Connie smiled. "Actually, this morning I'm not. Usually on Saturdays I have to get up at five-thirty to take Charlie to her job at the stables. But Dave drove her today, and I slept in 'til eight. Can I get you something?"
"You don't have to. I don't know. Cereal's okay." She nodded and brought down a box of Rice Chex from one of the cabinets. "Charlie has a job?"
"Yes, she works at the fairgrounds weekend mornings grooming and exercising the horses. Charlie went out and got the job on her own. We were shocked. She's usually so quiet and . . . moody. The job has been wonderful for her, though."
"How long has she worked there?" I asked, taking the bowl of cereal from Connie.
"About three months, I guess. Since the end of summer. Vin Perini works there too, weekday mornings mostly, but sometimes on weekends with Charlie. She's so shy when she sees him. It's cute." Connie laughed. "Oh, she'd kill me if she heard me say that. Jeff, aren't you hungry?"
I had set the bowl on the counter without taking a bite. I could not remember the last time I had thought of Vinny. Getting used to my family again was one thing. But thinking of Vinny, of the complications of getting to know him again, of the process of reacquainting myself with kids my own age, school. .. the thought of the weeks and months to come overwhelmed me.
"Are you okay?" I realized Connie had spoken twice to me without my answering. She touched my arm.
"Yeah. I guess I'm still tired."
"Have you eaten yet?" Dad strode into the room. "No? Bring your bowl into the office. Dave wants to talk to you." I didn't move. "Come on, there's no better time. Charlie's out, Connie's taking Brian shopping with her. Let's get this over with."
Wordlessly I followed him to his office. The room looked the same as I remembered it, with the addition of some embarrassingly large photos of me. I lingered in front of one. It was me right after pitching a no-hitter in a Little League championship game. Vinny was in the foreground among my teammates congratulating me.
Dad laughed awkwardly. "Nice, huh? I bought a copy from the Telegraph and had it enlarged. That was some day, remember?"
"Yeah ..." I said, trailing off, disturbed by the picture. Stephens walked into the room.
"We'll have to get some new pictures of you," Dad said. "You . . . you've grown up since then."
Stephens cleared his throat. "Ken, you mind getting me some coffee?"
"Coffee?" Dad hesitated a moment, watching me. "Sure."
I watched him go, not sure whether I was relieved or scared to be free of him.
"Would it be easier on you if your dad wasn't here for this?" Stephens's voice was quiet.
I put the cereal bowl on an end table and sat down, avoiding his eyes. "I'm not going to say anything, so it doesn't matter."
"But if you do say something," Stephens said patiently, "would you prefer he not be here?"
I shrugged, trying to hide my panic. Stephens left the room. I covered my ears, not wanting to hear the explanation he would give to Dad.
I lowered my hands quickly as Stephens lumbered back into the room. He pulled Dad's office chair over to the couch where I sat and perched on it, towering over me.
"First, please call me Dave. Everyone does."
I glanced up at him. The man looked like a movie version of a bodyguard—the big, dumb guy who backs up the slick villain. I held on to that image to keep my fear at bay.
"You're from the FBI?"
"That's right."
"And you let everyone call you Dave? Or is it just crime victims?"
He smiled wearily at me. "Okay. Forget the pleasantries. Was any of that story true last night?"
"Yes," I admitted. "But..." I looked away, laughing a little. "The thing is, I'm not going to talk. The guy's not coming back, okay? He left me off, I'm here, end of story."
"Uh-uh," Stephens said, still smiling. "An awful lot of people expended a lot of time and energy on you over the past few years. They want some return on their investment. So do I."
I looked at him as if he was insane. "What are you talking about? You mean people tried to find me and all that?"
"Yep. All that. Ask your dad sometime."
"Yeah, well, I never saw any of it," I told him hotly, then looked away, frowning.
"Why not? He keep you confined, or what?"
I looked back at the man. "Hey, I'm not stupid. You're not going to trip me up that way. I'm not talking, so you can just go back—"
"I know you're not stupid. In fact, I understand you used to be the perfect kid. Polite, respectful, good student, star athlete ..." He ticked the qualities off one by one on his fingers.
I squirmed. "Is there something wrong with that?"
He smiled a little. "The perfect kid with the perfect life. That's what your dad kept insisting. No problems at school, none at home, no reason to run."
"You thought I ran away?"
"I came onto your case the third day," Stephens said. "And only because Ken made such a stink. There's a knee-jerk response in law enforcement that kids over ten who go missing are probably runaways. Here you were, almost fourteen, so ... "
I felt sick. Here was my fear made flesh. "Is that what you thought?"
"I'm not big into knee-jerk responses." Stephens gave me a quick smile. "But if you didn't run, what happened to you? You were just gone. One of the most frustrating cases I ever worked."
I watched him, not sure where he was going with this.
"So . . . where were you?"
I shrugged, my stomach churning.
"Aside from everything else, I'm curious as hell.
You know we never came up with one solid lead about you? I finally figured you were so far underground that unless someone confessed, we were never going to find you."
"What do you mean, 'underground'?" I asked. "Dead?"
He nodded. "Dead—or dead to the world, anyway. Was I right?"
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"Simple. Where have you been for the last two and a half years?" I was silent. "Try this then: who kidnapped you?"
I looked down, shaking my head.
"What if he comes back again?"
"He won't."
"You sure? He came back once already to drop off your clothes."
"He's done. He won't come back."
"You know something, you're right," Stephens said slowly. "He probably won't come back for you. Brian, though, he's what, eleven?"
"Don't," I said, knowing what he was doing, reacting anyway.
"Face it, Jeff. If it's not Brian, it'll be some other kid. You want to be responsible for that?"
I stared at him, furious. "It's not my job to catch him, it's yours. I'm not responsible for what he does."
"You're the last known contact with this man. I'm not leaving until you tell me how to find him."
"I don't know how to find him. I can't help you." I looked down, miserable, my arms folded across my chest, one foot tapping nervously.
The silence went on so long I had to look up. Stephens was staring at me, looking disgusted, and angry too.
"I'm sorry," I said, shuddering involuntarily. I moved to get up, to leave him. Stephens reacted immediately, pushing his chair forward, knocking my legs apart with his own, clamping his hands on my thighs and leaning into me.
"You're not getting out of it this easy," he hissed, inches from my face. "Now come on. What's the man's name?"
Frozen, I could only blink at him. Just as I saw his face soften into a kind of regret, I was able to let out a strangled cry. Stephens pulled back immediately and stood up, cursing.
Dad ran into the room so fast I knew he must have been just outside, listening. He came swiftly to my side.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled, and I shivered before I realized he was talking to Stephens. "If you treat him that way again," Dad continued, his voice quiet now, "I'll take the kid and disappear and your case can go to hell."
"Look, I'm sorry," Stephens said. "If we had the time, he could wo
rk this through at his own pace. But we don't. Jeff, the guy dropped you off Thursday night.
It's Saturday morning now. Your kidnapper has had a full day, and part of another, to start this whole process again. Take some other kid, ruin his life, ruin his family's life, maybe kill him this time. We've got to stop him. You know that."
I swallowed hard. "I can't talk about him."
"You're embarrassed about the sex. I understand that." Stephens's tone was gentle now.
I hid my face from him, from both of them. "There was no sex," I mumbled.
"Well, I don't believe you. But let's set that aside for now. I need to know who kidnapped you. The best description you can give me. I don't need to know anything more now than who he is and how to find him."
Dad squeezed my shoulder. Breathing deeply, I raised my head to look at Stephens. "He goes by 'Ray.' None of those other names I told you were true."
"Okay," Stephens said, sitting down again, a good distance from me this time. "Is Ray his first or last name?"
"I don't know. That's what he told me to call him, so ... "
Stephens nodded. "Do you know where he's heading?"
"No. He did mention Nevada once, Las Vegas, but... I don't know."
"Where did he keep you?" I shook my head. Stephens watched me calmly, notepad out, poised to write.
"No. I can't say that." I kept my head down, but I was serious, no matter what they did to me. "I can't..." I dared to look up at Stephens. "I won't."
He sighed, thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "What does Ray look like? How old is he?"
"I don't know how old he is," I said, irritated, trapped. "Maybe forty."
"What does he look like?"
"He has long black hair. Past his collar. Brown eyes. He's tall, about six feet."
"Body type?"
"Ray's thin, but he has muscles. He lifts weights." I flushed at that bit of information, cursing myself for giving Stephens more than he'd asked for. He remained expressionless, taking notes as I spoke.
"Does Ray have any scars? Any identifying marks?"
"He has a little scar above his left eyebrow. When he gets mad, it stands out white against his skin." I saw that my hands were shaking and clasped them together in my lap.
"How did he bring you here? Car, van, what?"
"He has a Lexus. It's black. I don't know the license number." Stephens looked at me. "I don't!"
"Did he tell you anything about himself? His family, where he grew up, any personal details?"
"He said he used to be a lawyer. He'd laugh about it." Dad released my shoulder, staring down at me. "He talked about his ex-wife a few times. Not her name. Just. . . just that he'd been married once."
Stephens nodded. "Fine. That'll do for a start. Anything else, Jeff?"
"Yeah." I looked at him but the message was for Dad. "I know what you think about Ray, and you're wrong. He never touched me."
Stephens nodded, turning to Dad. "I want Jeff to come down to the city to look at mugshots. Why don't you bring the whole family and we'll put you up at a nice hotel? This situation will be easier to control if you're out of town, isolated together in a safe place."
"I can protect my family," Dad burst out, so suddenly I flinched.
"I know you can," Stephens said quietly. "I'm not just talking about Ray here. The press will be around soon enough, and all the relatives and anyone else who ever knew Jeff will be wanting to see him. He's not ready for that yet."
I ducked my head, embarrassed, hiding my face from both of them.
"All right," Dad said angrily. "We'll go to the Bay area then."
6
Stephens made the arrangements by phone for us to stay in a suite at the San Francisco Hilton. We formed a two car tandem for the three hour commute to the city, Stephens leading the way. I was silent the entire time, sunk in disbelief that I had broken so easily to his questioning.
As soon as we hit town, Stephens insisted I go to the FBI building with him. He directed Dad to stay at the Hilton to "get the family settled" which I figured was a ploy to get me alone again.
"The FBI offices are over there," Stephens said, maneuvering his way through the late afternoon weekend traffic. "See? That skyscraper that looks like black steel. There should be a few people working today, but it won't be crowded."
"I don't care," I said tightly.
Stephens pulled into the underground parking garage connected to the FBI building and motored into a space marked with his name.
"I know I pushed you hard back at the house," he said as we got out of the car. "I hope you understand why I did it."
"Sure. You wanted to teach me a lesson or some other shit like that."
"No," he said, staring at me over the top of the car. "No, Jeff, I didn't want to teach you a lesson, in particular."
"You wanted to scare me then."
Stephens nodded, a touch reluctantly. "I wanted to shock you into telling the truth. I'm sorry I had to do it that way."
"You liked doing it, I could tell," I shot back at him. "You had your hands all over me." He watched me for a moment, expressionless, then took off walking through the lot. After a moment, I followed him.
Stephens's office was cluttered but organized. His desk was stacked high with folders divided into neat piles, and metal filing cabinets as tall as I was lined one wall. The wall opposite held posters of missing children, tacked up and spaced so neatly they resembled a mural. I approached the wall with a sick fascination, stopping when I saw myself there, the same poster I had seen on the convenience store window.
I stared at the poster, absorbing the details I could not before. The boy in the poster was blond, clean-cut, grinning widely and wearing a blue polo shirt that I suddenly remembered as my favorite from that year. He weighed 120 pounds, stood 5'6"and had a small scar on his right hand. I fingered that scar absently—Charlie had accidentally slammed a car door on my hand once—until I sensed Stephens's presence behind me.
"We're going to have to list you as 'found' now," he said, sounding happy.
I stepped around him carefully, heading for a battered green couch by the door. At the last moment, I realized I did not want Stephens towering over me again, so I perched on the arm of the couch.
"Did you know Ray was bringing you back?" Stephens asked, leaning against his desk now, all business.
I shook my head. "He didn't tell me where we were going, or why."
"Did he drop you off right away or did he hang around for a while?"
I stiffened. "What do you mean 'hang around'?"
"Why does that upset you, Jeff?" Stephens opened his eyes wide.
"It doesn't!" I flared. "Just... he left me in Wayne, okay? That's all."
Stephens pointed at me. "Ray didn't just leave you and drive off. He stayed around long enough to drop off your clothes. The same clothes you were wearing when you disappeared."
I almost laughed. "Yeah, I know."
"Did you know he was going to do that?"
"No." I shifted, feeling prickles of heat up and down my arms. "I came here to look through photos for you. Don't ask me anything else."
"Eventually you'll have to say what happened between you and Ray. You might as well start now."
"Nothing happened. He kidnapped me. That's all."
"Why did he kidnap you?" Stephens asked. "You told your dad Ray wanted a traveling companion. Is that true?"
I stared at him, betrayed. Goddamn Dad.
"Look, I understand that you're embarrassed."
"I'm not embarrassed," I said through gritted teeth. "I have no reason to be embarrassed."
Stephens nodded. "That's true. You have no reason to be embarrassed. I hope you'll understand that one day."
I looked away from him, confused.
Stephens stood, gesturing toward a stack of papers on his desk. "My assistant pulled these mugshots for us. All of the men have been arrested for kidnapping a child within the last ten years in California, and all of them
roughly match your description of Ray. I want you to go through them carefully. All right?" He waited for my nod. "I'm going to go out and play with the computers for a while. Give me a yell when you're done."
Once Stephens was out of the room I hesitated, feeling a strange reluctance to delve into the pile, as though seeing all the men would make me a part of what they had done.
I looked carefully at the first dozen or so photos. But soon the staring dark eyes, black hair and blank faces began to run into one another. Only an especially bizarre-looking man or an inappropriate expression made me look twice. Halfway through, I came to a convict who'd bared his teeth for the camera in an unconvincing imitation of a grin, his eyes half-lidded and head tilted back. I flipped the photo up and read the crime sheet clipped to the back. The man had been convicted of kidnapping and raping his five-year-old nephew. I threw the picture down on Stephens's desk, sickened. I read the rap sheets of the next five men: all had served time for sexual crimes as well as kidnapping.
I stood motionless for a moment, then swept the pictures off the desk, knocking over two of Stephens's folders in the process. My fury turned to fear when I saw the mess I had created. I knelt, grabbing the papers off the floor, my heart racing as I watched for Stephens. Without looking at the stack of papers I had collected, I divided it in half, placing each section randomly inside the folders. Next I picked up the mugshots, tapped them into a neat pile, and set them back in the center of Stephens's desk.
When Stephens returned fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on the arm of the couch, just as he had left me.
"Through already?" he said after a moment.
"I didn't recognize anyone," I said flatly.
"How hard did you look?"
"Why is every man in there some kind of sick rapist pervert?" I stumbled over my words. "I told you Ray isn't like that."
"I think he is," Stephens said calmly. "The longer I'm around you, the more strongly I believe that."
I dared to look at him. "You think you know me. You're wrong."
"Actually," Stephens said, "I don't know you. But I do know guys like Ray." Our eyes held for a moment, and then I looked away.
* * *
Our suite at the Hilton was near the top floor. Connie and Dad had set up in the master bedroom, with Charlie, Brian and I ranged out in the spacious living room.
When Jeff Comes Home Page 4