by Diane Capri
“I was with a friend, yeah,” he added, frantic now. “And your friend’s name?” “CJ.” He all but whispered.
“Just give me CJ’s full name, address, and phone number, I’ll be able to—”
“I can’t.” He cut her off. “I mean, I can, but it wouldn’t be much help. CJ’s on a flight to Mexico. Hopped on this morning. Totally incommunicado.”
“Is that so?” She hardened her tone. “I’ll take his name and number in any case.”
“Uh, sure. Okay.” He rattled off the information so quietly she had to lean closer to hear.
She jotted everything down and closed her notebook with a snap. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch.”
“Right, okay, Sheriff.” Valetti coughed, seemed about to say something, but he only nodded. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
She returned to her hot black oven and fished out her list of interview subjects while Valetti stared at her from the driveway.
CHAPTER FOUR
Eight hours later, Marilyn rubbed her tired eyes with the tips of her fingers.
The words on the laptop screen had started to blur. One more cup of coffee, and she’d send herself into cardiac arrest from caffeine overdose.
Truth was, she didn’t have a clue what to do next.
She’d combed over the notes half a dozen times. After five interviews of her own and more than a dozen from her deputies, they were no closer to finding the Cabbot kids. Anyone who had made her internal radar beep even a little seemed to have a solid alibi.
Owen and Alicia Cabbot’s anniversary was an open secret. More than ten people had seen them at the restaurant and confirmed they were a bit tipsy when they left for home.
The pastor’s neighbor, Mrs. Willis, had indeed noted his ancient black Lincoln Town Car pulling into the driveway just before midnight. Wagoner hadn’t left home again, she said, because she’d have noticed. Mrs. Willis was such a busybody that Marilyn had believed her absolutely.
Even Valetti, Billy’s science teacher, was off the list of possible suspects. Not because he was with his buddy CJ, who had landed a few hours ago in Mexico. CJ hadn’t seen Valetti last night at all.
Instead, Valetti had spent the night with the very married school gym teacher. Once his lover heard about Emily, she called and set the record straight.
When Marilyn confronted him with the truth, he’d babbled and apologized profusely for lying. She’d been tempted to lock him up, just to teach the teacher a lesson. But she wanted to devote the energy to finding Billy instead.
Marilyn pushed her chair back from her desk and stood, wincing as she realized her left foot had fallen asleep. She needed to do something. Time was running short. Sitting behind this desk made her feel beyond helpless.
She’d assign a second set of eyes to these interviews and then she’d get back out there.
Beat the bushes. Talk to more people, go back to the Cabbots one more time.
She was missing something. She had to be.
And Billy Cabbot’s chances were shriveling faster than a worm in the sun.
“Brady’s checking in with the parole officer of every registered sex offender in the area. Maybe we’ll get a hit.” Marilyn said when she placed the stack of interviews on Pippa’s desk. “Sit and read through every line of these interviews again, will you? Make sure we haven’t missed something.”
“Absolutely. One word at a time. I swear.” Pippa nodded. “What are you going to do,
Sheriff?”
“I’m going to stop back at the Cabbots and see if they’ve thought of anything new that could help.” The plan sounded desperate even in her own ears, but Pippa, bless her, didn’t say so. Instead, she bowed her head to the task as if she hadn’t already reviewed the interviews a dozen times.
Marilyn collected her equipment on her way to the parking lot. The evening news reporters had already swarmed in like vultures and she also wanted to take the time to talk to the family about what they should say and what they might want to keep to themselves.
She stepped out into the evening heat and climbed into the scorching bench seat when her phone rang. She hit the green button to accept the call without looking at the screen.
“Sheriff Pleva.”
“Marilyn, it’s Jess Kimball.” The no-nonsense tone cut through the line. “How are things going with the missing boy? My case here in Austin is winding up. I should be done tomorrow afternoon. I could be there before dinner time if you need me.”
“I appreciate that more than you know.” She resisted the reality that Billy might be out there, scared and in danger, for another night. Or worse.
She squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger in an attempt to ward off the coming migraine. No time for that. She had a boy to find and a girl to avenge.
“I’d welcome the help, Jess.”
“Will do. What’ve you got so far?”
Marilyn ran through the new details of the case, including even the most mundane information. Every law enforcement officer knew that the details were important in a situation like this one. Criminals who overlooked the small things were the ones who got caught.
“I keep thinking how awkward it must have been for the kidnapper to manage two kidnappings at once without waking the Cabbots, you know?” Jess cut in as she was winding down. “Is it possible the kids left home on their own? Maybe ran into trouble once they were out of the house?”
“We’ve checked. We haven’t found anyone who saw them wandering around.” Marilyn shook her head, although Jess couldn’t see her. “It’s possible, but these kids were well loved. Good in school. No reason to believe they ran away.”
She heard Jess take a deep breath on the other end of the line. “Unless they knew him.
Went with the kidnapper willingly.”
Marilyn’s shoulders slumped. This was the conclusion she didn’t want to reach. “So far, every one of the alibis have checked out. Every name the parents gave us and everyone else we could turn up on our own. No one unaccounted for.”
“And you’re sure the parents are not involved?” Jess almost whispered.
“As sure as we can be at this point, I guess.”
Jess sounded relieved, and stronger. “So what about someone a little more distant, but the kids would still recognize?”
“I’ve checked everyone I can think of. Got someone specific in mind?”
“I’m thinking back to another child kidnapping case I covered a few years ago. The Central Florida Child Killer.”
“I remember that one. He only took boys, didn’t he?”
“That’s right. Cops thought the killer had to be someone known to the kids. But they couldn’t find him.”
“Okay,” Marilyn said, because Jess wouldn’t waste her time.
“Thing was, once they found the guy, and figured out his background, it turned out he did kind of know the kids. The parents, too. And everyone else in their small community. He wasn’t close a friend, really. Turned out they were members of the same church.” Jess paused. “There was a sense of trust. The kids didn’t exactly know the guy, but they knew who he was. And they had no reason to fear him.”
Marilyn nodded. Made sense. Most criminals weren’t masterminds. They simply took advantage of the opportunities presented to them.
“The connection turned out to be a church. Could have been a bowling league or a traveling soccer team. Anything like that where people were familiar but not inside the kids’ immediate circle.” Jess took a deep breath. “It’s a long shot, but you could check the sex offenders and violent criminals against a list of members. If the kids or the parents were involved with any groups like that.”
Marilyn let the thought roll around in her mind for a second. Emily and Billy were old enough to be involved with more than a single science fair, surely. Owen and Alicia were friendly people. They owned a local business. Maybe Rotary members or quilt clubs or even reading groups.
“Thanks, Jess.” She nodded, slowly. “Can’t hurt to try. In groups like that, everybody could have known the Cabbots were celebrating their anniversary. Most folks around here know Owen Cabbot, in particular, drinks more than he should. That he’d be sleeping off the booze that night after they got home. It’s possible.”
“Good. Check it out. If I think of anything else, I’ll call you. Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jess said. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
Marilyn hung up and popped her car into reverse. She dialed Pippa’s number and tasked her with finding a list of the groups where any of the Cabbots might have been members. She explained why.
“You got it, Sheriff,” Pippa said, ever ready to do whatever needed to be done. No doubt about it, Pippa was a keeper, Marilyn thought as she disconnected.
She’d planned to stop at the Cabbots’ first, but that could wait. With Jess’s suggestions fresh in her mind, she pulled off Main Street and took the turn to Chapel Hill Road toward the Cabbots’ church.
She knew many members of the small congregation. A third of them were people she’d already interviewed today. Maybe more. But she hadn’t cast a wide enough net.
She needed the full membership list.
Although she’d passed by the place several times a week, she’d never been inside the small country church. She swung the big Ford into the lot and slid it into park.
The pastor’s home was adjacent to the church. She noted his car was in the driveway and his porch light was blazing. Sure enough, when she glanced across the street, Mrs. Willis was peeking through her kitchen curtain. Marilyn grinned. Pastor Wagoner probably didn’t get away with much.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and left the car, cell phone in hand. As she covered the walkway, she scrolled for Owen Cabbot’s home number, just as she climbed the four steps to the porch. She paused while she made the call.
“Hello,” a solemn, male voice murmured into the receiver. He sounded totally sober, which he probably was.
“Owen? It’s Sheriff Pleva. I’d like to stop by in a few minutes. I’ve got a couple of questions I need you to help me with. Okay?”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine. We certainly won’t be sleeping any time soon.” He sounded hollowed out, like if a hard wind blew, it would suck him away with it.
No words would give him comfort, no platitude would make a dent in his grief, so she simply muttered, “Okay, I’ll see you soon.”
She dropped the phone into her pocket and raised her hand to rap on the door when a noise coming from the back yard caught her ear.
She strained to identify it.
Spraying water?
Why would anyone spray water back there at night?
She picked her way around the side of the house and called out, “Pastor Tim?” “Yes?” He sounded wary.
She rounded the corner and he came into view. Sky blue pajamas hung on his lean frame and a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose. He turned off the hose nozzle and eyed her with surprise. “Marilyn. I didn’t hear you knocking. Sorry. Please, come in.”
He quickly rolled the hose up around its wheel and gestured an open palm toward the stairs to the back deck.
“No need for that, I’ll only take a minute. Sorry to disturb you at all, really.” She offered an apologetic shrug for the interruption. “I need to get a list of church members to interview about the Cabbot kids.”
“Well, I must say, that is a disturbing request. You think one of our members has done this?” He frowned and motioned toward the stairs again. “Are you sure you won’t come in? I was just about to pour myself some Earl Grey and work on my sermon. I can place a quick call to Mrs. Byers, the church secretary, and have her email us the list.”
“The Cabbots are expecting me and I don’t want to keep them waiting. If you can forward the list to me,” she reached into her back pocket and tugged out a business card, “as soon as she gets it to you, I’d appreciate it. We’re still looking for Billy. We have to make sure we check everywhere.”
He nodded and took the card, face full of despair. “I brought supper to Alicia and Owen earlier this evening and we prayed together again. I’m hopeful the Lord will see fit to return their son.”
“Yes, that’s what we all hope for,” Marilyn said. “Thanks again for your help.”
“And thank you for all of your hard work, Sheriff.”
She turned and picked her way through the cluttered yard as he headed up the back stairs. She was almost to her car before she noticed the entire lawn was dry and brown.
She cocked her head. Hadn’t he been standing there with the hose on?
She replayed the scene in her mind.
She’d walked around to the back. The ground was nothing more than rocks and cracked, dry earth. Not even a patch of succulents that would need watering.
She shivered.
This case was making her both punchy and paranoid.
On the other hand, well-honed instincts were every good cop’s stock in trade. Hers had saved her life more than once. She wasn’t about to ignore them now.
Could be nothing.
Probably was nothing.
She squared her shoulders. She could take two extra minutes to go check it out, or she might look back at this moment with regret forever.
She retraced her steps, feeling somewhat foolish. She reached for the flashlight on her belt, but with the high hanging moon, she didn’t need it.
She circled the yard quietly and found no obvious sign of plants or water anywhere.
So what was he doing with the hose?
She glanced around the area. How far was she going to take this?
She had no warrant to search the pastor’s property. She could search anyway, but whatever she found might not be admissible in court. Assuming she found any evidence at all.
The safest thing to do was knock on his door and ask him the inane question, “What exactly were you watering?”
She drummed her fingers restlessly on the butt of the flashlight. Which was when she heard it.
A low, repetitive bang rang out from an old shed in the corner of the lot. She stepped closer, shifting her hand from her flashlight to unsnap her holster.
“Hello? Who’s there?” she called, as she crept toward the wooden structure. “Police.
Show yourself.”
She moved toward the noise, growing louder as she approached.
“Sheriff?”
She wheeled around to find Wagoner standing behind her, brows drawn. “Did you forget something?”
“As I was leaving, I heard a noise back here. I wanted to make sure you didn’t have an intruder.”
Another bang sounded and the pastor’s face broke into a relieved smile.
“Oh, that. You scared me there for a second. I’ve been dealing with raccoons for the past two months trying to get into my compost pile through a hole under the floorboards.” He pointed to the corner of the shed where the banging seemed to originate. “I set up a couple of cage traps. Sounds like they’ve taken the bait and sprung the trap again. Once they get inside, they really beat themselves up trying to get out. What a racket they can make.”
She moved her hand from her pistol to her flashlight as she took another step closer to the shed.
“Well then, it’s your lucky day,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “I can drop the trap off for you at animal control on the way back to the station.”
She grabbed her flashlight and flipped it on as she approached the shed door. She fingered the padlock and sent Pastor Tim a quick glance. “You have the key someplace handy?”
“Yes,” he said, gesturing to a rock by her feet. “Underneath that stone. This is where we keep the church’s landscaping equipment and it took us the better part of last summer to raise enough funds to buy the mower.”
Everything he’d said was plausible. Yet, the small hairs stood up on the back of her neck and gooseflesh covered her arms, even in the warm night.
She kept one eye on Wagoner as she bent to retrieve the key. Which was when she noticed the damp soil at her feet and a darker spot of what could have been blood on the stone.
Her heart kicked against her ribs. She moved her left hand toward the Taser at her hip. “What were you watering in the—”
The blow came fast, a stunning shot to the side of her head with what felt like a brick, only harder. She stumbled forward and then pitched, face first, into the dirt.
Her ears rang.
She struggled up onto all fours.
A second blow connected with her jaw.
She heard the Pastor’s voice bark out a low command. “Throw her down there with him before Willis sticks her nose out here.”
Marilyn faded in and out of consciousness, clinging to two thoughts.
One filled her with hope. Billy Cabbot might be still alive. He could be in this shed.
One chilled her with abject terror half a moment before he hit her again and she lost consciousness.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Wake up,” a low voice snarled, breaking into the blessed haze of unconsciousness.
A resounding slap rang through in her head and her face stung with the contact as her eyes shot open. She blinked furiously, trying to get her bearings.
The scent of sweat and urine and fear rushed in at her and she gagged.
“We can play this two ways. The easy way is you tell me now. The hard way is he beats you until you tell me,” Wagoner said, swiping the back of his hand over his sweatslicked face.
She forced herself to pick up her throbbing head to peer beside her. A small, prone form lay just a couple feet away.
“Billy?” she murmured, nearly choking on metallic taste of the blood from a split lip already beginning to swell. “Billy, can you hear me?”
“He’s sleeping, if the extra dose didn’t kill him,” Wagoner said, shooting a pointed glance to the far corner of the ten-by-ten shed.
She followed his gaze. A hulking, ghoulish-looking man stood in the corner, his face pulled into a deep frown. The two didn’t look much alike. But something about the shape of their faces and the way they moved was the same.