need you. Nothing’s the matter except that two people have disappeared and I’m expected to find them. But the cases are quite different, or so they appear to me, and I’m having trouble dealing with the way I’m treating them.”
“Another missing person? And it’s the moral compass issue you mentioned.”
“That’s probably rather a melodramatic way of putting it, so let me back off and give you the whole story.”
CHAPTER 8
Carol had always been comfortable with her evening discussions with Kevin about the day’s developments in her profession. He was a good listener and, in spite of an occasionally misplaced sense of humor, frequently quite useful in helping her put a problem in its proper context. But she was still feeling somewhat uncomfortable about the fact that she was approaching the Eakins and Kennedy situations, her two missing persons problems, so differently. Would Kevin see them as she did? And what if he didn’t?
Two glasses of wine and a light supper later, Carol had filled Kevin in on her dilemma. Why the view that Ernie Eakins’ disappearance was none of the sheriff’s business, that it had much to do with the relationship between Ernie and Connie or at the least was something for which there was a solution that didn’t involve her? Why the view that Martin Kennedy’s disappearance was a problem for the sheriff’s department, that finding Martin was her responsibility and an urgent one?
“To be honest,” Carol said, “I have the feeling that I’m not being fair to the Eakins, but that it’s my heart not my head that’s controlling my response to the Kennedy’s appeal for help.”
“In the first place, you are helping both families. You’ve just spent the better part of a day driving the route Ernie Eakins rode when he got lost. It’s not your fault that you didn’t find him. Maybe you feel a greater empathy for the Kennedys, but that doesn’t mean that their missing son is your problem and Mrs. Eakins’ missing husband is not. In the second place, the heart and the head play very different roles in this body of ours, mine as much as yours. I’ve never met these people, but I can easily imagine empathizing more with the Kennedys. They’ve just moved here, they have a sick, retarded child, and to top it all off they’re part of a very small minority culture around the lake. They need help in a way that Connie Eakins doesn’t.”
“That’s what I’m afraid I’m thinking. Particularly the cultural thing. I don’t want it to look as if I’m patronizing the Kennedys, or maybe that they will think that’s what I’m doing. You know, the white authority figure being especially nice to the African-American family out of a sense of white guilt.”
“I wouldn’t go there, if I were you, Carol. You don’t know whether either of these disappearances will turn out to be a criminal matter. It’s possible that one of them will be the result of a criminal act. Not likely, but possible. I think you’re going to have to investigate both cases. But don’t confuse your duty as the sheriff with a conviction that we may also have a problem with racism up here in Cumberland County. I know as well as you do that some of the people we know are closet racists, even if they insist they’re not. We’re not perfect either, and I understand where you’re coming from. But my suggestion is that you treat Eakins’ disappearance like you’re treating Kennedy’s. What does it cost you to approach both cases as potential crimes?”
Carol considered her husband’s argument. He was right, of course. She might feel better helping the Kennedys solve their problem, but she’d never forgive herself if Ernie Eakins had in fact been the victim of foul play and she had dismissed the possibility.
“I’m persuaded,” she said. “Frankly I was pretty sure we’d be on the same page. But it’s interesting how the Kennedy story grabbed my attention in a way the Eakins’ matter didn’t. I guess I’ve subconsciously thought a lot about the fact that we’re living in a white world up here on the lake. And wondering how the few people who come from other cultures are coping. The recent debate about immigration has surely had something to do with it.”
“In other words, the US of A is more and more a multicultural society, but Crooked Lake isn’t.”
“Let’s change the subject, okay? We both believe that, all in all, people are decent and caring. I’m making a bet that both Connie Eakins and Martin Kennedy’s parents are in the prayers of everyone around the lake.”
“I hope you’re right. And I’ll resist the temptation to mention that we have known some people who aren’t decent and caring. You don’t need to be reminded that we’ve had a few murders in recent years.”
“There isn’t going to be a murder this summer, Kevin!”
“Of course not. Neither of an African-American nor of a cyclist.”
Carol was well aware that her assertion that there would be no murder on Crooked Lake this summer might already have been proven wrong. People are always dropping out of sight for reasons much less dire than murder, and she had seen or heard nothing to suggest that Martin Kennedy or Ernie Eakins was a murder victim. On the other hand, both disappearances were unusual and could not be dismissed as ‘just one of those things’ that happen from time to time. When she sat down with Kevin after supper to talk about the two cases, she had already decided that she would have to investigate both of them. Kevin hadn’t changed her mind, but he had strengthened her resolve to treat Ernie Eakins disappearance as seriously as she treated Kennedy’s.
By the time she went to bed, she had mapped out her agenda for the following morning. She would find out where Adolph Slocomb lived and then she would pay him a visit.
Slocomb, for whom the retarded and missing African-American boy was working. Her last thought before falling asleep was that she was, perhaps unconsciously, still putting the Kennedys and their problem first, ahead of Connie Eakins.
CHAPTER 9
It was while she was waiting for Officer Byrnes to provide her with the information necessary to get to the Slocomb residence that she realized why she didn’t already have it. The Kennedys had never been to where he lived. He had made the agreement to take Martin on at their home, not his, and had subsequently picked him up there and brought him back on each of the few days before he disappeared.
Why, she wondered, had it worked that way? Logically, Slocomb would have wanted the Kennedys to see his place, the place where their son would be spending his days over the summer. And the parents should also have been interested in seeing Martin’s work site, especially in view of his problems. Why hadn’t they? Or had they, but chosen not to insist on it if Slocomb, for whatever reason, wanted to do it his way. Suddenly, ten minutes after the squad meeting, Carol had another reason why it was important that she meet and talk with Adolph Slocomb. And see where Martin had worked before he disappeared.
Byrnes appeared at her office door with a rough map sketch. Apparently, Slocomb didn’t live on any of the main roads or even close to the towns at the end of Crooked Lake’s arms.
“Sorry, Carol, but this isn’t exactly a triple A map. I didn’t bother to give you instructions to get to Southport or onto the east lake road. But once you’re up the hill as if you’re going to Watkins, I think you’ll find the going a bit more of a problem. I had to check with Parsons. He knows the back roads better than I do. Anyway, take a look at my rendition, and then ask me - or one of the other hilltop guys. Maybe you know the area; you grew up here, unlike me. Why anyone would choose to have a place off in the boonies like that, I don’t know.”
