Stolen(11)
Along the back wall of the war room, a few institutional size corkboards had been set up. One was blanketed with photographs of Laura, some recent, some dating back to her childhood. Pictures of her parents and other folks Spense didn’t recognize covered another. There were also giant area maps and a whiteboard with so many arrows and indecipherable scribbles it looked like it belonged in a college physics class.
The low hum of many people talking at once made Spense’s skull vibrate. Since childhood, his brain went haywire when there was too much sensory input. But over time, he developed his own tricks for coping. Now, without thinking about it, he fiddled with the cube in his pocket. Soon the buzz became a calming, white noise, incapable of disrupting his thought process.
His fog cleared, he assessed the room. The urgency in the faces of the officers bending over notebooks and staring at computer screens told him higher command had cranked up the burner on this one. Not to mention the place boasted more body odor than a hot yoga class.
This was one serious-ass command center.
A silver-haired guy in a polyester suit that was rumpled enough to match the slump in his shoulders, caught Spense’s eye and approached.
The man pushed his Coke-bottle glasses up, then stuck out his hand to Caity. “Jordan Hatcher—detective sergeant—Major Crimes. Welcome to our humble abode, Dr. Cassidy.” He dragged his glance from Caity to Spense and offered a firm shake. “You, too, Agent Spenser. Just in case there’s any doubt, let me put your minds at ease. This operation is going to be by the book. No sloppy chops allowed on my watch. I welcome inter-agency input. Any man on my team who doesn’t play nice—all you gotta do is say the word and he’ll be back on patrol in time to lift a cold one at happy hour with the crew he thought he’d left behind.”
A bit defensive for introductions, but Spense suspected he knew the reason behind the chip on Hatcher’s shoulder. Thirteen years ago the Piney Trails PD had taken heat for their handling of a different case involving the Chaucer family. Hatcher had been part of that team. They’d been accused of contaminating the crime scene, mishandling evidence and generally botching the investigation.
Spense and Caity needed to understand everything possible about not only the current case, but about that earlier one as well. Even with thirteen years intervening, it was rare for a victim to disappear twice. It didn’t matter if this time Laura might not have been kidnapped—as Webber had implied. The more they learned about what happened thirteen years ago in the small Denver suburb of Piney Trails, the better they’d be able to judge its relevance to Laura’s disappearance on Tuesday.
And if it did turn out the two events were linked, they just might have to solve one of the most baffling cold cases in Colorado history in order to bring the senator’s daughter home safely.
“Good to know you’ve got our backs.” Spense nodded his understanding. It stood to reason Hatcher would want to get it right this time around. Here was a chance to not only rescue a missing coed, but for Major Crimes to thumb its nose at those who’d impugned its integrity. In a way, these guys had been given a do-over. “I’m sure everyone will cooperate. After all, we have the same goal: finding Laura alive. So how about we get down to it?”
By way of an answer, Hatcher stretched the corners of his mouth with his fingers and whistled. “Attention everyone.”
It only took a minute for a hush to overtake the room. Then the detective sat his fists on his hips. “As promised, we’ve got some extra help, courtesy of the BAU. Agent Spenser and Dr. Cassidy are here to shed light on the psychological issues surrounding the disappearance of Laura Chaucer, but they’ve indicated they’re willing to help out in all aspects of this investigation—everything from boots on the pavement to interviews to research. They’ve volunteered to help wherever needed.” His gaze swept the crammed room. “Damn there are a lot of us. And that’s a good thing, but maybe best to hold off on individual introductions for now. If you’ve got a piece of information you think might be useful to our profilers—that would be the ideal time to introduce yourself. Meanwhile, let’s get back to work.”
A smattering of applause broke out, about as loud as the sound of one hand clapping. Spense shrugged it off. It wasn’t uncommon for the feds to be perceived as a threat, or for their presence on a task force to be interpreted as a sign the locals had been deemed incapable of doing their jobs. And in this situation resentment would be doubled. Any of these detectives who’d worked the old kidnap case were likely carrying baggage too big to fit in the overhead compartments. “Ready when you are,” Spense said.