William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
I searched behind the property deed and the car titles, but the space was empty of any personal identification.
Marsha had removed them.
Where did Marsha hide Owen’s passport and birth certificate?
I stood in the center of the quiet bedroom, looking at the walnut dresser and the locked vanity table in the corner.
If she had taken them from the safe, she would not leave them where I could easily find them during my morning search.
The house felt colder now, the heating vents rattling with a dry, dusty sigh.
I checked my watch; it was ten past ten.
I had to be in the community college lecture hall in fifty minutes, and my hands were still cold.
I slipped the blue folder into my leather briefcase and locked Marsha’s desk drawer, leaving the key exactly where I had found it.
The community college parking lot was crowded with student cars, the smell of damp oak leaves thick in the autumn air.
I parked my sedan in the back row near the chain-link fence, far from the busy walkways.
