Lost but not Forgotten
Шрифт:
Mitch, long used to being tagged “the Italian cowboy” by his comrades at the station, complied without taking issue with their friendly taunts.
“No audible ticking,” shouted the dough boy closest to the suitcase. “Could be she’s set to explode the minute anyone lifts her. Let’s give the case a shot with the X-ray camera to see the setup inside.” He turned to Mitch. “You said you saw a car drop the suitcase and leave the scene? Did you get a plate and a make?”
Mitch stood well back from the others while they readied a boom attached to a portable X-ray unit in the bomb van. “I saw a car,” he said with a grimace. “It was already in motion. I swerved to avoid the bag and missed getting details. I figured something was fishy. The car ran without lights and didn’t turn around at my ranch where the road ends. The driver took out across the field. Had to have torn out a section of my fence.”
“Doesn’t sound good, buddy. On the other hand, the X ray doesn’t show any wiring in the case. One metal object, and it’s not in the center as I’d expect to see with a bomb device. See, it’s off to the right. Looks like some kind of…vase.”
“A vase?” Mitch’s breath whooshed out in disgust. “Damn, who would’ve believed that? Sorry I called you out on a wild-goose chase. Shall I go ahead and open it?”
“Not yet.” Pete dragged him away. “Mack will pick it up with a grapple, drop it in a padded container and I’ll douse it with cryogenic foam. A layer of supercold compound will freeze any components if they’re assembled in that pretty little bottle just to throw us off,” he added by way of explanation. “The vase could be made of lead.”
Mitch nodded. He leaned against his car to ease the pain radiating from his left hip while he watched the process unfold.
“Now!” one of the squad members called. “Pop the lock and see what we have. You want the honor, Valetti?”
“Sure.” Mitch limped forward and accepted the tool they handed him to pick the lock. The suitcase lid sprang open, revealing a stiff quilt. The officers’ flashlights glinted off ice crystals beaded on appliqu'es of yellow ducks, pink cats, green elephants and blue dogs. A frilly, tiny pink dress and bonnet lay folded neatly next to the quilt. Tucked in one corner was a silver bottle with an ornate stopper.
“It’s an urn,” murmured Lori Peck, the only female member of team.
“What?” Mitch raised his eyes and squinted at her through the ring of bright floodlights.
“Ashes,” she said more clearly, as if the men were dense. “What we’ve attacked and put through the wringer is nothing more than a suitcase filled with somebody’s memories.”
Mitch knelt, ignoring what it cost him in added pain. “Sad memories,” he said, hesitantly using the tongs he’d been handed to lift the urn.
Light from Pete’s torch reflected off a raised teddy bear on one side of the vessel.
Mitch felt his heart lurch. “It says Our Beloved Katie,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “Below that is a single date, 11-18-00.” He set the silver vase almost reverently back on the quilt. Rising awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “A baby girl. She must have died at birth.” Mitch fought against his heart turning inside out over a kid he’d never even known.
“Odd thing to leave sitting in the middle of a country road,” Mack said. Turning away, he began to stow their gear.
The female cop retrieved an evidence bag from the front of the truck. After donning plastic gloves, she started to close the suitcase and slide it into the bag.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Mitch demanded.
“Bagging the evidence,” she returned shortly. “It’s creepy. A crime that goes beyond malicious mischief.”
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head vigorously. “What crime has been committed? Whoever packed that case cared about these things. I’m not going to let you toss them into the evidence room like so much garbage.”
Mack shot out a hand and gripped Mitch’s arm. “You said the car took off like a bat out of hell, no lights. Granted, that’s not a criminal act in itself. But you’ve got to admit it’s suspicious.”
“Did you ever think the owner meant for someone to find this stuff? What if baby Katie’s mother is being dragged around in that car against her will?”
“You mean, like kidnapped?” Lori asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ll grant you it sounds off the wall.” Mitch brushed a thumb back and forth over his lower lip. “All I know is these are…they aren’t… Hell, it’s clear Katie is somebody’s baby.”
“Well, duh!” was Pete’s helpful response.
Ignoring him, Mitch didn’t budge. “Leave the case, please. I’ve got time to look into this. I’ll do my level best to find out who left it here and why.”
His friends from the force glanced from one to the other until at last all had shrugged. Lori shoved a clipboard with an evidence release form into Mitch’s hands. “Sign for it here. If the chief has a problem with this after we file our report, he’ll let you know.”
Pete tried again to dissuade Mitch. “If it was me, Valetti, I’d forget the whole deal. What kind of person carries stuff like this around in a suitcase?”
“Somebody off their rocker,” Mack supplied.
“Or someone in big trouble.” Mitch scrawled his name on the form. “I’ll place an ad in tomorrow’s paper. I had my phone turned off, but I’ve got my cellular. That’s probably the most I’ll have to do to solve this mystery.”
The others just shook their heads. After telling Mitch not to be a stranger around the station, they said goodbye and backed out to the perimeter highway.
Mitch stowed the suitcase in his trunk. When he arrived home, he saw he’d been right about the section of fence being knocked down. Clearly someone had seen his car coming down the road, panicked and hightailed it off his property.
As he unlocked the front door, juggling his odd collection of objects, he worried that maybe Pete was right. Maybe he should hand the suitcase over as evidence and forget the whole thing.
But when he set the small valise on his coffee table and examined its heart-stopping contents, the haunting connection he’d felt earlier only grew stronger. Placing the urn on his mantel, he gazed at it for a long time. In the end, he renewed his vow to find its owner.
Before retiring, Mitch sat and chewed on the end of a pencil while he composed an ad to run in the local paper. Tomorrow was Thursday. He’d run it through Sunday, he decided, and when he shed his clothing and climbed into bed, his life again seemed to have purpose.