8
Two days later …
After Betty stammered out the message from Jessup that he wanted to see me as soon as possible I didn’t waste any time beating a path to town. On the way I kept asking myself what ‘news about Callie’ might mean. It could, of course, be interpreted a number of ways, and not all of them were good.
I arrived at Jessup’s office to find the usually placid workplace a frenzy of activity. There were several Virginia State Police cars parked on the street and uniformed and plain-clothes officers milling around inside the building. When Jessup saw me enter he took me by the arm and steered me into his private office and closed the door.
I knew all this activity did not bode well for good news and I tried to brace myself for the worst when I asked, “Have you found my wife?”
“No,” Jessup barked. It didn’t take a genius to see he was in a state of considerable agitation. “An hour ago we got a call from Mitch Fuller’s neighbor – the guy married to the young lady you spoke with yesterday as a matter of fact. He was doing some fence work at the rear of his property where it borders on the Fuller place. Noticed a car parked in a strange spot on Fuller’s property and decided to check it out. He found the body of my reserve officer, John Croop, lying in the back seat with two bullet holes in his chest. Dead.”
The effect of hearing this news was roughly the equivalent of being struck in the chest with a bat. I stood speechless, trying to imagine how this could possibly involve Callie.
“Croop,” Jessup continued, “has been absent since yesterday, the very time your wife was reported as missing. He was found within six hundred yards of where we found her abandoned vehicle. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how this looks.”
Obviously Croop’s car and Miles’ pickup were accounted for, leaving Callie on foot. “But if Callie’s involved, where is she?” I wondered.
“A fair question,” Jessup responded. “One possible answer is in Mitch Fuller’s pickup. He and his vehicle are also missing.”
Before I could begin to process what this might mean a Virginia State Trooper knocked on Jessup’s office door and then opened it. “Our people at the scene just phoned to say they’ve found some evidence we should see. We’re heading back out there now.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Jessup replied.
“Can I come with you, Chief?” I asked.
“No,” he said sharply. “It’s a murder scene. In case you need reminding, you are no longer a police officer.” Then he pointed a finger at me. “And you are not to go anywhere but the hotel until I get back.” He hurried out, leaving me to ponder events on my own.
What the hell was going on?
Callie could be another victim. She could be the perpetrator. Or neither.
I was in my hotel room about an hour later, attempting without success to make sense of the little I had so far learned about events out on Thornhill Road, when I heard a hard knocking at the door followed by a stern voice calling out, “Maine State Police.”
When I opened the door two very large uniformed officers stood there with their hands poised near their holsters. “Mr. Parmenter?” the one on the right said.
“Yes.”
“Come with us please.”
This didn’t sound quite right. “Am I under arrest?”
“We’ve been told to bring you to the Colville Police Department. That’s all.”
“So I’m not under arrest?”
“Sir,” the cop on the left said, “we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Which is it going to be?”
Both these guys looked like they could qualify as offensive linemen on a pro football team.
I chose the easy way.
I was delivered to a Maine State Police Sergeant named Terese Manochet who was waiting for me in Chief Jessup’s private office. Manochet was a fiftyish, confident type who did not believe in wasting time or words. She was leaning against Jessup’s desk and I sat facing her while the two troopers stationed themselves directly behind me.
“Okay, Mr. Parmenter,” she said, “we need to verify something. Where exactly were you between 10 a.m. and noon yesterday?”
This whole process was pissing me off to a huge degree but I knew better than to let it show. The best way to deal with these people was to answer their questions quickly, honestly, and without rancor. “I was on a Greyhound bus out of Augusta from approximately 10:15 a.m. until it arrived here in Colville at … I believe approximately 11:45. When I got off the bus I walked to Mollie’s Diner where I had lunch. I finished in about twenty minutes. A waitress named Kat served me who I’m sure will be able to confirm this.”
Manochet stared intently at me during my response. “Do you have a bus ticket stub we could see?”
Ticket stubs were not the kind of thing I was in the habit of hanging on to but fortunately I had not yet had the opportunity to change what I’d been wearing yesterday and the stub was still in my shirt pocket. I dug it out and handed it to her.
She looked briefly at the stub, handed it to one of the troopers, and nodded her head at him. He immediately left.
“Sit tight, Mr. Parmenter,” Manochet said. “We’ll be back to you shortly.” She walked out leaving me alone with trooper number two.
It took longer than it should have for trooper number one to return with confirmation of my alibi. At least it seemed that way to me. Time tends to pass very slowly when you’re waiting out something like that.
When the process of establishing my innocence in the murder of Officer Croop was finally completed Sergeant Manochet was gracious enough to offer a curt apology. “Sorry for the down and dirty,” she said. “We have to cover all bases.”
I nodded my understanding. I’d been there, done that – six or seven hundred times in fact. “Anything yet on my wife or this Fuller guy?”
“Not yet,” she replied. “I imagine you’ll be among the first to hear when we find them.”
I had to at least respect her confidence. There was no ‘if’, only ‘when’.
So what was the relationship between Callie and Croop, I pondered as I drove back to the Wilsons. Was he the caller of whom Miles had spoken? The way things were shaping up it looked liked Callie may have killed him but, if that was so, what in the name of hell was her reason? If it was a justifiable shooting – which, of course, I was praying it was – why would she run? Was it possible that Fuller had killed Croop and then abducted Callie? Maybe that’s why Croop was on the scene. He had come across Callie and Fuller arguing and tried to intervene, getting himself killed in the process. It made as much sense as any other scenario I could conjure up.
When I sat down with Miles and Betty I brought them up to speed on all that had happened. They were every bit as mystified as I was by events.
“Tell me about Croop,” I said. “What kind of guy was he?”
Miles shrugged. “I never really knew him. He moved here about - what was it, Betty, two, three years ago?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “About three years, I think.”
“Was he married?” I asked.
“No, a bachelor,” Miles stated. “A good lookin’ fella, lots a ladies in town givin’ him the eye all the time.”
“Is it possible he was the one calling Callie for the past couple of weeks?”
“I suppose. Callie always took the calls so I don’t know, but coulda been. ”
“What about Fuller?” I asked, deciding to run my theory past them. “Do you think it’s possible that he and Callie might have been arguing about something and Croop came along, intervened, and was subsequently killed by Fuller?”
Miles made a doubtful grimace, indicating extreme skepticism. “I’ve known Mitch for thirty years,” he said. “Fine man. The type to help anyone he felt needed it. Can’t believe he’d be involved in anything illegal, much less the murder of a police officer.”
“Maybe an unintentional thing?” I proffered.
Miles shook his head. “I just don’t see it as a credible possibility, Jack.”
That tended to shoot a big hole in my theory and pretty much put us back at square one.
Was Callie alive? And if she was, why would she run?
Before leaving the Wilsons this time I remembered to grab my duffle bag. When I walked outside to the pickup, Bix trailed along behind me. When I climbed in and looked down at him, he stared dolefully back at me with those unfathomable eyes of his.
I leaned over and opened the passenger door. Bix shot around the truck and jumped in beside me. I pulled the door closed and glanced at the house where Miles stood watching. After I fired up the motor he nodded his approval.
I raised my hand in a tacit parting gesture and drove away.
9
It was hard to believe, when I awoke early the next morning, that I had arrived in Colville only forty-two hours earlier. Given all that had happened it seemed like weeks had gone by. While I stared at the ceiling wondering what I could possibly do to unravel the mystery of my wife’s inexplicable disappearance, the phone beside my bed rang.
“Hello,” I said, convinced it could only be bad news.
It was Miles, proving me wrong. “She called here, Jack. She wouldn’t tell me anythin’ but she wants to talk to ya. I gave her yer number at the hotel. Expect a call real soon.” He hung up before I could say a word.
A couple of minutes later my phone rang again. I was poised over it with my hand resting on the cradle and snatched it up before the ring had completed. “Callie?”
There was a long silence. Then, as if it was emanating from a small child, I heard her say, “Yes, Jack. It’s me.” She sounded beaten, on the verge of a breakdown. And scared, too.
She also sounded far away, like a call from overseas back in the days when you could actually tell about those things. “Callie … honey. Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m in trouble, Jack. I need help. Can you … help me?”
“Yes, honey. Yes, I can help you. Just tell me where you are. I’ll come to you right now.”
“You can’t tell the police. You have to promise me.”
“I promise, Callie. I won’t tell anyone.”
Once again, silence. Then, “I’m so sorry, Jack. I did something bad.
I---”
She was alive and nothing else mattered. “Callie, I don’t care what you’ve done. You just need to tell me where you are so I can come to you and help you. Please, baby, where are you?”
She started to sob. I could barely make out her next words. “I love you, Jack. I’m so sorry … for … everything.”
And then I was listening to a dial tone.
I dialed *69 but got no response, probably because the call had been routed through a switchboard. I dropped the phone to it’s cradle and sat on the edge of the bed with my hands to the sides of my head. “Goddamn it,” I cursed. If I had handled the call better I could have gotten through to her. I blew it. When she needed me most I let her down. Again.
Bix, lying curled in his corner, watched me silently for several moments and then whimpered softly.
The mournful sound of his mewling was perfect accompaniment to the despair I felt.
When the phone rang twenty minutes later I moved so fast to get it I nearly fell in the process. “Callie?”
“It’s me, Jack,” Miles said.
“Miles, she called me but hung up before I could find out where she was and *69 didn’t work.”
“Maybe not fer you,” he said.
“You mean you got it?”
“Yup. She was calling from a grocery store in Lewiston. I’ve got the address.”
I knew I loved this guy for a reason. “Let me get a pencil,” I said. “ … Okay.”
“It’s a place called Cheng’s Grocery on the corner a Fir and Union. I
also checked with the bank. Callie used
‘er debit card in Rumford yesterday to withdraw the maximum allowable amount – five hundred bucks.”
“Rumford? That’s in the opposite direction to Lewiston. What the hell is she doing?”
“You got me, Jack.”
“Okay” I said, “I’m heading to Lewiston right now. Can you describe Fuller’s vehicle for me?”
“White Dodge pickup. Don’t know the exact year but it’s an older one. Probably early nineties.”
“When I get somewhere where I can buy a prepaid cell phone I’ll call you with the number so we can stay in touch. Are you okay without your pickup for awhile yet?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about us.”
“I’ll call you soon.” I stuffed my miserable belongings back into my duffle bag. “Let’s go Bix.”
* *
It was an old part of Lewiston that had been affected to a fair degree by urban blight. Many of the buildings in the area, both commercial and residential, had seen much better days. But there were still lots of homes occupying larger than average sized lots that, although aging, were well maintained. The small grocery store from which Callie had made the calls to us in Colville, however, was a crumbling ruin. A tiny Asian woman of indeterminate age peered at me suspiciously from behind her counter when I entered the dim interior of the store. When I approached her I had the feeling she resented my intrusion. I picked up a few items to make my presence less intimidating and placed them on the counter for her to ring up.
“Seven dollah,” she demanded.
I dug a twenty dollar bill from my pocket and placed it in her hand. “Keep the change,” I said. She hesitated, clearly not in the habit of getting tips, and certainly not generous ones. My gratuity, however, only seemed to intensify her suspicion.
I showed her the picture of Callie that Miles had given me. “Do you know this lady?” I asked as gently and non-threateningly as possible. “I think she phoned me from here this morning.”
I was surprised when she took the picture from me and scrutinized it closely. Then she looked up at me for several seconds before saying anything. When she did speak I was surprised again. “Very nice lady. Not happy. No trouble please.”
“No, no trouble,” I assured her. “She’s my wife and I need to find her. Can you help?”
It probably wasn’t the wisest approach to take in trying to solicit this woman’s assistance. After all, she might well assume Callie
wanted
to avoid me. But whatever she saw in me must have convinced her otherwise. “Don’t know where she live but maybe close.”
“Why do you think that?” I asked.
“She come in three times today. Get only few things each time.”
I nodded, indicating her reasoning was sound. I gave her another twenty. “I’m going to go buy a cell phone, then I’ll come back and leave the number with you. If you see my wife again, ring the number once and hang up. Will you do that?”
“You leave number. I call. Can buy phone across street, one block that way.” She pointed behind me and to the left.
“Thank you very much. I’ll be right back.”
“I Mai Ling,” she announced.
“My name is Jack.”
“Across street,” she said again, pointing. “One block that way.”
The guy who sold me the cell phone was probably Mai Ling’s twin brother. Except for the fact he was two inches taller and had shorter hair, they were practically identical. It explained the emphatically persistent directions.
I made a quick trip back to Mai Ling’s to drop off my number and then returned to the pickup which I had left parked about a half block away. For some reason that was not immediately apparent to me, Bix was unusually animated. He kept shifting around, his nose continually going back to the passenger side window I had left down a couple of inches for him. It may well have been that he was simply uncomfortable in these strange surroundings. Or - and this was, of course, my hope - he sensed Callie’s presence.
I used my newly acquired phone to call Miles and updated him on what I had accomplished so far. He was delighted to think we might be close to finding Callie and professed absolute confidence that everything would be satisfactorily explained, that she would be exonerated of any wrongdoing.
I applauded his loyalty. In all honesty, however, it was impossible for me to share his optimism.
Viewed realistically, the way events were unfolding simply did not augur well for a favorable outcome.