In the afternoon of December the 20th Daniel had already attempted to put himself into a drunken stupor by nine in the morning and was starting to painfully come back out of it again. The past several days went, but they did not go willingly. Every attempt at reconstructing what had happened or where Rachel was went from bad to worse.
First, there was the matter with the sheriff’s office. They told him of course that he couldn’t report a missing person for a full 48 hours, and that as she wasn’t related, and was living there temporarily that there was no reason to suspect anything but a voluntary absence. When he pressed about the open doors and windows, the person on the other end tried to console him a bit and indicated she’d schedule a deputy to swing by and check it out.
Ultimately, the deputy had actually been sent to determine if there was a domestic abuse case going on or if Daniel had something to do with Rachel’s absence himself. Since he hadn’t really tried to clean out all the water he had found when he returned home within that first 12 hours, and because he had pointed out that her pickup truck was still in his driveway, along with all her belongings in her bedroom, the Sheriff had decided to call in some support and took statements.
When the lead investigator indicated she needed to take him down to the station to get a full statement to start a filing, she explained it had become a preliminary crime scene investigation, but that they still weren’t quite ready to go forward with a missing person’s report until more facts were known. Together, three sheriffs and an FBI agent eventually called in on the day after Rachel’s disappearance and Dan spent a total of thirteen hours at the station. He was grilled several times, but he resolved early on not to discuss the shaman nor any of the supernatural experiences that he’d shared with Rachel. He realized within a couple hours that law enforcement was not very likely to be able to provide any help in the situation unless it was to perhaps find her body at some point. He resigned himself to getting through the interrogation and then move on with his own plans for finding Rachel. Fear began gnawing at his stability, especially as the questions persisted, that if someone did indeed find Rachel’s body somewhere they would very likely presume him the attacker.
Discussions around the sheriff’s office about the increasing violent acts going on in Woodland Hills and Springton and outward from there only convoluted the direction the investigation was going in, and that too added to Daniel’s ill-ease. Eventually, between the evidence at the home, or lack thereof, and a corroborating story from Mr. Johnson at the packing plant the sheriff’s office let him go.
The FBI agent was the one to give him the news. “Mr. Tremon, although he says he barely knows you, Robert Johnson at your new place of employ seems to think you’re innocent of any…foul play that may have happened here. “
“Great…” snuffed Dan in return. The handcuffs he’d been asked to wear for a while had been removed but he was still in very bad sorts about the accusations.
“Also, Mr. Tremon,” the agent continued, “He sincerely hopes you find her so you can enjoy the company party, and he wants you to know how much he regrets anything happening to ‘that lovely young ranger.’”
Looking up to see if the agent was dredging for more information he replied huskily, “Thank you.”
“You’re free to go for now, Mr. Tremon. But obviously…if you have anything more to report…any new information that comes up…”
“Of course. You bet. I’ll be down here right away,” he replied. Under his breath he added, “Bullshit.”
As he exited the office and one of the junior deputies offered to drive him back home, the deputy put his left hand on Dan’s shoulder in an effort to console him and said, “We’ll check with you on the fourteenth. If she hasn’t shown up we’ll start a search and put out an APB.”
“Ya, but what if she’s hurt somewhere, or lost? Don’t they say the more time goes by the less likely you will find someone?”
The sheriff took up a more defensive posture, placing his hands on his belt akimbo and nodding his head somewhat.
“We can’t afford the resources for an all-out search unless we know she’s gone,” he replied. “She’s a grown woman, Mr. Tremon. If she went out for a stroll she’s more likely to find her way back than she is to stay missing. If she didn’t…I’m not sure where we’d even begin looking. Woodland Hills is a small town…I doubt anyone up there is managing to keep her secret somewhere.”
Daniel turned away and shut the door. To himself he muttered, “But you sure as hell could spend the resources grilling me for the whole day.”
Though loud enough to be heard, the junior waiting for Dan at the sheriff’s car pretended not to hear Dan’s retort.