Page 31 of Little Girl Vanished

Deep breath in. Slowly push it out.

After a minute, my panic had settled into a slow simmer and I felt more in control. Freaking out wouldn’t help anything, and it definitely wasn’t professional. I needed to compartmentalize my feelings and treat this like any other case. Letting my emotions lose control would only interfere with the investigation.

I needed to figure out what to do with this new piece of the puzzle. I didn’t trust Chief Larson, but I wasn’t sure it was smart to withhold this from him either. If he wasn’t investigating, this could convince him to do so, and if he was, this could be a piece for his case. Whether I told him about the frame or not depended on how our discussion went.

Still, I needed to tell Louise. I definitely trusted her more than I trusted Larson, and she already knew the photo had been taken. I just needed to get through this interview with the chief.

I started the car and pulled away from the curb, focusing on the drive to the police station. I couldn’t look like I was about to fall apart when I met the chief. I needed something to calm my nerves. I knew what I wanted, yet it would be stupid to seriously consider it. Still. My mind had latched onto the idea like a barracuda on fresh meat, so I when I pulled into the parking lot, I made sure to park facing away from the building, apart from the scattered cars in the lot, and turned off the engine.

Don’t do it.

My hands were still shaking, and I needed something to settle my nerves, so before I could stop myself, I opened the console between my seats and dug to the bottom. Pulling out an airplane-size bottle of vodka, I uncapped it and tilted my head back, swallowing it down in one gulp. The familiar warmth was already working as it moved down my esophagus. I closed my eyes and focused on the nerves in my body slowly relaxing. My breathing evened, and I felt even more in control even as self-loathing squirmed in my head.

I was okay with the loathing. I deserved it and so much more.

My hands had stopped shaking, but I was about to walk into police station at ten in the morning with alcohol on my breath. I was a pro at this by now, so I reached into my purse and pulled out a couple of mints and popped them into my mouth.

I was as ready as I’d ever be.

Somewhere deep in my brain, I knew I had a problem, but in the scheme of things, did it really matter?

I could fall off the face of the earth tomorrow and it would barely be a blip in the cosmos. Perhaps a couple of paragraphs in the Arkansas Democratic Gazette, and depending on how I went, perhaps an embarrassment to my mother, but other than that…no one would give a fuck.

Get your shit together, Harper. A little girl’s life is in trouble.

I wasn’t prone to drama and now seemed like a bad time to start.

I got out of the car, taking in the motorcycle parked a few spaces away under the shade of a magnolia tree.

The dark clouds filling my head receded slightly as I crossed the parking lot, and by the time I opened the door to the station, I felt the heavy mantle of control slip back into place with a resounding click.

Freakout complete. Time to get to work.

The small police station waiting room smelled of BO and bleach, and I wondered if the latter was from cleaning up vomit or blood.

I hadn’t spent any time inside the building around the time of Andi’s kidnapping, but based on the grimy floors and stained walls, they hadn’t spent much money on updating it over the years. Not that I was surprised. Small town police departments have small budgets, and most of it goes to the low salaries paid to small town cops. Anything left over is used for training and equipment.

I approached the counter at 10:29 exactly and told the receptionist I was Harper Adams and had an appointment with the chief.

Her mouth dropped open as she stared up at me.

So no ally here.

It was clear that she, like most everyone in town, knew that I’d escaped murder charges. Maybe she thought I was here to confess to some other heinous crime. Or maybe she thought I’d had a come-to-Jesus moment and wanted to confess to the first one, not that there was anything to confess. I’d already admitted to killing the boy. It was the why that was in question.

I decided to take pity on her and gave her a tight smile. “Just tell him I’m here.”

She started to say something, then swallowed. “I’ll let him know.” She gestured to several cheap plastic outdoor chairs in the waiting area. “You can take a seat.”

I was still too on edge to sit, so I stared at the photos, framed newspaper clippings, and plaques on the wall, stopping at the clipping of a twenty years younger, grim-faced Chief Larson standing by the lake at a press conference. The headline read, “We protect our own!”

That had been a lie, of course.

I hadn’t read the articles about my sister’s kidnapping back then, although I’d read a few of them since. This one was new to me, though, and a quick scan of the first few paragraphs and the date on the byline told me it was published the day after the kidnapping.

The familiar pain in my heart hit, quickly chased by the equally familiar guilt.

Why had John Michael Stevens taken Andi and not me?