Alex looks up. “Too many times.”
The sound of vehicles grinding their way up the dirt road reaches them.
“They’re here!” Melissa shouts, running toward the crest of the hill.
First one, then two, then three cars pull in. Then two more. Doors fly open, and more than a dozen young men and women inall sizes and shapes and shades pile out. A few look like they’re out for an afternoon stroll, but most are carrying small knapsacks and wearing heavy walking shoes or hiking boots.
Nia, Carter, and Roger, the trio from the Grotto, emerge from a battered Volvo.
In a low whisper, Bree does a head count. Fifteen.
Fifteen searchers to cover more than three hundred acres.
Not a lot, but better than nothing.
Melissa runs over to greet the group, then leads them back to Alex and Bree. “Everybody, this is Dr. Alex Cross and Chief Bree Stone. They’re Damon’s parents.”
Awkward hellos and handshakes, then Alex gathers them all around the trunk of the rental car. “Thanks for coming. I’ve got a map here that we can—”
Everybody turns at the sound of gears grinding up the road.
Bree turns to Melissa. “You expecting anyone else?”
Melissa shakes her head.
A black Ford Police Interceptor pulls up, followed by a bus markedTRAINING ACADEMY.
A tall woman in jeans and a black polo shirt steps out of the Interceptor. Alex has a good memory for faces. He recognizes her as soon as she walks over.
“You’re Gail, right?” says Alex. “From the Chapel Hill PD. You’re the one who stopped by Hugh Malone’s office when we were there.”
“That’s right, Dr. Cross. I’m Detective Gail Bailey. I wanted to introduce myself to you and Chief Stone then, but it didn’t feel like the right time. I’m a big fan of yours—of both of you. I’ve studied your cases. Taught a few in my lectures at the academy.”
“Appreciate it,” says Bree. “What’s with the bus?”
“Malone sent me to pick up Damon’s bike,” says Bailey. “And I figured you might need some extra help with the search.”
“But it seemed from Detective Malone that … well …”
“That he didn’t want to help?” says Bailey. “Don’t blame Malone. He’s doing the best he can. He’s getting a lot of pressure from a lot of people about this speaker coming up. He’s worried about outside agitators and violence. He’s worried it could spill over from the campus to the town.”
“I’m worried about my son,” says Alex.
“I am too,” says Bailey. The front door of the bus opens and the passengers step out—about a dozen strapping men and women around the same age as the grad students, all dressed in gray sweats withPD TRAINEEacross the chest.
“Police cadets?” asks Bree.
“Yes,” says Bailey. “I thought an unscheduled training exercise would be good for everybody.” The cadets line up behind her at parade rest. “This bunch is yours for the afternoon.”
“That’s very generous of the department,” says Alex.
“Nothing to do with the department,” says Bailey. “My call.”
She stares into the woods for a few moments. “Years ago, my older sister Laurel left home and never came back. This was up in Pennsylvania. She was twenty-two. No note, nothing. She just … disappeared. Back then, they wouldn’t let us file a missing person report for two days. Most people assumed that she’d just run off with a guy. But I knew that wasn’t what happened. The case went cold. We never saw her again.”
“I’m sorry,” says Alex.
“I’m not letting you guys go through that,” says Bailey. “One way or another, we’ll find your son.”
