Nothing to Lose (J.P. Beaumont #25)(10)
“Have you found any indication that law enforcement was contacted about his disappearance?”
Jared shook his head. “As I said, when I called Homer PD, they had no record about that, but I don’t think the person I spoke to looked very hard.”
Even if a missing-persons report had been filed, cases concerning runaway teenagers—especially repeat runaways—don’t garner a whole lot of attention from law enforcement. Still, that was a line of inquiry worth pursuing. It occurred to me that I just happened to know someone who might have a better chance of tracking down that kind of information than Jared Danielson, but there was no point in mentioning it at the time. He was feeling useless enough as it was about his inability to further the investigation, and I saw no reason to pile on more misery.
At last Jared glanced at his watch. I checked mine, too, and was surprised to discover it was getting on toward four.
“I need to take off,” he said. “I’m supposed to be back in time for dinner.”
“Where are you staying?” I asked.
“At a monastery on the far side of Bothell,” he replied. “It’s not a good idea for newly minted priests to be out running the streets,” he added with a grin. “They let me use their vehicle.”
“Are newly minted priests allowed to have cell phones?” I asked. “If I’m going to work on this, I’ll need to be able to be in touch.”
“Of course,” he said. Jared gave me his number, and I typed it into my phone.
If Jared’s hunch was correct and Chris was already deceased, then DNA would be essential, and I didn’t want to have to rely on a DNA profile that might or might not have been loaded into CODIS years earlier. Any resulting profile also needed to be somewhere we’d be able to access it without having to go through official channels.
“Can you receive mail at said monastery?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you send off for one of those Ancestry.com DNA kits,” I suggested. “Having your DNA profile on record and readily available could come in handy, and be sure you sign permission for your profile to be accessible to others.”
“Others as in homicide investigators?” he asked.
I was relieved to hear that he understood that finding a DNA match would most likely not be good news. “As in,” I agreed.
“Okay,” Jared said with a nod. “I’ll get on that right away.”
He left a few minutes later. I let Sarah outside where it was positively bone-chillingly frigid. With snow still on the ground, our canine refugee from California once again avoided freezing her huge but tender paws by doing her job on the porch. I flushed that time, too, but on this occasion I did so before the pile had a chance to freeze solid.
I had learned my lesson, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to make that mistake again!
Chapter 5
Not surprisingly, the city-council meeting was indeed canceled due to weather. Since it was Mel’s turn to cook, she showed up with an armload of takeout from a new Thai restaurant in Fairhaven. Over generous helpings of pad thai and coconut prawns, we told each other about our day. Her meeting with the mayor had gone fairly well. The former mayor had been a piece of work. As far as Mel was concerned, this one was a much better fit.
She expressed delight with my ham-fisted stab at Christmas decorating, although I noticed that before dinner she had quietly made a few discreet adjustments. She was also relieved that I’d managed to solve the plumbing issue. I explained that the blockage had to do with an ice dam that had formed in the main sewer line. Had I been a better man, I would have admitted straight out that I was the primary cause of said ice dam, but I’m not and I didn’t. We devoted most of our dinnertime conversation to discussing Father Jared Danielson’s unexpected visit.
Mel and I have been together long enough that she knows all about Sue Danielson’s death. For years after that dreadful night, I simply refused to partner with anyone. Mel and I met when we were both working for Special Homicide, and I balked at first when someone suggested we become partners. The falling-in-love and getting-married parts came about much later.
So Mel listened to my recitation about Jared’s visit mostly without comment. “You pretty much have an obligation to take this on,” she concluded when I finished.
“Yes, I do,” I agreed. “I’m just not sure how to go about it.”
“Tomorrow will be plenty of time to figure it out,” Mel announced, getting up to clear away the leavings of dinner. “But tonight, with the council meeting canceled and more snow on the way, I believe we should declare this to be our date night with Charles Dickens.”
Each December we create a time when the two of us can sit by a fireplace and listen to Jim Dale’s CD version of A Christmas Carol. I love that moment when Scrooge wakes up to discover that everything that had gone on had happened to him overnight. That it was still Christmas morning and there was still time for him to make some changes in his life. It’s a lot like emerging from spending years in a drunken stupor and then suddenly discovering you’re still alive. At least that’s how it’s always seemed to me, and the life I live now is a lot like Mr. Scrooge’s Christmas morning.
When Mel and I finally went to bed, my heart was full of holiday cheer, but it didn’t last, because that night Ebenezer Scrooge wasn’t the only one plagued by disturbing dreams. So was I. Mine was the same nightmare I’ve had countless time before, only this version was worse than usual.