Chapter 18
It was dark out by the time they left Jason Bower.
"A whole day wasted," complained Diego. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out with a hiss. The biker headed to his Scrambler across the street and was slightly annoyed that Maxim followed. He sighed and leaned on the chain-link fence. "Let's get this over with, then."
The detective put his hands in his pockets and watched the brooding biker.
"Well?" asked Diego.
Maxim smirked. "Okay. I understand what you're trying to do here. I know you want to find Hazel Cunningham. Hell, I know
you
, Diego. Act first, plan later."
"Saves time."
"It also wastes time. You pulled me and Detective Harper away from our investigations to bail your ass out."
"He's an asshole." Diego blew smoke from his nose. It enhanced his temper.
Maxim nodded. "Yeah, he is. And he did you a huge favor today."
"He did
you
a favor."
Maxim ignored the correction. "And his job is to find Hazel Cunningham. Sometimes you want an asshole to do these kinds of jobs."
"So what do you guys know then?" asked Diego, pushing off the fence and pointing at the detective, cigarette in hand. "After today it'll be two full days that she's missing. What do you think her chances are?"
Maxim held his tongue, but his eyes betrayed the truth. "Annabelle was found after three days."
"And she's fucked up because of it. That little girl's traumatized to all hell. If she was trapped somewhere and escaped, she needs to talk about it. It's irresponsible not to talk about it. You wanna do something useful, Maxim? You get that little girl to talk. You find out where she was."
A sigh. "I'm on top of it."
"Really, bro? I saw your press conference, Maxim. Excuse me for my total fucking lack of confidence in the police. You have no idea what went down."
"Fine," barked Maxim, getting heated himself. "You're right. I wasn't there. I don't know where Hazel is any more than you do. That's how these things work, Diego. You can't let emotion drive you in these moments. This kid deserves our very best. We act professional. We share information. We catch a break. I can't promise that we'll save her, man, but I will get to the bottom of it."
Diego's words caught in his throat as he processed the detective's last words. There it was. The implicit reality that he hadn't wanted to acknowledge. The fact that this might not have a happy ending. Julia would be crushed, a little girl would be destroyed, and whoever was responsible might even get away with it.
Diego and Maxim had been through a lot together. Was it possible their best wasn't good enough this time?
The burning ash of the cigarette flared as Diego pulled on it. The men were silent. Across the street, Officer Bagley pulled his cruiser out of Jason's driveway and disappeared down the street.
Maxim moved to Diego's bike. "You brought a gun?"
The detective had noticed the shotgun holster. He walked around the motorcycle and Diego explained the obvious. "It's empty."
"I can see that. Where is it? You didn't lose another firearm, did you?"
Diego's eyes narrowed at the reminder. "Of course not. I don't own any guns right now," he admitted. "I've been saving up." The biker didn't mention the real reason. He didn't know if he could trust himself with a gun anymore. Besides, rent was more important.
Maxim chuckled. "So why strap the holster? Afraid of losing your outlaw charm?"
"That's in my heart, brother."
Maxim studied the biker. "Look, Diego. Doing things on your own is fine. Just keep your actions above board. The lead on Jason Bower was a solid one. It was good detective work. But you need to share any information you get with Coconino. It's their case. I'll do everything I can to press them—you know that—but this only works through cooperation."
The biker nodded silently. He wasn't so sure going after Jason had been a mistake. He didn't get what he wanted, but the strange story about the kids was a curiosity. It gave them something else to think about, at least.
And there was another thing. Diego had another lead. Red, the old man who'd been denied entry into Quiet Pines. He was a loner. A hermit. He still needed to be cleared.
"So is there anything else?" asked Maxim. "Anything you want to tell me?"
Diego tossed the cigarette butt to the ground and stomped it out with the toe of his boot. "Nothing," he said, straddling his bike. "Just talk to the girl, Maxim. Get her to tell you something. Anything."
Chapter 19
"More wine?"
Olivia Hayes poured an extra glass of red without waiting for Maxim's answer. It was an earthy Syrah, she said. All he knew was it went down easy and left a tingle on his lips. Those were good things that led to him drinking more. But that wasn't the whole of it. Not only did the woman know her wines, but she looked sharp in her casual blouse and jeans. And somehow, her blonde hair had the perfect accidental styling that only belonged in the movies.
"It's good," he said, waiting for her to sit down first. She did, on the plush sofa, next to her daughter Annabelle. "Sorry again for the late hour."
"I'm gonna have a fit if you apologize again, Detective. Us girls like our nights."
Olivia smiled, but her daughter wore a vacant expression. She was all prissed up: light brown curls, tender pink skin, a long dress. But it was superficial. Just a coat of paint. Annabelle was somewhere else, maybe not in body, but in soul.
Maxim sat down on the second couch. "How are you doing, Annabelle?"
The girl's blue eyes fell to the floor, but she was otherwise still.
Olivia ran her fingers through her short hair. "Go on, dear," she said nervously.
Annabelle simply nodded.
"Is it okay to talk?" asked Maxim softly.
The girl barely glanced his way. It wasn't nervousness as much as apathy. She wasn't afraid of talking—she simply didn't see the point.
"Oh, before I forget," added Maxim, fishing into his pocket. He pulled out Annabelle's key chain. "You left this at your father's house."
The girl's head darted to her keys and she snatched them. She twirled them noisily in her hand.
"That's not for a car, is it?" he asked, pointing to the key fob. He noted there wasn't an actual car key on the key chain, however.
"Oh that," said Olivia, shaking her head dismissively. "Kids. She's always leaving that thing around."
Maxim didn't know what Olivia meant, but Annabelle smiled at him.
"Thanks."
The detective nodded. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
"You mind if I show you a picture, Annabelle?" The girl watched silently as Maxim settled on a photo on his smartphone. He turned the large screen around so she could see. "This is Hazel Cunningham. She's not as old as you. She's only eight."
Annabelle affixed her gaze on the picture. Maxim couldn't tell if she recognized her or not. Annabelle was sullen and tough to read.
"Have you seen this girl before?"
She nodded. "I saw her on the news."
"Annabelle!" chided her mother. "You know I told you not to watch those programs."
"But they're talking about me, Mother."
Olivia pouted and shook her head in disapproval. "Dear, you'll never get over this if you continue to wallow in it."
Annabelle seemed immune to her mother's words. She nodded to acknowledge them, but it was for show.
"What about besides the news?" asked Maxim gently. "In real life. Have you seen her?"
The girl shook her head.
Maxim put the phone away. "Did someone take you out into the woods?"
A dark expression enveloped her face. "I was alone."
"I know that's not true, Annabelle. I spoke with Bryan. And Grady, and BT, and Allison. I know you went camping in Sycamore with them for the long weekend."
Olivia almost coughed up some wine. "What's this?" She turned to her daughter, who again faced the floor.
"They were just pretending," said the girl. "I went out to the forest with them, but they just wanted to drink. They didn't really want to go."
"Drink?" asked Olivia, incredulous.
Maxim leaned forward. "Annabelle, they didn't want to go where?"
The twelve-year-old began to close up under the weight of their attention. The detective moved to the girl and took a knee, placing his hand on her shoulder.
"Annabelle, were you trying to run away again?"
"What?" Olivia scoffed and put her glass of wine on the side table. "My daughter did
not
try to run away. She's a victim here. It was that brat, Grady, and his friends. Isn't underage drinking against the law? Can't you do something about that?"
"Olivia, I had a talk with the families—"
"A talk?"
Maxim sighed. "I can't arrest some teenagers for drinking a few days ago. Besides, your daughter participated. It's better to focus on—"
Olivia's face went blood red. "My daughter does not drink."
The detective backed away from them and snorted. This lady was living under a rock. Maxim didn't know anything about raising kids but he knew that much.
"If your daughter ran away then I need her to talk about it. Where she went. What she saw."
"Detective," said Olivia, standing up, "I think you should go now."
"What?"
"I will not have the police badgering my daughter after her ordeal."
"I'm not trying—"
"Her psychologist doesn't want her dwelling on it. He says keeping her distracted is the best thing for now. She needs to learn how to feel comfortable again before she can confront it."
Their disagreement escalated into an argument. Annabelle sat still, brooding. Maxim worried about her, but as hands-off as he'd been thus far, he couldn't afford to give them more space, more time.
"An eight-year-old girl is lost," he pleaded. "If your daughter knows anything of material value, we need that information."
Olivia was about to explode. "Can't you see she doesn't like these questions?"
And then, finding an unlikely lull in the yelling, Annabelle spoke.
"The only way not to be sad is to be happy."
Both adults stopped long enough to focus on the girl.
"What's that, dear?"
"The only way not to be sad is to be happy. Gulliver said that once."
Olivia's shoulders heaved and her breathing slowed. "I wouldn't take anything your father says too seriously."
"I know," said Annabelle. "I don't. But he was right that time. I want to be happy. I want to live out there, in the forest."
For a moment, Olivia's jaw was frozen to the ground. She watched her daughter with an expression that was a mix of horror and shock. Then she jutted her chin forward and shook her head. "You're not going outside again."
"You can't stop me, Mom. I'm old enough now. I don't need to be babied."
"You weren't eating anything, honey." Olivia turned to the detective and shook her head as though her daughter was being silly.
"I don't need food," protested the girl.
Her mother did a double-take. The severity of the situation began to sink in. The words weren't just combative—they had deranged implications. Maxim wondered how she hadn't noticed before. Suddenly, Olivia changed her demeanor.
"You're tired, Annabelle. You should go to bed."
"But I'm not tired, Mother. I hate sleeping."
"Go to bed!"
The ire in Olivia's voice had reached a dangerous pitch. The woman was trembling. At her limit. There was no room in her tone for an appeal, and the girl, as troublesome as she was, filed up the staircase silently.
When they were alone, Maxim studied Olivia Hayes. The poor woman was on edge and didn't know what to do. She bobbled between pacing, taking sips of wine, and staring out the window. For a while, instead of saying anything, Maxim ran the events over in his head, focusing on the words, making sure nothing slipped by.
Then he realized Olivia was crying.
He stepped softly to the window. "Are you okay?"
The woman's back was to him. Her short blonde hair hung over her slender neck, leaving her shoulders bare. When she didn't answer, he softly touched her back.
Olivia Hayes spun around and buried her head in his chest. Her hands clasped tightly to his back, and he could feel her nails digging into his suit jacket. Her cries turned into a sob, and Maxim put his arms around her slender figure and waited for her.
Women like Olivia Hayes didn't open up much. Maxim didn't know her. He didn't know if the money had changed her, or the divorce, or the daughter. He didn't know what Olivia had done to get where she was, but he knew she was tougher than most mothers he'd met. She was always on the offensive. Always looking ahead.
Soon enough, she brushed her tears away, but she still clung to him. Still leaned her head on his shoulder.
"She's acting strangely," she mumbled. "Different, somehow."
The detective darted his eyes to the staircase to make sure they were speaking privately. "She's traumatized. That's natural. It's good that you got her a therapist."
Olivia tensed for a moment in his arms. "She's saying crazy things."
"At least she's talking now."
Olivia pulled away and playfully slapped Maxim on the shoulder. "Be nice," she warned. He couldn't help but smile.
"I understand this is difficult, Olivia. I really do. But you and Annabelle, you're the lucky ones. She made it back safe. You guys have each other, even if the relationship is strained right now."
Maxim suddenly felt awkward, still half-embracing the woman while playing detective. He released her. There was a lot of tension between them, he realized. Too slowly. Olivia, taking his cue, let her smile wane.
Maxim continued. "There's another mother in Flagstaff who's crying every night wondering where her daughter is. She might not be lucky enough to ever see her again. Just try to talk to your daughter, okay? Just try to get her to open up. I need to know if she saw anyone out there. I need to know if she had help."
Olivia Hayes frowned and wiped her eyes. Her tough exterior crept into her features again, and she straightened up.