Dead River Read Free Page B

bad.”
    “I think there’s enough time for the forensic team to do their work before the storm gets here.”
    Adam changed the subject. “So, is Sara Ann considered to be a missing person?”
    “That’s not my call.”
    “Can’t you make a recommendation?”
    “It’s not my call.”
    Adam again shook his head, not uttering another word.
    Fifteen minutes later Adam spotted a truck marked Brevard County Sheriff Criminalistics and an unmarked dark blue police car rolling down his street. Both vehicles parked on the shoulder behind Atkins’s cruiser.
    A group of four men emerged and headed toward Adam. In the lead was the driver of the unmarked car. He was thin and wore a crisp, light gray suit and sunglasses. His dark hair was short-cropped. The others had come in the crime scene unit truck. They were dressed in short-sleeve white shirts and black slacks, and carried various pieces of equipment, including a camera.
    Adam watched the forensic team march past him toward Sara Ann’s car, but the man in the gray suit stopped on the gravel shoulder and motioned with his right arm.
    “Hey, Atkins. I need to see you.” Then he gestured with his index finger. “Over here, now.”
    “Who’s that?” Adam asked.
    “Glenn Wilkerson, he’s one of our detectives,” Atkins answered with a quick rise and fall of his eyebrows. “He wants me to brief him.”
    Atkins pushed himself off his patrol car and sauntered over to where Wilkerson stood chewing indifferently on a toothpick. Adam watched them talk but couldn’t hear their conversation. The forensic team went about their business with efficient precision. They dusted for fingerprints and examined the driveway, concentrating on an area in the vicinity of Sara Ann’s car.
    Adam walked to the end of the driveway, his attention divided between the technicians and what appeared to be an argument building between Atkins and Wilkerson. Now and again the two men would raise their voices, but Adam couldn’t tell over what. Wilkerson stood at least a head shorter than Atkins and weighed at least forty pounds less. There they stood, David and Goliath, one thin and springy, the other broad and thick, slinging words at each other. Fingers pointed and arms waved, but neither man backed away.
    As Atkins and Wilkerson continued their exchange, two more police cars veered off Boca Tigre Drive onto the shoulder. Five officers filed out of the two cars and moved toward Atkins and Wilkerson. It was clear from Atkins’s posture that he had had enough of whatever it was Wilkerson was giving him, and he broke away and headed for his cruiser.
    The five police officers proceeded up the driveway, led by Detective Wilkerson. They stopped by Sara Ann’s car. Wilkerson loosened his necktie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. He pointed into the woods on either side of the driveway and barked orders. The five police officers split into two teams. Three headed into the thick woods on the south side of the driveway, and the other two braved the north-side embankment that Adam had clambered down earlier. Wilkerson walked back to the end of the driveway.
    He rotated his toothpick, exposing the soggy frayed end, and extended his arm. “Mr. Riley?”
    The two shook hands. “Yes.” Adam wondered why this man, a detective, had such a weak handshake.
    “I’m Detective Glenn Wilkerson, Cocoa Beach Police Department.”
    Adam’s emotions were fluctuating like alternating current—anger, terror, anger, terror—fright, panic, fright, panic… “Please tell me everything that’s being done to find my daughter.”
    Wilkerson tucked in his pointy chin and leaned backward at the waist. “Well, first of all, I’ve taken charge of your daughter’s case.” He rolled the toothpick over his lips with his tongue as if to say, Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll personally find your daughter. Then he resumed gnawing on the wooden sliver. “As you can see, the forensic team is gathering evidence,