“From whatJason tells me, you’ve got a good brain and common sense, so youshould be fine. I’ll give you their address. Go and meet the clientand get as much info on the kid as you can—Where does he hang out?Who are his friends? Does he have any bad habits? That sort ofthing,” he says, writing on a piece of paper and handing it to me.If you have any questions, give me a call, and I’ll walk youthrough it. Now get going; they’re expecting you.” He gives me anencouraging wink and picks up his phone. Feeling overwhelmed, Iwalk out and close the door behind me.
* * *
I drive downCornwall Avenue and turn right onto Point Grey Road. The street islined with some of Vancouver’s most palatial homes that sit onexpensive waterfront properties. Every house I drive past has talliron fences, intercom boxes, and video cameras. I find the clients’address and pull up to a high wrought iron gate. Just as I’m aboutto get out of the truck to use the intercom, the gate slides open.When I drive into the compound, I park between a Ferrari and a LandRover. Reaching into the glove compartment, I grab a note pad andpen. I walk up stone steps that lead to tall wooden doors. After Iring the doorbell, a dark suited, portly man with a recedinghairline opens the door and invites me in. He tells me to wait inthe foyer and then disappears down a side hallway. On the walls arebeautiful paintings. I can only imagine what they’re worth. Oneither side of me are marble podiums with stone lion figuressitting on top. It feels like I’m in a gallery and not someone’shome.
The butlerre-enters, followed by a dark-haired woman in her forties. She’swearing a white velvet track suit and a matching neck scarf. “Youmust be Jules,” she says, shaking my hand. “I’m Amanda Caulfield.Please follow me.” I follow her to a sitting room off the mainhallway. She sits on a red leather sectional and asks the butler toprepare tea, then motions for me to take a seat.
“It’s a lovelyhome you have,” I say, looking around the room at the decor.
“Thank you,”she says, crossing her legs. “I appreciate you coming. My husbandand I believe that our son is in grave danger. Allen went missingten days ago. He’s nineteen and in his first year of Criminology atUBC. He left for school in the morning, as he always did, thendidn’t come home after his classes. I called the university andspoke with the Dean. He told me that there’s nothing he could doexcept notify his professors. After waiting twenty-four hours, Icalled the police. They instructed us to come downtown and file amissing person report, which we did. Since then, we’ve not heardfrom them; that was ten days ago. I don’t know if it’s because thepolice are short on manpower or what the problem is, but I justdon’t feel that my son’s case is getting enough attention. That’swhy I called you. We are desperately worried for Allen and feelthat he may have been taken against his will.”
“Really? As inabducted?”
“I think it’s apossibility, yes. My Allen has never been one to stay away fromhome, especially without contacting me. A mother knows her child,and I know that this is far more than a case of him just wanderingoff,” she says, her eyes welling up. I lean over and pluck a fewtissues out of a small box on the table.
“I’m sorry. Ican’t imagine what you’re going through,” I say, handing her thetissues.
Just then, ashort stocky man wearing a pair of jeans and a blazer walks in. Helooks detached and stern. Whatever warmth was in the room quicklyvanishes. Amanda wipes her eyes and sits up straight, “This is myhusband, Frank.”
“Hi,” I say,“I’m Jules.”
He barely looksat me before he sits down.
“I was justtelling Jules how we believe that Allen may have been taken againsthis will,” says Amanda.
Frank grumblesinaudibly.
“I just need toask a few more questions about your son,” I say.
I ask them whatAllen’s pass times are, who his friends are, and what his classschedule is this term. Only Amanda answers.
When I have apage full of notes, I thank them for their time and stand to leave.Amanda asks me to wait and then runs out of the room. As soon asshe’s out of ear shot, Frank says, “So, how much is this going tocost me?”
I can’t believethis cold prick. The first thing he says during our meeting isabout money? Suddenly, I feel very sorry for Amanda and start towonder if Allen, his son, had his own reasons for disappearing.
“I’m not sure,you’ll have to take that up with Ed, my boss.”
Amanda comesback into the room carrying a photo, “This is a recent picture thatwas taken of Allen and me a month ago,” she says, handing it to me.Suddenly, Frank stands and says that they have plans and they mustgo. Amanda thanks me for coming and the butler walks me to thedoor.
* * *
Once I’m backin the truck, I take a closer look at the photo. In the picture isa blond guy about nineteen. He is standing with his arms around hismother, Amanda, and both are smiling. When I start the truck, thegate opens.
It’s stillearly in the day, so I decide to take a trip up to UBC and have alook around. Maybe I’ll get lucky and run into someone who knowsAllen.
* * *
Arriving at theuniversity grounds, the first thing I notice is how clean andtailored everything is, the uniformly cut grass, swept sidewalksand pristine buildings. It must cost a fortune for tuition up here.I drive around the campus to familiarize myself with the area. Nearone of the buildings is a parkade. A group of ten or fifteenstudents are standing off to the side of a parking lot. I decide topark then walk up and ask if any of them know Allen. With thepicture in my hand I approach the small mob. “Hi, guys. I waswondering if I could ask you a couple of questions?”
