Most of the backyard was taken up with the Olympic-sized pool. Across the back and down the sides of the property was an 8-foot high, wooden privacy fence. Blue morning glories grew over most of it. Attached to the back of the one-story house was a covered patio. He toweled himself off as he walked to his chair. The sun was out and the day promised to be hot.
He sat down, sipped his coffee and opened the paper. He couldn't focus, and after a feeble attempt at the crossword, he set it down. Details ran through his mind. He was planning the next “adoption” and things had to be just right to make it equally as successful as the others.
He needed to call Benny and see if he wanted in on another deal. He had tried a couple of times, but had got no answer. Picking up the phone, he punched in the number again. It rang three times before picking up.
“This is Benny, you know what to do. Wait for…”
Stan clicked off. He didn’t leave messages; they were loose ends that could be traced back to him. He took another sip of coffee and decided to call his sister. He punched her speed dial number.
“This is Susan, sorry I can’t answer. Leave a message.”
He hung up before the beep.
“What's the deal? Is no one around?”
He heard the click of a gun hammer being pulled back.
“Sure, Stan, I'm here.”
Stan started to turn around, when he felt the end of the gun barrel press against his skull. He froze. A black leather bag dropped into his lap.
“Who are you? What is this?”
“Open it...put ‘em on.”
Stan didn't recognize the voice.
“And if I refuse?”
There was a tremendous explosion next to Stan’s ear, which was followed by shattering glass. The gun returned to the back of his head, but this time, the end was hot, and burned him. Stan’s head swam with the noise.
“Open...it...and…put...them...on.”
When Stan had gathered himself, he fumbled with the bag until the contents spilled out on to his lap. Two sets of handcuffs. A chill ran down his spine and he hesitated.
“Put them on, the feet first.”
As Stan leaned forward to cuff his feet, the gun never lost contact with his body. It travelled down his neck and his back as he bent over, then retraced the path as he straightened up.
“Now the hands.”
Stan complied.
The stranger walked around in front of Stan and took a chair opposite the cuffed man. The gun remained pointed at Stan's chest.
“So, do you recognize me?”
“No, but I won’t forget your face, I promise you that.”
“Maybe if I showed you a picture of my son.”
He pulled a picture of a baby out for Stan to see.
“He has my eyes, don’t you think?”
Stan just stared at it. It was starting to dawn on him what this was about, and fear quickened his pulse.
“Picture doesn’t jog a memory?”
Stan didn't answer.
“Well, about ten years ago, my son was taken from my home.”
Stan just stared off in the distance, no longer looking at the picture.
“How about Benny Carter? Do you remember him? Lived west of San Antonio; he seemed to remember you.”
Stan pretended not to hear, but now he knew which kid this was all about. He looked around, trying to find a means of escape, some way to turn the tables in his favor. He didn’t see one.
*
Michael stared at the large man. This was the man behind it all. The one ultimately responsible for what had happened to his son. And now Michael was convinced that whoever had his son knew that he didn’t belong to them. The darkness in him swore that they would pay, too. And to do that, he needed information, and he needed it from the man in front of him.
“Stand up.”
Stan slowly got to his feet as Michael moved around behind him and put the gun in his back. He shoved him forward. Stan stumbled in the cuffs and almost fell. Regaining his balance, he swung around to face Michael.
“Whoever you are, you’re going to regret this!”
Michael bore into the large man with an icy stare. He picked up the pole to the pool skimmer and without saying a word, jabbed it into Stan’s massive chest. Stan teetered backwards, getting ever closer to the edge of the pool.
“Where's my son?”
“I’m not telling you a damn thing!”
Michael smiled.
“Oh, you will, or you’ll learn to swim with those cuffs on.”
All the blood drained out of Stan’s face and Michael thought he might pass out.
“I…I don’t remember...”
“Really? Your sister seemed to remember.”
The look on the big man's face told Michael he had struck home.
“When did you talk to her? Where is she? Is she okay?”
“Well, let’s see, I saw her yesterday…she’s at home…and whether she’s okay or not probably depends on your point of view.”
Michael's smile was mocking.
“You son-of-a…”
Michael jabbed Stan hard, forcing him back, almost tipping him over the edge.
“You better start talking right now, and I don’t mean by calling me names.”
“Okay…okay...Duncan...the last name was Duncan.”
“More, I need more!” Michael held the pole to the man’s chest.
“Come on, man, it was ten years ago. I can’t remember everything.”
Michael exploded.
“You’re telling ME it’s been ten years? I’ve suffered every day of every month of every year since that day.”
Michael increased the pressure of the pole against the big man.
“Now, you tell me more.”
“Alright...”
Stan had grabbed the end of the pole with his cuffed hands.
“He sold homes…Wade…Wade Duncan and his wife—Katie, I think.”
Michael pushed harder.
“Where did they live?”
Stan was at the edge of the pool now and in a full-blown panic.
“Here in town…south side, I think”
Michael relaxed slightly, his smile returning.
“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
All at once, Michael lunged forward, shoving the pole hard into Stan’s chest. Stan clawed at the pole as he started to fall backwards. Everything went into slow motion. As Stan began a backwards descent into the water, his eyes grew wide with terror. Michael leered at him, continuing to push with the pole until there was no stopping the big man's momentum. Michael stepped closer to watch him fall into the water.
The sound of a huge splash was followed by thrashing, as Stan tried to turn himself over while he quickly sank. It was too deep for him to stand, so when he reached the bottom, he bent his knees and thrust himself up. His head cleared the water long enough to get a breath. Again, he sunk quickly. He repeated the process a second time, just barely getting his face far enough above water to catch a breath. He thrashed around; trying to stay at the top, but his weight was his curse. He went straight to the bottom.
On the third try, the man didn't have enough strength to get to the surface, and Michael watched in morbid fascination as Stan was forced to suck in water instead of air. Within a short time, all motion on the water’s surface stopped, and Stan Turnbull lay on the bottom of the pool. Michael stared for a long time until finally he was confident that the big man was dead.
He spit on the water, turned, and walked away.
*
Sam and Jason pulled up at Susan Turnbull's home. Everything appeared quiet. Together they approached the door and rang the bell. After no answer, Sam pushed it again. Finally, Jason knocked on the door. It swung open. Both detectives drew their guns. Jason pushed the door all the way open.
“”Susan Turnbull! Springfield Police!”
Sam nodded his head to indicate that he was going to search the living room. Jason headed down th
e hall.
Sam called out “Clear!” several times, as he checked the living room, dining room, and two bedrooms. Jason checked the kitchen and then the master bedroom.
“Clear!”
Moving to the master bath, Jason pushed open the door.
“Sam?”
Sam came around the corner and stared at the bathtub.
“I'll call it in.”
An hour later, Jason was outside, leaning on Sam's car. The house was crawling with cops and techs. Sam came out, said a few words to a uniformed officer, and walked over to Jason.
“Electrocuted, hair dryer. Not a nice way to die.”
Jason looked up.
“Accident?”
“Not likely.”
“I agree, I think it was Michael Barton.”
“Nothing's been found to suggest him, but it makes sense. We know he was looking for her, but what's the connection?”
“I don't know yet. Any family to notify?”
“Yea, brother lives on the other side of town. I sent two uniforms to the house.”
“Okay, drop me at my car?”
“Sure, I'm done here.”
*
Michael returned to the motel, satisfied with the way Stan had met his fate. He even thought Tammy would have approved. And now, his son was within reach. He had a name: Wade Duncan. It was only a matter of time.
He poured himself a drink and pulled out his laptop. A search for ‘Real Estate Agents, Springfield, Duncan, took only seconds to pull up the smiling face of Wade Duncan, complete with a short bio. Michael studied the photo for a long time. This was the face that his son called “Dad”. He hated him.
Sipping his drink, he read the accompanying script.
Wade Duncan was employed at Golden Century Realty on Battlefield Road. Twice he had been top salesman of the year for the central division, and he is a member of the Million Dollar Club. He also was a member of the local Chamber of Commerce. The last line said that he was married with two children.
Michael stared at it for a long time. Two children. He knew that one child was his kidnapped son, but he couldn't help but wonder if the other child was someone else's missing baby. The Duncan’s had to be in on it; they had to know that these children were someone else's. He sucked on his drink. Maybe he could return two children to their rightful parents. He was sure that Tammy would be very proud.
Chapter 8
Michael consulted his map of Springfield. The real estate office was at the south end of town, less than thirty minutes from his hotel room. After breakfast, he headed north on Highway 65 towards Wade's office. He couldn't decide whether to face Wade or just wait until he was out of the office to get the information he needed. A chance to confront the man who had his son might be too good to pass up.
The address was found easily enough, and Michael parked several rows away from the front door. Golden Century Realty took up one end of a ten-store strip mall. The glass windows were covered with pictures of properties for sale, some with large letters saying ‘SOLD’ across them. He could see a secretary inside, but she appeared to be alone. He watched for twenty minutes but saw no activity inside, so he got out of his car and went in.
Coming through the door, he paused to look around. Ten desks lined the walls: five down one side and five down the other. Each desk faced towards the door and had two chairs in front of it. Michael imagined it looked like a gauntlet of sales people when everyone was there.
He walked past the desks, toward a glass paned office with a conference table. Across from the office was a desk attended by a receptionist. As he approached, he was greeted by her smiling face. The nameplate on the desk identified her as Peggy, and she appeared to be in her mid-thirties, slim and fit. Dark eyes and dark hair added to her attractiveness.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I was looking for Wade Duncan. Is he in?”
Peggy looked around as if searching the office.
“No.”
She let a smile slip.
“Actually, they’re all out on caravan.”
Michael smiled, acknowledging her teasing.
“Caravan?”
“It's a once a week trip to see all the new listings. They go out together and tour them. I expect them to be back in an hour or so. Can I have him call you?”
“No, I'm pretty hard to catch, I’d better call him. Do you have his card?”
“Sure, there should be one on his desk.”
She pointed at the desk directly in front of the door.
Michael walked over and retrieved a card from the tray on the desk. He paused and picked up a picture of a man, his wife, and two kids. They were all smiling.
“I've haven't met him in person yet. This is Mr. Duncan and his family?”
“It is. Really nice people, good people, you know what I mean?”
Michael could tell by the tone of her voice that she was fond of them. He stared at the picture of the two boys, one a near spitting image of his father.
Michael forced a chuckle.
“The youngest looks just like his father.”
“Yea, a carbon copy. That's Jesse. The oldest is Jack. He was adopted as a baby. I still remember the day they brought him home, they were so proud.”
She said it as if adoption was a noble act.
Under normal circumstances, adoption surely was a great thing, but this was not a normal case at all. Michael thought she probably wouldn't have such a high opinion of the Duncan’s if she knew how it really happened. Of course, she would almost certainly defend them and say that the Duncan’s didn't know what was going on. He was sure that the Duncan’s would say the same thing. He wasn't buying it.
Michael stared at the oldest boy in the picture.
That was his son. HIS SON! All the football games, picnics, birthdays, and hugs belonged to him. They stole them. Wade Duncan had taken his life as a father and lived it for himself. That woman had lived Tammy's life as a mother.
Michael wanted to take the picture and smash it.
“Sir…sir?”
Michael became aware that Peggy was talking to him.
“Yea...oh, yea...just thinking about something.”
“Can I tell him who stopped by?”
Michael thought about it for a moment.
“Yea, tell him Michael from San Antonio.”
“Really, Texas?”
It was Michael’s turn to make a face.
“Yes, Texas.”
He forced a smile, thanked her for her time, and left.
When he returned to his car, his head swam with anger. If blood really did boil, his would be frothing right now. His face was flush and he realized he was gripping the steering wheel hard enough to snap it.
He'll know my pain. He is going to feel the loss I feel.
Knowing what he had to do, and that it required him to be calm and calculating, made him struggle to relax. If the rage took over, he would make a mistake. He couldn’t make a mistake; he owed it to Tammy. He needed it for himself. He started the car and headed out of the parking lot, passing a van full of people in office attire.
As they passed, Michael locked eyes with the man in the passenger seat. He recognized him from the picture. It was Wade Duncan.
*
Wade got out of the passenger seat and opened the side doors for his fellow agents. They were still making fun of him. Wade had a reputation for lame jokes and he had just told one that had caused of fits of eye rolling.
As they came groaning through the door, Gavin Newman summed it up for everyone.
“Worst yet, Wade; you've sunk to a new low.”
Peggy knew what it had to be.
“What did he say this time?”
Wade stood smirking while Gavin retold the joke to Peggy.
“So, Wade sees a cat and says, ‘Hey, that's a Himalayan!’, and Judy says, ‘How can you tell?’, and Wade goes ‘Cause him-a-layin’ right over there!’”
Peggy let a small laugh escape
, mostly because of the look on Wade's face while the joke was relayed.
“See, what did I tell you? Worst ever.”
Peggy looked at Wade and smiled.
“Pretty bad, Wade, gotta admit. Oh by the way, there was a man here looking for you. In fact, he just left not five minutes ago.”
“Did he say if he wanted to look at property?”
“Actually, now that you mention it, he didn't say what he wanted.”
“Did he leave a name and number?”
“Didn't leave a number, said he was hard to catch, but he took your card. He did say his name was Michael.”
“That's it, just Michael?”
Wade tried to place the name.
“Well, no, he also said he was from San Antonio.”
Wade couldn't think of anyone he knew in Texas. He'd just have to wait for a call.
“Huh, can't imagine who it might be.”
*
Michael let himself into his room. Sitting down at the little desk, he pulled out the business card from Golden Century.
Wade Duncan
Golden Century Realty
“My goal is your satisfaction”
Michael doubted that his satisfaction was Wade Duncan's first concern. He stared at the card and began organizing the details of what he needed to do. Most of it he'd worked out in his head already, but how to get Wade Duncan alone was going to require some planning.
He let his mind wander to that meeting, what it would be like to tell him face to face the pain that he had brought upon he and Tammy. To have the ability to demonstrate what that pain was, to make him feel the despair and the loneliness. Michael spent the rest of night reveling in the thought, until sleep finally took over.
*
The next day, Wade was at the office until almost 6:00 p.m. and was the last to leave on this Friday night. He had talked to Katie earlier and said that he would pick up Jack from soccer practice on his way home and then get some Chinese food.
When he pulled up at the soccer field, practice was still going on. The coach had the boys in a circle and seemed to be giving them final instructions for Saturday's game. Jack saw his dad and gave him a wave. Wade waved back and joined a group of other parents who were waiting.
Where's My Son? Page 7