Critical Pursuit

by Janice Cantore

  Now, standing in the hospital parking lot next to her truck in the early afternoon sun, Brinna wondered about peace. I’ve never felt lacking, she thought. I have a mission, and it keeps me going. The only time she didn’t feel peace was when some maggot got away with something. Like the dirtbag who killed Heather. She still didn’t see how believing in a God you couldn’t see and who let some pretty awful things happen could give you peace.

  But so many questions nagged. How do I stop hiding in my work? Saving kids is my mission. It’s not destructive like alcohol can be. But if I let it consume me, am I oblivious to life like my drunk father always was? Maggie thinks I’m missing out on life—am I? Shaking her head, she shrugged, too tired to think about it anymore.

  She hopped in the truck and headed home, finally feeling like she could sleep. The journal could wait until tonight. Maybe she’d ask Jack later about this idea of Christian peace.

  When she got home, she fell into bed fully clothed and was instantly asleep.

  * * *

  Jack scanned the street in front of the coffee shop and then checked his watch. Half an hour before squad. He rubbed his face. On one hand, he hoped Ben would show, while on the other hand, he berated himself for even calling his old partner.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Ben walked up behind Jack and slapped a hand on his shoulder.

  “Thanks for meeting me. Especially after our last meeting, I didn’t think you’d show.” Jack extended his hand and smiled.

  Ben returned the smile. “What’s past is past. I’m just happy to have the old Jack back. You are back, aren’t you?”

  “Getting there.”

  “Great. What’s on your mind? Pearce?”

  “No, this isn’t about him. I actually wanted to talk to you about God.”

  Surprise flashed across Ben’s face.

  Jack directed him to a table, where they both took a seat. “I don’t think I or anyone else will ever be able to explain why God took Vicki from me.” Jack took a deep breath. “But I can’t deny God anymore either. All my life I was raised to believe the Bible was truth. It’s as much a part of me as Vicki was. Though I haven’t picked up a Bible in a year, verses keep running through my head.”

  “Which verses?”

  “Ones about trusting God . . . about how his thoughts toward us are for good, not evil.” Jack paused and studied his hands, rubbing a callus with his thumb. “Bottom line, I can’t deny him any longer because the only hope I have left is that Vicki is with him, and one day I want to be with both of them.”

  Jack wiped his eyes and cleared his throat before going on. “I’m angry, Ben. Angrier than I’ve ever been. God let me and Vicki down in a big way.”

  “Well, last time I checked, angry is allowed. How can I help?”

  “I guess I want you to keep praying. Pray that somehow, someway, I’ll be able to see some good in this. Maybe someday I’ll understand. And pray for Brinna. She’s got a lot on her mind right now, and I get the feeling she’ll be coming to me with questions. Pray I’ll have the right answers.”

  “I’ll keep praying for you both, buddy. I promise. And it’s good to have you back.”

  * * *

  “How’s your dad?” Maggie asked breathlessly as she rushed past Brinna to her locker.

  Brinna was just buckling her belt keepers. “Same. I saw him again today.”

  “That’s good. Did you make up over what happened the other day?”

  “Yeah, we did. And we talked for a while.” She checked her image in the mirror. “He actually apologized for being an absent father all my life.”

  “Great.” Maggie patted her shoulder. “I knew he wasn’t as bad as you thought all those years.”

  Brinna shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. But I wish he’d opened up to me a long time ago, not now, just as he’s dying.”

  “Sometimes it takes a crisis for people to reveal their true feelings.”

  Nodding, Brinna leaned against a locker. “Question: Am I really like my dad? I mean, Mom says he hid in a bottle all these years and I hide in my work the same way.”

  Maggie latched her gun belt. “Your mom is a smart woman. What have I been telling you for years? Your life is the kids and Hero. Most of the time you shut everything and everyone else out.”

  “What about you? I never shut you out.”

  “That’s because I don’t let you. I’m a pushy broad. And I always figured something would crack your shell eventually. I wish it hadn’t been Milo’s suicide and your father’s cancer that opened your eyes.” She closed her locker and faced Brinna.

  “How do I stop? The kids are so important to me.”

  Maggie smiled. “Look around you. There are a ton of blue suits who do the same job you do. The fight is not only yours. Let some of that burden roll off to the rest of us.”

  Brinna rolled her eyes. “I’ll give it a shot; thanks. And thanks for hanging in there with me.”

  “That’s what friends are for. Let’s get to squad.”

  60

  AS SOON AS BRINNA stepped in the squad room and saw Ben with Sergeant Klein, she knew something was up. “To what do we owe the honor?” she asked.

  Ben grinned and held up a wanted poster. There, four computer-enhanced photos of Nigel Pearce—tweaked for various hairstyles, glasses or no, facial hair or no—stared back at her.

  “Wow, you got him.” Brinna took the poster and read it with Maggie peering over her shoulder.

  “We got his likeness,” Ben agreed, “and some solid ties to Heather and another little girl. It was like putting a puzzle together. We had some pieces; other agencies had pieces. Once we got together, everything started to fit. He’s been using the name Paul Norton. A drifter with that name matching Nigel’s description was questioned in two different abductions in two different states, hundreds of miles apart. In one case DNA had been recovered. Chuck rushed it through the lab and compared it to a blood sample taken from Pearce ten years ago. It matched.”

  Brinna looked up from the image of the monster. She didn’t recognize him today any more than she had ten years ago, but her instincts told her this was the guy. His face was now burned into her mind, and she vowed to catch him.

  “This is great. I assume you have a trail to follow now.”

  Ben nodded. “I’m giving everyone the information at the squad meeting.”

  Brinna and Maggie sat down as Jack rushed into the room very nearly late.

  “You seem rested today,” Jack whispered as he slid into the chair next to hers.

  Brinna nodded and handed him the poster. Jack whistled low as Klein started the meeting.

  When it was Ben’s turn to speak, he explained about the Pearce investigation and handed out bulletins. He didn’t mention Brinna’s possible connection but emphasized that Pearce was a suspect in the Heather Bailey slaying. He also said that Pearce’s wanted poster had been given to the press and would be all over the Internet and on the airwaves on the five o’clock news. A tip line was in operation and would be manned twenty-four hours a day for the time being.

  Brinna glanced around at her coworkers. Everyone studied the poster. It made her smile. Pearce didn’t have a chance. And it didn’t depend entirely on her.

  “I’m ready to go tonight.” Brinna clapped her hands when the meeting ended and she and Jack were heading to their car. “It’ll just be a matter of time before someone sees his picture and calls with information.”

  “This is outstanding,” Jack agreed as he took the passenger seat.

  Brinna was up to drive first, and she hummed as they rolled along. She’d reconciled with her father, watched a vicious, inaccurate campaign against her start to falter, and now was certain she’d eventually put a monster out of commission. Life was good.

  Except for Milo. She frowned. She was no closer now to understanding his suicide than she was the day she’d heard.

  “You remember the journal I talked about last night?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Jac
k said.

  “I had a talk with my dad today. He said a lot of the same things about God and peace that I read in the journal.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yeah, he’s a changed man. A couple days ago I would have said that the change was only because he’s in the hospital and he can’t drink. But it’s more than that. He now believes all the stuff my mom is always preaching about God. He’s at peace.”

  “Reconciling with God is a life-changing experience.”

  “Is it?” She glanced across the car at Jack. “Sounds like your attitude has changed as well.”

  “It’s changing; let’s just say that.”

  “My mom would take me and Brian to church when we were kids, but my dad never went.” Brinna chewed on her lower lip and looked away from her partner, remembering the family unit back then. Brian enjoyed church like her mother did, but Dad was always indifferent. Do I take after my dad? The question made her frown, but she didn’t have time to think any more about it.

  Just then the computer beeped with an incoming message. Jack pushed the button and read the message. “It’s from Chuck. He’s got something. He wants to meet us at the convention center parking lot.”

  “Hope he’s got something for us to check out,” Brinna said as she made a U-turn and headed for the convention center.

  * * *

  “Great news,” Chuck exclaimed as Brinna pulled her black-and-white up to his plain car. “We got him.”

  “Someone turned him in?” Brinna tried hard to keep her voice neutral.

  “Not quite. But as soon as the photo aired, someone called in. Until two days ago Paul Norton, aka Nigel Pearce, was employed by the city of Long Beach.”

  “What?” Brinna and Jack exclaimed simultaneously.

  “Yep. We didn’t find it right away because of the Social Security number he used. He’s been working a part-time seasonal position in beach maintenance. Makes sense considering his transient lifestyle. Anyway, SWAT is staging as we speak. Norton/Pearce gave an address out on the west side of town as his home. Want to join us?”

  “Lead the way.” Brinna gave a wave of her hand as adrenaline surged. “Let’s go catch a killer.”

  61

  NIGEL CHOKED on his dinner and bolted from his chair. Coughing and gagging, he stepped close to the TV and stared in disbelief at his face on the screen. Or what they thought was his face now, ten years from the last time he’d been photographed.

  It was close enough. He ran a hand over his head, then jerked a drawer open, grasping for scissors. When he found some, he raced into the bathroom and began cutting in a frenzy. After a few minutes he stopped and took a deep breath, slowly exhaling. “Don’t panic; don’t panic,” he told himself. “You can’t think if you panic.”

  It was then he realized he’d been living on borrowed time for ten years. Whatever mistake had set him free in the mountains had just been rectified.

  “I’m still free,” he declared, putting the scissors down. “And I will not go to prison.”

  He tossed the hair he’d cut into the toilet and flushed. Wiping his hands and face on a towel, he studied his reflection in the mirror. He saw a sun-bronzed man with a spiky haircut. Stylishly spiky, he thought.

  Calmer now, he went back into the living room and shut the TV off. I have to move on. To stay here would be foolish. But on the kitchen table sat his favorite pictures of the two Special Girls. Picking one up, he ran a hand over their faces.

  He didn’t want to leave without them. He knew it would be best just to run now—to go far, far away and disappear in some remote area. Peeking out the window at his neighborhood, he thought it inevitable that even though he’d made no effort to be friendly to anyone, sooner or later someone would put two and two together and call the tip line.

  Grabbing his photos off the table, he tossed them in a travel bag. He’d run, he decided. But he wouldn’t be running alone.

  62

  “WHO’S WATCHING the house?” Brinna asked Chuck when she and Jack arrived at the staging area.

  Nigel lived in a depressed area of West Long Beach. It was a neighborhood of cheaply made and poorly maintained 1950s bungalows. A good hiding place. People in this neighborhood minded their own business. SWAT would have no trouble getting inside the shabby building.

  “Ben, in a plain car, in front. A couple of West Division patrol guys in the back. Ben can see that the TV is on, but he hasn’t seen anyone inside.” Chuck frowned and checked some paperwork in his hand.

  “Why the frown?” Jack asked. “It sounds as though things are going as planned.”

  “No van. Not in front of the house or on adjacent blocks.”

  Brinna sucked in a breath. Fear that Nigel was again one step ahead of them caught in her throat.

  “It could be in storage,” Jack offered. “There isn’t a lot of parking on this street. He could have a second car.”

  “He didn’t list any other car on his job application.” Chuck held out the paper in his hands.

  Brinna took the application. “But now we have a license plate on the van.”

  “Yep, it’s been added to the media information.”

  The SWAT sergeant stepped up and indicated everything was a go. While the black-suited men headed toward Pearce’s house, Brinna tuned her handheld radio to the frequency they were using and listened carefully, fingers crossed.

  The wait was excruciating. Just when Brinna thought she couldn’t take it anymore, the team leader came on the air calling it code 4, all clear.

  The house was empty.

  * * *

  There wasn’t much left in the house to sift through. It was starkly furnished and obvious that Pearce had scooped up most of his personal belongings before he fled.

  But what he left in the bedroom took Brinna’s breath away. One wall was plastered with all the newspaper articles written about her over the last month, starting with the profile Tracy had done about the anniversary of her abduction.

  “You’ve got a fan,” the SWAT sergeant said as he walked past her.

  “Creepy” was all Jack said.

  Brinna stared at the wall and stifled a curse. She left the bedroom and walked through the other rooms, smelled Nigel’s cologne, and tried to get a sense for where he might have run. She picked up some papers scattered on the floor and gasped when she saw what they were.

  “He can’t have gotten far,” Jack said.

  “Look what else he’s been collecting,” Brinna said. Walking into the living room, she showed Jack what she’d found.

  Jack grunted and handed the papers to Chuck. “He’s been taking pictures of little girls.”

  All the papers were photo sheets, various candid shots of little girls at the beach. As her stomach turned, Brinna knew she and Jack would have no choice but to go back into service to wait and hope Nigel would be caught before anyone else got hurt.

  Waiting was the last thing she wanted to do. Pearce had skirted justice for too long already.

  * * *

  Brinna spent the rest of the night on pins and needles. Chuck promised to get back to them if there were any Nigel sightings or solid tips from the tip line. Jack’s presence was a plus, and Brinna was glad to have a two-legged partner to talk to.

  “I was so hoping this nightmare could have ended at that house,” she said as they both seemed to wait with their own individual styles of quiet impatience.

  “I think everyone who saw that house hoped the same thing. But the night is still young.”

  “So are too many little girls.” She had to blink away the image of Heather that came to mind.

  “You’re afraid he won’t surface again until he’s snatched another kid.”

  “Yes, I am. He taunted me with Jessica. That’s why we found her. What if he doesn’t taunt? What if he just takes and disappears?”

  “Something tells me this guy is going to want you to know when he makes his next move. He’s obsessed with you. You saw the articles. Just like you have your
Wall of Slime, he had his Wall of Caruso. When he does make a move, just do what you do best.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Trust your instincts.”

  “You’re not going to tell me I have to believe in God and pray?”

  Jack chuckled. “No, but I will tell you that I think your instincts are God-given. He’s helping you in spite of yourself.”

  “You mean even if I don’t really believe in him, he’ll still help me?”

  “I think he’s been with you for a long time. You just don’t know it.”

  Brinna frowned. “I think I liked you better when you were depressed and quiet. Especially the quiet part.”

  The rest of the evening passed painfully and quietly. The partners assisted on a few calls. It was close to 11 p.m. when Brinna’s cell phone rang. She checked the display and saw Tony DiSanto’s name and number. Brows furrowed, she flipped the phone open, hoping there was no emergency and he was calling to chat, although that would be odd.

  “Tony, my good—” She never finished the sentence.

  Tony’s hysterics cut her off and had her holding the phone away from her ear. “He’s taken them. That lunatic has taken my bookends!”

  “Tony, calm down. I can’t understand. What’s happened?”

  “The molester. He came in and took Carla and Bella. My granddaughters. They’re gone!”

  63

  YOU CAN’T CATCH ME; I’m a ghost. I faded away once. I’ll fade away again. This time I have traveling companions—two of them. And I know you’re green with envy.

  The words of Nigel’s latest taunt seared Brinna’s mind as she watched her friend Tony. He alternated between anger and fear. His wife, Connie, simply sobbed. The twins’ parents didn’t even know yet; they were on vacation in Hawaii. The twins had been snatched from their grandparents’ home.

  “This time we have a huge advantage. We know who he is.” Brinna struggled for the words to put Tony and Connie at ease but knew that such words didn’t really exist. And she had her own problems keeping it together. This was too close to home. Not Carla and Bella!