Free Along Came a Demon by Linda Welch Page B

He enabled her spirit to wander. And she came to me. If she hadn’t, no one would know about Lawrence.
    The demon did not kill her. Did he send her to me?
    The phone rang. I hurried inside and saw Mike’s number on Caller ID. I grabbed the phone. “Hi, Mike,” I said a little breathlessly.
    “ Can you come down here?” he asked.
    I glanced back to make sure Jack and Mel were elsewhere. “What do you need?”
    He sounded irritable. “To talk to you. Here. In my office.”
    “ Righty-ho. You gonna give me an idea why?”
    “ No.”
    I didn’t particularly want to chat with Mike when he was in this mood. “How about I’m there in… .” I glanced at the big pink-framed wall clock. “An hour?”
    “ Now.”
    I narrowed my eyes. Mike’s terse one-liners made me less than cooperative. “Sorry. I’m busy. I’ll see you in an hour.”
    “ It’s about Lawrence Marchant,” he said.

    I stopped just inside the Squad Room to look at the wall, where Royal Mortensen’s picture hung with the rest of the gang’s. I silently whistled.
    What a hunk! An exotic-looking man with a lean, chiseled face, straight nose and full lips, blond highlights in his long glossy-brown hair, skin nicely bronzed. His deep-brown, tip-tilted eyes caught the light, sparkling with good humor. A white T-shirt clung to broad shoulders and a narrow waist, an impressive chest with sculpted abs and nicely rounded pecs. I grinned at the picture—Clarion PD had itself a poster boy.
    I didn’t see him as I headed for Mike’s office. I would have noticed. Penney and Garn nodded. Brad Spacer saluted me with his oversize coffee cup.
    I tapped on the doorframe. “Mike?”
    At his desk, Mike beckoned me. “Take a seat, Tiff.”
    I faced him across his paper-strewn desk. He cleared his throat a couple of times before he spoke. Not a good sign. “Uh, Tiff?”
    “ Yes, Michael.”
    “ Lawrence Marchant. Birth certificate, school records, medical and dental history… .”
    I could have said something scathing, but I was too worried.
    “ We talked to the neighbors again. They swear they don’t recall any child living with Lindy Marchant.” He scratched his head behind his ear. “Three of them agreed to a polygraph. They’re telling the truth, or think they are. It doesn’t make sense.” He eyed me like he hoped I could solve the mystery.
    “ I have no idea what’s going on, Mike. Only know what I got from his mother.”
    He continued to stare at me, as if trying to gauge my reaction, and I got edgy. I couldn’t tell him what I knew, so I tried to look baffled. I knew more was coming as Mike would not have called me to his office if he had good news. So I said nothing as I watched a deep frown etch his forehead.
    But neither did he. He was the first to look away.
    “ What gives, Mike? What do you know about Lawrence?”
    “ This is bigger than the disappearance of one child. I spoke to Agent Larsen earlier.”
    The FBI? What now?
    He looked in my eyes again. “You know how many kids go missing each year, here in the States? We’re talking hundreds of thousands under eighteen-years-old. So I’m not surprised it took this long to make the connection.”
    My breath caught in my throat. “Connection?”
    “ More than two hundred of those kids were born on November 9, 2002. Same as Lawrence Marchant.” Mike looked away; he couldn’t meet my eyes now. “And we just started looking. There could be more, a lot more.”
    He ran his palm down his face, but that didn’t erase the rigid lines on his forehead and beside his mouth. “Some bright spark at the Bureau saw a communication from Interpol and joined the dots. Same thing’s been happening all over the world.”
    “ The world?” I repeated inanely. I couldn’t quite coordinate my thoughts.
    “ Lawrence Marchant’s disappearance is part of a pattern. Male children born on November 9, 2002, have been disappearing since then.”
    I tried to speak and stuttered the words instead. “