Free Bloodlines by Jan Burke Page A

left the house carrying a flashlight, feeling more worried now. He retraced the path between the corner and the house, looking at first for Maureen herself, and then on the ground for some sign of her having passed this way, a lost earring, a footprint, anything. He knocked on every door of every house that had any view of the corner, or of the street, but no one had seen her or noticed anything out of the ordinary.
    It was growing late now. He went back to the house and told his father that he'd had no luck. He called the police. He also called his mother, who got permission to leave work.
    A patrolman came to the house. O'Connor guessed him to be about fifty. He took a report, acting no more excited than if O'Connor had told him a car had been stolen. Less so. He said, "I'll file this with Missing Persons."
    "What do you mean, file it?" O'Connor asked, struggling to keep his temper.
    "Most adult disappearances are voluntary, sir."
    "No--this isn't voluntary. Someone has taken her. She takes care of my father. She'd never leave him. This is a crime ...for God's sake, she's in danger!"
    The officer shrugged. "People get tired of responsibilities. But we'll keep an eye out for her."
    O'Connor said, "I work for the Express." He didn't tell him that he was only a copyboy.
    The patrolman paused, then said, "Look, it's not up to me. You call Detective Riley first thing tomorrow."
    "Tomorrow! By then she could be God knows where! He could have..." But the thought of what could be happening to her so distressed him, he couldn't say it aloud.
    The officer patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, son. I'll be on the radio, asking all our patrol cars to keep an eye out for her. You just wait--I'll bet she'll come back a little later this evening. Ninety-nine percent of the time, if an adult disappears, it's because they forgot to tell someone their plans or they don't want to be found."
    "She's in that one percent then," O'Connor said angrily.
    "If so, we'll be a little more sure of it tomorrow."
    "That one percent," O'Connor said. "They aren't numbers, you know. Those are human beings. A young woman, in this case. Someone who is loved and who has a job and a home and who has never said a cross word to anyone in her life...a good girl."
    "Call Riley in the morning," he said, and left.
    Instead, O'Connor called Jack Corrigan. Corrigan listened to O'Connor's anxious recital in silence, until O'Connor described what the patrolman had said and done. Jack interrupted him.
    "Never mind Riley," he said grimly. "Unfortunately, Missing Persons is the retiring cop's pasture in most police departments around here. Riley--that asshole wasn't any good when he was really on the job, and now he's just sitting around waiting for them to engrave his gold watch. Speaking of which... hang on." There was a brief pause. "It's late, and Wrigley might not go for it, but let's give it a try. Listen, Conn, grab the clearest, most recent black-and-white photo of her you can find and meet me down at the Express. Bring two or three of them if you can."
    O'Connor waited only until his mother arrived to care for his father, a few minutes after he had found three photos of Maureen that he thought the engravers might be able to work with.
    Old Man Wrigley had been reached at home. By the time O'Connor got to the paper, Jack was already sitting at a typewriter, writing the lead. Wrigley's son, who was news editor, picked out a photo and told O'Connor to sit next to Jack and answer his questions.
    O'Connor listened as Jack called the chief of police and asked if he'd care to comment.
    There was a pause, then Jack repeated the story of Maureen's disappearance, and the patrolman's lack of concern. There was another pause, then Jack said, "Yes, sir, the sister of one of our own staff. I know the family personally... Exactly, sir...No, she wouldn't have abandoned her father." O'Connor saw a kind of triumphant light come into Jack's eyes. "That's what I thought, sir."He