Because of George Lowen.
Sanchez was watching the exchange between Martin and his father.
“My father has never done anything that would in any way hurt Sammie Lowen.” Cal spoke softly. “I’ve been present for each and every practice. My father’s been coaching him as a favor to me. Sammie made it through the first cut of tryouts because my father took the time to work with him and prepare him.”
Elaine Martin glanced at him, but quickly returned her attention to his father, brushing Cal’s remarks aside.
“Think carefully about any contact you’ve had with Sammie, Mr. Whittier,” she said, leaning forward. “We know that Sammie Lowen received a phone call this afternoon. We’re checking his cell phone records and your son’s, as well, as we speak. I don’t want to find out that you’ve lied to me.”
“I’m certain I have had no contact with the boy.” Frank looked her straight in the eye.
“What’s the complaint here?” Jim Brown spoke up. He glanced at Cal. “I know you said you wanted to speak for the two of you, but I’m uncomfortable with this line of questioning when we don’t yet know why we’re here.”
Cal had filled Jim in as completely as he could in the minutes they’d had together regarding Claire Sanderson’s disappearance and the subsequent hounding of his father.
“Sammie Lowen is missing,” Martin said. She and Sanchez watched Cal and his father intently.
“Missing?” All of the fight went out of Cal. And then he jumped up. “Sammie is gone again? From where? For how long? Where’s Morgan?”
Sanchez was on his feet and beside Cal before he’d known he stood. “Sit down, Mr. Whittier,” he commanded, at which time Cal dropped back to his seat.
“Hold on, son. They need our help here.”
“Anything you say can and may be used against you in a court of law,” Jim reminded them of the rights they’d been read.
“Did Sammie run away again?” Cal asked. “That doesn’t make sense. He had tryouts this afternoon. Second cuts. He wouldn’t miss those.”
“We don’t know anything yet,” Martin said. Cal didn’t believe her. “But we’re treating this as an abduction.” She looked straight at Frank.
“Are you charging my client with anything?” Jim asked.
“No, sir, we aren’t. But we’ve already received a warrant to search his home and intend to hold him until we’ve done so.”
“I know where he is.” Frank’s words fell like a bomb in that little room.
And Cal’s life burst into flames.
CHAPTER THIRTY-O
NE
EVERY EYE IN THE interrogation room was on Frank Whittier.
“Where is Sammie Lowen?” Elaine Martin asked.
“I shouldn’t have said it like that,” Frank said. “If the boy’s been kidnapped I’m wasting valuable time here. And his face being plastered all over the news a few weeks ago in conjunction with George Lowen was certainly an invitation to any lowlife who might want to try to make a quick buck.”
“Mr. Whittier,” Sanchez spoke, his voice low and menacing. “If you know where that boy is, now is the time to tell us. It only gets uglier from here.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Jim said. “Please be aware that anything you do say could implicate you.”
“Dad, if you know where Sammie is, tell them. Now.” Cal didn’t need to think about that one. They lived right. It was the only thing they had going for them.
If his father was sick, in trouble, Cal would help him. Later. After Sammie Lowen was safely in his mother’s arms.
“I just think I know where he’d go if he left on his own,” Frank said. “I don’t know who called him. But I can’t imagine anything less than a catastrophe calling that young man away from second cuts. If he left on his own, you can bet it had something to do with that phone call. Last week, Sammie was over playing basketball the day his mother went to court for the custody hearing. He told me about someplace he’d seen, a place to hide. He said that’s where he’d go if the courts took him away from her. But I got the impression he’d go there anytime he thought he was in danger. Maybe something in that phone call scared him, made him think he had to hide.”
“Where, Dad?” Cal’s throat was dry. Rough.