Six Seconds

44

Blue Rose Creek, California

Graham was running out of time.

As he flipped through his umpteenth tattered Newsweek, an emergency intern carrying a clipboard ap proached him in the waiting room.

“You’re the officer here with Maggie Conlin?” “That’s right. Will she be okay?”

“She should be fine, but we’re trying to locate a relative.”

“Did you try her husband, Jake Conlin?” “We’re not having much luck, any suggestions?” “Sorry, I don’t know the family,” Graham said. “But

I’d like to talk to Maggie as soon as it’s possible.” “The psychiatrist is assessing her. We’ll have to see if she advises visitors. Can you hang in for a bit longer?” “Sure.”

“Good job with the CPR, by the way.”

The intern left Graham to return to the magazines and his dilemma.

All Graham had wanted was to follow up Tarver’s

Blue Rose Creek notes by talking to Jake and Maggie Conlin. See what came out of it. Finding Maggie Conlin on the floor of her home near death was unexpected. As he considered his next steps, his cell phone vibrated and he went outside to take the call.

“Graham.”

“Corporal Graham, Vic Thompson, county sheriff’s department. Sorry we had trouble hooking up.” “You’re swamped, I understand.”

“We’ve caught a triple homicide and I’m about to get on a plane to San Francisco to interview a witness.

You’re at the hospital with Maggie Conlin?” “Yes. What can you tell me about the Conlins?” “For starters, you shouldn’t have gone to Maggie’s door without talking to me face-to-face. I don’t think you would like me doing that in your backyard.” “I called in with my regimental and stated my busi ness. They said you were too busy to meet me.” “I confirmed your particulars. Aren’t you a tad out of your jurisdiction?”

“Look, if you want an apology, you’ve got it.” “Just so we’re clear. It’s good you found her. I would have alerted you to her instability. Now, we’ve got a deputy at the Conlin house in Blue Rose and he’ll be heading to the hospital for your statement.”

“No problem.”

“He said there’s no sign of forced entry. Did you kick the door?”

“The back door was unlocked,” Graham said. “I understand the Conlins were in a domestic situation?” “It’s a parental abduction.”

“A parental abduction?”

“About five, six months ago, Jake took off with their nine-year-old son.”

“Where?”

“We don’t know. We’ve got a warrant out for him. He never notified anyone with an address, never initi ated divorce action, nothing from the school, the doctor, phone or financial records.”

“He’s gone underground with his son?”

Graham’s phone beeped with a call-waiting tone. He ignored it.

“Looks that way. Jake’s a long-haul trucker. They could be anywhere. And he’s likely changed their names. We’ve alerted the FBI, got them in NCIC, and such. We don’t think Jake’s violent or will harm his son. But anything’s possible. Like most of these cases, this one’s a mess. Maggie took it hard but at first she didn’t want to press things. Didn’t want to make it worse. She thought that if we could find Jake she could talk sense into him, be a happy family again.”

“What happened?”

“They had their troubles. Jake had publicly accused Maggie of cheating on him with Logan’s soccer coach. Some of the other parents told me that Jake seemed paranoid ever since he got home from a contract truckdriving job overseas. Could be a post-traumatic stress thing happening.”

“Where was his contract job?”

“Iraq.”

Iraq.

That stopped Graham cold.

Iraq.

Would that have anything to do with Tarver’s story?

“So tell me again why you’re here,” Thompson said. “Your message said it was some kind of accidental death insurance thing. Are you pulling my leg?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it fast, we’re starting to board.” “I’ve got a family from Washington, D.C., whose members appear to have been killed recently in a wil derness accident in a river in the Rockies near Banff. Got three confirmed dead, a mom and her two children, a boy and a girl. We haven’t located the dad yet. Ray Tarver. Heard of him?”

“Doesn’t ring any bells. What’s the insurance part?”

“The death benefit is large, so I’m checking back ground.”

“Right, like maybe the dad did it? Or had help, since you haven’t found him. Maybe he’ll stumble out of the woods to collect?”

“Or maybe someone killed them.”

“What’s your evidence?”

“A lot of circumstance and a gut feeling.”

“Not the best ammunition for court. Is that what brought you here?”

“The dad was a reporter, a bit of an oddball who chased wild conspiracy theories. The Conlins’ name and address in Blue Rose Creek came up in his files. The reporter may have been onto a big plot story at the time his family died in the mountains. This Iraq thing is new to me. What do you know about Jake Conlin’s time there?”

“Not much. It was dangerous. He drove in supply convoys that often came under fire. What was the reporter’s plot story?”

“It was vague about a terror group developing a new weapon.”

“Really. Like what? A dirty bomb or something? We’re boarding now, I gotta hang up.”

“I don’t know. Could’ve been a fantasy he was chasing.”

“Did you pass what you have to the security people in D. C, Homeland, the FBI, let them connect the dots and figure it out?”

“There’s a Secret Service agent the reporter was in touch with. I’ve been talking to him.”

“Look, Graham, you give me your word that if you find anything you keep me in the loop.”

“I will.”

“I’ll do the same. I’m not sure what we can do, but I’ll help where I can, just call. I gotta go.”

The line went dead.

When Graham turned to go back into the hospital, a pock-faced girl with braces, wearing a white lab coat with a name tag that said, Hayley, Student Social Worker, was waiting for him.

“Excuse me, Corporal Graham?”

“Yes.”

“The officer who brought Maggie Conlin in?”

“That’s right.”

“She’s awake and wants to talk to you.”