The Runaway Train

by M. W. Griffith

  “Any idea how long they’ve been in that box?”

  “Not yet. There are multiple indications of abuse, but she said it was hard to tell if the injuries were sustained post mortem. There was a striation, a definite break line on the forearm that didn’t heal right. She called it a spiral fracture, indicating that the arm had been twisted until a rotation break occurred.”

  “Doesn’t sound like something she could have done on her own?”

  Ryan gave an exhausted sigh. “Nah, this wasn’t accidental. Someone did this to the kid, and I suspect she endured it for quite a long time.”

  “A broken arm isn’t enough to identify a body.”

  “No, but her teeth are. It might take a day or so to get the results, but she went ahead and sent in the X-Ray samples to try and match with any local kids her age that have gone missing. With you closing the Rainer case and all, there might be a decent chance we I.D. the victim. Then again, there’s a whole lot of kids we haven’t recovered from Rainer’s operation.”

  “Stay positive,” Kathryn said. “And thanks for keeping me up to date. Not being at the station wasn’t exactly what I had in mind after closing the biggest case of my career.”

  “Career isn’t over yet, Kat. Besides, I know that you’ve been searching for any news about Vanessa Finch. Thought that maybe, you know, you might like to know…”

  “You thought I’d like to know whether or not she ended up in a box buried in the woods?”

  Ryan coughed awkwardly into the phone again. “I know you said to stay positive. I mean, wouldn’t you rather know?”

  “Better than not knowing.” Kathryn wheeled the car to her apartment complex. “I’m going to call it a night. Thanks again, Ryan.”

  “Sure, sure. Oh. One more thing. I noticed you checked out some files from the cage? Saw your signature on the log.”

  Kathryn rolled her eyes impatiently. “So what? I’ve got some time off. Thought I’d do a little bit of reading.”

  “There’s such thing as the library, you know.” He laughed. “Just be careful is all I’m saying. Captain finds out you’re still hanging around the station, he’s going to chew your ass out.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Have a good night.”

  She tightened her coat and sat in the parked car for a moment, relishing the warm air. She thought about the girl in the box, and what her short life must have been like. Then she dialed Mathew Wade.

  “Hello?” His voice was groggy and she wondered why she decided to call so late. Maybe she assumed he’d be awake because people who are haunted don’t find sleep easily.

  “Hey Mathew, this is Kat.” A stray dog hobbled into view in the parking lot. It made a slow lurch toward the dumpsters. “Just heard back from forensics. The bones don’t belong to him. It’s not Tyler.”

  A series of sobs erupted from the phone. “Oh, thank god! Thank the lord!”

  “Just thought I’d pass along the news.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. I mean, it’s not for somebody else. I know. Somebody else’s kid is dead. But…”

  “I get it. Trust me, I understand.” The dog disappeared into the darkness. She stared at the shadows around the dumpsters, searching for what the night had already absorbed. “Tomorrow I’m going to be checking out the baseball coach. The one who coached your son? I did a little digging online and found that he works at the James Adams Middle School, not too far from the park. I was wondering if you wanted to tag along.”

  “Of course, yes! Thank you.” He sniffed. “Hope you didn’t dig up that information for too long. I know that he works there as the gym teacher. Trust me, I’ve been trying to find answers around town for the past two years. This has really taken up all of my time.”

  It’s also taking a toll, Kathryn thought.

  “I imagine it has. Try and get some sleep, Mr. Wade. We’ll meet up at the school tomorrow, say, around ten?”

  “Sounds good. And, eh, I don’t really sleep much anymore.”

  Kathryn nodded. “I understand. Just give it a shot, okay?”

  “I’ll see you in the morning, detective.”

  He broke the connection, and Kathryn stayed in the car for several minutes, waiting for the little dog with the limp to reappear. When it didn’t, she got out and made her way up two flights of stairs to her apartment.

  Sleep wouldn’t come easy for her tonight either.

  Chapter Nine

  Kathryn was tired. The past few days felt like the longest of her life. Shifting in the driver’s seat, she listened to the savory crackle of tendons as she stretched. A quick glance at the clock told her Mathew was running late. A small part of her imagined the man finally falling into a deep sleep, past the signal of an alarm, and into something close to hibernation. Maybe she should have made the meeting at the school later in the day so they could both catch up on some much needed rest. The truth of the matter, she understood, was that there wasn’t any time for rest. Not when the pieces were falling into place. Not when she could feel herself inching closer to the truth.

  A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed a yellow cab pull into the lot. A pang of regret for forgetting that he didn’t have a car struck her. In the future, she promised herself she’d be more considerate. It didn’t matter how many things were occupying her mind, common decency shouldn’t escape her. He strode up to her car and tapped on the window. A five o’ clock shadow painted his face, and there were dark circles around his eyes.

  Other than that, she had to admit he was quite handsome. He was wearing a dark denim jacket, blue jeans and cowboy boots. It wasn’t an uncommon appearance, but he gave off a rugged sort of vibe; a man who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and would do anything for the ones he loved.

  Kathryn stepped out of the car, trying not to focus on the way his eyes slid over her. “You look like how I feel.” She smiled. “Come on. Pick up the pace, cowboy. This coach, Martin Green, he’s got a class in half an hour.”

  “What’d you do, call ahead?” His voice tumbled low, almost sounding strained.

  Kathryn shrugged. “Nah. I got us a couple visitor passes from the office. The clerk let me know about when the best time would be to chat with the guy. I guess we could have come around lunch, but I really want to get this over with.”

  “Why’s that?” He stuffed his hands into his jean pockets when they entered the building. A long, fluorescent lit hallway lined with green lockers greeted them.

  “To be honest with you.” She sighed. “I hated high school. The way it always looks, the smell. It just conjures up bad memories for me.”

  “You’re kidding? High school was a blast back in my day. I was the running back for the team. Dated a cheerleader. I was even voted prom king. It was pretty awesome.”

  Kathryn shrugged. “Maybe for you. It was a popularity contest for everyone else, and spoiler alert, most of us lost.”

  “Hmm.” He nodded in thought while they turned a corner and approached the double doorway to the gymnasium. “I think that kids think too much, you know? They worry too much about how they look, what kind of music they listen to, stuff like that. A lot of teenagers don’t get that every day is what they make of it, and in the end, none of the other stuff matters.”

  “That what you used to tell people back when you were on top of the world?”

  “Come on.” He smirked. “It couldn’t have been that bad. I mean, look at you. You turned out pretty well, don’t you think?” He stretched his arms out, taking it all in. “Tyler would have loved high school, just like his old man.”

  “Maybe.” Her heels clacked loudly on the gym floor. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

  “No. It’s not easy for me anymore.” He turned away with a sigh of his own. “Every time I close my eyes I see his face. If I close them long enough, he talks to me.”

  Kathryn wrinkled her brow. “What does he say?”

  When he turned back there were tears misting his eyes. “He says why did you
let me go, daddy?”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said. “Whatever happened to him wasn’t because of you.”

  “I’m his father, Kat. It’s my job to protect him, no matter what.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “I let him go. I let him go and somebody did something to him. What was I doing? Sitting around at home watching the ball game. Can you believe that? Watching football while you’re kid is being ripped from your life.”

  They stopped just outside the gym teacher’s office door. “I get it. You’re superman to your child. Beating yourself up isn’t going to bring him back, and I promise that you’re going to find him. You’re going to swoop in and save the day, just like I know he’s expecting you to do.”

  “Two years is a long time.”

  Her hand reached out and grabbed his. “I know it is. Which is why you need to stay focused. Take care of yourself so you’re ready to face whatever is coming our way.”

  “He’s not dead.” His grip tightened. “I feel it.”

  “I believe you,” she whispered.

  Chapter Ten

  The office felt cramped. Two adjacent shelves on the walls held golden, plastic statues of boys and girls from various sports, their expressionless features frozen in athletic pose. Motivational posters decorated the space behind a small, cluttered desk where Coach Green was scribbling on the gridded pages of a planner. One of the posters depicted a rugged baseball laying in a green field. It read ‘Every strike brings me closer to the next home run’ in a bold, red font.

  “Have a seat,” Green instructed, motioning to a couple metal folding chairs. “Got a few minutes before the next period.”

  The coach was middle-aged with a crescent of white hair surrounding the bald spot on top of his head. His eyes slipped quickly over Kathryn, not in a sexual way. It was more of an assessing manner. In that instant, she felt like he knew which of his guests held the authority.

  Kathryn stretched her hand out, which Green met with a cold, calloused embrace. “My name’s Detective Lincoln,” she asserted with the same earnestness as the coach’s grip. “This is Mathew Wade. We’re here to ask you a few questions about the community baseball team you coach in the summer, if that’s alright with you.”

  Green clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes. “Is this about Ethan Winfield?”

  “You remember Ethan?” Kathryn glanced up at the lonely baseball in the poster, and the words above it made her heart flutter. ‘Every strike brings me closer…’

  “Of course I remember Ethan. Kid had a good arm. It’s terrible what happened to him.” He paused, drawing in a thoughtful breath. “Everyone was so glad when he was found safe, but it was truly an awful thing that happened.”

  Kathryn gave a slight nod as though she were telling him that it was alright now. It was okay to talk about. “Well, Rainer won’t be a problem anymore, as I’m sure you’ve seen on the news.”

  The coach clapped his big hands together so loudly it gave her a startle. “Of course! You’re the detective that brought him in, aren’t you? I remember now. Congratulations, and my goodness, thank you. You’ve made this town a safer place.” A broad, friendly smile appeared.

  “One step at a time,” she added solemnly. “I wanted to ask if you’ve ever heard of another boy, one that played on your team a couple years back. His name was Tyler Wade.”

  “Wade.” His eyes flicked over to Mathew, then he leaned back in his seat. The smile quickly sank away. “I’m sorry, that name’s not familiar. You sure he played for the Lightning?”

  Mathew stared straight ahead at the coach, and pulled a photograph from his wallet. The picture showed a brown haired boy with crooked teeth holding a baseball bat. “Center field.”

  “This is your boy we’re talking about?” Green aimed a finger at Mathew in a gesture akin to a light bulb blinking on above his head. “Oh, geez, I mean, is everything okay?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Kathryn said. “He didn’t live here, so the school wouldn’t have records of him, but I’m sure you keep community rosters around, right? Somewhere, you have a lineup?”

  The coach stood, blocking half the view of the baseball poster. “Yeah, I mean, I keep pretty good record.” He moved toward a five drawer filing cabinet and began thumbing through documents. “You said two years back?”

  “That’s right,” Mathew affirmed.

  Green pulled out a file and opened it. “Let’s see. Got Ethan on here for a tryout, but he didn’t make it in.” He grimaced while closing the file and handing it to the detective. “The only Tyler on the roster didn’t share your last name, mister. I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong team.”

  Mathew’s face paled. “That’s not possible.” He spit the words like venom.

  “Nobody on here named Vanessa Finch either.” Kathryn studied the documents, scanning through the names.

  “Oh, Vanessa. Now there’s a name I do recognize.”

  Kathryn’s heart began to drum. “You know her?”

  The coach held up his hands. “No, no, nothing like that. I’d heard her name being tossed around practice before Ethan went missing. You know that summer camp he went to? Well, the boys were talking like she’d been there. You know how boys can be with locker room talk and all.”

  “So, they discussed her sexually?” Kathryn raised an eyebrow.

  “No, nothing like that. Trust me, if I’d heard that kind of talk I would have put a stop to it right then and there. Basically, they were teasing Ethan about her because the two were inseparable. I believe they even keep in touch by mail afterwards. Pen pals, I guess you’d call it. Anyway, kids can be mean. I tried to put a stop to it when I could, but I can’t be there to catch em’ every time.”

  Mathew stood and leaned onto the desk, casting a menacing shadow. “You can’t tell me that my boy didn’t play for the Lightning. You know something, don’t you? What happened to Tyler!?”

  A flash of surprise entered the coach’s features just as Kathryn grabbed a fistful of Mathew’s collar. “Outside,” she seethed, inches away from his face. “Now.”

  The distraught father left the little office, but not without slamming the door so hard that a burst of air brushed up against her. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “Really, he’s been through a lot.”

  “No.” The coach sank back into the chair with his eyes still fastened on the door. “I completely understand. You saw for yourself in the file, though. Tyler Wade never played for my team. I wish I could help.”

  “Actually.” Kathryn allowed herself a slight smile. “You’ve been a big help. Thanks for your time.”

  Chapter Eleven

  "What the hell happened?” Kathryn's face was a storm of anger and disappointment. The interview was supposed to go smoothly. She didn't want to arouse any attention, especially considering that she was supposed to be on a mandatory vacation.

  "I don't know what happened in there," Mathew returned. "Isn't that supposed to be your job? To find out what happened? That guy knows something! I feel it. He knows what happened to my son!"

  "Whatever happened to Tyler, whatever you think Green knows, won't mean shit unless you keep your head in the game!" Their voices bounced off the gymnasium walls. "Accusing someone without a shred of evidence can be considered harassment." She pointed a finger at him. "One phone call. That's all it takes. Just one call to my superior, and I'm out."

  "You don't have kids, do you?" His voice lowered and she caught the hint of a tremor.

  Kathryn sagged her shoulders and shook her head. "No. I don't."

  "Then I think I'm done talking to you." He turned and started towards the exit. There was a stray basketball sitting on the outside line. He scooped it up and sent it crashing into the bleachers.

  "Wade!" She called after him, but the finality in his voice led her to believe that there wasn't a chance he would turn back around.

  The Yellow Cab was waiting for Mathew outside. It pulled away from the curb ju
st as Kathryn left the building. For a long moment, she stared at the tail lights retreating down the lane. Then, she marched through the school parking lot, got into the Maxima, and turned the engine.

  Still shaken from the confrontation, she rolled down the window to feel the sting of the air on her face as she drove home. An uncomfortable, ominous feeling scratched through her. It wasn't just the anger Wade displayed, but the unsettling determination to go on alone.

  Maybe he was just blowing off some steam. Two years was a long time not to know what happened to your child. His last words to her buzzed in her mind, and she had to admit that he was right. She couldn't possibly understand what he has been through because she didn't have any children of her own. That didn't mean she would stop looking.

  Back at her apartment, she tossed her keys on the counter along with Ethan Winfield's file. In the kitchen, she started a pot of coffee. There was a dining area to the left of the kitchen that she’d converted into an office. She didn't have many friends or family that would occupy a formal eating space anyway. The job wasn't exactly easy on relationships.

  Her computer was older than she'd care to admit. A thin layer of dust blanketed the top of the monitor. She swiped it clean before sinking into the chair. Within a few clicks, she was perusing the NCIC website for any matches on who the media was now calling 'Little Jane.' A composite sketch had been made and entered into the system based off the remains found inside the box. It was impossible, she knew, for the artist to produce an accurate picture based on the findings. The end result was a pretty, albeit generic, little girl with dull blue eyes and short blonde hair.

  Calls had begun pouring into the station as soon as the image popped up on television screens across the county. Almost all of them came from grief stricken parents desperate to find their lost child. Kathryn knew that someone out there had to be missing a daughter. Someone loved Little Jane. Somebody knew what happened.

  She also scrolled through ViCAP in order to match similar crimes to Little Jane. The list on ViCAP yielded more results than she liked. Crimes against women, specifically under the age of eighteen, were extremely common. There were a lot of scumbags in the world waiting to snap, preying on somebody's loved ones. The manner in which Little Jane had been found, burned and stuffed into a box, didn't coincide with any other criminal activity in the area. Some of the trauma the victim endured certainly matched hundreds of others, but she imagined that it took a special kind of psychopath to discard the remains inside a box in the woods. The killer wasn't in a rush. Whoever it was took their time. Statistically speaking, Little Jane could have very well been killed by someone she knew, perhaps a parent. That would explain why she couldn't find a listing on NCIC, but then again, it was hard to match a person based off the sketch. A lot of guess work went into the drawing, and she might have come across Little Jane's listing a hundred times without knowing who it actually was.