The Criminal Mind

by Thomas Benigno

  The Cartersville daily paper had published an article that included an interview with Deputy Carter outside the police station—an unusual act by a local paper that had thus far given little-to-no coverage to missing boys over the last fifty years. I could only figure that this departure was either because this boy, unlike the others, was from a middle-class household, or because our investigative team had stirred things up by our door-to-door campaign. Either way, the deputy was undeterred.

  “Billy might’ve run away,” he said. “It’s a possibility we are considering.”

  “And leave his bicycle?” the reporter asked.

  “It was just a bicycle. Could be his real father took him. I heard his stepfather was a bit rough.”

  If we needed any reassurance that law enforcement had no intention of seriously investigating the boy’s disappearance, we got it. The local police weren’t just moving at a snail’s pace; they weren’t moving at all. Besides, Billy’s home was in the section of town Lauren had been canvassing. She reported back that she would have approached the house and knocked on the door, but there was still a reporter or two hanging around outside. No way anyone was going to answer. So, she telephoned later that day and the stepfather picked up the phone. When she told him she worked for CNN, he didn’t hang up.

  “This man had nothing to do with his stepson’s disappearance,” Lauren told us. “He cried over the phone. Said his wife is in pieces. I also spoke face-to face with a woman who lives next door. She told me that Billy’s stepdad even coached the boy in Little League. They were very close, she said. ‘Billy adored him’ were her exact words. No way this man would have hurt that boy.”

  Lauren was resolute. Forget the local police. We were Billy’s only hope.

  When we met again in the hotel lobby, Lauren had some disappointing news for us. Her program head had summoned her back to CNN headquarters in New York City. She had “done enough out of town,” the email directive began. “You can keep in touch with your contacts just as well from the home office.”

  A big part of me took comfort in the fact that Lauren would be safer farther away from this town, especially as we escalated our efforts to find the criminal—or criminals—behind the kidnapping of Billy, and what seemed like countless others. Otherwise, I would miss her perspective on things. She was smart, caring, and rational. I also took comfort in the fact that she was no longer halfway around the world, but only a short flight away.

  She also provided a degree of protection that came with her media mantle—a reason I wanted her to stay. Paul, Charlie and I were disposable—a crew of PIs who’d stuck their noses where they didn’t belong and suffered the consequences. Maybe our bodies would be found. Maybe they wouldn’t. But a missing and murdered CNN reporter and broadcaster? That would get national attention that wouldn’t go away. I may have been wrong, but I believed we were untouchable as long as Lauren was with us. We certainly couldn’t depend on police protection.

  Whether I had mixed feelings or not about her departure, it was for the best. In New York City, Lauren was safer, while the more our purpose in Cartersville became known, the more Paul, Charlie, and I weren’t.

  Charlie must have been watching his language around Lauren, because no sooner did she leave for the airport, than he let the expletives fly over Paul’s proposal that we scour the woods on foot. Whether it was born from his frustration over his obvious inability to participate or not, “plain fucking dumb” is what he called it.

  In a wheelchair or not, Charlie was a force to be reckoned with.

  In contrast, Paul could be very cool in the face of outrage and aggression. I speak from experience. So, when Charlie ran off at the mouth, Paul simply responded with: “You may be right, which is why I’m going to fly a drone over the area first, to see what I can find.”

  “Exactly,” Charlie said brashly.

  Paul closed with: “See you guys later,” then left the hotel and drove off in his rented SUV, a laptop and drone on his front seat. He was headed to the exact spot along the road where Billy’s bicycle was found, while Charlie and I remained in the lobby of The Red Mill Inn, wondering what the hell to do with ourselves until he returned.

  “Do you want to see where I grew up?” Charlie asked, in a tone that was laced with uncertainty and out-of-character humility.

  I could hear the loneliness and yearning in his voice. Since I didn’t have the heart to say no, I answered: “Why not?” And it wasn’t because I felt sorry for Charlie. He had become a friend. And who knew when he would get back to Upstate New York again? We had the time. I welcomed the distraction. It was the least I could do. This cantankerous disabled veteran—who had volunteered to serve his (and my) country—deserved an afternoon of my time. But there was only one problem: With Lauren gone, and Paul out with his drone and laptop, we had no means of transportation.

  “You’re rich,” Charlie barked. “Tell the front desk to put it on your hotel bill and they’ll have a car here in ten minutes.”

  I smiled and did just that.

  No sooner did I sit back down on the lobby couch and wait for the arrival of my rental, than my phone rang. It was Charlotte again. I was about to say something polite to Charlie like, ‘sorry, I have to take this,’ but he was already immersed in his own cellphone, playing Angry Birds.

  “You okay, Dad?”

  “Sure. Is that why you called?”

  In the seconds before she spoke, I thought back to how difficult and bratty she was as a teenager, and how proud I had become of the responsible and accomplished woman she had turned out to be.

  “When are you coming back to the city?” she asked. “When are you coming home? I know this Maureen thing did a number on you, and I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m sorry about Maureen,” I said. “Sorry you got roped into the charade.”

  “Forget it, Dad. She may have broken your heart, but she didn’t break your bank. You are too smart for that one.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “I’m sure, alright. Now promise me you’ll be careful with whatever you’re doing up there. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” I said, touched by her concern.

  “Now, I want to know: When are you coming home?”

  “Home? Frankly Charlotte, I’m not sure where home is anymore.”

  “Yes, you do. Home is where there is someone who loves you. Home is here in Manhattan with John and me.”

  I gulped before I spoke for fear my voice would crack. “I hope to be back soon.” I could barely get my words out after hearing my daughter speak such a beautiful and blessed truth to me.

  Before the rental car arrived, I had at least ten minutes that I was determined not to waste. I knew Charlie was quite observant and sensitive to his surroundings because he had to be, but he barely moved a muscle while focused on his phone game—even when I choked up while talking to Charlotte. No apology seemed needed for ignoring him, so I called Donald Riggins.

  “I love Denny’s,” Riggins said heartily. “And you’re disturbing my lunch.”

  Not knowing Riggins that well, I wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. “A little early for lunch, isn’t it?”

  “Like I said, I love Denny’s. Call it a late breakfast.”

  “Do you want to call me back?”

  “Nah, I’m almost done.”

  “Good, because I was just being polite. You’re on my payroll, you know.”

  “Gee, and I thought I was doing this for truth, justice, and the American way.”

  “You are. Now tell me: Anything new to report?”

  “I gotta tell ya—meticulous is how you’ve got to be to get anywhere in this business.”

  Riggins probably just wanted to talk into a friendly ear about anything but business for a change, which was fine with me, except for the fact that my rental car would be arriving soon. I was also
beginning to assume that he had nothing to report; otherwise, I wouldn’t be competing with a hamburger, or whatever the hell else he was eating.

  “Yes, meticulous.” I tried not to sound patronizing. “Paul thinks highly of you, Don. So, please tell me: What, if anything, did you find out?”

  “Since I didn’t want to ask you until I knew more, Paul’s gal, Jasmine, hacked me a copy of the camera footage around your home the week before your gal’s so-called attack. As you know, the system films and records whenever there is movement. So…guess what? I checked the footage recorded a mere twenty-four hours before your girlfriend goes into the hospital over her fake assault. And surprise, surprise—I see the figure of a tall, thin man in a hooded sweatshirt casing the place. A minute later, he goes inside.”

  “Goes inside? But what about the alarm? I always had it on.”

  “And I’m sure you did this time, but did you ever give your alarm code to your girlfriend?”

  “No, but I never hid it from her either. She was always with me when we walked in the house together. She could have picked it up then.”

  “Or even recorded it on her phone when you had your back to her.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Either way, I have no doubt that this guy was working with her.”

  “Okay, but I never kept cash in the house. And whatever jewelry my wife had that isn’t still in a safety deposit box, I gave to my daughter.”

  “Did you ever notice anything missing?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t think this guy who went in stole anything from you either. But he sure did stay inside a while—a little over twenty minutes. And when he came out, he came out empty-handed.”

  “Well, is that a good thing or not?”

  “Not really. It means he was there for another reason.”

  “Like what?”

  “Give me your alarm code. Let me get in and see what I can find out.”

  I gave Riggins the code. “But you don’t have a key.”

  “Don’t need one. And don’t worry about the locks on your doors. They will be as pristine as when you last saw them.”

  “What exactly will you be looking for?”

  “Let me get back to you on that. My coffee is getting cold.”

  “No, Don, I want to know now. What is it you’re looking for?”

  He didn’t answer and hung up.

  After my call with Riggins ended, I turned to Charlie. He had stopped playing games on his phone and was staring at me. “You look like death warmed over,” he said.

  “Now there’s an expression I haven’t heard since my mother passed.” I stood up to clear my head then looked down at him. “You get any of that conversation or was Angry Birds all-consuming?”

  “I heard enough to figure out that the problem with your girlfriend just got worse.”

  “I wish everyone would stop calling her my girlfriend.”

  “What should we call her? Maureen? Olga? Mata Hari?”

  “And I thought Franklin, Tennessee was a safe place to live.”

  “It is, except when someone’s out to steal your money—and from what I heard, maybe a whole lot more.”

  “It may not be safe to be around me, you know,” I said with a smile. “You sure you want to hang out today?”

  “Hell, I’m sure. Bring it on. I’ll cut the balls off the first asshole that shows his face.” Charlie then pulled up his left pant leg, cut above the knee, to expose a serrated hunting knife strapped to his thigh. It reminded me of the one the Jones Beach killer used that cost me two kidneys, a transplant, and a slight limp I try to hide—but not always successfully.

  Oddly, I felt a sudden kinship with Charlie that I hadn’t before. Unfortunately, he wasn’t done with his weaponry revelations. “I’m packing heat as well,” he added, with an air of bravado that both infuriated and scared the crap out of me.

  “No way, Charlie. That’s not the deal.”

  “Mia has been trying to tell us something about this place,” Charlie said. “That’s why we’re here, and if you think I’m going to confront animals—the like of which have been killing little boys—with only my dick in my hand, you’re out of your mind.”

  “Nice Godfather reference. Now where’s the gun, Charlie? I want to see it.”

  “I don’t think so. All you need to know is that I’ve got it, and you can bet your ass I know how to use it.”

  “Paul is not going to like this.”

  “I don’t give a damn what Paul likes. I gave my legs for this country. No one is taking my gun away.”

  “Do not tell me you kept this gun in the Veterans’ Center.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then where did you get it?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “And how did you get it on the plane?”

  “I didn’t. That should ease your mind a bit, along with the fact that I don’t plan on taking it home with me either.”

  “So, you got it up here?”

  Looking rather smug, he didn’t answer.

  “As long as you bury that gun somewhere in this godforsaken town before we get back on a plane to New York—”

  “You have my word. Cross my heart and hope to die.” As he spoke, he crisscrossed his right index finger over the left side of his chest then raised his palm in the air.

  I was about to rail at him once more when an attendant from the rental car company came walking into the lobby with a set of keys in his hand. We followed him outside. The car was a Nissan Altima, which was the perfect midsize vehicle for Charlie to climb in and out of with only the use of his arms. I wheeled him over to the front passenger door, and without thinking, offered to help him in. “If you want me to crack you one, just try,” he answered, not exactly appreciating my kind gesture.

  “Fine, I forgot. You see, kindness comes naturally to me.” I then stepped back, whereupon he lifted himself off the chair and climbed onto the passenger door.

  “Now just close it a bit, so I can get my ass on the seat,” he bellowed harshly.

  With hands gripping the doorframe and veins bulging grotesquely from his arms, he hung on as I slowly and carefully closed the door until he dropped himself on to the front seat of the car. Once I saw he was safely in, I shut the door completely, and placed his wheelchair it in the trunk.

  “You just wanted to help me so you could feel for my gun,” he barked, as I opened the driver’s side door and got behind the wheel.

  “Right, Charlie. Groping an old man in a wheelchair is a real thrill for me.”

  He smiled slyly. “Whatever turns you on, though you might have come up empty. I may not have the gun on me now.”

  “Enough about your gun. Now just tell me exactly where we’re going. I just can’t wait to see where you grew up.”

  “Did I catch a trace of sarcasm?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, lying through my teeth.

  “I definitely think I heard sarcasm in your voice,” he said, more seriously than before.

  Feeling like I might have hurt his feelings in some odd way, I reconsidered and answered, “I’m not being sarcastic, okay? Now where are we going?”

  He turned to me with a Cheshire grin on his face. “Want to see where I lost my cherry?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “We would have to go back to Nam for that one.”

  While Charlie and I were headed to his childhood home, Paul was flying a drone over dozens of acres of dense woodland from the same spot by the side of the road where little Billy’s bicycle had been found. It was the end of May, and the trees were nearly in full bloom. Aside from a culvert or two, where dried-up streams appeared to begin and end, Paul’s computer screen was a sea of leafy green treetops, and he was hardly able to tell one stretch of woods from another. The only interes
ting part of his afternoon came when Deputy Carter arrived in obnoxious fashion by slamming on the brakes of his patrol car, and skidding to a stop only inches away from Paul’s rented SUV.

  “You don’t need to be doing that,” Carter squawked. “We had a bunch of volunteers comb these woods the night the boy went missing, and the day after as well.”

  “You find anything?” Paul asked, his laptop perched on the hood of his rental, his eyes riveted on the screen as he maneuvered the drone by remote control, with its camera instantly transmitting footage.

  “Like what?” Carter asked.

  Paul eyes remained fixed on his computer. “Any indication that the boy was dragged into the woods?”

  “No. Like I said to the press, this boy may have run away, and I wouldn’t blame him if he did. He had a stepfather, you know.”

  Paul glanced over at Carter. “Why? Did his stepfather beat him?”

  “Maybe,” Carter said.

  Paul thought to himself that this was either the laziest law enforcement officer he’d ever met, or one who was just completely full of shit. Either way, Paul wasn’t buying a damn thing that came out of Carter’s mouth, but he didn’t let on. “Thank you, Deputy. I’m going to wrap up in a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Carter said, before he sped away, leaving a cloud of dust in Paul’s wake.

  Jasmine, on the other hand, had been up all night trying to track down the locations of cellphones and computers that might be operating in the thick woodland in and around Cartersville. Evidently, for someone like her, this was not hard to do. You just need the user’s iCloud details. If you don’t have them, you have to get them. That’s where the sophisticated hacking comes in. But to see what the user was doing, she would have to hack sharing capability, which she was perfectly capable of doing, except where the dark web was concerned. No one has yet been able to crack the dark web.

  As far as other internet users operating in desolate or secluded areas in and around Cartersville, Jasmine couldn’t find even one.