The Keres Case (Heartfelt Cases Book 4)

by Gilbert,Julie C.

  “Is Rachel with you?”

  “Yup, we just got the boys settled in front of the TV long enough to unpack. We’ll head out to an early dinner shortly. Why do you sound worried?”

  “Jon, a tip led us to a house in Edinboro.”

  “Is that the one Ann said you and Baker were checking out this morning?”

  “The same.”

  “She said you were chasing somebody. Did you catch him?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point.” Patrick wanted to skip to the important part, but his friend needed the background information to understand the danger. “We found a room with photos of our families. It was similar to the teddy bear sent to Wickerman, but on a much grander scale.”

  The sound of a noisy fan indicated Jon had stepped into the restroom.

  “And you think we’re in danger?”

  “I know you’re in danger, Jon. Don’t let Rachel out of your sight!”

  Jon got serious.

  “You found something else too. Mere pictures wouldn’t bother the Patrick Duncan I know. Out with it.”

  “It’s the bracelet you gave Rachel for her birthday last week,” Patrick admitted. “We found it in a shoebox hidden inside a mattress in the photo room. The whole thing was a setup.”

  “You think the bracelet means the guy’s going to target Rachel,” Jon said, thinking aloud. “That doesn’t make sense. He’s never taken an object before a person, has he? Why would he change his pattern now?”

  “I don’t know! Listen, do me a favor and order room service or at least pick a very public place. I’m sending you some backup, so you can enjoy your vacation. Try to keep a low profile until they get there.”

  “Should I tell Rachel?” The question reeked of indecision.

  Patrick understood Jon’s hesitation. Normally, the answer would most certainly be affirmative, but Rachel’s background made the situation more sensitive. She had already been kidnapped once in her life.

  Nobody should ever experience that, let alone live under the fear of a repeat.

  “Yes,” Patrick said, after a long hesitation. “She deserves to know. Tell her help’s coming as soon as possible.”

  “We’re not getting a lot of rest tonight, are we?” Jon asked glumly.

  “I’m afraid not,” Patrick agreed. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. It could be nothing, but I’d rather overreact than go unprepared.”

  “Thanks for the warning. See if Ann will call Rachel later. She’ll need the comfort.”

  “I’ll do that. Try to check in every couple of hours until the cavalry gets there.”

  “I will,” Jon promised. Then, in an attempt at optimism, he added, “At least staying close will let me catch up on that email Ann sent.”

  “What email?”

  “You didn’t get it?”

  “I might have, but I haven’t checked email this afternoon,” Patrick explained. “What should I expect from it?”

  “I sent her a website Brad found that could be connected to the Tyler case. The email should contain her findings.”

  “Okay, I’ll get the full story from Ann. Thanks, Jon.”

  They traded farewells.

  Patrick felt an immense sense of foreboding as he hung up.

  A call he got seconds later from Baker magnified the sense.

  “It’s happening again, Patrick. Two more kids have been kidnapped. Twins this time. I’m on my way to speak to the family right now.”

  What’s going on?

  Chapter 22:

  New Threats

  Davidson Residence

  Fairview, Pennsylvania

  The call from her son-in-law kept Carol Davidson checking out the front windows for signs of her elder daughter. Having noticed Julie Ann brimming with nervous energy after the afternoon of self-imposed confinement, Carol had encouraged a good, long run, but now, she regretted the decision. She also futilely wished she’d sent Joy to run with Julie Ann, but Joy was currently watching the kids, having arrived early afternoon for a wedding-planning weekend. The week-long leave had fallen through, but this spur-of-the-moment plan had worked out fine.

  Carol’s concern shifted, forcing her to concentrate on why Patrick had called. His voice hadn’t betrayed much, but the crispness about his attitude seemed too perfect. The fact that he had called the houseline also hinted at trouble.

  Tiny arms wrapped around Carol’s left leg and patted urgently.

  “Up!”

  Carol smiled down at her two-year-old grandson.

  “Hi, Joseph. That’s my leg you’ve got there,” she said, prying his arms off her leg. “Let grandma have her leg back, dear.” She swept him up into her arms. “There’s a good boy. You’ve got a nice grip.”

  “Where’d the Handsome Devil run off to?” Joy asked, entering the room carrying Amanda. Her tone said she was talking to the baby. She gasped. “There he is. We found him, Mandy! Look, we also found grandma. Say, ‘hi’!” She waved one of Amanda’s limp arms.

  Amanda scrunched her features together and started fussing.

  “No cry!” Joseph ordered from his perch in Carol’s arms. “Hush!”

  Joy chuckled as Amanda increased her volume.

  “Sorry, Joey, babies don’t take orders well.” She bounced Amanda gently then held her out so she could look full into the flushed little face. “What’s wrong, Mandy?” She turned the baby around and tucked her in the crook of her left elbow.

  Carol studied the baby’s concentrated expression.

  “Oh, I know what that face means.”

  Changing her grip yet again and sniffing cautiously near the baby’s diaper, Joy concurred.

  “Whew. Definite cause for disturbance.”

  “Poopies!” Joseph declared.

  “Joseph Cale Duncan, that is not a polite thing to say,” Carol said, trying not to laugh.

  “Call it like it is, kid,” Joy encouraged, not bothering to hide her amusement.

  “Joy! Don’t—”

  The ringing doorbell cut Carol off. She rushed to answer it, thinking it might be Julie Ann before remembering that her daughter probably wouldn’t enter by the front door.

  “Mommy!” shouted Joseph.

  “Probably not, but let’s see,” Carol responded, peering through the peep hole. She spotted a neighbor boy rapidly retreating. Puzzled, she unlocked the front door and opened it. “Mark?” Carol stepped out onto the porch and watched the young man sprint away.

  The boy glanced back then put on more speed and cut through the Mitchell’s front yard.

  “Boy go bye-bye,” Joseph commented. He started squirming. “Down, Gamma.”

  Not up for fighting the child, Carol set her grandson down and pondered Mark Rollins’s strange behavior.

  As soon as Joseph’s feet touched down, he ran to a small manila package Carol hadn’t noticed. Picking it up, Joseph raced back with the prize.

  “Look!”

  Panic stabbed through Carol as she read the typed words:

  To Annie’s mother, Mrs. Carol Davidson.

  Time sensitive. Open immediately.

  She could think of a dozen things that could be inside that plain package and none of them were good.

  “Open!” Joseph urged.

  The package chimed.

  Carol stared at it, torn between ripping the package open and snatching up her grandson and bolting for the house.

  “What is it, Mom?” asked Joy, returning without the baby.

  “Present? Gamma, open?”

  The package chimed again.

  “Joy, please take Joey inside,” Carol requested.

  “Come on, big guy, let’s go get some grub,” Joy said, reacting to the slight waver in Carol’s tone.

  “No leave. Stay!”

  “Not an option,” Joy murmured, forcibly picking up her nephew and carrying him inside. She kept a solid hold on his legs and arms to keep from being kicked as he bucked.

  Steeling her nerves, Carol sat down on the porch s
teps, ripped open the envelope, and upended the contents into her lap. A small black phone stared up at her, blinking with a notice of two missed text messages.

  A third chime announced the arrival of a third text message.

  I should get Joy.

  Carol had sent maybe five text messages in her life. She didn’t feel comfortable enough to check them on a strange phone.

  The phone rang.

  That Carol could handle. She pressed the green button.

  “This is Carol Davidson. With whom am I speaking?”

  “A friend,” answered a menacing male voice that rang with electronic alterations.

  Fear closed over Carol’s heart like a tightening fist.

  This must be the man who has Malia!

  “Where is she?” Carol demanded, converting fear into anger to strengthen her voice.

  Stunned silence fell between them.

  “Where is Malia?”

  “Who is she to you?”

  “So you do have her!”

  “Who is she?” the man repeated, spitting each word like a complete sentence.

  Protective instincts kicked in, making Carol sound bolder than she felt.

  “She’s my foster daughter, and you have no right to hold her! She’s just a child. Let her go!”

  “Make Annie and her fellow feddies drop the case, and I’ll consider it.”

  “What does Julie Ann have to do with this?”

  “She is interfering in matters that don’t concern her. If you value her life, convince her to back off.”

  “You’re afraid,” Carol said, stunned by the conclusion.

  You wouldn’t threaten her unless she found something important.

  “Why are you calling me?”

  “You’re her mother.”

  “She’s a grown woman.”

  “She’s a dead woman if the Tyler investigation continues.”

  “Mom, hang up the phone,” Joy said. She knelt before Carol and tugged at the hand holding the phone. “Hang up!”

  “Is that your other daughter?”

  Carol didn’t answer.

  “Tell her the same goes for her fiancé.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Joy whispered fiercely.

  “Stay away from my family!” Carol shouted, alarmed at how much the man knew.

  Harsh laughter answered her.

  “The disregard for your daughter’s life is amusing. Don’t you care what happens to her?”

  Joy yanked the phone out of Carol’s hand.

  “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

  “Well, this is a strange scene,” Julie Ann commented, appearing before the pair, still gleaming with sweat from her run.

  Relief surged through Carol at the sight of her daughter.

  “It’s for you,” Joy said sourly. She mouthed the word “kidnapper” and held the phone out to Julie Ann.

  ***

  Kyte Residence

  Edinboro, Pennsylvania

  I don’t like this case.

  Special Agent George Baker decided this while striding up the brick walkway to meet Officer Ralph Porter so they could talk to the Frank and Kelly Kyte. A sense of déjà vu struck him as he nodded cordially to Porter. Last time, he’d been met by Detective Donald Wickerman, but the grim task was much the same.

  They should send a priest or a pastor on these calls.

  Baker spared a moment to wonder how he kept getting stuck with the job of questioning the kidnapping victims’ families. Joy would probably smack him for the thought, but he believed that women were better suited for this part of the job. He hated watching people cry. It tore at his guts and made him feel helpless.

  Porter rang the doorbell. It pinged pleasantly.

  In due time, a man answered the door wearing the shell-shocked expression of someone having a really bad day.

  “Come in,” he grumbled, pushing the screen door out so they could enter. “Have a seat in the kitchen. My wife is in the playroom. I’ll bring her out when she’s ready.”

  Instead of sitting down next to Porter, Baker peeked into the room behind the kitchen. One corner of the family room featured a massive battle of green versus beige toy soldiers, complete with trucks, tanks, sections of barbed wire, and boulders to hide behind. A partially finished, large-piece animal puzzle dominated another corner. Framed pictures sat on the fireplace. Water guns, towels, and bathing suits lay in a heap by the back door.

  This whole house looks like a playroom.

  Baker turned to take a seat as instructed and flattened a green toy soldier with a crunch. He bent down, retrieved the unfortunate soldier and tossed him back toward his comrades.

  Several minutes later, Mr. Kyte re-entered the kitchen supporting a very pregnant woman with long, dark hair framing a strained face.

  “I’m sorry. My wife’s not feeling very well.”

  Baker and Porter leapt to their feet like gentlemen. Baker went to help escort the woman, and Porter pulled out the nearest chair.

  “Thank you,” the woman murmured, once seated.

  “Don’t mention it, ma’am,” said Porter.

  Baker began introductions. He took out his ID and laid it on the table.

  “I’m Special Agent George Baker with the FBI, and this is Officer Ralph Porter of the Edinboro police department.” He paused to let the Kytes’ dazed gazes land on the badge before picking it up and tucking it back in his pocket. “I know this has been a tough day for you, but kidnappings are very time sensitive. The sooner we start our search, the quicker we’ll recover your boys. We’re already circulating their pictures, and we have people waiting for information. In the meantime, please describe what happened today.”

  “She already told the other cop. Why are you bothering us? You should be out searching for my boys!” cried Mr. Kyte.

  Mrs. Kyte reached for her husband’s arm.

  “It’s all right, Frank. They’re trying to help. I’ll say it a thousand times if it’ll bring Peter and Nathan back.”

  “You shouldn’t have to,” Frank Kyte complained.

  “Start with when you last saw the boys,” Officer Porter prompted, whipping out his notebook and flipping to a fresh page.

  “They were in there around 3:30,” Mrs. Kyte said, pointing to the room Baker had checked out before. “We spent the morning at the pool and came back to rest. Peter was playing with the soldiers and Nathan started the puzzle again. He must have built it a hundred times. I tried to get him some new ones, but he ignored them.”

  “Did you hear anything unusual?” Porter didn’t look up as he asked the question. He just scrawled more notes to himself.

  “No, but I was in the basement getting the laundry and doing some ironing,” Kelly answered. “I used to do the ironing in the television room, but it got too dangerous as the boys got older. Peter almost knocked the hot iron onto his brother one day. It scared me, so I’ve been doing the ironing in the basement ever since.”

  “How long were you down there?” Baker inquired.

  “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes at the most. I came up because I needed more hangers.”

  “Could the boys have left of their own accord?” Porter questioned.

  “They’re eight years old.” Frank’s flat tone added: Where would they go?

  “Do they ever play out in the backyard without supervision?” asked Baker.

  “Are you saying this is our fault?” demanded Mr. Kyte.

  Mrs. Kyte looked even more stressed.

  “Sometimes, but they know they need to tell me before leaving the house. It’s a rule we’ve gone over with them time and again.”

  Baker made a placating gesture.

  “We’re not accusing anybody of anything. We just want to find out what happened.”

  “Do you have any family or friends the boys might feel comfortable leaving with?” Porter inquired.

  “Family or friends would announce themselves,” said Frank.

  Mrs. Kyte shook her head and swip
ed at her eyes to catch tears.

  “So you were in the basement then came up and found the boys missing from where you’d left them. Walk us through what happened after that,” instructed Baker.

  “I called their names and checked the whole house. Then, I went outside and did the same thing. I ran to a neighbor’s house and asked if she’d seen the boys, and she came back with me to check the house again. Mrs. Landry and I searched the house top to bottom twice to be sure before calling the police.”

  “Have you had any strange contact with anyone since this afternoon?” asked Baker. “Calls, emails, text messages, packages?”

  Both Kytes answered in the negative.

  “That should give us enough to better direct the search,” said Porter. He placed a card on the table. “Call me if you remember anything else.”

  Baker dug out a card and placed it next to Porter’s.

  “Also call one of us if somebody contacts you about the boys. Now, do you have any questions for us?”

  Kelly Kyte’s brimming eyes held a question, but it took her a few seconds to work up the nerve to ask.

  “Is it him?”

  “Who?” Baker asked.

  Mrs. Kyte’s expression tightened as she fought for each word.

  “The man who kidnapped the Tyler girl. Did he take my boys?”

  I’d say that’s a safe bet.

  “I don’t know, ma’am,” Baker said.

  Mr. Kyte scoffed, calling Baker on the non-answer.

  “You know perfectly well it’s him. What are you going to do about it?”

  That is a very good question.

  “We’ll follow every lead,” Porter promised.

  ***

  Davidson Residence

  Fairview, Pennsylvania

  Mom and Joy clearly aren’t happy with the caller, Ann thought, accepting the phone from her sister.

  “Agent Duncan speaking. I assume you know me. How can I help you?”

  “I hate vague threats, so let me clarify things for you, Annie,” said a digitally altered voice.

  “Annie? I haven’t been called that since Grams died ages ago.”

  “The Tyler girl will be returned soon. You will close the investigation immediately or you will die.”

  “Didn’t know prolonged case exposure could prove fatal,” Ann replied.