STOLEN

by DAWN KOPMAN WHIDDEN

  When Marty and Sanders arrived back at the hospital, Jean was waiting for them. Marty introduced the two and they went straight to Blakey’s room. The man appeared to be asleep. Sanders gave Troy’s shoulder a slight nudge.

  Blakey’s eyes opened, only to find Sanders on one side of the hospital bed and Marty and Jean on the opposite side.

  It took quite a bit of effort, but Troy managed to shift his body so he was more in an upright position.

  There was no question the man was in considerable pain. It was apparent just from watching his facial expressions. The slightest movement caused him to briefly shut his eyes and clench his jaw. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see Sanders in the room, but he didn’t acknowledge him. He turned in Marty’s direction.

  “What happened? Who are you?” He sounded dazed and definitely in some discomfort.

  “Troy, my name is Detective Keal and this is Detective Whitley. I believe you know Lieutenant Sanders. You are at St. Francis Medical Center in Fallsburg, New York.” Marty waited to get a response from him, but when he didn’t get one, he continued. “You’re recovering from a gunshot wound. Actually two. You were shot twice, once in the abdomen and once in the chest. You are very lucky to be alive.” Again, Marty waited for some response; but, again, he got nothing.

  “We were hoping you would tell us what happened in the cabin. Can you tell us who shot you?”

  He brought his left hand up to his throat. “I’m sorry, can I have something to drink?” He looked around as if he was still dazed and not quite sure of his surroundings.

  Sanders didn’t move, so Jean walked around the bed and poured some ice water into a plastic cup and handed it to him.

  “Thank you,” he managed to get out. His voice was hoarse and he tried to clear it by taking a drink. He must have tried to swallow too much, or too fast, because he started to choke and he was having trouble catching his breath. Marty was about to call a nurse for some help but, within seconds, he appeared to be able to calm himself down and the coughing ceased.

  Marty waited to make sure he was okay before he repeated his question. He introduced them again, just in case he missed it. “Mr. Blakey, my name is Detective Keal and this is my partner Detective Whitley. You know Lieutenant Sanders. Now can you tell me what happened in the cabin? Can you tell me who shot you?”

  Marty thought he was about to answer the question, but the conversation suddenly took a turn. A look of panic replaced the look of pain.

  “Tristan, where’s Tristan?” He tried to sit up abruptly, but his head fell back on the pillow in obvious discomfort. His eyes darted back and forth between Sanders, Jean, and Marty.

  He eventually turned and he was looking directly at Sanders. “My brother? Where’s Shane?” He managed to just lift his head off the pillow this time.

  Marty knew they had to give him some information in order to keep him from getting any further agitated. “Tristan is fine, Mr. Blakey, he is being well cared for. He’s safe.”

  Marty didn’t know if he trusted him, or his answer, but he did seem to relax. He rested his head back on the pillow.

  “What about Shane?” he asked next.

  “Mr. Blakey, I need you to answer my question. What happened in the cabin? Who shot you?”

  He took what appeared to be a very painful deep breath before he answered. “My father, my father shot me.”

  Marty pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. “And who shot your father, Troy?”

  He looked around the room. This was obviously news to him. He lifted his head up again. His eyes closed for a moment, his tongue traveled across his lips as if he needed to moisten them before he answered. “My dad was shot? Is he dead?” He seemed genuinely shocked at the news. Either that or he was a hell of an actor.

  It was Sanders that answered him. “Yes, Troy, your old man is dead. He was dead when the paramedics got there. He died as the result of the gunshot wounds.”

  Marty saw something in him that he wasn’t expecting. He saw grief flash across Troy Blakey’s face. It didn’t last long, not more than a few moments, but it was there.

  Marty leaned in closer to him. He wanted to grab him and find out what he knew about those articles that Sanders found in the Blakey residence; but this wasn’t the time or the place to go Rambo on him. That wasn’t what they came here for. First, they needed to find out what happened in that cabin. Then Sanders needed to know about his case, the death of the Barrie girl. Marty had to be patient.

  “We are real sorry for your loss, Blakey, but we need for you to help us here. Can you tell us what you remember about what happened in the cabin?”

  They were interrupted when the floor nurse walked in the room. Without saying a word, she checked his vitals. She must have been concerned with the results, because she didn’t look too happy as she jotted down the numbers on the chart.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I need to administer this patient his meds. This patient has been through a traumatic ordeal and needs his rest, please make this short.”

  She took the intravenous bag that hung on the pole and replaced it with a brand new one. Without saying another word, but effectively giving them an unspoken warning not to aggravate her patient, she exited the room. Blakey’s eyes followed the nurse as she appeared to deliberately add a wiggle in her step when she walked out of the room. If Marty didn’t know any better, he would think she was flirting with one of them. Jean confirmed his suspicions by rolling her eyes and shaking her head in response to the men’s obvious visual delight at the sight. It was not only the patient’s attention that was diverted by the curvature of the nurse’s well-formed backside.

  Marty recovered first and tried to pull Troy’s attention back to him. He repeated his question, just in case he forgot what they were talking about.

  “Can you tell us what happened? Why did your father shoot you, Troy?”

  Troy leaned back and rested his head on the pillow. He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I need to know where Shane is. Is my brother okay?”

  It was Sanders who replied. “We don’t know where Shane is, Troy, we’re looking for him. We’re hoping he turns himself in. It’s the best thing he can do for himself.” Sanders explained.

  “Turn himself in for what? What the hell is going on?”

  Marty stood up. He knew Blakey was still groggy, and the new medication the nurse gave him may have added to his confusion. He wasn’t so sure that he wasn’t being honest with them. If his father shot him, he may have been unconscious and wouldn’t have a clue of what occurred afterward. According to Michaelah, it was Troy she identified as arguing with Blakey. The little girl described Shane as the man who was with her when the first gunshot when off. If Michaelah was right and Troy was telling the truth, and it was his father who shot him, it stood to reason Troy may not know what happened after he was shot if he lost consciousness. Marty tried to go down a different avenue.

  “Troy, do you have any idea where Shane may be? Do you have any idea where we can find your brother? Where were you guys staying here in Fallsburg?”

  It was as if he didn’t hear him.

  “You’re telling me Shane shot my dad? I can’t believe that. Shane wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He turned to Sanders. “You know that, Sanders! My brother hates guns. There is no way he would shoot anyone!”

  Sanders spoke up. “Well, I guess things have changed, Troy, because your dad is dead; and your brother is missing and so is the murder weapon. The bullet matches a caliber of pistol that was registered to you, Troy. You are the registered owner of a Colt Vest Pocket automatic pistol, right?”

  Troy nodded.

  “Did you bring that gun with you here to New York?” Sanders asked him.

  “Yeah, but . . . damn it, Sanders, my brother hates guns. He and my old man used to get into it big time, because Shane refused to go hunting. He wouldn’t even go target practicing with him. There is no way.” He managed to shake his head. It was obvious the meds ha
dn’t taken full effect yet, because he was in still in a lot of pain.

  “Well, Troy, the gun is missing and so is your brother. Right now he is considered a fugitive, armed and dangerous. If you want to keep your brother safe, you need to help us find him. Do you have any idea where he may have gone?” This time it was Jean who asked.

  Once again, he shook his head in frustration and very carefully laid back down.

  “Did you know that your father was here in New York? Is that why you’re here?” Jean continued to question him.

  His eyes were closing; and they realized the medicine the nurse administered must have contained a painkiller or sedative and it was beginning to affect him. It was obvious to them the man was on the verge of losing consciousness again. They could tell they were running out of time to get answers.

  “Yeah, we were pretty sure he was here. I swear to you we didn’t know what he was up to though. We just needed to ask him some stuff. I wanted to know the truth about M’leigh, and Shane wanted . . . .”

  He stopped there, as if he didn’t want to betray his brother, and thought before he continued softly. “We didn’t know what he was doing. I freaked out when I saw that little kid. I thought he was done with . . . when I . . . .” His voice was fading as his eyes slowly closed.

  Marty stood up. He knew it was futile when he realized he had fallen asleep, and for the time being, their window to get answers had closed.

  “We’ll be back, Blakey. Get some rest,” Marty told him, knowing he probably wasn’t even hearing him. He turned and saw the bored look on Jean’s face. At this point, all she was really interested in was finding Shane and arresting him for the shooting death of his father, he thought. It was an open-and-shut homicide case for her. She really didn’t have any questions other than where the man’s brother was; and Marty didn’t think the man in the hospital bed had a clue as to where that may be. It was the first time he ever saw any sort of complacency in his partner. She usually was so meticulous about getting answers. Who? What? . . . and Where? That was her motto; but when it came to knowing the why, the lady was like a pit bull with a bone. Something was off with her lately; and Marty made a note to bring it up to her at another time.

  To be fair, Marty knew that Jean wasn’t aware of what Sanders had found out about the possible connection to the sequence of kidnappings from as far back as twenty-five years ago. She hadn’t been informed yet about the articles that Sanders had shown Marty. And the information he brought with him from Oregon may very well turn out to uncover a very old hornet’s nest. Marty was about to tell her what they knew when she excused herself and said she would see them back at the station.

  Instead of eating at the hospital cafeteria, Marty suggested to Sanders that they head over to his favorite restaurant, The Liar’s Den. It was just a few minutes away and within walking distance. It didn’t take much cajoling.

  Once they were seated and their orders were in, Marty asked Sanders if he could see the photographed copies of the newspaper articles again.

  Sanders rifled through his briefcase until he found them. He ran his hand over the table, making sure it was dry. When he was confident the papers wouldn’t suffer damage by debris or liquid on the wooden table he handed them to Marty.

  “Are you familiar with these cases, Marty? Seems you’re not much older than the articles themselves. What were you, five years old then?”

  “Nine.”

  Sanders looked surprised when Marty answered him so rapidly.

  Marty knew all the facts but he read each word as if the story was new to him. He stared at the black and white photo of the then three-year-old T.J. Kolakowski.

  The waitress came over with their meal; and Marty carefully folded the papers and placed them on the bench next to him.

  “Marty, can I get you a refill?” The familiar waitress asked.

  “Yeah, Trina, please.” She added some ice tea to his glass and then turned to Sanders, who put his hand over his still steaming cup of coffee. “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  “So, are you getting nervous yet?”

  Marty looked up at her, confused at first.

  Trina has been serving his meals at The Liar’s Den for as long as he could remember. They had flirted on and off since first grade when she kissed him underneath the monkey bars on the playground. But at the time, it was his best friend, Justin, who was in love with the little girl with the long blonde braids; and even at that age, Marty felt like he would be betraying his friend by looking interested. She never gave her heart to Justin, but he lusted after her for years; and so Marty never could bring himself to ask her out. Just as well. Justin had found true love in his wife, Diane, and he had found Hope.

  At first, Marty thought she was talking about the case and then it hit him. She was talking about his impending wedding nuptials.

  “Nope, Hope’s got all the nervous energy for both of us. I’m ready.”

  She nodded. Her long blonde ponytail swayed back and forth. “Well, if she runs, Marty, you know I’m available again.” She flashed him a bright smile, but he got the feeling she was dead serious as she turned and walked away to help another customer.

  “You have got yourself some pretty women in this town. What do you feed them?” Sanders asked just before he sunk his teeth into his cheeseburger.

  Marty’s mind was no longer on his meal, but on those articles about the kidnapping. He picked up the papers again.

  “What is it, Marty? You look like this is something personal for you. Did you know these kids?”

  Marty picked up the picture of T.J. “He was my neighbor. His aunt and sisters were at my mother’s funeral when he went missing. His father was supposed to be watching him, but when they came home, he was passed out on the couch . . . drunk . . . and T.J. was nowhere to be found.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry.” Now his curiosity was peeked. “Did they ever find either of these kids?”

  “No, they never found either of them. They didn’t have too many leads. It was like they disappeared into thin air. You’re thinking that somehow these Blakey guys are involved in T.J.’s disappearance?” Marty asked the veteran detective.

  “No, Marty.” He hesitated before he spoke. “I think Troy and Shane could very well be those two kids.”

  It felt like someone punched Marty in the gut.

  He lost his appetite and didn’t finish his sandwich. He waited anxiously as Sanders devoured his. Within the hour, they were headed back to the hospital to continue their interrogation of Troy Blakey, this time without Jean.

  If Sanders was correct, then Marty would be able to tell Mrs. K that her prayers had finally been answered. All those years refusing to give up, ignoring those who told her to put it to rest, to accept the fact the boy was probably dead and was never going to come home.

  But before he was going to bring Mrs. K into the equation, he was going to make damn sure he had all the facts at his disposal and that Sanders was right.

  When they got back into the room, Blakey was awake again.

  “What can you tell us about this?” Marty handed him one of the articles, the one about the boy from Orange County, deliberately leaving out the one from Fallsburg with the black and white photo of the little boy they affectionately called T.J.

  “Where did you find those?” Troy looked at them, his face contorted and confused.

  “How about just answering the question, Troy. What can you tell us about this kid?”

  “Shane found them hidden in some of my father’s crap. He went through all his stuff when the old man left, and came across that and some other stuff. It’s one of the reasons we came looking for the old man here. Shane is convinced that he could be one of those kids. That my dad kidnapped him.” He lifted his arm and motioned toward the paper.

  “What makes him think that?” Sanders asked him.

  “I don’t know, we just have always had a lot of questions. He told us some stories, when we were growing up, that just didn’t ring true. One da
y our mother died of cancer, and then he would tell us she was killed in a car wreck. The old man never told us the same story twice.”

  “When did your mother die?” Marty asked this time.

  He shrugged his shoulders, wincing in pain.

  “I don’t really remember having one. There were a few women that used to come and stay for a while, but they never lasted long. I’m not sure, but I think I remember someone who may have been my mother, but I’m not sure if it’s even a real memory. I was really young. Actually, I think it may even be Carol Brady, you know, the one from the Brady Bunch.”

  Marty wasn’t sure if he was for real or trying to be flippant. The hollow look in his eyes gave them the feeling he wasn’t trying to be funny at all.

  “What about Shane? What about your brother? What does he remember?” Marty asked him.

  Sanders was standing to Marty’s left and breathing heavily enough for Marty to actually hear it. The man was just standing there frozen, taking it all in. He was watching Troy talk, and Marty wondered if he was thinking the same thing he was. Had he known the location of two abducted children all these years? Marty didn’t know how he would feel if it were him. Being an officer of the law, and not being able to sense that something was seriously wrong with the family dynamics . . . . Had two abducted children that law enforcement had been searching for twenty-five years, been right under his nose all this time and he was oblivious to it?

  “I don’t remember much.” Troy went on. “Sometimes I get these flashbacks, but I don’t even know if they’re real or not.” He took a sip from a cup of water and this time he was able to ingest a larger amount.

  Sanders waited until Troy swallowed the fluid before he asked the next question. “What brought you two out here to New York? It’s a pretty far trek from Oregon, Troy. Did your father ever bring you two out here before?”