The Keres Case (Heartfelt Cases Book 4)

by Gilbert,Julie C.

  Tears welled up in Rachel’s eyes as she caressed the flower representing Emily.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Nick, we should help mom and dad with the cleanup,” Joy said abruptly.

  “But—”

  “Now,” Joy insisted, seizing Nick’s arm and yanking him toward the messy eating area.

  “You kids can go now too,” said Jon.

  Not needing to be told twice, the young people, save Malia, scattered. She just closed her eyes and continued quietly sitting on a beach towel.

  Jon leaned close to Rachel.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  Rachel threw herself from the lawn chair and into Jon’s arms. He stood up and pulled her into a proper hug.

  “She loves it, Jon. You just caught her off guard,” Ann explained.

  “We’ll give you two a moment. Take as much time as you need,” said Patrick.

  ***

  The Davidson and Duncan families retreated to clean up, giving the Parkers some much-needed space. Ann tossed a quick prayer heavenward for her friends. Jon’s gift, though very thoughtful and precious, had to be bittersweet for Rachel. The Parker’s first daughter, Emily, had died several years earlier. Ann didn’t like to think about that time, but she was grateful that the ordeal brought her close to Rachel after years of neglected friendship.

  “Here comes another surprise,” noted Patrick.

  Ann stopped wiping down the table to see what had put the caution in Patrick’s tone. George Baker stood at the back gate, which wasn’t necessarily alarming since he happened to be engaged to Ann’s sister. However, his stance and expression said he was torn between coming and going.

  Before Ann could determine a course of action, Joy spotted George.

  “Well, well, look who decided to show up after the cleanup. Nice timing.” She threw her hand towel onto a chair and strolled over to greet her fiancé.

  “Trouble,” commented Patrick, watching the pair carefully.

  Baker’s return embrace lacked conviction. He said something to Joy that made her back up a step, whirl, and storm off.

  “You take Baker. I’ve got Joy,” Ann said, moving to intercept her sister. Stepping in front of Joy was like trying to stop a moving car. Ann grunted from the impact but stood her ground. “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s not here to see me,” Joy snapped, obviously fighting tears. “It’s ‘business.’ It’s always ‘business’!” She paused long enough to glare at Ann and blew out a slow breath. “This is going to be my life, isn’t it?”

  Ann winced.

  Note to self, smack Baker later.

  She wanted to help her sister, but the sound of a baby’s cry tugged her in a different direction. Curiosity begged her to march over to Baker and beat the story out of him. Her gaze darted to all three options then around again.

  “Oh, this is stupid,” Joy said, swiping at some tears. She puffed a few steadying breaths. “Don’t mind me. I’m being selfish. I’ll get Amanda and you can go grill George to your heart’s content. Just be sure to give me the scoop later. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Ann answered, giving her sister a quick hug. She jogged over to Patrick and Baker, stopping short when she caught their stony expressions. Patrick usually maintained a good balance between seriousness and levity, but seeing Baker so subdued was highly unnerving. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  “No,” Patrick agreed.

  “I’m sorry,” Baker apologized. “I hate bearing bad news, but Taggert and Morgan want to meet with us tomorrow at seven thirty in her Pittsburgh office. Edinboro had two child kidnappings yesterday, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. The second kid disappeared from the search for the first one. I’ve got to get over to Meadville Med right now to meet Lawson and interview the first victim.”

  Ann tried to process the news. Baker’s boss—Irina Taggert, newly appointed Special Agent in Charge of the Pittsburgh field office—and Ann’s boss, Lance Morgan, Assistant Director in Charge of the FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C., rarely saw eye to eye on anything.

  What could possibly make them want to work together?

  “How did they find the first victim?” inquired Ann.

  “The kidnapper left a note saying the boy would be found in the Erie National Wildlife Refuge,” Baker said grimly.

  “And is that where they found him?” Ann already knew the answer, and it made her stomach uneasy.

  “Multiple kids are disappearing from the same town again,” Patrick murmured. The quiet statement stood in stark contrast to the joyful sounds of running, dueling, and make-believe deaths.

  “Yeah, and last night the kidnapper called the Tyler family to taunt them. He also warned the mother that if we didn’t back off the girl could ending up like Gabriel Dawson or Lillian Green,” said Baker grimly.

  “He said those names specifically?” asked Patrick.

  “Yes,” Baker replied.

  He’s back.

  Ann didn’t think it would be possible for her heart to sink any lower, but sink it did. She closed her eyes and steeled herself for what would come.

  Lord, don’t let this end like the Dawson case.

  Chapter 6:

  End of the Dawson Case

  Dawson Residence

  Chester, Virginia

  Six years ago

  Special Agent Julie Ann Davidson watched her partner, Patrick Duncan, console Donna and Lewis Dawson. She couldn’t concentrate on the conversation or feel anything. She hated her inability to conjure one comforting phrase for the couple. To say they had lost their only son would be a gross understatement. It made the situation sound like an accident, but Gabriel Dawson’s murder was about as far from an accident as one could possibly imagine.

  Moments later, Ann averted her gaze. She couldn’t stand watching them weep. Patrick had said the skill would come with time, but right now, she didn’t believe him. She didn’t have any kids, but she had a stellar imagination and a fair amount of empathy, both of which told her the level of pain exceeded anything she had ever encountered.

  As they walked back to the car, part of Ann wished she had never stumbled upon that child’s small, broken body. As long as he had merely been missing, his parents could cling to the hope he might be found. The early days of the investigation, though frantic and harried, flowed on a stream of hope. Ann had watched Donna and Lewis Dawson take call after call from their tormentor, always managing to come off semi-respectful and pleading.

  The memory of death’s heavy, rotting stench pulled her back to the moment. As she reached the car, a hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed hard, snapping the memory’s spell. She fought off the urge to cry.

  God has numbered our days. There’s no reason to worry. So why am I worried?

  Patrick said nothing, letting her compose herself in silence.

  “How do you do that? How do you do this?” asked Ann.

  “Which part?” wondered Patrick.

  “All of it. The months and months of hard work, turning over every possibility, chasing down every lead, only to have it end like this.”

  “You need to answer that yourself,” said Patrick.

  “What do you mean?”

  Instead of answering, Patrick replied with a question.

  “Why did you join the FBI?”

  “To do good,” Ann answered, parroting the words she’d given the recruiting agent.

  “That’s how,” Patrick said with a slow nod.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Patrick watched her silently, taking a measure of something she couldn’t fathom.

  “You’re not going to give me any hints, are you?” Ann inquired.

  “I think you’re doing fine.”

  Ann thought for several minutes, silently leaning back against the car they had come in.

  “I joined because it allows me to battle evil in a tangible form,” she said, at last.

  “Why do you feel com
pelled to fight evil?” Patrick fired the question like a sword strike.

  “Because I can …” Ann replied. “God has gifted me with the ability to sort through details, notice patterns, draw conclusions, and know where wrongs can be righted.”

  “To do less would be unjust, correct?”

  “Yes, but I think I’m going about this wrong,” Ann said with a shrug. “If I didn’t do this job, God would raise up another to do it for me.”

  “Do you want that?” Patrick held the question out like a lifeline.

  Ann bowed her head and let her gaze become unfocused. In her mind’s eye, she saw three paths bathed in golden light. One path she had just come from. Another path lay before her running parallel to a wide stream and a picture perfect meadow. The final path wound high up into unknown, yet treacherous terrain.

  The right way is always harder.

  “No,” Ann stated, finally answering Patrick’s question. “I will do it.”

  Patrick handed her a tissue.

  “Always carry a good supply of these.” He reached into her coat pocket and plucked out the keys. “I’m driving.”

  Ann fingered the tissue and considered protesting the key theft, but concluded that it wasn’t worth the effort.

  “Will we ever know who killed Gabriel Dawson?” Ann quietly wondered, settling into the passenger seat. She fiddled with the seat controls so she didn’t feel like she was sitting in the backseat.

  “Maybe,” Patrick said, committing to nothing. He started the engine and turned the car around so they could head back to the hotel. “Unfortunately, the next move belongs to the killer.”

  “How long do you think he’ll wait?”

  “Could be hours, days, years, or never,” Patrick pointed out.

  “Do you think he’ll simply stop?”

  “People like that don’t just stop,” said Patrick.

  “What do you mean?” Ann was getting tired of asking that question, but she had worked with Patrick long enough to know that if she wanted any answers she would have to pry them out of him.

  “Serial killers can’t simply stop.”

  “So you think it’s a disease?”

  “No. It’s a symptom of the disease we discussed earlier,” Patrick replied. He fiddled with the radio buttons until soft, classical music filled the car.

  “You mean evil,” Ann said, finally following the convoluted pattern her partner was weaving.

  “Precisely,” Patrick confirmed. He plucked the candy bag from the cup holder and held it out to her. “Gummy bear?”

  Ann studied the package thinking that Gabriel Dawson would never do anything ever again, even something as simple as eating gummy bears.

  “No thank you,” Ann said, shaking her head.

  “Don’t.” Patrick put the candy back in the cup holder.

  “Don’t what?” Ann queried, genuinely mystified.

  “You’re going to swear off gummy bears until we catch this guy.”

  After a quick search of her feelings, Ann admitted he was correct. Not wanting to discuss her reasons, she coughed and steered the conversation back to where it had hit the gummy bear tangent.

  “Do you think serial killers have a choice like everybody else?”

  “Of course. They just choose poorly,” said Patrick. “That’s partly why we have a job.”

  “I’d gladly give up the job if it meant no more murders to solve,” Ann declared wistfully.

  “Agreed.”

  They let the classical music own the air for a long while.

  When they stopped for gas, Ann struck up the conversation again.

  “What did you say to the Dawsons?”

  Patrick stared hard at Ann like he wanted to peek into her mind and pull out the reason for the question.

  “I told them we would never forget them nor rest until the case was resolved.”

  “What if the case turns cold?”

  Patrick shrugged and paused to put the pump back and collect his receipt.

  “It probably will, but you’re like me. You’ll carry this case to a grave, either your own or the killer’s.”

  Chapter 7:

  Good Little Boys and Girls

  Kidnapper’s Base of Operations

  Elk County, Pennsylvania

  “I love you, Karen,” said the man standing above her.

  Normally, Karen Tyler would have enjoyed waking up to such a statement, if the speaker was one of her parents or Ellie.

  Ellie!

  Tears sprang to Karen’s eyes at the thought of never seeing Ellie again. She wished with all her heart that if she fell asleep again, she’d wake up in her bedroom and shake off this nightmare. She shook her head and blinked a few times, trying to knock out the grit that had built up since her last unnatural nap.

  How long have I been here?

  She suspected this was still day one or two of her captivity, but she couldn’t be sure about anything.

  “You’re special,” the man continued. “Everybody knows it. Did you know they’re planning a vigil for you at your school? They’re opening the building and cleaning it up and getting it ready just for you.”

  Karen couldn’t use her hands, but she suspected they would add more dirt and grime than they removed if she managed to rub her eyes with them. She shrugged her shoulders to get some feeling back and immediately regretted it as sharp, tingling pain shot through her arms.

  “You’ll be sore for a while,” said the man. He unlocked the handcuffs holding Karen to a metal pipe and stepped back. Everything he wore, including a bandana across the lower half of his face, came in the same depressing, jet black color. The only silver on him came from the probes on the stun gun he kept on his belt. Even his handgun and shoulder holster and the handle of the hunting knife hanging from his belt were completely black.

  Karen wanted to spring free and rush past the man, up the stairs, and out into the unknown, but her arms flopped to her side traitorously. A longing look toward the exit was all she could manage. She wondered what she would do if she ever got her hands on his gun. Her father had once taught her how to shoot a BB gun, but she feared the knowledge wouldn’t transfer well to a handgun.

  Get up! You might not get a second chance to escape!

  With that thought fueling her, Karen rolled to her knees and staggered to her feet by using the pipe that had served as her guard during the last few hours.

  “Move slowly,” suggested her captor. “The drug cocktail I gave you has adverse side effects in some people, including weight gain, hives, trouble breathing, listlessness, difficulty thinking, and possible death.”

  Oh, is that all?

  Karen’s knees buckled and she leaned heavily on the horizontal pipe for support.

  “What do you want?” She whispered the question to the wall. She must have asked it a few hundred times in her head, but she couldn’t be sure if she’d actually asked her captor yet. “What day is it?”

  “Saturday,” the man answered gently.

  Saturday. One day and already I feel like it’s been years.

  Karen didn’t like the new pattern her life had settled into. The man unlocked her cuffs and took her on the same brief tour he had the other two or three times: disgusting bathroom, splintering wooden table, back to the basement. The last break had added the novelty of video contact with her parents, but that only made Karen more heartsick for home. She wondered how many times she would wash up, eat a peanut butter sandwich, then swallow a new pill, and wake up to repeat the process. She was starting to despise peanut butter. The one—and only—time she had refused to take the pill, the man had shrugged and zapped her with a stun gun.

  The man draped her left arm around his neck and held on to it with his hand. He slipped his right arm around her waist.

  “Come on. I’d like you to meet the others.”

  Others?

  Karen wished she had the strength and energy to thrash this creep, but even the wish took tremendous effort. She could only sta
gger along beside the man, leaning on him for support. The stun gun lay within very tempting range, but the memory of the electric shock paralyzed her fingers. She wanted to remember everything about her surroundings so she could describe it if she ever escaped, but he hadn’t lied about the “difficulty thinking” side effect.

  “We’re here!” the man announced. He unlocked an old-fashioned jail cell and shoved Karen inside.

  Her legs collapsed, dumping her to the floor.

  “Karen, meet your neighbors the good little boys and girls. Kids, introduce yourselves and make her feel welcome. Remember the golden rule: hurt others and I’ll hurt you. I’ll be back with supper later.” He spoke rapidly in Spanish and Russian, then waited.

  Karen claimed no intimate knowledge about kidnappers, but she felt certain something was off about this bunch. Even though most of her contact had been with the same man, someone else had driven the car she’d been thrown in, and she doubted any one person could run an organization to kidnap so many children.

  A surreal feeling crept over Karen as she slowly scanned the faces surrounding her. Three pale boys about five or six years old huddled in one corner. Another corner had been claimed by a surly looking boy who appeared to be on the cusp of adolescence. Four girls with dark hair, eyes, and skin jealously guarded the third corner, and a pair of fair-haired twins—brother and sister—sat in the fourth corner. The only furniture in the room was the tired-looking toilet tucked in the corner by the lone boy.

  Grimly noting that she was the oldest, Karen studied her cellmates trying to determine who might speak to her. Each captive seemed oddly awake and aware, as if they had no concept of day and night. A glance out the high, tiny window revealed nothing, for it had been covered with a thick layer of black paint. The other thing Karen noticed was each captive’s vacant, defeated expression. A closer look at the loner in the second corner caused Karen to change her mind. There she saw anger. That at least promised some response.