The Breakthrough

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “Not on an empty stomach.”

  “You’re seriously going to clam up without food?”

  Mannock nodded. “I could do worse, you know. I could lawyer up.”

  “I gave you half a dozen chances to do that. Now you want to?”

  “I want to eat.”

  “We haven’t got much. What do you want?”

  “I’m easy. A sandwich?”

  “I’ve had them out of the machines here, DeWayne. I wouldn’t want one.”

  “You might if you were hungry.”

  Keller turned to the mirror again. “Somebody get Einstein a sandwich.”

  Through the squawk box, Ronette said, “Vendor hasn’t been in for a week. The ones still in there are old.”

  Mannock shrugged.

  “Bring one anyway!” Keller said.

  “And a Coke!” Mannock said.

  “Sure you don’t want a glass of wine?”

  Mannock sat defiantly, as if he had won. When the food and drink were delivered, Keller slid them across the table. DeWayne took his time opening the sandwich and smelling it. From where Boone stood it looked hard and stale, and it took Mannock a while to chew. But if he didn’t like it, he didn’t let on. When he was finished with the sandwich, he finally popped open the Coke, guzzled half of it in one gulp, then belched.

  “Your turn,” Keller said.

  “I got nothin’ to say.”

  “Really. So you just want to sit in County for who knows how long, then be tried as an accessory to kidnapping, and wind up in Stateville or, worse, a federal pen?”

  “Won’t happen. I know the law.”

  “Do you? Then tell me what’s gonna keep you out of prison?”

  “Lack of evidence.”

  “DeWayne, you’re not much of a criminal, but you’re a worse lawyer. Your former coworker will testify he lent your friend the car and that you even paid him a security deposit. Two hundred ring a bell? Your friend was seen in the car with the child. The car was abandoned and still hasn’t been returned to the lender. And it just so happens that the kidnapped child is your biological son.”

  “Circumstantial, or whatever they call it.”

  “You’re willing to bet your freedom on a word you don’t even understand?”

  “I know enough to know that all I did was be like a, what do you call it . . . broker, I guess. My friend wanted to borrow a car. My other friend had one to loan. I put them together. What happened after that is not on me. I didn’t have nothin’ to do with any kidnapping.”

  “We’ve recorded conversations between you and the kidnapper, talking about the car, talking about the kid.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “You don’t have to. The prosecutor will refresh your memory when the recordings are played at your trial.”

  “Trial for what?”

  “We’re not going down this road again, DeWayne. You don’t have to play stupid with me, because I’m already convinced.”

  A knock came at the door and Detective Antoine Johnson leaned in. “Chief Keller, a word.”

  Keller left and Mannock turned to face Boone. “So, what do y’all want from me besides what I told you? You’ve got no evidence that ties me to any of this. I’m innocent—just tried to help a friend. What that friend did is on him. Right?”

  Antoine Johnson briefed Jack Keller on the phone Kevin Kenleigh had sent to Michigan.

  Jack shook his head. “He’s a dandy. Any leads on his whereabouts?”

  “Nothing.”

  “We’ll find him soon enough,” Jack said. “I’m looking forward to collaring that guy.”

  “He’s got a record in DuPage County. When he was a teenager he got students to pay him to take their college entrance exams. Phonied up IDs, got C students big numbers on their ACTs and SATs. That’s become a big thing now, but he was a pioneer.”

  “He may be the smartest one in this little hole-in-the-wall gang,” Jack said, “but he’s in over his head.”

  “Think Mannock’s gonna crack, Chief?”

  Jack shrugged and peered through the window at DeWayne and Boone.

  Boone had intended to leave the interrogation alone and let Keller handle it, but he couldn’t resist. “DeWayne, you need to do yourself a favor here. When Chief Keller gets back, you’d better tell him everything you know. We’ve got you with an unexplained pile of cash, conversations with people connected with a kidn—”

  “I won the lottery, man!”

  “Will you stop? You know how easy that was to rule out? We know where you got your sack of cash.”

  For the first time, Mannock looked beat, at least on that point. “Well, that money had nothing to do with this.”

  “Then what were you trying to pitch Shane Loggyn on? You told him you were paid to be a finder. What was it you found, DeWayne?”

  “I should have said I was a pointer, not a finder. I’m like a bird dog. Bird dogs don’t really find. They point.”

  “You pointed at what?”

  “I’m done talking.”

  Keller returned, and Boone could tell from Jack’s look that he had been listening in and was content to let them keep going.

  “If you’re done talking,” Boone said, “there’s nothing more we can do for you.”

  “Nothing more? What have you done for me now?”

  “Given you a chance to tell your side. But you’ve failed, DeWayne. You could have helped yourself. You know the penalty for being an accessory to kidnapping? It’s the same as if you’d kidnapped Max yourself. And you rarely hear of a kidnapper getting anything less than life.”

  “I didn’t touch anybody, so that doesn’t—I’m not—you can’t . . .”

  “Life in prison, DeWayne.”

  “That’ll never happen.”

  “It’s as good as done,” Boone said.

  “It is done,” Keller said, and Mannock twisted back to face him.

  “Cops in Michigan just picked up Johnnie Bertalay, and he’s singing like a canary.”

  “No kidding?” Boone said, strolling toward the door. “Guess we’re done here. What’d he do, blame it on DeWayne?”

  “All of it,” Jack said, his hand on the doorknob. “You had your chance, Mannock.”

  “Wait! What’re you talking about?”

  “You begged us to hear you out, and then you gave us nothing. We’re getting all we needed from Johnnie. Some friend.”

  “He’s not my friend! I hardly know him. I saw him only a few times. He did it! It’s all on him!”

  Boone shook his head. “Should have started with that, DeWayne. Sounds like Johnnie’s out ahead of this, working his own deal. He’s gonna wind up serving less time that you.”

  “Hold on! I can tell you things about him!”

  “No need,” Jack said. “We’re getting the whole story from him. How different can your accounts be?”

  “Way different if he’s saying this was my idea! The idea came from Pitts. He’s the one who introduced me to Bertalay. Johnnie works for him.”

  “Well, Chief Drake,” Jack said, turning back to the table, “maybe we’re being a little hasty.”

  Boone returned to the corner behind Mannock, who kept stealing urgent glances at him over his shoulder. Jack turned his chair around and sat facing DeWayne with his legs crossed, as if he had all day. “Johnnie never said a word about anybody but you. Says you were the mastermind. Who’s Pitts, anyway? Tell us about him, and maybe you’ll get a little consideration.”

  “I ought to get a lot of consideration, because Pitts is the guy.”

  “Okay, slow down and take it from the top. Where did you meet this Pitts?”

  27

  Singing

  DeWayne Mannock suddenly sat up, leaned forward, and seemed to be boring in on Jack Keller. “Pitts is a regular—well, sort of—at the Lucky Day.”

  “Full name, and what’s ‘sort of regular’ mean?”

  “His player’s card just reads J. Pitts. I think his rea
l name is Jasper, but he goes by Jammer.”

  Boone turned to the mirror. “Johnson, you on that?”

  “He says yes, Chief,” Ronette transmitted.

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Big old fat guy, funny-colored hair—like dyed orange or yellow—and not much of it. Smart guy. Knows a lot of stuff. Good player.”

  “Regular or not?”

  “Couple of times a month for two or three days at a time, but that’s it. Seems he likes to play and plays when he can, but he’s a world traveler.”

  “Yeah? Where?”

  Mannock shrugged. “Everywhere. Always talking about other countries.”

  “What’s he do?”

  “I always thought he was like an importer/exporter or something like that. In a way, I guess he is.”

  “I’m going to quit asking questions here, DeWayne. I want you to tell me everything you know about this man, why you say the kidnapping was his idea, his relationship with you and Johnnie Bertalay, all of it. It’s your only chance to get a year or two off your sentence.”

  “I shouldn’t have any sentence! I hardly did anything!”

  “Convince us. And help us get Max back. Otherwise, you’re going to prison for a long, long time.”

  “I don’t know where Max is! I swear. If I did, I’d tell you.”

  “Tell us everything you do know. And make it fast.”

  “You sure I don’t need a lawyer?”

  Boone caught Jack’s eye. Please, no. This was the last thing they needed right then. Jack gave Boone a nod, as if he should trust him. Boone did trust him, but he didn’t like the way Jack started.

  “Truthfully, DeWayne, I do think you need a lawyer. I’ve told you that from minute one. And you know too that the second you tell us to get you one is the instant this interview ends. We walk out, and the next person in here will be whoever the court appoints as your public defender. That’s your right, and of course, at some point you’re going to have to be defended.

  “Now here’s the thing. You don’t know if Johnnie’s lawyered up yet or not. Neither do I. All we know is that if you don’t get on with your story, his is going to be the only one out there. And that’s not looking good for you. So, you want your lawyer right this minute, or when you need him for the court case? We can’t be listening to your side of this, even if you’ve decided to finally come clean and tell us everything, if you’d rather be represented now. It’s totally your call.”

  “I want to talk.”

  “Then talk.”

  “Okay, I’ve known Jammer for a few years, just from the casino, you know. I used to get a kick out of hearing him talk. He wasn’t one of those loud ones who brag about where they play and how much they win and all that. He’s just one of those guys who knows a lot about a lot of stuff and enjoys answering questions. People just figure he knows best, you know? They’ll be talkin’ sports or politics or famous people or anything, and pretty soon they get around to seeing what Jammer thinks. And he says it so smooth and smart-like, nobody argues with him.

  “Well, about two years ago he seems to take a liking to me. Starts asking me about myself, my prospects, my plans. I didn’t even know what prospects were. I was kinda faking it, telling him I hoped to be a floor man someday, like Goose. Those guys don’t live on tips. They have actual salaries. Not big ones, but any salary sounds good to me. Something regular with benefits the company pays for, all that.

  “So Jammer’s kinda pushin’ me. He’s saying, ‘Really, that’s what you want to do with your life? Spend it in a casino in a blazer making a chump’s salary?’ I told him no, that what I really wanted to do was win the lottery, and he says, ‘Now you’re talkin’.’

  “I thought he meant he knew a way to do that, but he just meant that that kind of money was what he was talking about. He said everything else is chump change. He asked me did I know how much he was worth, and ’course I said no, how would I know that? And he said, ‘Would you believe eight figures?’

  “I was embarrassed, ’cause I didn’t even know what that meant. I knew seven figures was a million, but I couldn’t have told you what eight was, not off the top of my head.”

  “At least ten million,” Boone said.

  “Yeah, exactly, I know that now. So a guy tells me that, he’s gotta know I’m gonna wanna know where he gets that kind of money. He tells me he’s in the international people business. I have no idea what that means. I’ve heard of people who find executives for companies—”

  “Headhunters,” Boone said, trying to move Mannock along.

  “Yeah, like that, so that’s what I’m thinking for a long time. Every time Jammer comes in to play, we get a little time to talk. One day he says, kind of like out of nowhere, ‘Do you know there are people willing to pay a million dollars for the right child?’

  “Like a dummy, I say, ‘For what?’ He tells me he’s heard of people who want a certain kind of kid. They know exactly what they want. They can’t have their own, and they’re rich, of course, and they decide they want a kid a certain age, a certain skin color, hair color even, nationality, all that. And you know, we’re standing there talking about this, and I have no idea he’s talking about his own business. I don’t know why. I just never put it together. I’m like, ‘No way!’ and he’s like, ‘Really.’ And I’m still thinking it’s just smart Jammer talking about stuff most people don’t know about.

  “Then, later, like maybe a year, he asks me have I been thinking about what we talked about. And the thing is, I hadn’t. Not really. It was strange and all that, and I thought about it for a few days, but million-dollar kids is not the kind of thing I think about for long, you know?”

  “We’re still with you, DeWayne,” Jack said. “You’re doin’ good. Keep going.”

  “Well, one night he asks me what am I doing on break, and it’s perfect timing because somehow I got a double break, an hour right at dinnertime. He takes me to the buffet, buys my dinner, and starts right in. He tells me, ‘You know I pay a 15 percent finder’s fee when I provide a child.’ I almost wet my pants; I really did. It all kinda hit me at once. He’s in the people business. Rich people pay a million bucks for the right kid. And he provides ’em!

  “I couldn’t hardly eat my food ’cause, besides finally putting this together in my head, you know what’s the only thing I can think about then.”

  “The 15 percent,” Boone said, his stomach churning at where Max could be right now. The only silver lining in this story is that if Max was worth that much to someone, he was likely safe and not bound for the sex trade.

  “The 15 percent!” DeWayne said, pointing at him. “I didn’t know what eight figures was right off the top of my head, but I dang well know what 15 percent of a million bucks is. And I wanted it. He had me, hook, line, and sinker, whatever that means.”

  “Lured you in.”

  “Sure did. And he was pretty smart about it, because once he got me interested, you know, he sort of backed off. Every time he came in I asked him about it, and he said he wasn’t sure he should keep talking to me about it, because keeping things totally quiet was everything in his business.

  “I told him I’d swear on my mother’s grave—”

  And sell your own son, Boone thought.

  “—to get in on action like that. And maybe the third or fourth time I saw him after that, when I asked how could I get in on this deal, he said, ‘I doubt you even know the type of a person I’m looking for.’ So I asked him; I says, ‘What kind?’

  “Well, he told me he had a lot of calls for American boys, preferably blond.”

  “Hold on,” Boone said. “You’re telling me he knew you had a son who fit that description?”

  “No! That’s just it! I think it was just one of those, ah . . .”

  “Some coincidence.”

  “Yeah, one of those.”

  “Go on.”

  Detective Antoine Johnson introduced himself to Hammond Lieutenant Lefty Tidwell over the phone. />
  “Tell me the brilliant DeWayne Mannock has already sung for his supper,” Lefty said.

  “Oh, you know Keller. He and Drake are scraping it off him an ounce of flesh at a time. Slow but sure. Hey, we need all we can get on this Jasper ‘Jammer’ Pitts.”

  “Way ahead of ya. One of my guys was listening over all the stuff we recorded when Keller and Drake were here, and we knew you’d eventually need that guy. He’s not listed in any phone books or online, but we got an address from the Lucky Day. I can fax you the sheet we got on him.”

  Antoine gave him the number. Within minutes he knocked on the interrogation room door and handed the printout to Jack.

  Jack glanced at the sheet and handed it to Boone as DeWayne Mannock continued.

  “Jammer told me there was a big, um, he called it a market, a market for fair-skinned Caucasian boys, especially blonds, from America, Canada, and Scandinavia.”

  “Hold on a second, DeWayne,” Boone said. “Take five.”

  “C’mon, man,” Mannock said. “I’m tryin’ to be cooperative here so I can get goin’. They’re holding that car for me, ya know.”

  Boone held up a hand as he speed-read the printout to himself.

  Jasper Manchester Pitts

  DOB: January 23, 1943

  Height: 6’2”

  Weight: 265

  Hair: Auburn

  Eyes: Gray

  Sales manager, Jade Fortune Import/Export Enterprises, Bangkok, Thailand, 1991–1999

  Current: Founder/CEO/President Chu-Hua Children of the Globe Placement Services, 1999–present

  Home & business address: 1 Willow Circle, Clarendon Hills, Illinois (DuPage County) 60514

  No record, no priors, no warrants

  Boone stuck his head out the door. “Antoine, let’s get him in here and get a warrant to search his home.”

  As Boone returned to his station behind Mannock, DeWayne squinted at him. “Who? Whose home?”

  “Everybody’s throwing you under the bus today, DeWayne. You say you were just the pawn, but we’re getting a whole different picture. Let’s wrap this up so we can get you into something a little more comfortable and a lot more orange.”