The Devil's Closet - By Stacy Dittrich Page 0,1

officers and neighborhood residents were all over the place: in the front yards, backyards, sidewalks, garages, and on the street. They were searching houses, car trunks, and garage refrigerators and freezers. Police canines had their noses in the grass, sniffing around the house, attempting to find a track. Other officers were trying to find any witnesses in the neighborhood.

You couldn’t miss the house. There were about ten marked police cruisers in the driveway and street. Before I parked my car and got out, I could see Captain James Norris, head of the uniformed road patrol, standing on the front porch talking to several citizens. He saw me walking up the driveway.

“I’m glad you’re here, CeeCee. We’ve got nothing so far,” he said.

“Is Coop here yet?” I asked, referring to Detective Jeff Cooper, my best friend in the bureau. Coop had also played an integral part in preventing my demise last year when he, along with Naomi and an FBI agent, shot my captors. There was something solid and comforting about Coop. His dark hair contrasted with his light complexion and blue eyes, and his stocky build was meant for the jeans and T-shirts he wore. The perfect class clown, he wore his emotions on his sleeve. There was never a question as to his opinions. His face said it all. You always knew where you stood.

“He’s inside with the mother. As you can imagine, she’s a wreck.”

“Any custody problems? Where’s the father?” I asked, scanning the front of the mammoth house before me.

“He’s on his way from Cleveland. He’s some bigwig eye surgeon at the Cleveland Clinic.”

“Hopefully, we find her before he gets here. I’m assuming the house was thoroughly searched, kitchen cabinets, dryer, laundry baskets, and all?” I already knew the answer since Captain Norris was here, but had to ask anyway.

“Of course.”

I watched as he got into his marked SUV and pulled away. I had to mentally prepare myself to go inside the house, knowing the mother was panic stricken. It took a conscious effort in situations like this to keep myself from appearing rattled.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and was barraged by screams and sobs emanating from the thirty something attractive blonde sitting on the couch in the living room. Several neighbors or family members were seated around her, and Coop was standing in the middle of the room. Undeniably, she needed to calm down before we could accomplish anything. I hated to be the bad guy, knowing the mother had every right to be out of control, but something had to be done. We were losing valuable time.

I walked directly to Corrine Parker, the mother, and knelt in front of her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dread on Coop’s face, aware I was going to do something but not knowing what. The woman didn’t seem to notice me until I grabbed her shoulders and gave them a slight shake.

“Mrs. Parker! Please. You need to try to calm down.”

She looked at me and let out a walloping scream, her spit spraying me in the face. I hated the thought of having to slap her in front of all these people. Instead, I grabbed her chin and forced her to look at me.

“Mrs. Parker, you need to compose yourself and focus. If you want to help Hanna, take a deep breath and look at me. Now.” My voice was soothing, but stern.

From the expressions on their faces, everyone near her was appalled at my actions, but I didn’t care. They weren’t my problem—finding Hanna Parker was.

Corrine Parker began to settle down, wiping her eyes, taking deep breaths, and using the tissue offered to blow her nose. It took several minutes before she finally looked at me and spoke.

“Do you want to tell me who the hell you are?”

She was agitated, but anger can be good sometimes. It takes one’s mind off their other emotions.

“Mrs. Parker, I’m Detective CeeCee Gallagher with the Richland Metropolitan Police Department, major crimes division. I apologize for being somewhat harsh, but we need you focused and thinking as clearly as possible. There are a lot of questions you might be able to answer that could help us find Hanna.”

She blew her nose again, grabbing another tissue to wipe off the black mascara that had run down her face.

“She just vanished!” Tears resurfaced, and it looked like she was going to lose it again, so I had to redirect her quickly.

“Mrs. Parker, tell me who you saw