Full Tilt

“Ms. Page, I understand but—”

“No, I’m sorry, you don’t understand. For twenty years I’ve lived with being told my sister was dead. But her body was never found and I’ve refused to give up hoping that she’d somehow survived. And now her necklace surfaces at a murder scene in New York with a link to the cold case of a missing girl from your jurisdiction. I’ve cooperated with you guys. I’ve given you my necklace, my DNA, yet you, just like Brennan, throw up your hands with the I can’t discuss the case, it’s an ongoing investigation when we all know that it’s the ghost of my sister that’s tying this all together for you!”

Owen repositioned his pen as his jawline pulsed.

“Since we’re being blunt, allow me to give you a little context, Ms. Page. It’s my understanding that you have charges pending against you in Rampart for trespassing on a crime scene, possibly tampering or planting evidence?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I did not tamper or plant evidence.”

Owen leaned forward.

“That may be, but given your personal stake, a good defense attorney could easily create the perception in court that you did, and destroy a case, allowing someone guilty to go free. Now how do you think that would sit with the family of Bethany Ann Wynn?”

Kate let out a long, tense breath and glanced at the 747 approaching the airport.

“Ms. Page, I’m sure you can appreciate that it’s critical for investigators not to risk weakening an iota of the case so that it will remain solid when it comes to prosecuting it.”

Kate said nothing, letting a few moments pass.

“I think it’d be best if you let us do our job.” Owen stood to conclude the meeting. “Give me your contact information and if there are any developments that I can share with you, I give you my word, I will.”

Kate reached into her bag for her wallet and handed him one of her business cards. Owen then escorted her to the reception desk, where she traded her visitor’s pass for her identification.

“Safe travels, Ms. Page.” Owen shook her hand.

In her car, Kate was still simmering from the exchange.

Before she’d left New York for Alberta, she’d made other calls. She paged through her notes for other people who’d agreed to talk to her.

Sheri Young was a neighbor of Barton and Fiona Mae at the time of Tara Dawn’s disappearance. Then there were Eileen and Norbert Ingram, who now owned the Maes’ former house. And the Children’s Searchlight Network was working on finding her people familiar with the Mae case. She roared out of the lot. As she glanced at the RCMP building in her rearview mirror an image burned across her mind.

A tiny hand rising from the cold dark water...

Kate squeezed the wheel. No way was she backing off.

Not now.

Not ever.

17

Tilley, Alberta

Kate drove toward the horizon undaunted.

The Trans-Canada Highway east from Calgary cut across gentle hills that soon flattened for as far as she could see. Still smarting from her meeting with the RCMP, she was now counting on the people of Southern Alberta to help her.

“Certainly, we’ll talk to you,” Eileen Ingram had told her earlier when Kate had called. Eileen and her husband, Norbert, were the current owners of the Maes’ house.

Two hours after leaving Calgary, Kate had reached Brooks, a small prairie city known for agriculture, gas, oil and meat processing. Staying on the Trans-Canada, she passed the Grand Horizon Plaza.

The truck stop where Tara Dawn Mae was last seen fifteen years ago.

Kate continued east to the hamlet of Tilley then followed a ribbon of highway south for another fifteen minutes or so before coming to the remote property amid the eternal rolling treeless plain. It was a modest two-story frame house, set back from the road. Gravel crunched under her tires when she rolled along the driveway to the house. Two women and a man stepped onto the porch to greet her.

“I’m Eileen, this is my husband, Norbert, and this is our neighbor, Sheri Young. She used to babysit Tara Dawn for Fiona and Barton.”

“You made good time,” Norbert said as Kate shook everyone’s hand, noticing that Norbert held an unlit pipe.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

The house smelled of soap and fresh soil. They led her to the kitchen and a table covered with a checkered tablecloth. Everyone sat while Eileen made tea and coffee, then set down a plate of cookies.

“Eileen told us about your accident in BC, when you were a child.” Norbert looked into the bowl of his unlit pipe. “What a terrible thing.”

“You really think that Tara Dawn’s disappearance is connected to your sister’s case?” Sheri spooned sugar into her coffee.

“Yes, a lot of new factors have surfaced with a recent murder and suicide in New York State.”

“What sort of factors?” Eileen passed Kate a mug.

Kate gave them an account of what was found at the Rampart site and how, along with dates, it all aligned with Vanessa and Tara Dawn’s cases.

“That sounds unsettling, for sure,” Eileen said.

“Could be there’s something to it.” Norbert nodded.

“I’m not sure how much we can help, though,” Eileen said. “We never knew the Mae family. We’re from Manitoba and bought this place ten years ago this spring after Norbert retired from the railroad. Sheri knew the family better than anyone.”

“I did,” Sheri said. “What would you like to know?”

“Tell me what you can about the Maes, about Tara Dawn’s adoption and her disappearance.”

“Well...” Sheri reached back over the years. “Barton and Fiona didn’t mix with other people. They were private, deeply devout. You only saw them at church, or at the store. They just worked on their farm. Then Fiona had a baby, a girl, but she died after a year.”

“What happened?”

“Nobody in town really knew. One day we saw the ambulance and the Mountie cars out at the place. Later, it got around that their baby had died. My mom figured it was SIDS or some sickness. Then my dad said there was a rumor that Barton had dropped her. But no one knew the truth.”

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