The Stolen (2008)
Page 26
“Hey, wondering what happened to you.”
“Seriously? It’s been, like, fifteen minutes. What the
hell do you expect?”
“Sorry, just a little antsy here. I feel like things are
starting to become clearer.”
“Well, your feelings might be real. Turns out that
Patrick Reed, son of Robert and Elaine Reed, was born on
May 29 four and a half years ago at Yardley Medical
Center in Hobbs County.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. And I’ll give you three guesses at to who signed
the delivery certificate.”
“I’ll take Dmitri Petrovsky for one thousand, Alex.”
“Ding ding ding. I’m actually out of cash, so I hope
you’ll take your winning either in an IOU or a Sweet’n
Low packet I just dug out of my jeans pocket.”
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“Amanda, you know what this means, right? The Reeds
knew Petrovsky. Their son was born at the same hospital
as Daniel Linwood and Michelle Oliveira. That’s their
link to Raymond Benjamin. Somehow he found out about
these kids through Petrovsky.”
“Wait,” Amanda said. “Patrick Reed wasn’t kidnapped,
he’s the Reeds’ biological son. What gives?”
“Patrick isn’t the issue, I just needed a connection so
we could figure out how the Reeds came in contact with
Benjamin. Petrovsky is the middleman. Benjamin the
facilitator. The Reeds—I’m not quite sure what they are.”
“So we have three pieces to the puzzle, but the three
pieces are blank right now.”
“Yeah, pretty much. We need to find the Reeds. Petrovsky is dead and Benjamin will kill us before he talks.” I
heard a beeping sound on my phone. I looked at the
display. It read “Curt cell.”
“Amanda, Curt’s on the other line. I need to take this.”
“Call me right back.”
“Will do.” I hung up. My palms were sweating. This
was all coming together. The bigger picture was still invisible, but it would come. Benjamin. Petrovsky. The
Reeds. What the hell were they all involved in?
“Hello?” I said, answering the call.
“Hey, man, I got a ton of info for you.” It was Curt. He
was talking fast. “We might have found your girl. Two
weeks ago, Caroline Twomey, age nine, was taken from
her parents’ home in Tarrytown. She was reported missing
the next day, but the Tarrytown PD haven’t turned up any
leads. I did a background check on Caroline’s parents, a
Mr. and Mrs. Harold and Phyllis Twomey. Harold works
construction but hasn’t made more than thirty-five grand
a year in his whole life. Phyllis is a part-time school- The Stolen
263
teacher. And by part-time, I mean she hasn’t worked in
nearly five years.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“Five years ago, Phyllis Twomey was arrested for
shoplifting. The store decided to press charges, and
Phyllis was fined five hundred bucks and sentenced to
fifty hours of community service. She hasn’t worked a
day since.”
“What store did she rob?”
“A Healthwise pharmacy just three miles from their
house. They caught her on the security camera, cops met
her at her house fifteen minutes after it was called in.”
“Curt,” I said. “What did she steal?”
“Says here she tried to steal two dozen vials of insulin.”
There it was. I knew the link. I knew why Benjamin had
come to Petrovsky. I knew why Daniel Linwood, Michelle
Oliveira and Caroline Twomey had been chosen.
“Curt,” I said. “Daniel Linwood is a diabetic. So is
Caroline Twomey. When I spoke to Michelle Oliveira’s
violin teacher, Delilah Lancaster, she mentioned noticing
needle marks on the girl’s skin. She thought it might have
been drugs, but it was because Michelle is a diabetic.
They’re all diabetic.”
“So Dmitri Petrovsky was feeding Raymond Benjamin
information about diabetic children that were born in his
pediatric ward. For what purpose?”
“Diabetics are more susceptible to lower thiamine
levels,” I said. “If they don’t get proper nutrition, it can
result in both short-term and long-term brain damage. One
of the side effects of short-term brain damage is Korsakoff
syndrome, which prevents the brain from processing
certain compounds, and prevents the brain from retaining
long-term memory.”
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“That would explain why Michelle and Dan Linwood
had no recollection of their years missing.”
“Right,” I said. “But whoever took Dan and Michelle,
and now this Twomey girl, knew about their conditions.
And they were prepared for it. They didn’t want to kill
these children, they just needed to get them away from
their families for a period of time.”
“Why?” Curt asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “But I’m sure the Reeds can
answer that question for us.”
“Well, that was my next piece of information. You owe
me a steak dinner after all this, Henry.”
“Come on, cough it up.”
“You’re lucky it’s a slow day. I had a dozen cops calling
every hotel and motel within a two-hundred-and-fiftymile radius of that house on Huntley Terrace. We got an
affirmative for a Mr. Robert Reed at a Sheraton in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. About two hundred miles from
Hobbs County.”
“Holy shit, Curt, you’re a godsend.” I checked my
watch. It was six o’clock. With any luck I could be in Harrisburg by nine. “Listen, I need to call Amanda. I’m
driving up there right now.”
“Like hell you are,” Curt said. “You have no idea what’s
up there. Hell, that’s not even my jurisdiction.”
“Lucky for me I don’t have to worry about jurisdiction,”
I said. “News is interstate. Sorry about that, bro.”
“You asshole,” Curt said. “All right, screw it. I’m
coming with you. You got a car, right?”
“Sure do.”
“Then count me in. And I call shotgun.”
“Bitch, please. You think there’s any chance in hell
you’re riding shotgun over the girl I’m still in love with?”
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Curt laughed. “No, guess not, but at least you finally
admitted it.”
“What do you want, a cookie? Meet me here in half an
hour.” I hung up. Called Amanda. Set the meeting time.
Wondered if somehow Robert and Elaine Reed expected
some company.
34
“Hello, miss, are you still there?”
“Yes, Mr. Benjamin, I’m processing your information
as we speak.”
“Thanks a lot, dear. And just to be sure, you got that the
car was loaned to a Mr. and Mrs. Robert Reed?”
“Yes, sir, I heard you the first three times. Now, can you
give me Mr. Reed’s date of birth and social security number?”
Raymond Benjamin repeated both numbers to the
woman on the
other line. He was standing at a pay phone
at Eighty-First and Columbus in New York City. Vince was
Uptown. He’d called frantically ten minutes ago, saying
Parker, the girl and some black guy had gotten into the
same car they’d been driving the other night and sped
away. Vince said they looked like they were in a hurry. And
that made Ray Benjamin nervous. He had a feeling
somehow Parker had found the Reeds. And if he had,
Benjamin would be in a world of trouble.
No, there was still time. But it meant Ray had to get
creative.
The Ford Windstar had been bought in his name. He’d
never used that stupid Pioneer system, since the last time
he trusted a computer for direction he ended up some- The Stolen
267
where with cows and silos. Not exactly what he was
looking for.
The one thing he did have to be thankful for was reading
the damn machine’s instruction book. Just in case. He remembered reading that, in case of an emergency, you
could call a Pioneer technician and receive help in either
starting or locating your car.
When he signed the papers, he’d made sure to authorize Robert and Elaine Reed, as well. They’d be the ones
driving it, and he didn’t need them to be pulled over and
have to explain their relationship. Thankfully he knew
everything about Robert and Elaine Reed, from social
security numbers to their son Patrick’s birthday.
“Mr. Benjamin, how did you say you lost the car
again?”
“Lost it?” Ray said. “Actually, we think our son took it
out for a spin last night, got drunk and got a ride home
from a friend. When he sobered up he couldn’t remember
where he left it. I’d really rather not get the police involved
unless we have to. All I want is my car back.”
There was a moment, and then Raymond heard the
woman say, “Mr. Benjamin, according to our tracking
system your car has been located in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. On Lindle Road, right by the entrance to I-283
North. It looks like it’s right off of exit 2. Sir, you’re sure
you don’t want us to contact the police? Our caller ID
shows you’re phoning in from NewYork City. That’s quite
a drive.”
“No worries,” Raymond said. “I’m a fast driver.”
35
The Harrisburg Sheraton was right off of the Interstate,
about a hundred yards down Lindle Road and a few miles
east of the Oberlin College campus. Though the night sky
had descended on the city, I could see that the trees were
full, the grass lush. The town had a wonderful, oldAmerica feel. And we were less than ten miles from
Hershey Park. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the best time to
check out the chocolatey goodness.
Some terrible techno music was playing on the radio,
but I hadn’t been paying attention for the past hour. Every
minute that passed we were closer to finding the Reed
family and getting to the bottom of this bizarre triangle.
Dmitri Petrovsky.
Robert and Elaine Reed.
Raymond Benjamin.
Three groups of people that would never have any sort
of interaction in a normal world, yet for some reason
they’d become intimately involved in one another’s lives
and businesses. I hoped Curt’s boys had done their
homework at the precinct, and I hoped that, if this was the
place, that the Reeds hadn’t already packed up ship.
My eyes were weary. A three-and-a-half-hour trip
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doesn’t sound like much, but after a full day’s work in
addition to the other stresses involving Jack and this story,
it was all I could do to keep focus. I had to keep telling
myself what the opportunity was here, both the truth to be
revealed and the benefits for the Gazette. Things would be
tough with Jack out. I liked Wallace, and the man had been
almost endlessly supportive, but he was hardly a mentor.
I was on my own at work. Thankfully the two people in
the car were my backup.
The Harrisburg Sheraton was a fairly quaint hotel, the
low-slung roof lined with hanging plants out front. Lamps
in the grass lit up a trail that went from the parking lot to
the entryway, and the guest rooms, about eight floors of
them, were just a few yards beyond.
I parked the car, turned off the ignition.
“How you all feeling?” I said as we exited the car. Curt
stretched, his long limbs raised into the sky. I noticed the
gun by his hip. He’d come in plainclothes. There wouldn’t
be much love for an NYPD cop in PA. Amanda had on a
nice purple blouse. She wrapped her arms around her
chest, looked slightly worried.
“I’m good,” she said. “Could use a bathroom break.”
We walked into the hotel. The floors were covered in
beige tiles, and half a dozen overstuffed chairs surrounded
tables. A few hotel guests were seated, reading books and
newspapers, sipping coffee.
Curt said, “They’re not just going to give us the room
number. I thought about this. We need a way to find out
what room the Reeds are in without alerting them to the
fact that we’re here.”
“Oh, man,” Amanda said, sighing. “You guys are seriously
like troglodytes. Does everything have to depend on me?”
She walked up to the reception desk as Curt and I
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watched, curious, scared and feeling a little emasculated.
We trailed behind Amanda just enough that we could hear,
but far enough behind in case her ruse specifically did not
include us.
“Hi,” Amanda said, sprawling her arms across the desk.
“Lissen, I need to see my boh-friend. He’s staying in your
ho-tel. I think he might be with his wife, so I guess this
really is a ho-tel.”
The receptionist, a guy with acne scars and a badge
that read “Clark,” who looked like his first day on the
job was tomorrow, said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, what can I
help you with?”
“My boh-friend,” she slurred. “Robert Reed. He’s in
this ho-tel. I need to know what room he’s staying in.”
“Ma’am, we’re not supposed to give out guests’ information. If you’ll just…”
Amanda dug into her purse, then slapped something
down on the desk. Clark’s eyes bugged open. Curt and I
leaned in closer. When I saw what it was, I had the exact
same reaction as Clark.
“M-Ma’am,” Clark said, stammering now. “That’s a
condom.”
“You’re damn right. Robert promised me a good time
tonight, so if you don’t tell me where I can find him, I’m
jus’ gonna have to find someone else at this ho-tel to do
what he can’t.” She looked around, a lascivious grin on her
face. “Do you have a bar in this hotel?”
Clark gulped, then ran some digits into his computer.
He looked at Amanda as though to make sure she hadn’t
started propositioning guests. She hadn’
t, though she was
licking her lips. I had to close my mouth, look away.
“Mr. Reed is staying in room 602. Now, if you’ll please,
just go find him. We don’t need anyone causing a scene.”
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“Much obliged,” she said, leaning over. “Clark.”
Amanda headed for the elevators. We waited a moment
before following her. When the doors closed, I said, “You
sure you weren’t trained at Juilliard?”
“God, you guys could use a set of balls sometimes.
Come on.”
The door dinged open. We followed the signs toward
room 602. The halls were lined with seashell-shaped
lights, and the carpet was a zigzagging pattern of red-andblack squares. A few pieces of standard hotel art hung on
the walls. Men fishing off piers. A windmill across a bay.
I had no eye for art. For all I knew these pieces could have
secretly been worth millions.
When we came to 602, we stopped in front of it. Curt
and Amanda stood to either side of me.
“I’ll do the talking,” I said. “Curt, if we need you…”
“I have my badge on me, Henry.”
As I got ready to knock, I heard the ding of another
elevator opening onto the sixth floor.
“Hold on a second,” I said. “Just make sure they’re
going in another direction. Nobody needs to see three
people hanging around the hallway.”
They didn’t respond. The footsteps appeared to be
heading our way. No big deal, I thought. Hotel guests going
back to their hotel room. Even if they were heading this
way, they’d enter their room and be done with it. We’d be
talking to the Reeds before anyone had a chance to get suspicious.
I leaned back against the wall, pretended to fiddle with
my cell phone. When I saw a shadow appear at the other
end of the hall, I turned to look at the guests that were
coming.
I nearly dropped the phone when they came into view.
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I recognized the first man immediately, and I dove for
Amanda just as Raymond Benjamin pulled a gun from his
coat and opened fire.
I heard Amanda scream as bullets smashed into the
wall above us. I thought we were safe, but then I heard
another, deeper yell, turned to look, and saw Curt Sheffield on the ground, blood pouring from his leg.
“Curt!” I screamed.
I pushed Amanda toward the other end of the hall
where an exit door was visible, and by that time Curt had
taken the gun from his hip holster. Benjamin was reloading when Sheffield emptied three bullets into the