“Who are you?” Karen asked, staring hard at the preteen. “How did you end up here?”
He stared back with a contemptuous expression that said she wasn’t worth the effort to speak.
Karen tucked her knees close to her chest and braced against the stares.
“Why are you all here?” she repeated.
“They don’t talk much. Don’t take it personally. Some don’t even know the language very well. I’m sorry for their bad manners.”
Cringing at the sound of his voice, Karen spun around to face the cell door.
“Why am I here?” Anger lent her strength enough to spit each word out with force.
“You are my guest.”
“My parents aren’t rich enough to make me worth kidnapping,” Karen pointed out. She questioned the wisdom of sharing that fact with her captor, but couldn’t take the words back.
“You have something better, my dear,” said the man, turning his head to watch her through the bars. “Several things in fact. Status. Purity. Innocence. People who care. Look around you. These are lost little lambs. Few people know they’re missing or really care. Some were even sold to pay off debts.” He pulled the bandana down so she could see his face. “You are different.” He spoke these last words softly, almost like a promise and a prayer.
Karen searched his face for scars or marks, something that would show the deep-seeded corruption inside him. She found nothing, but she suddenly understood what he meant.
“I’m walking dead,” she said, idly wondering what book or internet article she’d pulled that phrase from.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered.
She shuddered at how he made those simple words hateful.
“You are the sort of perfection that drives men mad. I’m going to protect you from everybody. I promise.”
“Let me go home,” Karen pleaded. “That’s the best way you can protect me.”
“I wish—”
An inhuman scream ripped the air behind Karen, but before she could react, hands closed around her throat.
A gunshot rang out and Karen felt herself falling.
***
Meadville Medical Center
Meadville, Pennsylvania
“Good afternoon, agents,” greeted Detective Donald Wickerman. He pushed away from the hospital wall he’d been leaning against. “Long time no see.”
“If this keeps up, we’ll have to start exchanging birthdays and kids’ names, Detective Wickerman,” George Baker quipped.
“Call me Donny.” He gripped each man’s hand in turn. “I’ve got one kid named Josh. You?”
Baker waved his hands in a warding gesture.
“No, no. No kids for me. Heck, I can barely afford the fiancée right now. At least she’s more of a puppy person.”
“And you, Agent Lawson?” asked Wickerman.
Lawson’s face lit up, and he smiled.
“A little girl. We call her Beth, but it’s really Bethany. She turned two last month.”
“My son, Josh, is nine, a year older than the kid you’re about to meet.” Grim anger replaced the friendliness in Wickerman’s expression. “Silas told me his story yesterday. I don’t scare easily, but I will say this case has me checking on my kid multiple times during the night. You’ll understand when you hear it from Silas.” Wickerman’s hands formed fists. “I want to catch this guy pretty badly. No man’s got a right to go after kids.” Wickerman pivoted sharply and knocked on the door. “Mrs. Carver? It’s Donny Wickerman, Edinboro PD. I’ve brought the two FBI agents I mentioned earlier.”
“Come in,” called a woman’s voice.
The detective and agents filed into the hospital room. Flowers, cards, and stuffed animals lined the back wall. A petite woman rose as they entered. Her dark brown hair looked freshly brushed, but faint shadows under her concerned brown eyes told a tale of little sleep and lots of worry. Her right hand and wrist were consumed by white bandages. Baker remembered reading that Mrs. Carver had been cut while searching her son’s room. He made a mental note to ask her about it later. The police report could give him the pertinent details, but only Mrs. Carver could give him her impressions about the incident.
Wickerman took the lead and introduced Baker and Lawson.
“They’re here to ask Silas some questions about yesterday.”
“Does he really have to go through that again?” Mrs. Carver asked anxiously. She fiddled with a loose corner of the wrist wrapping as her eyes swept over the agents’ dark suits. “He’s been through so much already.”
Baker squared his shoulders.
“The more direct information we can get, the easier it will make the investigation.”
“We’ll try not to take too much of your time together,” Lawson promised. He removed his dark blue suit jacket, draped it on the end of the bed, and rolled up his sleeves.
“Five might be a crowd in here,” Wickerman commented. “Rita, why don’t you let me buy you something in the cafeteria? By the time we get back, the interview should be over.”
“What if the kidnapper comes back?” The question came out soft and terrified.
“We’ll protect your son, ma’am,” said Lawson.
“We won’t let him out of our sight,” Baker vowed.
“What if he needs me?”
“Mom,” Silas whined. “Go already. I’m fine. They’re FBI.”
Once Wickerman finally ushered Mrs. Carver out, Lawson and Baker moved closer to Silas’s bed. Baker took out a notebook and prepared to write down his observations. Rock, paper, scissors had decided that Lawson should take the interview lead.
“She means well, Silas,” Lawson said, settling down in the metal chair on the bed’s right side. “Give her a break. I’m sure your mother loves you very much. Yesterday gave her a lot of cause to worry.”
Silas shook his head vigorously.
“She’s always worried, even before yesterday. She’s been worried since we left my dad.”
Throwing a quick look at Baker that said interesting, Lawson made eye contact with Silas.
“Tell me everything you can remember about what happened yesterday.” He took out a notebook and leaned back in the chair. “Start with when you were safe in bed Thursday night and end with how you got into that tree Friday. My partner and I will have some additional questions after that.”
“A man came into my room. He covered my face with a wet cloth that made me dizzy. I woke up a few times in a car. Then, I really woke up in the tree.”
Man of few words, Baker thought.
“Did you recognize the man?”
“No.”
“Can you describe him?” asked Lawson.
Silas shrugged.
“I didn’t see him long.”
“Any detail might help,” Lawson encouraged. “Was he tall, medium, or short?”
Each choice earned another shrug.
“Was he thin or thickset?” asked Baker.
“What’s ‘thickset’ mean?”
“Fat or muscular,” Lawson answered.
“He was ordinary,” Silas said.
Oh, goody, perfect profile for a kidnapper: ordinary.
Baker rubbed at his eyes to keep from rolling them.
“Did you notice his hair or eye color?” queried Lawson.
“No, but he wore a lot of black.” Silas’s dark eyes lit with excitement as he remembered something else. “He even had a bandana covering most of his face.”
“What color was his skin?” Baker wondered, internally wincing at having to ask the politically incorrect question.
“White.”
Lawson nodded like he had expected that answer.
“Did he wear long shirts and pants or a T-shirt and shorts?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see anybody else with him?” Lawson inquired.
“No, but he was talking. I couldn’t understand him most of the time, but his voice kept changing.”
“How so?” a
sked Baker. He flexed his writing fingers then continued taking notes.
Silas shrugged yet again.
“Sometimes it was all slow and steady, and other times, he spoke quicker, like he was nervous.”
Lawson paused to jot down another sentence.
“Detective Wickerman said that when they found you, you said, ‘He took her. She’s gone.’ Who were you talking about? Do you remember saying that?”
“There was a girl sitting by a tree to my left. I’d never seen her before. I saw the man dressed in black wrap his arms around her. That’s when I saw his skin. He said something to her and she followed him.”
“Could it have been a different man?” asked Lawson.
“I dunno, but I don’t think so.”
“Did he restrain her?” wondered Baker, more to Lawson and himself than Silas.
The boy shook his head.
“No, she just followed him.”
Baker puzzled over that. What could a man possibly say to a teenager to get her to willingly walk away from a large group of people, including several police officers? Lawson shot him a look that said the same question bothered him as well.
“Silas, did the man ever talk to you directly? Did he threaten you?” inquired Lawson.
Silas nodded solemnly but said nothing.
“Can you tell us what he said?” Baker requested.
“He said I had to be a good boy or he’d kill mommy.” Silas looked stricken. “I’m not supposed to tell anybody.” Silas reached out and grabbed Lawson’s arm. “The man said only bad kids repeat messages meant for others. Don’t let him kill her!”
“We’ll do our best to protect your mother, Silas,” Lawson pledged.
They chatted a little longer but failed to learn anything new. When Wickerman returned with Rita Carver, Baker asked her to recount the story behind her injured hand. Then, the law enforcement personnel politely took their leave.
As soon as they stepped outside the room and closed the door, Lawson spoke the issue on Baker’s mind.
“I want to speak with Jack Carver.”
***
Kidnapper’s Base of Operations
Elk County, Pennsylvania
“Karen!” Ryker holstered his gun, rushed to unlock the cell door, swung it open, and started barking orders. “Andrei, go get Dr. Surhan. Alisa, help me stop this bleeding and clean Karen. Everybody else stay back!”
He need not have bothered with the last order. Aside from screaming, weeping, and huddling closer where applicable, the children made no move to approach or escape.
Pushing Yuri’s body away from Karen, Ryker knelt by his prize and checked her for wounds. Miraculously, he found none. She’d fainted or passed out from lack of oxygen. It didn’t matter. Aside from being messy from the unpleasantness, faint bruising around her neck seemed to be her only physical souvenir of the altercation.
You really are special, he thought, feeling a surge of affection for the girl.
“Why did you call me?” demanded Dr. Carl Surhan. “There’s nothing I can do. You shot him. End of story. I’m not your cleanup crew.”
“You’re not here for him, you’re here for her,” Ryker replied.
Dr. Surhan gave the young woman a once over, checking her pupils and vital signs. “She’s fine.”
“What happened?”
“She fainted. Try not killing people around her. Most people find that unpleasant.” Dr. Surhan hauled himself upright. “Don’t call me again. I’m going to bed. It was a long day.”
“Do you have smelling salts to revive her?”
“Don’t bother. If you care, let her take a warm shower and eat a decent meal. A few Aspirin and a good night’s rest wouldn’t hurt either.”
“That’s what you always say,” said Ryker. “Are you sure you’re a real doctor?”
“Didn’t have time to grab the resume on my way here. Wasn’t tops on my kidnapping survival kit.”
“You amuse me, doctor. It’s why I like you, but you do get grumpier when tired. You may go now. Happy dreams.”
Dr. Surhan grunted and trudged out.
Ryker spent a few minutes kneeling beside Karen, wondering if he should try to hide the bruises when next contacting her parents. They would unjustly lay blame on him. For some reason, that thought bothered him, but not as much as the thought that she might blame him. She reminded him of Jaya, the only perfect memory from his childhood. She looked nothing like Jaya, but something about her channeled the same life energy. He missed his best friend.
“When we leave?” asked Andrei, struggling with the words.
Ryker looked up at the child sadly.
“You are so eager to leave, dear child, so eager to enter the dangerous world. You have no idea what awaits you.”
“Rich American buy us, yes?” inquired Alisa.
Keep. Protect. Kill. Save.
Ryker shook himself and stood, trying to escape the jumble of internal orders.
“When the money comes through, you will be free,” he promised.
Relief flooded Alisa’s cheeks with cleansing tears. She swiped at them, inadvertently brushing some of Yuri’s blood across her chin.
“Go wash up then hurry back,” he said kindly. “Ask Reuben for a new shirt too.”
Karen stirred, then yelped, and scrambled away when she realized where she lay. She came up on her knees facing him a few feet from the boy’s body.
“Shhh. It’s over. I protected you.”
“He’s dead,” Karen muttered. She sounded like she didn’t believe it, despite the body cooling before her eyes. She blinked, too shocked to even cry.
“He attacked you,” Ryker explained. “Not such a good boy. Shame though. Might have sold well. Fighter. Good fighter. Died. Oh, bad fighter.” He shook himself again. He hated it when he rambled. He would have to take more meds if this continued.
Wearily, he climbed to his feet and staggered from the cell. He’d send Second Jaya to clean up his prize. Frightened kids tended to respond better to a girl’s caress with a cleansing cloth. Reuben could take care of Yuri.
Reuben met him at the door.
“Dude, that was awesome!”
He hated being called ‘dude,’ but had yet to break Reuben of the habit.
“Did you give Alisa a new shirt?”
“Do I look like a nursemaid?” retorted Reuben. “I think the beggar’s working on Dr. Surhan for it right now.”
“Good. Clean up Yuri.”
Reuben scowled.
“Should I stick him in the freezer?”
“For now. I’ll work on the presentation later. I’m tired. How are the ratings?”
“That’s what I came to tell you, man. The hits are coming in like crazy. The odds against Yuri attacking first were super low, but very few picked a headshot. Payouts are gonna rock on this one.” Something about Reuben’s enthusiasm seemed off.
“Something more you wish to say?”
Reuben hesitated.
“You know I’m a hundred percent behind you, man, but … dude, that’s like the third kid this quarter. Heat’s gonna pick up if we don’t slow down.”
Ryker gave Reuben a pitying smile.
That’s the point.
Chapter 8:
Cold Case Comeback
Davidson Residence
Fairview, Pennsylvania
Baker’s unwelcome announcement effectively quashed the party mood. Thanking their hosts, the Parkers rounded up their crew and left, promising to lend what support they could with the new case. Soon after making his announcement, Baker left for Meadville Medical Center to interview the first victim. Upon returning from Meadville, Baker stole Joy for a long walk in the park and a heart-to-heart talk, trying to undo the damage caused by his less-than-eloquent entrance. She no doubt informed him that a woman rarely wants her fiancé to greet her with a request to see her sister.
Ann and Patrick were released from cleanup duties to begin working on the case. They commandeered Mr. Davidso
n’s office. Ann signed on to one of the FBI databases and ran a few dozen searches for cases that sounded similar to what Baker had described. Patrick plugged in his laptop and dug through his email archives with much the same purpose. They worked in comfortable silence for a while then discussed the case, specifically reasons why Silas Carver might have been left alive. Then, it was time to tuck their son into bed.
“Story, Daddy,” Joseph ordered, climbing into Ann’s lap as she sat on her old bed.
A pang of sadness shot through Ann as she cuddled her son and listened to her husband read Honey Bear Visits the Zoo. Having memorized the story a hundred times over, Ann concentrated on the bliss of holding Joseph. Things would change soon. Although they hadn’t actually discussed it, Ann’s maternity leave had effectively ended with Baker’s arrival.
“Ann, I think he’s out,” said Patrick.
“Not sleepy,” Joseph protested in a voice that clearly contradicted the statement.
With a practiced maneuver, Ann swept down the blankets, laid Joseph in the clear space, and pulled the blankets up to his chin. Summer or not, tucking in was a time-honored tradition. Ann quietly prayed with Joseph, added the bed rail so he wouldn’t fall out, and leaned over to kiss him goodnight. Amanda started fussing from the crib in the corner. Patrick went over to rub her back and see if she had more pressing needs, like a diaper change.
When both children breathed the steady rhythm of sleep, Ann and Patrick snuck back down to Mr. Davidson’s office. Ann sat in front of the computer to launch some new searches. Patrick’s hands landed on her shoulders.
“Are you ready for this?” Patrick’s voice was soft.
“No,” Ann answered in a fit of honesty. She peered up at her husband. “But that just makes it easier to rely on God. Are you ready?”
“Yes. It’s time to get some closure on the Dawson case. These people have preyed on children long enough.”
***
FBI Pittsburgh Field Office
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Although no words could be distinguished, clearly a heated discussion was well underway inside Irina Taggert’s office. Ann Duncan straightened her tan suit jacket and tried to appear at ease.
“The parents are having a bit of a tiff,” Baker said in a stage whisper, earning an amused glare from the harried secretary.
The Keres Case (Heartfelt Cases Book 4) Page 6