Free Cold Fear by Rick Mofina Page B

older son missing. She told police she suspected her abusive
ex-husband, with the help of one of his ex-con friends, took the boy with him
to Florida, violating a custody order. The mother’s story held up because the
abusive ex had done time and had been seen in the area arguing with her. The
locals and supporting lead agent went with it, letting their guard down,
concentrating on the information she provided. Soon the locals and the Bureau
and Florida police were all over the ex.
    But Zander had a bad feeling about the mother from the
start. He noticed empty whiskey bottles in her trash, saw a variety of
medication in her medicine cabinet. He also noticed, under the seat of the
mother’s car, a crumpled toll receipt for the Florida Turnpike dated the day
she said her boy vanished. Zander was a rookie; the local old boys knew the ex,
a cop-hater who gave off the vibe that he would have done anything “to hurt
that bitch who put him in jail.”
    They found the little boy’s body in a Florida swamp near
the apartment complex where the ex-con lived. Days later, while the full force
of the investigation remained focused on the ex, the mother vanished with the
younger boy, who was four.
    They found the mother and the four-year-old in their van
at an I-75 rest stop between Lexington and Cincinnati. She had tied a plastic
bag over her son’s head and had overdosed herself on pills from six different
prescriptions.
    Within fourteen months of that case, every cop connected
to it had resigned from police work, unable to deal with the fact a child was
murdered right under their noses. The lead FBI agent took his own life. He died
in a single-vehicle traffic fatality. Cops knew how guys did it so their
families still got the insurance. Zander nearly resigned. He could not forgive
himself for also buying the mother’s story, for not speaking up, for not
insisting they go harder on the mother.
    He vowed from that point on never to fear to get in
someone’s face, to never hold back. He would never apologize and would follow
every gut instinct no matter whose feelings he hurt. He vowed to assume that
everyone was hiding something, that no one told the truth at first, and to
never, ever lose sight of the reason why he had to be that way. To remind
himself, Zander would go to a little cemetery outside a small Georgia town every year or so, and look at the headstone under a peach tree.
    Two very good reasons were buried there.
    The jet began its descent to Salt Lake City. Zander fired
up his laptop and opened his file on the Baker family. This time he reviewed
photographs of them, the recent ones Emily Baker had given to the rangers.
    He studied the girl’s face. Sun in her eyes. Hugging her
Beagle. Smiling in the majestic Rockies against a blue sky. A pretty California kid. Her name was Paige Baker. She had her mother’s eyes.
    Emily Baker was thirty-five. Attractive. A photographer.
Looked energetic. Zander gently covered her smile with his finger,
concentrating on her eyes. They betrayed something unsettled about her.
Something sad.
    Whatever it is, Emily, you are going to tell me.
    Zander’s eyes then met those of Doug Baker. The teacher.
The former U.S. Marine sergeant. The high school teacher. Football coach.
Positions of authority. Positions of control.
    Did you lose control, Doug? How did you hurt your
hand? What was going on in the time before your daughter had vanished?
    How long had she been gone now? Zander checked the file.
Made his best estimate. Thirty-one hours. Zander set a special timer on his
Swiss watch, adjusting it to tell him at a glance how many hours had passed
since Paige Baker disappeared into the Rocky Mountains. They had to move fast
on this one. He was going to have to push it. Smart and hard. He closed his
laptop. Soon he would learn the truth about Doug and Emily: every fear, every
heartbreak, every secret. If the Bakers were hiding something, he would find
out.
    He always did.

ELEVEN

    The sun was