“Sit down,” Radhauser said, his head throbbing. “Tell me why you were in the park yesterday.”
Wysocki sat. “It was a beautiful day. The fair, the music, all the kids running around. I snapped a few photos on my way to an early dinner. No law against that, is there?”
“Where did you eat?”
“Angela’s Grill. It was too early for the dinner menu so I sat outside by the creek and had a glass of wine. Pinot Gris.”
“Can anyone verify that?” Radhauser asked.
“The place was packed, what with the fair and all. Now, I need to get going.” Wysocki pushed his chair back from the table. “This client is important. Poets don’t make much money. And I’d like to pay my rent and keep eating.”
“We’re not done with you yet,” Vernon said.
“If you have some legitimate reason for keeping me here, detectives, I’d like to hear it.”
Vernon slapped his hand on the table.
Wysocki flinched.
“You tell me exactly what you did to Emily Michaelson and where we can find her,” Vernon said.
“I never saw that little girl. I did nothing. I got no idea where you can find her. But I’m calling my attorney. Now.” He flapped his hands in front of his face.
Good, Radhauser thought. The cocky son of a bitch was getting nervous. Radhauser pushed his chair away from the table, stood, and brought Wysocki the phone. Vernon was pushing too hard. Radhauser needed the freedom to question Wysocki without the silencing presence of his lawyer. “It’s 3:15. Your attorney would need at least an hour to get here. Why don’t we go ahead and wrap this up so you can keep that appointment?”
Wysocki placed the phone back into its cradle. He nodded and a strand of hair slid over his forehead. He raked it back with fingers that seemed to tremble. “No matter what either of you think, I’m innocent of this.”
From his briefcase, Radhauser pulled the evidence bag with the teddy bear inside. “Would you like to tell me where you got this?”
Wysocki’s brow furrowed, the line of his jaw rigid. “At the Children’s Health Fair. Isn’t it obvious?”
“Was Emily with you?” Vernon asked.
“I already told you I was alone.”
“They only gave these bears to children under six,” Radhauser said.
“I found it on a bench near the playground. I planned to give it to my nephew.”
“Did you see anyone wearing a Winnie the Pooh costume carrying a little girl?” Radhauser asked.
“The park was filled with people in bear costumes. Lots of them were carrying kids.”
“Emily had on a red jacket and a pair of rainbow-colored sneakers. She was holding a yellow balloon.”
Wysocki shook his head. “There were so many.”
His face contorted, Vernon stood and paced. He pulled a small pair of thick, cotton panties from his pants pocket—the same kind Lizzie wore when they were potty training her.
Radhauser was pissed. Vernon hadn’t mentioned this piece of evidence. It wasn’t bagged, hadn’t been through the regular chain of evidence. What was going on here?
Setting the panties on the table, Vernon grabbed Wysocki’s arm. “Did you find these on a bench, too?”
Wysocki stared at them and then his gaze shifted between Radhauser and Vernon, disbelief frozen on his face. He picked up the phone and called his lawyer, but he was out of the office and wasn’t expected back until morning.
“See how they’re stained yellow,” Vernon said. “You scared Emily so much she pissed herself.” His voice lilted a little, the way voices sometimes do when they lie. He sat down again.
A shiver passed through Radhauser. Vernon knew how he felt about coercing a suspect with planted evidence. He’d deliberately withheld his plan.
“I…I…I…never saw those before. I…I…don’t know anything about them. This is entrapment.” Wysocki kept shaking his head. His brow was soaked in sweat. His voice cracked, and he looked so scared that Radhauser almost felt pity for him.
Grabbing Wysocki by the shoulders, Vernon shook him hard. “The tooth fairy must have planted them under your pillow. Now tell us where Emily is.”
Wysocki twisted away from Vernon. “Are you deaf? I swear I don’t know where that little girl is or how those got in m…m…my bed.”
His hopes sinking, Radhauser studied him.
The room went silent except for the fluorescent light hissing above them.
Wysocki looked at Radhauser. His face had loosened, turned soft with fear. “About the underpants,” he said. “I can only think of one, pretty farfetched, possibility. My sister spends the night sometimes. Her husband’s a real jerk when he’s drinking. I give her and her son my bed and sleep out on the sofa.”
Leaning across the table until his nose was just inches from the suspect’s, Vernon stared into Wysocki’s eyes. “Do you like to play dress up with little boys, too, Stefan?”
Wysocki squirmed under his gaze. “Oh, God, no.”
“Does your sister trust you alone with her kid?” Vernon asked.
Wysocki’s face twisted as if the question had caused him pain. “Of course she does. I’m his uncle. She knows I’d never hurt Flynn. Besides, I change my sheets every Saturday evening. I…I…would have found those pants yesterday if they were there.”
As much as Radhauser hated to admit it, Wysocki was telling the truth. He was a strange man, with an unusual profession, but he didn’t kidnap Emily. He’d been at the job long enough to develop a radar about truth and lies.
Radhauser was about to let Wysocki go when Vernon slid a naked photo of a little girl onto the table. It was one of the photos they’d confiscated from a known pedophile. The child was standing in a bathtub, her back to the camera, looking over her shoulder at the camera, a sultry look on her face.
Wysocki glanced at it, then quickly looked away.
“Do you find this sweetly provocative, Mr. Wysocki?” Vernon asked.
Wysocki’s gaze returned to and lingered on the photo. He stared at Radhauser for a second before his gaze darted back again.
For the next thirty seconds, Vernon said nothing. “Stand up, Stefan,” he finally demanded. “Now.”
When Wysocki hesitated, Vernon grabbed him by his arm and pulled him to his feet.
Wysocki tried to cover the front of his trousers with his hands, but Vernon jerked them away.
The suspect was obviously erect. His entire face flushed and a pulse beat in one of the veins at his temple. “I know you think I’m some kind of scum because of my line of work.” There was an edge of hysteria sliding into his voice. He sat back down, put his face in his hands. He seemed to curl into himself and when he lifted his head, there were tears in his eyes.
“Just looking at a naked three-year-old gave you a hard-on,” Vernon said. “What are we supposed to think?”
“Okay. Okay. I find little girls’ b…b…bodies beautiful. The way they hold a hint of the woman they’ll one day become. I want to be near them. Hear them laugh. But I’m not some kind of p…p…pervert. And I swear to you I’ve never, not one time in my whole life, acted on my feelings.”
Radhauser pushed his chair away from the table and stood. Wysocki was most likely a sexual deviant. But they couldn’t hold the man for getting an erection. “You’re free to go, Mr. Wysocki. And I’m sorry for the inconvenience. But there is something you can help me with.”
Maybe they could salvage something from this interview.
Relief washed over Wysocki’s face. He stood and shot a glance toward Vernon, then looked back at Radhauser. “You treated me with respect and I’ll help you in any way I can, Detective Radhauser. As long as I don’t have to talk to that asshole again.”
Vernon slammed out of the room.
Radhauser escorted Wysocki to the door. “I’d like to take a look at the photos you snapped in the park yesterday.”
“No problem. I’ll bring them by later.” Wysocki slipped a business card from his inside coat
pocket and handed it to Radhauser. “Give me a call and we’ll set up an appointment for you and the missus.”
As soon as the door closed, Radhauser ripped the card into pieces and tossed them into the garbage can.
Chapter Twenty
After the interrogation, on a strong hunch he hoped wasn’t true, Radhauser sat alone in his office. The throbbing in his head had become something else, something worse and incessant. He grabbed the aspirin bottle from his desk drawer and swallowed three. Vernon had an impeccable record and Radhauser admired him, the way he gave everything to the job. But with no other choice he could live with, Radhauser called Vernon into his office, shut the door and waited for him to sit. “What where you hoping to accomplish in there?”
Vernon said nothing. He stared out the window and wouldn’t meet Radhauser’s gaze.
“Where did you really find those pants?”
“In that pervert’s bed.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He met Radhauser’s stare. “Absolutely. Check with Officer Sullivan. He was searching the bedroom with me.”
Radhauser saw it, the brief side stepping of Vernon’s eyes that meant deception.
Vernon opened his mouth, and then closed it.
“If that’s true, why didn’t you put those underpants through the regular chain of evidence?”
“There wasn’t time. Send them to the lab. You’ll find Emily Michaelson’s DNA. Ashland doesn’t need that scumbag. Maybe he hasn’t acted on his lust. But someday he will.” Vernon paused and looked at Radhauser hard. “You’ve got a little girl. And I got a two-year-old granddaughter.” Vernon’s jaw tightened.
“You’ve never lied to me before. We talked about our strategy. You should have told me about the pants then.”
Vernon’s face changed and in it, Radhauser saw an admission of guilt. For a long moment, Vernon stared at his shoes. “Everything in my gut told me he’d confess.”
“Next time, try using your brain,” Radhauser said. The air between them could blow up if someone lit a match.
“Don’t you think it was worth a try?”
“No, I don’t. And even if Wysocki turned out to be guilty, you know planted evidence would result in a mistrial.”
“I’m only five years from retirement. I didn’t enter the pants in the evidence log. No one has to know. Please don’t cost me my pension.”
Radhauser couldn’t respond. He leaned back in his chair. It made a terrible sound, like the squawking of a crow. He liked working with Vernon. And there were some decisions even good cops made that crossed the line between right and wrong because the line was blurred by emotion. In a case like this, when a little girl’s life was at stake, there was often no time to weigh the circumstances or think about consequences. What Vernon did, lie to a suspect during an interrogation, wasn’t against the law.
“I knew you’d be pissed,” Vernon said. “But I was certain he was the one. If he’d confessed, where I got the underpants wouldn’t have mattered.”
“Where did you get them?”
“I found them on the floor in Emily’s room yesterday.”
“I’m taking you off active in the Michaelson case.”
Vernon didn’t say a word. He turned on his heels and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Radhauser dropped his head into his hands. Time was running out. They had nothing except three reports of a person in a bear costume carrying a little girl who loosely fit Emily’s description—one of them from a known wacko. A single costume in a park filled with unidentifiable adults dressed up like bears and carrying little kids.
* * *
Guitar case in hand, Brandy stepped out of her bedroom and headed for the kitchen where Detective Radhauser had relieved Officer Corbin of telephone duty. She planned to go the park to meet Stone at 4:30p.m.
Her father and Christine were outside with reporters, recording another plea for Emily’s safe return. The kitchen smelled like oranges. She glanced at the untouched basket of fruit on the counter one of the neighbors had delivered yesterday.
Radhauser nodded toward the guitar case. “You headed for Nashville?”
“Some day. Right now, I’m helping the drama club set up for the prayer vigil. And having a practice session with Stone. He’s going to accompany me when I sing tonight. Tell me the truth. Do you think this vigil is a good idea?”
“Anything that increases public awareness is good. The more people we have looking, the better chance—”
The phone rang.
Radhauser looked at her. “I need you to answer that.”
A rock dropped to the bottom of Brandy’s stomach. What if it was the person who had Emily? “I can’t,” she said, trying not to show her fear. “I’ll be late for the setup.”
The phone trilled again.
“A kidnapper will hang up if he thinks the police are involved. It’s always better if a family member answers.”
“Can’t you pretend you’re my dad?”
“It’s not worth the chance—the possibility it’s someone who knows your dad’s voice.”
It was probably Christine’s mother. Her father had told Mrs. McCabe not to call so often, that they needed to keep the lines open, but she hadn’t listened.
When the third ring completed, Radhauser signaled for Brandy to pick it up.
“Michaelson residence. Brandy speaking.”
“Listen carefully,” a mechanical-sounding voice said. “I have the little girl. I want you to meet me at Rogue Valley Mall.” The voice was strangely flat as if the person behind it read something out loud in their sleep—labored and way too slow.
Brandy shook so hard she had to hold the receiver with both hands. She kept nodding, as if the person on the other end watched her, but Brandy couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
Radhauser stretched out his arm, cupped his hand palm-side up and wiggled his fingertips. A motion that meant keep them talking.
“Is she all right? Is Emily safe? Is she eating vegetables?”
“Yes,” the voice said. “We’re happy to be together again. Even the crows have silenced their voices.”
Brandy was confused. What did he mean they were happy to be together again? Was the kidnapper someone who knew Emily? Brandy tried to hand the phone to Radhauser.
He shook his head, gave her a stern look and then scribbled a note. Ask if you can speak with Emily.
Brandy did.
“Not now. She’s napping.”
“Please. Give her back. Don’t hurt her. We love her so much. And we miss her.” She heard the rising panic in her own voice.
Radhauser shook his head, flicked his hand up and down, a gesture meant to calm, then held up a piece of scrap paper.
She read it out loud. “What do you want us to do?” The question hung in the air.
The garage door opened. Christine and Brandy’s father stepped into the kitchen.
Radhauser quickly shook his head, put his finger to his lips to keep them silent.
They both stopped, as frozen as a couple in the wax museum—a look of panic on Christine’s face. Brandy’s father’s hands knotted.
“Oh,” the voice said. “Go to the far end and wait on the bench outside the upper entrance to JC Penney’s. A family reunion. Even you, the one little Emily calls Band-Aid. But no police.” The voice dragged on so slowly it seemed like five minutes before it paused.
Brandy opened her mouth to ask if Emily had been crying for her Pooh bear, but afraid of saying the wrong thing, she said nothing. The silence lengthened.
Radhauser’s dark blue eyes widened as he frantically wrote another note. Ask if you should bring anything.
Her words returned and she asked the question.
“Yes, of course. Bring ten thousand dollars. Leave it under the bench at 5:45p.m. sharp. Walk to Mervyns. Emily will be in a stroller parked in the baby department.” One moment, Brandy thought it was a male voice, the next it sounded female.
“W
ill someone be watching her? It’s dangerous there,” she said, remembering the way the escalator rose just behind the shelves of diaper bags and footed sleepers. “She knows how to unbuckle the belt. What if Emily climbs out of the stroller?”
Brandy’s answer was a dial tone. “They hung up.”
Christine lurched across the room and grabbed Brandy by the shoulders. “What did he say? Does he have Emily? Is he giving her back?”
Brandy clutched the receiver, too stunned to reply.
Her father removed Christine’s hands from Brandy’s shoulders. “For Christ sake, give her a moment,” he said, then placed the phone back into its cradle.
“Are you insane? She knows where Emily is.” Christine grabbed Brandy by the shoulders again and shook her hard. “Was it a man or a woman?”
Still unable to speak, Brandy shrugged.
“You should have listened harder.”
Radhauser gave two thumbs up. “We traced it. Rogue Valley Mall.”
The fact that the kidnapper phoned from the mall must be a good sign, Brandy thought. A sign they were telling the truth about holding Emily there. When her voice returned, Brandy twisted away from Christine and turned to Radhauser. “Why would the kidnapper say they were happy to be together again, that even the crows were silent?” Before Radhauser could respond, Brandy remembered the crow’s feet Emily had brought to school for show and tell. She told him.
Her father looked at her, horrified. “Emily brought something like that to school and you didn’t tell anyone?”
She stared at his hand, resting on Christine’s arm. Brandy didn’t want to get her stepmother in trouble, so she hung her head and said nothing.
“Brandy showed them to me,” Christine said. “I threw them away and washed Emily’s hands with disinfectant. I thought they were something she’d picked up in the park.”
Her father stared at Christine as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said. He inched away from her. “Emily is a baby. We’re supposed to protect her.”
Radhauser held up his hand like a traffic cop. He looked tired, but excited. Stubble darkened his cheeks and chin. “You need to focus. We just received a ransom call.” He told her parents what had transpired in the phone conversation, leaving out the part about no cops.
When Time Is a River Page 21