Mother May I(39)

Was it a date? Jesus. Jenna looked so young to him. Well, it was not a problem for today. He should go out with someone anyway. That swamping wave of sick desire to be the one to hand Bree her baby back told him so. It was different from simply wanting Robert safe and home. Very different. His stupid crush on Bree wasn’t ever going to be a good idea, but it was downright dangerous now. Dangerous for Robert.

He opened up his Gmail and quickly typed in his notes, all he’d gleaned from Bree’s story, the video, and that long, strange phone conversation. He organized them as he went. It wasn’t much.

Witch: Widow. 70+. One child (F). A reader, esp British mystery novels. Likes suspense movies. Owns or owned house with carport. Terminally ill. Accent = Blue collar, rural. Georgia?



Husband: Died young. Construction worker. Controlling/abusive?



Daughter:





He had no facts about the daughter, only the understanding that she was in this up to her neck and that she was the mother’s only weak point.

He would start with their strongest lead. Geoff. It only took four searches to find him in the online edition of an Alabama newspaper. Geoff Wilkerson, age three, had gone missing from a local park almost six weeks ago.

It hadn’t spread beyond the local news. Partially because there’d been a deadly mass shooting at a Texas school earlier that same day, then another at a California nightclub not twelve hours later. These things had dominated the news cycle. But there was also enough in the Alabama stories for him to get the subtext: The cops thought one parent or maybe both were behind their son’s disappearance. The case wasn’t being treated like a kidnapping.

He shook his head. The cops had this one very, very wrong.

Geoff’s father was Adam Wilkerson, a community-college professor. Marshall’s eyebrows knit. He’d been expecting either another lawyer or someone rich enough to be a client. Adam Wilkerson was head of the business and legal-studies department, so maybe he had been a lawyer at one point. A disgraced one, if he’d fallen from Trey and Spence’s level to teaching at a junior college in Gadsden, Alabama.

Adam wasn’t on social media, but he found Geoff’s mother, Kelly, on Facebook and Instagram. She listed her profession as SAHM, still, and that hit him like a fist.

Her profile pictures showed a cute, pug-nosed blonde in her mid-twenties. Her Insta was private, but she’d turned off her Facebook security settings. Her feed was filled with people posting thoughts and prayers. There was a 1-800 number and a plea for information pinned to the top, probably the reason her security was set so low. It had been set up by her sister, who’d posted a furious rant about how the police weren’t looking for Geoff and asking “the Internet” to help bring him home.

Marshall scrolled down past all this. He was looking for the Wilkersons’ regular life. Before. When he found it, it was hard to look at. It was so nice and normal. Pictures of avocado toast and a fat Siamese cat and fresh-cut flowers. Almost every other posting showed a smiling toddler. Geoff had had a short, round face like his mother’s and a cap of blond hair in that bowl cut normally reserved for television children. His happy smile revealed baby teeth with gaps that made them look like little corn kernels.

He was a beautiful child. Again, very hard to look at.

Marshall scrolled further, until he found a good picture of the husband. He was a tweedy sort, older than his wife, with small round glasses and a bald head and some salt in his tidy beard. She was in a cocktail dress, tucked up under his arm. They were clearly heading someplace special.

Marshall pirated the shot and a good face shot of Geoff, too. Then he attached both to an email and sent them to Gabrielle and Bree along with his notes, the couple’s names and address, and Kelly Wilkerson’s social-media links.

He could hear Bree moving around the great room again. Pacing, he thought. Not talking. She must still be trying to get up the courage to call Trey. He felt for her, but his cop brain pointed out that if Trey was still ignorant, he was also likely in a calm state of mind. He could be useful.

Marshall took advantage of her hesitation, texting Trey pictures of all three Wilkersons. He’d forwarded himself the still shot of the old woman from Bree’s phone earlier. Now he cropped it in close, so Trey wouldn’t recognize his own porch, and sent that, too.

He texted, Do you know any of these people?

He saw the dots that meant Trey was answering, then, No. Did you hear about Spencer? Were you there?

He was clearly upset, answering so fast that there had not been time for him to do anything but glance at the pictures in passing.

Marshall thought fast, then replied, I’d already left the party, but I heard. I’m very sorry for your loss. I know it’s a bad time, but this is for a case, and it won’t wait, okay? Take a minute. Look carefully. Maybe even check your contact lists or emails or old case files, if you can access them remotely. The couple is Adam and Kelly Wilkerson. That’s their son, Geoff. Her maiden name was Frier.

Marshall waited for a moment, but no further answer came. He’d give Trey a few minutes. Hopefully Trey would answer before Bree called him.

He couldn’t imagine that conversation, or what Trey might think, say, feel. If they didn’t find the daughter, would Trey go to the carousel and trade himself for Robert? Marshall would, for Cara. It wasn’t even a question. He thought Trey would, too.