A Son's Tale

Except for Morgan Lowen. They both talked about her.

With thoughts of an evening with Kelsey to shore him up, Cal returned his second call. Ramsey Miller picked up on the first ring.

“You’re right, there are some interesting similarities among the abductions in your files,” the detective said without any pleasantries. “You had some things I didn’t, a couple of reported abductions that I didn’t know about, and I spend my days going through cold case abductions. But after spending two full days cross-checking, I’m still nowhere. There’s not enough solid evidence to tie any of it to Claire Sanderson’s disappearance.”

Cal could have told him that. If he’d have found something, he’d have done something about it.

“I have to wonder if you were wasting my time, Professor. Sending me in one direction so I don’t go in another. I nee

d that missing evidence.”

“I want Claire Sanderson found just as badly as you do.” Probably more so, but it wasn’t a point worth arguing.

“You want me to leave your father alone.”

Cal tapped a pencil against the edge of his desk as he heard the thinly veiled threat. “What do you want from me?”

“Your book.”

“It’s not really a book. More of a journal, with some prose mixed in. It’s not finished.” And it wasn’t for anyone’s eyes but his.

“You got something written there that would implicate your father in the disappearance of Claire Sanderson?”

“No.”

“Prove it.”

“You got a warrant?”

“No, but I can get one.”

Cal wasn’t so sure about that. He also didn’t want the man anywhere near his father.

“If I cooperate, do I have your word you’ll stay away from my father?”

“That is not a promise I can make. Let’s be clear, Professor. I believe your father knows something about what happened to that little girl. If I find any new evidence to support that theory, I will follow up on it. And let’s be equally clear on this. You need to send me the manuscript willingly and in its original form—since we have the software to track any changes or deletions. If you don’t, I will be forced to come to Tennessee to collect it. At that time I will also make the best use of the state of Massachusetts’ money and stop in for a visit with your father.”

Cal broke the pencil with one hand. “I assume you have email?”

* * *

NO ONE AT THE DAY care knew that Morgan might lose her son. No one in her life, besides Cal, knew about her pending court date. Except for Julie.

If it got to the point where she could call witnesses on her behalf, she’d let her boss know what was going on. And ask Cal and Frank Whittier to testify on her behalf, too. But for now, she had to rely on herself.

Monday evening, Julie phoned Morgan.

“How are you doing?”

It was five after nine. She’d sent Sammie to bed half an hour before. “I don’t know,” she said. “I want to be fine. I want to believe that I’m going to walk into court tomorrow, be myself, tell the truth and walk out with full custody of my son. It’s possible the judge won’t even make a determination tomorrow, but he can if he decides it’s in Sammie’s best interests. If he’s convinced Sammie isn’t safe with me.”

“So you’re ready?” Julie asked softly, her voice filled with compassion.

Morgan looked at the massive array of “evidence” she’d gathered to support her fitness as a mother. Would the judge really be swayed by the scrapbooks she’d made? “Does it matter that I’ve got every single thing Sammie ever created or wrote?” she asked.

Turning a page in one of the leather-clad volumes, she looked at the scrap of notepaper with a couple of inked squiggly lines on it. Sammie’s first attempt with a pen. He’d been less than a year old. She’d been studying for a freshman psych class that she’d later had to drop because she couldn’t work, raise her baby and get enough sleep to allow her to stay awake in class. She’d waited until Sammie was a little older, and she was a little more experienced at motherhood, before she’d enrolled in college again.

“Of course it matters,” Julie said.