“It’s on the northern part of the state,” the old man said, noticing his confusion.
“Right,” Silas said. “And when was this?”
The old man searched the other set of numbers. “About a week ago. Well, exactly a week ago, on a Monday morning. It was the morning train looks like, the Seven Train.”
“Hmm,” Silas said, tapping his fingers on the ticket office desk.
The old man didn’t necessarily approve of the nervous tick.
“Oh, sorry. Do those numbers say anything about who purchased the ticket or where it was purchased?”
“No, unfortunately it doesn’t,” the old man said. “All it says is that it came from Lawrence.”
“I see,” Silas remarked, disappointed.
“It does have the passenger’s cabin number.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it was cabin seventeen.”
“Well, is that particular train here at the station?”
“I believe so. It’s not leaving until this afternoon.”
“Do you mind if I have a look inside?”
“I don’t see a problem with it.” He took out a whistle and blew on it. Immediately, a ticket inspector came running up to him. “If you can, please escort...”
“Deputy Inspector de San Michel.”
“Depu—Boy, that’s a mouthful, isn’t it?” Silas narrowed his eyes, and the old man cleared his throat nervously. “Yes, well, please escort Deputy Inspector de San Michel to the Seven Train. He wants to inspect a cabin.” The old man smiled, obviously pleased with his pun.
“Charming,” Silas remarked, reluctantly acknowledging the man’s humor.
“This way, Inspector,” the ticket official said. Silas followed. Once they reached the train, the ticket inspector went in first. “His cabin is over this way.”
“His? So you saw him?”
“Yes. I took his ticket.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what did he look like, this man?”
“He was tall and quite slim. But he had large hands; they looked strong. He was wearing a big hat, so I couldn’t see much of his face, but from what I did see, I could tell he was in his forties. He had a sharp face, very Anglo-European.”
“Did you see his eyes?”
“Why, yes, I did. Well, it was quite difficult. He had on a pair of thick reading glasses, but I could tell his eyes were a bit light, um, a sort of mint green color.”
“Were they bright?”
“They...were strange, is all I can say.”
“Hmm.”
They reached cabin seventeen. “Well, here you are. It’s not too big in there, just a couple of bench seats and a small book stand.”
From the minute he stepped inside, Silas was disappointed. He could tell the room was empty. There were no papers or cups or napkins anywhere, or reading material for that matter, something that could add a little more insight into the killer’s world.
But then he smelled it.
“What is that?”
“What’s the matter, Inspector?”
“Don’t you smell that?”
“No, I don’t smell anything. What are you smelling?”
“Flowers,” Silas knelt down in order to smell one of the benches.
The ticket inspector began to fidget, embarrassed by Silas’s behavior. “What exactly are you doing, sir?”
“This is where he sat. I don’t think these flowers I smell grow around here, not in Boston.”
“What flowers?”
“Damn. I just wish he could’ve left something.” He turned to the ticket inspector. “He must’ve had flowers with him. Did you notice that?”
“Um, he did have something wrapped up in a bag. He was quite delicate with it, holding on to it with a tenacious grip.”
“Right. I just wish I knew what kind of flowers they were and where they grew, and I can’t seem to get this damn scent out of my nose. The smell is so strong. It’s like the flowers never left this cabin.” Then he thought of something. “How long has it been since this cabin’s been cleaned?”
“Actually, I’m afraid it hasn’t been cleaned yet. The janitor responsible for this train has been out all week sick, the winter and all.”
“Yes, yes, of course. That would explain why the scent is still here, but I—It’s just so strong.” His eyes searched the room. “Where is the wastebasket? You said the room hasn’t been cleaned; where is the basket to this room?”
“Right next to the bench, underneath the bookstand.”
Silas poked his head under and saw the wastebasket. He pulled it out and sighed. He was hoping to find some papers or reading material inside the basket, but all he found were three large— “Petals!” he said adamantly. He held one of them up to the light. “I don’t recognize this type of flower. Have you seen anything like it?” He held the petal up to the ticket inspector.
“No, nothing like it in my life.”
“That doesn’t do us any good. Maybe I can take the petals to a flower shop.”
“Well, what does it say on that card there?”
“Card?” Silas turned to look inside the trashcan and noticed a small card that had been covered by the petals. He reached in and grabbed it. The card was just a blank “to and from” card. But then he turned it around, and what he saw made him smile. “Ha! We have an address, good sir. Rutherford’s Flowers. And let’s see here. Andover, Massachusetts. I’m assuming that’s close to Lawrence?”
“Yes, sir. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it. It’s quite famous. You’re not from Boston, are you?”
“Ask me that some other time; I might be able to tell you.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.” Silas stood up. “So, what’s so great about Andover?”
“It’s where they had all those kidnappings.”
“Kidnappings? Tell me more.”
“They were quite random. Andover had never experienced anything like it. It’d always been such a peaceful town, and some forty-odd years ago, there was a string of kidnappings, about thirty kids taken in total, all happening within the span of one year. And then...that was it. None of the cases were ever solved. It was as if all those kids just simply vanished.”
“Vanished?” Silas echoed, lowering his eyes, remembering the kidnapping scene he worked on during his first day as an officer, just before he met Posy. He wondered if those kidnappings had anything to do with the present ones that were happening around town. And then he thought of something even more far-fetched. What if these recent kidnappings are somehow related to Mr. Factory’s sudden appearance in Boston? He turned to the man. “When is the next train to Andover?”
“This afternoon.”
“I think it’s time I became familiar with this famous city.”
As the day grew older, the temperature dropped so cold that Silas had to put his coat to good use, wrapping it tightly around his athletic frame and tucking his chin into his chest while his hat kept his head warm. For a few hours he rode the northern train up to Essex County, located near the borders of Massachusetts and New Hampshire. While he waited, he shut his eyes and dreamed a peaceful sleep, devoid of any dark memories or heartache. Well, almost none of them.
Lucy.
The train’s whistle blew, and Silas awoke from his dream. He sat up, alerted. There weren’t that many people in his car, just a few stragglers sitting near the front. He stood up and got off the train, hailing a cab. The carriage pulled up, drawn by a single horse, with the driver sitting atop the cab near the rear. He approached the driver.
“Where to?”
Silas handed him the card with the name of the flower shop. “Could you take me here?”
“Absolutely,” the driver replied. “I know exactly where that is. In you go, sir.”
Silas boarded the carriage. It only took him but a few minutes to go three blocks, and there it was, the quaint flower shop: Rutherford’s Flowers.
After paying the driver, Silas stood at the entrance, observing the whole of the building. It was a small boutique made up of white bricks with navy accents. He stepped in and walked up to the front desk, ringing the service bell.
A woman approached him. At first, she was wary of Silas, since he was a bit intimidating with his athletic frame draped in a dark coat and hat, but after she saw his badge, she straightened up and welcomed him in. “Oh, hello, Officer. What can I help you with today?”
“Hello there. I’ll be quite quick.” He pulled out the card and a couple of the flower petals he found inside the trash can back on the train. “What can you tell me about these petals?”
“Oh, where did you find these?”
“I found them strewn about in a train. They have the most interesting smell, which I find fascinating, but I don’t know what type of flower it comes from.”
“I don’t know the name off the top of my head, but I believe it’s a tropical flower.”
“Tropical?”
“Yes, we have them imported from time to time. They’re quite exotic and expensive.”
“So not many people ask for them?”
“No, not at all. We only have one customer that asks for such a rare flower.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have this customer’s name?”
“I do. But that’s not something I can share with you.”
“What if I said that I have good reason to believe that the purchaser of such a flower is the same person that has assaulted a number of pregnant teenage girls, murdering the babies in the young mothers’ wombs?”
The shop owner gasped.
“Please, I need your help. Do you have the transaction records for this flower’s purchase?”
“One second.” She grabbed her long file box and sifted through the receipts. “Here it is. It was purchased recently, about a week ago.”
That’s got to be Mr. Factory.
“But there’s really not much information on the receipt. There’s no address, only his name.”
“That’s a start. Could I see it?”
“Sure.” She handed over the receipt.
Silas took a look at the piece of paper. “Hmm.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I was expecting a bit more than ‘Mr. Factory Boston.’” Boston? What kind of last name is that?
“Yes, I remember being put off by his name. It is quite strange.”
“Do you remember what he looked like?”
“Why, yes. He was quite handsome. He had very neat dark brown hair and the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen on a man—well, on any person, really. They were about as strange as his name, but still very striking.”
“Anything else?”
“I remember he was very soft spoken. He spoke with a dull, monotonic tone. And his accent was like a mix of American and the Queen’s English.”
“Right,” Silas said, frustrated. Just a name and a description were not going to help him find Mr. Factory. Hmm, but maybe... “Say, do you know of the kidnappings that happened around here some forty years ago?” She looked old enough to maybe know something about them.
“The kidnappings? Who doesn’t know about them?”
Silas raised his hand.
“Well, I can tell you’re not from around here.”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” He smiled.
“Right, well, yes, they happened about forty years ago. I don’t know much about them. All I know is that the children were all local, and it happened swiftly. They were taken, never to be seen again.” The shop owner turned towards her front window. “A lot of the children went to that school over there, two blocks down. I’m sure they’ll have more answers for you.”
“Oh.” Silas glanced at where she pointed to. “I appreciate all the help you’ve given me.”
“Not a problem, Officer. Didn’t you say you were from Boston?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you could always visit our other store down there. We have one in Boston, a larger one.”
“Is that so? I’ll keep that in mind.” Silas approached the exit but then unexpectedly stopped. He went over his thoughts for a moment. “Actually, I might need something.” He walked over to her. “What do you have as far as nice bouquets for, say...a lady friend?”
“Oh, we have lots of those. Trust me.” She winked at him.
“Ah, okay. Is there a way where you can contact the store down in Boston and have a bouquet of your prettiest flowers delivered?”
“Of course. What would you like?”
“You have better taste than me, I’m sure. Just send whatever pleases you.”
“I know exactly what to pick, then.”
“Great.”
“And who’s it for? Who can I make the card out to?”
“Well, it’s from Silas to...” He thought about it. “Um, a Lucy Reilly.”
“Lucy, huh?”
His eyes moved in such a way, signaling to the lady that he was furiously thinking. “No, wait, wait. Um, well...sorry, um—You know, make it out to Posy Chapman instead. I’ll write down the address.”
“Oh, you’re one of those.”
“What? No, it’s not what it seems.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“Um, sure.”
“What message should I write?”
He thought about it carefully. That I can’t stop thinking about her lately for some odd reason.
“Uh, just put...that I am sorry for being a jerk. Simple enough.”
“They all say that too.”
He sighed. “Then this should be easy for you.” He didn’t want to argue. “Thanks again.” He paid the shop owner and exited the store.
Instead of hailing a cab, Silas decided to walk to the school. The city of Andover was not as busy as Boston, but it still had a sufficient amount of activity buzzing along its streets and store corners. Once he reached the school, he stood there staring at its historic magnificence.
The school was situated at the corner of a city block. A black iron gate surrounded its perimeter. Its walls were all brick, painted over with a lucid red color, reaching up six stories high. The school’s corners were rounded off in a turret-like shape, and the top floor was surrounded by a distinctive black iron porch wrapped all around the building’s perimeter.
Silas stepped inside.
An old woman at the front office immediately jumped up in order to greet him. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m hoping you can. I’m Deputy Inspector de San Michel.”
“What is it that I can help you with, Inspector?”
“I just arrived from Boston.”
“Oh my. What’s the problem?”
“We’ve...been having a string of kidnappings recently, especially during the last week, and I caught word that something similar happened here a long time ago, especially regarding some of the kids that attended this school. Do you know anything about that?”
“Of course. But that was almost forty years ago. I mean, I only know what everybody else who grew up here knows. And everyone that worked here when it happened has pretty much left, retired, or even died, I’m afraid.”
“I see. But are there any records of these kidnappings?”
“We might have something in our archives, but I’m not sure if that’s something I can show you.”
“Please, I need something. The more I know about these kidnappings, the closer I can hopefully get to solve the ones in Boston. Any help would be appreciated.”
“Oh, all right. Wait here. Let me get the key.”
The old woman showed Silas the way to the storage room located down in the basement. It was cold and musty, and they had to light at least four lanterns to get the room to become vibrant enough to scour through a great number of loose papers.
“All we have are these files here,” the woman said.
Silas looked through a variety of newspaper clippings detailing the chronological order of the k
idnappings and their victims. He then took out a folder with the victims’ information, personal data, grades, and applications. “How many kids were taken from here?”
“There were a total of thirty-two kids taken in all, and about fifteen were from here, so almost half.”
“Unbelievable.” Silas combed through the papers. He noticed something. “So, they were all boys?”
“From what I can remember, yes.”
“Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”
“Well, of course, but no one really knew why. It was just the kidnapper’s preference, I guess.”
“Hmm,” Silas said, quickly combing through the boys’ files. “I don’t really see any patterns that are suspicious. All the boys were different in appearance and in age. Their grades are all over the place, some were studious, and others weren’t as much. It all seems quite random.” Silas leaned back in his chair and sighed. Why would they take these kids? There has to be something.
He cleared his mind and wiped his eyes, starting to sift through the kids’ papers once again. Starting with the first boy, he shuffled through the dossiers. “If I could only see a pattern, something that would...”
“What’s the matter?”
“Wait a minute,” Silas whispered, looking at one boy’s detention report. He read it carefully and noticed the boy was sent to the principal’s office for bullying. He searched the other papers and came upon other detention reports. All the same. The boys had a tendency to be disruptive, but more specifically, pick on their classmates. “They were all bullies.”
“What’s that?” The old woman put her glasses on.
“All these boys had numerous detention reports. They were all punished for frequent bullying.”
“So? How does that help you in any way?”
“It helps me some because now we can categorize the boys into a group. We have a...behavioral profile. If I can cross-reference this with the kids from Boston, there could be a possible match, and therefore, it might be the same kidnapper.”
“A kidnapper that’s forty years older?”
“Yes, one kidnapper can’t do this all alone,” Silas admitted. “But a certain group? That’s different. It’s possible that this group finds someone to do all the kidnapping. It’s a theory—a very flawed theory—but it’s a starting point.” Silas sifted through the last of the boys’ files, making sure he didn’t miss anything else.
The Valentine Circle Page 19