And I still had no idea what had happened to Emily. I had some background information. I had no real leads. And no matter what Bobby Patel was telling me, the FBI had no decent leads either. I was going to talk to people they had already talked to. Maybe stir things up a little bit.
I endured a snicker from the valet when he brought my little purple Prius around in front of the hotel. Two other valets joined him to watch me get into the tiny car. I took a moment to gather my thoughts before I wedged myself into the driver’s seat. I must’ve looked like one of my kids when they would drive the little electric cars I bought them when they were little.
I took the John Hanson Highway out to Bowie, Maryland. This was one of the nicer suburbs that served DC. Very neat and orderly. I found the subdivision where Emily Parker’s mother had a nice three-bedroom, two-bath. It matched virtually every other house on the street. A single tree shed a few leaves in the otherwise tidy front yard.
This was not an interview I was looking forward to. No one wants to bother the mother of a missing person. The FBI report I’d read indicated that she had no usable information but hadn’t mentioned anything about her demeanor, so I had no idea what state of mind she was in. I pictured a lot of cats.
When I rang the front doorbell, I realized how wrong I was. It started with one bark. A deeper, resonant bark. Then it was like a floodgate had opened. The cascade of different woofs rushed toward the door. I could hear bodies of various sizes slamming against the door. Mrs. Parker was a dog person.
The door opened, and I was prepared to be mobbed by dogs. Instead, an attractive woman with auburn hair and glasses sitting at the top of her head said, “You must be Michael Bennett. Emily says you’re a bulldog. As you can see, I appreciate any kind of dog.”
I looked down to see six dogs. Most of them were mixed breeds, but one of them was related to a German shepherd and one to some kind of toy poodle. None of them crossed the threshold of the front door. They all just stared at me silently.
Mrs. Parker smiled. “That’s called proper training. While you and I are chatting, they won’t make a peep. They’ll bark when someone knocks at the door, but they won’t run outside unless I give them permission.”
“Their training is very impressive.”
“Too bad my control over my children isn’t as good.”
I stepped inside as I said, “You think you could’ve stopped whatever happened to Emily?”
“I would’ve stopped her from ever joining the FBI. I would’ve talked my youngest daughter into going to school closer to home, and I would’ve tried to convince my middle daughter not to marry that moron. I would’ve convinced my son that pot affects your life decisions in a bad way.”
Mrs. Parker led me to a comfortable couch and offered me some coffee. I had to admit that the dogs were extraordinarily well-behaved and never intruded on me. There was nevertheless a musty funk in the room. I don’t know if the smell was just the dogs themselves or if they had newspapers they peed on.
One dog, with a face like a basset hound and the body of a heavy-set Doberman, stood next to my place on the couch and laid a head on the cushion. His giant, brown eyes looked up at me. I knew a command to rub a head when I saw one. I tickled the top of the dog’s head. His body remained motionless, but his tail started to wag.
When Mrs. Parker walked back into the room, the dog withdrew. It was like magic. I thought about stealing her training secret. My human kids didn’t listen nearly as well as these dogs.
Now that I looked at Emily’s mom, after she settled into an easy chair across from the sofa, I could see the strain on her face. Emily had told me years ago how she admired her mother for her toughness. A missing child can break through anyone’s tough facade.
I went through all the obvious questions. Last time she had seen Emily. Did Emily talk to her about any concerns? Had Emily talked about any of her cases? The usual. Then I wanted to go a little deeper.
“Does Emily ever talk to you about dating or boyfriends?”
“No, that is something she keeps to herself. If I ever ask, she changes the subject. I understand. I was young once. She had a rough time with her marriage. John has turned himself around, and I’m okay with my granddaughter living with him for now. But since she divorced him, Emily has never told me about any boyfriends.”
I said, “Has Emily ever disappeared before?”
Mrs. Parker thought about it for a moment. “No one has asked that yet. And the answer is yes. Several times. She can suffer from depression. And once, while in college, she was gone for almost two weeks. All she ever told me about it was that it was like hunkering down for a hurricane in a hotel room. She called it her own emotional hurricane.