"So, Mrs. Parker," Rob began, "When we last spoke you told me something about disappearing teenagers, is that right?"
"Yes," she replied, swallowing, "Specifically, my son, Alex. It was five days ago, Thursday. He never came back from school. At first I thought, no big deal, he's probably with Brett—his best friend—but when he didn't show up the next day I became worried. I phoned Brett's parents, asked if they knew anything... Brett had vanished, too."
"Did you contact the police?"
"That evening. They said they'd look into it, but we haven't heard anything official since, and whenever I try to check up, they shrug me off with the same token excuses: 'confidential information', 'ongoing investigation', 'alerting the suspect', et cetera. So Hazel and I—Mrs. Imerson, Brett's mom—started asking around ourselves. And we learned that these disappearances have been going on for weeks. No-one knows when; no-one knows why; boys are just vanishing off the streets, and the police are sitting on their hands." She gritted her teeth. "Something's not right."
Setting the now-empty glass on the table, Rob forced himself to his feet and turned to look at the photos. There was a grainy photo of a smiling, short-haired blond man pushing a delighted young boy on a backyard swingset. His gaze shifted to a frame left; it was a service photo of the same man in an army uniform, face demure. Rob gently lifted the frame and turned about. "Your husband?"
Justine nodded, melancholic. "Served in Iraq. Wounded in action. IED took off both his legs. Lauded as a hero in public, but we had to fight tooth and nail with Veterans' Affairs trying to get proper treatment. He seemed strong at first, but... the months went by and he just deteriorated. Took his own life when our backs were turned."
"I'm sorry." It was all he could offer.
"It's alright." Justine forced a smile. "It was hardest on Alex. He always looked up to his father... Watching him self-destruct was almost too much to bear. When he was little he wanted to follow in Mike's footsteps, enlist after school, be a hero." She sniffed derisively. "After we buried him, Alex got rid of all his war toys."
Rob set the photo back down, eyes sweeping over the other frames. He picked up one to the right. It was the same boy, now in his teenage years. He had the same short blond hair, jovial eyes and solid brow of his father, but the rest of his face had the narrow angles of his mother. He was in a shirtless jersey and gym shorts, sitting on a stone curb with youthful nonchalance. His overall frame was thin, but fit. "Alex?" She nodded.
Rob returned to the armchair, setting the photo in front of him on the coffee table. He was a little hesitant to return to the subject at hand, but Justine appeared to have dispelled the unpleasant memories he'd inadvertently provoked. "So... where was your son last seen?"
"At school, I suppose. He might've been with Brett; they usually hang out together."
"Does he have a typical after-school routine?"
"Uhh, he sometimes pokes around the shops downtown, meets up with his other friends. He calls me if he thinks he'll be out past six."
"Does he have a cell phone?"
"No, he's saving all his money for college."
Rob retrieved his briefcase, clicking it open and withdrawing a pencil and sheet of lined paper. "What can you tell me about Alex's extra-curricular interests? Sports, hobbies, things like that."
"He's part of the school basketball team, runs in track-and-field. Earned a few ribbons, too."
"What grade's he in?"
"Twelve, graduates this year."
"You said he's aiming for college; what field?"
"Political science, international relations. He's hoping to find an alternative way of serving abroad. Mike's fight with Veterans' Affairs turned him into a pretty devout peacenik."
"Are there any gangs or cliques he might've fallen into, or out with?"
"I don't think so; if he did he never told me. Drodenberry's a pretty quiet town. Although..." Rob looked up; Justine was staring off into the distance, frowning. "It's probably nothing," she started, "But there -may- be friction with some of the newer military families. We're near a fairly big base; you probably saw trucks on your way in." He nodded. "This was Mike's last transfer, so we've been here for a few years, and... well, -before- I wouldn't think much of it, but..." Silence again. Rob could see her tongue sliding around inside her mouth as she pondered. "A few weeks ago the base got a new commander, Hugh Smith, four-star general. I don't know -much- about him personally, but he's a firm disciple of the school of hard knocks and is on record denouncing what he calls the national youth's irreverence toward the armed forces. Now that he's in charge, we're seeing a lot more soldiers on the streets. Heck, they run recruitment kiosks outside the post office!"
"Sounds like this General Smith wouldn't have patience for peaceniks," Rob muttered, scribbling down the details. "Do you think he might be encouraging the 'good' soldier sons to intimidate dissident voices?"
"I—I suppose it's possible—" Her face fell in horror and Rob immediately regretted posing the question. "You don't think—?"
"No! No," he began quickly, "Stupid image, I shouldn't've brought it up. Uhh..." he scrambled to change the subject.