Page 109 of You'll Never Find Me

“Logan was on the call with me. If he didn’t back me, I don’t know what they would have thought.”

“They would have eventually discovered the truth, but having someone in your corner helps. We’re all going to help you get through this.”

“Thank you.” Jennifer’s voice cracked.

Ava patted her arm, then rose. “With your permission, I’ll contact the federal lawyer I mentioned and start the ball rolling.”

“Okay,” Jennifer said with a nod. “Okay.”

Forty-Nine

Peter Carillo

Peter listened to the lawyer go over his options. Frank Bollinger worked in family law. A divorce lawyer. A custody lawyer. A lawyer that Peter never in a million years thought he would have to consult. He sat in the small conference room, back straight, heartbroken, angry and deeply sad that Annie would do this to him, to their family.

Blah, blah, blah. That’s what Peter heard. Rehashing everything Detective Sullivan had already told him. That it’s a process, that it takes time, that he has options. Completely dismissing Peter’s concerns about Annie’s mental health and the safety of his children.

“Without independent corroboration, we won’t get an emergency hearing,” Bollinger was saying. “And even when we do get a hearing, without her address we won’t be able to subpoena her to produce the kids.”

He didn’t speak—couldn’t speak. None of this was fair. What about his rights? As a husband? A father?

“There is one option we have,” Bollinger said. “Your wife could be charged with federal kidnapping if she took the kids over state lines. Right now, because it’s only been a few days, I don’t know that the FBI will look at it, but we can definitely reach out to the local FBI office and ask them to open an investigation. Phoenix PD may pass it along to them in a few days, but in my experience, without evidence that she left the state, Phoenix will drag their feet.”

He didn’t want the FBI involved. He didn’t want anyone involved, but Annie had left him no choice.

“The private investigator knows where she is,” Peter said. “Why can’t we force her to talk? Subpoena her?”

“There is no cause to do so, but if she aided in the kidnapping of minors, the FBI may be able to bring her in for questioning and possibly charge her with obstruction. It’s a bit of a delicate situation. Do you have any idea where Annie might have gone?”

He shook his head. “Her father lives in Montana. He left her mother when she was young and as far as I know, she hasn’t spoken to him in years.” It was possible, he supposed, because she had proven to be a deceptive, lying bitch.

Bollinger took notes. “It’s a place to start. Have you reached out to him?”

“I don’t know how to contact him.”

“Do you have a name? Last known address?”

“Chris Correa. When he left Phoenix, he moved to Bozeman. Annie was thirteen at the time. But that’s all I know.”

He wrote down the information. “I’ll have my investigator track him down and if she’s there, then we might be able to compel her to return, or go to the FBI. I would suggest that we start the process rolling in state court—but it’ll take time to get before a judge. We’ll need that time to track her down. Once we have her location, we might be able to expedite the hearing—but the FBI would be the best option to get the kids back. They can go anywhere in the states.” He paused, then asked, “Does she have friends or family in Mexico?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You’ve talked to her friends locally, but does she have friends elsewhere? Relatives? A distant cousin?”

He shook his head. “Her mom died when she was nineteen. She’s never talked about any family.”

Peter didn’t want to bring in the FBI. He wanted to find Annie on his own, and all he could think about was forcing Margo Angelhart to tell him. Put the fear of God into her...

The fear of God.

The priest was involved. He had talked to Annie—Peter was positive. There was nothing at Angelhart’s home pointing to Annie’s location, but the priest might have records.

Peter knew the church schedule, when they had masses and school, but he would watch the place for a while. There were at least two priests. During school hours would be best, because the priests would likely be in the classrooms, but would there be staff in the rectory? Where would Father Morales keep such information? Did he have a private office? Maybe in his bedroom. A safe?

“Peter, are you listening?”

He nodded, though he had no idea what Bollinger had been saying.