Storm Prey

blocks from Cherries. She was supposed to pick up her kid about ten minutes after Joe Mack ran, and the school is about five minutes away. Never called to say that she’d be late or had a problem. She would have been leaving the house just about the time he ran.”
    “Sonofagun,” Lucas said. “You got somebody on the way to the house?”
    “Yeah. The preschool lady is there, with the kid. They say there was no answer at the door, but the back door was open, so they went in. Nobody home. The minivan is gone. Crock-Pot is on. I mean, maybe it’s nothing.”
    “Maybe the Pope’s a Presbyterian,” Lucas said. “I’m heading over there. You got the tags for the car?”
    “Uh, we’re getting that,” Grace said.
    “Call the duty guy at the BCA when you get them. I’ll have him set up to put them out everywhere.”
    “You think he’s got her?”
    “I do.” Lucas took down the woman’s address and rang off and said to Lyle Mack, “Your brother may be in really deep shit. I’m telling you, man, if you know anything, you better cough it up. Or we’re gonna hang you, I swear to God.”
    “Man . . .”

    THEY WERE out the door, and Lucas filled Marcy in on the possible kidnapping. Marcy said, “I’m going to get a warrant for a phone tap.”
    “Okay.”
    “Didn’t have probable cause. Now we’ve got a lot of circumstantial, plus he’s a runner, and we’ve got a possible kidnapping. And we know he calls his brother.”
    “So get it,” Lucas said. “Problem is, every jerkwater on the planet has a disposable phone.”
     
     
    ON THE WAY OVER, Lucas called the BCA duty officer and told him to expect the call from Grace; and Marcy got the wiretap going. Two cop cars were parked in front of the house, and Grace arrived as Lucas and Marcy were walking up the driveway.
    The house was a modest, dirty-white ranch with a detached garage; the garage door was open. It was more like five blocks from Cherries, than three, but also made sense for a runner, Lucas thought. Joe Mack had threaded around houses to stay out of sight as long as possible, then made a long hard zig downhill to his left.
     
     
    THE TEACHER’S name was Marti Stasic. MacBride’s daughter, four-year-old Stacy, a tiny black-haired girl with a smudge of tears under her eyes, held on to one of Stasic’s index fingers.
    Stasic said, “She was never late. Never. We had Brenda for two years, and now Stacy for almost two, and in all that time ... never.”
    She said that she’d personally driven Stacy back home because she was afraid that “something had happened” to Jill MacBride. “I was almost afraid to come in the house.”
    Marcy asked, “Was the garage door open when you got here?”
    “Yes, it was. That’s ... well, it looked to me like she left in a hurry, like she was running late to the school. So I called there before I called you, but she still hadn’t shown up.” She glanced down at Stacy: “I just hope ... you know.”
    The other daughter was still in school, first grade. Grace said, “We’ll get somebody over there when school gets out, if we haven’t found her.”
    Stacy asked Lucas, “Where’s my mom?”
    “We’re looking for her, honey,” Lucas said, and he touched the top of her head with his fingertips, and felt the anger starting to build. To Stasic: “What about Mr. MacBride?”
    “Jill and Frank are divorced. He has an apartment over in Minneapolis, I guess. I know he comes to see the kids pretty often,” Stasic said.
    Stacy said, “Where’s Mom?” and she started to cry again.
    Lucas said to Marcy, “Can you . . .”
    Marcy nodded: “Right now,” and she stepped away with her phone. To Stasic: “Frank MacBride? Do you know where he works?”
    “He works for the federal government, but I don’t know what he does. I really don’t know him very well,” Stasic said.
    Marcy talked to somebody in Minneapolis, and finished by saying, “I want to hear back inside of ten minutes. I mean, like now.”
    Grace asked, “You need to check anything here? Inside?”
    Lucas shook his head: “No—you guys have been through the house, right?”
    “Top to bottom.” He tipped his head and said, “C’mere.”
    Lucas followed Grace out the door and around the house. The snow was thin and hard, crunchy, with strips of frozen grass showing through. “Look.” Grace pointed at a single line of footprints in the crusty snow, coming across the backyard from the house behind it.
    “Okay,” Lucas