AFTER
Detective Gerard Sullivan
Friday May 19, 2016
After speaking with Colton, I wait in the living room for Cordelia to come back out. She appears suddenly, wearing the same outfit as before, hair damp.
"You're still here," she says, as though she's surprised to see me.
"I just had a few more questions."
"Alright," she runs her fingers through her hair and takes a seat on the couch.
I clear my throat. "How close are you with Weston's parents?"
"Not close at all, why?"
"I haven't spoken to them yet. Thought I'd give them a call."
She nods her nod. "I'm not sure they'll be any help. They don't come around much. They tend to keep to themselves."
"Why is that?"
She shrugs. "They're... how do I put this without sounding rude. Stuck up? Pretentious? I don't know. They only care about themselves. Weston absolutely adores them so I can never mention anything like this to him. But how can he give them such praise when they don't even come see their own granddaughter?"
"Do they know that she's missing?"
"That's a good question. I don't speak with them so it would be up to Weston to have said something. I have no idea whether he did or not."
"When was the last time you or Weston saw them?"
She thinks about this. "They only came to visit once. Right after Emerald was born. They haven't been back since."
"Why's that?"
"Why do you think, detective?"
"The postpartum?"
She nods.
"Have they ever had a problem with you?"
"Me? No. It's not that they necessarily have a problem with me. It's that they simply don't care."
"I see."
"His father is one of those people who think you can buy anything you need in life. Like love. All Weston's life, he got whatever he wanted. His parents come from old money, so Weston's needs were never an issue. And that wouldn't be a problem, really, except they don't care about his life or wellbeing. They don't ask him questions about his life, wonder how his family is, or even care what he's doing at work. His father thinks he can just buy his love. Bought him anything he wanted, as long as he didn't have to spend time with him."
"But to your knowledge, they don't have an issue with you and Weston's marriage? Or any problems with Weston for that matter?"
"No. As I said, they don't care much. They're too busy with their own lives."
"Alright. Thank you, Cordelia."
She nods her head. "Let me know if you need anything else."
I leave the Waters' house and head out to my car. I dial the phone number for Weston's parents and back out of the driveway, the dial tone echoing through the Bluetooth speaker.
I almost don't think anyone will answer, but after the fifth ring, someone picks up. "Hello?" says a woman's voice. It's mellow, smooth.
"Is this Madeline Waters?"
"This is. And who might this be?" She asks. Her tone gives away what kind of woman she is. Poised, dignified. Everything that Cordelia described? Possibly.
"This is Detective Sullivan from the Davenport Police Department. I'm calling regarding the disappearance of your granddaughter, Emerald." I turn the steering wheel and the car moves swiftly onto the next street.
"I beg your pardon? I think I may have heard you incorrectly,"
That's when I realize: Weston hasn't told them. I signal and pull over to the side of the road.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry. When was the last time you spoke with your son?"
"A few weeks ago." She pauses. "What happened?
"Your granddaughter disappeared from their home yesterday evening."
The line is quiet. "What do you mean disappeared?"
"She's officially a missing person, ma'am. I apologize for having to tell you this way. I was sure your son had told you."
"He did no such thing!" She nearly yells into the phone. "My heavens," silence again. She clears her throat, collects herself. "Apologies. Why exactly are you calling?"
"I just have some questions about your son."
"What kind of questions? Is he in trouble?"
"No, nothing like that. I just wanted to speak with you, get a better understanding of the situation."
"Alright. Go on, then."
I clear my throat. "How is your relationship with Weston?"
"Our relationship is fine. We don't see him much anymore. We hardly see him at all, actually. Since he up and left Chicago for good with that one."
"Cordelia?"
"Yes, who else?"
I pause a moment. "Did that upset you? Him moving?"
"Of course! He's my only baby. And he just left town and moved to Davenport," she says as though it's such a disgusting place. "It was hard on us."
"So you and your husband haven't come out to see Weston and the family in a while?"
"We've been busy the last couple of months."
"Doing what, exactly?"
"We're renovating the house. And planning a cruise for July. The Mediterranean."
"I see. Does Weston know about this?"
"No. He doesn't speak to us much."
"And you never call him?"
Silence. "Is there something you need to ask me, detective? Because quite frankly I need to call my son and ask him why the hell he didn't call his own mother when his only daughter is missing."
"Apologies, Mrs. Waters. Just one last question."
"What is it?"
"To your knowledge, does your son have any enemies? Anybody who may want to hurt him or come after his family?"
"Heavens no! Weston is a wonderful man. Owns his own orthodontic practice, you know. He's very established for himself. He's always been a very kind, well-rounded man. Always respectful of others. I couldn't imagine anyone who would want to hurt him or the baby."
"What about money? He doesn't owe anyone money? Perhaps someone from the past?"
"No. Money is no issue for us. Weston has no debts that I'm aware of."
"Any childhood friends, neighbors, or family friends from home that could possibly do anything like this?"
"Kidnap his child? Of course not. What kind of place do you think we live in?" she asks. Chicago, I think to myself. "Everyone that Weston grew up with was a good influence on him. He was never permitted to hang around with bad children. He's a good man. Whoever took my granddaughter was definitely not doing it because of Weston." She lets her words hang, insinuating something else.
"So, what you're saying is, it must be because of Cordelia?" I ask. She doesn't answer and I take her silence as a yes: that's exactly what she's implying. "May I ask why you think that?"
"That Cordelia... she's a lovely girl, really. But she was a troubled child. Always messing around and getting into mischief. And I tell you, some things just never change."
"How do you know this?"
"Oh, Weston has told me stories. He thinks it's comical. I find no amusement out of them. Quite frankly I think it's inappropriate for a young lady to be behaving that way."
"What way are you referring to?"
"I'm not getting into it. If you want to know about Cordelia's childhood, you should ask her." By the tone of her voice, I can tell that this conversation is over.
"Alright. Well, again, I apologize for having to inform you of the news this way. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. And... go easy on Weston. He's going through a difficult time right now. His daughter is missing and I've seen what that can do to a person."
The line is silent for a moment and I almost think she's hung up. "Goodnight, detective."
The phone disconnects.
____
I head back over to the precinct before paying a visit to the babysitter, Ainsley Kain. At this time in the investigation, I need to speak with everyone who has had contact with that child, anyone who might know something and be of some assistance.
It's around one o'clock when I get to the station. Officers Matt Holden and Rowan Ashby are standing at the front desk, looking over paper work. I give a friendly nod to Rebecca, our secretary, as I come through the doors and head straight for my office.
Warm and cozy, as always. I like to keep the heat up and the door closed to trap warmth in. Despite the fact that it's May and summer is well on its way, I enjoy the warmth. The thing about me is that I've always been a cold person, can never seem get warm enough. It annoyed my parents to no end, constantly turning the heat on and buying floor-heaters. Something about the way I was built.
As I slide into my chair and turn on my computer monitor, I hear a soft knock and the door opens slightly. Rebecca peeks her head inside. "How's it going?" she gives me a friendly smile.
I've always liked Rebecca. She's worked here for the past six years. This woman always has a smile on her face, even in the worst situations. She's the spiritual type, the ones that have those positive mantras plastered around their house. Her positivity increases our stamina around here, especially on days like this when I want to sink into a hole.
"It's going alright," I say. I turn my chair so I'm facing her.
"It's terrible, isn't it? Who would take a baby? Any leads yet?"
"Not really. Well," I pause, remembering the Mendoza's. "Maybe one, but I'm not even sure you could call it a lead. Nothing solid yet," I pause, bringing my fist to my chin. "I just need to get this child back to her parents."
She opens her mouth slightly, then snaps it closed again, changing her mind, deciding not to say whatever it was she was thinking.
"What?" I say.
"Nothing," she shakes her head modestly.
"Is it about the baby?"
She opens her mouth again slightly, hesitates, then, "Isn't the mother a bit of, um, what's the word I'm looking for," she pauses. "Nut job?"
I give her a stern look.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that, but –"
"She suffered from postpartum psychosis," I explain. "Many women experience it."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything,"
It's quiet for a moment. "Who's talking?" I ask.
She looks embarrassed, as though she doesn't want to reveal the source of the gossip. "It's Rowan," she says quietly. "He says he took statements from both of them last night. He was pretty convinced that the wife is guilty."
"Ashby," I scoff. "He can believe whatever he wants, but at this moment, I don't have any plausible evidence to put this on the mother. Not yet, anyway."
"You're right. It's probably nothing," she smiles. "Just Rowan's theory, I guess."
"He can have his theories," I say. "And I have mine. I'll let you know when we catch this guy." I wink.
She smiles and closes the door on her way out.
____
After typing up my notes and sorting through some files, I shut down the computer and head back into the foyer, hoping Holden and Ashby are still there. Sure enough, they're standing in the corner, talking and sipping coffee.
"Officers," I nod my head towards them as I get closer.
"Sully," they say in unison. "Find anything?"
"That's actually why I came to speak with you." I let my eyes hover over Rowan for a moment, deciding not to bring up his slight indiscretions around the station. "Can one of you head over to the Laundromat up on 53rd Street? Talk to the Mendozas. See if the husband knows anything. They also need alibis for their whereabouts at the time of the abduction yesterday."
"You spoke to the wife, right? Marcia?" Holden asks.
"Yes."
"Anything?"
"Not entirely. She loves the kid. Says the Waters' are like family to her."
"Thoughts so far?" Ashby asks, fiddling with his coffee cup.
"Possible motive? Money. They're not in the best financial situation."
"So what, you think this is a kidnap-and-ransom case? Get some money from the Waters'?" Holden asks.
"Maybe. That's why I need you to go over there and check it out."
"Will do," Holden says. "I'll update you after we speak to the husband. Where are you headed?"
"The babysitters'."
"They have a nanny and a babysitter?"
I stifle a small laugh. "Don't ask."
"Yuppie problems."
____
As I drive downtown and pass the river, I think back to my college days when I dated a girl named Ainsley. She was a petite brunette with a bob cut. Nice girl, really. We only dated for a couple of months. She was pursuing a law degree. Was always so interested in the work I was doing. She used to say that we'd make a great pair, solving crimes and prosecuting the bad guys.
I didn't hear from her much after we broke up. Someone told me years later that she moved to LA to join some big law firm. I haven't thought about her since then. But after hearing the name Ainsley yesterday and today, I can't get her off my mind. I wonder where she is now. If she's a successful lawyer somewhere, bringing justice to the people. It makes you wonder, really, where everybody you used to know ended up. How quickly our lives pass before us, and how drastically things can change.
I pull into the parking lot of an unkempt apartment building. I double-check the address to make sure I have the right place. Cordelia mentioned that she's a student at Davenport College, studying social work or something along those lines.
As I walk towards the building, an older man sits on the ground beside the doors, a dog beside him, smoking a cigarette and holding out a hat.
"Can you spare any change?" he mumbles as I pass.
I reach into my pocket to see if I have anything. I pull out a few dimes and quarters, drop them in.
"Thank you, God bless." He nods his head and I give a brief smile before tugging on the door and going inside.
The lobby is brightly lit and empty. There's an intercom system on the left. Two elevators sit directly across from the front doors. I pull out my notepad and check what her number is. A34. I press the button and wait.
"Yeah?" a female voice says through the speaker.
"Is this Ms. Kain?"
"Who's asking?"
"I'm Detective Sullivan from the Davenport Police Department. Do you mind if I come up?"
The speaker is quiet for a moment. "Police? Why are the police here?"
"It's regarding the disappearance of Emerald Waters."
Silence again. Then, "Shit. Hold on." I hear the sound of a buzzer, and the door unlocks.
When she opens the door, she's not at all what I was expecting. Then again, Ainsley from college was still in my mind; her big brown eyes, short bob cut. The voice I heard through the intercom doesn't match the girl that stands in front of me. This girl is young, early twenties maybe, tall and skinny. She has thin hair, a shade of dirty blonde. Her face is pleasant looking, hazel eyes and a small mouth.
She leads me through the small apartment and into a living room area. There is one medium-sized couch and two chairs, a large television set in front. Next to the living room is the kitchen, which isn't big either. This is probably a small, two bedroom place that she can barely afford. Why do the Waters' have a thing for hiring people who are tight on money?
She sits down in the chair, offering me the couch. "Sorry, did I hear you correctly? You say Emerald is missing?" she asks.
"Yes. She was abducted yesterday somewhere between the hours of three and five in the evening."
"Holy shit," she brings her hand to her mouth. She leans back and peers around the corner. "Babe!" she yells. "Get out here!"
I stare at her. She politely turns back to me and waits. For what, or who, I don't know.
I hear a door open and a moment later, a tall, lanky man appears in the hallway and walks into the living room.
"Dyl," she says to him. "Emerald is fucking missing!"
His eyes widen, as though he was in a trance prior to hearing this information. "What? The baby?"
"Yeah the baby, who else?"
"Who's this?" he turns to me.
Ainsley speaks, "This is Detective..."
"Sullivan,"
"Detective Sullivan," she repeats. "He's trying to find her. Says she went missing yesterday."
"Shit," he rubs the back of his neck as he walks over and takes a seat on the edge of the chair that Ainsley sits on. "Do you know who took er?" he asks me.
"No, not yet. But that's why I'm here. Do you mind if I ask the two of you some questions?"
"Of course, of course!" Ainsley says. "Anything we can do to help."
I pull out my notepad and click the pen. "What's your name, sorry?" I look to the man.
"Dylan Rollings."
I write this down, then look back to Ainsley. "How long have you been babysitting for the Waters'?"
"Um, only about... a month and a half? Two months? Not really sure. I only watch Emerald once in a while. Like, weekends and stuff. When the parents want to go out and have some alone time."
"Do they do that often? Go out?"
"Um, not really. Maybe once a week or so. Usually on Saturdays."
I write this down. "How is your relationship with the family?"
"Me? Oh, good. I don't know them too well or anything. But Weston is very nice. Always polite and friendly to see me."
"And Cordelia?"
"She's nice too. But kind of neutral. I don't know, sometimes I get the vibe that she's annoyed at me."
"What makes you say that?"
She shrugs. "Just the vibe I get. Can't really explain it."
Vibes. Right. "Has Cordelia ever said anything unkind to you? Something that made you uncomfortable?"
"No." She doesn't hesitate. "She may not like me, but like I said, she's kind of neutral. Isn't super nice, but isn't rude or anything."
"How would you describe their marriage?"
"What do you mean?"
"Would you say that they're happy? Do they fight? Are they –"
"Yeah, they're happy. At least, when I see em they are," she pauses for a moment. "Except this one time, I was over a little early because the bus was on time for once. Weston answered the door but he looked a little... upset or something. He told me to come in and wait on the couch. He went back down the hall to the bedroom. I swear I could hear crying or something. I assumed it was Cordelia. But I never said anything. Wasn't my business."
"Did Cordelia seem alright after you saw them?"
"Yeah, I think so. It wasn't a big deal cause like, I forgot about it. It was probably nothing."
I write this down. Assuming she isn't aware of Cordelia's condition, I decide to omit elaborating on the subject. "Has anyone ever come by the house while you were there? Looking for Cordelia or Weston?"
"Nope. I've never had to answer the door. Oh, except one time, yeah, actually. But it was just her friend from work dropping something off."
"Do you remember her name?"
"Um, Sandy... or –"
"Savannah?"
"Yeah! I think that's it."
"What was she dropping off?"
"Oh, I don't know. Some computer piece or something. Cordelia and her tech."
"What do you mean?"
"She loves computers and technology."
"I see," I pause for a moment. "Do you know if the Waters' have any enemies? Anyone who may want to take Emerald from them?"
She thinks for a moment. "Not that I can think of. Like I said, I'm not around much. But they seem like nice people. Weston is really nice. I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt their baby. Oh God, I still can't believe that someone took her."
"We'll find her soon," I try to reassure her.
She nods her head.
"Well," I start. "If you think of anything else –"
"Babe," Dylan whispers. "Tell him about the car."
Ainsley looks at him, confused almost. Then her face changes, as though she's remembered something.
She turns to me. "Right, um, I totally forgot about this. Thanks for reminding me babe," she pats her boyfriend's leg. "There was this one night I was sitting for them. They were going out for dinner. I fed Emerald and put her to bed, so she was sleeping in her room, and I was just sitting on the couch watching TV. I remember at one point, I was walking by the front window and I saw a car pull up in front of the house. I thought it was them coming home early or something, but they didn't pull in the driveway, so I waited and watched for a minute. But then I realized it wasn't their car. And only one person was in the driver's seat."
"Did you see who it was?"
"No, it was dark and the car was on the street."
"Male or female?"
"I don't know. I couldn't tell. But anyways, I ignored it and thought it must have been the neighbors. Or maybe someone was lost or something. I went to the kitchen to get a snack. When I came back a few minutes later, I saw movement from the car. Like they were looking for something. I just assumed they were lost or waiting for someone. But then at one point, the landline rang. Weston told me I didn't have to answer the phone, but I did, just in case it was them calling or something. But when I picked it up, there was no one there. Almost like somebody was on the line listening. And then it went to that dial tone or whatever. Freaky.
"So I finished watching the episode of Gilmore Girls, which must have been like, half an hour or so. I stood back up and walked past the window and the person was still in the car! I was so freaked out, so I shut the blinds and called Dyl right away."
He nods as if to corroborate.
"Do you know what kind of car it was?" I ask.
"Umm, shit. My memory is so damn bad," she says.
"It was, um," Dylan begins, "A Chevy Impala. I think you said. Right?"
"Yeah," her face lifts. "It was a red Impala!"
I jot this down on the notepad. "Thank you."
"Do you think that could have anything to do with this?" she asks.
"How long ago did this happen?"
"Um, sometime in March, at least."
"Nothing's certain, but that is a bit unusual. I'll have to look into it."
"Oh God," she brings her hands to her mouth.
"No need to worry. It was probably nothing." I try to reassure her.
She nods her head. "What if... Oh God, what if they had taken her while I was there! I don't know how I would have lived with myself."
"Babe, it's okay," Dylan touches her arm. "You're fine."
She nods her head and he wraps his arm around her shoulders.
"Well, thank you for taking the time to speak with me," I say. "Please, if you remember anything else that you think may be important – anything – don't hesitate to call me." I lean forward and hand her my card.
She looks up at me, big hazel eyes locked on mine. "You'll catch this guy? And bring Emerald home?"
"I'm trying my very best."