Point of Disappearance, page 2
“Tate Mitchell? You mean the one...?”
Hopkins nodded. “Yep. Strange, isn’t it?”
Strange and fortuitous at the same time. Anxious to end her pointless interview with Hopkins and start the real investigation, she shoved the notebook back in her bag, her hand hovering over the strap. “The files. Do you have the cold-case files?”
Hopkins sat back in his chair, his hands folded over his paunch, a satisfied smile on his lips. “I asked Fletcher earlier to put them in the trunk of the car we’re loaning you for your stay. You’ll find them next to your luggage, most likely.”
“Perfect.” She sprang up from the chair, hauling her bag with her. “Thanks for your time.”
Hopkins nodded, a look of relief spreading across his face as he eyed the half-eaten sandwich on his desk. “Anything we can do for you, just ask.”
Blanca hoisted her bag over her shoulder and stopped at the door. “One more thing.”
Hopkins’s hand paused, halfway to his sandwich. “Yes?”
“Do you know where I can find Tate Mitchell?”
After Hopkins scribbled down directions to Mitchell’s cabin, Blanca clutched the piece of paper in her hand and strode from the station. As she pushed through the glass door, a fat drop of rain plonked on the back of her hand.
She glanced at the darkening skies. Something had to keep this island green.
Deputy Fletcher emerged from a dark sedan and waved. “I got your car, Agent Lopez. Suitcase in the trunk.”
Taking a zigzag path as if she could avoid the scattered rain, she navigated to the open driver’s-side door. “Thanks, Deputy. Ruesler case files?”
“In the trunk with your suitcase.” He dropped the key fob in her hand. “Ma’am, you can call me Fletch. Everyone does.”
“Okay, Fletch, and you can call me Blanca. Just anything besides ma’am.” She curled her fist around the fob and ducked into the car. To hell with Manny’s rules of conduct. Where had they ever got her?
She tucked the key fob into her purse on the passenger seat and punched the ignition button with her knuckle. The sedan’s engine purred to life. At least they hadn’t saddled her with a junker.
She smoothed the crumpled piece of paper with Mitchell’s address on the console and tapped in the name of the road on the GPS. The cabin didn’t have an actual house number to enter, but the GPS should get her to the general location, and then she could rely on Hopkins’s directions.
Hunching over the steering wheel, she peered at the sky through the windshield. As far as she could tell, no forest fires were currently consuming the island, so Mitchell should be around and available. What were the odds that Tate Mitchell had been the one to find those bones? He must have something buried in his memory—and she was going to find out what it was.
The journey from the station took her on a windy road that ended in the town, but she took the bypass. After a few miles, the coastline and Discovery Bay disappeared as she wound her way inland, getting sucked into the emerald landscape. She’d figured it would be gray and dull out here at this time of year, but the vibrant blue of the bay and lush green of the forest dazzled her vision.
The rain had stopped by the time she made her way to Mitchell’s cabin. She rolled up behind a Jeep, the tires of the sedan crunching over dirt and gravel. The cabin label hardly gave this abode justice.
The log exterior and Alpine roof screamed cabin, but the deck running the length of the house and the massive windows that had to afford views of the forest and bay beyond gave off luxury-resort vibes. Once again, she got the feeling of her chest expanding and her pores opening.
As she cut the engine, a tall blonde woman exited the structure, dragging a suitcase, a boy trailing behind her, a backpack slung over one shoulder. Uh-oh, had she stumbled on the Mitchell family leaving for a vacation? Maybe a Christmas vacation?
Blanca shoved open the car door, her high heel landing on the uneven ground. She should’ve changed before coming out here, but then maybe she would’ve missed the Mitchells completely.
The woman parked the suitcase on the driveway and called over her shoulder. “It’s okay. The car’s already here.”
Blanca opened her mouth to protest when the woman’s head whipped around, her long, blond hair cascading over one shoulder. Tate Mitchell’s luck must’ve changed somewhere along the line: he had a beautiful wife, cute son, gorgeous home and exciting job. Jeremy Ruesler was just dead.
“Go on, Olly. You can put our bags in the trunk yourself. Don’t make the driver do it.” The woman nudged the boy while flashing her pearly whites at Blanca.
A man clumped down the steps of the house behind the woman and child. “I told you I’d drive you, Astrid.”
Blanca kept her jaw firmly in place as she eyed the tall Nordic-looking man dressed like a lumberjack in jeans, boots and a blue-plaid flannel shirt. Tate Mitchell had lucked out in the looks department, too. He resembled a modern-day Thor. All he needed was a giant square hammer over his shoulder.
So, Thor wasn’t going with his wife and child. She’d lucked out, too.
The boy, Olly, grabbed his mother’s suitcase and dragged it behind him as he trundled toward Blanca. “C-can I put this in the back, please?”
Blanca waved her hands. “I’m so sorry for the confusion. I’m not your driver.”
“I didn’t think so.” Mitchell drew up beside his statuesque wife and hung his arm around her shoulders, but his gaze flicked from Blanca’s ponytail, which was now frizzing in the moisture, to the tips of her high heels. Her toes curled in the very shoes under his scrutiny, and a little ball of fury formed in her gut at his assessing stare. Men shouldn’t eye other women like that in the presence of their families.
The rattle of an engine behind her took away Mitchell’s focus as he leveled a finger at the small car. “That must be your ride. Is the car even big enough for your bag?”
“Stop worrying.” Astrid placed two hands on his broad chest and shoved. Then she gave Blanca another smile that made her skin glow even more. “My apologies for the mistake.”
“No worries.” Blanca held up her hands. “I’m actually here to see Tate Mitchell.”
“That would be him.” Astrid jerked her thumb toward her husband. “Olly, put the bags in the car.”
Both she and her husband followed the boy to the car. A young man jumped out and took the suitcase from him. “I got this, my man.”
With Olly settled in the back seat, Astrid turned to Tate and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t forget to join us for the holiday. I’ll text you from Mom’s.”
If her husband seemed disappointed in the chaste farewell, he didn’t show it. Hunching his shoulder, Tate shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the car turn in the driveway.
Then he faced her and raised his eyebrows over a pair of eyes so blue they could’ve been drops from Discovery Bay. “I suppose you’re here about the bones. Hopkins call you in from Seattle?”
Blanca squared her shoulders. “I’m FBI Special Agent Blanca Lopez, Mr. Mitchell. I’m here to investigate the cold case of Jeremy Ruesler. And I want to start my investigation by asking you what you remember about the day you two were playing in the forest and authorities found you tied to a tree with blood in your shoes...and no sign of Jeremy.”
Chapter Two
Tate swallowed hard, the hands in his pockets curling into fists. He knew this day would come. He should’ve known it would as soon as he discovered those bones in the ash of the forest fire. What he didn’t expect was the accusatory tone of the FBI agent in charge of the investigation...at least not right out of the box. She seemed angry with him.
He cleared his throat and glanced at the morose sky, his gaze meandering to the agent’s olive-green pantsuit, her pale-yellow blouse, open to reveal the tan, slim column of her neck and settling on her high heels rapidly sinking into the dirt. “It’s probably going to start raining in earnest. Let’s take this inside.”
He shifted to the right to allow her to walk ahead of him. Her heels wobbled on the driveway, and he resisted the urge to place a hand on her hip to steady her. She managed to make it to the porch without stumbling and climbed the two steps to the wooden deck.
As he reached past her to open the front door, her heel must’ve caught in a groove in the wood, and she tripped. This time he grabbed her arm. “If you’re planning to stick around, you need to get yourself a different pair of shoes.”
She glanced at his hand still on her sleeve and ran her tongue along her pillowy bottom lip. “I figured that out already. I’m still in my work clothes from the office, but I brought more appropriate attire.”
He released his grip and patted the wrinkled material of her suit jacket. “Sorry about that. C’mon in.”
He beckoned to her as he took a few steps down to the great room, one glass wall facing the forest, the stone fireplace cold for now.
Her dark eyes widened. “This is a beautiful room. It’s like you’re in the middle of the forest.”
Cocking his head, he said, “I guess so. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“Tea would be nice, thanks.”
He moved toward the kitchen, and she parked herself on one of the stools at the island. She dragged a notebook from her expensive-looking leather satchel and plopped it on the granite countertop. She lined up her cell phone next to the notepad. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
He jerked his hand, and the water filling the teapot splashed his fingers. “I guess not, but I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment. I don’t remember what occurred that day. I’ve been to hypnotists and therapists, and whatever happened is buried deep.”
She tapped the display on her phone and adjusted its position on the swirling green granite. “I had read that, but maybe with the discovery of those bones—your discovery of the bones—something might click in your brain.”
He set the kettle on the burner and turned toward her, folding his arms. “Forensics isn’t back, yet. We don’t even know if those bones belong to Jeremy.”
“Did you find them near where he went missing nineteen years ago?”
“No.” He rubbed his eye. He and Jeremy had never played on that side of the island. Too dangerous, their parents had said.
He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and a stash of several different tea bags Astrid liked. He held them up to Lopez. “Anything catch your fancy?”
“Anything herbal is fine.”
Holding the selection up to his face, he squinted at the print and selected one with orange and cinnamon. A few minutes later, the kettle started whistling, and he ripped open the packet and hung the string of the tea bag over the edge of the cup while he poured the hot water over it. Steam rose from the cup, the smell of the cinnamon with it.
He placed the cup in front of Lopez. “My sister drinks this one a lot. I recognize the smell.”
“Your sister?” She dredged the bag in the water, raising her eyes to his face.
“That stubborn blonde you met earlier. That’s my sister, Astrid, and her son, Olly. They’ve been staying with me temporarily since my sister...uh, had some problems.” He shrugged. “I told her I’d take her to the ferry to Seattle where she was catching a flight to Florida to visit our mother, but she didn’t want to put me out.”
“Oh, your sister.” Lopez’s shoulders rounded and she released a long breath. “I thought that was your wife.”
“God, no.” He laughed and smacked his forehead.
“And your wife doesn’t mind sharing her home with your sister?” She cranked her head back and forth as if expecting this wife to pop out of the woodwork at any time. Why was she so insistent on him having a wife?
“She might mind if I had one. A wife, I mean.” He held up his left hand as if he felt he needed to show her proof of his marital status. “Single.”
Lopez’s gaze slid to her phone, still recording their every word, and a blush tinted her cheeks beneath her tanned skin. She picked up the phone by its edges, and her thumb grazed the screen.
Had she thought better of exposing their conversation to other ears? It’s not like asking about his marital status was unprofessional, but she must’ve felt the underlying tension to their dialogue, too.
He pointed a finger at the tea bag still swirling in her cup. “I’ll get you a plate for that.”
When he turned back around, small plate in hand, Lopez had regained her composure. Her pen moved across the notebook in a fluid script, as her short, polished nails gleamed under the pendant lights hanging above the island.
She thanked him for the plate and then said, “Tell me everything you remember about that day with Jeremy Ruesler. Did you notice anyone following you? Anyone suspicious? Strangers in the area?”
Spreading his hands, he said, “I’m sure this is all in the case files, and my statements back then would’ve been fresher than anything I can give you today. Have you read the case files, yet?”
“I read what the special agent in charge gave me when he assigned this case to me.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “The case files from the Dead Falls Sheriff’s Department are in the trunk of my car. I haven’t gone through them yet.”
“Maybe you should do that first and then follow up with me.” Despite his words, a knot formed in his gut at the thought of this woman peering at him as a child through the lens of the present. Not that he’d done anything wrong. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
“I thought it would be more helpful to question you now, as an adult. Find out if any of those memories have surfaced. You were a boy then, traumatized, in shock.” She peered at him over the rim of her cup as she took a sip of tea.
Her brown eyes skewered him, as if she could read his mind. As if she knew on some level that the event still traumatized him. His parents had sent him to a therapist after Jeremy’s disappearance, but he hadn’t talked to her much. Law enforcement at the time had even tried hypnosis, but he hadn’t been susceptible. He’d never been able to go back to that time and remember. Why did Agent Lopez believe he could do it now?
She asked in a soft voice. “Can we try?”
“Why not?” He circled the island and dragged a stool from beneath the counter overhang. He sat down, facing her, his knees almost touching the side of her stool.
He remembered his first interview after the deputies found him tied to a tree. He’d spoken to Sheriff Maddox at the time, and even though a female deputy had sat in on the interview, Tate had been scared to death.
As he watched Agent Lopez scoot her stool around so that she faced him, her knees inches from his, her curvy figure visible as her jacket gaped open, he figured she could probably get a lot more out of him than gruff Maddox and the dour-faced female deputy.
She cleared her throat and tugged her jacket closed. “What kind of day was it? Did you and Jeremy always play together in the woods?”
“It was after Christmas. We were still on winter break from school, so probably about three weeks from today’s date. Jeremy had a new bike, so of course we were going to go out riding in the forest. He was my best friend.” Tate’s nose tingled, but he didn’t dare sniff. “Harry van Pelt also hung out with us, but he was sick that week.”
“You always rode your bikes in the forest? People would know that?”
“Sure, yeah. A lot of the kids did. We were twelve at the time, so, uh, we were kind of coming to the end of our childhood. Boys a year ahead of us were already hanging out by the falls, teasing the girls.” A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered how conflicted he, Jeremy and Harry were about girls.
“What time of day was it?”
“Late afternoon, but not dark yet. Our parents always gave us the directive to be home before dark. We took it seriously because our parents would ground us if we broke curfew.” He rubbed his chin as he stared over her shoulder. “This island can be a dangerous place, Agent Lopez.”
“Call me Blanca, please.” She flicked her slim fingers in the air. “Was there a particular game you played, or did you just ride your bikes through the woods?”
“We’d ride and do some stunts like hop over logs or skid sideways down an incline. Honestly, we were pretending to be motocross riders.” He put a finger to his lips. “But don’t tell anyone that. We never did.”
“You never told the police that?” She tilted her head and her ponytail, which had curled at the ends, danced on her shoulder.
“That’s not a big deal, is it? Kids’ make-believe?” He drummed his fingers on the table. Did Blanca think she’d just coaxed him into a breakthrough?
“Probably not, but it means you didn’t tell the deputies everything. You held back. Makes me wonder what else you didn’t disclose.” She wrapped her ponytail around her hand before tossing it over her shoulder. “So you and Jeremy were playing motocross in the forest in the late afternoon. What’s the last thing you remember before coming to, tied to the tree?”
“I just remember the playing. Nothing happened. Nobody approached us. Neither of us got hurt or...” He stopped and chewed on his bottom lip.
“Or what?” She shimmied up to the edge of the stool, her knee bumping his. “Did one of you crash, fall, get hurt?”
He nodded. “I did hit a log and crash, and there was blood in my shoes. The bottoms of my feet and my socks were ripped up, like I’d been running without my shoes. But that makes no sense to me. I don’t have any recollection of taking off my shoes or running without them.”
“It was your blood, not Jeremy’s.”
“That’s correct.” He clenched the edges of the stool with both hands. “I didn’t have any of Jeremy’s blood on me.”
He released the chair and flexed his fingers. Had Blanca noticed the defensive hysteria in his voice?
