by Trace Conger
"You have a theory for everything don't you?" She slid her mug across the table again and looked as though she might actually drink it. "And you're an arrogant shit too."
"I'd go with confident, but my father and ex-wife would probably lean your way." I took another sip. "Are you assigned to both of them? I figured they wouldn't be in the same city given they're not supposed to have contact with one another. But it wouldn't surprise me if they had the same handler."
She didn't say anything.
I raised my mug again and noticed the wedding ring on her left hand. "You have any children?"
"Two."
"And you're comfortable with what these two did? That they served eight years in some children's dorm and now they're free to live out their lives in anonymity?"
"They did their time. It's not my job to continue to persecute them."
"I guess not everyone feels the way you do."
"Maybe not, but I still have a job to do and I'm not going to let you or anyone else stop me from doing it. I'd prefer that you just turned around and went back to Ohio so we can both get on with our lives."
"I'm not going anywhere."
She looked like she wanted to strangle me across the table. "Then get used to seeing me."
"I look forward to it."
She stood up and slipped her purse back over her shoulder. For the first time I caught a glimpse of her service weapon tucked on her hip beneath her blue blazer. I sensed she flashed it for emphasis.
"If you're going to stay on me you might want to switch vehicles. I've already burned your Fusion. The silver SUV too."
"I'm glad we had this little chat, Finn. Good to know where we both stand." She walked to the cafe door but stopped and turned back. "And Finn?"
"Yeah?"
She smiled. "We don't have any silver SUVs."
She closed the door behind her, walked across the street, stepped into her car and drove off.
Nineteen
I PULLED AWAY FROM THE coffee shop scanning the street for a silver SUV or a blue Fusion. I didn't see either, but after my run-in with Valerie I now thought that everyone on the street was a potential tail. I shook off my paranoia and headed to Vance's childcare center. I felt a pressure in my stomach and considered running into a gas station bathroom to banish the three large coffees I had that morning, but the urge to meet Jacob Vance in person was too strong to pull over.
Ten minutes later I stood in front of the Tot Spot. It was a nice facility. A colorful playground with numerous climbing apparatus and rubber floor mats stood empty inside a fenced perimeter on the right side of the building. I walked through the double glass doors and was immediately hit with the sound of laughter. To my right about a dozen children played in a colorful room adorned with Dora the Explorer and Scooby Doo characters that stood as tall as me.
Maybe it was the fact I didn't have a kid with me or maybe it was my beard, which Albert swore made me look like a child predator, but whatever the reason two young women in blue shirts with Tot Spot logos swarmed me.
"Can I help you, sir?" asked one of the women. She looked to be in her early twenties, and according to the tag on her shirt her name was Megan.
"Yes, I'm interested in learning more about your childcare center. For my daughter."
"Are you looking for part-time or full-time care?"
"Full time. We recently moved here and I'd passed by your place a few times and wanted to stop in."
"How old is your daughter?"
I scanned the children playing in the next room. "She's four. Four and a half actually."
"Right this way. If you follow me I can show you around."
"Are you the owner?" I asked.
"No. Mr. Polling is in the office."
"I'd like to meet him too. To be honest, I don't love the idea of leaving my little girl with strangers and I'd like to meet whoever’s name is on the door."
"Of course. I can give you a quick tour and then introduce you to Mr. Polling."
"That'd be great."
For the next ten minutes Megan showed me around the facility. She had long hair that was dyed a deep red with a few purple streaks throughout. She wore thick blacked-rimmed glasses and looked like she read a lot of comic books. Megan made a point to talk up the facility's educational approach to childcare and their peanut-free environment, but all I really cared about was meeting Vance. And using the bathroom. After showing me the place and giving me a blue folder stuffed with forms and brochures, a hand lightly tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and stared at a man who introduced himself as Jake Polling.
Vance's handshake was tight and firm, as if he tried to overcompensate for his short stature—he was five-foot-six at the most. Unlike his blue-shirted staff, he wore tan khaki slacks, a brown belt and a white button-up shirt. He had missed one of his belt loops getting dressed this morning. Maybe he was in a rush to get to work. He sported a buzz cut and a fresh shave.
"I hear you're interested in our facility?"
"That's right."
"I'll leave you two to talk," said Megan.
Polling nodded and I watched as his eyes followed her ass out of the room.
"You live nearby?" he said.
"A few miles away. In the process of moving here. I came early. My wife and daughter will be here this weekend." Remembering I didn't have a wedding band on my finger, I shoved my left hand into my pocket.
He looked me over. "Is there anything I can tell you about our place that Megan didn't touch on?"
"What's security like? I'm a really protective parent. One of those dads who's afraid something bad is going to happen."
"I think that's every parent." He motioned where the children played. "Everyone on staff has passed a background check. State law. Most of the people who work here have been with the team for five years or more. And they're great with the kids."
"Do you have children?" I asked, noticing his bare ring finger.
"No. I don't. I guess I consider all of these little ones my kids."
"Ever have an abduction? From the facility?"
"God no!"
"There was one in our hometown a few years ago. Before we had kids. Someone walked into a daycare, grabbed a kid and took off. I think it was a custody battle thing. Between the mother and father."
"That would never happen here. Safety is our number one concern. After all the children have been checked in we lock the doors until pick up. No one can just walk in without an appointment."
"I did."
"Parents were still dropping off children when you arrived. We hadn't locked up yet. I assume Megan greeted you pretty quickly after you came in."
"She did."
"That's what they're trained to do. Spot unfamiliar faces."
"That's good. If someone snatched her away from me, I'm not sure what I'd do." He looked up at me and I thought I saw his jaw clinch slightly, like he was chewing gum. "When you're a parent it's all you think about. Your kid’s safety."
He nodded. "I can assure you…" He stopped himself. "What's your daughter's name?"
"Caroline."
"I can assure you that Caroline would be safe and comfortable here. I'd love to meet her. Your wife too."
"We'll stop in soon." I held up the blue folder. "Until then, I guess I have some reading to do."
"Anything else I can answer for you?"
"No. You've given me exactly what I wanted. Thanks."
"Sure thing." He placed a hand on my shoulder and nudged me toward the door.
"Do you mind if I run into your bathroom before I head out? Too much coffee this morning."
"Sure." Polling directed me to the bathroom and then turned to speak with one of the other employees.
I walked into the bathroom and felt like a giant next to the low urinals and sinks. The bathroom was painted to look like a jungle. Tall trees, thick leaves and an array of jungle animals covered the walls. I stepped to the urinal and handled my business while a tiger, who looked to be p
ainted by an art school dropout, watched me from the corner. I zipped my pants, buckled my belt and glanced up at the ceiling. That's when I saw it.
You have to be observant in this business, because it's usually something small, something most people overlook, that can make or break a case. Most people wouldn't notice a car tailing them. They're not focused on it. But I had. I noticed that Polling was sloppy. He missed a belt loop on his pants. Normally that would mean he was running late and dressed too quickly, but he wasn't running late. Otherwise he wouldn't have shaved. That takes time, and you don't shave when you're running late. But he did. I noticed that every one of Polling's staff was an attractive, young woman. Maybe he missed the belt loop in a back room instead of his home. I noticed the way Polling looked at Megan when she walked away. I noticed that Polling didn't wear a wedding ring. And I noticed the two smoke detectors on the bathroom ceiling.
I wasn't up to speed on the Texas building codes and didn't know if businesses were required to have smoke detectors in the bathrooms or not, but I was damn certain they didn't need more than one for a room that was smaller than one-hundred-square-feet.
I walked to the sink, turned on the water and washed my hands as I surveyed the ceiling through the mirror in front of me. One smoke detector was in the middle of the room, the other was directly over the only stall in the bathroom. I dried my hands and walked to the stall. I grabbed a piece of toilet paper, folded it into a square and raised it to my nose and took a better look at the unit above the stall.
It was a different make than the unit in the center of the room. That one had a small green light in the center, but the one above my head had no light. It was a cheap casing that most people would never notice, but I wasn't most people.
There are countless mail-order catalogues and websites that sell all sorts of surveillance equipment. GPS trackers, bug detectors, listening devices, hidden cameras and a ton of other gear. At one time or another I had probably used half the gear available, but I had never used a hidden camera to record a kid in a bathroom.
I walked out of the bathroom to see Polling talking to Megan next to the front door. As I approached he pressed a button on the wall, which unlocked the front door. He opened the door wide.
"Thanks for checking us out," said Megan. "Feel free to call us with any questions."
"I'll do that."
I passed by the two of them.
"Hope to see you again," said Polling.
"You definitely will."
Twenty
AFTER I LEFT VANCE'S CHILDCARE center I returned to my hotel room to consider my next move. Before I could think too long, I received an email from Cricket. He indicated he was "doing my job for me" and attached two files. I clicked open the first file to find Jacob Vance staring at me. Not the real Jacob Vance, but the age progression image Cricket had outsourced for me. The image was dead-on, so much so I thought for a moment it was a photograph of the man I'd just spoken to at the Tot Spot. I didn't know much about age progression software, but I’d expected to receive an image that looked like Vance but was "off," like a corpse at a loved one's funeral where you know something looks different but you can't put your finger on exactly what it is.
I didn't think anything I received from Cricket would be helpful, but this image was dead-on. I rooted through my messenger bag until I found Vance's original booking photo from 1984 and held the two images side by side. Vance's posture and blank facial expression were the same in each photograph, as was the striped shirt, which fit the younger Vance but looked out of place on the older version.
If Vance's image was so exact, would Turner's be as accurate?
I closed Vance's image and clicked open Turner's file. There I found a man I'd never seen before. Unlike Vance, computer-generated Turner wore a sad expression. His eyes looked directly at the camera, his mouth slightly open, and he looked confused, like he didn't know where he was.
I grabbed Turner's booking photo from my bag and compared the two. As with Vance, computer-generated Turner wore the same white T-shirt that his younger self wore in the booking photo. His expression was also the same. While Vance seemed smug and confident, Turner appeared lost and afraid.
Nell Richards had mentioned a psychiatrist who testified during the Baker trial said in cases like this there was usually a follower and a leader. Nell said her notes were locked away in the newspaper's archives and that she couldn't remember which boy played which role, but after seeing both boys' expressions I'm not sure I needed her notes. To me, Vance was the leader. Cool and collected in the photo, almost as if he expected to be caught. But Turner looked like he was only along for the ride, a ride he never really wanted to be on.
But Willie Baker didn't hire me to interpret Turner's feelings. He wanted his location. Time to find him.
Of all the information databases I have access to, the one I use the most is the DMV database. You can't beat it for locating people. By running a DMV search I can get a name, home address, birth date, physical description, outstanding criminal warrants. Everything I need to find someone. It helped me find Vance and I was confident it would do the same for Turner.
With most other databases you need a name, a social security number or some other marker to start with. But in addition to personal information, the DMV database also includes a database of images. I didn't need a name. I could use Turner's computer-generated image to run a search. I hadn't considered this before receiving the images from Cricket because I didn't think they would be a close enough match to their true appearance, but after seeing how accurate Vance's image was to the real thing it made sense that Turner's image might be accurate too. But was it accurate enough to get a hit from an image search?
DMVs operate on the state level, so when you get pulled over by the Ohio Highway Patrol they can run your Ohio license plate through the Ohio DMV and pull your Ohio record in a few seconds. Unfortunately, I didn't know where Turner called home and that meant I'd have to cast a wide net and look at all 50 states. It wasn't going to be as easy as stroking a few keys. It was going to take time, something I had plenty of.
I logged into the DMV database and uploaded the image of Turner that Cricket provided. Now, all I could do was wait. I printed out copies of Vance’s and Turner's images, stuck them in my messenger bag and headed to my car. There was something I had to do before putting a bow on Jacob Vance.
Twenty One
BEFORE I COULD SHIFT MY focus completely to Turner I needed one last piece of intel on Vance. Willie Baker wanted Vance's location so he could send someone to kill him. I don't take hit jobs. I've had to pull a trigger or two, but it's always been in self-defense, or at least a preemptive strike. I don't set out to murder people and I don't consider myself a killer. I do understand that when I find people they usually aren't found again, but that's on someone else. The people I find have done something to get themselves into a mess. That's not on me.
The problem with a case like this is I had no idea who Willie was going to send in to clean up Vance's mess. He mentioned he’d hired a few other investigators, much cheaper investigators, who didn't turn up shit before he hired me. It reminded me of a comic strip I read years ago that showed two barbers who set up shop across the street from one another. One had a sign outside his shop that read "$5 haircuts." The barber across the street put out a sign that read "I fix $5 haircuts."
There was a possibility Willie might hire out the hit to a pro, or to some gangbanger who didn't know his ass from an assault rifle. I know people who would put a bullet in someone's head for six figures, but I also know you could find some high school kid who might do it for a new pair of high-tops. Of course the quality is going to differ because, just like haircuts, you get what you pay for. Who knew what Willie was going to do, and I didn't want to ask him because I didn't want to know. Plausible deniability.
What I did want to know was whether Vance lived alone or if there was something else in his home that could be a problem for whomever Willie sent in t
o mop up. Like a one-hundred-pound Rottweiler. Or a girlfriend. I couldn't shake the feeling that Megan, the girl from the Tot Spot, spent the night there from time to time. I needed to get inside and find out if there was an alarm system, how many toothbrushes were in the bathroom, whether there were any toys on the floor, who was getting mail delivered there, anything important. That type of intel would go a long way in making sure whomever Willie sent got in and out with no problems. And that's favorable for everyone involved, me included.
But I couldn't do any of that until Vance left. I figured he would still be at the daycare, but his Toyota was in the driveway. Maybe he came home for lunch, or maybe he knocked off early. I decided to park down the street and wait him out.
I grabbed the folders from my messenger bag and tossed the bag in the back so I could spread out the information on the passenger seat. I hoped the DMV search would turn up something on Turner, because I didn't have much else to go on. With Vance I had a solid place to start, his parents. But Turner's parents were long gone and he didn't have any siblings, so I had no real breadcrumbs to follow. The only lead I had for Turner was Kim Burton, his ex-girlfriend, but that lead had already burned out.
Thinking about Turner's ex-girlfriend got me thinking about my ex-wife. Brooke was the type of person who didn't like to screw around. She always let you know what was on her mind and she made big, life-changing decisions on the fly like she was picking out shampoo at Target. That's why she had laid it out on the line about giving our marriage another go. I can't say the idea didn't intrigue me, it did, but I was the much more cautious type. I'd rather take my time and make the right play instead of rushing something and having to deal with the fallout later.
The idea of being a bigger part of Becca's life got me more excited than the thought of waking up to Brooke every morning, not that I wouldn't enjoy that. I loved spending each weekend with Becca, but making that a permanent thing again got my pulse jumping.