’d worn a pair of beige pants, a matching silk blouse and pumps that her mother had purchased for her. Her blond hair was up in the chignon her father liked, though she’d just pulled it up in the parking lot.
“Hi, Glen, is my father here yet?”