Police Protector

“This is Detective Todd Berringer and Captain Walsh, Kyra.”

She barely acknowledged the introduction. Her eyes riveted on what she could see of the living-room disaster through the open front door. She stepped past them and moved inside, surveying the scene in sick dread. Every stick of furniture had been sliced open. Every breakable object had been broken in sheer, wanton destruction. An undecorated artificial Christmas tree lay on its side, a box of ornaments crushed beneath it.

Tears blurred her vision. She blinked hard to hold them at bay. “Why?”

“It appears someone was looking for something,” one of the men said.

Kyra shook her head, keeping her eyes averted until she felt more in control. “My sister doesn’t have anything of value. Maybe a few pieces of jewelry, but this…”

Helplessly she stared at a handmade ornament that had rolled nearly to the door. She lifted it gently. Kip had made this when he was in kindergarten. She had a blue one just like it.

“Ms. Wolfstead, I’m sorry, but is this your sister?” Detective Berringer removed a picture from a shattered glass frame and handed her the torn photograph.

Casey and the children smiled up at her. The photo had been taken more than a year ago. Kyra carried a wallet-sized version in her purse.

The tears came close to spilling over as she stared at the photo. Everyone always commented on how much Kyra resembled her older sister. It was several seconds before she could do more than nod. “Yes. And that’s Kip, Brian and Maggie.”

He produced another photo in a cracked plastic frame that showed Casey and Jordan standing outside the courthouse on their wedding day. She had a copy of that picture as well.

“That’s Casey and her husband, Jordan,” she confirmed. “Is the entire house like this?”

“Pretty much.”

“Did you find…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say blood, but Detective O’Shay was there, touching her lightly.

“There’s no blood, Kyra. Nothing to tell us if this mess happened while the family was still here or if they came home to find the house like this. We know Kip is alive. There’s no reason to think the rest of the family isn’t as well.”

More than anything she wanted to believe him, but seeing this destruction…“Casey would have called me if she could have.”

The men exchanged looks. It was Detective Berringer who spoke again. “Ms. Wolfstead, you say your sister didn’t have anything of value. What about cash? Some people don’t like banks.”

“My sister’s a waitress. Her husband works at a country club. They don’t have a lot of cash.”

Once again Detective O’Shay touched her arm lightly. There was an almost apologetic expression in those deep gray eyes.

“Kip has been going into the local convenience store since Monday. He’s been buying food and carrying it away in his backpack. Every purchase has been paid for with a one-hundred-dollar bill.”

For a second she didn’t understand what he was telling her. Then she couldn’t breathe. “That’s crazy.” The words came out as a whisper.

“Could your sister or her husband be involved in drugs, Ms. Wolfstead?” Detective Berringer asked.

“What? No! Casey has children!”

The men exchanged another look. She could almost hear the silent question that passed between them. How well did she really know her sister? Choking back a protest, she forced herself to think. Even unvoiced, it was a valid question and it deserved an honest answer.

“I was a senior in high school when Casey married Milt. There are eleven years between us.” And the difference in their ages had kept them from being as close as she would have liked. “But she’s my sister. We keep in touch, even though we don’t see each other very often. My job’s in Boston. Casey lives here.”

Was it possible? Could Casey be using drugs? Would Kyra know if she was? Yes, she was sure she’d know. Casey was her sister!

“My sister isn’t into drugs,” she stated more firmly. “I can’t speak for her husband, but look at this house. They rent. They don’t even own this place. She’s had that same shabby Christmas tree since before Kip was born. If they had the sort of money drug-dealing is supposed to net, don’t you think they’d live better than this? My sister drives a seven-year-old car! It’s always breaking down. I’ve sent her money for repairs. Jordan’s no bigwig. I won’t believe they’re involved in drugs.”

Detective O’Shay’s gaze bored into hers. “Drug habits are expensive.”

Kyra closed her eyes. “I don’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it,” she added more softly.

“I understand, but where would Kip get several hundred dollars in cash?”

“I don’t know!” Her voice fell to almost a whisper. “I don’t know.”

And she still wanted to cry, but now her eyes felt dry and scratchy. In order to help Casey and the children, she needed to remain calm and answer their questions. And they had a lot of questions. It was dismaying to realize how few answers she could give. Tired beyond thought, she finally shook her head. “May I look around? Maybe I’ll see something that will help.”

Detective O’Shay nodded. “I was going to ask you to do that.”

She drew strength from his solid presence as they moved silently from room to room. The downstairs and the master bedroom had been the focus of the destruction. The children’s rooms showed more cursory searches. In those rooms, drawers and closets had been rifled and the mattresses had been sliced open and overturned, but the damage wasn’t nearly as bad as in the other rooms. Maggie’s bedroom had barely been disturbed at all.

Decorated in pastels, her tiny room had obviously been intended as an office. A built-in bookcase sat along one wall where a closet should have been. Stuffed toys and children’s books had been pulled from the shelves. The dresser drawers had been dumped but nothing was broken.

“Where are the pillows and blankets?” she asked as they stood in the hall after going through each room. The detective looked puzzled. She indicated one of the boys’ rooms. “There are no blankets or pillows in any of the children’s rooms.”

His lips parted. He returned to the master bedroom at the far end of the hall and flicked on the light.

“There are blankets and pillows in here. They’re ripped, but they’re here.”

He crossed to the room she’d indicated and studied the scene.

“Good observation, Kyra. We should have noticed that.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. She’d tried hard not to notice how attractive he was despite the lines that bracketed his mouth and eyes. Sure, he needed a shave. And what appeared to be a recent haircut couldn’t tame his dark, unruly hair. But he carried himself with an aura of command that was very appealing. His mannerisms said he was sure of his place in the universe. His expression was stern, but those tired gray eyes held empathy and genuine concern.

“Someone could have used the blankets to wrap the children in to carry them away.”

He was thinking out loud, but she shook her head.

“Kip’s still nearby, and why take the pillows?” She thought for a moment. “It’s getting cold out there, but it’s been fairly warm in Boston until now. Is there a tree house in the neighborhood?”

“I’m glad one of us is still thinking. Todd!”

The other detective bounded up the stairs. The search for a tree house or a shed was put in motion.

Kyra was in the living room moving cushions aside when Detective O’Shay returned to her.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for her purse.”

“We didn’t find one.” He held up his hand before she could speak again. “We looked.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd? If someone took her, wouldn’t you expect her purse to still be here?” She gave him a flat stare. “I don’t see someone saying ‘get your purse, we’re kidnapping you.’”