If I Should Die

SIXTEEN

Lucy showered until the hot water turned cold. Her head ached from both lack of sleep and the friction with Sean.

She was drying her hair when her phone rang. It was her brother Patrick, Sean’s partner at RCK.

“Luce, I emailed you a link to the missing persons reports I pulled.”

“I’ll look through them right now.” She put her phone on speaker and quickly gathered her damp hair into a ponytail.

“I used your criteria-Caucasian women between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five who went missing in the Northeast during the last nine months. I narrowed it down to forty-seven women, blond or light brown hair, between five foot four and five foot eight. Since the files are large, I posted them to my server and you can view or download them from there. I can broaden the search if necessary.”

At Sean’s computer, she logged into her email. “I hope she’s here.”

“I just got off the phone with Sean; he told me what happened. I got a seat on the last flight to Albany tonight, then a commuter plane first thing in the morning. This was supposed to be a vacation for you two.”

“This is the second vacation I’ve had where a dead body has turned up. Maybe I should stay home.”

She was half-joking, but Patrick was serious. “I started the background checks Sean asked for. The Swain family popped immediately. The father died in prison-he got twenty-five-to-life for killing his girlfriend. The oldest brother, Paul Swain, is in prison for manslaughter and drug trafficking. They tried to make a case against his brother Butch, but nothing stuck. Butch was suspected of bribery, extortion, and manufacturing methamphetamines.”

“Do you know if there’s an active investigation?”

“I called around to the usual places, didn’t hear of anything ongoing, but that doesn’t mean squat half the time. The word is when Paul Swain was sent away, his operation dried up. Nine people went to prison. He was the brains, Butch was the brawn.”

“Where’s Butch Swain now?”

“His legal address is in Colton, about twenty miles from Spruce Lake. There’s a younger sister, Roberta, who went to college in Florida, and I can’t find anything on her since then.”

“Really?” Lucy teased. “You’re stumped?”

“Hardly. I’m digging. I think she probably got married, which is why I have nothing on her maiden name. I can’t find a marriage record in Florida or New York, so I’ll broaden the search. Anyway, I wanted to make sure you got my email with the missing persons records. Let me know if your mine lady’s not there, and I’ll broaden that search, too.”

“Thanks, Patrick.”

“Watch out for Butch Swain. Even though word is he isn’t a sharp tack, he could have acquired a new partner. I told Sean the same thing.”

“Does anyone think the little brother has a new meth lab up and running?”

“I called Noah, and he’s putting a feeler out with the DEA about drug activity in St. Lawrence County. There was nothing on the FBI radar, at least with the Swain name or Spruce Lake attached. They’re focusing on labs in Massena now, which they believe picked up the slack when the Swains went out of business.”

“Take one down, two more pop up.”

“Got that right. Luce, I don’t know what’s going on in Spruce Lake, but keep a low profile until Sean gets back. I wish he hadn’t left you alone.”

She sighed. Long ago she realized that she’d be forever coddled by her family. “Patrick, I’m not alone. Tim and Adam Hendrickson are both here. And do you remember I’m practically an FBI agent? When I have my badge, will you still tell me to be careful?”

“Yes.”

She laughed. “Fair enough.”

“And you’d better have your gun on you now.”

She glanced across the room to where her Glock was partly hidden on a bookshelf. Sean had given her security measures to follow since they became involved, many of which she’d already learned from her oldest brother, Jack, a former army sergeant. There was another gun hidden in the bathroom and a third under the cushion on the couch.

“I have it covered,” Lucy told Patrick. “Nothing we’ve found indicates the vandalism on the resort is drug related. Did you run the other names Sean gave you?”

“There’s nothing much on Jon Callahan. He’s originally from Montreal, but after his father died when he was twelve, his mother sent him to live with his Uncle Henry in Spruce Lake. He went to college in Connecticut, became a naturalized citizen-easy because his dad was an American-and settled in Spruce Lake. He owns a lot of property-most of the town, in fact, that isn’t owned by the Hendrickson estate.”

“How did he make his money?”

“He’s a lawyer specializing in international law-no criminal law, all civil. He’s with a major firm based in Montreal with a U.S. office in New York City, very respectable, seems to work primarily in intellectual property rights, contract law, estate planning. I’m going to look at the type of work he specializes in.”

“But how can he practice law living in the middle of nowhere?”

“With technology these days, he wouldn’t necessarily have to go into an office. He gave you the creeps?”

“No. He seemed to be the most normal person I’ve met here; maybe that’s why he stood out. Very smooth, like a good salesman.”

“Absolutely, we need to especially watch out for the normal people.”

“Very funny. What about Reverend Browne or Callahan’s uncle?”

“Henry Callahan worked for the Kelley Mine as a young man. Married Emily Richardson when they were both nineteen, right out of high school. They have no children. When the mine closed, he enlisted in the army, served five years stateside as a mechanic. Opened his own shop in Colton. It went under a few years later and he retired early.”

“He has a huge spread of land next to the Hendricksons’. Where did he get the money?”

“The Richardson family, inheritance. Mostly land, little cash.”

“Henry and his nephew Jon seem complete opposites,” Lucy said. “Middle-class blue-collar worker and wealthy international lawyer. How did Jon pay his way through college?”

“I didn’t go that deep; all this is basic intelligence. You want me to give them both a full rectal exam?”

“You’re full of humor today, Patrick.”

He laughed. “Oh, and the local reverend. He’s lived in Spruce Lake his entire life, owns two acres in town where he has both a house and the church. His father was the preacher before him. Looks like the only time he’s left the county for any length of time was four years’ divinity college in Ohio.”

“Thanks for everything,” Lucy said.

“On another note, when I said low profile, I meant in more than just staying safe. You know how Sean can get, and the last thing I want is for him to in any way jeopardize your future with the FBI. He should never have let you go down to that mine again. What were you thinking?”

The conversation went from cordial to confrontational real fast. It took Lucy a moment to respond. “Sean doesn’t let me do anything. The local deputy disregarded everything I said. No one was handling the investigation, and that’s something I know a lot about.”

“You’re not a cop-yet. Watch your step, Lucy. Sean isn’t going to think about your future when he’s on a case. It’s one of the reasons he’s so good, but it could damage your career.”

Lucy’s stomach dropped. Patrick had voiced the largest obstacle in her relationship with Sean. She didn’t want to think her brother was trying to put a wedge between them, but he’d made it clear three months ago that he didn’t think Sean was good for Lucy. They had somewhat of a truce, but Lucy felt Patrick constantly assessing her, as if waiting for moments like these to sow dissent.

“It was my idea to go back to the mine,” she said evenly. “I take responsibility for any repercussions.”

When Patrick didn’t respond right away, she added, “No one else seems to care about the fact that a young woman was murdered.”

“Lucy-” he began, then stopped himself. “I understand. Just be cautious.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She hung up, wishing Patrick hadn’t scratched that issue. It made her wonder if everyone she cared about was waiting for her relationship with Sean to self-destruct.

Lucy had no illusions that she was normal. One horrific mistake seven years ago had changed her life forever. She had survived her attack, but had become a different person. She was so focused on her career goals, her careful planning, that life passed her by. What normal person turns down a shot to be on an Olympic team? But though she swam on her college team, she couldn’t make the commitment necessary to train for the Olympics. Seven years ago it had been one of her dreams, but no longer. What normal person goes to college year round-and one night class-in order to get the units necessary for a double major? What normal person moves from one law enforcement internship to another, building a resume solely to get into the FBI?

Being busy-swimming, studying, working-had saved her. She hadn’t had time to think, had no time to feel sorry for herself. And she was proud of what she’d accomplished.

But she also had no close friends from college, because she hadn’t had time to socialize. Her one serious boyfriend before Sean had been a cop she’d met through one of her internships. She didn’t know how to have fun, didn’t know what to do when she wasn’t working or training or exercising.

Until Sean.

Simply, he made her happy. He’d taken her ice skating, flying, and now on vacation-such as it was. A couple of weeks ago before he went out of town on a case, he’d taken her to a G-rated kids’ movie. And he’d laughed as much as the kids surrounding them, giving her an all-too-rare carefree feeling.

Sean seemed to understand her, to know her so well that sometimes it scared her.

Maybe that was why their earlier fight was so disturbing. It was the first time that he couldn’t read her mind-when he didn’t push her to explain herself, or reveal what she was thinking as if she’d said the words out loud. Though it was unnerving at times, she’d come to depend on the unspoken connection.

And thanks to Patrick, the conflict with Sean continued to eat at her as she meticulously went through each missing woman in the file.