“Fran did he have any marks on his body that you can remember?”
“Uh..something was on his knuckles. Letters but I don’t remember what they said.
“Fran think real hard. Would you recognize him if you saw him?”
“Yes. I will never forget his disgusting face. Oh, his teeth were really bad. Kind of yellow and all crooked.”
She was closing her eyes longer each time after she answered. I could see it was putting a strain on her.”
“I think that’s enough,” Marsha said softly.
“I think you’re right. She is amazing. Thank both of you. We finally have something to go on.”
“Yes but without a name, you are still looking for a needle in a haystack,” James Welch said.
Man, when you're right you're right. We had more than we did but not nearly enough.
“We are suppressing the news about Fran for two reasons. We don’t want this monster to go to ground and we don’t want the media camping out on your doorstep.”
“Believe me, the fewer who know about this the better,” James agreed.
“Good. Thanks again for letting me talk to Fran.”
I bent down and kissed her on the forehead. She was cool to the touch.
“Hang in there Fran. We’ll get this guy,” I whispered into her ear.
I don’t know if she heard me or not.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The young boy woke in the darkness of his closet. He listened carefully. Nothing. Not a sound. He wondered what time it was but had no way of telling. He felt his way over to the door and put his ear against it. Not a single sound.
He felt around and found the spoon he had managed to steal from the kitchen a few days ago. He had lived in fear that someone would discover it missing but somehow he had managed to pull it off. He would rather have stolen a knife but his mom usually counted them at the end of the meal to make sure they were all there. She didn’t seem too concerned about the spoons and forks.
He slid the handle in the crack of the door. It was a tight fit but he could just get it to slide in. He moved it around until it made contact with the door latch. Wiggling it back and forth he could get the bolt to move but not enough to slide it back.
His nerves were shot and he was sweating profusely. Every little scrape seemed like a gun shot. He almost passed out from holding his breath and had to stop and regain his composure.
A few minutes later he was at it again. Finally the bolt slid back enough to let the door swing open. He was relieved to find that it was dark. Cautiously he opened the door and very quietly stepped out of the closet. He decided to leave the door open, afraid it might make a noise when he closed it.
He slowly worked his way down the dark hall to the kitchen. Sliding out the middle drawer he found an eight inch boning knife. The blade glistened from the light coming from the small wall clock over the counter.
The boy made his way back down the hall. The next part would be the real challenge. He placed his foot on the first step and slowly stood on it. It was a slow arduous process. One step at a time and pausing to listen. Finally he reached the top of the landing. Staying against the wall he slid along until he came to his parent’s bedroom door.
The door was partially closed and when he looked in through the crack he could see his father sleeping on his side, his arm hanging down off the bed. He was as disgusting looking asleep as he was awake. The man was a pig.
He pushed the door open slowly. A small squeak sounded like a gunshot but neither of his parents moved. The old man was snoring loud enough that he probably could have stomped up the stairs in combat boots and he wouldn’t have heard him.
The boy walked quietly over beside the bed, looking down at the bastard who had raped him over and over. A repulsive pervert. He raised the knife over his head with both hands and brought it down with all his strength.
“Auggh..” the man said, letting out a loud cry.
He opened his eyes just in time to see the knife come plunging down into his chest. He tried to raise his hands to fight the boy off but the knife went into his throat before he could sit up. Four, five, six times the knife plunged into the man. Blood was gushing out, spraying the bed and room.
“Wha...what’s going on,” his mother finally said sitting up and reaching over for her glasses on the night stand.
She never made it. The knife sliced into her back, piercing through to her heart. She sat up totally straight for a second and then the knife dug into her back again.
“What? Why are you doing this?” she managed to get out.
“Why? You bitch. You let him abuse me over and over and all you ever did was hide in this room and act like nothing was going on. He was a sick, filthy pervert but you are even worse. You did nothing to protect your own son. You...” he said and brought the knife down at the base of her neck. The point came out her throat, “... are getting what you deserved. Better than you deserve. You are going to die from drowning in your own blood you bitch,” he yelled at her.
Her eyes glazed over and she slowly slid off the bed and on to the floor. He could hear her gurgling as she was drowning in her blood. He just stood there, looking down at her. He wanted her to know he was enjoying watching her die.
Finally we walked back downstairs and went into the kitchen. He was suddenly hungry. He opened the refrigerator, took out the milk and smelled it to make sure it was still good. A box of Cheerios was in the cabinet. He got out a large bowl, poured a huge mound of cereal, dumped half a sugar bowl of sugar on it and added the milk. It was wonderful. He was never allowed out of the closet once he was locked in for the night. He often went to bed without dinner. It was just one of the many ways they punished him.
When he finished he went upstairs and took a long hot shower. He couldn’t remember ever having such a delightful luxury. He scrubbed his nails, hair and body with shampoo four times before he decided he had done enough.
He dried off and while still naked, walked back to his parent’s room and carefully surveyed the slaughter. He hadn’t left any footprints or handprints in the blood. He was pleased.
Back downstairs he carefully cleaned the knife. When he was done, he used a paper towel to dry it off and carry it outside. He walked barefooted out to the field behind the house. He heaved the knife as hard as he could and saw it arching out to the tall grass. Even if the cops found it, his prints wouldn’t be on it. Anyone could have tossed it there.
Finished with his work, he checked to make sure his feet were clean then went back to his closet. It took him several tries to finally get the bolt to lock the door again. He put the spoon in its hiding place and lay down and went to sleep.
He knew it would be some time before they missed his dad and mom at work but having to stay locked up in there was worth it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“So, essentially we are still at square one,” the captain said.
You gotta’ give it to the guy, he is no dummy. He was really great at stating the obvious. We all just sat there and smiled.
“Special Agent Pendergrass, what do you want us to do since you are now officially in charge.”
“For one thing we need more access to Francisca Welch. Detective Bartoni got some information but we need to go deeper,” he said.
Good luck with that sucker. No way was the doctor or the parents going to let a bunch on Neanderthals have a go at their daughter.
“Isn’t going to happen,” I finally said.
“Why not?”
“For Christ sakes. The kid is barely hanging on. The parents aren’t going to let you have a go at her. Neither is the doctor. She is too weak to be put through the ringer,” I said, starting to get pissed.
“We’re the FBI. People will do a lot of things for us that they normally wouldn’t do for the regular police,” he shot back.
“Oh, well there we have it then. By the powers vested in the FBI, Frannie shall be healed and will come forth with relevant and enlightening information,” I replied.
<
br /> “Okay. Knock it off. The FBI may be in charge of the case but this is still my house so just cool it. Both of you,” the captain said.
“Fine. To answer your question captain, I intend to send agent Shores to talk to the girl.”
“The girl's name is Francisca. She goes by Frannie,” I said. I couldn’t help it. He was really getting to me.
“Alright. Agent Shores will go talk to Francisca and see if she can garner additional information,” Pendergrass said.
Garner additional information. Garner information. I wanted to punch him right in the nose. Of course that would be really dumb because it would really, really hurt my hand. Probably break my damn wrist the way things were going. Anyway, like I said, women cops don’t go around all badass and try to whip up on people. That crap is a totally Hollywood wishful thinking.
“What about my people?” the captain asked.
“They need to go back and reinterview each of the parents of the abducted girls. See if they can come up with anything useful.”
I swear I did not roll my eyes. I mean, I had a piece of dirt in one of them and it probably looked like I was rolling my eyes. Honestly. Mostly. Kind of. Can you believe this asshole? No wonder I rolled them.
“All right people, you heard the man. Let’s hit the streets and see if you can shake anything loose,” the captain said.
Slowly we all filed out of the conference room. I made a beeline to the break room and confiscated a cold Diet Coke before going back to my desk. This was going to be such a waste of resources. Every one of the parents had our cards and would have called if they had of thought of anything new. It was a lame use of manpower.
I was deep in thought, well as deep as I get, when the phone rang.
“Detective Bartoni.”
“Yes. My name is Kathleen Foster. I am at the Westfield Park. My kids are playing here. There is a man sitting on one of the benches. He has been watching the kids for over an hour. He seems kind of strange. I don’t know if it’s important but he is making me nervous.”
“Has he tried to talk to any of the kids?”
“Not that I saw but I’ve been keeping an eye on my own kids so I don’t really know.”
“What does he have on?”
“Uh, khaki pants, dark blue polo type shirt, tennis shoes.”
“And he is still there now?”
“Yes he is.”
“Alright. Thank you. I’ll either have someone come by or come over myself.”
“Thank you. I would feel better,” Kathleen said.
What the hell, I had nothing better to do really. I got my gun out of the desk and went down to commandeer a car. They were all checked out or being serviced so I decided to take my trusty SS 396. Of course it would take me longer since it gulped down gas at an alarming rate and I would need to fill it. This was painful with gas hovering around four dollars a gallon.
Fortunately, Westfield Park is only a ten minute drive at most. I pulled into the parking lot and walked to the kid’s playground area. I saw the man sitting on one of the benches with his hands in his coat pocket. He had on glasses and sported a neatly trimmed mustache. Other than that, nothing else was remarkable about him. He seemed clean cut and was certainly not doing anything suspicious. A lady that I assume was Kathleen, discretely waved at me. I nodded back and walked over to where the man was sitting.
“Afternoon,” I said.
Clever huh?
“Ma’am.”
“You have a kid playing over there?” I said pointing to the playground.
He suddenly had a sad look and I could see his eyes start to water. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds.
He finally was able to croak out, ”No.”
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“I’m...I’m fine.”
I sat down next to him and just looked at him. He seemed so distraught.
“You sure? You seem upset.”
“I come here to watch the kids play. My wife and two boys were killed two weeks ago by a drunk driver. I don’t know why I come here but seeing the kids play...I guess I hope my two boys are playing on a nice playground in heaven. I need to believe that,” he said as tears started running down his face and dripping on his khakis.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m very sorry for your loss. I know that sounds trite but really, I am sorry,” I said.
I felt like the world’s biggest heel. The poor guy came to have pleasant thoughts about his kids and I go and practically kick him in the teeth. I wanted to crawl in a hole in the ground and pull the dirt over me.
“Thank you. I appreciate that. It’s just so hard. The son of a bitch hardly got a scratch and my family was wiped out. It just seems so wrong on every level,” he said, fighting back tears.
“Sorry to interrupt you. I will keep you in my prayers,” I said and stood.
“I would really appreciate that.”
I nodded to the woman and walked slowly back to my car. That was not one of my better experiences.
When I got back to the station all hell was breaking loose. What? I’ve been gone maybe forty-five minutes and everything goes to hell in a handcart?
“Bartoni. He nabbed another girl. The Amber Alert has already gone out. We are scrambling everything we have. er name is Ginny Thompson.”
“Where?”
“Westfield Park. Just a few minutes ago. We are trying to get roadblocks set up but it’s hard to get everyone organized with the FBI sticking their nose in everything,” the captain said, exasperated.
“Oh my God,” I said. No way.
“What?”
“Who called it in?” I asked almost too stunned to talk.
“Some woman at the park. Something Foster.”
“Kathleen Foster? Captain, I think I just talked to the guy not a half hour ago.”
“What are you talking about?”
It took me a few minutes to finally get it all out. I don’t know when I had ever felt dumber. I had just sat next to the guy and bought into the whole sad story. He must be laughing his ass off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Okay, there is nothing we can do about it now. The shit will definitely hit the fan at some point. For now I need you to get back out to Westfield and start interviewing witnesses. Marcus and Aaron are already on the scene. The FBI was right behind them.”
“Captain, I...”
“Save it. It won’t do any good fretting about it now. Get your head back in the game and get your butt out to Westfield.”
I could have walked under the belly of a snake I felt so low. I’m a cop, not some civilian. I should have known better. He had a jacket on and his hands in his pockets. It's eighty degrees out today. What the hell was I thinking? Was I thinking? He kept his hands in his pockets to cover the tattoos on his knuckles. God I’m dense sometimes.
It seemed to take forever to get back to the park. Cop cars were parked all over the place. The bench he had been sitting on was cordoned off with the all too familiar yellow crime scene tape.
Marcus was talking to the Foster lady when I walked up.
“Why didn’t you stop him?” she demanded.
“I didn’t know it was the guy. I talked to him and he said he had lost his wife and two boys a couple of weeks ago. He seemed so sincere. I just...just didn’t think it was him.”
“Well, now he has another young girl. You should have stayed and watched him longer. He might have gotten nervous and left. Now he has another victim,” she said, her voice rising.
Several of the policemen standing around were watching the show. There was absolutely nothing I could say so I didn’t. I just turned and walked over to where Aaron was talking to an elderly woman. She had been crying and was clutching a handkerchief.
“You okay?” Aaron asked.
“No but I’ll get over it.”
“This is Ms. Langford. She was watching Ginny Mason when a man suddenly ran over, grabbed her and took off. The girl was trying to
fight him but he stuck something in her neck and she just went limp.”
“Ms. Langford is her nanny?” I asked.
“Grandmother.”
“How old is Ginny?”
“She just turned twelve last week. That’s why I’m here in town. I live in St. Louis but I came over for Gin’s birthday. What am I going to do? What will happen to her?”
“Have the parents been notified yet?” I asked.
“Yeah. Pendergrass and Shores went to tell them and start that process,” Marcus said.
“Has anyone found out about the vehicle or where he headed when he left?”
“He went that way,” Grandma Langford said, pointing north.
“They have already started looking in the trees over there but so far nothing,” Marcus told me.
“We need more manpower.”
“Sure, like that’s going to happen anytime soon,” Marcus lamented.
“I think we will get whatever we need when this hits the papers.”
I had no sooner gotten those words out of my mouth when Channel Three News and Channel Nine Alive rolled up in their big trucks with the satellite dishes on top of them. Now the circus would really begin. I also knew I would be in for a very hard time once it came out that I had actually talked to the guy just before he snatched the girl. I was going to be a piece of raw meet that gets tossed to the wolves. I wonder if it’s too late to go to culinary school and become a chef. I mean after all, no one dies when you screw up making roux.
For the first time in my career I was at a loss as what to do next. Marcus was still talking to Foster and she kept looking my way. I could imagine what she was saying to Marcus.
I was trying to look like I was doing something productive when the FBI pulled up in their shinny SUVs.
I saw a fairly young couple get out of the back of one of the vehicles and run over to where Aaron was still talking to the grandmother.
I decided I couldn’t dodge the bullet forever and went over to see what they could tell us.
“Grams are you alright,” was the first thing out of the woman’s mouth. The man came up to her and hugged her. I was relieved to see they weren’t going to lay this all at her doorstep.
ALPHABET MURDERS - ANGIE BARTONI CASE FILES #1 (Detective Angie Bartoni Case Files) Page 9