Rick Mofina - Six Seconds

A prescription bottle was on the floor next to her. Empty.

Graham grabbed her phone, called 911.

Blue Rose Creek, California

The paramedics took Maggie to Inland Center Hos pital, where the emergency staff worked on her.

Afterward they put her in a private room with a large window and through her tears she counted the clouds sailing by. Her stomach and throat hurt from the gastric lavage but her deepest pain was her ache for Logan. To say she was sorry. For in desperation, she had done what she had vowed never to do.

Abandoned her search.

She had not intended to kill herself, according to the psychiatrist who’d left her room a little while ago after assessing her. Maggie had reacted to a deluge of “stress ors”: the abduction of her son by her husband, pro phetic visions, a funeral, painful gossip.

“Accidental overdose,” the psychiatrist called it.

Maggie wiped her eyes and took stock of her hospital wristband, the IV tube in her arm.

Her life.

How had it come to this? She and Jake used to be so happy.

Crazy in love, he called it.

Dancing in the gym under the crystal ball. “Hey, Jude.”

Tears in Jake’s eyes on their wedding day. His chest swelling with pride when Logan was born. Crazy in love.

Iraq had damaged him.

What really happened over there? He came home a changed man. Did he find someone else? Was it true? Why was this happening?

She wanted her life back.

For better or for worse, because it was the only life she had.

She would fight for it.

She would go home and pick up the pieces. She’d demand more information from Dawn Sullivan’s hus band and somehow she would find Jake, find Logan.

Find the truth.

And somehow she would live with it.

Maggie lost count of the clouds and reached for her hospital cup.

It was empty.

“May I have some more water please? And more tissues?”

The young woman sitting with her set aside her textbook.

“How are you doing, Maggie? Still a wee bit sore, I bet?”

Her name tag said, Hayley, Student Social Worker.

“Yes. Thank you.” She accepted the cup and tissues. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You sure can.”

“How did I get here? I don’t have any friends or relatives.”

“You mean who found you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re very lucky. A police officer just happened to come to your house. When he found you on the floor, he called 911 and gave you CPR. Our emerg people said that if it wasn’t for him-well-he’s the one who saved you. See, God sent your guardian angel into the game.”

“What officer just ‘happened’ to come by my house?”

“The Mountie from Canada.”

“A Mountie?”

“I think his name is Graham.”

“Where is he now?”

“Uhm.” Hayley bit her bottom lip, looked to the door and flushed from the sudden fear that she may have revealed more than she should have.

“I want to talk to him. He’s here, isn’t he?”

“I’m not sure if the doctor wanted me to say.”

“Hayley, where is he?”

“He’s been here all this time. Waiting to make sure you’re all right.”

“Find him. Bring him in. I want to see him.”

“I’d better find the doctor first. I’m not sure if you’re supposed to have any visitors before they discharge you. I think-”

“Hayley. Find the Mountie and bring him in here. I need to talk to him now.”

Blue Rose Creek, California

Graham was running out of time.

As he flipped through his umpteenth tattered Newsweek, an emergency intern carrying a clipboard ap proached him in the waiting room.

“You’re the officer here with Maggie Conlin?” “That’s right. Will she be okay?”

“She should be fine, but we’re trying to locate a relative.”

“Did you try her husband, Jake Conlin?” “We’re not having much luck, any suggestions?” “Sorry, I don’t know the family,” Graham said. “But

I’d like to talk to Maggie as soon as it’s possible.” “The psychiatrist is assessing her. We’ll have to see if she advises visitors. Can you hang in for a bit longer?” “Sure.”

“Good job with the CPR, by the way.”

The intern left Graham to return to the magazines and his dilemma.

All Graham had wanted was to follow up Tarver’s

Blue Rose Creek notes by talking to Jake and Maggie Conlin. See what came out of it. Finding Maggie Conlin on the floor of her home near death was unexpected. As he considered his next steps, his cell phone vibrated and he went outside to take the call.

“Graham.”

“Corporal Graham, Vic Thompson, county sheriff’s department. Sorry we had trouble hooking up.” “You’re swamped, I understand.”

“We’ve caught a triple homicide and I’m about to get on a plane to San Francisco to interview a witness.

You’re at the hospital with Maggie Conlin?” “Yes. What can you tell me about the Conlins?” “For starters, you shouldn’t have gone to Maggie’s door without talking to me face-to-face. I don’t think you would like me doing that in your backyard.” “I called in with my regimental and stated my busi ness. They said you were too busy to meet me.” “I confirmed your particulars. Aren’t you a tad out of your jurisdiction?”

“Look, if you want an apology, you’ve got it.” “Just so we’re clear. It’s good you found her. I would have alerted you to her instability. Now, we’ve got a deputy at the Conlin house in Blue Rose and he’ll be heading to the hospital for your statement.”

“No problem.”

“He said there’s no sign of forced entry. Did you kick the door?”

“The back door was unlocked,” Graham said. “I understand the Conlins were in a domestic situation?” “It’s a parental abduction.”

“A parental abduction?”

“About five, six months ago, Jake took off with their nine-year-old son.”

“Where?”

“We don’t know. We’ve got a warrant out for him. He never notified anyone with an address, never initi ated divorce action, nothing from the school, the doctor, phone or financial records.”

“He’s gone underground with his son?”

Graham’s phone beeped with a call-waiting tone. He ignored it.

“Looks that way. Jake’s a long-haul trucker. They could be anywhere. And he’s likely changed their names. We’ve alerted the FBI, got them in NCIC, and such. We don’t think Jake’s violent or will harm his son. But anything’s possible. Like most of these cases, this one’s a mess. Maggie took it hard but at first she didn’t want to press things. Didn’t want to make it worse. She thought that if we could find Jake she could talk sense into him, be a happy family again.”

“What happened?”

“They had their troubles. Jake had publicly accused Maggie of cheating on him with Logan’s soccer coach. Some of the other parents told me that Jake seemed paranoid ever since he got home from a contract truckdriving job overseas. Could be a post-traumatic stress thing happening.”

“Where was his contract job?”

“Iraq.”

Iraq.

That stopped Graham cold.

Iraq.

Would that have anything to do with Tarver’s story?

“So tell me again why you’re here,” Thompson said. “Your message said it was some kind of accidental death insurance thing. Are you pulling my leg?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it fast, we’re starting to board.” “I’ve got a family from Washington, D.C., whose members appear to have been killed recently in a wil derness accident in a river in the Rockies near Banff. Got three confirmed dead, a mom and her two children, a boy and a girl. We haven’t located the dad yet. Ray Tarver. Heard of him?”