Doom With a View

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

  “Want to explain to me what she’s freaking out about?” I heard Harrison ask Candice.

  My eyes snapped open as my temper flared. “For your information, Agent Harrison, I am not freaking out! I just don’t have a great feeling about going up in that plane.”

  “Why not?” he asked, and I noticed that his question was asked without attitude. He was genuinely concerned.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “But something’s not right about this trip.”

  Harrison’s mood turned to irritation. “I can’t cancel the trip based on a feeling, Ms. Cooper. We have an appointment to interview Leslie’s parents in three hours. If you don’t want to come, you’re welcome to stay behind and wait for my return.”

  I eyed Candice, looking for her reaction. “If you want to stay behind, I’m cool with that, Abs,” she said. “And I’d be the last person who’d go up in a plane that your radar said was unsafe.”

  And as she said that, my gaze switched back to the plane. When I focused my energy at it, I knew the plane was fine. But the reason for the unsettled feeling I had still eluded me. I tried to ask myself the question, if I got on the plane, would we make it to Wisconsin safely? I was relieved to feel a positive answer to that. So I knew it was okay to fly, but why I was apprehensive I still hadn’t pinpointed. Finally, I shrugged and gave in. “No, it’s fine. I think it’s just my own nerves about flying in a small plane.”

  “You sure?” Candice asked, and I could tell I’d now made her nervous too.

  I nodded with conviction. “Yes. We’re fine.”

  Just then Ed opened up the office door and beamed at us. “She’s all set, and I’m ready when you are, folks.”

  I set my coffee cup down and said, “Let’s go.”

  An hour later I was white-knuckling it over Lake Michigan. The wind had kicked up and Ed was having a hell of time keeping the small plane level as gusts of wind pushed us high, then suddenly gave out and we dropped back low again. My stomach had lurched so many times I found it a wonder that I’d managed to hold on to the coffee I’d drunk. Beside me Candice also looked nervous, and I could tell she was really regretting following me onto the plane. She and I were squished into the two backseats and the sound of the engines right next to us drowned out all other noise. Even with headgear and microphones no one felt like talking.

  I stopped looking out the window, as the dips, dives, and surges of the plane were making me motion sick enough. I didn’t actually need to see it to confirm how crazy this roller-coaster ride was. Mostly I just took very deep breaths—interrupted by the occasional gasp—and focused on remaining calm. It was really, really hard. Eventually the wind stopped jerking us around and we began our descent into Milwaukee.

  With a heart full of gratitude when the plane finally touched down, I let go of the breath I’d been holding and we taxied to another hangar where Ed parked the plane.

  As quickly as I could and with trembling fingers, I unbuckled my seat belt, yanked off my headset, and pretty much dived out of the plane.

  I heard Ed laugh behind me as I took a few unsteady steps away. “First time in a small plane?” he asked. I nodded, not trusting my voice. “Your first stretch in a strong turbulence is always the toughest. Going home, the wind’ll be behind us and it’ll be a lot smoother.”

  I felt the blood leave my face. “We have to do that again?”

  Ed laughed some more. He thought my reaction was hilarious. “I promise,” he assured me, placing his hand on his chest. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

  My left side grew heavy and I was about to ask him where the nearest car-rental office was because there was no way I wanted to do that again, but Harrison spoke before I could. “We’ve got an agent meeting us to take us to the Coyles’. If you two will follow me, please.” And he turned and walked away.

  “You okay?” Candice asked, eyeing me with concern. “You look a little pale.”

  I took a deep breath. “Fine,” I managed. “Come on. We don’t want to keep Agent Delightful waiting.”

  I believe Harrison heard that, as I saw that his posture stiffened slightly, but at this point I didn’t care. If Dutch had been along for that ride, he definitely would have given me a minute to collect myself before marching off. Harrison’s lack of decorum was seriously wearing on my nerves.

  The corner of Candice’s mouth lifted and she took my arm and pulled me along. “Come on, Abs. Let’s get you into something with four wheels and no wings, shall we?”

  About forty-five minutes later we arrived at the home of Erica and Jim Coyle. I’d learned in the car from the agent who’d been assigned to drive us to their residence, and who’d also initially been assigned to interview them, that Erica was a member of the Wisconsin state legislature and her husband was a district court judge.

  Their home was surprising. It was sleek and ultramodern, architecturally rendered to make it look a bit futuristic. There were three levels to the brilliant white exterior and lots of chrome trim. A circular staircase linked the stories from the outside, and Agent Blass—the agent who’d picked us up from the airport—led the way up the stairs to the second level, where he rang the bell and we waited.

  The door was opened by a woman in a brilliant orange pantsuit with matching jewelry, nails, and lipstick. The color did nothing to enhance her looks, which were decidedly plain and forgettable. “Agent Blass,” she greeted our chauffeur. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Representative Coyle,” Blass said with a stiff smile before turning to introduce the rest of us. “This is Assistant Special Agent in Charge Brice Harrison, and these are his two FBI associates, Abigail Cooper and Candice Frisco.”

  “Fusco,” Candice corrected as she reached forward and shook Representative Coyle’s hand.

  We entered the home and I was not surprised by the interior, which was uninspired and plain. The couple seemed to be going for a minimalist look, but they took it to an extreme that removed any sense of cool sophistication. The walls were bare and painted as brilliant a shade of white as the outside. The floors were stained concrete, the color a yucky dung brown, and the two white couches in the central living area were small and stiff. There was nothing in the environment that suggested this was a home. No knickknacks, decorations, or life was on display. It was beyond utilitarian; it was stark.

  “Why don’t you all take a seat on the couch and I’ll get Jim from upstairs,” she said before dashing off to another spiral staircase.

  We waited until the clink of her shoes had topped the last step before Candice motioned me over to one of the couches, where the two of us took a seat. “Cozy!” Candice whispered as we sat down on the hard cushion, and I stifled a giggle while Harrison shot us both a warning look.

  Harrison and Blass stood as stiff as the furniture, waiting without speaking as the seconds ticked by. After what felt like many minutes, two sets of feet clinked down the spiral staircase. All of us looked in that direction as Mrs. Coyle and her husband circled down to the ground. His Honor the judge was even more of a surprise than his wife. Short and slim with jet-black hair and wire-rimmed glasses, he looked far younger than the age I suspected he’d be. When he stood next to his wife, it was almost comical—like the clown car at the circus had just opened its doors and these were the first two occupants to come out.

  His Honor nodded to us and remained standing, while his wife moved to the second couch and sat down. Introductions were made again and Harrison took charge. He conducted the interview asking all the questions I assumed the couple had already answered countless times from various law-enforcement officials, and they seemed weary of the repetition but gave their answers without protest or impatience. Throughout it all I waited for some signal from my radar, but try as I might to tune in on her energy, I couldn’t really get a bead on Representative Coyle, and her husband was even worse.

  Internally I grew frustrated as I realized I’d likely hit on two pe
ople whose energy just didn’t emit a strong enough vibe for me to pick up on. This happened very, very rarely in my world, but every once in a great while I’d get a client that I couldn’t read. I didn’t know why this happened, and it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—just some people have very “quiet” energy that doesn’t allow my radar to really perceive anything about them. The fact that there would be two such energies together in one room—and married, no less—was what made it so striking to me. And I had to wonder whether all the mixed messages that I’d picked up on for their daughter might also be because her own energy wasn’t very “loud” either.

  I shook off the frustration, however, and listened to Harrison’s interview, hoping for something, anything, to ding my radar. At this point he was asking them about the conference two years previously, and the representative acknowledged that she’d been there. “Did your daughter also attend?” Harrison asked.

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Coyle. “She was there. But what does this have to do with her disappearance?”

  “There are two other students who went missing around the same time as your daughter who also attended that conference, and we believe that during that event some of the kids may have hung out together. We think your daughter, in fact, might have spent some time with at least two of them.”

  Representative Coyle’s eyes held a far-off cast as, I assumed, she thought back to that time. “Are you telling me that either Michael, Kyle, or Bianca are missing?”

  My eyebrows shot up. I was surprised at the woman’s memory. “Bianca and Kyle went missing just before your daughter,” Harrison said. “But we’re unfamiliar with Michael. Do you remember his last name?”

  The representative turned pale as the impact of what Harrison had said about Bianca and Kyle hit home, but she answered his question by saying, “Michael Derby, from Illinois, the son of U.S. senator Matthew Derby. Leslie hung out with those three during the conference. The kids even stayed in our suite and watched movies until about three a.m. one night. Do you think something has also happened to Michael?”

  Harrison scribbled in his notebook before answering, “To our knowledge, ma’am, Michael is fine, but we’ll certainly check in with the senator to make sure.”

  “Maybe Michael knows where they are!” Mrs. Coyle said suddenly.

  “We’ll certainly ask him,” said Harrison in his usual calm voice. I knew he didn’t want her jumping to conclusions before he talked to Michael and his father first.

  “I’ll bet they’re all together,” Coyle continued, looking at her husband pointedly. “I’ll bet they’re off somewhere laughing it up and making us all sweat. It would be just like Leslie to go off and play that kind of prank on us.”

  Harrison seemed to shift his position slightly.“Prank?” he asked. “Leslie was given to playing pranks?”

  The question seemed to catch Representative Coyle off guard. “Well . . . I mean . . . ,” she blustered. “Not really. Not to this extent, of course, but during her senior year of high school, she went through a slightly rebellious stage.”

  “What did she do?” Harrison pressed.

  “Nothing overly dramatic. She ran away from home for a week when we took away her car privileges. But she only went to a friend’s house and she came home when she felt she’d made her point.”

  “Do you think your daughter could somehow be attempting to make a point by disappearing last May?”

  Mrs. Coyle’s eyes flashed again to her husband, and I had the sense that he wasn’t pleased with this line of questioning. He answered for his wife by saying, “No. Leslie isn’t pulling a prank. She would have contacted us. She would have let us know she’s all right. This is completely out of character for my daughter, who has grown up a lot since high school.”

  Harrison nodded and moved away from the touchy subject. I had a feeling he’d be doing a lot more digging into Leslie’s behavior at school up to her disappearance, but for now he was going to let it drop.

  “One last question,” he said, and I noticed that his eyes flashed briefly to me. “Did Leslie go somewhere the weekend before she disappeared? Maybe take a road trip or something?”

  Representative Coyle nodded. “Yes,” she said. “She called to tell me that she and a group of friends were taking a road trip to Ohio State University to visit a friend. I had some concerns about her leaving campus so close to finals, but she assured me that she was well up on her studies, and given her last report card, I had no reason to doubt her.”

  When Harrison’s eyes flashed again to me, I allowed the tiniest of smiles. “I’d like to hear more about her trip to Ohio,” Harrison said. “Can you give me the name of one of the friends she went with?”

  Representative Coyle’s brow furrowed. “Actually,” she said, “Leslie didn’t mention anyone by name. I knew she was driving, and she said it was with a bunch of friends, so I didn’t think to ask her who specifically she was going with.”

  “Do you know the name of the friend she was going to visit?” Harrison asked.

  The representative blanched again, her fingers finding the orange pearl necklace at her neck. “No,” she admitted. “Leslie said it was a friend of a friend.”

  And I suddenly knew why Leslie hadn’t mentioned anyone in particular. She’d gone alone—of that I was certain—and she didn’t want her mother to know she was off to see Kyle, but why she didn’t want anyone to know wasn’t clear. “Do you think her roommate might have gone or might know one of the other kids who did?” Harrison pressed.

  “Maybe,” Mrs. Coyle said. “You can ask Trish if you like. Do you need her number?”

  Harrison glanced at Blass, who said, “We have her contact information on file, Representative Coyle. We’ll call her.”

  After that, Harrison wrapped it up, thanking the Coyles for their time and asking them to keep the specifics of this case out of the press for now.

  I thought that his attempts to keep a lid on this case for much longer were going to prove futile, because two dead children of political leaders and one more missing were bound to turn up as more than coincidental really soon. I also noted that Harrison had been careful not to disclose to the Coyles that both Bianca and Kyle were dead. I figured that was done purposely to keep them cooperative for now.

  Harrison was soon folding his notebook closed and looked like he was about to announce his good-byes when Candice asked, “Do you know if Leslie kept in touch with Kyle and Bianca after the conference?”

  Again, Representative Coyle looked surprised. “Not that she ever mentioned to me,” she said. “But I suppose she could have.”

  Harrison was clearly giving Candice a warning look, but she ignored him by asking, “And do you by any chance have a better photo of Leslie than the one that was supplied to us? The photo we have on file is a bit too grainy for us to work with.”

  Mrs. Coyle rose to her feet. “Yes, of course,” she said. “I remember that fuzzy photo I gave you, Agent Blass. I wasn’t thinking about the picture’s quality at the time. When your child goes missing, you lose any ability to think straight.” And with that, she left us to hurry out of the room toward the kitchen. I could see her down the hallway and she was back in only a moment pulling apart a small frame. “Here,” she said, handing the photo to Candice. “That was taken last year at Castle Rock Lake.”

  Eagerly I peered over Candice’s shoulder and was again a little surprised to see Leslie still looking very much alive. Candice eyed me cautiously and I gave a small nod to indicate that I believed the girl was still with us. “Thank you for the photo, ma’am,” said Candice. “We’ll make a copy as soon as possible and return the original.”

  “Thank you,” said Mrs. Coyle. “And you’ll also let me know as soon as you find out anything about my daughter?”

  Candice deferred to Harrison to answer that question and he cleared his throat and said, “We’ll keep you advised of any new developments,” which wasn’t exactly what the Coyles were looking for in the way of reassurances, but
it was probably beyond Harrison to consider their feelings.

  Soon after this exchange our good-byes were given and we left the couple, heading back to the airport. Harrison and Blass talked in the front seat, mostly about sports, and Candice and I kept quiet. As we unloaded from the car, I had another acute sense of dread when we walked toward the small plane. This time, I knew it was more than just my nerves. Something was telling me that I might want to rethink going up, up, and away.

  I stopped on the tarmac just in front of the hangar. Candice eyed me over her shoulder. “You coming?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  Candice came back to stand next to me. A cold wind had stirred up and sent leaves swirling in little clusters all around the pavement. “What’s up?” she asked softly when she reached my side.

  “I can’t get on that plane,” I whispered as my gut clenched at the thought of flying in it.

  Candice eyed the plane and its pilot, who was busy going through his preflight checklist again.“Harrison!” she called out, and he looked back at us in surprise.

  “What?”

  “We’re not getting on that plane,” she said, and immediately I was flooded with relief.

  Harrison’s eyes opened wide. “What do you mean, you’re not getting on the plane?”

  “Abby’s got a bad feeling.”

  Harrison’s brows pulled together and I could tell he really thought we were being ridiculous. “This again?” he asked, his tone impatient, as he walked back to us. “Listen, we made it here okay, didn’t we? Remember how you had a bad feeling before we came, and other than a little turbulence, we made it just fine?”

  I nodded reluctantly but held firm. “I’m not flying back in that,” I said, pointing to the plane.

  Harrison sighed and I knew he was frustrated. “I’m not authorizing a comp on a regular airline,” he said stonily. “Either you two fly with me or you pay your own way back.”