by Dwayne Gill
Barkley cruised down 40th Street looking for a small blue house with white shutters. It was her first time working alone since joining the FBI, and though she had plenty of experience from her time with the Florida Highway Patrol, she was nervous.
Hart had left this interview in her hands yesterday after he received a phone call from an ex-cop who claimed to have information about Cane, who refused to see anyone except Barkley. They both found it puzzling but didn’t object. Hart assumed the cop had seen Cane’s sketch, which had been circulating, and while they weren’t keen on following up on every lead that came in, if a cop or former cop said they had information, it was worth looking into. Hart didn’t seem too confident in the quality of the lead, which was why he seemed all too happy to let Barkley handle it. He was also eager to interview Bowman so he and Barkley could move on to other things. The two had caught up on sleep, Hart choosing to drive back to his own home in Virginia to get quality rest. They both flew to their current destinations this morning. In fact, Hart was likely interviewing Bowman this very moment.
Barkley didn’t know Mary Swelling, the former cop, but she thought her name sounded familiar. Maybe Mary only wanted to talk to Barkley because they were both former Florida law enforcement. Swelling had been a cop for over twenty-five years with the Miami-Dade Police Department and spent ten years in the Missing Persons Squad until unexpectedly retiring a year ago.
The blue house was small, one story, maybe twelve hundred square feet. It looked much older than the surrounding homes, and the yard wasn’t in the best condition. Barkley wondered if Mary’s neighbors complained about her lawn; her house and property stood out like a sore thumb. Dead and dying plants hung on the front porch. Barkley felt like she was driving up to a deceased person’s home.
Mary Swelling was waiting at the door when Barkley drove up looking like she just woke up. Her brown hair, speckled with gray, was tousled wildly, and she wore only a bathrobe. Her face looked worn and tired, but she wasn’t an unattractive woman; she just appeared to be going through a rough time and had let herself go. She smiled as Barkley exited her rental car and opened the door for her as she approached. Barkley wondered what her house looked like inside; she even feared it might stink.
“Come in; I’ll fix you some coffee,” said Swelling.
Barkley smiled. “No thanks. I’ll have tea, though, if you have it.”
“Of course,” said Swelling.
Barkley stepped inside and was surprised to see it wasn’t in bad condition. Maybe she hates the outside. Swelling directed her to the living room sofa and Barkley sat. Her house was tidy, nothing fancy, but well put together and welcoming. Once Swelling returned with the tea, she sat on the love seat adjacent to the sofa.
“Nice house you have here,” said Barkley. “I love the neighborhood.”
“I’ve lived here for over thirty years,“ said Swelling. “Jack built this house himself.”
Barkley sipped her tea and waited for her to explain further, but it didn’t happen. “Jack. Is that your husband?”
“Yes. He passed away over ten years ago,” said Swelling.
“I’m sorry,” said Barkley.
Mary smiled. “No, don’t be. He was a good man. I miss him every day, but it seems like a lifetime ago.”
Barkley didn’t know how to respond, so she thought she’d change the subject to what she came all this way for. “So, did you say you had information regarding Cane?” she asked.
Mary flinched when Barkley said his name. “Yes, I do,” she said.
“Did you call because of the sketch?” asked Barkley.
Mary looked surprised. “What sketch?”
Confused, Barkley set her tea down on the coffee table and sat up straight. “Why’d you call and request me, Mrs. Swelling?”
Mary shifted in her seat, visibly uncomfortable. She took a sip of coffee and put her cup down, harder than she intended, and some coffee sloshed over the side. She rubbed her eyes and left her head buried in her hands for a few moments before finally looking up. “I received a message from someone that knew about my and Cane’s past. It freaked me out. I did what the message told me to. The lady said it was important.”
“What lady?” asked Barkley.
Mary leaned down and picked up a device that had been lying on the floor next to the love seat. “The lady on this cassette.”
Barkley grabbed the device and examined it; she’d never seen a small cassette player before. “Can I play it?” she asked.
“I don’t care,” said Swelling. “But I’d rather keep this between the two of us.”
Barkley nodded and pressed play.
Mrs. Swelling, you don’t know me, nor have you ever met me before.
I am a friend of Cane’s, and you knew him as well. In fact, you are keenly aware of the skills he possesses; skills that saved Tina. I know your past is hard to talk about and something you’ve been trying to avoid. But I need your help, and Cane needs it too. We all need it.
You must do something for me. Contact FBI Agent Ellen Barkley and refuse to speak to anyone besides her. When you talk to her, tell her about your past with Cane and show her the envelope.
This is more important than you know. The fate of every child in the country rests on your decision, Mrs. Swelling. Please make the right choice.
Barkley was sitting with her mouth open; maybe this wouldn’t be a wasted visit after all. She looked at Mary, who once again held her head in her hands, and waited until she looked up.
“Where’d you get this?” asked Barkley.
“I found it by my front door yesterday, thirty minutes before I called.”
“It’s true? You and Cane have a past?”
Mary nodded. “Yes. We do.” She moved to pick up her cup of coffee but reconsidered, leaned back, and sighed. “I headed the MP Squad in Miami, which has had the highest kidnapping rate in the country since 2020. There are so few good days doing that job, so many bad days. Days you go to bed and wonder how people can be so evil. The movies and TV shows give people the impression that most missing children are found. But the movies only depict the rare cases that the kids are okay. The show ends with the child reuniting with the parents and family, and everyone’s smiling, happy.
“In reality, someone in the family is usually responsible for the disappearance. In most cases, if someone finds a kid, it’s after they’re dead.
“You do the same thing every day; you get up, get dressed, work the cases, deliver bad news, see dead kids, and go to bed, only to do it all the next day again. I did this for ten years.”
Barkley was waiting for her to get to some revelation of how Cane fit into this, but she could see the hurt on the woman’s face and realized she was working herself up to it. Barkley imagined at one time Swelling was a young cop with optimism. She likely thought she could make a difference and save missing children. The ugly reality looked like it had sucked all the life out of her through the years.
“The sad part about these cases is that most of the time we find out later that someone we questioned was involved or possessed knowledge that would’ve made a big difference in the investigation. An uncle that knew of the abuse, or maybe a cousin that saw his father abuse the missing child, or even someone that witnessed the actual abduction. And then there are the ones you know are guilty. They give you that knowing look; the look that says, ‘I did it, you know I did it, but you can’t prove it.’ It was maddening.”
Swelling looked on the verge of tears, and Barkley didn’t know what to do. “Take your time,” said Barkley.
“Kids were my life,” said Swelling. “I couldn’t have children of my own, so I dedicated my life to helping them. But I was failing, miserably, and I felt like our own justice system was failing too. I would’ve given my life to save one of those precious children.”
Barkley sensed her sincerity and smiled. “I’m sure you can hold on to the memory of the ones you helped, though. Right?”
“Yes,” said Swelli
ng. “I saved the articles on all the ones I saved. They’re on my phone, and sometimes I look through them.”
Having shared her emotions, Swelling switched gears. “There was a man that approached me a few years ago. You may know him. His name is Quinton Mason.”
Barkley, along with most people that ever lived in Florida, knew him. He was one of the wealthiest men in the state and was known for having his hand in everything that happened in Miami. He owned a lot of nightclubs and restaurants in the area, was well-respected, but was also known to bend the rules occasionally.
“He offered his help,” said Swelling. “I had known him to help cops in the past, so I wasn’t about to refuse. He said I should look him up the next time I had a hard case. ‘It may surprise you how helpful I can be.’ That‘s what he told me.
“I didn’t take his offer seriously until I had an actual hard case. It was a case going nowhere, so I figured I had nothing to lose. I contacted Mason, and he asked me for all the details I could give him. The next day I got a call; someone found the missing kid alive. Later I confronted Quinton about it, but he said, ‘I looked into it, but no luck. I’m sorry I couldn’t help. But I’m telling you, contact me next time. I’m sure I’ll be able to help.’
“I didn’t know what to think, so I contacted him again the next time, with the same results. He again denied any involvement. This went on for some time. Kids kept getting saved, so I kept calling. I knew it was Quinton; there was no doubt in my mind.”
Mary paused and took a deep breath. “After a while, I noticed a trend developing. Persons of interest sometimes were a little roughed up. At first I thought nothing of it, but after it happened enough times, I knew there was some kind of correlation. Later, some came forward claiming they had been interrogated or assaulted. They even described the guy and sketches were made. I was so relieved when the drawings looked nothing like Quinton Mason, but I still knew something wasn’t right.
“And then there was the incident,” said Swelling. “The one that changed everything. I’m sure you remember the case. It was while you were with the highway patrol. The case involving Tina Rogers?”
Barkley remembered the case well, and now she knew why Mary’s name sounded so familiar. Tina Rogers was a ten-year-old girl found in a house of horrors, a case that had been cold for over five years at the time. Barkley nodded, afraid of what was coming next.
“I worked the case when Tina first went missing,” said Swelling. “That girl just vanished off the face of the planet. No one thought she was alive, and no one had worked the case for over three years. In most cases like hers, the only break you’re gonna get is someone stumbling over the body. It’s over.
“But that didn’t seem to matter to my vigilante. He was now moving beyond our agreement. And he solved this one, that’s for sure.”
Barkley recalled the brutal scene at the home. Tina’s abductors turned out to be a family: a man, his wife, their adult son, among others. They’d held the poor girl captive in terrible conditions since she’d gone missing. The police responded to a disturbance and found the sadistic family slaughtered and Tina safe and sound.
“After that,” said Swelling, “I went to Mason and demanded answers. Now the guy was killing people. Yes, they were bad people, but I didn’t sign up for that. If someone found out I had been recruiting Quinton and his vigilante to help, I could be in real trouble. Quinton tried to lie again, but I wasn’t having it. He finally came clean, kind of, and admitted that some guy had approached him and paid him to secure jobs like these. It made no sense. I demanded to meet the guy. I don’t know why I felt so compelled to see him, but I felt like I needed to.”
Barkley could sense where this was headed, and she felt a rush of excitement. “You met him?”
“Not right away,” said Swelling. “He came to my house a week later, showed up out of nowhere. He was so frightening. The way he looked, how he carried himself, everything about him.
“He admitted being the one behind the solved cases. He said virtually every case had someone that knew something, either about the victim or the actual perpetrator. Getting the person to spill this information was the challenge and could only be accomplished his way. That’s where all the beat-up men came from. I asked him about the Tina Rogers case. He said it was personal to him. He said he’d seen a girl held captive by a madman before and knew what it did to her, and he wouldn’t let it happen again.”
Mary reached for a bag lying on the floor and removed some folded papers. “I was angry with him. He had no right to take someone’s life, and I felt responsible. I didn’t know what to do. But then I got a letter from Tina a few weeks after he rescued her, and after I read what that baby had been through, I couldn’t be upset with Cane anymore.”
“How did you know his name was Cane?” asked Barkley.
“That’s the thing. I didn’t. I never asked him his name to his face. Quinton didn’t tell me, either. This girl did, though, in her letter. She was defending him. Tina didn’t tell the authorities his name and never gave much of a description of Cane, but when I got that letter it made me realize how much she was covering for him.
“Tina spoke of him like a knight in shining armor, and I can imagine how she must’ve felt to see him rush in to save her. I figured if this little girl, who saw it all unfold, didn’t see Cane as a monster, then I shouldn’t either.”
“You quit after that, right?” asked Barkley.
“Yes,” said Mary. “I felt like it was time. I still felt bad about what I did, even if I had pure intentions. I was still out of line. So I retired early.”
Something didn’t seem right to Barkley. “You kept the note from Tina and showed no one?”
Mary smiled. “Yes, I kept it to myself. I also took the sketches of Cane and hid them. So many years I spent being loyal to my job, to the badge. It tired me. I made sure no one ever bothered him.”
Barkley couldn’t shake a strange feeling she was having; there was something so familiar about Cane, and another incident kept flashing through her mind throughout their conversation. What she was considering was crazy, but there was a way she could check to see if her hypothesis was plausible.
“Do you still have those sketches of Cane?” asked Barkley.
Mary nodded. “Right here in this envelope the lady told me to give you.”
◆◆◆
Sunday, 9/10/2028, 12:30 p.m.
Clarksville, Tennessee
Dennis Bowman lived in a rural home outside Nashville. Hart had called him before flying out to make sure he would be home, and Bowman assured him he didn’t get out much. Now Hart sat in Bowman’s cozy living room across from him, the man who had both handed him twenty of the trainees from Red Delta and shielded the man Hart coveted most. Bowman wasn’t intimidated by Hart or any other government official; he had always carried himself with a bold immunity from authority since the fall of his cherished program, almost with an innate knowledge that no one could touch him. This was almost entirely accurate; the FBI agreed not to pursue any charges for his role in the program if he cooperated, and he did, mostly. His role in the missions leading to the program’s demise was nonexistent, anyway. He had walked away when Red Delta strayed off its intended path.
Now Bowman sat there with a faint smile, almost amused by Hart’s presence.
“You know why I’m here?” Hart asked.
“I could give an educated guess,” said Bowman.
Hart could already tell this would not go well. “Bowman, I’ve always respected you. I think you stepping down from Red Delta showed your character. You helped me bring the other trainees in. But Cane, who’s the guiltiest of them all, you’ve refused to help with. Need I remind you, Captain, he executed an American citizen and his two children in cold blood? Why are you protecting him?”
Bowman’s smile never faltered. He looked at Hart as if he had been expecting Hart to say precisely what he did. “Do you know why Red Delta existed?”
“I know why th
ey said it existed,” said Hart. “But I think they deviated from that. And you thought so too.”
Bowman’s smile settled into a knowing grin. “Red Delta was Cane’s program,” he said. “It wasn’t about twenty-two trainees. It was about one. I’m sure you are well aware that Cane was the best in the program.”
“I’ve heard it for four years now,” said Hart. He may have rolled his eyes, but he’d heard this said about Cane so often, it wore on him.
“Deservedly so,” said Bowman. “But it’s not entirely accurate. He wasn’t only the best. He was more valuable than the other twenty-one combined. Cane was irreplaceable.” Bowman thought for a moment. “Let’s put it this way. If the government could’ve produced one Cane out of every twenty-two boys they trained, they would have sprouted up hundreds of these programs all over the country.”
Babies being taken en masse to training facilities was an unpleasant thought to Hart. “I don’t care how good he is,” said Hart. “I expect someone wielding that power to make the correct decision in the situation, but he didn’t. Whether he was just following orders, it doesn’t matter. He should’ve disobeyed the order.”
“So now you’re hunting him again?” asked Bowman. “Do you really think you’ll find him?”
Hart didn’t think he would, not in the slightest. The only way he had a chance, in his opinion, was if Bowman helped, and that seemed like a long shot. However, he hadn’t made his pitch yet.
“What if I told you we want his help?” said Hart. The words sounded unbelievable coming out of his own mouth, and it didn’t surprise him when Bowman chuckled.
“His help?” asked Bowman, who looked amused. “You want his help?”
“Well, no, actually I don’t,” said Hart. “I’d prefer putting a bullet in his head if I saw him. It’s Foster that wants his help.”
Bowman was beaming. “His help with what?”
“Finding the men who the marked men take orders from,” said Hart.