Mean Streak

Jeff had kept a lid on his frustration for as long as he could. “Meanwhile my wife is still missing. Isn’t anybody actually looking for her?”

“Lots of folks are, Jeff. But it’s dark. The roads up there are damn near impassable, but we’ve got officers driving ’em anyway. Snowfall is a lot heavier up there than it is down here. Tomorrow, if the weather clears, we’ll put up a chopper, but the forecast isn’t promising. The search will continue overland, but that’s slow going because of the terrain. If it’s feasible, we’ll get a canine unit to—”

“Bloody hell.” He stood up and walked away, grinding his fist into his opposite palm. “‘Tomorrow.’ ‘If.’ ‘Canine unit,’ for chrissake.” He stopped pacing and turned back to them. “Where’s this parking lot? How far from here?”

“A piece,” Knight replied.

“Oh, that’s helpful.”

“Jeff, sit down.”

“My ass has grown carbuncles from sitting! I’m going there myself.”

“That wouldn’t be too smart.”

“Oh, while to you smart means getting the password to Emory’s computer?”

Knight sighed. “Criticize our efforts if it makes you feel better, but if you go stumbling around up there, we’d soon need a search party for two people instead of one.”

Jeff stood there, rocking back on his heels, fuming. “What about the FBI?”

“We could pull ’em in, but they’d be doing what we are.”

“Which is precious little.”

“Look, Jeff, I know it seems like nothing’s being done, but—”

“Goddamn right. That’s exactly what it seems like.”

“I understand how frustrating that must be.”

“Like hell you do. Has anybody you love ever gone missing?”

Properly put down, Knight quietly admitted that he hadn’t experienced that misfortune.

“Then don’t pretend to know what I’m feeling right now.”

“Okay, I’ll stop with the banalities if you’ll sit down and let us talk through some things with you.”

Jeff didn’t comply immediately, but ultimately, realizing the futility of having a temper tantrum, he returned to his seat. “Talk through what things?”

“Well,” Knight began, “as I said, it appears that Emory parked and walked away from the car under her own power. No sign of her being assaulted or dragged off, anything like that.”

“Which means that she likely had a mishap in the frigging wilderness. She’s still out there while we sit here where it’s nice and cozy and the coffee’s hot.”

“Could she have met someone?”

“No,” Jeff replied curtly. Then, after a beat, he looked at Grange, who had asked. “Like who?”

“There are marathon clubs. Sometimes the runners train as a group.”

“Emory trains alone.”

“Always?”

“Yes. If she’s a member of a club or something, she’s never mentioned it to me. She doesn’t go to meetings or anything like that. Have you checked with any such clubs?”

“Maryjo did. None had Emory on their membership roster.”