Chapter Twenty-Three

Peter Carillo

Two Phoenix PD officers responded to Peter's missing persons call Tuesday morning. They stood in his kitchen while he sat at his table, hands around a mug of cold coffee. His head pounded from lack of sleep, and his heart hurt from missing his family. He kept going over why, why, why and alternating between angry and sad.

His friend Brian had come over for support. And, Peter thought, to corroborate everything Peter said. He was right to tell Brian immediately about Annie walking out. But he didn't tell his friend about Margo Angelhart. He wouldn't understand why Peter had gone to her house or why Peter decided to withhold that information from the investigating officers. Angelhart was Peter's angle to pursue. If they found out about her on their own, fine, but for now, she was Peter's best bet to get Annie back under his roof where he could control her.

Officer Ritchie looked twelve and his badge number suggested he'd only recently graduated from the academy. Officer Archie Nunez was in his thirties, a training officer with a good reputation. Their paths had crossed in the field a few times over the years, but Peter didn't know him well.

Peter explained everything—that he'd tried Annie during the day, but she hadn't answered. That he knew she was going to a fair to see Natalie, Brian's wife, so he didn't think much about it until he came home and she and the kids were gone, but her car was here. He gave them the note—he had debated that for hours. But if he hid the note from them, then the police might think that he had done something to his family.

He would never hurt his family. He loved them.

He claimed he thought she took Uber, maybe went to a hotel because she was mad about something, but he checked their joint credit card and she hadn't charged anything. He gave all the statements and bank records to the police, so they could see he wasn't lying.

"What does this mean?" Nunez asked, pointing to the first line of the short note. "You hurt me one time too many." He looked at Peter as if he was a suspect. As if he had done something wrong.

"I don't know," he said. Less is more, he told himself. Don't over talk. Don't say anything that can get you in trouble.

"Did you have a fight recently? Maybe Saturday night? Sunday morning, before you went to work?"

"No. We don't fight. I mean, we argue like everyone about stupid things, but we don't fight."

Brian said, "Tell them, Peter."

"Tell us what?" Nunez asked.

"I—I have been asking Annie to see a doctor."

"Is she sick?"

He shook his head. "Ever since Marie was born, Annie has been...different. I didn't think much of anything about it, just the stress of having an infant and a toddler. PJ is almost four, he's a handful. My mom comes over to help around the house and with the kids a few days a week when I'm working, and she told me that Annie has signs of postpartum depression. My mom is a retired nurse. I mentioned it to Annie, and she got so mad at me. She broke a vase my mom had given us, stormed upstairs. I let her calm down, but she refused to see a doctor."

"When was this?" Nunez asked.

"She broke the vase six, seven weeks ago? But I'd noticed her behavior change shortly after I went back to work after paternity leave—I took two weeks off to help with PJ and the baby, and then my mom stayed here for a couple weeks."

"Is Annie on any medications?"

"Not currently. She'd been on anxiety medication years ago, but not since she was pregnant with PJ."

"We're going to look around, if you don't mind."

"Of course. I've called everyone I can think of, talked to some of the neighbors. I just don't know why she'd leave, and I'm worried about my kids. I've been reading about postpartum depression. I'm terrified that she might hurt them. Hurt herself."

"Let's not make assumptions. We'll take a look around, then go from there. Does she have family? Have you contacted them? Even if they're in another state, maybe she went to visit."

Peter shook his head. "She's an only child. Her dad left when she was young, her mother died before we married. I don't know anything about her dad's family, she never talks about him. Her mom had a brother, but they weren't close—he lives in Montana or Wyoming. I've never met him. He didn't even come to our wedding."

"Okay. Stay put, we'll be right back." Nunez motioned for Ritchie to follow.

Brian sat next to Peter. "She'll be back."

"I don't know. What if—what if something happened?" His voice cracked, and he felt the heat of tears, squeezed his eyes shut.

"Don't think that," Brian said firmly. "Natalie is calling everyone we can think of. Annie will come home, I know it. Whatever she's thinking, she's going to come back and work things out."

"I hope you're right, Brian. I'm frantic. I don't know what else to do."

Several minutes later, the two officers returned to the kitchen. Nunez said, "We're going to talk to your neighbors."

"I already did," Peter said.

"Maybe we can help refresh their memories. We'll check security cameras in the area."

"I asked, no one saw anything."

"It doesn't hurt for us to follow-up. Since she didn't take her car, and didn't take a taxi, maybe someone picked her up. You have a camera on your door—have you checked it?"

"Yes." Of course, he checked it! It was the first thing he'd done. "You can look at the footage, there's nothing from Sunday."

"Okay. Save it, a detective may want to see it. We'll put out a welfare check on the kids, but since your wife isn't under a doctor's care, and there's no diagnosis for PPD, I don't know that if we find her, we can compel her to return."

Peter's hands fisted. "My children!"

"You're married, not legally separated, and unless the kids are in danger, she can go where she wants. There's no parental kidnapping law in Arizona. You might want to talk to a lawyer. You can petition the court for—"

"Just find them. Please." Peter knew the law. It was bullshit. In no just world could a wife just leave with his children without telling him, without letting him see his kids. Yes, he could petition the court for visitation and yes, he could fight for custody, but the woman had just walked away. He didn't want a divorce. He wanted his family back.

And when he found her, she would return. She would have no choice but to come back to him.

Brian touched his arm and it was all Peter could do not to slap his hand away.

"We all understand that you're worried," Brian said, "but Arch is doing everything he can. Getting a lawyer would be good. You can document Annie's emotional state, for one. You have a lot of options."

"Nothing matters if we can't find them," Peter said. This wasn't going the way he thought it would. His word—his statement that his wife was mentally unwell should hold weight. It should hold all the weight.

"I'm going to walk Arch out, okay? I'm coming right back. Have faith, Peter."

Faith. What had that ever done for him?