Private Rogue

Chapter 12

It took us a little over an hour and a half to reach Elizabeth Singer’s house on Avery Road in Garrison. I used the time to bring Jessie up to speed, and she asked many of the searching questions I’d put to Donald Singer: Did Beth have any connections to organized crime? Strange new friendships? Had there been any ransom requests? The answers to these questions were no, and neither Jessie nor I could figure out why a seemingly law-abiding mother of two would simply disappear with her children.

Three missing persons reports had been filed, and Jessie suggested we check in with the local police as a courtesy, but first I wanted to visit Elizabeth’s house.

Avery Road was located in a quiet residential area north of Garrison. The street cut through a thick forest, and houses nestled in large lots between long runs of densely packed pine trees. Mounds of blackened snow were piled everywhere, and ice crystals sparkled on roofs and treetops.

“This is it,” Jessie said, indicating number 1085, Beth’s address.

Jessie swung the Nissan onto a graveled driveway and took us up to a single-story, red-brick bungalow. Elizabeth’s house stood at the heart of a one-acre garden. The brickwork was pristine, the slate roof covered in a thick layer of snow. An ice-crusted swing set and slide formed a play area near the trees.

I grabbed my Arcteryx winter coat from the back seat while Jessie parked in front of the house. We both got out and approached the front door. She rang the bell and I searched the plant pots for any sign of a spare key but found nothing. Jessie produced a set of lock-picking tools and opened the door in under sixty seconds.

“Hello?” I said, as we went inside, but the place was as still as a museum.

“You take the bedrooms,” I suggested, indicating a corridor that led off to the left.

Jessie nodded and headed that way. I pressed along the entrance hall and went through a doorway on my right, into the living room. There was nothing immediately remarkable about the house. A few toys were scattered here and there, and the living room was clearly set up for a young family. A handful of Lego models were clustered in one corner, near a Captain America beanbag. A fabric-covered sofa faced a large TV and the bookshelf beside it was packed with children’s books. Framed photos of Elizabeth and her two children, Daniel and Marianne, covered every surface, and larger pictures of the children hung on the walls. There was no doubt about Elizabeth’s priorities in life — their smiles could be seen everywhere I looked.

I checked the drawers in the TV stand and found spare batteries for the remote, a couple of kid’s card games.

I moved into the kitchen, which was a large open-plan space at the back of the house, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the back yard and the forest beyond. The fridge was covered in magnets that secured reminders and school certificates against its surface. The magnets looked like a historical trail of places the family had visited: the Empire State Building, Disney World, Busch Gardens, there were dozens, but a couple of odd ones popped out at me — Kabul Bird Market and the Great Mosque of Kufa in Iraq. Not the sort of places I imagined this family touring. I searched the cupboards and drawers, but found nothing else out of the ordinary.

“You got anything?” Jessie asked as she entered.

I shook my head. “You?”

“Nothing,” she replied. “They’re vanilla.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I said, pointing out the unusual fridge magnets.

“Might be from friends,” Jessie suggested.

I pulled open the only drawer I hadn’t searched and found it full of spatulas, large serving spoons and an assortment of odd kitchen tools. I rifled through, and near the bottom discovered a bottle opener with an emblem on the handle. I recognized it immediately — the three lightning strikes crossing a raised gladius sword, the emblem of Third Special Forces Group, a Green Beret unit.

“She might have a military connection,” I said, showing it to Jessie. “They don’t sell these in gift shops. It’s a trophy given to members of the unit who’ve seen action.”

“Boyfriend? Family member?” Jessie asked.

“Maybe,” I replied. “I’ll ask Mo-bot to run a contact check. See if Beth Singer has a connection to anyone who served in this unit. It’s not much of a lead, but it’s the best we’ve got.”