The Disappearance Read Online Free PDF Page A

whatever happened,” he assures them (and himself). “This way we’re all protected, you and us.”
    “I understand.”
    As he’s about to leave, Williams catches himself. “There was one thing I meant to ask you and it slipped my mind.”
    “What’s that?” Doug asks.
    “You have an alarm system here, don’t you?”
    “Of course we do.”
    “If an outside door to your daughter’s room was open, wouldn’t that have tripped the alarm?”
    Doug nods, comprehending. He turns to his wife. “Was the alarm set? Do you remember setting it?”
    She thinks, her fingertips pressed against her forehead. “I thought I did. After Audrey left—she was the last one to leave.” She thinks some more. “I’m sure I did. I always do.”
    “You couldn’t have forgotten this time?” Williams probes.
    “I suppose I could have, but I’m usually diligent about that.”
    “Who was the first person up this morning, Mrs. Lancaster? Who would’ve gone outside.”
    “I … I suppose I was. Although one of my people could have, earlier. I did go out for the papers myself.”
    “Was the alarm set when you went out?”
    “I …” She shakes her head. “I honestly don’t remember. I do it by rote. I just … don’t remember,” she says, feeling feeble and stupid and guilty.
    “It’s not a big deal.” Williams, sensitive to her feelings, stops the questioning. He hands Doug his card. “My home phone’s on here,” he points out. “If you can think of anything, if anything comes up, call me. Anytime. I mean that.” He pauses. Here comes the hardest part. “Particularly if anyone contacts you.”
    Both parents visibly flinch.
    “Oh, God!” Glenna buries her head in her hands.
    “Is that … what you expect?” Doug asks. He forces the words out. “What we should expect?”
    The sheriff doesn’t mince words. There’s no point. “If it’s a kidnapping for ransom, yes.”
    “When would …” Doug begins. He stops, unable to continue.
    Williams shakes his head in resignation. “There’s no way of telling. It could be later tonight, tomorrow morning, a few days from now. Or …” He stops.
    Doug says the unspoken: “Or never.”
    “That almost never happens.”
    Glenna breaks down crying, loud mournful sobs. Her husband puts his arm tight around her. “It’s okay, honey,” he whispers as soothingly as he can. “It’s going to be okay. We don’t know for sure yet what’s going on.” The sheriff’s card is burning a hole in his palm. He pockets it. “Thanks in advance for what you’re doing,” he tells Williams hollowly. “I realize we’re not handling this as well as we should be.”
    “You don’t have to thank me for anything, Doug,” Williams says, calling the man by his given name for the first time since he’s been here: an attempt at making a consoling gesture. “And please, no apologies. Nobody should have to apologize for anything they say or do under circumstances like these. I’d be acting the same way if it were my daughter.”
    On the books it isn’t an official kidnapping yet. Emma’s only been missing about nine hours (fourteen or fifteen if you believe Lisa’s story about the intruder). More important, there’s no ransom demand, and no evidence of foul play. But the police are busting their asses anyway; they don’t want to get behind in the count, to have this blow up in their faces if it turns out, as they’re increasingly fearful it might, to be the real thing.
    Williams stands in a semicircle with his detectives. “Anything special?”
    The men who tracked the girls’ footprints to the gazebo fill him in on what they found—the beer cans, the cigarette butts. Every item up there will be gathered and gone over with a fine-tooth comb.
    “They were having a party. We’ll dust the cans. Hopefully they’ll have prints on some of them—besides the girls’ and people who have a reason to be there.”
    The other one shows the roach in the Baggie.
    Williams is