Brian Freeman: The Burying Place

'Were you home all day Thursday?'

'I was.'

Serena smiled at Glenn. 'You have a lovely home.'

'Translation: am I rich? Yes. Between my income and my investments, I make well over two million dollars a year and have done so for nearly a decade. I've lived in Grand Rapids most of my life, so this would be no surprise to anyone in town who's aware of who I am, which is pretty much everyone. Please don't feel the need to sugar-coat your questions, detectives. If you want to know something, ask.' 'Why don't you tell us what happened this evening?' Stride said. 'I wish there was more to tell. I put Callie down for the night after dinner. I was in my study for the rest of the evening reading medical journals. At ten o'clock, I checked on her and then went to bed myself. When I got up at one in the morning and went to her bedroom, she was gone.'

'Were you sleeping between ten and one?' Serena asked.

'I was asleep by ten thirty, so whoever took her must have done so after that. I didn't hear anything.'

'Do you have a security system?' Stride asked.

'Of course, but I don't activate it when I'm home.'

'Who has keys to the house?'

'Valerie and I do.' Glenn's stoic calm fractured for a moment. 'Oh, and Migdalia has a key, too.'

'Migdalia?'

'Migdalia Vega. She's our babysitter.'

'Where can we find her?' Stride asked.

'She lives behind the old cemetery in Sago. She's a reliable girl. I can vouch for her character.'

'We'll still need to talk to her.' Stride added, 'The police officers who searched the house didn't find any signs of forced entry. Do you have any idea how someone was able to get inside?'

'I don't, I'm sorry.'

'Has anyone contacted you to say that they have Callie?' Serena asked. 'No.'

'Sometimes parents don't like to admit it when they hear from a kidnapper,' Serena told him. 'A ransom note may tell you not to inform the police, or a caller may threaten a hostage's life if you involve the authorities. Even in those situations, it's far safer if you do tell us.'

'I understand, but there has been no contact of any kind.'

'With your permission, we'll put a tap on your phone in case you do receive calls,' Stride said.

Glenn hesitated. 'Is that necessary?'

'Given your financial situation, we have to consider kidnapping a real possibility,' Stride told him. 'Perhaps even a probability. In those cases, you'll generally receive some kind of demand for ransom. A phone trace is essential.' 'Yes, I suppose so. I'm thinking of privacy considerations for my patients. There are confidentiality issues. I'll have to find a way to deal with it, but that's my problem.'

'We'll have the trace installed in a matter of hours,' Stride said. 'Speaking of your patients, have there been any issues that could have left a patient or a family member holding a grudge?'

Glenn's mouth turned upward in an ironic smile. 'You mean, did I kill someone on the operating table? No.'

'Accidents and misunderstandings do happen.'

'True enough, but I'm very good at what I do. I've never been sued, which is something of a miracle in my profession.'

Stride nodded. 'Have you received any threats? Or has your wife?'

'No.'

'Have you ever felt you were being followed? Or have you noticed strangers watching you at home or at work?'

'No, nothing like that. However, there's a mobile home park on the lake, and we do get some unsavory types staying there. I have a large boat, and no doubt many of them have seen me, Valerie, and Callie on the water.'

Stride nodded but didn't reply. He had seen it before — rich victims pointing a finger down the class ladder. Grand Rapids, like Duluth and other northern Minnesota towns, suffered from an uncomfortable gap between rich and poor. There were wealthy professionals and transplants from Minneapolis who could afford seven-figure lake homes. On the other end of the spectrum was a much larger community of mill workers, waitresses, road crews, and farmers who struggled with the spiking prices for food, gas, and healthcare.

'How old is Callie?' Serena asked.

'Ten and a half months. She was a New Year's baby, born shortly after midnight.'

'Here in Grand Rapids?'

'No, at St Mary's in Duluth. I wanted Valerie to give birth at my own hospital.'

'What kind of baby is Callie?' Serena asked. 'How does she act with strangers?'

'Callie has always been a mellow girl,' Glenn replied. 'She'll behave for just about anyone who smiles at her. In this circumstance, I guess that's unfortunate.'

'Callie is your only child, is that right?'

'Yes.'

'How long have you and Valerie been married?'

'Eight years,' Glenn replied.

'Having a baby can turn your life upside down,' Serena said. 'Has it caused any problems for the two of you?'

Glenn stared at her in stony silence. 'No.'

'How about your wife? Some women struggle with depression after having a child.'

'Not Valerie. She was overjoyed. She'd been trying to conceive for years.'

'I'll want to talk to your wife as soon as she's home,' Serena told him.

'I understand.' Glenn stood up from the chair and again shoved his hands in his pockets. 'Please keep me posted on the investigation, detectives.'

Serena nodded. 'Either Lieutenant Stride or I will be in touch every few hours to give you a status report on the investigation, and you can reach us on our cell phones whenever you need us.'

'Thank you. How long will you need to have police officers tramping around my house?'

'I'm afraid it will be several more hours,' Stride said. 'We'll have a forensics team here from the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension in St Paul at daylight. They'll do an exhaustive search of the property inside and out.'

'Hasn't that already been done?'

'These are experts in handling crime scenes,' Stride explained. 'They'll be looking for trace evidence from any strangers who might have been in Callie's room. Or other evidence to suggest how an intruder came and went.'

Stride didn't mention what else they would be looking for. In the crib. On the walls. In the sinks. Under the carpet.

Blood.

Stride found Denise Sheridan alone by the shore of Pokegama Lake on the southern edge of the Glenn property. The white two-story estate shone brightly on the slope behind them, thanks to the lights that glowed in every room of the house. The vast backyard was scattered with birch trees and a deep layer of dead leaves.

Denise smoked a cigarette. When she saw Stride approaching her down the hill, she took a last drag and flicked it into the water.

'Sorry,' she said. 'I don't need a lecture right now, OK? About crime scenes or death sticks.'

Stride wanted a cigarette himself, but he didn't say so. He stood silently next to Denise with his hands in his pockets. Out on the lake, he saw the shore of a small island lined with cedars. The water was choppy and white-capped, agitated by the cold breeze. He noted that the dock for the Glenn boats had already been pulled from the water for the season. Any intruder who approached the house from the lake would have found it difficult to land in the shallows.

'So how are you, Denise?' Stride asked.

She shrugged. 'Me? Life goes on.'

'I meant to send you a card last year when you had the baby. That makes four, doesn’t it?'

'Yeah, I pop them out like a big furry rabbit,' Denise cracked.

'How old are they?' Stride asked.

'Ten, seven, five, and eighteen months. I thought I was done after number three, but Tom had other ideas. It's not like we ever have sex anymore, but he managed to hit the bullseye the one time I got drunk.'

She extracted the cigarette pack from her shirt pocket and lit another. Tilting her head up, she blew smoke into the air. 'Not that I want to send any of them back. Although, God, there are days.'