or smiling at someone in all of the pictures. Always interacting. Patrick, on the other hand, seemed more still. Thoughtful. Swenson was in two pictures as well. In one of them, it was just him and Catherine, outside the church, sitting on one of the wooden benches, talking.
Tatum took out his phone and snapped a couple of photos of the entire setup and a close-up of the picture with Rod Glover. “Let’s go talk to Albert Lamb and hear what he has to say about Daniel Moore.”
CHAPTER 21
Bill managed to get Chelsey ready for school and drive her there through a fog of turmoil and panic. He didn’t think she’d noticed, but it was impossible to know for sure. She could be frighteningly perceptive. He’d told her Mommy had to go to work early that morning, a lie that instantly injected guilt into the hurricane of emotions roiling inside him. When she got out of the car and waved, he waved back, a smile plastered on his face. She turned around, and he drove off, stopped a block later, stepped out of the car, and threw up.
Now, he sat back in the car and breathed, trying to get a grip. He couldn’t drive like this. The fact that he’d driven Chelsey to school in this condition suddenly seemed irresponsible and downright stupid.
He tried Hen’s phone again, like he’d been doing the entire morning, and it was still offline. He had three missed calls from Gina and a text from her asking him to update her as soon as he knew something.
The police were looking for her right now. Whatever had happened, they’d figure it out.
Unless the police were somehow responsible.
It was a sudden, reflexive thought. As soon as it emerged, he began thinking about wrongful shootings, cooked-up charges, police brutality. Maybe Officer Ellis and his partner already knew where Hen was when they’d shown up. Maybe they were just going through the motions.
He was helpless, unsure how to continue. He googled on his phone, What to do with missing person.
The first result was actually helpful. He could do quite a lot. He could give more information to the police. He could call all the hospitals in Chicago. He could visit local jails. Call all of his wife’s friends. Post on social media. He could print flyers. He found out there was something named the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System.
Now he felt even worse. He had so much to do, and he didn’t know where to start. And he had to be home by noon to make lunch for Chelsey.
He could start by driving to the train station. See if Hen’s car was there. It would help him figure out when she’d gone missing. It would help the police.
It was difficult to perform simple acts like driving. He forced himself because of Chelsey, but he was standing at the edge of a precipice, a dark chasm just inches away. And everything he did could make him stumble and fall. It took him much longer than it should have to reach the station’s parking lot.
But now that he was there, things became easier. All he had to do was drive between the rows of parked vehicles, looking for Hen’s car. He found something relaxing in giving himself away to this one easy task that required his full concentration. He was methodical, starting at the southwest side of the parking lot, zigzagging his way through the lanes slowly.
He’d gone through four lanes when something caught his eye at the far side of the parking lot. A squad car, its lights still flickering. He changed course, driving toward it, and saw something that chilled him to the core. A yellow tape, cordoning off a section of the parking lot. And beyond the tape, Hen’s car.
He hit the brake and got out of the driver’s seat, sprinting toward the yellow tape. A cop stepped in his way. He recognized him immediately. It was Ellis.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice loud, wavering. “What happened to Hen?”
“Mr. Fishburne,” Ellis said. “You can’t go in there.”
“Is she there? Did she have an accident? Is she hurt?”
“We haven’t found Henrietta yet,” Ellis said. “She isn’t here.”
A jolt of relief. Then confusion. If Hen wasn’t here, why had they cordoned off her car? What was going on?
Details swam into focus. A man wearing gloves scraped the ground near Hen’s car, placing the result in a small plastic bag. Another man was dusting one of the car’s door handles with