by Rick Mofina
“I know. And Kuwait is only a plane ride away, Cal.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Remember how you told me how you could disappear and no one would ever find you? Maybe you and your girlfriend planned this all along, being two investigative reporters.”
“What? For chrissakes, I was joking about disappearing—we were watching a movie.”
“Maybe you took Gage and were planning to disappear with your girlfriend, Chelsey? And if it’s not her, maybe it’s this Beth Gibson. You tell me, Cal—did you take Gage?”
He got up and left the room, the TV frozen on an image of Cal and Faith dancing at their wedding reception.
They were so happy then.
A portrait of another couple in another time.
The Fourth Day
53
At 6:59 a.m. the next day Practical Homicide Investigation was splayed open on the passenger seat of Officer Clayton Burke’s patrol car.
He’d been studying the textbook whenever he had a free moment and hoped to cover the section on suspects during his shift today.
Burke had been a River Ridge patrol cop for five years. It was time to put his criminology degree to use. He wanted to take his shot at making detective, then ultimately land a job with the FBI, DEA or ATF.
But that dream was pushed farther away when Burke’s request for a special assignment with the multiagency investigation of Gage Hudson’s disappearance was never granted.
“Don’t fret, you’ve got plenty of other duties,” his supervisor had said.
Still, Burke remained keen and lived for the FBI’s briefings on Hudson, devouring every aspect the lead investigators were able to share.
“Be alert,” Malko, the lead FBI agent, had drilled into them. “That seemingly trivial, mundane, inconsequential bit of information you come across could be the key to everything. We’re all on this case.”
That’s why Burke was on guard for anything.
But now, rolling through his zone at the top of his early-morning shift, he needed coffee and wheeled into one of his favorite places, Hart’s QuikStop Print and Postal. Mel Hart operated the little family business with the help of his daughter Rhonda, who was easy on the eyes and, as Burke recalled, wasn’t dating anyone these days.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the shop and a few early-bird customers were at the copiers or mailboxes when Burke entered.
“Good morning, Clay,” Mel called from the counter.
“Hey, Mel, how’re things?” Burke poured himself a coffee.
“So-so, you know.”
Burke noticed a woman slide her key into the lock of her mailbox, then pull out her letters and flyers.
“You’re by your lonesome again,” Burke said to Mel. “Where’s Rhonda?”
“In Green Bay.”
“What’s she doing there?”
“Visiting her big sister. No law against that, right?” Mel laughed.
“Well, it ought to be a felony just going to Packer country. Tell her I said hi.” Burke sipped his coffee, set two dollars on the table and started for the door when something the woman at the mailboxes said stopped him.
“Darn, Mel. This one’s not mine. It’s for someone named Cal Hudson and, silly me, I wasn’t looking and I opened it.”
Burke turned to the woman who was holding a large brown envelope.
“Let me see that, Alice.” Mel moved his glasses from his forehead to study it. “Yup, his box is 1212. Darnell missed the slot again.”
“Excuse me.” Burke approached them. “Mel, is that for Cal Hudson, the father of the missing boy?”
“Oh, yes,” Mel said. “It’s terrible. Yes, Cal Hudson, the reporter. He rents a box here.”
Burke’s instincts kicked in.
“Please set the envelope on the counter and don’t let anyone else touch it,” he said, thinking it could be a possible ransom note or nothing at all. Not wanting to take any chances, he took precautions. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to stay here awhile.”
“Why? I didn’t look inside. Am I in trouble?”
“Nothing like that, bear with me, please.”
Burke leaned closer. The envelope was addressed to Cal Hudson. Burke’s eyebrows climbed slightly. It had some Arabic lettering. Return address was the Global Gulf News Agency in Kuwait City, Kuwait.
“Mel, you’re absolutely certain Cal Hudson, the father of the missing boy, rents a box here? Because he lives on the other side of town.”
“Yes, Clay. I rented it to him a long time ago.”
“How long we talking?”
“A couple of years.”
“Has Cal been in to check his mail here since his son went missing?”
“Gosh, no.”
“What about his wife?”
“No. She’s never been in here. The box is rented to Cal. I remember he said how reporters need a secret postal address.”
“Really?”
Studying the envelope, which the woman had opened, Burke was tempted to look at the contents. As he considered what to do he was guided by the FBI agent’s words—that a seemingly small bit of information could be the key to everything.
“Mel, have the FBI or any of my people been in here to look at this box, execute a warrant or talk to you about it?”
“No.” Mel stuck out his bottom lip and shook his head. “What’re you thinking, Clay?”
Burke held up one finger, turned, got on his phone and called headquarters. In seconds he was connected to a River Ridge lead detective on the Hudson case.
“Detective Price, this is Clay Burke. I patrol in Bradfield, Zone Three. This may be nothing, but did you know Cal Hudson has a private PO box across town and he’s got an eight-by-eleven letter waiting for him here from a news agency in Kuwait?”
“No, we didn’t know that. How’d you find out?”
“It’s complicated, but I’m looking at the opened envelope right now.”
“What’s in it? Is it a ransom?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t looked inside. We don’t have a warrant.”
“How did it get open?”
“A woman opened it by accident. It was misplaced in her mail slot.”
“Put your gloves on and take a look in case it’s a ransom note.”
“But we don’t have a warrant.”
“These are exigent circumstances, the hot pursuit principle.”
“Give me a second.”
Burke wedged his phone between his shoulder and ear, reached for his utility belt, tugged on his gloves and pulled out the contents, which were pages of government forms and a note.
“Is it a ransom note?”
“No, it looks like a visa and work permit for a job in Kuwait City.”
Silence filled the phone.
“Hello, Detective?” Burke asked.
“Wait. What’s your twenty?”
“Hart’s QuikStop Print and Postal at 2322 Lexington.”
“Okay, hold the line.”
Burke heard sounds at the other end like Price was getting someone to make other calls. Muffled voices and several long seconds passed before Price came back on the line.
“Clay, secure everything and wait right there. We’re sending people.”
54
“Why did you conceal from us the fact you have a secret mailbox?”
Cal swallowed hard, dragged his hands over his stubbled face, while sitting across from Malko and Sue Marsh at headquarters.
He was now facing the fourth day of Gage’s disappearance and the anguish that Faith was not only unfaithful—he could no longer stomach being in the same bed with her and had moved to their spare bedroom—but was suspected of taking their son. Now he’d been hauled back into headquarters for more questioni
ng without being told why. His inability—to sleep, to think—was exacting a toll.
“I’m sorry but I don’t understand.”
“Cal, early in the investigation we’d asked you to provide all the addresses you used where you could potentially receive a ransom note. You gave us your home and work addresses but concealed the fact that you rent box number 1212 at Hart’s QuikStop Print and Postal, located on 2322 Lexington Boulevard.”
“I’m sorry, with everything going on, I forgot.”
“You didn’t forget. You lied to us and I think this could be a reason.”
Malko slapped copies of documents on the table; a number of pages fanned out. Among them Cal saw a Kuwaiti visa application form, passport photos for him and Gage, an employment contract from the English-language Global Gulf News Agency, a health certificate and a work permit.
“You were planning to leave the country with your son but never said a word about it to us. Why?”
Cal stared from the records back up to Malko and Price. “This is not what it looks like.”
“Don’t try to lie your way out of the facts,” Malko said. “Look at the handwritten note on Global Gulf News letterhead. It’s from Chelsey Blake. People at your newspaper told us you were very close to her and that she had a thing for you before she took a buyout and a job overseas. Faith told us that she feared that you were unfaithful with another reporter at the paper.”
“I know how this looks but you’re wrong.”
Ignoring Cal, Malko continued. “Look at what Chelsey’s saying in her note to you. ‘The applications you copied to me look good...the job is yours if you want it...don’t worry about the language, most of the people you’ll deal with speak English, and the agency provides interpreters...and the school American diplomats use will hold a space for Gage...this will be an exciting new start, Cal.’ This has every indication of an international parental abduction.”
“I’m telling you this isn’t what it looks like.”
Malko stood up, walked around the table and leaned into him.
“No? We also discovered that you recently withdrew seven thousand dollars in cash from an account you don’t share with Faith.”
“I needed it because I was thinking of going to Kuwait to look into the job.”
“You’re on thin ice with that one, Cal. Come on, who needs that kind of cash in today’s world?”
“No, you’re twisting things. This is crazy.”
“Is it? Shortly after you report Gage missing, you get a call from Beth Gibson that we can’t trace. Was that Chelsey? We know it’s possible to route an international call through a prepaid disposable phone.”
Cal shook his head.
“Maybe you had help from Sid Griner and Alma McCain, two people who worked in key positions on the Chambers of Dread? Maybe you paid them to help make Gage vanish in the chaos of the dark. It’s a perfect venue. Maybe you enlisted someone, one of your trusted criminal sources, to disappear with Gage, throw his shoe in the Dumpster to create a false trail.”
“This is idiotic.” Cal pointed his finger at Malko. “First, you tell me Faith’s cheating and that you suspect her and her boyfriend took Gage. It all points to them, you said. But now...now because I looked for a job in Kuwait, you think I took Gage. Do you know how absolutely stupid this sounds? What’s worse, it tells me that you guys don’t have a damn clue what you’re doing!”
“That’s good, Cal. Try to turn the tables. You’re smart. We may not have all the pieces but you know all the angles. Maybe you had your people take Gage up to Canada to fly to Kuwait from there. We know there are entry points where you can just walk across the border.”
“This is beyond stupid.” Cal stared at the ceiling.
“Remember how you bragged about how you could disappear? Remember how you said you wanted to vanish and start your life over?”
“Who told you that?” Cal shook his head. “Why in hell would I attempt such a thing? Draw all this attention, traumatize Gage? You’re insane.”
Malko leaned closer to Cal. “Because somehow you knew Faith was cheating on you and you were going to ensure she paid for what she did to you.”
“Not true.”
Malko fished through the papers and plucked a document. “Here’s your work permit, issued by the General Department of Immigration Affairs in Kuwait. It states that if your spouse or family members are accompanying you, you must confirm that on the form for it to be valid. You’ve got Gage listed but nothing for Faith.”
Cal closed his eyes and drew a slow breath.
“Now, we’ve contacted our FBI legal attaché at our embassy in Kuwait City. He’s working with Kuwait police to question Chelsey Blake. We’re going to get to the truth, Cal.”
His face reflected an empty stare.
“One more thing.” Malko held up his phone. “Here’s a news feature you wrote about all the countries that have no extradition treaties with the United States. Kuwait is among them. You knew that, once you got there with Gage, there would be little we could do to bring you or Gage back to America. This is all part of the plan, isn’t it, Cal?”
“I’m telling you, you’re wrong.” Tears rolled down Cal’s face. “Yes, I was considering a job in Kuwait where the pay was more than double. But that was out of fear of losing my job here. Chelsey was helping me because she’s a contact in my professional network. Look, at the time, I didn’t know where my marriage was headed. Faith and I had problems and I wasn’t sure if she would leave Chicago, or join me later. I didn’t know—I wasn’t thinking clearly. You have to believe me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the truth!”
Malko leaned into his personal space.
“But you’ve lied to us so many times before, Cal.”
55
“It’s okay, Bree, you’re not in trouble. Just a few more questions.”
Breeana Kohl liked Detective Carol Lopez’s smile and her pretty earrings. She was nice. So was the other lady detective, Rachel Price, who got her her favorite chocolate milk to drink.
Still, Breeana was so scared.
After her mom had called police the previous night about what had happened to her inside the Chambers of Dread, they told her to bring Breeana to the police station first thing in the morning.
Breeana knew it was important because they wanted to talk to her without her mom beside her in a separate, ugly room and wouldn’t let her use her phone. They made her turn it off.
“Sweetheart, you can hold it, if it makes you feel comfortable, but no talking to anyone at all,” Carol had told her at the beginning.
The detective had a nice calm voice and she wanted Breeana to call her by her first name. She told her how in her job she’d talked to lots of kids who’d had similar things happen to them and that it was important for Breeana to take her time and just tell them what happened.
It was so hard but Breeana did it.
She didn’t know how long it had taken for her to tell them everything but now Carol was going back over the story.
“So you’re sure that after this guy rubbed his hands all over you and Hannah he moved toward Gage Hudson in the spinner area?”
Breeana nodded.
“Even in the dark with the music and noise, you’re sure?” Rachel asked.
“Yes, because that family was close to us in the line. I remember the boy had the ball cap and T-shirt. Hannah and I both saw him when those lights flashed like lightning, but we never saw him outside at the slides and then his parents were there and looking around for him...”
“Just so we’re clear,” Carol said, “you’re certain the man who did this was sitting on a stool in front of the Chambers.”
“Yes, he was the one taking your ticket and talking on his radio letting people in a few at a time, like he was controlling how many went in.”
>
“Okay, we’re going to show you some pictures and we want you to see if he is in any of them.” Carol nodded to Rachel, who began swiping through a tablet, then turned it to Breeana.
She looked carefully at all the faces of the men, held her finger over one image, then lifted her eyes to Carol.
“Him,” Breeana said.
“Any doubts?”
She shook her head and suddenly began crying. “He’s the one who did it. It was so awful. I feel so...so...dirty!”
Carol rushed around the table to comfort her.
After a long moment and helping Breeana brush away her tears, Carol said, “You did great, Bree. We’re done. There’re just a few more things I have to tell you, okay?” She made eye contact and smiled.
Breeana nodded.
“We’ll take you to your mom and we need you to wait for some paperwork. But if you ever want to talk to a real expert who helps kids when this kind of stuff happens we have a nice lady, Celeste Spring—she’s a doctor—who will be happy to talk to you. And she really is great.”
Breeana nodded.
“Now, sweetie, it’s very important we keep our conversation here confidential. We’re going to talk to Hannah, too, later today. But you cannot talk to Hannah about it. It also means you cannot tell anyone besides your mom and dad. We’ll talk to them, and Hannah’s folks, too. It’s important, so we can find this man and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else. Okay?”
“What if when you find him he thinks it’s me who told you and he gets mad and wants to find me?”
“He’s not going to be able to do that,” Rachel said, “because he’ll be going to jail, okay?”
“Okay.”
“So you promise to keep this confidential?” Carol asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. Let’s go find your mom.”