Free Missing Mark by Julie Kramer

go months without contacting me, his mama.”
    We used the natural light from the window so she wouldn’t be distracted by too much television equipment and so we could get started while she was still emotional.
    “I need to find him. Dead or alive. I need to find him.” I paused to admire her sound bite and replay it in my mind. Definitely a keeper.
    “Do you think he might have killed himself?” The question bordered on insensitive, but still had to be asked.
    “No, he had everything to live for. He was getting married. If he killed himself, where’s his body?”
    Her point was valid. Suicides typically want to be found. That’s why so many do their dying deed in a familiar place like at home or in a garage, or a public place like a high bridge or tall building. Yet some suicides do go off into a wooded area for their final moments and aren’t found until months or years later when a hunter stumbles across their bones.
    “Besides,” she said, holding up a gold cross dangling from a chain around her neck, “suicide is a sin.”
    News organizations typically don’t cover suicides, unless the deceased is a celebrity like Kurt Cobain or takes others with him before turning the gun on himself like the Virginia Tech shooter. I did not want Mark to be a suicide or it would mean I did a whole lot of work for nothing.
    “Was he involved in anything that might have caused him some trouble?” I continued. “Drugs perhaps?”
    That was a firm no. But mamas might be the last to know if their little boys are using or dealing.
    Then I thought of Mark’s scar and recalled another missing person case from the year before. A Minnesota man, gone for two weeks, found sleeping in a hail-damaged pickup at a Wisconsin truck stop. He had no idea who he was or how he got there. Months earlier, according to his family, he’d slipped in a bathtub, hit his head, and began to suffer periodic bouts of amnesia.
    “When did Mark get his scar?” I asked. “Could his memory have been affected by a head injury?”
    The question made his mother fidget, but she debunked my amnesia theory by telling me Mark got the scar in a childhood accident and never appeared to have any lasting effects.
    I had another question that I knew would make her even more uncomfortable, which was why I saved it for last.
    I asked her why she waited so long before going to the police.
    She mumbled something about following the advice of the Post family.
    “But this was your only son.”
    “I know.” A tear dripped down her check. She made no move to wipe it. “But everyone said I would just embarrass Mark more.”
    I didn’t have any trouble believing that Mrs. Post pushed to keep things quiet, though I figured her true motive was to avoid embarrassing her daughter, not her daughter’s fiancé. But right now, my reporter’s instinct told me that Mrs. Lefevre, if not lying, was definitely holding something back. I’d spent enough time with her in her flower shop that I had a good baseline on her normal behavior. Right now, her voice was high, her gaze evasive and she was tapping the floor nervously with her foot.
    I repeated my original question. “Why did you wait so long before calling the police, Mrs. Lefevre?”
    No answer. More tears.
    “Time is everything in a missing person case, Mrs. Lefevre. Why did you wait so long?”
    I stayed silent. Mrs. Lefevre hung her head like a wilted orchid. Finally she looked up and told me she didn’t go to the police right away because she had thousands of dollars in unpaid parking tickets.

ou were kind of hard on her,” Malik observed on the ride back. “At least she went to the police. That’s more than bridezilla did.” “I pushed her because I felt there was something to push for,” I said. “I still think there’s more she’s holding back.”
    “We all have stuff we hold back.” He was punchy because I was making him drive while I made notes about our meeting.
    “You too, Malik? You holding back