by Andrew Grant
Nicole missing for one and three-quarter hours
The hallway in Cunningham’s house was shaped like an upside-down T.
Straight ahead, Devereaux caught a glimpse of a kitchen. It didn’t look like Cunningham’s taste had changed too much over the last eight years. There were plain white cabinets. A white marble countertop. Stainless steel appliances. A pair of black leather stools next to a high breakfast bar. Only a pair, Devereaux noted, with a touch of relief.
Devereaux’s impression of continuity was reinforced when Cunningham led the way to the right, into her living room. A couch and a love seat were arranged in the far corner, forming a ninety-degree angle. A modest-size TV was fixed to the wall, along with a couple of prints, which Devereaux recognized from her old house: Nighthawks, by Hopper, and Starry Night, by Van Gogh. The other walls were taken up with tall wooden bookcases, and a carefully distressed antique writing desk was tucked under the window. Devereaux could just detect the faint scent of sickly sweet potpourri. Cunningham’s favorite kind.
“Please.” Cunningham gestured to the couch. “Sit.”
Devereaux took a corner spot and glanced at the nearest bookshelf. He recognized pretty much all the titles. They were all in alphabetical order by author, the way Cunningham had always been fanatical about. Her DVDs were the same, too, except for a small selection of children’s movies. So much about the room was familiar that for a moment Devereaux could see himself living there. He tried to picture what things would have been like if Cunningham hadn’t broken up with him. Could he have handled it? Her home was so low down and boxed in compared to his apartment. And so cluttered. But when he scanned her possessions, he realized there wasn’t too much that was new. She’d clearly used the intervening years to shed things from her life. The things she must have not wanted around. Like him. And once his mind started to dwell on what wasn’t around, it jumped inevitably to Nicole.
“So, Alex. I guess we have a daughter.”
Cunningham nodded, hesitantly.
“I’m going to grab a glass of water.” Hale headed for the door. “I’ll give you two a minute.”
“She’s called Nicole?” The name still felt strange on Devereaux’s lips. “Good choice. After your mother?”
“Yes. Thanks. Mom passed right before Nicole was born, so it seemed appropriate.”
“Can you tell me about her? What she’s like?”
“No, Cooper. I’m sorry. I can’t. Not while she’s missing. It’s too much. I can’t talk about her. Her being gone—it’s eating me up inside.”
“At least tell me what happened. Eight years ago.”
“Not right now. Maybe later. I’m not used to this kind of thing. This is your world, Cooper, not mine. My child is kidnapped, I freak out. I don’t go into interrogation mode.”
“I’m not in interrogation mode. I just want you to tell me about my daughter, like you should have done before she was born. Why didn’t you tell me, Alex?”
“You know why. You remember how things were, back then. You? A father? Please.”
Devereaux walked to the window. He stared out into the yard, then his eyes shifted their focus to the reflection of the room. It made him feel like he was on the other side of the glass, looking in at another possible life he’d been denied by his past.
“What did you tell her?”
“Nicole?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“Me. Her father. Why she doesn’t have one.”
“You selfish bastard, Cooper. You’re making this about you? Nicole is missing. That’s all that matters.”
“This is about Nicole. Don’t you remember what losing my father did to me? Have you got any idea of the number of deals I tried to make with God, if He’d just let my daddy come back home? The bad choices I made when he didn’t? In my case, it was fate calling the shots. But you chose that same path for our daughter. You chose it, Alex.”
“How could you try to make deals like that? What were you thinking? You knew your father was dead.”
“Because that’s what grieving kids do. I told myself, the detective who broke the news? Maybe he was wrong. People make mistakes, don’t they? Or maybe my daddy had just been hurt. He could be in the hospital, in a coma. Or he could have lost his memory. But when he woke up, or remembered who he was, he’d come find me. Or he could be a spy, off on a mission so secret everyone had to think he was dead. But when he was successful, he’d come back and find me. For years, every foster home I was in, every time there was a knock on the door or footstep on the path, I’d pray it was him coming to find me.”
“Nicole’s not in a foster home, Cooper. She lives here, with me.”
“I know. But this still matters, Alex. What did you tell her?”
“You’ve got to understand, I had no idea you had those crazy ideas. I thought it was for the best. I’m sorry, Cooper. I told her you were dead.”
Devereaux didn’t say anything. He wanted to go. Get in his car. Drive far, far away from that house. But at the same time, he couldn’t leave. Unsatisfactory as it was, being there was the closest he’d ever been to his daughter. The closest he might ever be.
“I didn’t do anything deliberately to hurt her, Cooper.” Cunningham came and stood next to Devereaux. “What I did I thought was for the best. Better than letting her think you didn’t love her enough to stick around, anyway.”
“Better than letting her know you kept her a secret from me?”
Cunningham didn’t answer.
“I wish you would have told me about her, Alex.”
“I know.” Cunningham looked down at her bare feet sinking into the deep pile of her rich blue carpet. “But back then, when she was on the way, I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle you. Not after what happened with that boy. The one who…died. So I did the only thing I thought I could.”
“I did nothing wrong, Alex. I saved my partner’s life. You don’t have to be a certain age to pull a trigger. And that was work. You could have given me a chance at home. You didn’t have to write me out of her life without letting me try to be a father.”
Cunningham didn’t reply.
“Have you got a picture of her?” Devereaux turned to face her. “I don’t even know what Nicole looks like.”
“A picture?” Cunningham wiped a tear from her eye. “Are you joking? I’ve got thousands.”
Chapter Ninety-one
Tuesday. Afternoon.
Nicole missing for two hours
Devereaux had been shown dozens of photographs by the parents of missing kids over the years.
First it had been paper prints. Loose, or in frames, or mounted on the wall. Later, digital images took over. On camera screens and computers and phones and tablets. But whatever the format, the pain he’d seen etched into the parents’ faces was the same. And on every occasion he’d tried to imagine how it must feel to be left with just a picture where once you had your own flesh and blood.
When Cunningham passed him the iPad she’d retrieved from her desk, he knew what those other parents had experienced. He scrolled through the images, from babe in arms to precocious, curly-haired toddler to vivacious blue-eyed little girl, and he’d never felt such agony or emptiness or loss. The primeval urge to defend his child swept over him, and if he’d known where Loflin’s mother was at that instant there was no force on earth strong enough to stop him from going after her.
“I’m so sorry, Nicole.” Devereaux touched the most recent picture with his finger. The girl had Alexandra’s eyes, but maybe his nose? Then for a horrible moment Devereaux wondered what else the child might have inherited from him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
“Don’t, Cooper.” Cunningham gently took the iPad from him. “How could you have protected her? You didn’t know about her. And even if you had, what difference would it have made? You can’t wrap kids in cotton wool. You can’t watch them twenty-four-seven.”
“Maybe not. But you don’t have
to leave them in swimming pool bathrooms on their own at any time. Where were you? Why weren’t you with her?”
“I was right there, in the cafe. She knew I was waiting for her. We did the same thing every week. She was supposed to get changed and come meet me. But she never showed up. I asked around but no one had seen her, so I called 911, and the police said something about a woman who might have done this kind of thing before? Cooper, I’m just so scared—”
“You were in the cafe? Why didn’t you go to the locker room with her? Help her change?”
“She can get changed on her own, Cooper. She’s seven years old, not seven months. And besides, I had work to do. It’s not easy keeping everything running on my own.”
“Being on your own is your choice, Alex. You could have stayed—”
“Oh no. We’re not going there. I’m perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet. I’m supporting my daughter just fine.”
“Our daughter.” Devereaux dropped his voice a couple of decibels.
“OK.” Cunningham breathed a long sigh. “Our daughter. That’ll take a little getting used to.”
“For you and me both. And I didn’t mean you’re not capable. Hell, you always earned four times what I did. It’s just—if I’d known about Nicole, I wouldn’t have let the woman go. I’d have stopped her before she got to the pool.”
“Stopped which woman? What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter. This is so messed up.”
“Wait.” Cunningham turned and grabbed Devereaux’s sleeve. “You know something about the woman who took Nicole? What aren’t you telling me?”
“We’re going to stop her. We’re going to get Nicole back. I swear.”
“But who is this woman? Why’s she doing this?”
“She’s a psychologist. A civilian who works for the FBI. She abducted another kid in Birmingham on Friday night. I caught the case. And I got the kid back, safe and sound. But in the process, the woman was injured. So was another detective. My partner. The way things panned out, I had to make a choice: Stop the woman right away, or make sure the boy and my partner were OK. I didn’t know about Nicole at that point, so I focused on the others. I figured we’d have time to scoop the woman up before she did any more harm.”
“So this was revenge? For the kid you saved? How did she even know about Nicole?”
Devereaux was silent for a moment. He didn’t want the woman’s entire thought process to come to light at this point. Cunningham had already decided he was unfit to be around her kid because of his job. Her learning that his father had been a serial killer was unlikely to help his cause.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Cunningham got to her feet. “This is your fault. You put our daughter in danger. You brought this witch to our door. You—”
“Ms. Cunningham, please.” Lieutenant Hale had reappeared in the doorway. “Detective Devereaux certainly isn’t to blame for this woman’s criminal activities. He’s done more than anyone to bring her to justice. What we need to focus on is what we do together, going forward, to bring Nicole home safe.”
“You’re right.” Cunningham sat back down, but she left a wider gap between herself and Devereaux than there’d been before. “I overreacted. I apologize. But what can we do? Waiting around to hear something is killing me. How long until this bitch will get in touch with her demands?”
Neither Devereaux nor Hale replied.
“What?” Cunningham looked confused. “Isn’t that what kidnappers do?”
“Based on how she behaved in the previous case, I don’t think she will get in touch.” Hale took a step closer. “We won’t be able to talk to her. But we can talk to the next best thing.”
“Her daughter.” Devereaux got to his feet. “She’s in the hospital. Let’s go.”
—
Devereaux paused when they reached the front door and turned back to Cunningham.
“Alex, what’s Nicole’s favorite toy?”
“This is no time to play Disneyland Dad, Cooper.” Cunningham scowled.
“I’m not. This is serious. I need to know.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you when Nicole’s home and safe.”
“OK. It’s an easy one. Barbie. She’s totally obsessed. You should see her room.”
Chapter Ninety-two
Of all the places the girl could have asked to go for her treat, she chose a water park.
The woman was appalled. It was going to be worse than Disneyland. And harder to deal with disguises, too. She’d have to get multiple swimsuits for them to change into. And swim hats, in place of wigs. If only she’d had more time to prepare. Or to convince the kid to reconsider. But it had been hard enough to persuade her to come up with an idea in the first place.
Getting the kid into the Mercedes was straightforward enough—the woman had surprise on her side—but once they were under way, the kid turned into a ferocious dervish. It was like she was possessed, writhing and twisting and screaming and trying to kick and bite. It took every trick in the book to calm her down—which was quite a feat, while driving—and after that all suggestions for alternative trips were met with a return of the histrionics.
An hour later, and the chance to negotiate was gone. The woman had been forced to use the last of her triazolam to keep the kid quiet while she figured out a route and called ahead to book them a hotel. A treat—even a ghastly one—deserved to last at least a full day.
The woman would never have thought it, but she was glad this was going to be her last outing.
The challenge would be getting her daughter back in the fold before it was time for the next one.
Chapter Ninety-three
Tuesday. Late Afternoon.
Nicole missing for two and three-quarter hours
Loflin was propped up in bed in a room just like Segard’s when Hale and Devereaux reached the hospital. She was sore from the surgery and sluggish from the anesthetic, but the bullet itself had caused no lasting damage.
“Cooper. Lieutenant.” Loflin smiled when she saw the pair approach, but then a worried frown spread across her face. “Your daughter? Did you save her? Is she OK?”
“No.” Devereaux shook his head. “Your mom beat me to her.”
“Shit.” Loflin pushed herself up from her pillow and tried to swing her legs out of the bed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Jan, lie back down. It’s not your fault. You’re not your mother. But we do need your help. We have to understand what happens when your mom thinks she’s saving a kid. I need you to explain real clearly, step by step.”
“You saw what she does.” Loflin flopped back and pulled the baggy hospital pajamas tighter around her tiny frame. “When we were at the house. In the bedrooms. Who can understand that? My mother’s bat-shit crazy. That’s all there is to it.”
“I know, Jan.” Devereaux moved closer. “But will she risk going back to the house, knowing that we’ll be watching the place? Will she hide? Will she run? Or will she panic, knowing we’re looking for her? See what I mean? I need to know how she thinks.”
“Well, she must have another house, right?” Loflin shifted her position slightly. “Or somewhere like it. Not all the missing kids were at the one we found.”
“Where would it be?” Devereaux felt a surge of dread inside him.
“I have no idea. She never mentioned it. She didn’t even tell me about the one we were at until a couple of days ago.”
“Think, Jan. Please. I need to know where she’s taking my daughter. I don’t have much time.”
“You’ve got a couple of days, I guess, depending on what she picks.”
“On what who picks? Picks for what?”
“For her treat. The first thing Mom always does, she told me, is take the kid on a treat.”
“She does? That’s great! We can pick Nicole up there. Where does your mom take them?”
“There’s not one set place.” Loflin clutched her side and grimaced. “It
depends on the kid. She lets each one pick. It could be Disney. A museum. The Grand Canyon. Anywhere. As long as it’s within the United States. She wouldn’t try to go overseas. Not even Hawaii.”
“Wait a minute.” Hale closed in from the other side of the bed. “Your mother abducts these kids, then takes them on vacation? You sure you’re not selling us a line here, Jan? Buying your mom some time?”
“No.” Loflin’s voice was drying out. “You’ve got to understand. She truly believes she’s saving the kids. She wants to do something nice for them, before…you know. It’s actually very thoughtful, in a completely twisted way. And it gives her the opportunity for something else. The test.”
“What test?” Devereaux glanced nervously at Hale.
“She’s convinced what she’s doing is necessary, because the kids have inherited defective genes. Genes that make them dangerous.” Loflin reached over to the nightstand and took a sip of water. “But before she does anything, she tests them using some special procedure she developed. Just in case they’re not tainted.”
Devereaux’s stomach turned over at the thought of his daughter being tested by this woman.
“You sound sold on all this.” Hale was having a hard time concealing her frustration.
“I heard my mom raving about genetics for years. I know her theories by heart. It doesn’t mean I believe them.”
“But this is good news, right?” Devereaux knew he was clutching at straws. “My daughter could pass the test? She might not be in danger after all?”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Loflin sank back against her pillows. “You saw how the test worked out for those other kids.”
“Your mother does know she’s a total hypocrite?” Devereaux glared down at his partner. “Has she passed her test? Have you? Is she planning a murder/suicide pact when she’s done with my daughter?”
“Certainly not suicide, although she is sick.” Loflin paused, her strength fading. “Don’t you see? In her mind, what she’s doing proves she has escaped her genes. Because she’s saving people. She thought I’d escaped, too, but now she’s sure to have doubts because I helped you and Ethan.”