The Stolen hp-3

by Jason Pinter

"So the papers are in this guy Benjamin's name, but he sublets it to the Reeds. Only there's no paperwork or documentation. The Reeds have a young son, Patrick, but according to receipts from a local toy store they'd been purchasing gifts for a young girl within the past month. I think very recently, the Reeds added a young girl to their family. Only I don't think they did it through conception or adoption."

  "In vitro?" Curt said.

  "No."

  "Adopted a kid from Zaire?"

  "Uh-uh. I think they kidnapped a child, and until that house burned down they'd been holding the girl just like whoever took Daniel Linwood and Michelle Oliveira had done. Amanda, you saw all the toys in the room you were held in. This wasn't some medieval torture chamber, this was a home. A place for a family to live."

  Amanda reluctantly nodded. "Actually reminded me a little of my room when I went to live with Lawrence and

  Harriet Stein," she said. She turned to Curt. "I was adopted. My parents died when I was young, then I went from orphanage to orphanage until the Steins took me home. I remember my room feeling not really like an actual room a young girl would live in, but the kind of room parents thought a girl would want to live in. Too many floral patterns, too many dolls. Just overkill to the extreme."

  "That's why the Reeds racked up a hefty bill at Toyz 4

  Fun," I said. "They were pampering this kid like she was their own."

  Curt said, "So why kidnap a kid if you're not holding her for a ransom? What, you just pamper her for a few years and then let her go? I mean, you're comparing this

  Girl X to Danny Linwood and Michelle Oliveira. Both those kids wound up returning home unharmed. If what you're saying is true, the Reeds planned to eventually let this kid go. Why go through all that trouble?"

  "So she'd feel like a part of their family," I said. "When

  I interviewed Danny Linwood, he made a brief reference to his 'brothers.' I didn't think much of it at first, but combined with this, I think all three of these kids were taken with the intent of ingratiating them into their 'new' families."

  "But why?" Amanda said. "If the kidnappers knew they were going to let them go, why bother?"

  "I'm not sure," I said. "But what scares me is that the

  Reeds somehow knew Raymond Benjamin. He owned the house they used. So how did a supposedly regular family, a loving father and mother with a young son, wind up in bed with a career criminal, and end up stealing someone else's child?"

  None of us had the answer.

  "So what else can I do?" Curt said.

  "We need to confirm that the Reeds did in fact kidnap another child. And if we do that, and we can find out who that child is, hopefully we can find the Reeds and they can answer all these questions."

  "It'll be tough," Curt said. "I can submit a request for a breakdown of all children reported missing within the past two weeks, but unless we can narrow down where the child was from we're basically looking in every town in every city in the country."

  I thought for a moment. Then I said to Curt, "Cross- check your records with Yardley Medical Center, the pediatrics unit. I have a feeling whatever child was taken was born in Hobbs County, and was a patient of Dr. Petrovsky's, just like Daniel Linwood and Michelle Oliveira."

  "How can you be sure?" Amanda said.

  "Thiamine levels," I said. "I spoke to Jack's doctor at

  Bellevue and asked what might cause a child to go through what Daniel and Michelle did. According to him, it's likely they both suffered from a severe case of anterograde amnesia, exacerbated by depleted thiamine levels. He said that it was technically a form of short-term brain damage, but when thiamine and vitamin B1 levels dropped in patients whose thiamine levels were low to begin with, it could cause exactly what afflicted Daniel and Michelle. I think whoever has been kidnapped was born with low thiamine levels, and Dr. Petrovsky supervised it all."

  Amanda said, "That would have to mean the kids were preselected based on their medical histories. Which means

  Petrovsky knew which kids to look out for."

  "I think there's a strong chance he did just that. So this new Girl X was chosen for the same reasons Dan and

  Michelle were years ago-they were susceptible to having their thiamine levels tampered with to a far greater degree than a normal child. With the right-or wrong-nutrition and care, you could almost literally give a child short-term brain damage and harm their memory receptors."

  "Which would explain why Daniel and Michelle didn't remember a thing about their time missing," Amanda said.

  "And it means the Reeds are expecting the same thing from this kid. Girl X."

  "Find her," I said to Curt. "I'm tired of this bullshit, like one lost kid doesn't matter. What, because Hobbs County and Meriden got a few extra bucks, a few of the houses got a nice coat of paint, this is all swept under the carpet?

  These kids are giving their lives for some awful cause I don't understand."

  "I hear you, man. Give me some time," Curt said. "I'll need to get medical records from Petrovsky's office, which won't be easy, especially since the dude's disappeared."

  "He's dead," I said. "There's just no body to bury."

  "Either way, the guy won't be answering his phone.

  Give me a day. I'll get an answer."

  "Thanks, Curt, every second counts. Benjamin wasn't expecting us to follow Petrovsky, and who knows if the

  Reeds are even still alive. There's a chance that, like

  Petrovsky, they 'disappeared' the Reeds so nobody could ask questions. We need to see if we can find the Reeds before Benjamin takes desperate measures. And this is a guy who seems to be redefining the term."

  32

  Raymond Benjamin dialed the number of the motel. He'd made the reservation for the Reeds just before he'd told them what was going to happen to their home. He'd broken it to them matter-of-factly. He'd told them they might have to leave at a moment's notice, but didn't really believe himself it would ever come to that. Elaine seemed pretty unnerved but agreed to cooperate. Like always. Bob stayed silent, nodded at his wife's approval. But now it was Ray who was unnerved.

  Pinter, Jason – Henry Parker 03

  The Stolen (2008)

  When the receptionist picked up, he said, "Yes, can you connect me to the room of Robert and Elaine Reed?"

  "Hold a moment, sir." Ray heard typing in the background. "Sir, we don't have any record of anyone by that name checking in."

  "But you do have a reservation, right?"

  "Yes, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Reed, weekly rates, supposed to have checked in yesterday, but according to this they haven't."

  "Fuck me," Ray said.

  "Excuse me, sir?"

  "Nothing. You're sure about that?"

  "Yes, sir. Would you like me to have a message waiting for them when they do check in?"

  Ray slammed the phone down on the cradle so hard the plastic receiver broke in half. It took him far too long to jimmy open the door to the pay phone booth, and finally he cracked the glass when he kicked it inward with his foot. Vince was leaning up against the car, an errant toothpick sticking out of his mouth. Either it was lodged between two teeth or the man had simply forgotten it was there. Ray had a sudden desire to smack the thing out of his mouth. But he restrained himself.

  This wasn't going as he'd hoped. Things had taken a drastic turn once Parker and the girl had arrived at the house on Huntley, and that necessitated burning the place down. Of course, doing that meant relocating the Reed family, which was an ordeal in and of itself.

  He'd begun to worry about Bob and Elaine from nearly the moment they took the girl home. There was something in their eyes that was different from the other families, a sense of sorrow that worried him from the start. He'd told them from the first time he met them that they'd have to be strong. Keep everything in perspective. Look at this as short-term pain for a long-term solution. They were doing it for the right reasons, and years from now they'd be happy they did it.

  Now h
e wasn't so sure.

  Bob and Elaine had a motive. There was a reason they were chosen. The same way there was a reason Ray was good at his job, he expected the Reeds to live up to their end of the deal. Looking back on that one week that shaped

  Raymond Benjamin into what he'd become, he knew how fast one moment could change everything.

  Few people knew the truth about Raymond Benjamin.

  That all of the violence, everything that had occurred during the horrific, bloody days from September 9 to September 13 was because of him. While the riots started because the Attica prisoners were tired of being treated like animals, there was one spark that started the explosion.

  The week of September 2, 1971, a small metal bucket was placed inside Ray's cell. It contained about a gallon of water. The guard told him it was his weekly supply of water to shower with. On September 8, during mess hall,

  Ray mouthed off about the food. He didn't remember his exact words, but it boiled down to the meat loaf tasting like it had been some poor guy's meat. That got him one cigarette burn behind his knee.

  The next morning, on September 9, Raymond Benjamin thought he was in for the worst day of his life. The previous night, one of the guards came by, dropping a single roll of toilet paper into Ray's cell. Hope you got a clean ass, 'cause this is the last one you're getting until the end of the month.

  Frustrated, Ray threw the roll back at the officer, hitting him in the head. It barely stunned him, but soon all of 5

  Company was laughing their ass off. The guard turned red, told Ray he'd see him in the morning and walked off.

  While his fellow inmates hooted and hollered at the newly christened "Officer Shithead," Ray sat in his cell, shivering as if death itself was waiting for him. And for all he assumed, it was.

  The next morning, September 9, all of 5 Company's cells opened, the sign for morning roll call. All cells except for Ray Benjamin's. As his friends walked past, they saw him still in the cell, sitting on the edge of his bed, knees quaking. Ray had never been so scared in his life. He could hear the footsteps of the guards as they did morning rounds, could hear the clomps as his friends walked past, knowing their buddy was about to face the worst beating of his life. Perhaps the last beating of his life.

  Ray sat there and prayed. He apologized to the Lord for what his life had become. He apologized for his sins and promised that, if he was given another chance, he would make the most of it. He would right those wrongs. Ray's eyes were squeezed shut, tears pouring out the sides. He hoped it would be quick, if anything. That would be something to be thankful for.

  Then Ray heard something odd. Footsteps coming back his way. But they weren't the loud thump-thump of the guards', they were the soft, muffled steps of the prisoners. Then Ray heard a man yelling, and damned if it wasn't

  Officer Shithead himself.

  "You assholes get back here, right now!"

  The 5 Company prisoners didn't go back to roll call.

  Instead they walked right back to their cells and sat down.

  Possum, a big black man from Alabama, said, "Fuck you.

  You gonna take one man, you gonna take all the men."

  Possum was talking about Ray.

  Soon Officer Shithead was marching down the cell block, nightstick unsheathed.

  Officer Shithead didn't live another minute.

  After they'd beat him to death with his own baton,

  Ray's brothers in 5 Company managed to get his cell open.

  Several minutes later, a guard heard a commotion down

  A Tunnel, went to see what the hell was taking 5 Company so long, and that's when the devil unleashed hell.

  Ray survived the riots with his life, his sanity, and just one small scar on his cheek obtained on September 13 when the cops finally opened fire. A glass pane shattered, carving out a chunk of Ray's face. William "Billy Buds"

  Moss, a surgeon in lockup for raping a patient, stitched it together with a spool and tweezers stolen from the nurse's office, moments before it went up in flames.

  Raymond Benjamin would be ejected from the penal system two years later. Thirty-nine people died in those riots. Most of them were buried. Officer Shithead, Ray later learned, had been burned beyond recognition. There was barely enough of him left to bury.

  Leaving Attica, Ray Benjamin was a changed man. Not so much in deeds. He was still prone to violence, still had the temper of a pissed-off Viking, but now he had a cause.

  Not to mention a massive nicotine addiction. He told friends that after all the pain cigarettes had caused him in prison, he might as well get a little pleasure out of them.

  Several times a month Ray would wake up at night, remembering that morning sitting in his cell, praying for forgiveness. Waiting for a death that, with mercy, decided to pass him over. He never forgot that. Never took it for granted. And every act of violence, everything he did that

  "society" wouldn't approve of, was going toward making things right. It didn't matter if people couldn't understand it. He knew it was right.

  The Reeds were part of that plan. They were doing the right thing.

  But now they were gone, and Ray Benjamin felt concern for the first time in a long time. If the Reeds lost their will, they could give up everything. Ray would go down. So would the big man. And everything Ray had worked for over the past thirty years would be lost.

  Ray thought about the Reeds. Where could they have gone? And why would they suddenly decide to disobey such simple fucking directions?

  They weren't at the motel. Elaine wasn't picking up her cell phone. He'd given them the address, a newly cloned phone, and now he couldn't find them. It was like they'd looked him in the eye and lied to him.

  "This isn't good," he said to Vince. "The Reeds have disappeared."

  Vince snorted a laugh, managed to keep the toothpick in his mouth. "Ain't that ironic."

  Ray looked at him, then said fuck it. He couldn't help himself.

  He slapped Vince across the face, the toothpick doing a little spiral before landing in a puddle of sludge several feet away. That made Ray smile.

  When Vince recovered, he was holding his jaw, a thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

  "Ow, man, what the fuck?"

  "Couldn't take that stupid toothpick anymore."

  "Christ, you could have asked me to throw it out!"

  "Consider this an apology. Come on, let's go."

  They got into the car, Ray shaking his head as Vince started the engine.

  "What is it?" Vince said, mopping up his lip with a handkerchief.

  "The Reeds," he said. "I don't trust them anymore.

  They don't realize this thing is bigger than them. They're being selfish, not realizing they're putting years of work at risk. I thought they could be trusted, that they had their family's best interests in mind. I guess I was wrong."

  "What are you saying, boss?" Vince asked.

  "I think when we find them, we need to make them gone."

  "Gone like the kids? Or, like, gone gone?"

  Ray looked at him, didn't say a word. Vince nodded solemnly. Ray patted the kid on the back. That was his answer right there. Then they drove away.

  33

  "According to DMV records," Curt said, "the Reeds drive a 2002 silver Ford Windstar, license plate JV5 L16.

  I don't think it'll come as a huge surprise to anyone that their current address is listed as 482 Huntley Terrace."

  We were still at the 19th Precinct, corralled in a conference room on the second floor. Curt had already had to shoo away three other officers who tried to reclaim the room. When they couldn't offer concrete reasons for needing the space-the excuses ranged from "It has the only good coffee machine in the building" to "Fuck your mother"-I quickly figured out the cops simply didn't want us there. And that was fine with me. The more roadblocks were put up in our effort to find out the circumstances surrounding these kidnappings and Petrovsky's murder, the more insolent I became. Though I didn't thinkr />
  Curt would go so far as to have my back if I lost control and tried to pick a fight. And I was getting pretty damn close to that.

  Amanda said, "So at least we have direct legal proof that ties the Reed family to this guy Benjamin. But we still don't know why the hell they have anything to do with a criminal."

  Jason Pinter

  "What if," I said, "the Reeds weren't linked directly to Benjamin?"

  "Not sure I follow," Curt said.

  "We're forgetting about Petrovsky. He knew Daniel

  Linwood and Michelle Oliveira. His career was based around children. Bob and Elaine Reed have one son,

  Patrick, and we suspect they might have kidnapped another child, too."

  "I'm still waiting for the search on that," Curt said.

  "I'm hoping you're wrong."

  "Anyway, isn't it possible that somehow the Reeds became linked to Benjamin through Petrovsky?"

  "Like some sort of middleman?" Amanda asked.

  "Exactly. I'm willing to bet Petrovsky knew Benjamin, and Petrovsky knew the Reeds, as well. Amanda, is there any way you could get information about Patrick Reed? I have a feeling we might see Dmitri Petrovsky's signature on his delivery forms as well."

  "I'm on it," Amanda said. She gathered up her coat and purse and stood up. "Good luck, guys." She spent an extra moment looking at me, then she left.

  Curt waited until the door had closed, then he said, "So what's going on with you two?"

  "Nothing," I said. "Absolutely nothing."

  "You sound like you're as happy with that situation as

  I am with my mortgage."

  "Just don't know what to do. I broke up with her, but not a day goes by I don't regret it. In my mind I can erase that mistake, but expecting her to… I wouldn't expect that."

  "You think maybe part of the reason you're working this story so hard is to be close to her?"

  "I don't know."

  "That's not a no."

  "No, it's not."

  "Part of me don't feel right letting her do some of the dirty work on this. I mean, look at you, man. Seems like every few months you get beat up. You really want her that close to you?"