Steven Havill - Prolonged Exposure

“But why?” Browers asked. His voice was a half choke.

“The only thing that makes sense is that someone wanted us to think that wild animals were involved. It’s not too hard to imagine. But wild animals were not involved, Mrs. Cole.” Her tone was soft and matter-of-fact. “There are only four animals in this country that would be physically capable of taking a child.”

It was clear that the parents didn’t want to hear what Estelle had to say, but she continued anyway. “Black bears could but wouldn’t. This isn’t the time of year for cubs, and that’s when people get crossways with sows. Mountain lions could, but you had a fire and were making lots of noise. The cats are shy and wouldn’t have been in the same area. That leaves coyotes, and if they’d been in the area, you’d have heard them. They can’t keep a secret.”

Browers wasn’t amused. “You said four. That’s only three.”

“There have been one or two reports of Mexican jaguars on this side of the border. I don’t know anything about their hunting habits. But it doesn’t matter. None of the animals I mentioned have knife blades instead of claws. It was a human animal that was responsible.”

“You’re sure?” Browers asked.

“Yes.” She nodded at Holman. “I think the sheriff is right. Someone saw your fire, approached, saw an opportunity, and took Cody.”

“But that couldn’t happen,” Tiffany said, and some strength had crept back into her voice. “We would have heard. He would have cried out.”

“Maybe,” I said. “If someone approached and clapped a hand over his mouth, he wouldn’t have had a chance. One hand over his mouth, one hand around his waist, and he’s gone. Just like that.”

“Or, it could have been someone he knew,” Sheriff Holman said. “If that was the case, he might not cry out.”

Browers looked at him in astonishment. “You’re really saying that someone abducted Cody? You’re serious?”

“I’m saying that’s the most logical explanation,” Holman said. “What about the boy’s father, for example?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Browers snapped. “He can have custody whenever he likes.” He shook his head. “It’s not logical at all. Who the hell would take a child from a campsite on a pitch-dark night? We didn’t hear any vehicle, or see any headlights. I don’t think it’s possible that someone could sneak up on us, unless they knew we were there all along and had planned it all out.”

The room fell silent. Finally, Andy Browers said, “But that’s what you think happened?”

Holman nodded. Browers looked across at Estelle, and she nodded.

I said, “That’s why we need to know every single person you’ve come in contact with during the past few days-from the time you first decided to go on this camping expedition. Everyone you can think of. We already have a bulletin issued, so every law enforcement agency in the Southwest has been alerted, and they all have Cody’s photograph.”

Tiffany Cole rose slowly to her feet, her eyes closed and her head shaking from side to side. “No,” she said as Andy Browers took her by the elbow. “I’m going back up. That’s where Cody is. I know that’s where he is.”

“Ma’am,” I said, but Mrs. Cole was headed out. Sheriff Holman beat her to the door, but it was Estelle’s voice that stopped her.

“Mrs. Cole,” Estelle said, “there are one or two more things I’d like to ask you before you leave.” Tiffany Cole turned and looked at her, one hand still reaching toward the doorknob. Estelle pointed at the chair. “Sit for a minute,” she said, and the woman did.

Estelle leaned forward, her face not more than a foot from the other woman’s, and when she spoke, it wasn’t much more than a whisper.

“When was the last time you saw your husband, Mrs. Cole?”

“My husband?”

“Paul Cole.”

The woman shook her head. “August. He had Cody for a weekend in August, just before school started.”

“He works in Bernalillo?”

Tiffany nodded. “That’s where he was.”

“But you have custody of the child?” I said.

“Yes. Of course.”

“How long ago was your divorce from Paul Cole?” Estelle asked.

“Almost three years,” Tiffany Cole said.

“And what kind of arrangements were worked out as part of that?”

“I have custody of Cody,” the woman said. “Paul can come see him whenever he wants, but he hardly ever does. Just that one weekend in August, and even then he called to cancel one day of Cody’s visit.”

“Is there any unusual bitterness between you and your former husband that you’re aware of?” I asked.

She shook her head. “But he just doesn’t care.” She looked up at me. “I called him the day all this happened. I called him because I thought he had the right to know. But I couldn’t get through to him. I left a message on the machine in the coaches’ office at the school, in case he stopped in there, and on his answering machine at his house. He never returned the call.”

“We’ll talk with him,” I said. “Is there anyone else in your life who might have a grudge against you for any reason?”

“No,” Tiffany Cole said, and stood up abruptly. “And I don’t think anyone took Cody.”

“Mrs. Cole,” Sheriff Holman said, “we need that list. We really do.”

She lifted black-circled, bloodshot eyes and gazed at Martin Holman, her lips pressed into hard, thin lines. “My child is somewhere up on that mesa, and this will be his third night alone,” she said, and pushed past him.

Andy Browers followed her, and as he passed the nonplussed Holman, he said hoarsely, “We’ll get the list for you, Sheriff.”

The door closed on soundless hinges, and Holman shook his head. “I don’t think she heard a word we said.”

“That’s not surprising,” I said. “The woman is distraught. More than distraught. She’s panicked sick. I would be, too.”

“If that were true, then she’d be willing to grasp at any straws we held out to her,” Estelle Reyes-Guzman said quietly, and I turned, surprised.

“No one is going to welcome the news that their child’s been abducted by some creep,” I said.

“No,” Estelle said, “but even Tiffany Cole should be able to understand that the odds of an injured child still being alive after three November nights, with off-and-on rain, are slim to none.”

“We don’t know if he was injured,” I said.

“If he wasn’t, then he’d have been found,” Estelle said. “It’s that simple. If he’s up on that mesa, he’s dead. It’s that simple. If he was abducted, then there’s a chance he’s still alive. That’s what Mrs. Cole needs to understand.” She stood up and snapped her notebook shut. I glanced at the wall clock and saw that I was fifteen minutes overdue on my promise to Camille to be home in time to gulp down another handful of medications.

“Do you have time to stop by the house for a few minutes?” I asked.

“Let me swing by the hospital first and check on Mama,” she replied, and then turned to Martin Holman. “Sir, if nothing turns up by this time tomorrow, I think that you can pull the primary search teams.”

“Mrs. Cole is going to go ballistic,” Holman said. “But you’re right. What are you going to do now? If the child was taken just because some wacko child molester saw an opportunity, it’s going to be tough following the trail.”

Estelle grimaced. “That doesn’t fit,” she said. “Child molesters don’t drive around the wilderness at night. Shopping malls, schools, neighborhoods-yes. Not mesas. What we need is a list of names. A list of the people who would stand to gain something by taking a three-year-old child.”

I grunted to my feet as she continued. “Common sense would say that after a divorce, the noncustodial parent is the most likely to abduct. It happens all the time.”