“Where’re you?”
“Home. The media’s out front. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I’m calling my boss. I’ll be there soon.”
“What about Dad?”
“He’s at the dentist. Just hold on, I’m coming.”
Greg peeked through the curtains at the crowd out front. His doorbell rang constantly. He didn’t answer. His phone vibrated with messages from newspeople, but he didn’t respond. He was screening calls, waiting for Kozak or Carillo to confirm that they’d found Jenn.
Or to tell me she’s dead.
Until they did, until he had absolute proof this time, to him, she was still alive.
I don’t want to hear it from the press with cameras aimed at me.
Greg returned to the TV, continuing to surf for any news updates—maybe Kozak and Carillo were on camera—when he heard thudding, frantic hammering, at his back door.
Cursing, he strode to it, thinking that if a reporter was at the back then they’d trespassed. But it was Holly Wiley.
He opened the door for her.
“Jake’s missing!”
“What do you mean?”
“He ran into the woods! We can’t find him!”
* * *
Running through the back way, Greg barely heard Holly’s words, her voice trembling as she tried to keep up with him.
“Jake’s drone fell in the trees... He went looking... Nate called nine-one-one...”
Gooseflesh rose on Greg’s arms, his scalp prickled, he struggled to take in what was happening.
Arriving at the Wiley’s backyard, he saw Nate using his BBQ grill table like a desk, his phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder, talking, typing on his laptop. A police scanner squawked with dispatches, and a walkie-talkie used for the neighborhood watch was also on the table.
Carter was standing nearby, still holding the controller, staring at the forest as if expecting Jake to emerge with the drone.
“Greg!” Nate turned. “State police are sending units. They’re putting out an Amber. We’re blasting it out to the neighborhood watch teams in Trailside, Ripplewood, Cardinal, and Noble Haven. Many of our guys are retired, so we’ll get a lot of eyes out there.”
Without stopping, Greg charged into the forest, branches slapping and pulling at him as he searched at top speed, calling Jake’s name. A flash of color. He found Jake’s drone caught in a thicket and untangled its propellers from the branches. Then he studied the traffic on Wild Orchid Lane before returning to the yard, his heart pounding, mind racing.
“It crashed and Jake just went looking for it!” said Carter, his chin crumpling, still holding the controller.
“Were you guys recording a video before the crash?” Greg said.
Carter nodded.
“Let’s replay it.”
Carter passed the controller to Greg.
Replaying the video with Nate watching over Greg’s shoulder, their focus went to the van parked on the shoulder of Wild Orchid near the forest directly behind the Wiley’s house.
“Damn, that’s got to be it,” Nate said.
Greg copied the video, sending it to Nate’s and Holly’s phones.
“Holly,” Greg said, “take Carter. Go to my house, bring the press here, show them what happened, show them the video. Tell police what happened when they get here. You’ve got pictures of Jake.”
“Okay, Greg.”
He turned to Nate. “Get your radio stuff. We gotta find that van!”
Ninety-One
Clarence, New York
Tension had turned Kozak’s neck to stone.
She rubbed it, drank more coffee, and looked at the clock on the Barracks wall before returning to reports.
It was well into the morning; they’d been at it all night.
Come on, something’s got to give, she thought.
Her email chimed; her phone pinged.
So did Carillo’s.
It was Rose Kemp at the Forensic Video Unit in Albany. “Your subject’s plate is New York RFD 9Q114, registered to—”
Kozak wrote down the name and address.
“Here we go.” Carillo sat up at his keyboard, clicking as he ran the name.
The break unleashed an investigative blitz.
In anticipation, they’d already drafted affidavits for warrants. Lieutenant Becker entered their office, tie loosened, in need of a shave, phone to his ear. He was talking to a judge who was standing by to email them sign-off on warrants for the subject’s residence, vehicle, and phone.
“We’ve got ECSO SWAT moving on the address now for a potential rescue,” Becker said.
* * *
Unit #75 was a double-wide at the end of a potholed street in Sweet Lake Breezes Mobile Home Park.
Garbage had been strewn in neighboring yards by dogs picking through discarded table scraps.
The commander of ECSO’s—Erie County Sheriff’s Office’s—SWAT team assigned two members to move neighboring residents and the dogs to safety before the unit took points around #75. Then, using a bullhorn, the commander ordered the occupants to exit the residence, showing their hands.
No response.
They listened for movement inside.
Silence.
No vehicle on the parking pad.
No assumptions were made.
A patio door smashed and a bedroom window disintegrated as flash-bang grenades exploded inside and SWAT members rushed into the home, checking all rooms, closets, crawlspaces, knocking on walls, the ceiling, and floor, checking for body mass.
* * *
“ECSO says no one’s home at number seventy-five. No sign of Jennifer Griffin,” Becker told Kozak and Carillo. “Deputies will canvass.”
Becker’s phone rang with another call, and he turned away to take it.
At the Barracks, the investigators’ efforts to find Jennifer mounted. They’d found no record, no arrests, or warrants for the subject.
Kozak was working with the phone carrier who was motivated by the warrant to cooperate. They were moving fast to help locate the subject by tracking the mobile phone when the case analyst, Melinda Hyland, came to the investigators, flagging a new piece of information.
“The plate came up on the list of vehicles observed at the funeral,” Hyland said. “The vehicle was there.”