Snatched Super Boxset

by Hunt, James

  “From who?”

  Frustration built. “I dunno, man, I was high when I did it. I figured the kid had some food or shit in there that I could sell, maybe there was some money in there. Kids always got money on them from their parents.”

  Grant retrieved the picture from his pocket and held it up in front of the vagrant’s face. “Is this the kid you stole it from?” Grant cupped one hand over the top of the picture to try and shield it from the rain, though with the heavy downpour it wasn’t useful.

  The vagrant studied the photograph for a minute but then shook his head. “I don’t know, man, I told you I was high. I just took the pack and ran, okay? I didn’t hurt anyone, I didn’t kidnap anyone. Just let me go!”

  Grant stuffed the picture back into his pocket. “That’s not gonna happen anytime soon.” He lifted him off the concrete and shouldered the man forward to the car, taking the backpack and every single one of the man’s possessions.

  * * *

  The ride back to the station wasn’t a pleasant one. Aside from the screaming and random autism-esque fits the vagrant provided, the smell was unbearable. What made it worse was Grant knew the damp body odor would linger. It was one of the few times he turned the air on.

  Grant tossed the man over to Processing and kept the sack with the backpack and other belongings with him. He found Mocks at her desk, flicking the lighter on and off so quickly that he thought she’d catch fire herself. She tossed a glance to the homeless man he’d brought in and raised her eyebrows.

  “You first. What’d the youth pastor have to say?” Grant asked, dropping the bag and shaking out the rain on his coat, flinging a few drops on Mocks’s desk.

  Mocks threw him a glare as the water droplets soaked in, but quickly resumed her thumb work with the Bic lighter. “Aside from the fact that they love God and pretend to love each other, it seemed that Paley had developed an interest in the girl. He knew about her father. And if Mallory had a crush on him, which I’m pretty sure she did, he could have used that to his advantage.”

  “Yeah, I could see that.” Grant had a younger sister, and Glenn Paley possessed that uncanny mix of classic boyish looks and manly handsomeness that drove young girls wild. He was willing to bet that Mallory had a few boy-band posters on her wall just as his sister did.

  “So who’s the friend?” Mocks asked, not looking up.

  “Vagrant at thirty-fifth park,” Grant answered, then lifted the bag of evidence onto his desk where it landed with a heavy thud. “I think I found Mallory Givens’s backpack.”

  Mocks snapped her head up. “You what?”

  “Yeah,” Grant answered, taking a seat and slicking back his thick mop of wet hair. “Said he stole it off of some kid. I showed him Mallory’s picture, but he didn’t recognize her. Told me he was high when he took it.”

  “Holy shit.” Mocks’s jaw remained slack. “You think we’ll find something in there that can help us?”

  “There’s no telling what the guy had already thrown away and what’s still inside,” Grant said. “I’m gonna find an empty interrogation room and spread this stuff out. Wanna help?”

  Mocks pocketed the lighter and nodded.

  Interrogation room two was open and Grant dumped everything onto the table. All of the vagrant’s possessions amounted to little more than a clearance rack you’d find at Target or Walmart. Grant focused on the pack, while Mocks carefully pulled apart some clothes, both wary of any used needles. The homeless weren’t experts on medical disposal methods.

  There was only one thing that Grant was looking for when he opened the pack, and that was the notebook her teacher had mentioned. He set aside the clothes and small packets of makeup and felt something thick at the bottom. When he pulled out the notebook and set it on the table, Mocks stopped what she was doing.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Mocks asked.

  The bottom half of the notebook was wet from being stuck in the rain for so long, but the pack of clothes had managed to keep the top portion dry.

  Grant opened the first page, and the deepest, darkest, secret inner thoughts of twelve-year-old Mallory Givens appeared on the page. The first thing Grant noticed was the handwriting. It was incredibly legible and beautifully written in cursive, which he didn’t even think was taught in schools anymore. It was handwriting derived from pages and pages of practice. Even Mocks was impressed, and that was no small feat.

  “A lot of short stories in here,” Mocks said, her eyes speeding over the page faster than Grant could turn to the next. “And they’re not half-bad either.”

  “She definitely doesn’t show her age,” Grant said, taking a seat in the chair so he could concentrate. He had to look between the words and what Mallory was trying to say. Most of the stories were romantic, but a few revealed a heroine adventurer, escaping from her ordinary life to travel the world in search of treasures. Grant found it an interesting mix of Lara Croft, Indiana Jones, and Sherlock Holmes. It was one of the longer pieces, but he found it enjoyable.

  By the time they reached the soggy pages, Mocks had lost interest and started rummaging through the rest of the pack. She found a few more interesting items, including a key that wasn’t attached to any ring. She held it up between a pinched glove. “Spare for home?”

  “Maybe,” Grant said, carefully peeling back the wet page and trying not to tear the paper. “With Mom working, it would make sense for her to have her own key.” The pencil faded the deeper he went, and the words on the page grew harder and harder to read.

  “I’m gonna grab some coffee. Do you want another?” Mocks asked.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Alone, Grant tried to make sense of the words on the page. The entries had suddenly shifted from stories to diary. If he could get anything that linked Mallory to Paley, then he could get a judge to provide him a warrant for arrest, or at the very least a search warrant for his place.

  The entries described the bullying at school, the fact that she didn’t know who her father was (though Grant thought that to be a blessing in disguise), and feelings for someone that she’d never felt before, but the individual wasn’t mentioned by name.

  Grant flipped to the next page too eagerly and tore a portion of the paper. He cursed as Mocks returned with two cups of coffee, steam rising from the mouths of both. Grant ignored the cup as he continued to read, forcing himself to slow so as not to rip anything else.

  Mallory described the strange, overwhelming feelings a young girl hitting puberty would experience, though unsure of how to act on those urges. He turned the pages until he finally found the name he hoped to snag. “Got you.”

  Mocks leaned over Grant’s shoulder and slurped from the rim of her cup. “Time to call the judge?”

  “Almost,” Grant said, still scanning the pages. “We’ll need a little more than just—”

  A paragraph caught Grant’s eye, and he paused to reread it. Mocks smacked him on the shoulder, but he still wouldn’t speak. It was the last entry in the journal, and it was also where the water damage was the worst. He held it up for Mocks to see.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Grant asked.

  Mocks carefully took the notebook from Grant and held it closer, directly under the light. She squinted hard, inching her face closer to the actual paper, and then nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

  “I’ll get this over to evidence and have everything logged.” Grant carefully removed the journal from Mocks’s palms and tagged the page. “Get on the phone with Judge Harper. He’ll expedite the warrant for us. I’ll get with the lieutenant to have S.W.A.T. on standby.”

  “On it,” Mocks said, reaching for the phone.

  Grant looked down one last time at the page. A date was circled with hearts drawn all around it and excited phrases of “omg I can’t wait!” and “It’s really happening!” It all told the story of a young girl ready for an adventure of her own instead of just writing about one. The date she was so excited about happened last night. And the person she
was excited to meet was Glenn Paley.

  * * *

  The sour pit in Grant’s stomach made another appearance, and the multiple hits on his nerves over the course of such a short time was starting to take its toll. The three cups of coffee did little to clear his fatigued mind, its only contribution a random left eye twitch that drove him mad.

  But Grant shoved all of it aside and focused on the task at hand. Mocks drove, and Grant glanced back at the S.W.A.T. van that followed close behind and felt a little better about the encounter. Still, he couldn’t turn off the spigot of his mind pouring out the dozens of scenarios of how this could go down.

  “Unit thirty-five, this is Seattle-One, do you copy?” The radio gargled static after the announcement, and Grant reached for the radio.

  “Go for unit thirty-five,” Grant said.

  “We have officers stationed on the south side of the block to intercept in case of a foot chase, but the closest street is still a few hundred yards away, how do you want us to proceed?”

  “Stay put. I don’t want to spook him. Tell them to hold their position and wait for command over the radio.”

  “Roger that, thirty-five.”

  The neighborhood was middle class filled with small single-family homes that lined the streets. Tiny yards were fenced in by waist-high wooden boards, and a mixture of furniture and fixtures decorated the suburbia. None of them probably would have ever suspected that there was a predator living among them, let alone the conniving youth pastor that lived across the street.

  Mocks parked the car a few houses down from Paley’s residence. Both she and Grant exited the car as the S.W.A.T. van pulled up behind them. The officers spilled out in orderly fashion, and they all huddled near Grant’s trunk.

  “The girl is twelve years old, and we have reason to believe she’s in that house,” Grant said, holding up a picture of Mallory and then pointing behind him. “I want two officers on every exit, and I want two with me and Detective Mullocks near the front. If or when we need backup you will hear it over the radio. Sometimes these guys get desperate, and we don’t want to spook him. Understood?”

  A series of nods answered, and Grant and Mocks led the charge. The S.W.A.T. team followed and then all but two broke off down the side of the house, heading to the back and side doors. Both Grant and Mocks had their weapons out, and Mocks positioned herself on the left side of the door with Grant on the right. The pair raised their pistol and then the two S.W.A.T. officers stepped up with the door knocker; a heavy, flat fronted battering ram that would level any door.

  Grant took a breath and then screamed. “Police Department! Search Warrant!”

  The S.W.A.T. officer thrust the ram into the door. The frame cracked and Grant led the charge inside. Subsequent crashes of glass and wood echoed from the other teams around the house as every entrance was infiltrated.

  A frightened Glenn Paley stepped into the front hallway from the kitchen. “What’s going—”

  “Down on the ground!” Grant aimed his weapon at Paley, and the man threw his hands in the air and stumbled backward.

  “What is this?” Paley’s face had drained of color except for a small pink spot on each cheekbone.

  Mocks lowered her weapon while Grant kept his trained on Paley, and she cuffed him. Mocks knocked Paley to his knees after the cuffs were placed on him, and Grant holstered his service weapon.

  “Where is she, Paley?” Grant asked. “Where’s Mallory?”

  Paley’s head swung back and forth like it rested on a swivel. “W-what are you talking about?”

  “The girl, dumbass,” Mocks said, wrenching his arm back so far that it triggered a yelp. “Where is Mallory?”

  Shouts of ‘clear’ echoed through the different rooms along with the sound of heavy boots as the tactical team checked every nook and cranny inside. When the sergeant appeared by the front door with the rest of his team, Grant felt his stomach twinge again.

  “No girl, Detective.”

  Paley was trembling, tears streamed down his face, and snot bubbled from his nose with each uncontrollable, heaving sob. “P-please, I don’t know what’s going on. What are you doing?”

  Grant crouched to eye level with the youth pastor, and a flush of raging heat covered his face. He gripped Paley by the collar and lifted him off the floor and slammed him against the wall. The force of the movement caused a mirror to crash and shatter on the hardwood floor.

  “You were supposed to meet her last night,” Grant said, baring his teeth. “You knew the kind of girl she was, and you knew she was an easy target, so you brainwashed her over the past year, didn’t you, you little creep.”

  “Grant,” Mocks said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Put him down.”

  But the only thing Grant heard was the pit of rage that had transformed from the bundle of nerves in his stomach. All of it could have been exacerbated by lack of sleep, the number of times he’d been shot at today, or the fact that there was still a missing girl somewhere in this city that he wasn’t even sure was alive anymore.

  “Where is she!” Spittle flew from Grant’s mouth as he slammed Paley’s body against the wall again, which triggered another shrill scream and flow of tears from the pastor. Hands and bodies pulled the pair apart, and Grant had to stop himself from swinging at the officers that removed him. In the end, it was Mocks who finally calmed him down as she shoved him out the front door and into the yard.

  “What the hell was that?” Mocks asked.

  Grant paced a tight circle, glancing down at his feet, the anger still steaming. “He took her, Mocks. You know it, and so do I.”

  Mocks stepped up in his face, which wasn’t an easy feat considering he was almost a foot taller than she was. “The only thing we know is what Mallory Givens wrote in her journal. And that’s it.” She gave him a little shove. “You know better than to paint the picture before we have all of the colors. You’re jumping the gun, and if he did take the girl, then you’re giving his attorney an excuse to get him off for police brutality. Is that what you want?”

  “No,” Grant answered, quick and short like a child who knew he was in the wrong but didn’t want to admit it. But he knew Mocks was right. He was getting ahead of himself. He looked down at his watch, which just sped past the eighty-hour mark.

  “Get forensics in here,” Grant said. “I want the house searched from top to bottom.”

  8

  Forensics was on scene in less than twenty minutes, and they immediately went to work scouring the house while Paley was kept in the back of a squad car. Grant watched Paley from the front porch, still seething anger.

  The youth pastor kept his head down, tears streaming down his face. If the pastor was faking it, then he was doing a hell of a job.

  “Grant,” Mocks said, poking her head out of the front door.

  “Yeah,” Grant said, keeping his eyes on Paley.

  “We’ve got something.”

  The nail in the coffin. Grant followed her inside, past the swaths of forensic members sweeping every inch of the house, and they stopped at a computer nook where an officer had his hands on a laptop, scouring through pieces of data.

  “Go ahead, Sam,” Mocks said, tapping the officer on the shoulder. “Tell him what you told me.”

  Sam cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve been checking the search and browser history on the laptop, and I found a few sites that he frequented. Most of them were harmless: shopping, his church website, social media, things like that. But I did find a site that was visited every day for a month about six months ago.”

  “And?” Grant asked, when the officer didn’t finish.

  “And it’s underground,” Sam answered.

  “I never paid attention in my digital literacy class, Sam, so you’ll have to catch me up to speed,” Grant replied.

  “There are two Internets out there for everyone. The first is the normal Internet that ninety-nine percent of people use that comprises the commerce and social media sites that most peopl
e visit. The second Internet is the underbelly, a series of servers and dark sites that most people don’t even know how to access. It’s where a lot of black-market deals go down, and where a lot of communication happens between black hats.”

  “Hackers?” Grant asked, the phrase stirring a memory in the back of his head.

  “Yeah,” Sam answered. “The problem with the site I found is that it has a pretty decent firewall around it, which means unless you have the access code to enter, it’s very difficult to break through.”

  “But not impossible?” Mocks asked.

  “No,” Sam answered. “If I can get this back to the station, I’ll have more tools to work with to see if I can crack it.”

  “What about pictures, letters, notes, anything child related?” In the world of the digital age, molesters and perverts had access to troves of deplorable images. On nearly every child abduction case that involved a stranger, ninety percent of them always had some dirt on their phones or computers.

  “I haven’t found anything yet, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a ghost drive hidden somewhere,” Sam answered. “But trust me, if there is something on this computer, I will find it.”

  Grant slapped Sam on the shoulder. “Let me know the moment you find anything.” He walked over to the lead forensic investigator to check in. “How’s it look?”

  Barry Ingle was a short man, barely clearing five feet. His head was far too large for his body, and his torso was squat like his arms and limbs. But if there was a better forensic tech on the West Coast, Grant had yet to find him.

  “There are definitely multiple sets of prints everywhere in the house, including the bedroom,” Barry answered. “We’re checking toothbrushes, combing for hairs on clothes and furniture, and sorting through the dirty laundry to see what we can turn up. Right now though I’d say the place looks pretty clean.”

  “Find any compromising equipment?” Mocks asked.