As it turned out, Ryan didn’t need to worry about calling, because he didn’t find anything. He had questioned Alex Pauling for as long as he felt that Grayson would allow. After a long and frustrating interview, one that had to be halted more than once to comfort a crying child, he realised that he wasn’t going to get anything more out of the boy than they already knew; he also realized that he was wearing out his welcome with the Pauling family. If he made Alex cry again, he got the distinct impression that he was going to be forcefully removed from the premises. So, he had quickly taken his leave and returned to his car. Resting his forehead on the steering wheel, Ryan rubbed his eyes wearily. It had been a long day. The hours in the autopsy suite and almost 9 hours of watching video surveillance had really sapped his energy and the last two hours he might as well have been banging his head against the wall, for all the good it did. But at least he had come up with his next step; tomorrow, he would go and talk to Andre Martin’s wife. Though she hadn’t seemed to know anything about his whereabouts, she might be able to tell them where her husband might go in an emergency. Men who were panicked tended to go where they felt most comfortable, and his wife would hopefully know where that was. Ryan checked his watch; it was almost eleven at night. Far too late for him to be knocking on her door, and even if it weren’t, he was dead tired and what he wanted most was to go home. While his partner seemed to have boundless energy, he did not. So, he resolved to go see Mrs. Martin first thing in the morning, instead. His mind made up, Ryan turned the key in the ignition, pulled out of the drive of Grayson Pauling’s mansion and headed home.

Opening the door to his apartment, Ryan tossed his keys onto the table and looked around his pathetic home with a sigh. Compared to the opulence he had just left, this place was downright depressing. Worn carpeting, minimal furniture, and white walls he couldn’t repaint because this was a rental, these were the staples of his personal design style. He didn’t have the money to pay for really nice things or the time and energy to get creative with mediocre things. So mostly he just tried to avoid being home long enough to notice. Opening his fridge, the situation was the same. All he found was mustard and week-old Chinese food, which, he noted, didn’t even come close to passing the sniff test; he tossed it in the trash and moved on. The cupboards didn’t fare much better. Ryan spent several minutes searching for something worthy of being called a meal, but when he found himself wondering if the green fuzz on his bread counted as a vegetable, he decided it was time to call for takeout, again. Ryan jammed his hands into his pockets to see how much cash he had on hand and that was when he discovered Mia’s phone number. A grin spread across his face, and he grabbed his phone with renewed enthusiasm; dinner was always better with company. He just hoped it wasn’t too late to call.

“Hello?” Mia answered on the first ring, definitely a good sign.

“I hope you meant it when you said you wanted me to call you,” he said.

“Ryan!” she sounded genuinely delighted to hear from him. “I was hoping I would hear from you tonight.”

“Don’t tell me a beautiful woman like you is just sitting at home,” Ryan gasped, feigning surprise.

“Just me and my cat.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? I know it’s late, but what do you say I pick you up in 20 and we go for dinner?”

“Dinner sounds great. I haven’t eaten yet, either,” Mia admitted. “Occupational hazard, I guess. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you my address.”

Ryan jotted it down quickly,

“I know where that is. I’ll be right over.”

“Don’t keep me waiting,” Mia warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hanging up the phone, Ryan grabbed his keys and rushed out the door. It seemed that this day was going to end much better than it started.

The next morning, Ryan Stone found himself pulling into the Martin family’s driveway a bit later than he had planned. He was glad that he wasn’t meeting Hawkins here, because she would definitely have noticed that these were the same clothes he had been wearing yesterday. Ryan climbed out of his car, futilely trying to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt as he did. He looked up the drive at the house; it was a shabby little building, right next to the railroad tracks; pretty much what he would have expected from a man like Andre Martin. Having reread all the information they had about the man, Ryan had come to the conclusion that he was a typical get-rich-quick schemer. Instead of working to support his family, after he left the army Martin had simply drifted from one hair-brained plan to another, never managing to do anything more than scrape by. Clearly his wife and child had paid the price. Approaching the rusted screen door, Ryan noted that only one of the hinges was attached, leaving the door to hang at a decidedly awkward angle. Not wanting a tetanus shot later, he opened it gingerly and knocked. Through the door, he heard a child begin to cry inside and muffled female voice trying to comfort them. After a minute, the door opened a crack, chain still in place.

“What do you want?” the woman asked wearily. She looked haggard and worn, not really surprising, given the circumstances. But Ryan got the impression that this ran deeper; though she was only 34, her dull brown hair was shot with premature grey and deep wrinkles creased her brow. He imagined that life with her husband had not been easy.

“Katherine Martin?” Ryan asked politely.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Who’s asking?” she replied defensively.

Ryan flipped open his badge,

“Ryan Stone, NIA.”

The woman closed the door, for a moment Ryan thought she’d simply shut it in his face, but then he heard the scrape of the chain sliding free and she opened the door wide.

“Well, I wish I could say you have the wrong woman,” Katherine Martin sighed. “But since you don’t, you might as well just come in,” she motioned him inside.

“I am very sorry to bother you, Mrs. Martin. I know that it has been a very tough couple of days for you.”

Katherine barked a humourless laugh,

“You know, do you?” her bitterness was evident. “I very much doubt it. And call me Katherine, if I have anything to say about it my last name won’t be ‘Martin’ much longer.”

“No?”

“That son-of-a-bitch has screwed me for the last time. He was always a disappointment, always trying to find a way avoid spending any time with me, with his son,” her voice wavered for a moment. “He’s never been here for me, and I’d come to accept that, you know? But now he goes and does something like this?” she was clearly distraught, and Ryan could tell that she wasn’t faking it for his benefit. This was a woman who had finally reached the end of her rope. “He kidnapped a child! A child! I married a monster, and I have been completely blind to it.”

She angrily swiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

Ryan couldn’t help but feel for the woman, this was eating her up inside. But she managed to pull herself together and after a moment she asked,

“I read in the paper this morning that they found the boy. Is he alright?”

“He’s fine, Mrs., er… Katherine. He’s back with his father. The problem is that we can’t seem to find your husband.”

“I already told the other officers who came before; I don’t know where Andre is. If I did, I would tell you. Gladly.”

“There isn’t anywhere he might go? A place he used to go as a child, perhaps? Places you went as a family? Anywhere that he would feel safe?”

“We never went places as a family,” she snorted. “He spent all of his time with that cousin of his. I always said that he and Andre brought out the worst in each other. They were always staying out late, doing something stupid. Not that I can blame Duane, he was just an idiot. Their ‘plans’ were always Andre’s ideas. Still, you should ask Duane where Andre would go, he would know better than me.”

Ryan was surprised that she hadn’t been informed,

“I am sorry to have to tell you this, Katherine, but Duane Tompkins is dead.”

“Oh my God!” she gasped. “How?”

“That is still under investigation, but right now it seems that he had a heart attack.”

“But he was so young,” Katherine staggered back and collapsed onto the sofa. “I just can’t believe that this is all happening.”

Her voice broke and she began to sob uncontrollably. Ryan sat down next to her and put a hand gently on her shoulder,

“I know it doesn’t seem that way right now, but you will get through this. If you need any support, there are resources for victims, I can get you in touch with someone who can help.”

She didn’t respond for a long time, she just cried, her shoulders heaving and her breath coming in strangled gasps. He waited patiently for her to compose herself. Finally, she sniffed, swallowed her tears, and turned back to him,

“I am so sorry. I just don’t know what’s the matter with me today,” she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I didn’t even really like Duane much. It’s just…”

“Don’t worry about it. This would be hard for anyone,” Ryan tried to comfort her. “Do you have any family you could stay with for a while?”

“I, I could probably stay with my sister for a few days.”

“That might be a good idea. You know, in case your husband comes home.”

Katherine nodded tearfully.

“I have a few more questions, if you feel up to it,” he said softly.

Katherine nodded,

“Go ahead.”

“Did your husband have any other friends I could talk to; anyone he might stay with?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “He never talked about his friends; I don’t even know that he had any. He went to work, he went out drinking with Duane, if I begged enough, he would spend some time with his son. I just don’t know what else I can tell you.”

Ryan was discouraged. It was becoming obvious that he wasn’t going to get any leads on Duane’s whereabouts from Katherine Martin. But, since he was here, he might as well try a different line of questioning.

“How was Andre behaving in the days before the kidnapping? Was there anything unusual about his actions?”

“Not really,” Katherine furrowed her brow, trying to remember. “He came home less often, if that’s even possible, stayed out later, but it isn’t really that unusual. It happened whenever he got one of his bright ideas.”

“Did he get any unusual phone calls? Go out late at night to meet anyone?” he pressed her. If Hawkins’s third person really existed, maybe he could find some evidence of contact.

“No, there is nothing I can think of. I am sorry I am not very much help,” she closed her eyes for a moment, and then something seemed to dawn on her. “But, maybe you can find something helpful in his files? He kept an office in the back, I could let you look through it, if you think that it would help.”

“That would be very useful, thank you.” Ryan smiled graciously.

Somewhat at a loss at this point, he figured that it couldn’t hurt to hunt through Martin’s private files. The last thing he wanted was to go back to Hawkins empty-handed; he’d never hear the end of it. Andre Martin’s wife led him back to a tiny little office. In a previous life, it had probably been a closet. Ryan groaned internally when he saw the stacks of boxes littering the cramped room. Martin must be something of a pack rat, because it looked like he hadn’t thrown anything out in a decade of two. A baby’s cry rose from the other side of the house.

“I have to go check on Steven. Will it be alright if I leave you here?”

“Of course, go take care of your child,” he smiled warmly.

Katherine Martin turned and began to leave the room. As she reached the doorway, she paused and turned back to him.

“When you catch the bastard, do me a favour? Shoot him; it’ll save me the trouble of a divorce.”

With that, she was gone, and Ryan resigned himself to digging through the mountains of old papers, journals and financial records, searching for a lead, for a reason that so many people had had their lives ruined by this one man. He couldn’t help thinking how much this was like his own childhood, and the thought depressed him. Feeling suddenly melancholy, he listened to the wail of a baby that would likely never know his father, being cared for by a woman who now realized that she never really knew him either, and Ryan knew that no reason he found would ever be good enough.