Tracks of Her Tears Page 4

  Amber Lynn’s apartment was small and sparse, but it was a huge step up from where her parents, Tony and Dana Cooper, lived. From her quick background check, Carly knew that fifty-year-old Dana Cooper worked in a nail salon. At fifty-five, Tony was unemployed.

  A bald man answered the door. He was stocky, with muscular shoulders over a beer gut. He gave Carly a suspicious look. “What?”

  Carly presented her credentials. Anger lowered his brow, and he tried to shut the door on her.

  “Wait.” She pressed a palm to the aluminum. “I’m here about your daughter, Amber Lynn. Are you Tony Cooper?”

  “Yeah.” Anger ebbed to curiosity. He scratched his stomach through a stained T-shirt. “We already know about Amber Lynn. The sheriff stopped by this morning.”

  He didn’t look brokenhearted. The sound of a woman crying carried through the open door.

  “Who is it?” a shaky voice called.

  “Social worker. It’s about Amber Lynn,” Tony said over his shoulder.

  The woman bawled. “Let her.” Sniff. “In.”

  He moved back, giving Carly room to enter. Barely. She squeezed through the opening, pressing flat against the wall to avoid touching him. He smelled like stale beer. Passing through a tight galley kitchen, Carly stopped at a Formica table where a woman sat, crying. Amber Lynn’s mother looked nothing like her, but she probably had once, before hard living etched deep lines in her face. She tucked a strand of bleached-blonde hair behind her ear. The movement revealed the side of her jaw, where Carly could see a purple bruise still visible despite a thick layer of concealer.

  “Are you Dana Cooper?” Carly asked.

  Nodding, the woman sucked on a cigarette and sobbed. She waved at the seat across from her, blew out a plume of smoke, and rested her cigarette in the ashtray notch while she snatched a tissue from a box at her elbow. A trio of beer cans was lined up on the table. Tony grabbed them and deposited the empties into an already full garbage can.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Carly eased onto the wooden chair.

  “I can’t believe it.” Dana crumpled the tissue, then stabbed out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. “I thought I had plenty of time to make up with her.”

  Carly hadn’t gotten over her father’s death last spring, and thinking of her own young daughter at home, her heart ached for the grieving mother. “It must have been a terrible shock.”

  Dana blew her nose.

  Tony hovered next to Dana’s chair. “Why are you here?”

  “Social services has taken custody of Charlotte,” Carly said. “Is she your granddaughter?”

  “Not really.” He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his baggy brown pants. “Amber Lynn wasn’t mine.”

  “I married Tony when Amber Lynn was fifteen,” Dana said in a flat voice. “Tony adopted Amber, but he’s her stepfather.” Dana lit another cigarette with a shaking hand. “Where is the baby now?”

  “In a foster home.” Carly did not want to give Tony any more information than necessary. Something about the man made her skin itch. “When was the last time you saw Amber Lynn or the baby?”

  “We only seen the child once.” Tony went to the small fridge and took out a can of Coke. He inclined it toward Carly in offer.

  She smiled. “No, thank you.”

  Tony popped the top. “Amber Lynn moved out right after she graduated high school. She came back after she had the kid, looking for a handout.”

  Carly couldn’t blame the girl for running out of that home at the earliest opportunity. Tony couldn’t fully conceal the mean glint in his eye.

  Staring out the window, Dana flicked her cigarette ash hard but remained silent. Something in her expression led Carly to think she’d seen her daughter but hadn’t told her husband.

  “What did you tell her?” Carly glanced around the trailer. The space was tight. She couldn’t imagine a young woman and her baby crammed in here too, though she’d seen families who managed with less. Some were grateful to have a roof over their heads. Tony didn’t seem like the grateful type.

  “We’re not rich.” Tony shrugged. “Baby was her problem, not ours.”

  “So you haven’t seen the baby since she was a newborn.” Sadly, Carly thought that was probably for the best.

  “Right.” Tony drank from the can and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do we get money if we take the kid?” He tried to make the question casual, but the sharpness of his gaze told Carly his interest was keen.

  As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t lie. “Amber Lynn’s child might be eligible for Social Security benefits.”

  “How much?” Tony took a cigarette from Dana’s pack. He reached for a lighter on the table. As his arm brushed Dana’s shoulder, she flinched. He lit up and took a deep drag.

  Carly leaned away from the smoke. “I don’t know.”

  All he wanted was the money. That was clear.

  “What do we have to do to git her?” Tony leaned in, his eyes registering too much enthusiasm.

  “I’m required to conduct a full investigation.” Carly opened her tote bag. “The child also has a father.” The fact that he was an unemployed ex-con with reportedly no interest in his child was irrelevant at this time.

  “That’s bullshit.” Tony smacked the table.

  Carly startled, and the narrow confines of the trailer suddenly felt like a trap.

  Tony paced the parking spot–size kitchen. “The kid is Dana’s granddaughter. That should be enough.”

  “I understand your frustration, but the system is a bureaucracy. There isn’t anything I can do about it,” Carly said, hoping to deflect his anger. “I have some forms you can fill out. I’ll need personal and professional references as well. The more you cooperate, the better your chances.”

  “I’m unemployed. They can’t hold that against me.” Tony’s face locked in an insolent frown. “But Dana works, and me being home would be good for the kid. I’d be here to take care of her. We wouldn’t have to spring for day care.”

  The thought of this man raising that sweet child made Carly ill. But she dutifully slid the papers across the table. The decision would be up to a judge. With more children than the system could possibly support, related caregivers were given preference.

  “I need some air.” Dana stood and motioned toward the door. After sliding out of the bench seat, she shrugged into a jacket and shoved a handful of tissues into the pocket. Carly followed her outside. Dana walked out of the yard and stared down the gravel lane between lots. The rest of the neighborhood was a mixed bag of trailers. Some looked as dejected as the Cooper residence, but others were well cared for, with colorful awnings over the windows.

  Flurries drifted through the air. The cold damp complemented Carly’s mood.

  “When she moved out, Tony hit the roof. He was used to taking her paycheck. Amber Lynn was always a hard worker,” Dana said in a wistful tone. “Tony owes child support to another woman. That’s why he won’t get a job.”

  And no doubt the reason he’d tried to shut the door on Carly when she presented her ID.

  “The minute he gets a paycheck, they take the child support out. He says it’s the principle of the matter. No one has the right to take a man’s hard-earned pay.”

  Carly didn’t ask why Dana stayed with a man like Tony, unemployed, lazy, selfish, and plain mean. Carly had seen it over and over. Dana was one of those women who couldn’t be without a man, even if he contributed absolutely nothing to her life but pain.

  “He’ll try to get the baby but it would be the wrong thing to do. I’ll be at work, and as you can tell, Tony isn’t father-of-the-year material.”

  “Did Amber Lynn have any sisters or cousins?” Carly asked. “What about her father?”

  Dana shook her head. “Her daddy’s dead. He got drunk and ran his car into a t
ree when Amber Lynn was just a baby. And she was my only one. No sisters. I don’t know about cousins. I haven’t seen my family in fifteen years. Tony don’t like to share me.”

  No doubt Tony wanted to keep the gravy train all to himself.

  They’d circled the block and were standing back in front of the Cooper trailer.

  “I have to go to work.” Dana shoved her hands into her pockets. “I’m a nail tech. I can’t afford to miss a day.”

  “Thanks for your honesty,” Carly said as they stopped next to her Jeep.

  “Please don’t tell Tony. I’ll just say that our chances aren’t good because we don’t have enough room for a kid, which is true enough. He’s gonna be mad.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Carly said. “I’ll tell him later, if you want.” She didn’t want to think of Dana suffering any more bruises.

  Dana shook her head. “It’d be best to get it over with, before he works himself up thinking about having more money.”

  “Call the police if you need to.” Carly pressed a card into Dana’s hand, knowing that Dana wouldn’t call anyone. “I could help you if you want to leave him.”

  “Where would I go?” Dana climbed the steps and went into the trailer.

  Carly could hear Tony yelling before the door even shut. Years ago she’d have tried to convince Dana to leave him, but now she knew it was pointless. She rubbed her temple. When had she become such a cynic?

  So Amber Lynn’s parents were not candidates for custody of Charlotte. Carly started her engine. A curtain in the window moved. Tony’s face appeared. He stared at her. Hostility shone through the dirty glass. His face disappeared and the door to the trailer opened. Dana must have told him they weren’t getting the baby, because his face was dark with rage as he came down the steps. He started toward the car.

  Carly locked her doors, shifted the Jeep into drive, and stomped on the gas pedal as he lunged toward her vehicle.

  “Hey, I got something to say to you,” he shouted.

  But Carly wasn’t having another conversation with Tony without a police escort. She had no doubt that Tony would have a completely different attitude if Seth were standing behind her, glaring at him. Seth was exceptionally good at glaring.

  Shivering, she drove away. She reached for the temperature control and cranked the heat on fully as she drove toward Solitude. Two miles down the road, after she was sure Tony wasn’t coming after her, she pulled over to check her messages. Seth had called and left one.

  Please, let the message say that Bruce has been found safe.

  But she had no such luck. Seth wanted her to meet him at home in an hour. A search was being organized for Bruce by the Solitude PD, but Seth had no leads.

  She turned the defroster to high. Snowflakes melted on her windshield. The weather was deteriorating, and Bruce was still missing.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I’m going to Fletcher’s. I’ll meet you back at the house in an hour,” Seth said to his wife over the phone as he crossed the parking lot of the sheriff’s office. “Zane is hoping to have a search off the ground this afternoon, and I’ll need my winter gear.”

  He also knew his wife would want to be in on the search, and he didn’t trust anyone else at her side.

  The Solitude PD had been calling Bruce’s friends, checking the places he normally frequented, and spreading the word about his disappearance. The Rogue County Sheriff’s Department had put out a BOLO on Bruce’s car. The search of the park hadn’t turned up any more clues. On the bright side, they hadn’t found any more bodies either. As long as he didn’t see a body, Seth would believe that Bruce was alive.

  “We have to find him,” Carly said.

  The break in his wife’s voice hollowed Seth’s chest. She’d lost her father, and he couldn’t bear to think of the pain she’d feel if something happened to her younger brother. The entire Taylor family was just settling into a new normal.

  “The temperature is going to drop tonight,” she said. “What if he’s outside?”

  Light snow was already falling, and more was expected through the evening.

  “It’ll be okay.” But Seth’s voice lacked confidence. Amber Lynn had been the last person to see Bruce, and she was dead. His prime lead, Travis, had provided little useful information. He was hiding something, but Seth couldn’t prove it. To make matters worse, the weather was going to hell.

  Phil jogged across the asphalt. “Where are we going now? Fletcher’s?”

  “Yes. What did you learn from Amber Lynn’s employer?” Seth walked toward his vehicle.

  While Seth had been talking to Carly, Phil had called Amber Lynn’s employer. She’d worked as a receptionist for an accountant.

  Phil fell into step beside him. “She was a good employee. Didn’t miss much work. Her boss seemed genuinely sad to hear about her death. She gave me Amber Lynn’s emergency contact information. Ethel Kaminsky is the only name listed.”

  “No red flags?”

  “None,” Phil said. “Amber Lynn left work as usual at four thirty yesterday. Her boss didn’t notice anything unusual about her behavior, but she admitted she was busy trying to finish some year-end business and wasn’t paying close attention.”

  “Keep your eyes open for a cargo van.” Seth paused. “Bruce could’ve been in an accident.”

  “Then how was Amber Lynn killed?” Phil asked. “And how did she get to the park? Were they both kidnapped after they left the bar or was Amber taken after Bruce dropped her at home?”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t rule anything out yet.” Seth opened his car door.

  Phil turned toward his patrol vehicle, parked a few spots down the row. “Any luck pinging Bruce’s cell phone?”

  “No, but Bruce is famous for forgetting his phone or letting the battery die.” Seth hoped one of those was the reason he couldn’t be reached.

  Phil followed Seth to Fletcher’s. A truck stop occupied a chunk of dirt on the interstate just inside the Solitude city limits. A service station divided the cluster of buildings. A few cars and two eighteen-wheelers were lined up for fuel. A mini-mart sat behind the long row of pumps. Through the plate glass window, Seth could see a couple of customers at the register. A half-dozen additional trucks were lined up in the long parking slots behind the mini-mart. A diner and a motel sat on one side of the station, while Fletcher’s occupied the weedy patch of asphalt on the other.

  “I haven’t arrested anyone here all week,” Phil joked. At night the bar and parking lot would both be crowded. Drug dealers and a couple of hookers would be displaying their wares. Interstate truck stop traffic made selling drugs and sex easy. Fletcher’s was known for attracting an unsavory crowd.

  “Must be the holidays.” Seth had made his share of busts at Fletcher’s. The owner, Bob Fletcher, had slithered out from under charges ranging from serving underage minors to drug dealing to sex trafficking. Bob didn’t think twice about throwing a bartender or bouncer under the legal bus. “While I question Bob, see how many surveillance cameras you can spot inside the bar.”

  Seth and Phil went inside. Daylight emphasized the run-down and overall sleazy nature of the establishment. Dirt scraped underfoot, and dust motes hung suspended in beams of sunlight slanting through the blinds. Three men nursed beers and watched a hockey game at the bar. Bob Fletcher looked up from duct-taping a rip in a vinyl booth. In his midfifties, he looked like an aging biker. A tattoo of a tarantula decorated one side of his bald head, and beefy biceps bulged under a tight, long-sleeved T-shirt with the Rolling Stones logo on the front.

  “Good afternoon, Detective Harding.” Bob set the roll of gray tape on the table. “I haven’t seen you in long time. I heard you were serving on some special task force. Does this mean you’re back?”

  “It does,” Seth said. “Do you know why I’m here?”

  Bob didn’t offer a ha
nd. He eyed Phil’s uniform. “I guess you’re here about the girl.”

  Seth should have known news of Amber Lynn’s murder would have gotten out. Word traveled faster than the speed of light in Solitude.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions about last night,” Seth began.

  “Sure. As long as I can work while we talk. I’m shorthanded.” Bob moved behind the bar. “I really can’t tell you much.”

  “Mind if I use the restroom?” Phil asked.

  Shaking his head, Bob gestured toward the back of the bar, where a hallway was marked with restroom signs. Phil headed toward the men’s room.

  “The band played here last night?” Seth asked.

  Bob nodded. “Yeah. They started at eight and finished up around eleven thirty. They were gone by midnight.”

  “Who’s your contact in the band?”

  “Bruce Taylor. He’s related to you, right?” Bob sprayed wood polish on the bar and rubbed. The scuffed bar didn’t look any cleaner as he moved from section to section. Years of nastiness pitted the wood.

  Seth didn’t respond to the question. “Do they play here often?”

  “Once or twice a month.” Bob shrugged.

  “Do they always bring a girl?”

  Bob finished the bar surface, replaced the spray can under the bar, and produced a bottle of glass cleaner. “No, usually Bruce sings.”

  “Have you heard from him today?” Seth asked.

  Bob sprayed the mirror behind the bar. “No. I paid him last night. No reason for him to come around today. I won’t see him again for a couple of weeks.”

  “How well do you know the rest of the band members?”

  “There’s a bass player and a drummer. The drummer calls himself Psych.” Bob rolled his eyes. “The bass player has a my-daddy’s-a-lawyer name, starts with an S. Spencer. I don’t remember the girl’s name.”

  “Did the band all leave together?” Seth asked.