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Chapter 8: 212 Degrees
Part 2: Sam
Clutching a bag of delicious-smelling Chinese food from the small and very authentic restaurant just a few blocks from Sophie’s apartment, Sam was eager to see her for even the few hours he would get tonight. Every moment he spent with her sent the carpet of the future unfurling even farther in front of him. His mind and heart agreed that Sophie Lane was one special woman, and he couldn’t wait to see what God had in store for the two of them.
Keeping a watchful eye, he whistled as he made his way from the parking lot toward the stairs. A resident waved to him on his way in, apparently one of the few in the area who were still happy to see law enforcement around. Sam nodded and smiled at the white-haired man before making his way upstairs.
He was drawing his hand up to knock on Sophie’s door when he saw that it already stood ajar. Confusion rose – hadn’t he taught her better? She had never left the door open for him before. He set the sack of food against the wall and instinctively placed the palm of his hand over the butt of his service weapon while reaching for his cell phone.
Taking cautious steps forward and surveying every inch of her apartment as it was revealed, nothing seemed amiss besides the open door at first. He nudged the door back a little ways with his elbow, avoiding touching anywhere there might be prints. At least the door and frame were intact, removing any question of forced entry.
He stepped through the doorway and called her name, heart beating an unsteady rhythm in his ears. The lack of answer unnerved him. Her apartment was silent as an empty church. Stepping around the door, he took in the slightly messy kitchen. Sophie had been baking? Oats were scattered and spilling out of a measuring cup next to a large bowl of cereal, the open oatmeal canister standing to the side. He smelled something akin to burned chocolate, as well.
“Sophie? You here, honey?” he tried again. He hated how the silence seemed to grow in breadth and weight the longer he went without hearing her voice. He looked at his phone screen and checked his messages. Nothing.
“Harrison, it’s been a whole week. Please tell me this is a social call.” Vic’s teasing drawl grated his nerves.
“She’s gone, Vic,” Sam’s voice cracked. “She was baking, and her door’s open. She’s… She’s gone.”
“Hey,” Vic snapped harshly. “Get your head in the game. Think like a cop and give me better info.” Sam heard scuffling and knew Vic was on his way.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, shaking his head hard enough to rattle his brain into action. “I came to bring Sophie dinner. Her door was ajar – no, I didn’t touch it. There’s ingredients out on the counter like she was baking and got interrupted. No sign of a struggle. She hasn’t called or texted, so I doubt she ran to the store and just forgot to shut the door.”
“Okay, that’s better. I’m on my way. Do you see her phone anywhere? Her purse, keys, shoes?” Sam heard a car engine start.
Sam prowled the tiny galley kitchen and living area. “No phone, but I’ve encouraged her to keep it in her pocket. I see all of her shoes that I know here. I don’t see her purse but she keeps that in her room. Hang on.” Sam pulled on a pair of gloves and opened her bedroom door. “Purse is on her dresser, keys inside. Still no phone.”
“Did you set up location tracking on her phone?” Vic asked.
“No,” Sam growled. “I taught her how to send me her location. I thought that would be enough.”
“I hear you. If this is her stalker, this is a really dramatic escalation from vandalism to kidnapping. I would have expected him to make some other personal contact first,” Vic explained.
“Could it be anything else?” Sam mostly asked himself.
“Have you asked the neighbors? What if she just stepped out to help someone?” Vic suggested.
“I didn’t do any canvasing. No other doors are open.”
“Okay, we can do that when I get there. Find a good picture of her on your phone for me. Or what about our druggie friends? Any sign of Dennison or Pritchard?”
“Pritchard?” Sam asked in confusion.
“Big blond dude. Sorry, I didn’t update you since it didn’t seem relevant at the time. Archibald Pritchard. Old name for a young guy, huh? Anyway, his lawyer got him out, but I think the assistant district attorney is interested in everything we found about him. We’re 90% there to proving he’s been dealing, and I think Dennison lives in the Maple building.”
Sam shook his head again at the circles Vic’s brain ran in. “I haven’t seen anyone but an old man since I arrived,” he finally answered.
“Hmmm,” was all Vic replied. Silence reigned for nearly a full minute. “All right. I’ll be there in about 5 minutes. Just secure her apartment; we’ll canvas together.”
“Got it,” Sam replied tersely, then hung up. He paced outside her door, listening to muted conversations and television noises coming from the apartments around Sophie’s. No sound came from hers. Where had she gone? Was she safe? Was she scared?
They had worked so hard on her self defense that Sam hated to imagine she was in danger, but with both a drug dealer in her building and a stalker threatening her, the odds of some harm having come to her seemed quite high. Why else would she have left her kitchen in the middle of a project?
He snooped the kitchen once more and saw exploded chocolate and what might be peanut butter dripping down the insides of her microwave. She might have gone to the store for more ingredients, but then her purse would be gone and her door locked. Come to think of it, her car was also still downstairs, so she hadn’t left the area that way.
She could have gone for a walk, but then why were her sneakers still here? Granted, he probably hadn’t memorized every pair of shoes she owned, but the same four pairs always sat next to her door. Her flats, sneakers, shoe boots, and snow boots were all accounted for. He didn’t see her church shoes, but why would she slip into her church shoes to go for a walk?
None of those options explained the open door, though. There was no getting around that.
Before Sam could follow any further trains of thought, Vic arrived. Sam walked him through his observations and deductions about her shoes, the state of the kitchen, and her purse and keys.
“I hate to say it, but I agree with your assessment that the only viable options seem to be the bad ones,” Vic said grimly 5 minutes later. “Still no word from her?”
“Not a peep,” Sam confirmed.
“Let’s talk to the neighbors.”
Up and down the halls they went, knocking on every door. Only a few residents answered, less than half of them even recognized Sophie, and none had seen her that day – not even the nice white-haired man who had greeted Sam. How could no one know or see anything? How did a woman get taken from her apartment in broad daylight when two dozen other people lived literally down the hall?
Had she interfered to help ‘Denise’ again? It was possible. Angel Dennison knew which apartment was Sophie’s and could have come running for help. But then why hadn’t Sophie secured the apartment and called him right away?
With every passing minute, Sam’s heart grew heavier with a fear that threatened to strangle him.
Please, God, bring my Sophie back, he begged. Please keep her safe.