Page 9
Some managed to keep themselves in check.
Imogen, despite her circumstances, struck me as the type.
Others, like Nixon, were borderline inconsolable.
Neither was wrong. Their pain was the same.
They coped the only way they knew how. I was thankful for the balance.
Otherwise, getting information might have been tough.
Imogen sat, and Nixon worried himself rearranging pillows again, ensuring his wife was comfortable.
She endured the fuss without complaint as though submitting was the only solution.
Chastising a doting husband for caring about her well-being seemed wrong, and Imogen must have realized how it looked to be so indignant.
Once the couple was settled, I motioned for Jordyn to go ahead and take the lead.
This was a new type of case for her, and the only way to learn to swim in these murky waters was to dive in headfirst. My job would be note-taking and observing the couple for any reaction that seemed out of place or obscure.
I would remain alert for signs of someone withholding information or outright lying.
Like I told Jordyn in the car, someone knew more than they were letting on, and for the safety of the missing child, we needed to figure out who.
Jordyn handed me the iPad and repositioned her body to appear more at ease and approachable. Like me, my partner tended toward cold and intimidating if she wasn’t careful. It was a shared personality flaw we were both aware of, and we did our best to compensate when meeting with families.
“Mr. and Mrs. Davis, I’m going to cut right to the chase. Time is vitally important in a situation like this, so we can’t waste a single second. The fact that Crowley has been missing since Tuesday is a huge concern.”
Tears surfaced in Nixon’s eyes, and he wrung his hands, blubbering, “We should have come sooner. I wanted to.” Not once did he look at his wife. His entire focus was on Jordyn.
Imogen chewed her nails, worry lines creasing her forehead.
She watched her husband but didn’t agree with his words or reach out to comfort him.
Her distress seemed more internalized, but it was there.
The strain of the situation could not be good for the baby, and the poor woman was already on bed rest, ordered to keep her stress down.
“For this reason,” Jordyn continued, “It is critically important that we gather as much information from you as fast as possible so we can put together a plan to hopefully recover your son. Local district police will be here soon to canvas the area. We’re also arranging a search party to cover the ground between here and the Soccerplex.
Before they arrive, can you give us an idea of which way Crowley might have gone? ”
I showed the couple a map of their neighborhood, blown up to encompass the streets between us and the Soccerplex.
Nixon drew a line with his finger. “He probably took the shortcut. Here, behind Sundial Crescent, there’s a path.
It leads over the train tracks and comes out behind the Soccerplex building.
It’s an eight– or ten-minute walk. Not even that. ”
“Is this the typical route you would take?” I asked.
“If we were walking, yes. Always. Going around easily adds twenty minutes or more.”
“Imogen?” I angled the iPad so she could confirm the route.
Her features were drawn and pale, but she shook free from her daze when I presented her with the map. “Yes. I agree. It’s the quickest way. I doubt he would have taken the road.”
I nodded at Jordyn to carry on.
“We need to make a list of family and friends. Imogen, we’ve already spoken to your husband and learned about the conflict between him and his work partner.
We’ve also learned about the recent dismissal of your nanny.
I want to come back to these people and ask more specific questions, but for now, I’d like to get a feel for your family dynamic.
Nixon shared about some discord between his parents and yourself. ”
“What?” Imogen’s look of betrayal made her husband shrink.
“It’s true, Genie. You and my dad don’t get along.”
Shaking her head, forehead creased, she pleaded with my partner. “It’s not like that. We’re perfectly civil with one another, and it’s no worse than your relationship with my mother,” she snapped at her husband.
“I know. I told them—”
I held up a staying hand. “Hold on. Let’s back up. Names. Addresses. Occupations. Everything. Then we’ll break it down further.” I motioned for Nixon to go first.
Nixon nodded like his head was a bobble, moving of its own accord.
“Um… My father is Benedict Davis. My mother is Bess. They’re both retired.
No, wait. Dad owns twenty percent shares in my company, so he pops into the office from time to time, but he doesn’t do much.
I think he likes to show his face and pretend he’s important.
He’s a retired lawyer. Mom’s a retired schoolteacher.
They live near Woodbine Gardens. Um… I don’t know what else you need. ”
“How often do you see them?”
“Regularly, I guess. Every couple of weeks. Mostly I go visit them with the kids. They don’t come here often.”
“Why is that?”
Nixon glanced at his wife, then ducked his chin, avoiding her pointed glare.
Neither spoke.
“Is it because of the… discord between you and your in-laws?” I asked Imogen.
“Yes.”
“Is there a reason behind this friction?”
Imogen stared unblinking as though she didn’t have a clue or wasn’t willing to share.
It was Nixon who responded. “No reason we know of, Detective. I’ve talked to Mom and Dad a hundred times about it.
It’s not fair the way they treat her. Genie and I have been dating since high school.
Since grade nine, actually. We were fourteen.
She’s the only girl I’ve ever loved and been with.
Sometimes, I think that’s why they don’t like her.
My parents didn’t want me to marry the first girl I ever dated and fell in love with.
They thought I needed to have more experiences and travel the world.
Dad often said I shouldn’t tie myself down so soon, but I didn’t need those things. I needed Genie.”
It wasn’t a great reason, but it was a reason. Considering the couple was easily fifteen years out of high school, I would have expected those raw feelings to have mended by now, but some people held grudges to excess .
“Okay. How about siblings?” Jordyn asked. “Are you an only child?”
“No. I have an older brother. Flynn.”
“Have you been in contact with him lately?”
“Yes.” Nixon scratched the back of his neck, and a sad smile came and went. “Flynn is… nomadic, I guess you’d say. He never settles in one place for long. He’s living in Pickering at the moment. Can’t hold a job. Always moving.”
Nixon huffed a humorless laugh. “My brother’s a mess, and I say that lovingly.
He had a falling out with my parents years ago, and they don’t talk anymore, but it rippled through his whole life.
He dropped out of college and got in with the wrong crowd for a bit.
He struggled with drugs and alcohol for a time.
He’s better now. Sober and clean. Still not settled, but better than he was.
We keep in touch. I don’t see him as often as I’d like, but we talk on the phone and visit when we can. ”
“When’s the last time he was around?” Jordyn asked.
“He’s been job hunting in the area, so he’s been in and out over the past few weeks. We’ve had him over for dinner a few times.”
When there was a pause in the conversation, I jumped in. “It sounds like you and Flynn get along. Has there ever been bad blood between you?”
“God no. My brother is my best friend. I’ve always had his back.
He’d go to war for me, too.” The dam burst, and Nixon buried his face in his hands.
“I’ve wanted to call him about Crow so badly, but we were afraid to tell anyone.
I need my brother. Flynn has enough problems without adding to them, but I’ve been so scared.
So fucking scared. Where’s my baby boy, Detective? Where is he?”
I gave Nixon a minute to compose himself and redirected to Imogen. “How is your relationship with Flynn? ”
Imogen stared at her sobbing husband, forehead pleated, her mind seemingly a million miles away, yet her pain wasn’t hidden. I suspected she wanted to reach for him but didn’t know how. Crowley’s abduction had opened a canyon in their marriage. It wasn’t unusual.
“Imogen?”
“Flynn is…” She sighed, shifting her attention to her hands. “Flynn is Flynn. Not sure how else to describe him. I’ve known him forever.”
“No troubles?”
Imogen absently shook her head, the worry lines beside her eyes pulling tighter as Nixon came undone.
Nixon was beyond interviewing, so I motioned for Jordyn to shift her questions to the wife.
“Tell us about your parents,” my partner said.
Imogen talked about her mother, Diane, and her father, Ronald. The couple lived in a suburb of Etobicoke and were both retired accountants.
“We understand from Nixon that there is some tension on this front as well.” Jordyn glanced at me as though unsure she was using appropriate terminology.
“Is there friction between your parents and Nixon?” she asked.
“Only between him and my mother. She’s never liked his family.”
“Why is that?”
Imogen couldn’t say and chalked it up to possibly the same reason Nixon’s parents didn’t like her.
Nixon, sniffling, rejoined the conversation.
“Not everyone believes in young love, Detective. Even after we’ve proven them wrong.
We have a good marriage and great kids. There is such a thing as soulmates.
Genie is mine, and I am hers. For the record, Ronald and I get along great.
Her dad is a quiet man. He’s never had a problem with me. ”
Imogen had an older sister named Odelia, a best friend named Brooke, and two work colleagues who frequented the house, Sasha and Kaitlin. No reported animosity.
A rap at the front door interrupted us, and Jordyn jumped to get it, telling the couple to stay seated. “It will be the constables we requested. I’ll get them sorted.”
Once she was gone, Imogen wiggled forward on the couch and made to stand. “I should check on my daughter.”
“Genie, sit.” Nixon bounced up, reaching for her arm.
She offered him a wan smile and patted his hand. “I’m fine.”
Reluctantly, he let her go, lowering himself back to the chair.
When Imogen vanished into the kitchen, I faced a sorrow-filled Nixon. “How about we talk about the feud between you and Jude.”
“It’s not a feud.”
“When did it start?”
Nixon raked his fingers through his hair and pushed out an exhausted breath.
“A couple of weeks ago. One of our accountants brought me a concern. When compiling our quarterly reports, she noticed a minor discrepancy in our balance. It gave her pause, so she started tracing it back through several months, pulling older reports and finding more evidence where it had originally gone unnoticed. I say minor because it displayed as a slow trickle of lost funds when taken in context with our company’s earnings.
Barely a drip. Not a gusher. A few thousand a month.
Until we discovered the… discrepancy went back years and amounted to hundreds of thousands of dollars.
I did my own investigating, double-checking her findings, not believing it, but she was right.
Logically, it made sense that it was Jude, so I approached him. ”
“Without proof?”
“He’s an addicted gambler. It was enough of a reason. ”
“He denied the claims?”
“Yes, but he couldn’t provide an explanation for the discrepancy. I told him I would hire a forensic accountant to get to the bottom of it, and he blew a gasket, saying I didn’t trust him.”
“Because of his gambling problem?”
“Yes.”
Imogen returned to the living room with Sparrow in tow. Nixon flashed his attention to his wife, and although he seemed about to say more, he clamped his mouth shut and didn’t continue.
“Is Jude having money trouble?” I asked.
“I don’t know. He’s… sensitive about his addiction and doesn’t like to discuss finances.”
“Did Jude threaten you?”
“No. He was angry that I would accuse and didn’t trust him, but it wasn’t any worse a spat than we’ve had in the past. He swore he wasn’t responsible for the missing money.
Honestly, I want to believe him. He seemed shocked there was money bleeding from our accounts right under our noses, but people with addictions will do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do when they’re struggling. They would lie. They would steal.”
“Would they kidnap your son?”
“No.”
I glanced at Imogen. She wore a worried expression and something in her eyes made me wonder if she believed him.
“You said Jude’s married,” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you threaten to talk to his wife?”
“No. It’s not her business.” Nixon’s tone suggested he was growing irritated.
“But you threatened a lawsuit. ”
“Not directly. I said I would hire a lawyer and sue when I found out who was taking the money. He wouldn’t kidnap Crow, Detective. Never in a hundred years. Tell him, Genie. You know Jude.”
Imogen said nothing and only managed to look defeated. She did not respond to her husband’s plea or rise to defend his business partner.
I traced my upper lip with my tongue as I added a few notes to the iPad. Jordyn returned and gave a nod to indicate all was good.
“Let’s talk about Clementine.”
Imogen’s expression went from beaten down to nostril-flaring rage in an instant.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9 (Reading here)
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55