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“Around three in the afternoon.”
“Did he have plans for the evening?”
“Not that he said.”
“There’s a lot of parties on Halloween,” Annie pointed out. “Monster Bash going on downtown,” she said, referring to the huge annual street festival that took over downtown Bayou Breaux for the holiday every year, where costumed revelers wandered from bar to bar, street vendor to street vendor, enjoying food and drink and live music. “Old patterns are easy to fall back into.”
B’Lynn shook her head, her jaw set at a stubborn angle. “He knew better. He’s been on the straight and narrow. He was optimistic, upbeat. He’s been talking about going back to school part-time, working toward getting his degree.”
Or so he told his mama, who was helping him out financially. It was painful to watch the range of emotions pass across her face—anger, determination, hope, fear—an endless cycle for the mother of an addict.
“Does he have a car?” Annie asked.
“Yes. It’s a blue Toyota Corolla, eight or nine years old.” She rattled off the tag number by heart.
“Is it registered to him or to you?”
“It’s in my name. For the insurance.”
“And you gave this information to the police?”
“Yes, of course.”
Meaning there should already have been an order for local law enforcement to be on the lookout for the car.
“When did you first report him missing?”
“Last Tuesday. I never heard from him that Sunday. I waited through Monday, hoping, thinking…” She shook her head. “I went to the police first thing Tuesday morning. They weren’t interested in helping me. They said Robbie would turn up. He didn’t. I went back on Thursday, and they said it wasn’t a crime for him to go wherever he wanted. Then I came here, and I was told it was a city police matter and that he’d likely turn up on his own when he was ready.”
“Who did you speak to here?”
B’Lynn scowled, gesturing toward the door. “That man at the desk.”
“Sergeant Hooker,” Annie said, doodling an angry face on her legal pad. “Did you report the car stolen?”
“No,” B’Lynn said, confused. “Why would I? It’s Robbie’s to use.”
Annie hesitated to answer, trying to formulate the right words.
B’Lynn’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to tell me the police will look harder for a stolen car than for a missing person?”
“That’s not exactly how I’d say it,” Annie said. “But you already know the police think your son is free to go wherever he wants. However, he is not free to go in a stolen car.”
“Then the car is stolen!” B’Lynn said urgently. “It’s definitely stolen!”
“Okay. We’ll file that report right away.”
“But not the missing persons report?”
How to say that a drug addict gone off on his own wouldn’t be considered as much a priority as a suspect in a felony theft? Annie chose not to try.
“So you spoke to Robbie late in the day on Halloween, and he said he didn’t have any plans. Did you believe him?”
It wasn’t hard to imagine an addict, down on his luck, feeling blue, catching up with some old buddies at a party. Life seemed so much better high. Maybe just this one night…He’d get sober againthe next day…Then one pill became two or someone offered to share a needle…
B’Lynn didn’t answer, which was answer enough. She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t be sure.
“What’s his drug of choice?”
