“Sir, you know I can’t say anything until we get to the station,” he said, his gaze flitting to the older officer who was climbing in the front seat. “But yes, it’s about Mrs. Stanton.”
“Is she okay?” Elijah managed to choke out.
“We don’t know, Sir. She’s missing.”
*
The drive to the station was brief. A fifteen-minute ride in which everyone remained silent, their thoughts preoccupied with the situation. Elijah thought about Officer Davies’ statement. Delores was missing.
He silently cursed himself for not saying or doing anything sooner. He had known that something wasn’t right, the cop instincts in him yelling that he should be looking for her instead of sitting around worrying that she had perhaps changed her mind. But the thought that Michael Stanton had talked his wife around and convinced her to stay with him was more than Elijah’s pride could take.
So he’d stayed at home, called in sick, and brooded for two days.
Officer Heston pulled the cruiser into a space around the back of the station. He turned in his seat to look at Elijah, opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.
“It’s okay,” Elijah said, meeting his gaze head on. “Just do your job. This will all be fine. I had nothing to do with whatever this is.” He nodded, and both officers nodded back, their expressions more settled.
“Sorry about this,” Officer Heston said, finally finding his voice.
Both officers got out of the cruiser one of them opening the door for Elijah. Slowly, all three men walked into the station using the back door. As their superior, he appreciated it more than he would ever vocalise.
The station was quiet, the early morning hustle and bustle to and from the aging coffee machine the only thing really going on right now.
Officer Heston directed Elijah into one of the interview rooms at the back of the station, keeping him away from prying eyes.
“Officer Davies will be in in a moment. I’m sure this will all be settled very soon, Sir,” Officer Heston said before backing out of the room and leaving Elijah alone.
Elijah stared around the room, taking in his surroundings in a way he’d never had to before. He’d sat on the other side of the table many times. And to him the room had always been a blank canvas. A room to fill with the stories of people’s crimes. Yet now as he looked around, he felt the room was so much smaller. The stories of others bled from the walls and stuck to his skin.
The door opened, and Elijah flinched, his gaze falling on Officer Davies, or Paul as he referred to him when they went bowling together.
So far Paul had avoided any discussions with his other colleagues because of his lack of answers to their possible prying questions. He’d worked with Elijah for many years, and had always known him to be good man. But Paul couldn’t deny that these past several months Elijah had been acting strange.
He’d been late on more than one occasion. He’d blown off their weekly bowling night three times, and had turned up hungover at least twice from what Paul could remember. Yet, through all of these instances that would lead someone to believe Elijah’s life was falling apart, Paul had never thought such a thing. In fact, he had thought the opposite—that Elijah was finally getting his life together.
Elijah had never married, though not from any lack of female offers. He was attractive, kind and compassionate and had a great career, but something had always held the man back from having a relationship that lasted longer than a couple of weeks.
Two days ago he’d called in sick and alarm bells rang. Elijah Schiver had never once called in sick in all his fifteen years on the force.
Early this morning Michael Stanton had come down to the station, with his two rowdy children in tow, to report his wife’s absence. Apparently she’d been missing for two days; around the same time that Elijah had called in sick, Paul had noted immediately. When questioned, Michael said that he hadn’t informed anyone of her disappearance as this was a commonplace occurrence for her.
Delores suffered several illnesses, and she would often vanish for days at a time while she cleared her head. Her thoughts would become cloudy, her mind restless, and she’d struggle to concentrate on even the most menial of tasks. Mr. Stanton had been concerned for her wellbeing—he always was when she became like this—but after many years of marriage, he and their children had become accustomed to her displaced behaviour and disappearing acts.
She always came back to them.
Eventually.
What had made Michael decide to report her absence this time, Paul asked leaning forwards in his chair? What was so different that he thought that this time her disappearance was not so normal after all? He hated having his time wasted, and he’d heard about Mrs. Stanton before, how she was a little off her rocker. How she did in fact wander off for days at a time, just like now.
‘I found several notes.’
‘Notes?’ Paul had questioned, his interest still not piqued.
‘Yes, notes.’
‘Who were they between?’
‘My wife and Officer Schiver.’
