someone could have come and gone easily without being noticed and without leaving a trail.
Assuming someone had been there at all.
So far, there was no conclusive evidence to prove or disprove that an intruder had entered the Glenn house. The forensics team from the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension in St Paul had arrived at five in the morning and spent seven hours at the scene, without much to show for their efforts. It would be weeks before they sifted through the fingerprints on the doors and windows. They had bagged traces of wet soil on the upstairs carpet, but those could be ascribed to the boots of the policemen who had responded to the 911 call. The front and backyards were similarly a mess of footprints from the first wave of searchers at the scene.
Callie's disappearance had broken on the morning news shows, competing with reports of the latest murder in the farmlands north of Duluth. Serena and Stride had spoken live to a gaggle of reporters. By now, most people in Minnesota had seen the photograph of the missing baby girl with blonde curls and a toothy smile. Stride had spent most of the morning mobilizing the statewide alert system, and Serena had overseen the network of interviews with neighbors on the roads surrounding Marcus Glenn's home and along the fifty miles of populated shoreline on Pokegama Lake. The result of all that effort was little or nothing to help their investigation. No witnesses. No credible sightings. No reports of vehicles coming or going that could focus their search.
Callie Glenn was there, and then she wasn't. The magician had waved his black sheet and made her vanish. As the clock ticked, each hour increased the risk that they would never find her.
Serena knew what Denise Sheridan believed. Marcus Glenn had killed his own child, either accidentally or deliberately, and then hidden the body to cover up his actions. There was no evidence to suggest that he had done so, but there was also no evidence to suggest he
Serena didn't discount the possibility that Glenn was guilty, but she found herself doubting Denise's instincts about him. For one thing, she had already pegged Denise Sheridan as hopelessly biased by her own relationship with her sister and her husband. She might be a good cop, but she despised Marcus Glenn so much that she would believe anything bad about him. For Serena, Glenn's frigid demeanor actually made him seem innocent. She had dealt with parents guilty of heinous crimes during her time in Las Vegas, and they were always the best actors, the ones who pleaded on television for the return of their children and wept in the arms of their spouses. Glenn wasn't exaggerating his grief or putting on a show for them. If anything, he had invited their scrutiny by showing his true colors.
And yet. And yet. The intruder theory didn't make sense either. There were too many holes in this case.
Serena made her way down the curving driveway that led to the
Glenn front door. Several members of the Grand Rapids Police were on hand to guard the scene and keep reporters and spectators away from the house. They nodded politely at her, but she could sense their uneasiness. She understood. As of this morning, she was a detective on the payroll, but she was still a stranger, an outsider. They all knew Stride because of his years in northern Minnesota, and the police here didn't have any problem accepting his authority. But not Serena. It didn't matter that she had dealt with street crime and violence for a decade in Las Vegas on a level that no one here would see in their lifetimes. She was different, and that made her suspect.
It was easier for her in Duluth. Duluth was a larger city, and there was something about its icy remoteness that made people welcome strangers who had the courage to live there. Out here in Grand Rapids, she was in a small town. If you lived here, you were a known quantity, regardless of whether you were a saint or a sinner. If you didn't, you had to prove yourself.
Serena studied the country-style house. It was low and wide, with three gables over the second-story rooms and white, freshly painted wood siding. A triple garage was on her left, and she saw the windows of an upstairs apartment above the garage doors. The chambered windows of the first-floor dining room faced the yard, but most of the house was built to take advantage of the lake view in the rear. Marcus Glenn, in the master bedroom, wouldn't have seen what was happening in front of his house at night.
If the kidnapping was the work of an intruder, Serena was convinced that he came from the street, by car. Arriving by boat was too risky, with too many variables: launching a boat at night, navigating the waters without lights, keeping a baby quiet in an area where sound would travel easily across the lake, and landing without a dock. There were too many ways a plan could go wrong. No, the straightforward strategy was to park in the driveway under the cover of trees and go into the house from there.
But how to get into the house without a key? The locks on all of the doors looked unmolested. The windows were solid and tight.
Serena let herself in the front door and stood under the glamorous crystal of the chandelier in the glossy oak foyer. After the chill outside, the house was warm. The ivory carpet on the stairs directly in front of her led to the second floor of the house. She followed the stairs to the second story and looked up and down the long hallway at the series of closed white doors. There were at least eight of them, leading to different rooms. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a walk-in closet, and an upstairs laundry. None of the doors gave any clue to its contents. How would an outsider have found the nursery? And how would a kidnapper know whether Callie Glenn still slept in the master bedroom with her parents? That was a big risk.
Serena turned left down the hallway. Callie's nursery was the third door on the right. She opened the door, expecting the bedroom to be empty, but instead she saw Valerie Glenn in her daughter's room. A bay window on the far wall looked out on the lake, and Valerie sat on its polished ledge, her knees pulled up to her chest. She leaned forward with her head buried in her arms; her blonde hair tumbled over her legs. For a long minute, she didn't realize that she was no longer alone. Serena noticed the empty crib in the middle of the carpet. The childish wallpaper showed fairytale cartoons of princesses and frogs. Toys were scattered on the floor.
'Mrs Glenn?' Serena said softly.
When Valerie didn't react, Serena said her name again. This time, Callie's mother jerked up in surprise. 'Oh. Serena. I'm sorry.'
'I didn't mean to disturb you,' she said.
'Is there news?'
Serena shook her head, and the brief glimmer of hope in Valerie's eyes faded. Valerie rested her back against the window frame and turned her head to watch the gray waters of the lake at the end of the lawn. Her face was in profile. Even in grief, with strands of blonde hair mussed across her cheek and tear stains on her face, Valerie Glenn looked perfect and attractive. Her skin had a tan glow, despite the gloom of November. Everything about her was in proportion. Her legs were taut but not muscular, her frame trim but not skinny. She wore tan slacks and a long- sleeved black fleece top. It was a look that said: I'm not trying to be beautiful, really I'm not, but I can't help it.
Serena sat down opposite her on the window ledge. Valerie brushed her hair from her face and offered a weak smile.
'What can you tell me?' she asked.
'I can tell you that a massive search is going on for Callie across the entire state,' Serena assured her. 'Her photo is everywhere. The police, FBI, media, business owners, everyone will help us. Tips are already coming in.'
'What do you think they want?' Valerie asked. 'Is it money? If we pay, will they give her back to me?'
'I don't know enough about what happened to give you any answers,' Serena said. 'But I promise you that our first priority will always be Callie's safety.'
'I heard someone on the news say that rich foreigners sometimes pay to have babies stolen for them. God, I hope it's not something like that. You don't think you could be a target in a place like Grand Rapids.'
'It doesn’t do any good to speculate. You'll drive yourself crazy.'
Valerie nodded. 'I know. I need to let you do your job. Honestly, Serena, I'm pleased to have a woman on the case. All these men clomping around the house — to them, it's just another crime.'
'We all want to get Callie back,' Serena said.
'Yes, but you know what I'm going through. A man can't really understand. Do you have children yourself?'
