“He’s okay?” someone asked.
“What a brave boy!” another said.
“I’ll drop off some cookies tomorrow. Oh, no, it’s no trouble,” a woman insisted.
“We’ve made an extra pan of lasagna. Please. You’re probably dead on your feet. Have you had time to shop?” another asked.
Mrs. Forrand said, “I’m behind.” The group made sympathetic noises. Much arm patting and offers of babysitting, shopping, and baking ensued. Mr. Forrand, extraneous in this talk of gingerbread, looked up and saw me. He threaded his way through the people. Stopped and said, “Cody got home this morning.”
“He’s okay in the cold?” The celebration was scheduled to last seventy minutes.
“We’ll swap off bringing him to the car and running the heater.”
“I’d like to talk to Cody,” I said. When had they planned to tell us he was home from the hospital? My guess was never.
His face tightened. “We heard about that man, the pedophile.”
“He didn’t take Cody.”
“He lived four blocks away!” People looked over. He lowered his voice. “Why weren’t we told?”
“He wasn’t on the registry. We interviewed him. He didn’t do it. Couldn’t have.” I pressed on. “We need to talk to Cody, to find the person who took him.”
“If you find the guy.”
“Did you have a bad experience with the police?” He tensed up at my question. “You claimed we stopped searching for Cody when we didn’t, and you don’t think we’ll catch who did this.”
“We’ve seen things go badly before. The town Jane is from, Chaplin. They had a missing-kid case and the cops bungled it.” He looked over his shoulder. His wife had picked up Cody. “I don’t want Cody upset. He had nightmares, in the hospital.”
“Understood.”
Mrs. Forrand called, “Pete.”
He waved at her. “I’ve got to take Cody to the car. You can talk to him inside.” He left and took his son from his wife. Cody wrapped his arms around his father’s neck. They walked across the snow, toward the church. I followed them to the minivan parked in the church’s lot. He fumbled the keys and dropped them to the pavement.
“Allow me.” I scooped the keys up and unlocked the driver’s door. Mr. Forrand settled Cody in the back and turned on the heat.
“Hi there,” I said to Cody as I sat beside him.
“You’re that policeman,” Cody said.
“Chief Lynch. You remembered.”
He grabbed a box of animal crackers from the seat pocket in front of him. “Want one?”
I didn’t, but I wanted him to talk so I said, “I’d love one. Thanks.” Cody rummaged in the box and withdrew a cookie. Handed it to me. I said, “Gorilla, looks like. Missing a foot. Must’ve tangled with a tougher animal.”
“Elephant!” Cody said, waving his cookie at mine.
“Cody, the car you got in the day of the snowstorm. What did the driver look like?”
“A Mighty Morphin Power Ranger!” He spewed crumbs as he spoke.
“Talk after you finish chewing, Cody,” Mr. Forrand said from the front seat.
“So it was a man?” Billy had shown me pictures of the Power Rangers. There were five, but only two were female. The Red Ranger was male.
“It was a Power Ranger.” He explained it as if I was trying his patience.
“So he was dressed all in red?”
“No, just the mask.”
Mr. Forrand’s hand stopped adjusting the heat dial. “Mask?” he asked.
“The Mighty Morphin Power Ranger mask.” Cody kicked his legs against his father’s seat. “Didn’t have the whole suit.” He sighed. “That would have been awesome.”
“What was the person wearing?” I kept my tone light. The kidnapper had worn a fucking mask?
Cody shrugged. “A coat. I dunno. Ooh! The tiger. Rowr.” He dangled the tiger cookie before my face before shoving it into his mouth.
“Cody, was the car you got into parked on your street?”
“Nope!” He kicked his legs.
“Was it on Weymouth Avenue?” The street where Ms. Hart and Mr. Connelly lived, and where Skylar had lost Cody’s scent.
“Yup!”
“Why did you get inside, buddy?” I asked.
“Yes, why, Cody?” His father’s voice shook.
“Because it was a Power Ranger!” Cody smiled. “And he had a present!”
Mr. Forrand shook all over. “Oh, God. Buddy, remember how we talked about not getting in strangers’ cars?”
I gave him a “Not now” look and asked, “Was the present the Lego truck kit?”
“Yup!” He laughed. Then, like a tap turned off, his laughter stopped. “Where is it?”
“I’ll help you find it if you can tell me where you went.”
“We drove,” he said. “It was boring, but I had my truck kit and the Power Ranger said we could build it when we got to the Power Ranger base.”
“Did you stop for gas?” I asked.
“No.” He rooted through his cracker box. “Wait. The Power Ranger said we needed some before we could get to base.”
“When you got to the Power Ranger base, what did it look like?”
“Home,” he said.
I met Mr. Forrand’s puzzled look with one of my own. “Home,” I repeated.
“The bed wasn’t a bunk bed, but it had my robot sheets, and a stuffed animal like Sammy; but it wasn’t Sammy, because real Sammy’s tail is cut in half. He had surgery. Uncle Greg says Sammy’s almost as tough as me.” Whoa. The room had Cody’s sheets and favorite stuffed animal? The kidnapper had attempted to replicate his bedroom.
“Cody, buddy, do you know who drove you there? Who wore the mask?”
He shook his head. “The Power Ranger said it was a secret. If I became a Power Ranger, I could find out. I didn’t get to.”
“Cody, for God’s sake! That Power Ranger wasn’t a good person!” his father shouted.
Mrs. Forrand jerked the side passenger door open, letting in a gust of cold air. “What’s going on?”
“Why’s Daddy yelling?” Anna asked, poking her head out from behind her mother.
Cody yelled, “My leg hurts!”
Mr. Forrand said, “Cody’s kidnapper had his sheets and a stuffed animal like Sammy. He told him he’d become a Power Ranger.” His hands trembled. He was envisioning everything that could’ve happened to Cody.
“What?” Mrs. Forrand’s face was puckered in confusion. “Sammy?”
Mrs. Forrand and Anna climbed inside the minivan, taking the front passenger seat. I explained that it seemed that whoever had taken Cody had been inside his bedroom. Mrs. Forrand’s hysteria matched her husband’s. “He was inside our house? When?” She clutched Anna tightly to her chest.
“The bad man came to our house?” Anna asked, looking from her father to her mother.
“Oh, honey, come here.” Her mother hauled Anna to her chest. “Don’t worry. The bad man can’t come near you.”
“Or Cody?” Anna’s eyes went to her brother, who tipped the animal cracker box upside down, spilling crumbs onto the seat.
“Or Cody,” I said. “Stay calm; we’ll do everything we can to keep you all safe. I’ll assign a patrolman to your house. In the meantime, I need you to make a list of anyone who’s been in your home since Cody got Sammy or his sheets.”
“I don’t know when—” Mrs. Forrand began.
“June!” Anna interrupted. “He cut up the old sheets, remember, Mom?”
Mrs. Forrand nodded, a fist to her mouth. “Yes, June. Right. What a memory you have, lovebug.” She kissed her daughter’s head.
“Since June then,” I said.
“What about the plumber?” Mrs. Forrand said.
“What plumber?” Mr. Forrand asked.
“A few weeks, maybe a month ago, while you were at work, we had a leak in the basement. I tried to reach you, but you were in a meeting, so I called a plumber.” She was d
efensive. As if plumbing expenses required a two-spouse vote. “A guy came. He said it had to do with the washing-machine hookup. He fixed it.”
“I don’t remember getting a plumbing bill,” Mr. Forrand said.
“He did it for free. Said it was such a tiny thing. He poked around upstairs, asking if we needed any other work done, and I think he went in the kids’ room.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“I don’t remember. Something about their beds and how he’d had bunk beds as a kid. He had a twin brother, he said. He must’ve seen the sheets.”
“What company did he work for? Do you remember his name?” I asked.
Her arms were tight around Anna, and her eyes were glued to Cody. “I don’t remember. I think I got the name from a circular, but I threw it away.”
“You let a plumber look at our child’s bedroom?” Mr. Forrand’s voice was angry.
“I didn’t think—” she began.
“After Chaplin? After Vicky?” he asked. What were they talking about?
She said, “The kids weren’t home! They were with Jessica.”
“Jessica, your sister?” I asked Mrs. Forrand.
She said, “Yes. She has horses. The kids love to help feed and groom them.”
“Okay. Well, I think you should go home now. Skip the rest of the event here,” I said. “I’ll have a policeman meet you at your place. Please work on that list.”
“Cody,” his father said. “Can’t you tell us who took you for a drive the other day? We won’t be angry. We just need to know.”
“No,” Cody said, his voice lower and softer. His pale face was a moon in the window’s reflection. “I didn’t get to stay at base. I didn’t get to find out, or meet the Green Ranger.” His body slumped. He leaned his head against the window and said, “I want to go home.”
After exiting the minivan, I crossed the street to the park. A man was speaking ; he wore a coat open at the neck to show his clerical collar. He asked the crowd to remember those less fortunate and urged us to donate to the food pantry and to pray for those in distress. The priest beside him grimaced. Catholics like prayers to serve specific purposes. You don’t go chucking them out willy-nilly.
“Let us find forgiveness for everyone, even those whose choices we might not approve of. Do not fall prey to intolerance or hate. Remember God’s grace touches us when we are selfless, when compassion is our compass.”
I edged past the crowd, aiming for the beat-up station wagon.
A woman peeled away from the group. She held her candle up. “Chief Lynch?”
She stepped aside so as not to interrupt the minister. Her stiletto-heeled boots left tiny divots in the snow. Close up, she was stunning. “I’m Sandra Patterson. I work at the high school, as a guidance counselor.” She extended a red-leather-gloved hand. “I chair the local LGBT chapter. I’d love it if you’d come and give a talk at the school.”
“A talk.”
“On how you became a police officer.”
“I passed the tests.”
She smiled. “And about what it’s like, as a gay man, being a community leader.”
“No thanks. Public speaking isn’t my thing,” I said.
“I’ve seen you do it. Press conferences and the school talk about drunk driving.”
I’d been roped into the drunk-driving gig by the selectmen. Next year, I’d find a sacrificial goat, like Billy. “That’s my job,” I said.
“Exactly! You have a position of influence. Many of our gay youths feel powerless. It would be inspiring for them to hear from someone like you.”
“Ms. Patterson, thank you for the offer, but what I want is a world in which I’m not approached to speak just because I’m gay.”
She tilted her head. “You are gay,” she said.
“Yes. I’m also Irish, and I don’t like anchovies. No one cares. And I don’t mind being gay. I do get tired of everybody else honing in on it.” I took a breath, then said, “You have a beautiful face.” She’d opened her mouth for a rebuttal, but my compliment disarmed her. “You ever get tired about hearing how pretty you are?”
“Well, sometimes I wish—”
“Imagine that’s the only thing anyone ever talks about when they discuss you. In your company. Outside it. The only thing.”
“I take your point, but these kids, they aren’t living your reality. Many aren’t out, not even to their families.”
“And the day they ‘come out’ as everyone calls it, that’s the day they’ll know how I feel. I’m sorry, but I can’t brag about that. Most days it’s a pain in my ass.”
“I see.”
“I’m not sure you do. I don’t see how you could.”
She lifted the candle. “You’re very handsome. Ever get tired of hearing that?”
“Never,” I said.
She laughed. “Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but it’s been a pleasure, Chief. Maybe I should have you come talk to the Debate Team instead.”
On the way to the station, my car’s engine sputtered. I thought of what the minister had said, about compassion. I laughed. I drove this wreck because someone had written “FAG!” on my car. A store was destroyed because someone hated that the owners loved each other. I was racing toward the station because some sicko thought it was fun to kidnap a child and bring him to a bedroom with a stuffed animal like his favorite. Compassion seemed like a fairy-tale notion, something Santa might bring if we were all very good.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I grabbed Klein off patrol. Told him to go to the Forrand house and note any suspicious activity. “Suspicious activity?” he asked. He ran his hand through his hair. Tried to anyway. Guy had so much gel in there, a hurricane-force wind couldn’t shift it.
“Cars driving by frequently. Anyone paying a lot of attention to the house.”
“Should I take down license plates?” He looked excited.
“Sure.” That should occupy about six minutes of his five-hour shift. “Don’t leave until your relief comes.” He bounded out of the station, eager to protect and serve.
Wright was in his wool coat, ready to leave. Go home. Kiss his wife. Maybe watch his kids sleep. That’s what he thought. “I’ve got news,” I said.
“Why do I suspect that your news means I’m not getting out this door?”
“Cody Forrand and his family were at the interfaith event.”
“Cody got out of the hospital?” He was surprised, and annoyed.
“I questioned him. The person who took him wore a Mighty Morphin Power Ranger mask.”
“What? Oh, hell.”
“Gets better. Sounds like the guy gave Cody the Lego truck kit he wanted so badly, and when he drove him to his place, he had a bed outfitted with the same sheets Cody has at home. And a stuffed animal just like his favorite.”
“Not a stranger,” Wright said.
“At the very least, it’s someone who’s been inside their house and his room. I’ve got the Forrands making a list of people who’ve been in the room since June, when Cody got those sheets.”
“Is anybody with them?” he asked.
“Just sent Klein.”
He rubbed his nose. “You want to call my wife and explain why I won’t be home?”
“Nope. Finny here?”
“He left to meet Mr. Evans. Guess he’s finally well enough to talk about the break-in.” He took off his coat. “Why couldn’t it have been the local pedo?”
I got Mr. Forrand on the phone and asked him to give me the details on Cody’s truck sheets. Manufacturer, style, and the store where they were purchased. “How’s the list coming?” I asked.
“Most of the people are friends or family.” He was glum.
“We need all the names. Anyone who had no part in this should be eager to help. We’ll clear them quickly.”
“I’ll call you back.” He hung up.
A knock brought my head up. Finnegan stood in the doorway, in the windbreaker he wore whether it was ten degree
s or a hundred degrees outside. “You talk to Wright?” I asked.
He nodded. “Crazy. Hey, I finally interviewed Mr. Evans about the break-in. He saw a red pickup truck idling near the shop a few days before the incident.” Idyll had two apple orchards, and rural areas, but pickup trucks weren’t common in town.
“He give you anything else?” I asked.
“Just that he locked up the night of the break-in around 10:00 p.m.”
“Kind of late, isn’t it?” The store usually closed at 7:30 p.m.
“Holiday inventory and shipping, he said.”
“Okay, so the break-in happened after 10:00 p.m. and before, what, 8:30 a.m. when Mr. Gallagher reported it?”
He said, “Yup. Of course, that part of town isn’t exactly hopping after ten.” I didn’t point out that there was no part of Idyll hopping after 10:00 p.m.
“What about the restaurant nearby?” I asked. “The Tavern House?”
“They close at 11:00,” he said.
“I’ll see if anyone there saw the truck. You need to shift your focus back on the Forrand case.”
“You think Cody knows who took him?” he asked.
“No. He was upset about it, too. Because he hadn’t discovered the secret of the Power Rangers.”
An hour later, Mrs. Forrand appeared at the station with Cody in tow. She gave us two sheets of paper: one was a list of people who’d been in their house since June, and the other had details from Cody’s sheets. “Some of it wasn’t readable,” she said. “The tag’s been through the wash so many times.”
Cody did a quiet 360, his mouth open. A few of the men, recognizing him, stopped by and said hello. Answered his questions about chasing criminals (as if they had) and using their guns (ditto). While they distracted him, the detectives and I asked Jane Forrand follow-up questions about the plumber and about Cody’s toy raccoon, “Sammy.” Was the toy always in his room? Would everyone on her list have seen it? Unfortunately, it seemed Sammy was beloved, and Cody took it everywhere. Jane said they’d had to turn around mid-trip more than once because Sammy had been left at a gas station or rest stop. So it was likely that anyone who knew them or had been in their house longer than five minutes would know about Sammy.
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