From my days in the District Attorney’s office, I know that a large percentage of missing-persons cases involve children abducted by a noncustodial parent, and they’re usually found unharmed. It’s difficult to know how many of those cases factor into the overall stats in order to make a reasoned analysis concerning the likelihood that a twenty-five-year-old woman who vanishes without a trace will come home safe and sound.
The Internet adds nothing I didn’t already know, and greatly increases my already-through-the-roof anxiety. The one constant in the online stories is the unwavering belief that the first hours are the most critical.
The cops may have told Zach that forty-eight hours have to pass before an investigation can begin, but Zach isn’t a former Assistant District Attorney. I decide not to wait another minute more.
Despite the early hour, I call Lauren Wright on her cell.
Lauren is more than just my ex-boss, or even a mentor. She’s the closest thing I have to a mother figure in my life. I met her just as I was beginning my professional career, and she took me under her wing from day one. I’ve always considered myself extremely fortunate in that regard, and right now it’s an absolute godsend. There’s no better friend to have when your sister’s missing than the head of the DA office’s Special Victim’s Bureau.
Lauren answers on the fourth ring with a quizzical “Ella?”
It sounds as if I’ve woken her. But even groggy, Lauren knows that I’m not calling her at sunrise to make lunch plans.
“I’m sorry to call so early, but I’m afraid I need your help,” I say. “And not just yours, but all the favors you can pull in for me.” I realize as I’m saying it that she might think I’m calling about a case, so I quickly disabuse her of that notion. “My sister’s missing. She’s twenty-five and a student at NYU, in the MFA program for writers.”
Aside from my father, Lauren is the smartest person I know. She’s also a methodical thinker, unwilling to draw any conclusions while key facts remain unknown. Her hesitancy to indict sometimes made me crazy, but it had also prevented at least two innocent people from going to jail.
“How long has she been missing?” Lauren asks.
“All day and all night.”
This is met with silence. I know what Lauren is thinking: that Charlotte hooked up with some guy and she’ll stagger home any minute now.
“Believe me—I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t think something was seriously wrong. My sister lives with her boyfriend and Charlotte just isn’t the type to stay out all night without telling someone. Her boyfriend says he saw her yesterday morning, but I haven’t heard from her since Tuesday afternoon. So that’s almost forty-eight hours. I’ve left her several urgent messages and she hasn’t responded. That’s just not like her. We usually text constantly. She’d never go two days without contacting me unless she was physically unable to do so.”
For the second time, dead air fills the phone. Now it’s as troubling as anything Lauren could say. She’s not the kind to tell me that everything’s going to be fine when she sees evidence piling up on the other side of the scale.
“Please, Lauren. I’m begging you,” I say, although I assume my desperation has already come through loud and clear.
“No need to beg, Ella. You know I’ll do anything for you. As soon as I get off the phone, I’ll start making some calls. Someone will get in touch directly with you within an hour or two. If they don’t, call me back and I’ll get the DA involved.”
“Thank you so much. I can’t even begin to tell you how appreciative I am.”
“Let’s just hope that my help isn’t needed.”
My father prides himself on being the first person at the office. He usually comes in before seven, even though the firm officially doesn’t start its day until nine. His first secretary, Robin, arrives at seven, at which time he’s already working, coffee cup in need of refilling beside him. His second secretary, LeeAnn, works the three-to-ten swing shift.
Today he answers his own phone even though it’s a quarter past seven. Robin must be running late this morning, or fetching his coffee refill.
“Dad, it’s me. I have some troubling news. Zach called me and said that Charlotte didn’t come home last night and he’s worried about her. I haven’t heard from her in more than a day, and that’s not like her. Have you spoken to her?”
Silence on the other end of the line. My father is many things, but contemplative is not one of them.
“Dad? Are you there?”
“Yeah . . . I’m here. Just trying to think. No, I haven’t spoken to Charlotte since . . . I don’t know, to tell you the truth. Certainly not yesterday. When did you say someone last spoke with her?”
“I had lunch with her on Tuesday. We usually speak at least once a day. It’s now been two nights since I last heard from her.”
“When did Zach last see her?”
“He said he saw her early yesterday morning.”
“You say it like you don’t believe him.”
“I’m not sure that I do.”
My disclosure is met with another long silence. Yesterday he suggested Jennifer Barnett might well be safe and sound even though she’d been missing for four days, but I’m certain that now he fears the worst has happened to Charlotte after less than two. But isn’t that always the way it works? A thousand planes take off and land every day without incident, and yet the moment you’re aboard, the risk of a crash hardly seems remote.
“I reached out to my old boss at the DA’s office,” I tell him. “She said she’d contact the proper person at the NYPD and try to get them to open an investigation.”
I’m brought back more than a decade, to the aftermath of my mother’s death. The feeling that I needed to care for him, to keep my father from being overwhelmed by grief.
“I’m sure it’s going to be okay, Dad.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tell me as soon as you hear anything.”
His voice has dropped an octave.
He clearly doesn’t believe anything is ever going to be okay again.
Shortly before 9:00 a.m., the phone rings. My first thought is that maybe it’s Charlotte, even though the caller ID flashes a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello?” I say.
“Is this Ella Broden?” a man’s voice asks.
“Yes.”
“Hello, Ella. This is Gabriel Velasquez. Lauren Wright reached out and asked me to call you about your sister.”