Patrick Bowers 08 - Every Crooked Path

by Steven James

  On the one hand he wanted to reply, to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault, but on the other hand he felt like doing so would have somehow been a betrayal of his feelings for Skylar.

  He closed the tab without responding.

  Instead he practiced balloon animals. The how-to book he’d checked out of the library explained how to make twenty different animals. Some were a lot more complicated and required multiple balloons twisted together. He stuck with the simpler ones, but truthfully, even those were a challenge for him.

  At last, taking a small bag of the balloons and the book along with him, he left to meet Skylar at St. Stephen’s Research Hospital to visit Derek, the boy whose posters he had put up just last week.

  53

  Christie was making some falafel burgers for a midafternoon lunch for herself and Tessa, who must have been in her room, when I came in.

  “Did you eat?” she asked.

  “I grabbed something earlier.” I set down my things and gave her a kiss. “How are you doing?”

  “Good.”

  “How was church?”

  “It was nice.” She flattened out one of the burgers. “I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “I’m not sure if I agreed with the sermon, but it made me think.”

  “Now you’ve got me curious.”

  “First, how did it go? The things you were looking into with Tobin?”

  “The pattern on the rug is starting to take shape.”

  “The rug?”

  I explained the analogy.

  “Ah. Makes sense.”

  “So now, what was this thought-provoking sermon about?”

  “Temptation.” She sprinkled some spices on the burgers, flipped them, then put a slice of pepper jack cheese on hers.

  “Okay, and?”

  “Here.” She handed me the spatula. “Watch these for me.” She had the habit of taking notes in her Bible rather than on another sheet of paper or in a notebook, and now she dug it out.

  “The pastor called the sermon ‘Manacled Hearts.’” She was flipping to the New Testament. “There’s a Bible verse in James that says basically that people are tempted when they’re dragged away by their own evil desires and enticed. Then, after those desires have conceived, they give birth to sin; and sin, when it’s fully grown, well, it gives birth to death.”

  I found the imagery profound—what is conceived in evil develops into sin and eventually gives birth to death. The counterposition of giving birth to death was striking.

  “What didn’t you agree with?”

  “He said you can step out of the cycle anytime, but the longer you let evil desires lead you around, the stronger their chains on you become.”

  I actually agreed with that.

  Our previous discussion concerning demons came to mind.

  This verse, however, seemed to say that temptation came from our own desires rather than being something we can blame on the devil. But either way, whether the temptation came from another source or emerged from within, there was no denying that we’re all tempted to do things we know we shouldn’t do, and the more we give in to them, the more power they exert over us.

  Chained souls.

  Manacled hearts.

  Sounded pretty spot-on to me.

  For example, regarding this current case, people often get drawn into porn one mouse click, one seemingly innocent image, at a time. After a while, though, the tamer images aren’t enough, don’t satisfy them anymore, and they turn to more and more deviant images or videos.

  And the chains don’t discriminate. You’ll find truckers, doctors, teachers, rabbis, cops, the wealthy, the poor, all races, all ages, none of that matters.

  I thought of the pedophile Hal Lloyd again, as I had the other day during Tobin’s briefing.

  Talk about manacled hearts. Lloyd had been drawn in, not only to the images, but to reenacting the violent and twisted sexual acts he saw online.

  And now he was serving a twenty-year sentence at the Albany Federal Penitentiary.

  “And you don’t agree?” I said, getting back to the conversation with Christie.

  “I don’t agree that we can step out of the cycle anytime—at least not by ourselves.”

  I anticipated where she was going with this. “So you’re saying we need God’s help.”

  “I believe we’re born with chains and it takes more than just a concerted effort on our own part to shrug them off.”

  So how much do we need God to break us free from our own evil desires, and how much responsibility do we have for doing it on our own? God’s sovereignty versus human accountability. Some of history’s deepest thinkers have spent their lives grappling with that conundrum.

  I didn’t have the sense that we were going to resolve it this afternoon.

  I slid the falafel burgers onto a plate and shifted the discussion away from temptation and its implications. “So, how’s Tessa? You told me your talk with her didn’t go as well as you’d hoped it would.”

  “She’s giving me the silent treatment. She’s been in her room all day. When I asked her if she was sulking, she told me, ‘If you have to ask, then the answer is obvious.’”

  “You think maybe she’s just studying for her exams?”

  “I doubt it. She doesn’t need to. School is easy for her. I wish I could remember half of what that girl does.”

  Christie found two buns, then turned to the fridge. “I thought maybe if I made falafel for her it might help thaw things out between us.”

  “Do you have an avocado?”

  She took one out of the vegetable crisper. “Great minds.”

  “If that doesn’t start the thawing, I’m not sure what will. After all, the way to a girl’s heart is through an avocado.”

  “I’m not sure that’s quite how the saying goes, but let’s hope it does the trick in this case.”

  While she took the food to Tessa, I set up shop at the kitchen nook, spread out my papers, and went online.

  Checking the Federal Digital Database, I found that the psychologist who consulted with the NYPD and had interviewed D’Nesh yesterday had posted the transcript of their conversation.

  I studied it and took careful note of what the boy had to say.

  D’Nesh mentioned that most of the people who were with him wore masks the whole time except, as it turned out, the two men from Romanoff’s house—Muhammad El-Sayed and Garrett Higgs—who were primarily in charge of transporting the children from one place to another.

  Dr. Perrior: “Can you tell us about the other place where they took you?”

  D’Nesh: “We had hoods. They made us wear hoods over our heads when they drove us around, but there were pillows on the walls.”

  Dr. Perrior: “Pillows on the walls?”

  D’Nesh: “They looked like pillows, but they weren’t really pillows. I saw ’em when they took off the hood.”

  Dr. Perrior: “What does that mean, D’Nesh? Pillows that weren’t really pillows?”

  D’Nesh: “I don’t know. And there were windows where they watched us. Are the other kids okay?”

  Dr. Perrior: “We’re doing everything we can to help them.”

  I read the entire transcript, then, in preparation for tomorrow morning’s briefing, updated the case files with what Tobin and I had discovered last night and earlier today at his house.

  54

  St. Stephen’s Research Hospital

  4:04 p.m.

  With Skylar by his side, Francis knocked on the door to Derek’s room.

  Skylar had brought along a small paper bag and hadn’t shown Francis what was inside it. “It’s just something I made for Derek,” she told him cryptically. “You’ll see what it is.”

  “Come in,” Derek called.

  They entered together.
<
br />   There was nothing particularly memorable about this hospital room. It had the prerequisite mechanical bed, a couple of chairs, a television mounted on the wall, medical apparatuses, a window with heavy drapes that could be used to shut out the daylight when desired.

  In this case, though, a cluster of cards surrounded the five stuffed animals that lounged together on the counter beneath the window.

  “Hello, Derek,” Francis said.

  Derek sat up on the bed, his bald head glaring slightly from the overhead light. The last time Francis had been here, the ten-year-old had told him he should bring sunglasses next time so he wouldn’t get blinded, and when Francis asked if he really wanted him to, Derek had needed to explain that he was only joking.

  “Hey, Mr. Edlemore.”

  Francis had told him more than once that he could call him by his first name, but Derek kept reverting to the last name just to be polite, since, as he noted last time, his mom had taught him not to call grown-ups by their first names. So Francis didn’t push things.

  “This is my friend Miss Shapiro,” Francis said.

  She smiled. “Hi, Derek.”

  “Hi.”

  “I brought you something.”

  She gave him the paper bag. Derek opened it and drew out a beaded bracelet. The multicolored beads were threaded onto a tawny leather cord.

  “I tried to make it look nice for a guy,” Skylar told him. “I didn’t use any girlie beads or anything, but—”

  “You made it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s awesome.” Derek tried to tie it onto his wrist one-handed, but when he fumbled with it, Skylar leaned over and tied it for him.

  “Thanks.”

  “Of course.”

  Francis asked Derek how he was doing, the boy told him fine, then Francis held up the bag of unblown-up balloons he’d brought.

  “Do you want me to make you a dog?” he offered, since that was the one he’d practiced the most.

  Derek shrugged, then asked Skylar, “What do you want him to make?”

  “Oh, he can make something for me anytime. This one should be something special for you.”

  “But if he was gonna make you something, what would you want it to be?”

  “I’ve always been partial to rabbits.”

  “That’s what I want, then,” Derek announced to Francis.

  Though the book did offer step-by-step instructions for doing rabbits, Francis had only tried making them a few times. “You sure you don’t want a dog?”

  Derek folded his arms. “Nope. A rabbit.”

  “Okay. What color?”

  “Pink.”

  “Pink? Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay. One pink rabbit coming up.”

  It took him a few attempts, but by consulting the book, Francis was finally able to pull it off.

  Its ears weren’t perfect and it was a bit lopsided, but Derek accepted it.

  “It kinda looks like it got run over by a truck,” the boy said.

  “Thanks,” Francis said.

  You should make another one.

  No, he was just joking.

  It wasn’t a joke, he—

  “Just kidding. It’s nice.” Derek held it out to Skylar. “Here.”

  “Um . . .”

  “I want you to have it.”

  Finally, she graciously accepted.

  “Now you can make me a dog,” Derek said to Francis.

  “Okay.”

  While Francis worked on it, Skylar told Derek a joke: “How come there are no seven-foot snakes in the world?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “’Cause snakes don’t have feet.”

  “Ha-ha. What happens when you run after a car?”

  “Hmm. I don’t know.”

  “You get exhausted. Get it? Exhausted?”

  “And when you run in front of a car you get tired,” she replied.

  He smiled. “I like you, Miss Shapiro.”

  “I like you too, Derek.”

  Francis finished the dog for Derek and handed it to him.

  “Show me how to do it,” Derek said.

  “Okay.”

  “But let’s do rabbits instead of dogs.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  +++

  Half an hour later, when they had a pile of half-twisted rabbits and accidentally burst balloon pieces strewn across the floor, Derek told them he was getting kinda tired. “They gave me some medicine before you came. It makes me sleepy.”

  Skylar leaned over and gave Derek a gentle hug. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “Are you gonna come back?”

  “Sure. I promise.”

  Derek smiled and settled back on his bed. “Don’t forget your rabbit.”

  She held it up to prove that she had it. “I won’t.”

  As Francis and Skylar were leaving the hospital, he said to her, “You were great in there. You’re good with kids.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know what it means that I still like the jokes I heard in third grade. I guess I never quite grew up.”

  Tell her that you like that about her.

  No! Then she’ll think you’re calling her immature.

  “He liked you,” Francis said. “Derek did.”

  “Do you come here much?”

  “Whenever I can.”

  “Not too many people would visit kids with cancer and make them balloon animals on their days off from work. You’re a sweet man, Francis.”

  She took his hand.

  When she touched him he felt a rush of adrenaline and fire that he never wanted to end.

  They walked toward the subway station entrance and he asked if he could see her again tomorrow afternoon at the Mystorium and she said sure, that would be nice.

  She was still holding his hand.

  They arrived at the top of the stairs.

  He liked it that she held his hand.

  He liked it that she hadn’t let go.

  Then, rather than say good-bye to him, Skylar asked if he would like to come over to her place for a little while, just to hang out or talk—if he wanted to, only if he wanted to, or if he wasn’t doing anything else, ’cause she didn’t want to keep him from anything he might need to do.

  But he was too nervous to say yes and so he politely declined.

  “Sure. Okay.” It sounded like she was both embarrassed and disappointed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though, right?”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  He gave her his email address at work and told her to let him know if her plans changed, then he offered her a hug like he had the other day and she reached up and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek when they were done.

  “That’s for being so nice to that boy,” she said, then turned and disappeared down the steps.

  Francis nearly floated home.

  He kept replaying those last few moments with her—holding her hand, the invitation to her place, the hug, the kiss.

  He thought of just how much he enjoyed being with her, being near her.

  Though he barely knew her, she’d already brought out something in him that was right and true and that he didn’t have when he was on his own. It was like he could actually be himself—and that he could even somehow be more himself than when he was by himself.

  Next time she asks me to go to her place, I’m going to say yes.

  If there is a next time. If she wants to see you again after tomorrow.

  Stop it! She will. We had fun.

  When he got home, Francis looked on Krazle to see if Skylar had a profile, if he could friend her, maybe chat with her that way.

  He found her page and sent a friend request under his real name rather than Jared4l
ife73, because they were friends, right? And if you’re friends in real life, why wouldn’t you be friends on Krazle too?

  55

  Monday, June 18

  The briefing started promptly at nine o’clock.

  Jodie was there, as were the other joint task force members from the NYPD and FBI who were working this case. The police chief and several officers from Princeton, New Jersey, where Romanoff’s house was, also joined us.

  Assistant Director DeYoung came too, and, to my surprise, even Maria Aguirre, the Office of Professional Responsibility lawyer, showed up. Perhaps she was interested in what I would have to say about the second shooting incident I was involved in over the course of less than a week.

  Last Thursday, Tobin had indicated to his team that they were going to meet again Monday morning. He’d also made the grooming video available for them to watch over the weekend, and, according to our records, nearly all of them had done so.

  However, in light of what’d happened on Friday, the entire tone of today’s briefing was different. Now, rather than being informative in a general sense, it was specifically focused on what had gone down on Friday and what we’d all learned over the weekend.

  There was a lot to cover. We dove right in.

  Tobin summarized what he and I had dug up, highlighting how we’d identified the person of interest who’d been caught driving away from his home on the night of Adrienne’s abduction eight years ago as Garrett Higgs, the man who’d been shot by the unknown assailant in Romanoff’s house.

  Then he pointed out the connection of how the other eighteen deaths were linked. “The cases are all intertwined. My daughter’s, the current abductions we’re looking into, the deaths of Wooford, Stewart, and McReynolds.”

  Chief O’Toole from Princeton looked skeptical. “And you’re basing this simply on the fact that the children were all kept alive after they were abducted?”

  “In nearly ninety percent of nonfamily abductions, the children are killed within the first forty-eight hours. The odds of a series of crimes like this being unrelated are astronomical.”

  “But you’re talking about abductions involving different-aged children in a dozen states over the course of a decade—not to mention the two recent suicides.” O’Toole consulted the notes we’d handed out. “Some of the children were strangled, others stabbed, one was shot.”