by Ed James
“Thanks, sir.” Carter walked off, getting out his cell and dialing Tyler’s number. “Peterson, we’re at Tony Smith’s apartment now. He hasn’t been sighted in months. Have you got anything on his whereabouts?”
“Sir, SAC Nguyen gave me strict instructions not to speak to you.”
“Did she? Well, just pretend I’m Elisha, okay?”
“Right. Well, there’s nada. Tried all variations of his name. Smith with an I and a Y. Anthony, Antonio, you name it. Getting a lot of hits, sure, but no sports coaches. Not even a teacher.”
“Can you contact the Minneapolis Field Office and get some agents out looking for him? It’s possible he might’ve returned home. Call me if you get any kickback from them. And check his bank records, cell phone, yada, yada.”
“Sure thing, sir.”
“Okay, Peterson. Thanks.” Carter killed the call and leaned back against his SUV. “I don’t like this. You know, I could almost buy Jacob dying and Faraj disappearing on the same day.”
Elisha flicked up her eyebrows. “But?”
Carter waved a hand at the condo block. “Add in Jacob’s sports coach going missing, the only witness to his death? I’m starting to think Mason Wickstrom might be onto something.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t bring you any closer to finding Avery, though.”
“No, no it doesn’t.” Carter tried to run through the options. Time was running out, every second that passed was one where they didn’t have Avery.
“So, Max, why is Nguyen telling Tyler to not speak to you?”
“Beats me.” Carter started flicking through the mail. Mostly generic junk, the lifeblood of capitalism. “You said there were two witnesses who said Faraj was at the school. The coach and the principal, right?”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Carter
Carter got out of the SUV just as the rain started again. Heavy, like cannonballs coming out of the sky. His phone blared out. Tyler. He answered the call, facing away from Elisha. “Agent Peterson, what have you got for me?”
“Better be quick, SAC Nguyen’s here.”
“I’m listening.”
“Sir, I’ve gotten a hold of Tony Smith’s credit card and banking details. Balances all look okay to me. Only thing is, his address changed to a place in Minneapolis. Looks like his folks’ place.”
Slowly clicking into place.
“So I spoke to the Minneapolis Field Office like you asked, and they just matched the MisPer info his parents raised to a John Doe found in Duluth, place north of Minneapolis. Suicide, sir.” Tyler was typing in the background. “Overdose of prescription fentanyl. The agent said it was how Prince died.”
“Anything suspicious about it?”
“Said it looks genuine. Guy probably feels guilty over what happened here, a kid dying in his care like that. The horror must’ve been too much.”
“If you can look at the records for me, it’d take a weight off my shoulders.”
“Sure thing, sir. Oh, and the cell phone records? Still waiting on that. A few extra steps to jump through. But we’ll get there.”
“Okay, thanks. Keep me posted.” Carter killed the call and frowned at Elisha. “Suicide. Found his body in Duluth.”
“So he cleared out his Seattle apartment only to then kill himself in Duluth?” She shook her head. “I’ve seen stranger things, but not many.”
“You’re catching me up.” Carter headed for the address they had for the school principal. A mid-range Victorian, best house in a bad street. A light shone in a room to the right where a man sat behind a desk, thumping at the keys on an antique typewriter. His movie-star blond hair didn’t suit his face, wrinkled and wizened. He looked over when Carter pressed the doorbell.
Seconds later, the door opened. The man looked up at them and folded his arms across his chest. “Can I help you?” A real East Coast accent, somewhere between Brooklyn and Boston.
“FBI.” Elisha showed her credentials. “Looking for a David Quiroga.”
“That’s me.” He didn’t offer a hand, though. “I remember you. What’s happened?”
“We need a word, sir. Can we come in?”
“Sure.” Quiroga opened the front door wide and shuffled down a long hallway, into the room with the typewriter. A home office, filled with wooden furniture, some potted plants up high, their leaves drooping to the floor like jungle vines. He sat behind the desk and slammed a laptop lid. Not that there was anywhere for Carter or Elisha to sit. “So, what do you want?”
Elisha leaned against the counter. “We’re with the Child Abduction Rapid Deployment team, and we’re searching for a girl who was kidnapped this morning.”
“Oh man. The senator’s kid. I saw that on the news.” Quiroga frowned at her. “Why do you want to speak to me?”
“Our lead suspect is very interested in a military exercise that happened at your school on October second.”
“Day from hell, man.” Quiroga arched an eyebrow. “I taught for twelve years, then been principal for seven, and in all that time, I’ve never seen kids so excited. Real-life soldiers running all over the place, taking them from their classes, getting them out to safety. The amount of paperwork I had, and the grief from the parents? Man…”
“Anything unusual happen?”
“That exercise passed without incident. Slick. I received a commendation from the governor. Shook his hand, you know?”
Carter held his gaze for a few seconds, trying to figure out if he was lying or just nervous at two federal agents showing up at his door. He held out his service smartphone. “Do you recognize this man?”
Quiroga took one look then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Mason Wickstrom, right? His son was a student at the school.”
“I understand Mr. Wickstrom’s son died that day?”
“Heart failure during soccer practice. Saddest thing I ever had to deal with.”
“Same day as the military exercise?”
“Before. I shoulda cancelled it, but if the commies are rolling tanks towards you, you don’t get to cancel that, do you?”
“We’ve tried speaking to the sports coach who was running the soccer practice.”
“Ah, good luck with that.” Quiroga frowned. “Tony took sick leave. The guilt, you know? Left town. I haven’t heard from him since.”
The story was checking out. Kind of.
“You ever speak to Mr. Wickstrom about what he believes happened?”
A bead of sweat ran down Quiroga’s forehead. The room was bitterly cold. He frowned at Carter. His eyes bulged. “Oh my god! Did he kidnap those kids?”
“I can’t comment on that, sir.”
“Listen to me, I don’t know what you think you know, but Mason Wickstrom’s mind has been poisoned by conspiracies and what happened to his poor, dear wife.” He snorted. “I attended his boy’s funeral, offered my sympathies, which he and his wife seemed to accept, but…” Another snort. “He came in not too long after and… Something had changed in him. He kept asking about what happened. I told him the truth. Jacob died while he was warming up for soccer.”
“Did he believe you?”
“A guy like that, it’s not about believing you, know what I’m saying? They’ve got their opinions, which they think are as strong as my facts.” Quiroga wiped a second bead of sweat away. “The problem is that Mr. Wickstrom has put two and two together and got, I don’t know, fifty-seven billion. I mean, he connected his boy’s death with Faraj disappearing.”
“Faraj al-Yasin?”
“You know any other kids with that name? Good kid. Quiet, but real smart.” Quiroga shook his head. “You feds looked into it, said they thought he ran away. Parental abduction. The boy’s own father now living somewhere in the Middle East. What a world, man. What a world.”
“Mr. Wickstrom thought those two events happening so close together was suspicious, right?”
“Listen to me.” Quiroga was on his feet now, squaring up like he was going to fight b
oth of them. “I lost two boys that day. I only ever lost one kid in all my time, then two in one day. You know how hard that was to take? I had FBI agents all over my school, cops crawling all over my stuff. In my home, at my parents’ home back in Maine. Thought I was involved or something. Week from hell, man. Week from hell. Kid was at school all day, then afterwards, he just vanished and I don’t know what happened.”
Carter held his gaze. What was he covering up? Anything? Everything? Nothing?
His phone rang again. Tyler’s number. “Back in a second.” He stepped out of the room. “Peterson, what’s up?”
“Sir, I’ve got the autopsy report for Tony Smith. Weirdest thing. He died on June twenty-ninth.”
Carter gasped. “A week before his apartment was cleared out.”
“Right.” Tyler sighed down the line. “And I’ve got the cell phone records. Mostly calling for pizzas, occasional chat with a buddy back in Seattle. Only thing is, the day before Smith died, he exchanged a bunch of calls and texts with a David Quiroga.”
Carter swallowed. He looked back in the home office. Quiroga was shuffling through a file cabinet, facing away from the door.
It didn’t fit together in any nice way. Coupled with the timing, it made Quiroga look like he’d covered up what happened, or at least been involved.
“Dig deep into Quiroga for me, Tyler. Okay?”
“Sure thi—”
Carter put his cell away and stepped back into the room.
Quiroga was riffling through some paperwork. “I’m sure it’s here, somewhere.”
Elisha frowned at Carter.
Carter held up his hand to silence her, then raised his gun to point at Quiroga. “Need you to come down to the FBI Field Office, sir, to answer a few questions.”
Quiroga stopped what he was doing and let out a deep sigh. “What about?”
“I think you know.”
Quiroga nodded slowly, then turned around, holding a revolver in his left hand.
“Drop it.” Carter stepped closer, training his pistol on Quiroga’s center mass. “I said, drop it!”
“This isn’t my fault.” In a flash, Quiroga put the gun to his own head and fired.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Holliday
Holliday let go of Mason’s throat and stood up tall again.
So tempting to just squeeze and squeeze until he died, until this was all over.
But it wouldn’t be. It’d never be over. Not if I crossed the line and became one of them.
And not while they still have Avery.
“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t just kill you.”
Mason stared up at Holliday, looking pathetic, like a kitten pleading to be fed. The light was low in the bedroom, but Holliday could still see the cuts on Mason’s face, the bruises starting to form. He didn’t speak, didn’t have a defense.
“You abducted my son and my daughter.” Holliday had Mason’s gun now, casually waving it at him. As he had assumed, there was only one bullet left. He’d have to make it count. “What happened to Brandon, that’s on you. I should kill you. Right here, right now.”
“Let me pay it back to you.” Mason was more like a worm now, crawling in his own filth. Blood dripped from both cheeks, caking his neck. The flesh wound on his arm was open to the air. “I can help you find her. Take me with you. I can help.”
“The only place you should go is a hospital. But you don’t deserve that.” Holliday trained the revolver on Mason. “How do I find her?”
“You won’t be able to.”
“I’m not giving up that easily.” Holliday stepped over and pressed the gun into Mason’s gut. “Tell me or I will shoot you. Leave you to die here.”
“You’ll never find her.”
Holliday fought to keep his hand steady. “You’ll be dead, though. That’ll be enough for me.”
Mason stared at him, then looked across the room. “There’s a burner taped to the toilet cistern. It’s got her number on it.”
“Thank you.” Holliday stood up tall and walked over to the bathroom. Halfway there, he spotted a picture, a woman posing with her son. Kid looked Arabic, but she… She could’ve been from anywhere hot. Tanned, almost-black hair. Pretty. “Is this her?”
Mason nodded slowly.
Holliday carried it over to the toilet and lifted the lid. The cistern was filled up. A Ziploc taped to the side, an old Nokia inside. He walked back over, pressing the gun to the side of Mason’s head. “Time’s up.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Carter
“Going to need you to give a statement, sir.” The Seattle Field Office agent stank of cheap cigarettes and strong breath mints. His wool overcoat was frayed at the seams, just like his face. His chubby skin was scored at all the joints, but worst around his neck. “When would be a good time?”
“Tomorrow.” Carter stared at the body of David Quiroga, what remained of his head obscured by another detective crouching low. “I’m running a child abduction case, and that’s got to be my priority.”
The cop pointed his silver pen at the corpse. “This connected?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Guy chose to take his own life like that instead of answer a few tough questions. Sucks, huh?”
“It does.” Carter passed his card. “Give me a call.”
“Sure thing. Might leave it until Monday.”
With a nod, Carter stepped outside into the cooling air and let the agents work in peace.
Not that there was much to do. A case as open-and-shut as they came. A guy shooting himself in front of two FBI agents. Guilt implicit.
Elisha was waiting by their Suburban, staring into space. She clocked his approach. “Max.” All she said, all she could say.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Elisha didn’t look like it.
“We were never in any danger.”
“Sure about that? Guy with a gun?”
“He shot himself, Elisha. Trying to cover it up. And how are you doing? I mean, really.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, Max. We still need to find Avery Holliday.” She paused and held up her cell. “Tyler’s running Quiroga’s finances just now. Anything we should be looking for?”
“No, but get him to look extra close, okay? This guy killed himself rather than answer our questions. There’s something, alright, and I want to find it.”
“Roger.” She put the cell to her ear but dropped it. “Shit.” She bent down to pick it up. Looked like she was struggling to get up.
“Are you sure you’re—”
“I’m fine.” She stared hard at him, her piercing blue eyes penetrating his skull, like she could see down to the neurons and read their arcane patterns. “Why did that happen?”
Carter couldn’t figure out why. Kept asking himself that, but kept coming up short. He could only shrug.
“Why kill himself like that, Max?” Elisha folded her arms, shivering. “We were asking questions, that’s all. They weren’t particularly hard, were they?”
“No, but they were questions he couldn’t answer.”
“He didn’t run, he didn’t hide. He chose to end it all in the most brutal way possible. Why?”
“Because he was scared.”
She just stared at the parking lot’s damp asphalt.
He knew he needed to conjure up the answers, to progress the case, to find Avery. But how? He let out a breath. Start again. “Assuming Mason Wickstrom’s theories are correct, then David Quiroga and Tony Smith helped cover up what really happened here.”
“You really think GrayBox operatives abducted that Faraj kid?”
“Starting to look that way, Elisha. Franklin Vance was here, signed the roll call with Tony Smith. Next thing we know, the kid doesn’t turn up at home. Not sure I buy the whole disappearance story anymore.”
Elisha looked around the school again, over to the sports hall. “You really think they took him from here?”
“Either way, Mas
on Wickstrom believes that theory enough to abduct Holliday’s kids, forced him to investigate what happened here. His son’s death. Faraj’s disappearance. And I’m all out of ideas.”
“I’m not.” She locked eyes with him again. “I want to speak to Faraj’s mother again.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Holliday
Holliday shut the front door behind him and let himself breathe again. He took in the street. Nobody around, the neighborhood quiet. The Cadillac was still over on the other side of the road, a fifty-thousand-dollar car on a street where the homes weren’t worth that. He got out the key, smeared with Mason’s blood, wiped it, and set off toward the car, checking the photo he’d taken from the house.
Layla. Pretty, if you liked that kind of thing. Intense, and seriously annoyed with whoever photographed her. Maybe Mason, maybe someone else.
Holliday reached into his pocket for the revolver, the one Mason had taken from the guard. One bullet left. Have to make it count. No time for missing, no second chances here. He got out the cell phone and powered it up. The Nokia logo flashed up, and it seemed to take forever to load.
A car pulled up over the other side of the road and sat there, the engine idling.
Holliday hid behind a van, peering out to get another look. He couldn’t see much.
The engine died and a man got out, looking around nervously. Not Layla, but he looked across the road toward her apartment. Then up and down the road. Almost spotted Holliday by the van. He pressed himself flat against it and waited. A car door opened and, seconds later, it shut again.
Holliday checked the cell again. Showed the time and date now. He hit the menu button and found the contacts. Just one, marked “SAFE.” He hit it, the cell started dialing, and he chanced another look over the road.