“Your place is meticulous,” Klein explained, following Ethan’s stare and offering a pensive grin. “Almost obsessive-compulsively so. That page is what we in the business call a ‘clue,’ Ethan.” They pulled their attention away from the folded receipt. “While you were upstairs, I had a look. I noticed the date. Mind telling me what it’s all about?”
After taking a sip from his water bottle, Ethan decided to tell him the truth. “Paul Hyatt’s wife gave it to me.”
“When was this?”
“Earlier today.”
Shaking his head, Klein wondered out loud whether he’d told Ethan to stay away from Hyatt’s widow. “I’m on your team, Ethan, and even to me this is starting to look a lot like harassment.”
“She called me.” Leaning closer to the federal agent, Ethan couldn’t help but feel a little agitated by the fact that he was making greater progress than the FBI. “I asked her a single question, Agent Klein. I wanted to know what her husband had been up to the night that Raleigh got into that ambulance. At first, she didn’t know. Now she does.”
“Uh huh.” His stare narrowed, his face tightened as he slid his thumb over the back of his pointer finger, cracking the knuckle there. “So now this is all related, right?”
Ethan watched the federal agent for a reaction. “You tell me, Agent Klein.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Once Klein left, Ethan spent the following hour and a half on his knees, trying to work on the hardwood floor in the formal living room. But with every stab of the pneumatic nail gun, his focus faltered, and he started thinking again about all of the little, but new, details.
Why hadn’t he been able to remember or conclude that Raleigh’s Essential Thrombocythemia had not only allowed her to bruise so easily but made for an excellent victim photograph? Why hadn’t he, seven and a half years ago, thought harder about Raleigh’s medical records? If he had, those accusatory police officers could have spent more time looking for his wife and instead of looking at him!
As he’d been leaving, Agent Klein had promised to look deeper into Thomas Braun and another nameless character who went by “Maltby,” especially their potential connection to Paul Hyatt and an alleged trip to Traverse City. He’d also mentioned that an incinerator powerful enough to turn a human body to ash within an hour could be easily tracked down; they weren’t the types of things you could buy at Home Depot. Klein had promised to make those calls himself.
But Ethan wasn’t so comfortable with that wait-and-see approach. Raleigh’s case wasn’t exactly active, and if the slow flow of information was any indication, Ethan could be dead before Klein reached any conclusions.
Standing up, he removed the kneepads and left the formal living room with half of its floor a new, polished orange hue, with the rest of it incomplete, exposing the subfloor underneath. If Thomas Braun had been telling the truth about incinerating Raleigh’s body, then all of this renovation work was for nothing anyway.
But until Ethan knew for sure, until he could declare his wife dead in absentia the way the courts had, he wanted answers to the questions that the FBI couldn’t even think to ask.
And getting those answers required a trip to DeKalb.
There’s no way around that.
Tomorrow.
A trip to DeKalb, Illinois, to see for himself how well Thomas Braun had recovered from the beating in that alleyway, and whatever else he could glean about what had led Raleigh into the ambulance in the first place.
The DeKalb address that Ethan had memorized from Thomas Braun’s driver’s license yesterday was within walking distance of Northern Illinois University. As he rolled to a stop across the street from a two-level home on Longview Drive, Ethan noticed a crowd of students, their bags flung over their shoulders, their trendy sneakers dragging across the concrete sidewalk. Once the NIU students passed, Ethan killed the Jag’s engine and hopped out of the car.
Crossing the street, he wondered if this might be the same street where a basement full of kidnapped school bus passengers from Chicago had been found a little over a year ago. That kidnapping had made national headlines after initially being covered up by the bus company’s wealthy owner. And once the authorities recovered those hostages, the story never surfaced again.
Sort of like what had happened with Raleigh; once Ethan had been arrested and the released, he’d heard very little in terms of updates about the investigation. The Chicago Police Department had engaged the FBI, and then moved on.
Stepping up to the front door at 494 Longview Drive, Ethan wondered what he would say if the young boy from Braun’s social media profile pic answered. How would he introduce himself? When he knocked on that door, he braced himself for that worst-case scenario. But instead of Braun’s young son, another man with long, curly hair and a canvas hoodie answered.
“I’m here for Tom,” Ethan said, shortening Braun’s name as a way to make it appear as though he was friendly, or at least familiar, with the man who had helped abduct his wife.
“Tom?”
Clearing his throat, Ethan nodded and motioned towards his face. “Yeah, Tom, with the gray eyes and that smirk you just want to punch off his face.” He gulped, swallowing his escalating temper. “Kinda.”
The hippie that answered the door smacked his forehead. “Oh, man, you mean Thomas.” He chuckled. “That dude doesn’t like it when you call him Tom, bro.”
Ethan fake chuckled as well, trying to fit in. But when the man at the door kept laughing and didn’t get back to the conversation, Ethan took the high road and asked him, “So, can I see Thomas?”
The laughter eased into silence, and the other guy shook his head. “Nah, man. Thomas took off a couple of hours ago, said he was heading back into the city to get some business looked after. Guess he didn’t finish it up yesterday. Plus, he said he needed to pick up some shit for when he sees his boy this weekend.”
Business? The guy lived in a house that appeared to have been converted into student housing. What kind of business did someone like Braun get up to?
Rolling his eyes, Ethan thanked the young man and simply walked away. Making the trip out to Dekalb had been a complete waste of time.
But then, half an hour later, as he pulled into his detached garage with a million questions about what kind of “business” Braun could be getting into, and killed the engine, Ethan grabbed his phone and saw that Klein had sent a text message.
Braun was killed this afternoon. Where were you?
Chapter Forty-Five
Klein didn’t make a trip out to Ethan’s place until later that night. On the evening news, Jasmine and Chad had reported from the WGN-Chicago newsroom that the Quincy L-train platform remained closed after causing chaos for rush hour commuters in order for the Chicago Police to investigate a fatality on the tracks. Jasmine told the story of a DeKalb father of one who had been pushed or nudged onto the tracks as the purple express train sped past the platform. The camera panned to Chad, whose face was wrinkled with worry as he explained that the Chicago Police were reviewing security video and working at getting an image to the media, but anyone with information was urged to call in.
As of yet, no video footage had been released to the media.
When the victim’s photo had appeared on the screen, it displayed a man who was clearly Thomas Braun. Ethan remembered seeing that same image on Braun’s Facebook profile.
That Wednesday evening, when the doorbell chimed, Ethan abandoned his work on the mostly-finished hardwood floor. Just a small corner left to complete, but the way Klein had texted him earlier, Ethan could barely focus anyway. On the front porch, Ethan saw that the special agent was holding a leather attaché and, once he opened the door, Klein hurried into the house, stepping past Ethan and moving quickly into the back where they always talked.
Ethan also noticed that Klein seemed genuinely engaged in this investigation today. Finally.
“The vehicle involved in Paul Hyatt’s collision was stolen,” Klein said, half r
ambling. “Stolen vehicle, stolen plates.”
“That’s odd,” Ethan said, thinking it through. Despite having blacked out when he’d beaten Braun in that back alley off of Congress Boulevard, Ethan’s memory held a very accurate image of the Ford pickup truck that had rammed into Hyatt’s white Jaguar SUV. He remembered the truck’s reinforced grille, its driver’s door propped open a healthy city block away. There’d been a lot of force in that collision, leaving no question that the Jaguar’s occupant had been seriously injured or, as it turned out, killed from the impact. The fact that a tank like that Ford pickup had been stolen meant that Hyatt’s death had been deliberate.
“Uh huh.” Klein’s eyes narrowed. “The driver had no identification, but they ran him through the system. Guess where he’s from?”
“Traverse City.” He’d known it yesterday, too; the way Klein had motioned to the receipt had been a sign of some sort, hadn’t it?
“No, not quite that convenient, but close enough; he was from northern Michigan.”
“Was his last name Maltby?”
Klein shook his head.
“What happened to Thomas Braun on that L platform? What’s the link? Another Michigan resident? Was it another northern Michigan man who shoved him onto those tracks?” Looks like I’m not the crazy one after all.
Shaking his head, Klein stepped up to the refrigerator. He reached in and tossed Ethan a bottle of water, taking one for himself. He’d clearly seen Ethan do that a few too many times. But Ethan wasn’t so keen on the federal agent making himself at home. After taking a brief sip, Ethan couldn’t help but wonder what all of this meant.
“So what links Hyatt’s murder to Braun’s?”
“Not much. Except they happened so close to one another.” As lively as Klein seemed tonight, his shoulders deflated.
“Wow, really?” Ethan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Did your lab rats come up with that, Agent Klein? I didn’t know there was a stopwatch clause with these things.”
The federal agent ignored Ethan’s insulting commentary and walked over to where the Elmwood Marina receipt remained folded on the counter, placed on top of the trade magazine now. Klein didn’t even bother with the magazine with Lawrence Parker’s face on its cover, which Ethan found odd. Instead, the agent opened up the receipt and stared at the page. Ethan was curious what he was thinking because, if it was anywhere as enlightening as his reasoning for why Hyatt and Braun’s deaths were linked, he might need to walk away or risk experience one of Ethan’s rage-induced blackouts.
“Ethan, the preliminary images from that platform suggest that the man who pushed Braun has a long history with the criminal justice system.” He seemed to be explaining this to the receipt in his hands. “Seven and a half years ago, for an eleven-month period while on probation, this man worked as a mechanic at Farmington Truck and Diesel Services. Are you familiar with that outfit?”
Ethan opened his mouth to say he wasn’t, but Klein still hadn’t shifted his attention from the Elmwood receipt. He had his own agenda.
“They’re one of five contractors who service the city’s fleet of ambulances and fire engines.” At last, Klein folded the receipt, placed it squarely over Lawrence Parker’s face, and turned his attention to Ethan. “Now, assuming our identification of the pusher is accurate, that is definitely a detail our lab rats could have figured out.”
Gulping, Ethan said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
Klein raised a hand and cut him off. “But what those rats couldn’t have done was connect with the Center for Disease Control, because as far as I know, nobody at the CDC speaks the same language as our rats.”
Lowering his gaze, Ethan picked at his fingers “Point taken, Agent Klein—”
He cut him off again. “Since the CDC tracks cancer data, it’s a logical starting point when you’re tracking a missing person with cancer. And, according to its medical definition, just like you pointed out, Essential Thrombocythemia is a form of cancer. Now, something I learned while making my calls is that, with ET, it’s a little trickier, mostly because of how rare it is. But the Bureau has its means and with the help of the CDC, we were able to isolate a hospital in a small Michigan town called Hollis Falls.” Klein paused long enough to stare at Ethan, study him for a reaction that never came. “Well, then. This hospital recently treated a young, female patient with ET.” Klein’s eyes widened as he continued to consider Ethan and, this time, a response surfaced.
Standing a little taller, Ethan asked, “Where’s this patient now, Agent Klein?”
More silence and, when Klein pulled his attention away, all he said was, “The patient’s address wasn’t listed as Hollis Falls. I’m still trying to track it down, but once I know—”
“Bullshit.” Ethan knew he was lying. Hollis Falls? “You’re telling me Raleigh’s alive, she’s being treated for her condition at a hospital somewhere in northern Michigan, and you won’t give me her address?”
Klein raised his hands again and this time he took a sip of water. “That’s not what I’m saying at all, Ethan.”
“What else aren’t you telling me?” Ethan’s eyes drifted over to the trade magazine, the Parker sons peeking out past the edges of the Elmwood receipt.
Listing a grocery list of items on his fingers and thumbs, Klein seemed to take a different approach with him. “We have Paul Hyatt’s work in a field that would benefit from the knowledge that your wife had.” The next finger rose. “Paul Hyatt, whose police composite you helped render is virtually identical to the image on his company’s website, is involved in a deadly automobile collision driven by a Michigan resident seven and a half years after your wife disappeared, the very same day you deposited the life insurance check in your bank account.” Third finger. “Another man whose current-day mug shot also matches his police composite is pushed in front of a rush-hour L train weeks later, a week after you paid him a quarter of a million dollars in exchange for information about your missing wife, and a day after you allegedly beat him up. The man that pushed him—”
“Assuming your lab rats identified the right man,” Ethan said, offering a guilty grin.
Klein dismissed his point with a nod and continued, “This man worked on ambulances around the same time that your wife climbed aboard one that has no record of ever being dispatched.” Fourth finger. “And then, as if to tidy it all up and leave no room for a single doubt, a young female patient with the same rare blood condition as your wife was treated at a Hollis Falls hospital.” He never raised his thumb to make a fifth point.
“I wish I could remember what Braun said that set me off,” Ethan said, the picture becoming clearer in his mind. Raleigh was definitely still alive, just like he’d always known. Whatever Braun had helped load into that incinerator, it hadn’t been Raleigh. Ethan’s wife hadn’t been incinerated after all. And while the relief of that realization appeased Ethan, it also worried him because the people who had anything to do with her disappearance were getting themselves killed in horrible accidents.
Why is everyone dying? Why now after all of this time?
“Ethan, I don’t think it’s so much what Braun might have said to you.” Klein stepped closer, getting into his face a little as if trying to make a point. “I think it has more to do with something you’re not telling me.”
Chapter Forty-Six
When he walked Klein to the door, Ethan had a feeling there was something on the federal agent’s mind, maybe something he wasn’t saying. Watching the older man slide his patterned socks into his polished shoes and then glance over with that hesitant frown on his face, Ethan cleared his throat and asked him if there was anything else.
“Funny, it feels like you’re the one holding back, Agent Klein,” Ethan said.
Klein offered a weak smile before kneeling down and tying the shoe’s narrow, waxed laces. “Do you ever wonder how I got involved with Raleigh’s case?” His voice sounded a little defeated.
“My wife was abducted, and that’
s the kind of case you specialize in.” Why else would Klein be assigned to the Raleigh’s disappearance?
“Uh huh.” He started tying the laces on his second shoe. “Back then, there was still a need for someone with that specialization, Ethan. But now, the Bureau sees things a little differently. These days, we’re like any other government organization, and the type of abductions that you think happened to Raleigh, they just don’t happen at a rate that justifies having a full-time body investigating those cases. Not here in Chicago, anyway.”
Ethan could feel his heartbeat accelerating inside his chest with the approaching bad news. It had to be bad news; why else would the older man being going on like this? “Then why are you here, Agent Klein?”
Finishing with his laces, Klein stood straight and ran his hands down the front of his pants. His face still had a regretful twist about it, the lines pulling tight around his eyes and forehead. “Ever hear of Elizabeth Glass? She was eight or nine years old when she became one of Chicago’s most notorious kidnapping victims. Happened right here in Chicago, too, a good sixteen or so years ago.”
Shrugging, Ethan didn’t immediately remember that story, and Klein didn’t seem willing to wait for his memory to rattle.
“Glass was abducted and became part of a big child trafficking operation. Stretched across the entire country, Ethan.” He whistled and stretched his arms as wide as they’d go. “And then, one day, a good fifteen years later, a young woman showed up at Glass’s front door. Gave it a good, solid knock and, when Elizabeth’s father answered, this young woman said she was—”
“His daughter?” Ethan wondered if that might happen with him, if Raleigh might someday appear at his front door—their front door—and tell him the nightmare was over. Except it didn’t happen like that with Glass, did it?
The Last Night (The Last Series Book 2) Page 19