school. But there was every possibility she’d leave Anchorage. He would if his kid had been stolen. He’d be combing the country every chance he got.
As a detective, Julian had played many roles. One of the more effective was posing as a reporter. He checked in to his motel, dug out a battered black notebook and drove to the school. The motel clerk had told him school let out at three.
He got there a little after and found a mass exodus of kids and cars leaving the fenced lot. “Hey,” he called to several young men horsing around outside the front gate. “If a guy wanted to write an article on some of the more interesting teachers in your school, who might you suggest?”
“Whaddya mean by interesting?” asked the boy closest to Julian.
Julian opened his notebook. “I’m thinking along the lines of a human-interest story. Any of your teachers have stuff going on in their lives that would play to reader sympathy?”
The boys bandied about names, then settled on two—Mrs. Morrison and Ms. Patton. Bingo!
“You could go to the office and see one of the school secretaries if you want to talk to them. Mrs. Morrison, our science teacher, her husband got mauled real bad by a bear. It’s been all over the paper for weeks. Haven’t you seen it? He’s probably gonna die. Mrs. Morrison’s got a leave of absence.”
Julian whistled sympathetically. “I agree, her story’s probably been done enough. What’s with… Ms. Patton, isn’t that the other name you gave me?”
The boy, clearly the leader of the group, pointed behind Julian. “There she goes now to her car. And there’s Ms. Cox, one of the secretaries. You can probably catch her. Ms. Patton’s real sad because her stupid ex-husband snatched their kid a year or so ago. Their pictures were plastered all over town. Cops questioned everybody, but poof…the kid and her dad were gone.”
Julian’s gaze tracked the woman to an old Toyota. She was a surprise. Model-thin, she wore a conservative navy suit. Her longer-than-shoulder-length blond hair was combed back from a pale, oval face and clipped smoothly at her nape.
She stopped and checked all around before unlocking her car. Apparently satisfied no danger lurked nearby, she tossed her purse and bulging briefcase onto the passenger seat, then slid in the driver’s side.
Murmuring his thanks to the helpful teens, Julian went in search of the secretary, Ms. Cox, even as Ms. Patton started her engine and drove off. He intercepted the secretary before she could leave the school grounds. Julian fed her the reporter story, and turned on the charm as he asked her about doing a feature on her colleague.
“You should probably talk to Garnet. I know she thinks no one cares about her case anymore. But at the same time, the publicity brought her a lot of unwanted attention. You know, from crazies.”
Julian scribbled in his book while pumping the woman about the abduction. “They were always an odd couple,” she ventured. “Dale changed after he lost his job on the pipeline. He put on weight and let his hair get bushy. He also grew a scruffy beard and mustache. I heard he hung out with bikers. Oh, I probably shouldn’t have said that. You won’t print that, will you?” She looked worriedly up through her lashes.
Julian found the mention of bikers very interesting. He wanted to probe deeper, but the secretary began nervously edging away. He thanked her for her help, his mind stuck on Lee Hackett. Except for the biker connection, the two men didn’t seem alike. Hackett wasn’t a big man. “Don’t worry. I’ll consider our conversation off the record,” he said with another disarming smile.
“Good. You really should talk to Garnet. Or her teacher friends. They’re all in the hectic final days of classes. Oh, but earlier today I heard some of them planning to go to happy hour Friday at the Silver Springs Lounge. To celebrate turning in their grades. Garnet said she might go.”
Julian tucked his notebook in his pocket. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to confront Garnet Patton. But just in case, he drove past the Silver Springs Lounge on his way back to the motel. It was an upscale establishment, and dark enough inside to allow for anonymous observations.
Eager to try out one of the local streams, Julian thought he’d get up early and fish Thursday morning. And maybe he’d spend the afternoon talking with Ms. Patton’s neighbors. Maybe he wouldn’t need a face-to-face meeting. Although he was curious to see how a woman with a missing daughter handled a night out on the town. Somehow, Julian didn’t think too highly of the mother of a missing daughter who went about her life as if everything was status quo.
CHAPTER TWO
JULIAN RELAXED BY a lazy river. Before the morning mist evaporated he’d caught two rainbow trout. Beauties he was sorry to release. Hungry for fish, he stopped for a burger instead at a biker bar he passed on his way back to the motel. Inside, he struck up conversation with a cold-eyed bruiser seated at the counter. “Julian Cavenaugh, North Alaska Tribune,” he said, inventing a paper. “I’m considering a follow-up on the Dale Patton story. Ever heard of him?”
“Yeah. But why would anyone want to stir that up again?”
Julian bit into his burger and licked the juice that trickled down his thumb. “I’m curious how Patton managed to slip away, even though there must’ve been posters and stuff all over the state.”
“So Dale’s slippery. End of story. Find a new one, pal.” Several tough guys in the room laughed. The bruiser took a last slug from his beer, tossed money on the counter, hitched up his pants and left. At least five others followed him out.
Hearing the roar of bike engines from out front, Julian tried asking his waitress, but she didn’t know Patton. She attempted to flirt, but Julian wasn’t interested. He left his burger, paid his bill and returned to the motel to shower and change. He decided to try his luck with Garnet Patton’s neighbors.
The first woman who answered his knock was treated to Julian’s best smile. The fact that he petted the woman’s fussy dog won him an audience with Anna Winkleman, senior citizen. “I’m writing a follow-up story on the missing Patton child,” Julian fibbed after introducing himself and showing her his false credentials.
“No doubt you’ve given accounts in the past, but I wondered if you’d mind talking about it again.”
“Mercy, I’m grateful her case hasn’t been forgotten. Poor Garnet’s exhausted herself and spent every cent she doesn’t absolutely need to live on, trying to find her precious baby. She’s so discouraged. Is it possible to find Sophie after so long?”
Still petting the pooch, Julian considered how to answer. “Anything is possible,” he finally said. “Mrs. Winkleman, how well did you know Dale Patton? Is he the type who could’ve hurt his daughter to spite his ex? She did file for the divorce, correct?”
“She did. But Garnet moved here after the kidnapping. I never met Dale. All I really know about him is hearsay. Rumor is that he got in with a bunch of no-good bikers who drank and caroused. Other people say he took Sophie on his motorcycle when she was a toddler. He bought her a helmet, but still…I say Garnet did the right thing divorcing him.”
“Was his taking their daughter for bike rides a big reason for the divorce?”
Anna looked blank. “I’m not sure. I believe it had some bearing on her seeking sole custody. But who can blame her? She said that about a month before she petitioned family court for sole custody, one of Dale’s biker
