by J W Becton
“Can things be made right?” she asked me, her focus shifting to her husband, who refused to meet her eyes. “After what he did….”
I led her to the opposite sofa and then sunk down to the seat beside her, desperately trying to think of the best words to say.
Finally, I said, “No, they probably can’t be made perfect, but they can be made better.”
“How?” she asked. “What if she’s—?”
I didn’t let her finish that grim sentence.
“There’s no indication of that, Mrs. Keller.”
“But they’ll know Steven has been working with the police, and they’ll…”
“Don’t even say it,” I said. “We’re doing our best with the situation, but we need your help. We need to know if you’ve thought of anything, anything at all about this morning, that might help us.”
“We’ve been over this a thousand times,” Clair said, sighing and tucking a strand of unwashed hair behind her ear. “He went to play golf. I was at work. Sasha was with Angel Chandler, her babysitter who lives down the street. And the kids from the neighborhood were going over to the park. Angel’s sat for Sasha hundreds of times. God! I should never have let her out of my sight. Never!”
“Did you notice anything odd when you left the house? Either of you?” Vincent asked, his tone deliberately calming. “Maybe a car parked somewhere odd, someone loitering. Anything. Any detail could be important.”
“We’ve been through this already with the police,” Dr. Keller interrupted.
“I saw nothing when I left,” Clair insisted.
“Me neither. I played golf and got a call on the tenth hole from a hysterical Angel. That’s all we know.”
Clair glared at him. “That, and it’s his fault,” she added, jerking a thumb at her husband. “If he hadn’t tried to scam his patients and game the system, my baby would be here now.”
“Goddammit,” Dr. Keller roared, standing up. “I told you I was sorry. I told you we needed the money. I told you….”
“Is my baby here?” Clair asked, also standing to face her grief-stricken husband. “Because nothing you say has made that happen yet. No matter how much you explain and apologize, nothing changes.”
Dr. Keller’s hands clenched, and Vincent stood, stepping between them and directing Dr. Keller again to his sofa.
“All right, let’s just calm down,” Vincent said. “Infighting never helps. We’re all here out of concern for Sasha.”
For a moment, I thought we might get back to questioning the Kellers, but Clair had obviously had enough. She spun on her heel, and as she stormed out of the living room, she said to her husband, “I can’t even look at you anymore.”
Vincent and I stood there mutely, giving Dr. Keller a moment to recover.
“Get out,” Dr. Keller said when he finally raised his eyes to us.
“But sir—” I began.
“No. Get out,” he repeated, his voice low but forceful. “And tell Ted Insley he can go to hell.”
“That went well,” I said once Vincent and I were back in my Explorer.
“Yeah,” Vincent agreed.
I cranked my vehicle and watched out of the corner of my eye as Vincent yanked off his suit coat, unbuttoned his cuffs, and started rolling up his sleeves as if it were 95 degrees outside and not in the upper 40s.
We hadn’t had time to talk about our role in Sasha’s disappearance, but I knew we both felt the weight of our guilt. As I backed out of Dr. Keller’s driveway, I decided now was as good a time as any to address it.
“It’s not our fault, you know,” I said, even though I didn’t fully believe that myself.
Vincent had finished massacring his sleeves, balled his hands into fists, and anchored them on his thighs.
“Isn’t it?”
I turned toward the office and repeated aloud what I’d been telling myself all morning.
“Eddie threatened to ruin Dr. Keller’s reputation. He didn’t say a word about doing harm to him, his wife, or child. We couldn’t have known, and besides, it wasn’t our job to act as bodyguards.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vincent pound his leg with a fist.
“But we would have behaved differently if we had known the threat was against his life or that of his family,” he insisted. “It would have been a whole different ballgame then.”
I couldn’t disagree with him, but I still felt the need to clear us. “We only had Keller’s words to go on, and he wasn’t worried about his life or his daughter’s. They left her without adult supervision, let the babysitter take her to the park. No one could have known, and we were going on the best information we had at the time.”
Vincent grunted a response. I doubted he was easing up on himself any more than I was.
“Look,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road ahead, “I know this hits close to home for you. With Justin and all. I know it’s harder now that a child’s future is at stake.”
At this, Vincent didn’t even twitch an eye. Total poker face.
“I don’t want to turn this into a therapy session,” I assured him, “but I need to know you’re okay.”
The Explorer grew silent, and I started to think Vincent was not going to say a word.
“Let’s just find Mary Fallsworthy and Eddie Wohl and find out what they know about Sasha,” he finally said.
“But—”
“I’m fine,” he said flatly.
I cleared my throat, feeling his rebuff and deciding to change the subject.
“Right,” I said. “Mary or Eddie first?”
Both Eddie Wohl and Mary Fallsworthy had connections deeper inside the fraud ring, and this made them valuable sources of potential knowledge. Eddie had delivered the boss’s threat; had he also carried it out?
That was a strong possibility.
However, we also knew the boss was female, and that meant Mary Fallsworthy, the only female with demonstrable ties to the larger ring, might actually be in charge of organizing it herself. From her vantage point inside the Accident Care Clinic, she had likely observed Dr. Keller taking the list of referrals from the office and discovered that he was working with the DOI. But had she actually abducted Sasha Keller?
It wasn’t out of the question.
Did we begin with the man who might be able to identify the boss or the woman who could actually be the boss?
I was still waiting to hear Vincent’s opinion when my phone rang, and Tripp’s name appeared on the screen.
“Yeah,” I said, skipping a greeting and placing my phone on the console between my partner and me. “Vincent’s with me, so you’re on speaker.”
“We believe we’ve found the vehicle used in the abduction: a blue 1990 Acura Integra. Patrol vehicles found it abandoned in some brush on the south side of the county. Turns out it was—you guessed it—reported stolen and is registered to Mac Dean, a thug with a sheet a mile long. Member of Rebel-ious.”
“What the hell is Rebel-ious?” Vincent demanded.
“Drag-racing club,” Tripp said.
“That makes sense,” I said, beginning to put pieces together. “The stolen vehicle owned by a thuggish racer out to scam his insurance company by reporting it stolen and then making claims on the suddenly ‘missing parts.’”
“Lots of money in that,” Tripp confirmed.
“Yeah,” I said, “air bags, seats, radios, wheels, and tires: it can all add up.”
“In this case, Dean claims it disappeared from his driveway two nights ago.”
“Are parts missing?” I asked.
“Strangely enough, not that we can tell,” Tripp said. “Forensics is still going over it, but they haven’t found any usable prints so far. We did find a pink backpack wedged underneath one of the seats. Had Sasha’s name written on the inside and contained some kiddie jewelry and crayons.”
“Sounds like you’ve got the right vehicle.”
“And we’re back to auto fraud,” Vincent said.
“That means we would p
robably be wise to visit Eddie Wohl, our friendly neighborhood mechanic, first,” I said, mostly to my partner.
“Agreed,” said Vincent, checking his watch. “But Carver, can you and the MPD provide some backup, send a car to watch Mary Fallsworthy at the Accident Care Clinic downtown until we can get there?”
“Done,” Tripp said.
“Ted should almost be back in Mercer,” Vincent added. “I’ll have him get started on the search warrants for the residences of Fallsworthy and Wohl, just in case.”
“Bet he’ll get them done pretty quick,” I said. “After all, his ass is on the line here too.”
Twenty-three
Vincent and I expected to find Eddie Wohl at Allred Racing and Repair, hard at work putting sawdust in another rear end, and because we weren’t interested in having him pull a disappearing act, we had an MPD car idling outside and one watching Eddie’s residence at Riverwalk Apartments, just in case.
The motorcycle registered in Eddie’s name was not in the parking lot, so either he had stowed it inside the garage or he was not at work.
Either way, we didn’t have time to waste. Every minute was precious when it came to finding a child, so Vincent and I didn’t speculate about the mechanic’s whereabouts. We were determined to unearth him no matter what it took.
Done protecting our covers for the most part, we walked into the garage, badges visible, and asked the greasy twenty-something at the front desk to call Wohl to the office.
“Eddie?” the kid asked, fiddling with a button on his blue-and-black-striped work shirt and glancing around the room as if help would come from the walls. “He ain’t here.”
“Not here?” I repeated. “Are you sure about that?”
“Um, yeah,” the kid said. “He’s, uh, still out sick.”
“He been out sick a lot lately?” Vincent demanded.
“Uh, I dunno,” the kid said. “I’m only a part-timer. I don’t know everyone’s schedule.”
“Could you find out?” I asked, leaning over the counter and smiling at him. “We’d appreciate it. We need to ask him some questions.”
The kid didn’t appear to believe me, especially not with Vincent boring holes into him from behind me, and he only managed to stare at the empty space to my right.
“Questions? About what?” he asked.
I sighed.
“Just look at the schedule, see when Eddie was last here,” I said, patting the computer monitor to refocus him.
After a few minutes of fumbling and searching, he stopped and looked as if he were reading more carefully. “Says here he’s been out all week,” he told us, pointing at the screen.
We didn’t bother asking more questions of the kid behind the counter—obviously he knew nothing—but we did leave an MPD cruiser parked in a lot just down the street in case Eddie was hiding and decided to make a run for it.
It seemed unlikely to me, though.
Vincent and I sped to Eddie’s apartment in case the kid decided to call and tip him off. Even though a police cruiser was waiting, I didn’t want to take any chances, and so I practically blew the engine on the Explorer getting to the complex on the southeast side of town.
A few blocks from Mercer City Park, the Riverwalk Apartments building looked as if it had begun its life as a no-tell motel. A tall, rectangular cube on stilts with parking underneath, the four-story living space had been sectioned into rental units with open walkways, chipping metal railings along the perimeter, and staircases at each corner.
Without so much as a discussion beforehand, Vincent and I headed toward Eddie’s apartment with two MPD officers as backup.
Given the mood Vincent was in today, I hoped Eddie would run just so I could enjoy his inevitable takedown.
His fourth-floor unit was dead center on the longest side of the building.
“You take that staircase,” I said, gesturing to my left. “We’ll take the other. That way we’ll have both avenues of escape covered.”
Vincent gave a quick nod, and the four of us split up, each pair heading for opposite ends of the building.
The MPD officer and I bounded up the steps two at a time, and when we reached the fourth floor, I was already slightly winded. I saw Vincent approaching from his direction just as a door opened down the walkway.
Eddie emerged from within, quickly shut the door behind him, and turned briskly in my direction.
I was sure the kid from the garage had called him, warned him the cops were coming.
Of course, he knew me as Janet Aliff, not a DOI special agent, but with a uniformed cop at my heels, I doubted he would mistake my purpose even if he wasn’t clear on my identity.
When he saw me, Eddie’s eyes widened in recognition, but the expression slipped quickly into confusion.
He glanced to his right, probably hoping to avoid us altogether, but there was Vincent, glowering at him, looking scarier the closer he came.
Eddie realized he was screwed and opted to engage with me instead of Vincent.
Surprise, surprise.
“Hi, Eddie,” I said.
Behind him, Vincent had picked up the pace, covering the distance between them in large, purposeful strides.
“Uh, hi,” Eddie said, trying to appear casual while looking over his shoulder at Vincent. “I know you from the accident the other day, right?”
“That’s right,” I said, purposefully allowing my badge to become visible and speaking calmly in the hopes that Eddie would respond in kind. “I’m Special Agent Julia Jackson with the Department of Insurance, and behind you is my partner, Special Agent Mark Vincent. We have a warrant to search your apartment.”
Abruptly, Eddie stopped between us, his head whipping back and forth. Vincent would soon be within arm’s reach, and I just knew Eddie was going to run.
No way was he headed in Vincent’s direction. Nope, he was going to try to mow me down, just as suspects always did when given the choice between running my way or Vincent’s.
I could see it in his eyes.
I braced, dropping low and keeping my eyes on Eddie’s face, prepared to meet him head first, but the hit never came. Instead, Eddie deflated. His shoulders sagged, his posture drooped, and the determined look on his face melted into submission.
“Okay,” he said, raising his hands, palms toward me.
“Good decision, Eddie,” I said, pretty surprised that he’d made it. “Now make another good one by putting your hands on the railing in front of you.”
Vincent reached Eddie first, and yanked his hands from the rail and behind his back, cuffs ready.
“I’m going to cuff you, Eddie, for our safety,” Vincent said.
“Where you headed, Eddie?” I asked, as Vincent secured the other wrist and turned him so he now leaned against the railing facing us.
“I was just trying to, um, get to the garage,” Eddie said, his voice strained. “I have work today.”
“Well, now, we doubt that’s true. You haven’t been at work all week.”
He only rolled his eyes in response.
“You got anything on you, Eddie?” Vincent asked, already in the process of patting down the suspect’s upper body. “Am I going to find a weapon or needle when I pat you down?”
Eddie shook his head.
“What?” Vincent demanded, still working.
“No,” Eddie said. “I got nothing on me.”
Vincent punctuated his question by emptying Eddie’s pockets—keys, wallet, random scraps of paper—and working his way down the lower limbs. When Vincent began to pat his right calf, Eddie shouted in pain.
“Ow! Easy! I’m burned,” he said.
Vincent jerked up the pant leg to verify the man’s claim and found a poorly applied bandage covering a long section of skin on the inside of his calf. The flesh around the crooked bandage was hairless, angry, and red.
“Looks painful,” I said with a wince. “This why you’ve been off work all week?”
Eddie nodded, and Vincent let the
trouser leg drop back into place.
Satisfied that Eddie had no weapons or drugs hidden anywhere, Vincent jerked him around, pushing him back against the railing again.
“As Special Agent Jackson said, we have a warrant to search your apartment.” He dangled the warrant and a set of keys in front of Eddie. “Which one opens the door?”
“What’re you looking for? Because I’m telling you I ain’t got nothing in there.”
I plucked the warrant out of Vincent’s hand and held it up for Eddie’s perusal.
“We have reason to believe that you abducted Sasha Keller.”
Eddie’s mouth fell slack as he stared at the paper.
“Abduction?” he repeated, looking confused.
Vincent held the keys up, jingled them.
“Which one, Eddie? Or should I let them use the battering ram?”
“The one with the blue top,” he answered.
The MPD officers took the keys, unlocked the door, and proceeded with the search.
Eddie shifted his weight, leaning to try to get a look inside his apartment.
“You made threats against Dr. Keller,” Vincent said, causing Eddie to look away from the open door and blink up at him. “What sort of threats did you make?”
“Look, Officer—”
“No,” Vincent said, cutting him off flatly. “I asked you a question. What threats?”
“Look, none of that is my fault,” Eddie said with a worried edge to his voice. “I’ve been in this position with the po-po before, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, if you just get me a deal.”
“Not your fault?” I asked, letting my disbelief shine. “How do you figure that? Dr. Keller said you threatened him. Who do you think we’re going to believe?”
It was kind of a bluff—after all, Keller hadn’t exactly been the most forthcoming witness—but it worked.
Eddie shrugged and then winced.
“I made some idle threats, but that’s all I did. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I don’t know shit about an abduction.”
Before Vincent could respond, one of the MPD officers called out, “The apartment’s clear. The girl’s not here.”
I deflated slightly. Sasha was still in danger. Somewhere.