by RJ Blain
I narrowed my eyes. Could the mark be for a wire tap or a bug? While I wanted to linger and check the spot, I followed Winston into his kitchen, which was located at the back of the house.
I pitied whoever had to do the dishes, which had spilled out of the double sink and taken over the counters.
“Please, have a seat, ma’am.” Winston gestured to the table, which was the only surface in the kitchen not covered in junk or dirtied dishes.
Sliding onto one of the old upholstered wooden seats, I tested it for its sturdiness before resting my full weight on it. “Has anyone spoke to you yet?”
Winston sat across the table from me and clasped his hands together on the table. “Not yet. I figured someone would be coming by. My brother called to ask me if I had seen Jacob yesterday morning.”
“What time?”
“Six or seven? Not quite sure, ma’am. I was still asleep when he called.”
“What did you think about the call, Mr. Henry?”
Winston sighed and shook his head. “It’s right weird, ma’am. My brother isn’t the most, well, talkative of fellows. You get me? So he calls, wakin’ me up, soundin’ more annoyed than anythin’ else, sayin’ how he can’t find Jacob and demandin’ if I had seen him. I hadn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother, flesh and blood and all, but we ain’t real close. I ain’t seen Jacob since he were three.”
“Right.” I pulled my notepad and pen from my pocket and jotted down some notes. “Why would he ask you, then?”
“That’s what I don’t get. I haven’t seen Jacob in years. He’s, what, nine or ten or eleven or some shit like that? Sometimes I talk to the kid when I talk to my brother.”
“Would you say you’ve spoken to Jacob enough for him to recognize your voice on the phone?”
“Sure. He knows who I am right away when my brother gives him the phone.”
Winston’s tendency to switch between accents made my skin crawl, and I made notes about his odd vocals and to find out when he had been in the deep south. “How did your brother sound?”
“As I said, pretty annoyed. I’m not really close with my brother, but he gets snippy. He don’t much like how we grew up and doesn’t want it around that boy of his.”
A lightbulb went off in my head. “You grew up south.” I considered the southern states and tried to place his accent. “Tennessee?”
“Damn, darlin’, that’s either a right good guess, or you’ve been down home.”
I chuckled. “Talk however makes you feel comfortable, Winston. So, you grew up in the south?”
“Sure did, darlin’. All of us did. When my brother went and got himself that fancy job with the government, he changed, yanno? We all moved up north so we wouldn’t be so distant. We’re all the family we’ve got. Ma died in New York when the towers collapsed, and Pa was killed in an accident. Got nobody else.”
“Just you and him?”
“Nah, got us a sister and brother, too.” Winston got up, went to the counter, opened a drawer, and pulled out an address book. He opened it to a page and slid it in front of me. “Here’s how you can reach them, ma’am. I imagine you got my address from my brother. This should help you a bit.”
“Thanks, Winston. Really appreciated.” I took my time copying down the sets of numbers and addresses. “When you talk to Jacob, what sort of conversations do you have?”
The man sighed and stared at his hands. “It ain’t always pretty, ma’am. The talks we have, I mean.”
Alarm bells went off in my head, and it took all my will to keep my posture calm and relaxed. Body language made a difference, and I couldn’t afford to look tense. If I tensed, so would he.
If he became wary, I’d lose a chance for good information. “Raising a boy ain’t easy, is it?”
Winston cracked a faint smile. “You got yourself a bit of the drawl there, darlin’.”
“Good upbringin’, right?”
“Damn right, darlin’.”
“What wasn’t so pretty about your talks with Jacob?”
Winston drew in a breath, held it for several long seconds, and then sighed. “He’s been brought up pretty restricted, ma’am. His ma teaches him so my brother can move around with work. Jacob wants friends his own age, and he talks to me about it sometimes, ya know? So I listen sometimes. I listen real hard, and it ain’t pretty, when a little boy just wants to have himself some friends.”
“Do you think Jacob would run away?”
“Wouldn’t doubt it for a second. He just wants to go to school proper like, where he can make himself some friends. Why, it was just a week or two ago he was cryin’ because he didn’t want to go back to Washington with my brother and his wife.”
Winston’s thoughts supported Jacob as a runaway risk, but the way the man described his brother bothered me. “You ever try to do anything about his schooling problem?”
“If I could, I would, darlin’. If I could, I would. Don’t reckon I know what I can do about it. Jacob’s mother’s a sweet lady, but she’s prim and proper and don’t really like us Henrys very much, though she took quite the fancy to her man. Prolly because he has the money she wants.”
In the end, so many decisions in life came down to money, and I resisted the urge to sigh. “Your family has special circumstances, then. Do Amelia and Peter talk to Jacob?”
Snorting, the man shook his head. “Amelia ain’t ever met the boy, ain’t ever talked to ‘im on the phone, either. My brother and sister don’t right get along. He blames ‘er for Ma’s death. Peter’s happy enough with his own boy, and don’t need another, so he says.”
“You talk to Amelia and Peter often?”
“Sure do. I keep ‘em in the loop. Only seems right, being family and all.”
“Do you have a number I can reach you at, Winston?”
“Sure do, darlin’.” He gave me the number, which I wrote down. “Sorry I can’t be of more use.”
“You were very helpful, Mr. Henry. I appreciate your cooperation. I’ll let you enjoy your morning. Don’t be surprised if other law enforcement officers come to pay you a visit. We’re trying to be as thorough as possible.”
Winston thrust out his hand. “Thanks so much for takin’ the time to talk to me, darlin’. If it helps find Jacob, I’ll use my last breath answerin’ whatever questions you folks have.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Henry.” I meant it, too. Despite Winston’s lack of attire, he came across as the kind of man who would do anything for family.
Unfortunately, that made him a prime suspect, but I had other calls to make before CARD decided to come visiting the rest of the Henrys in New York.
I learned nothing of use from Amelia, but Peter had a lot of opinions, and he wanted to share them with me. All of them.
Over the course of my career, I had met a lot of different people. I had questioned some of America’s most hardened criminals, and I had grilled little old ladies who probably felt guilty if they accidentally killed a fly.
Over the years, I had never met someone who talked quite as much as Peter Henry.
He offered me a cup of coffee while he was on his second pot, guzzling the black fluid like he was afraid it would disappear. The more coffee he drank, the faster he spoke, until I had a difficult time translating his southern drawl.
“Mr. Henry, can you tell me anything about your brother’s son, Jacob?”
It was my tenth attempt to turn the conversation back to the missing boy. I was keeping a tally of how many times the man went off on a tangent to keep myself from pulling my gun and shooting at his feet to make him dance to my tune.
Shooting innocent people was on my list of things I wasn’t allowed to do during my rule-breaking binge.
“Winston’s always complaining about that boy, saying I should do something about it. Like what am I supposed to do? I have a boy of my own to raise. I don’t need the troubles of another one. Never really met the boy more than a time or two, and that was years ago. Don’t really care to, ei
ther. No offense meant, ma’am, but how my brother raises his kid isn’t my problem.”
“Do you ever speak with Jacob on the phone?”
“Why would I? Not my kid, not my problem. It’d do the world a lot of good if other people stopped trying to raise another man’s son. That’s a big problem with how things are done today. I don’t need anyone telling me how to raise my boy, and I sure as hell don’t want to be telling anyone how to raise theirs. I get the whole family thing, but we’re not his kind of people, and I don’t want anything to do with his kind of people.”
While Peter had gone on a rant about others trying to raise his son, who was with his mother in the back yard, he hadn’t mentioned ‘his kind of people’ before. “What do you mean by his kind of people? Your brother’s?”
“Yeah, his kind of people. The rich kind driving around in their fancy black and chrome SUVs thinking they’re all that and a cup of coffee. I’ll tell you something. They ain’t worth even half a cup of this coffee. You should have a cup of coffee. It’s real special.”
I made a note about the reference to the SUVs and the type of people his brother associated with. “No thanks, too much coffee in the morning eats my stomach alive,” I lied.
In all honesty, if I didn’t get a cup of coffee soon, there’d be trouble for someone, but I wasn’t about to accept a cup of coffee from someone who acted like he was higher than a kite on speed.
“Your loss.”
“You ever meet these rich kind of people with their fancy SUVs?”
“Once. Never again, I tell you. I stopped going around his place after the first time I met them.”
“When was that? Do you remember?”
“Sure do. Don’t think I’ll ever forget. Actually, wait a second. I have a picture.”
I had to fight hard to mask my excitement. “I’d love to see this picture.”
“I got a few. My lady loves her camera, and she takes pictures of everything. I got a whole album from that visit.” Peter hurried out of the room, returning several minutes later with two large photo albums, which he set on the table in front of me. “Go on and have yourself a look. If you need them for evidence, by all means, take the albums. We got the originals on film. My lady’s pretty upset about the whole thing. We might not be close to my brother’s family, but we have a boy of our own. Anything to help.”
“You don’t mind if I take the albums?”
“Names and dates are written on the back of the pictures.”
“This is really helpful,” I replied, stacking the albums on top of each other. “I’ll take you up on that offer. I’ll have these returned to you as soon as I can. Can you confirm this number is good to reach you at?” I asked before reciting the number I had gotten from Winston.
“That’s my fancy new cell number. Don’t use it much, but I carry it around with me. That’ll work. My regular phone’s what I use more often.”
“Mind giving it to me?”
“Sure thing.” He recited the number, and I jotted it down.
I rose from my seat, thrusting out my hand. “You have been exceptionally helpful, Mr. Henry. We’re doing everything we can to find Jacob. We’ve got a lot of people on his disappearance, so don’t be surprised if other law enforcement officers drop by to ask you more questions.”
“Glad to help out, ma’am. You have yourself a great day, okay?”
“You, too.” Gathering up the photo albums, I headed out the door, got into the Corvette, and dumped the albums on the other seat. Backing the car out of the driveway, I checked my mirrors, narrowing my eyes at the silver SUV that slowed as it drove by Peter Henry’s home.
I kept my speed to the limit and pretended I didn’t notice the vehicle tailing me. Changing my plans of hitting a hotel right away, I led the vehicle on a merry chase, stopping at every red light, stopping at the yellows despite annoying drivers behind me, and keeping to below the speed limit.
When they grew tired of tailing me and pulled up alongside my Corvette at a red light, I leaned out the open window and blew a kiss to the two uniformed officers within. “Have yourselves a good day, officers! Keep up the good work.”
They stared at me, and I waggled my fingers and blew them another kiss before the light turned green and I eased the sports car through the intersection.
Daniels never said I couldn’t taunt anyone while giving them the slip. Not that I’d ever admit it to his face, but he was right about the paint job. Yellow really did make the car go faster, and I enjoyed testing its acceleration the instant I could no longer see the cops in my mirrors.
Chapter Fifteen
Playing it safe, I drove over two hours to Albany before I found a hotel and got a room. With a Corvette to worry about, I ended up spending more than I liked for a hotel room, although it had perks, including a jacuzzi.
I would enjoy handing over the receipts for my expenses. If I couldn’t douse Daniels in gasoline and light him on fire, I’d make him explain the charges to the accountants who would be out for his blood when it was time to balance the books. He hadn’t listed spending restrictions as a part of my rule breaking, and I had a signed sheet of paper stating I was to break most of the FBI’s rules at their expense.
Between driving the car and a license to make my own rules, I was enjoying myself for the first time since leaving Baltimore.
It took two trips to ferry my things into my new room, and I didn’t bother to unpack before grabbing the albums. I lounged on the big bed, lying on my stomach so I could flip through the photo albums in search of answers. Having access to Peter’s wife would have simplified the process, but true to Peter’s word, names, dates, and locations were written on the back of each picture in clear, neat handwriting.
The album told a sad story from the first page. No one smiled, not the two boys in the pictures, who flanked their fathers on opposite ends of the family. The wives stood side by side in the images, and neither looked too happy to be together.
The images had been taking in September, shortly after the Twin Towers of New York fell. Shadows of grief darkened the eyes of both men.
“Right after their mother’s death,” I murmured, grabbing my notepad and jotting down a note.
My phone rang, and I grabbed it out of my pocket, checking the screen. After confirming it was Daniels, I answered, “Hello?”
“Good morning, sunshine!”
“Daniels, what do you want?”
“What sort of trouble are you causing me?”
“Me?”
“Some cops ran the plates of the Corvette.”
“I figured. They followed me around earlier. I blew them some kisses and told them to have a nice day.”
“You flirted with the cops?”
“Sure. I didn’t break a single traffic law, which they were clearly waiting for. If they hadn’t been so painfully obvious about tailing me, maybe I would have given them a reason to pull me over.”
“You are enjoying yourself a little too much, Agent Johnson.”
“Why are you bothering me?”
“I have some information for you.”
“I have a pen and a notepad ready.”
“Your crazy conspiracy theory regarding money flow was correct. Henry has access to the accounts for monies owed for contract work for the project.”
“Which means what?”
“He knows how much is being spent, what it is being spent on, and who is being hired for the work.” Daniels sighed. “In short, you have connected the two cases. That means I should be pulling you off this case, Johnson.”
“I really will quit if you pull me when I’ve just gotten started,” I warned.
“It’s not safe for anyone to be going solo. No one. No agents will be going without a partner on this case.”
“So pull a partner out of your ass. If he—or she—can catch me, I’ll tolerate them taking up room in my Corvette. If they play by my rules. Which are currently modified to my liking. I want to keep this car.”
“I’ve created a monster, haven’t I? You promised you wouldn’t become a criminal. Remember? You promised.”
“I did no such thing. I never once said those words. I stared at you. That is not making a promise.”
“Now you’re just being difficult.”
“I’m not letting you wuss out on our wager, Mr. Daniels.”
“Delayed for a different case—a safer case.”
“Hold on, let me refer to my magic ball.” I paused. “No. The magic ball says no.”
“Your file mentioned something about you having a tendency to become difficult at times. Is this what your file meant?”
“Consider yourself fortunate, Mr. Daniels. Do you know how I normally deal with people I don’t like?”
“Enlighten me.”
“I don’t say a word and I stare. I stare until they get really uncomfortable. Then I keep staring. I will watch my back. I will activate the emergency beacon on my phone if it proves necessary. But I am not giving up without a fight, sir.”
“You found a lead, didn’t you.”
“I’m looking through legally gained but illegally handled evidence,” I replied.
“Humor me.”
“The Henrys are a family of four. Three brothers and one sister.”
“We’re aware of this information.”
“Their mother was killed when the Twin Towers were destroyed, sir.”
There was a long moment of silence on the line. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“No, sir. I am looking at a photograph taken shortly afterwards. This is the last time Peter Henry took his family to meet with his brother’s. The reason for it, however, intrigues me.”
“Go on.”
“Peter didn’t like the type of people who were keeping his brother company. Called them ‘his kind of people.’ Apparently, these individuals favor black SUVs.”
“Black SUVs?”