Free Captured by S.J. Harper

again to a sound bite from the press conference. Brett Anderson might be comfortable in front of the camera, but the pain on his face as he watches his wife beg the public for information is no act.
    The server delivers Zack’s drink along with the check. “What do you say we take these upstairs and get to work?” he says after taking a sip.
    Before I have a chance to answer, his phone rings. It’s his partner, Lincoln. I grab my glass, slide off the stool, and tell him to come on up when he’s through. This way he gets a bit of privacy and I get a chance to catch my breath, shake this mood. I step into the elevator, listen to the hum of the motor as it makes its ascent, close my eyes. A sigh escapes. I’m alone. Though, it occurs to me I’m never really alone. They are always with me, the missing whom I’ve failed to find over the years, sometimes begging, pleading, sometimes bitter and disappointed. Now I see the face of a little boy, a photograph held up by two frantic parents. The face of a goddess turned vengeful when her own daughter had been taken from her. Demeter’s presence is as palpable as the cold breath on my neck.
    I shudder. Try to shake her image away.
    I need to stay focused. Eye on the ball.
    Determination steels my spine.
    I’m not going to fail Cooper Anderson.
    It takes Zack about twenty minutes to wrap up his call with his partner. The good news is that Lincoln’s wife is stabilizing. With luck, they will be able to move her out of intensive care in a couple days. The not-so-good news? The elusive Mr. Nicolson called him back right after and that ended in another dead end. Zack said Mikey’s father sounded hopeful, anxious to talk. Until he realized we didn’t have anything new. Then he shut down.
    We order dinner from a ubiquitous room service menu whose only concessions to the hotel’s southern locale are side orders of grits, hushpuppies, and collard greens. I pick the fried chicken with a large order of fries. Zack nods his appreciation of my order and orders the same, but with a side order of the greens.
    The mere mention of collard greens gets a grimace from me.
    Zack laughs. “I figure I’ll share your fries.”
    I raise an eyebrow. “Presumptuous.”
    “What? I’ll share my greens.”
    I don’t have to respond to that, I’m sure my expression says it all.
    My room is what’s called a “Junior Suite”. The living room area with a couch, desk, and television opens onto the bedroom. Zack sets his laptop on the coffee table, opens it, and powers it on. We decide to go over the most critical of the footage while waiting for dinner, so we can digest whatever we might glean from the security cameras along with our food. It takes five minutes of fast forwarding to get to what we want.
    Mrs. Nicolson in line, Mikey slumped over the handles of the cart fast asleep. It’s just as the clerk described it—the cashier and bagger laughing with Mrs. Nicolson as they watch an oblivious Mikey. But the camera also shows no one behind Mrs. Nicolson in line and no one on either side paying her notice.
    Then more surfing until we find what we need from the outside footage. The parking lot is covered by an array of cameras mounted atop various light poles. A wide-angle lens captures the front of the store and the first three lanes of the parking lot. We watch Mrs. Nicolson and Betsy emerge, Mrs. Nicolson cradling a sleeping Mikey in her arms. They walk down the farthest aisle, then just out of view. Less than a minute later Betsy can be seen retracing her steps along with the now empty shopping cart. She passes a black SUV on her way back to the entrance of the store and waves at the driver.
    The SUV continues down the aisle, then comes to a stop just before driving out of frame. The driver’s window lowers. This must be the car that belongs to the neighbor, Grace Richardson. Mrs. Nicolson can be seen approaching the open window. The two exchange smiles and greetings, and after another