Chapter 3 - Laura was missing
Laura Cole was thirty-nine.
My ex-wife.
Emily and Ryan’s mother.
We had been divorced three years.
Not enemies.
Not friends in the movie sense either.
We had reached the boring middle ground I once thought impossible.
Calendar.
School pickup.
Dentist.
Soccer.
“Can you take Friday?”
“Yes.”
“Emma forgot her shoes.”
Emily, not Emma.
I was always confusing names when stressed.
Laura remarried eighteen months before the backyard incident.
His name was Warren Pike.
Forty-two.
Owned a small residential remodeling company.
Pike Renovation Services.
I disliked him.
That fact mattered because it gave his future lawyer an obvious story about me.
Jealous ex-husband.
Hostile co-parent.
Looking for a reason to blame new husband.
The truth:
I did not want Laura back.
I also did not like Warren.
He talked over people.
Corrected Emily’s posture at dinner.
Called Ryan “soft” because he hated hunting.
But he had never struck either child in front of me.
Never threatened me.
Never gave me evidence strong enough to argue he should be removed from their lives.
Laura said:
“He’s intense.”
I said:
“So was that prison guard in Shawshank.”
She rolled her eyes.
That was approximately the level of conflict we had.
When police entered Laura’s house, they found:
Her purse on the kitchen chair.
Prescription glasses beside the sink.
Laptop missing.
Primary phone missing.
Car in the driveway.
Warren’s pickup gone.
No Laura.
No Warren.
There were signs of a struggle near the back door.
A tipped stool.
Broken ceramic planter.
One smear of blood later identified as Laura’s.
Small.
Not enough to prove catastrophic injury.
The metal enclosure contained:
One folding chair.
An empty water bottle.
Emily’s sneaker.
A strip of gray duct tape stuck to the fence.
Police found no restraints on Emily when I arrived.
The wrist mark came from Warren grabbing her, according to what she later reported.
Not ropes.
Not handcuffs.
In the house, no major blood.
No body.
No note.
May you like
Laura was missing.
That was the emergency.
