I ended up with a list of seven names and immediately sent that off to Todd. Take a look at these guys, I told him in a text. Any current contact information would be greatly appreciated.
Then I made a call to the non-emergency number at Homer PD. After speaking to a clerk in the records department, I learned that the information Jared had come up with earlier was absolutely true. Christopher Danielson might have disappeared off the face of the earth sometime in the spring of 2006, but no official missing-persons report was ever filed. The poor kid had vanished into thin air, and no one had given a tinker’s damn.
I might have been years late to the party, but I cared now, and so did Jared. Together we would find out what had happened to that younger brother of his, or as my mother would have said, we’d both know the reason why.
Chapter 7
While I waited to see what, if anything, Todd Hatcher might turn up, I showered, dressed, and then puttered around the house for a bit—putting out the trash, emptying the dishwasher, starting a load of clothes. In my old age, I seem to have become quite accomplished in the househusband department. Then, as a reward for doing the chores, I sat down in front of the fireplace to work my crosswords. I was coming to the end of those when Todd called back.
“Guess what?” he said. “Your missing person has a son.”
I was floored. “He does?”
“Yup, Christopher James Danielson,” Todd replied. “According to the state of Alaska’s Department of Public Health, he was born December twelfth, 2006, to one Danitza Annette Adams and Christopher Anthony Danielson.”
That was a showstopper.
“Does that mean that Chris and Danitza are living happily ever after somewhere in Alaska?”
“I doubt the happily-ever-after part,” Todd said. “I’m unable to locate any marriage or divorce records for Danitza Adams and Christopher Danielson. My guess is the child was born out of wedlock after Chris did his disappearing act. I did find marriage records for Danitza Adams and a guy named Gregory Howard Miller. They were married by a judge in Anchorage on June seventeenth, 2011. Gregory died in March of 2013. His cause of death is listed as accidental drowning.”
I was making notes as we went along, but it seemed pretty clear that in order to gather any information on Christopher my best source would be the mother of his child.
“Any idea about where I can get in touch with this Danitza? Miller’s her last name now?”
“That’s correct—Danitza Miller. She lives on Wiley Loop Road in Anchorage and works as an ER nurse for Anchorage General Hospital.”
“Address and phone number?”
Todd read them off to me. Once I wrote them down, he continued.
“Danitza Miller was born in Homer, Alaska, on March fourteenth, 1989, to Roger and Eileen Adams.”
“Did you say 1989? That would make her a year younger than Chris. They probably attended high school together.”
To confirm my suspicions, I reached around and picked up my copy of The Log. This time I turned my attention to the pages devoted to the junior class, and there she was in the very first photo at that top of the page. Danitza Adams’s head shot revealed a cute blonde with a pixie haircut and a winning smile, but a 1989 birth date meant that most likely she had been only sixteen at the time she gave birth to her son. So what we were dealing with was a sixteen-year-old unwed mother with a boyfriend who most likely hadn’t bothered to hang around long enough to do the right thing once he knocked her up. If that were the case, it’s no wonder that when Chris headed out for parts unknown, he hadn’t bothered to leave a forwarding address. Had I been in his shoes, I probably wouldn’t have either. I would have been too ashamed to show my face.
That was my first thought. It took a moment for me to remind myself that considering the existence of my own out-of-wedlock daughter, Naomi Dale, I was being a judgmental hypocrite.
“Did Danitza graduate from high school?”
“Nope,” Todd replied. “According to her college transcripts, she first earned a GED. Then, in 2008, she enrolled in the School of Nursing at the University of Alaska in Anchorage, where she graduated with honors four years later.”
That was a surprising outcome. For a single mother raising a little kid on her own to graduate from anything in four years was commendable. To do so with honors? That was downright remarkable.
“She must be pretty smart,” I said.
“Agreed,” Todd replied.
“What about the kids on the other list I sent you, the unaffiliated ones from the yearbook?”