Christine sighed,"Well...it's...it's my son...he's...." she trailed off, biting back tears, a faraway look in her eyes.
"Take your time," you tell her in as reassuring voice as you can muster. You feel rather empathetic towards her, seeing her so upset.
" I feel rather silly saying this. I mean, even I never thought it could ever happen. It's really unthinkable," Christine continued, unable to look you in the eyes.
"Look, don't feel silly....I know more than most people that there's a lot in this world that's pretty bizarre. I'm not going to laugh at you," you say, feeling your patience beginning to wear thin.
" I think he's fallen in with a cult or something....he's out late nearly every night. I've found his clothes torn up....I've even...I've even found blood on a couple of pairs of his pants. He used to be so open with me, and now he's a closed book. I barely say two words to him in a day. The only time he comes home is to sleep during the day, and then his friends come to pick him up in the evening and I don't see him sometimes for as long as a week!" The woman broke down completely now, sobbing, her hands in her face. "Please," she begged, "get my son back!"
Offering her a tissue, you try to calm her."Mrs. Atwell-Christine...I promise you we'll do all that we can. Now we're not cheap. Our rates are 75 dollars per day, plus expenses. I realize that may be more expensive than what you planned on. Perhaps the police may be more what you're looking for?"
"No. Not the police...my family doesn't need any bad press. My husband is on the city council...we can't afford it. But the money is not an issue,"she said, pulling out an envelope, handing it to you."It has 375 dollars in it-contact me if you need more."
"One other thing ma'am...do you have a picture we could have for the duration of this case?"
Christine nodded,reaching again into her purse, "Yes I do...his name's Tommy. He turned 18 about 3 months ago."
Looking at the picture you see a young man, smiling broadly for a class picture. He's got a clear complexion, black hair, and blue eyes. He seems quite happy, the smile not appearing forced, the eyes showing no trace of worry. "Okay, well, we'll get right on it," you tell her, your blood pumping, anxious to get on the case.
"Thank you, soo much,"she gushes,"I trust you're discreet?"
"Absolutely. You'll have no worries about that."
The woman begins to leave, then turns, handing you a business card. "My cell phone number's on the back. Call me if you have anything at all."
"Absolutely. We'll be in touch," you say, guiding her out the door. Shutting it behind her, you breathe a sigh of relief. Your bills will be paid this month, it seems.
"Rusty, let's get to work."