He hung up and looked out the window.
It wasn’t his mom. Two cars, both big and black, and Ricky almost picked up the phone to call the police, but he froze when he saw a bunch of men get out of the cars. Four men. Three were big, and one was short and had wide shoulders and a mustache that was too big for his face. One of the tall, skinny guys looked familiar, but Ricky didn’t know why. His mom worked with a lot of people and Ricky didn’t pay attention to them when they came over, mostly because he was always sent out of the room.
Did they have a meeting or something with his mom? The short one took keys from his pocket. They looked like his dad’s keys. That was superweird.
The men walked up to the porch and put the key in the dead bolt and Ricky didn’t have time to call the police. He didn’t know what was going on, but in the back of his head he screamed, Hide!
If he ran upstairs, they might hear.
Maybe they aren’t bad guys.
His mother always said his imagination was bigger than the Star Wars universe, which didn’t make sense to him, other than he got in trouble for exaggerations both at school and at home. But why did they have his dad’s keys? Who were they? Where were his parents? His sisters? Why were they coming into the house without knocking?
He decided to hide until they left, then he’d call the police. His dad had a gun safe in his closet, but Ricky didn’t know the combination. His dad said that when he was fourteen and went through a firearms safety class he could have the combo, but right now Ricky wished he had it. He knew how to shoot a rifle because they went out back, in the open space, and shot at bottles.
Hide!
He walked fast down the hall toward his mom’s office. She had a really neat office, a library she called it, with lots of books and it’s where she had meetings and worked at night. As he neared the door, he heard the front door open and one of the men said, “You two—go upstairs and grab suitcases, toiletries, whatever people travel with. Don’t make a mess. I need to find those damn deeds. This is fucked.”
What?
Ricky didn’t go into his mom’s office—there wasn’t a closet or anything to hide in—but he turned across from the office into the bathroom and closed the door, not all the way, because he didn’t want them to hear the latch. There was a linen closet in the bathroom and he crawled down, curling into a tight ball on the floor. He couldn’t get the door completely closed, but the light wasn’t on and unless someone was looking for him, he didn’t think anyone could see him.
Please please please.
He hugged his knees to stop shaking.
The short man who was doing most of the talking went directly to his mother’s office. Ricky couldn’t hear everything he said, but he caught enough to scare him.
“It’ll look like they left. With the messages Denise was sending, it’s clear the bitch was thinking about it.”
“What if someone finds out?”
That voice sounded familiar. Why? Did he know these people? He’d only seen the short guy with the mustache outside, and he’d never seen him before, but this voice … tall, skinny … Ricky couldn’t place it. But he’d heard it. Maybe on the phone with his mom. Then why had the guy looked familiar?
“Then we’re fucked. There’s too much money at stake and I’m sure as hell not going to prison. You know what they do to cops in prison? Well, that’s no fucking lie.”
A cop? This was a policeman? Going through his mother’s office?
They talked more, but Ricky couldn’t make it out until the familiar voice said, “What about the little kid? You can’t be serious about hunting him down. He’s a kid. No one was supposed to die.”
Ricky froze. He didn’t dare breathe.
“Don’t get cold feet now. You know what Denise planned to do. You said you’d take care of it, but you didn’t.”
“Look, she wasn’t going to go to the police. She was just freaked. She was going to leave the country, not talk to anyone!”
“But she didn’t leave when she was supposed to! You know what that tells me? Her husband talked her out of it. If she actually talked to the DA, she would have spilled everything. Is that what you want? Do you want to go to prison? Do you want to lose everything that we’ve built? I’m sorry it went down the way it did, but it’s almost over. We lay low, everything will work out.”
“But Ricky…”
They knew his name. They knew his name and they hurt his mom and dad and were going to hurt him.
“Look, the kid doesn’t know shit, I have no reason to go after him. He went to some friend’s house after school. Probably a sleepover. When he turns up the police might think his family left without him, might not—doesn’t really matter because they’ll never find them. It would have been better if you could have convinced Denise to really run, but when she balked, you know this was the only way. And the Escalade is on its way to Mexico as we speak, and it wouldn’t be the first time a family abandoned a kid. I have it covered. Hot damn, this is it!” Silence, flipping of papers, then: “Shred everything else, destroy her hard drive—it’ll look like Denise did it before fleeing. I got what we need.”
The other guy was mumbling and Ricky couldn’t hear what he said.
“Get that damn sour look off your face. They didn’t suffer. It was quick and painless, okay? But we have to go—finish this, five minutes.”
The shredder cut, but there was no talking. Two men were walking upstairs.
Ricky didn’t know what to do. His family … was dead?
He blinked back hot tears.
Maybe they went to Mexico …
No, they didn’t. The men in his house killed them and Ricky would be dead, too, if he had come home after school. As soon as they left, he’d call the police …
That man is a policeman.
A short man with a dark mustache. Probably a hundred cops who looked just like him. Would he be able to tell him from a bunch of cops? And what if they were all cops here? Who could he trust if the police were bad guys?
He missed his mom and dad so much. He didn’t want to think about them being gone … and maybe he got it wrong. He could wait here, they might come back, right?
Or the bad guys could come back. And you don’t know who is good and who is bad.
He waited long after the men had left. Until silence echoed in the house. Then he waited longer. By the time he climbed out of the closet, it was dark, but he didn’t dare turn on a light. What if someone was watching? What if they were waiting for him?
He went upstairs and realized that the men had taken his duffel bag and some of his clothes. He dumped all his schoolbooks on his desk and filled his backpack with anything he might need, then went to his parents’ room.
That’s when the tears fell.
They were really gone.
He took the money out of his mom’s jewelry box, her “fun money,” she said. A couple hundred dollars. He would need to go to the police, but not here. He’d think about what to do, who to talk to.
For now … he had one place he could stay and be safe.
And hoped that no one found him until he figured out who he could trust.
Chapter Five
The high school principal Anita Vargas didn’t tell Lucy and Nate anything they didn’t already know: Glen Albright had taught in the school district for nearly twenty years, the last fifteen at the high school. He’d been popular among both staff and students. He hadn’t told anyone they were leaving town, didn’t request a substitute, and appeared to be devoted to his wife and family. Vargas had been shocked when the police told her his wife had embezzled from a client and left the country.
The older daughter, Tori, had been a popular student, received mostly Bs and Cs from her teachers, and had been known to cut class on occasion. But even though she wasn’t a strong student, the teachers liked her because she was outgoing and friendly and exuded school spirit. She was active in the drama club and had just been cast as the lead in the winter play when she disappe
ared.
Becky was far more studious, a straight-A honors student. In addition, she had made the varsity volleyball team as a freshman. She wasn’t as outgoing as her sister but was far more disciplined in her work.
All in all, the visit to the school had been mostly a bust, though they confirmed the information in the file, talked to Becky’s best friend—who hadn’t heard from her since she walked out of volleyball practice the Friday afternoon they disappeared.
That tidbit hadn’t been in the police reports—that Becky had dressed for volleyball, but her sister came in and said they had to go, that there was a family issue. That was the word she used—issue, not emergency.
“I tried calling Becky that night, but she didn’t answer her cell phone,” her best friend, CeCe, had said. “I tried again on Saturday like a half-dozen times, and Sunday, and when she didn’t come to school on Monday I knew something was wrong. I knew she was … well, that something was very, very wrong.”
CeCe didn’t have any other information; Becky hadn’t told her that they were going on a trip and had been making plans for the weekend before she left that Friday. Nothing was out of the ordinary … until Becky didn’t answer her phone.
After the school, Nate and Lucy checked in with Ash at the Albright house. The cadaver dogs had found nothing—which was good, Lucy thought, though Ash seemed heartbroken. He didn’t believe that the boy was alive, and he felt that he’d missed something. He was going to return the following day with the dogs and go over the entire area between the Young house and the Albright house.
By the time they were done, it was after five, and Nate drove back to the Young house.
The father, JJ Young, answered the door before Nate knocked. He was a tall, muscular man in his early forties with a military-style haircut and an elaborate tattoo on his right arm, partly visible under his short sleeve.
He stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “Jill called me and I came home early. Said you wanted to talk to our kids. Before I let you, I’m laying down some ground rules.”
“Of course,” Lucy said, then introduced herself and Nate.
“Sir,” Nate said as they shook hands.
JJ said, “Jill told me what you said. I need to know if Ricky is dead. He and the twins have been friends since the day we moved here, and if he’s dead, I need to tell them first.”
“We don’t know,” Lucy said. “That’s why it’s so important that we retrace his steps the day his family disappeared.”
“Are you sure those bones that were dug up are the Albrights?”
“Yes,” Lucy said. “FBI confirmed through DNA evidence. Denise, Glen, Tori, and Becky.”
“Not Ricky.”
“No. We brought in cadaver dogs to search the area near both the gravesite and the Albright house, but he hasn’t been found, and now we’re concerned about where he might be. Your family is the last to have seen Ricky before he went missing. Ricky might have said something to them. Reached out to them in some way—a text message maybe, or a note.”
“They didn’t have phones three years ago. They were only nine.” He ran his hand over his head and glanced toward the house. “You don’t talk to my kids without either me or my wife present, understand? Not now, not ever.”
Lucy nodded. “Of course we’ll respect your wishes.”
“And I’m telling them about the Albrights. They don’t need to hear it from strangers. So no questions until I say, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Nate said.
JJ continued, but his voice quivered with restrained emotion. “My kids are smart and I don’t sugarcoat the truth around them, but they don’t need to know details, okay?”
Lucy and Nate concurred. Then Lucy said, “Before we go in, your wife said that a detective came to talk to you the week after the Albrights disappeared.”
“Yes. Actually, twice. The first was that Monday—Glen hadn’t shown up at work, and Ricky wasn’t at school and Ricky’s teacher said he went home with Joe and Ginny. The kids and Jill weren’t home, but I confirmed that Ricky left at six—that’s what Jill had told me. The detectives returned later in the week—I believe Thursday, maybe Friday—with more questions and a hostile attitude. It was right after dinner. They wanted to know the last time we’d seen the family, if they said anything about a vacation, if we’d heard from Ricky.”
“Did they tell you that they believed the Albrights had left the country?”
“I pushed because I don’t particularly like anyone who comes in and demands anything from me, especially at the dinner hour. I missed too many dinners with my family when I served, I don’t miss many now. I didn’t like their attitude, and the way they talked to my son Joe was uncalled for.”
“How so?”
“They accused him of lying, said that he had to tell the truth or he’d be committing a crime.”
“Truth about what?”
“If he’d seen Ricky over the weekend. He said no, and he had no reason to lie, but the cop treated Joe as if he was. He was nine, dammit. My kids don’t lie, I don’t condone it, and they know better. I didn’t like the cop accusing him. They said there was evidence the family had gone to Mexico and that Denise was under suspicion of embezzling from her employer. I didn’t believe it, but they showed me a photo of their car crossing the border, and said if we heard from any of them—parents or kids—to call them. Then there was an article in the paper a week or so later about how Kiefer Brothers lost millions to embezzlement, lost a major government contract, and were on the verge of bankruptcy. Think they did go under, if I recall.”
“Did you ever hear from anyone in the family?”
“No.”
Nate said, “We promise to treat your kids with respect, sir.”
JJ looked at them both, then nodded. “If I say stop, you stop, agreed?”
“Yes, sir.”
He let them into the house. Jill offered them something to drink, but they declined. “Sit, please, ma’am,” Nate said.
“I’m fine, really,” she said, but sank into a chair at the dining table.
JJ left out the back door and called for the kids. Jill said, “JJ built a tree house back when they were little, and they practically live out there, even now that they’re almost thirteen.”
They ran in a moment later, grabbing water on their way to the dining room. Joe and Ginny were the same height and could have been clones, except that Ginny had long curly dark hair and Joe’s was cut very short. They both had dark, inquisitive eyes and a smattering of freckles over their skin. According to the file, they were the same age as Ricky Albright, therefore twelve going on thirteen.
They stopped when they saw Lucy and Nate at the dining table.
“Come sit,” JJ said, entering behind them. He waited until his kids were settled and he sat across from them.
“This is Agent Dunning and Agent Kincaid from the FBI. They have some questions for you, but first I need to tell you something.” He waited until both kids looked at him. “Remember the news report about skeletons that had been found south of Kerrville?”
They nodded.
“Those skeletons were Ricky’s parents and sisters. They were killed three years ago. They didn’t run off to Mexico like we were told, but something bad happened to them.” He looked at his kids as if reading their expressions and nodded. “I know it’s hard to hear this, but you’re both brave. And if you have questions after, you can ask me or your mom anything, okay?”
They nodded.
“Now, these two FBI agents have some questions about the last time you saw Ricky.”
“Is he—?” Joe asked, his voice barely audible.
“They don’t know if Ricky is alive,” JJ said, “but they are doing everything they can to find out if he is and, if so, where he is. He might know something of what happened to his family, or he could be in trouble. Or, to be honest with you both, he might be dead, too. We don’t know.” He looked at them. “You okay?”
Both Joe an
d Ginny blinked back tears but nodded at their dad.
“I know I don’t have to tell you this, but I expect complete honesty here. This is important.”
“Yes, sir,” Joe said, sitting straight and trying not to cry. Ginny stared at her hands, folded on the table in front of her.
Lucy said, “Let me tell you what we know already, and you can fill in any holes, okay? The police were here a few days after the Albrights disappeared. You said that Ricky had left about six p.m. to go home. It was Friday. Your mom called over to the house and left a message on the answering machine that he was on his way home. You also said you didn’t see him after that, correct?”
They both nodded.
“Did Ricky say anything to you either that day or any other day about his parents leaving town? Was Ricky worried about anything?”
Joe stared at her. “Like what?”
“Anything,” Lucy said. “I was the youngest of seven kids, and no one told me anything, but I was a good listener. I picked up on a lot of stuff going on in my house, like when my sister broke curfew or when my dad decided to retire, long before anyone else knew he planned on retiring. Because I listened and was very quiet. And I told my best friend Justin everything, especially when I was worried about something—like my dad retiring—I would talk to him about it first. You and Ricky were best friends, right?”
“Yes,” Joe said. “Since first grade. The three of us. The Three Musketeers. I miss him a lot. We both do.”
Ginny nodded her agreement.
“Did Ricky share anything with you that he might have been worried about?”
They still didn’t say anything.
“You’re not going to get him or anyone in trouble. I promise. But someone hurt his family, and we want to find that person.” Or people. “Anything Ricky shared with you is important, because part of a police investigation is gathering information, as much information as possible, to piece together the truth.”
Cut and Run Page 5