Read Online Long Lost by David Morrell - Free Book Online
Authors: David Morrell
Tags: FIC000000
Ads: Link
“My wife has a Volvo.”
“It isn’t in the garage.”
That didn’t make sense, either. “The bastard must have taken it. Why?
And where are my wife and son?
” The increasingly troubled look on the trooper’s face made me realize that he hadn’t told me everything.
“The master bedroom and your son’s room had been ransacked,” the trooper said.
“
What?
”
“Drawers had been pulled out, clothes scattered. It looked to the Denver officers as if somebody tore through those bedrooms in an awful hurry.”
I screamed.
1
No matter how desperately I wanted to get home, the doctor refused to release me until the next morning. The state trooper drove me back to Denver. My right wrist ached from the IV the doctor had given me. After two days without food, I should have been ravenous, but the shock of my emotions killed my appetite. I had to force myself to chew slowly on a banana and take small sips from a bottle of orange juice.
When we turned onto my street, I saw the maple trees in front of our Victorian, a van and a station wagon in our driveway, and a Denver police car at the curb. Farther along were other cars and two trucks from local TV stations.
Getting out of the cruiser, I recognized the female television reporter who stalked toward me, armed with a microphone, a cameraman behind her. Her male equivalent from a rival station wasn’t far behind. Reporters scrambled from the other cars.
“How the hell did they find out?” I asked.
“Get in the house.”
Holding out his arms, the state trooper formed a barrier while I limped across the lawn. The pants and shirt the doctor had lent me (my own had been rags) hung loosely on me, increasing my sense of frailty. I managed to get inside and shut the door, blocking the noise of the reporters shouting my name. But other voices replaced them. A police officer, several men in sport coats, and others holding lab equipment stood in the living room, talking to one another.
One of the men, heavyset, with a mustache, noticed me in the foyer and came over. “Mr. Denning?”
The motion of nodding made me dizzy.
“I’m Lieutenant Webber. This is Sergeant Pendleton.” He indicated a younger, thinner man, clean—shaven.
“We checked the attic, the basement, and the trees in back. There’s no sign of your wife and son,” Pendleton said.
For a moment, I didn’t understand what the detective was talking about. The officers who’d entered the house the previous night had said that Kate and Jason weren’t home. If Petey had taken them in Kate’s Volvo, why would the police now have checked the attic and the … I felt sick when I realized that they’d been searching for well—hidden corpses.
“You don’t look so good, Mr. Denning. You’d better sit down.” Webber guided me into the living room, where the other men shifted to the side. “I’ll get you some water.”
Despite the fluids the doctor had given me, I still felt parched. When the detective came back with a full glass, I had a moment’s disorientation, as if this were
his
home and I were a guest. I held the glass awkwardly between my bandaged hands and took a swallow. My stomach protested. I managed to ask, “You’ve no idea where my wife and son are?”
“Not yet,” Webber said. “The state police relayed what you told them, but we need to ask you some questions.” He looked at the scrapes on my face. “Do you feel strong enough to answer them?”
“The sooner I do, the sooner I’ll get my family back.”
A look passed between them, which I understood only later—they weren’t as confident as I was that I’d get my family back.
“It would help if …” Pendleton glanced at where my fingertips projected from the bandages on my hands. “We need to take your prints.”
“Take my … But why would …”
“So we can separate yours from the man who kidnapped your family. Which bedroom was his?”
“Go to the left at the top of the stairs.” I felt out of breath.
“It isn’t in the garage.”
That didn’t make sense, either. “The bastard must have taken it. Why?
And where are my wife and son?
” The increasingly troubled look on the trooper’s face made me realize that he hadn’t told me everything.
“The master bedroom and your son’s room had been ransacked,” the trooper said.
“
What?
”
“Drawers had been pulled out, clothes scattered. It looked to the Denver officers as if somebody tore through those bedrooms in an awful hurry.”
I screamed.
1
No matter how desperately I wanted to get home, the doctor refused to release me until the next morning. The state trooper drove me back to Denver. My right wrist ached from the IV the doctor had given me. After two days without food, I should have been ravenous, but the shock of my emotions killed my appetite. I had to force myself to chew slowly on a banana and take small sips from a bottle of orange juice.
When we turned onto my street, I saw the maple trees in front of our Victorian, a van and a station wagon in our driveway, and a Denver police car at the curb. Farther along were other cars and two trucks from local TV stations.
Getting out of the cruiser, I recognized the female television reporter who stalked toward me, armed with a microphone, a cameraman behind her. Her male equivalent from a rival station wasn’t far behind. Reporters scrambled from the other cars.
“How the hell did they find out?” I asked.
“Get in the house.”
Holding out his arms, the state trooper formed a barrier while I limped across the lawn. The pants and shirt the doctor had lent me (my own had been rags) hung loosely on me, increasing my sense of frailty. I managed to get inside and shut the door, blocking the noise of the reporters shouting my name. But other voices replaced them. A police officer, several men in sport coats, and others holding lab equipment stood in the living room, talking to one another.
One of the men, heavyset, with a mustache, noticed me in the foyer and came over. “Mr. Denning?”
The motion of nodding made me dizzy.
“I’m Lieutenant Webber. This is Sergeant Pendleton.” He indicated a younger, thinner man, clean—shaven.
“We checked the attic, the basement, and the trees in back. There’s no sign of your wife and son,” Pendleton said.
For a moment, I didn’t understand what the detective was talking about. The officers who’d entered the house the previous night had said that Kate and Jason weren’t home. If Petey had taken them in Kate’s Volvo, why would the police now have checked the attic and the … I felt sick when I realized that they’d been searching for well—hidden corpses.
“You don’t look so good, Mr. Denning. You’d better sit down.” Webber guided me into the living room, where the other men shifted to the side. “I’ll get you some water.”
Despite the fluids the doctor had given me, I still felt parched. When the detective came back with a full glass, I had a moment’s disorientation, as if this were
his
home and I were a guest. I held the glass awkwardly between my bandaged hands and took a swallow. My stomach protested. I managed to ask, “You’ve no idea where my wife and son are?”
“Not yet,” Webber said. “The state police relayed what you told them, but we need to ask you some questions.” He looked at the scrapes on my face. “Do you feel strong enough to answer them?”
“The sooner I do, the sooner I’ll get my family back.”
A look passed between them, which I understood only later—they weren’t as confident as I was that I’d get my family back.
“It would help if …” Pendleton glanced at where my fingertips projected from the bandages on my hands. “We need to take your prints.”
“Take my … But why would …”
“So we can separate yours from the man who kidnapped your family. Which bedroom was his?”
“Go to the left at the top of the stairs.” I felt out of breath.
Similar Books
