The Boy

by Linsey Lanier

  Avoiding his gaze, she focused on Becker. “What have you got?”

  “Where’s Mr. Parker?” Holloway asked, trying to sound innocent as he got up to give her his chair.

  “He went to get breakfast. We can fill him in when he gets here. Becker?” She let a tad of annoyance seep into her tone and Becker hopped to.

  As she sat down on the seat Holloway had vacated, he went to work on the keyboard of his laptop and after a few seconds, data filled the screen.

  “So here are the markers from the profile Fry did.” He pulled up the chart.

  As before, the bars and dots meant nothing to her.

  “I ran it against all the databases we had access to and got nothing.”

  “Okay.”

  “And then I thought, why not think outside the box, you know?”

  “What did you find Becker?”

  “I ran it three times to be sure and this was what I came up with.” He pulled up another page of data.

  It was an official form of some kind. Handwritten. The writing looked like Cyrillic.

  She leaned closer to the screen to squint at it. “What the heck is that?”

  “Papers for a guy named Anatoly Tamarkin. He’s from Chernigov.”

  “Russia?”

  “The Ukraine. It’s a small town in the north.”

  Miranda tapped her fingers on the desk. “And where’d you get this information?”

  Becker lifted his shoulders in innocence. “Interpol.”

  Dear Lord. What in the heck had they gotten into?

  Becker continued. “Tamarkin seems to have disappeared. There’s no trace of him in the Ukraine for the last fifteen years. So I ran the DNA against more recent records and this popped.”

  He pulled up another document.

  It was a prison intake record from Rikers Island in New York City.

  “Tom Jones?”

  “Has to be an alias,” Holloway said over her shoulder.

  Miranda read over the scanned the form. “He was arrested for armed robbery.”

  Becker pointed at the screen. “First degree. That carries a five year minimum, but he only served ten days.”

  Holloway folded his long arms. “Someone got him out.”

  Miranda agreed. “So he’s connected with somebody.”

  She hunted for the date on the form and tapped the screen when she found it. “He was arrested five years ago. Is there anything more recent?”

  “I’m still looking but that’s it for now. And according to the prison records, he wears a size thirteen shoe. That’s the size of the print we found in the laundry room.”

  It wasn’t much but Becker had killed himself to get it. She could see the dark lines under his eyes.

  “Good job,” she said, remembering Parker’s advice. “You, too, Holloway.”

  He scowled at her. “Dave did all the work.”

  “But you kept an eye on Erica King’s house last night. And you called in Wesson like I asked.”

  He looked at her as if he knew she was stretching it, but couldn’t figure out why.

  She shook it off. “Wesson caught King leaving her house with a kid this morning.”

  “Yeah?” Both of them sat up, wide eyed.

  “Turned out to be her nephew. She’s not involved in the kidnapping.”

  Two pairs of shoulders sank. They were as committed to finding Dylan Ward Hughes as she was. They’d take every set back personally. She needed to keep them positive.

  “So, we’ve made progress. We’re pretty sure this Anatoly Tamarkin a.k.a. Tom Jones is the guy who nabbed the boy. And he’s probably also June May’s killer.

  Becker let out a sigh. “But we have no clue as to where he might be.”

  “He could be back in the Ukraine by now for all we know,” Holloway whined.

  “Could be. But we’re pretty sure he was in Kennesaw at the railroad tracks yesterday morning. And at the little blue house in the Old Fourth Ward before that.”

  Holloway nodded. “So if he’s got the kid, he has to be keeping him somewhere in the area.”

  Becker sat up, a finger in the air. “I almost forgot. I have his mug shot from the prison.”

  “Pull it up.”

  He did and a stomach twisting image appeared on the screen.

  Long stringy black hair to his shoulders. Leathery skin that made him look twenty years older than he would have been at the time. A large round face with dark, deep set eyes that made him look like he hated everyone in the world.

  “Creepy looking guy.”

  “And big.”

  Miranda read the data. Six two. Weight two-eighty, all muscle. His arms looked like hams from the prize pig at the County Fair.

  “Indeed.”

  Miranda spun around to find Parker standing in the doorway. She didn’t know how long he’d been there, but the hard expression on his face told her it was enough to get the gist.

  “Breakfast here?” she asked him.

  “On the living room table.”

  “Let’s go eat.” She stood and gestured at Becker. “Bring the laptop.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The smell of coffee and freshly baked southern biscuits tantalizing her nose, Miranda gathered with her team around the cozy table in Fanuzzi’s dining room for an assortment of sandwiches stuffed with cheese and sausage, eggs and bacon.

  As they munched and sucked down the hot brew from the take out cups, Becker filled Parker in on what he had found.

  “As far as we can tell, sir,” Becker said, “this is the man who abducted June May.”

  “And most likely took Dylan Ward Hughes as well,” Miranda added.

  Parker’s expression was grim but he managed a compliment for his employee. “Excellent work, Detective. Very innovative in your search.”

  Becker’s face flushed. “Thank you, sir. But we still don’t know much about him now. I’m continuing the run.”

  Parker took over the laptop. “You might try expanding the search with this parameter. And narrowing it again with this.”

  Miranda watched Parker’s fingers fly over the keyboard while Becker looked on in amazement.

  Parker pressed the Enter key and set the machine aside. “It will take a while to get any further data.”

  “If there is any,” Holloway said solemnly.

  Miranda swallowed her last mouthful of coffee. “Holloway’s right. This guy seems to be the type to change his identity as often as his underwear.”

  Parker nodded. “Do you have any other tasks for the team right now?”

  She put her chin in her hand. What could they do? Hang out around the train tracks in Kennesaw hoping the guy would return to the scene of the crime? Go from door to door over the entire city? That would be a waste of time. And what if nothing popped in this search?

  “Let’s take a break and let this run for an hour or so.” Maybe that would give her time to come up with something.

  “Sounds good,” Holloway said.

  He was being nice because Parker was here, she surmised.

  They wadded up their wrappers and stuffed them in the bag, stacked up their empty cups. Then they sat in silence staring at the screen. Nobody wanted to leave.

  After a few more minutes Fanuzzi wandered in from the kitchen looking haggard. Her apron was stained and she had a flour smudge on her cheek.

  “I’ve got the onion and goat cheese spread done,” she said to no one in particular. “The sour dough toast and bacon bits will come last. The Tomato-and-Basil salad is done. The wine is chilling. So are the caviar parfaits. And the cheese sticks are warming. I just need to start on the desserts.”

  “Are you doing your beer cheese?” Becker asked.

  Fanuzzi shook her head. “I thought that would be too gauche.” As if on autopilot she reached for the bag of trash.

  “I’ll get that.”

  Becker hopped up, scooped up the bag and the cups and took them to the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a dishrag and began
wiping the table. What a sweetheart.

  “What are you catering?” Miranda asked, leaning back so Becker could get at her crumbs.

  Fanuzzi brushed hair away from her face. “Fundraiser at the governor’s mansion. It’s my biggest gig yet.”

  “Congrats.” Yeah, beer cheese would be too gauche for that crowd.

  “Thanks.” Fanuzzi was too worn out to even crack a grin.

  Miranda turned to Parker. “Did you know about this shindig?”

  He gave her a gentle smile. “I knew it was coming up. Once Evelyn called yesterday I admit I’d forgotten about it.”

  He knew she wouldn’t be disappointed about that.

  A shrill little girl’s voice floated in from down the hall. “Mommy, Charlie’s touching me.”

  Fanuzzi rolled her eyes. “I’m really not in the mood.”

  Becker handed her the dishrag. “I’ll take them outside.” He turned to the group. “Anyone up for some touch football?”

  Holloway rose. “Sounds like a plan.”

  As everyone filed out to the yard, Fanuzzi grabbed Miranda’s arm. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

  “Sure. Go on,” she said to Parker who was waiting at the back door for her. “You need a break, too.”

  He nodded and went out while Miranda sat down at the table again.

  Fanuzzi sank into a chair across from her and stared down at the freshly cleaned wood grain.

  “You look tired,” Miranda told her.

  She ran a hand over her forehead. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

  “Sorry to keep Becker at work so long. And to barge in on you today.”

  “No, I understand. Dave said a little boy is missing?”

  “Yeah. We’re working hard to find him.” Better to spare her the details. Not that she was at liberty to share them.

  Shouts and shrieks came from outside and Fanuzzi turned her head to gaze out the window.

  Holloway’s lanky figure, foam football under one arm, bounded past the swing set while Tommy, Fanuzzi’s nine-year-old, raced after him.

  Miranda longed to be out there with them. It might do her friend good to get some fresh air, too.

  “So what did you want to talk about?”

  More shouts came from the yard, and Fanuzzi watched Becker catch the ball and roll around in the grass laughing.

  She smiled tenderly then closed her eyes and shook her head.

  Miranda was getting worried. “You’re okay, aren’t you? You haven’t been to the doctor and gotten some bad news, have you?”

  “No. Not that way.”

  “What, then?”

  She held up her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I think I’m PG.”

  Miranda blinked. “You’re what?”

  “You never heard the expression?”

  “Not since high school.”

  “It still means the same thing. I think I’m pregnant.”

  Miranda opened her mouth, but she couldn’t even manage a “huh?”

  It was her turn to stare out the window. She watched Parker toss the ball to little Callie and pretend not to be able to catch her as she ran across the goal line.

  “Say something, Murray.”

  She turned her attention back to Fanuzzi, struggling to find her voice. “I—I don’t know what to say. Are you sure?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I’m not sure if I’m sure.”

  Now Miranda did get out a “Huh?”

  Fanuzzi rubbed her hands together. “I did one of those tests from the drugstore.”

  Miranda nodded. “Okay. How did it come out?”

  “Pink. Positive. But they aren’t always accurate, right?”

  How would she know? It had been fifteen years since she’d been pregnant. And she hadn’t dared use one of those things when she’d been with Leon for fear he’d find it. She’d known for sure she was expecting when she was in her third month and started to show. Time was up then and she had to tell Leon.

  She remembered how his face had twisted and turned red. She’d expected to get beaten up bad, maybe even lose the child. But all he’d done was stand there huffing and cursing under his breath, his hands clenching at his sides.

  He’d wanted to hit her, but he didn’t. At the time she’d thought he had some decency. Now she knew he was angry because her rapist hadn’t killed her.

  “Miranda? You okay?” Fanuzzi touched her arm. “You look as white as a ghost.”

  “I’m fine.” She took a deep breath and threw off the old memories.

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “No, I’m glad you told me.” Miranda squeezed her hand.

  Fanuzzi squeezed back. “What am I going to do, Murray? I’m too old to have another kid. We’ve already got three. How are we going to manage?”

  Now she really didn’t know what to say. Becker would be getting a raise because he was on the team, but that was none of her business.

  “It’ll work out. Things like that usually do.” She sounded like an advice columnist.

  Fanuzzi broke into a grin. “Yeah, they do. Don’t they?” She didn’t sound a bit cynical.

  “One thing I know for sure. If you are ‘PG,’” she made quote marks in the air, “Becker’s going to be beside himself.”

  Her smile grew wistful. “Yeah, he will, won’t he? Don’t tell him. Promise?”

  “Scout’s honor.” She raised her hand in a salute.

  Two pregnancy secret promises in as many days. It wouldn’t be easy keeping them. She was longing to tell Fanuzzi about Coco. It would make her feel better. But she’d promised not to.

  She couldn’t believe it. Her two best friends pregnant at the same time. Had the earth shifted off its axis? Or maybe somebody had been practicing some weird fertility rite overtime.

  Before she could decide Parker appeared in the doorway. “Do you mind if I steal her away a moment, Joan?”

  “No. Not at all, Wade. I’ve got to get back to work, anyway.” She gave Miranda’s hand another squeeze. “Thanks, Murray. I feel better.”

  “Call me if you want to talk.”

  “Will do.” She returned to the kitchen and Parker pulled Miranda into the mud room near the back door.

  She could tell from his face something was up.

  “What is it?”

  “I just got a call from Evelyn.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “As far as I know. She insisted we both come to her place at once.”

  This had to be something about the senator’s son. Miranda hoped with all her heart it was good news and not bad. But after the things Becker had dug up on the man from the Ukraine, good news might be too much to hope for.

  “Let’s get going then.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  She stopped in the backyard to tell the team to watch the data run and stick near their phones, then she and Parker headed out to the car.

  Parker drove north on Clarendon through the homey middleclass neighborhoods to Ponce de Leon. There he turned left and took a convoluted route west past strip malls and pawn shops and grocery stores until they turned into a hilly area where the home prices rose to the treetops. He slowed at a spot on Habersham Road just a couple miles south of the Parker mansion where they’d been yesterday.

  Evelyn Parker lived in a smallish mansion of just over eight thousand square feet by Miranda’s estimation. Its walls were a stately off-white sandstone trimmed in a paler white and adorned with columns and Palladian windows and climbing ivy. It had a sort of collegiate air that seemed to match Parker’s first wife more than his sister.

  Evelyn had never invited them over for tea or the like, and Miranda would have loved to get a peek at the inside of her place just to find out more about the woman. But as soon as Parker pulled into the drive, his sister emerged from the majestic front door in her usual business suit and heels, and trotted down the walk to his car.

  Without even a hello, she opened the back door and got inside.
r />   “Drive to the park,” she told him stiffly.

  “Tanyard Creek?”

  “Yes.”

  Miranda felt Parker tense, watched him glance in the mirror at his sister, but he drove off in the park’s direction.

  “What’s going on, Evelyn?”

  She waited until they were around the corner to answer. “I spoke to my handler this morning.”

  “And?”

  “I admitted to him that I’d gotten you involved in the Ward Hughes case.” Evelyn’s voice shook a bit. Very unusual for her. Miranda wondered if her handler had chewed her out good for going to her brother.

  “I told him about the shoeprints you found in the house,” she said. “He wants to meet with you.”

  A ribbon of nerves slithered through Miranda’s stomach. She didn’t say anything. Neither did Parker. They weren’t going to tell Evelyn about the creepy dude who seemed to match the larger shoeprint.

  “He wants to meet in the park?” Parker asked, challenge in his voice.

  “He wants a secluded spot.”

  Parker made a turn and they drove in silence for another mile or so down a long straight road. The homes here were less fancy than in Evelyn’s area but were still up there. They passed some construction and rode over a ribbon of water that Miranda assumed was Tanyard Creek.

  They made another turn and cruised down a shady winding road and around a hairpin turn.

  “In here,” Evelyn said.

  “In the park?”

  “Yes. In the park, Russell. Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”

  Jaw clenching Parker made the turn and pulled the car down into a small sloping lot where only one other vehicle sat. He came to a stop on the pavement under a cluster of oak trees, as far away from the other car as possible.

  “What now?”

  “Now we walk.”

  They got out and headed down a hill to a path that took them into heavier woods.

  The air was warm and smelled of greenery and wildflowers. They ambled along the winding trail past wide patches of grass, under tall maples and pines and oaks. Rocks hugged one side of the path where the ground dropped down into water below. On the other side it rose to a mound covered with ivy and ferns and kudzu, disappearing into thick undergrowth.