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He picked up the laptop and almost heaved it across the room, but stopped. No. He couldn’t. No violence. He needed to call the police, report this. Annie had kidnapped his children. She was unstable.
Yes. Unstable. Hadn’t she been acting odd, ever since Marie had been born? His mother had even mentioned it to him. He had dismissed it then, but maybe...maybe he hadn’t really dismissed the idea that his wife was suffering from postpartum depression. No, he hadn’t dismissed it. In fact, he had encouraged her to see her doctor, talk to someone.
That’s right... And she hadn’t wanted to. He was worried, had every right to be worried! See what happened? What if...what if his children were in danger?
He took another gulp of bourbon straight from the bottle and paced the family room. He needed to figure this out, do it now, not wait.
She’d been missing for more than twenty-four hours. She’d left a note—that was good. He could say he was looking for her, calling friends, wanting to give her time...but now he’s worried, very worried, because there’s no sign of her.
Should he do it now? Tonight? Tomorrow?
He’d called Brian this morning, told him that Annie left yesterday, left a note that she wasn’t coming back, and Brian said she would, that she loved him, asked what might have happened. Peter didn’t know—but they had an argument about something stupid, something he couldn’t remember, and now some of her clothes and some of the kids’ clothes were gone. But she left her phone, laptop.
“She could have just needed a day or two to calm down,” Brian had said. “Annie has always been a little high-strung. I’ll talk to Natalie, see if they talked, let you know if she has an idea where to find her.”
Peter had told Brian that he was probably right, left it at that.
Self-preservation.
Peter shook his head. He had nothing to worry about. He loved his family, everyone knew that. He had a good job, a good income, was home when he wasn’t working, was a good husband, a good father. Dammit, why had Annie put him in this position?
He walked through the house and stared out the front window, as if waiting for her to drive up. The street was lively; it was three thirty and though nearly a hundred degrees, the kids didn’t seem to care. They were home from school, playing games on the low-traffic street. Laughter. He’d picked a perfect neighborhood to raise a family. Good schools, close to shopping, safe. A lot of cops lived in North Phoenix, unless they moved farther out of the city to Surprise or Goodyear or Chandler or Anthem.
Good neighborhood... Other neighbors had security cameras. He needed to talk to them, see if they had footage of who came to pick Annie up.
He needed to do that before he reported her missing. If he could find her tonight, then he wouldn’t have to call anyone else. Wouldn’t have to bring in law enforcement. The last thing he wanted was to be the subject of gossip. That his wife had left him, that he wasn’t good enough. The whispers, the innuendos.
He glanced at the half-empty bottle in his hand. Winced. He shouldn’t be drinking, especially in the middle of the day. He put the bottle back on the bar, started a pot of coffee, then went upstairs and showered. Dressed in shorts and a DPS polo shirt.
He would talk to every neighbor who had a security camera and find out who came to his house yesterday morning and took his wife and children.
A sense of determination washed over him.
And then he would do whatever it took to bring them home.
Eighteen
Margo Angelhart
“I forgot how much I liked this place,” Jack said, looking around at the Beverly’s ambiance.
“If you like overpaying for beer.” I sipped my beer, a Church IPA like last night. Jack ordered something lighter. The appetizers were already gone—both of us had been famished. Steak bites and truffle fries. I could have eaten another round all by myself.
“It’s Scottsdale,” he said with a shrug. “You pay for atmosphere. So, who do you think was the target yesterday? Monroe or White?”
“The obvious answer is Monroe—he’s important, he’s wealthy, he has enemies. Yet...they were rendered unconscious, fresh air brought them around. Do you know the cause? Because it would have to be something heavy duty for them to be knocked out without much warning. And they both came around minutes after I aired out the house.”
Jack shook his head, sipped his beer. “I’ll call Nico in the morning, see if he’ll track it down—if they’ve even gotten to it. Major crimes go to the top.”
Like every police department in America, staffing shortages affected every level, from street cops to forensics to support staff.
“White’s the one who is acting squirrelly,” I said. “Plus, Endicott’s lead investigator was out doing what we were doing—tracking White by canvassing Monroe’s property. That tells me they were hired to find her, talk to her, follow her...drug her? I don’t know.”
“Tess said you think she could have a false identity. That would be difficult to pull off, unless she has exceptionally good docs.”
“Not impossible. Not even that difficult.” I’d found someone to create three very real, but false, identities for Annie Carillo and her two kids, though I didn’t mention that to Jack. “I don’t see how the target is Monroe. He’s been going about his business, meeting investors, friends, no unscheduled trips. Only his wife says he’s acting weird and out of character. I’m wondering if she’s just making up all this bullshit.”
“Why would she?”
