The Keres Case (Heartfelt Cases Book 4)

by Gilbert,Julie C.

  “Dude, if you want the cuffs off, chill out,” grumbled a young man holding the key.

  The boy managed to stay still long enough to be freed. Once his brother was released, they raced over to Kyte. The kid who had his mouth taped, ripped it off and threw it to the ground.

  A mighty shove sent Ann stumbling forward. She turned in time to see Kyte drop to his knees, practically weeping with relief. She had a hard time reconciling the bat-wielding Kyte with the teary-eyed father greeting his sons. She wondered if she could ever do what Kyte had done to save her kids. The honest part of her feared she could—and would—go to such desperate lengths if it came down to a stranger or Joseph and Amanda.

  “Job’s done, Kyte. Leave the gun and handcuff keys and go home,” said Jack, standing beside Ann so she wouldn’t be tempted to flee.

  “Why put them through this?” Ann didn’t bother hiding her weariness.

  “Think of it as a great human experiment,” Jack suggested.

  “Most people who do bad things have a motive,” Ann pressed. “What’s the motive?”

  “Curiosity pays well, agent,” informed Jack.

  The conversation lulled as they watched Kyte load his boys into the dark green Explorer parked behind Jack’s truck. Seconds later, Kyte dropped Ann’s gun and handcuff key into Jack’s outstretched hand.

  “Don’t come near my family again.” His voice was low and threatening.

  Jack smirked.

  “You were pretty handy. I might have to call on your services again.”

  Kyte stalked back to his vehicle and climbed in. A moment later, he backed up and executed a tire-screeching turn.

  “That is one seriously angry dude,” said the young man who had brought the boys. Dressed in jeans and a rock band T-shirt, the guy seemed more like a high school dropout than a kidnapper. His light brown hair looked like it could use a good wash and trim.

  “Threats to family tend to anger people,” Ann murmured.

  “Dude! She sounds like the doctor man,” said the strange kidnapper.

  “Just load her into the van,” Jack grumbled.

  “You’re coming in, aren’t you, man? Why can’t she ride with you?”

  “That’s the way the boss wants it, and I’ve got my own problems,” Jack insisted, waving toward his pickup truck.

  The young man followed Jack’s hand.

  “Ah, I see. Rita problems. That’s rough, man.” Turning to Ann, he said, “Guess you’re with me then. Name’s Reuben. I’m kinda the gofer around here.”

  “You don’t fit the profile to be hanging out with these people,” Ann said carefully.

  “Now, Reuben! We’ve got a schedule to keep,” Jack barked. “Give her your life’s story later.”

  Clasping Ann’s hands like they were good friends, Reuben led her over to the van he had arrived in and helped her climb aboard. The courtesy was a welcome change from the cold disregard she had gotten from Kyte and Jack Carver, but Ann still couldn’t fathom how this new guy had ended up working for Ryker.

  The cargo area of the blue van held Ann’s seat, some random tarps, and a tool box. The windows had been painted from the inside, so nobody could see out. A thick piece of opaque plastic separated the front from the back of the van. Upon closer inspection, she noticed bits of zip ties, crumbs, and unidentifiable stains. The door closed plunging Ann into darkness.

  This van has held other people. The thought saddened Ann.

  “Sorry about the darkness,” said Reuben through an intercom. “Can’t have people escaping, ya know. It’s bad for business.”

  “How many people have moved through here?”

  “Can’t remember. Hundreds probably, but don’t worry, I give it a good cleaning every week or so.”

  The sharp scent of cleaners confirmed his claim. Ann’s thoughts raced through her options. Her best bet was to talk this kid into letting her go.

  As if reading her mind, Reuben said, “I ain’t supposed to talk to you too much. Ryker thinks you’ll try to get me to let you go. He said I should shoot you once for each time you try.”

  Okay, scrap that plan.

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “You’re welcome,” replied the cheerful young man. “It’s only fair. People can’t abide by rules they don’t understand. Law enforcement people recite warnings. People on our side ought to do the same.”

  “How long will this drive take?”

  “Dang. I bet the big man twenty bucks that would be your first question.”

  “What?”

  “You know, a bet. Like where one feller makes a guess at something and another says something else and they—”

  “I know what a bet is. Why were you betting on the questions I’d ask?” Ann’s mind struggled to untangle the logic.

  The young man’s dismissive noise sounded like a verbal shrug.

  “All life’s a gamble of some type. People like us just stake real money on it.” The statement sounded oddly profound coming from the guy doing a stellar impression of a rebellious teenager.

  “What did he say I would ask first?”

  “He said if you rode in the van you would ask about the other people the van’s held,” said Reuben.

  Am I that predictable? Even if I am, how does this man know so much about me?

  The example of Ryker’s knowledge chilled Ann. She had faced dangerous people before, but usually, their motives turned out to be simplistic. Among other things, this guy really wanted to prove he could outthink people.

  “Where did they go?”

  “We’re like the Underground Railroad, man. This is just a stopping point.”

  Anger stabbed Ann, but as she opened her mouth to voice her indignation, she realized he was probably waiting for it.

  His laughter verified as much a moment later.

  “You’re learning, and I won my twenty bucks back. The boss man said you’d lecture about the Underground Railroad moving people to freedom while we move them away from freedom. I knew you’d catch on quickly.”

  “This is very, very wrong,” Ann said, rubbing her face with her bound hands. “What does any of this prove?”

  “You cop-types want proof and reason and motive,” said Reuben. “Life’s about living in the moment, feeling feelings, performing actions, and experiencing reactions. You intrigue the boss man. He says you have the touch of life inside and wants to see you prove it.”

  I need to stop them, but how?

  Ann spent the rest of the ride organizing her thoughts. Reuben’s last statement confused her. She wanted to file it away as the ramblings of a disturbed mind but couldn’t.

  How does one prove a touch of life?

  Ryker might want to kill her, but there would doubtless be a verbal battle first. Everything he had done spoke of a man desperately needing to gloat. With startling clarity, Ann realized the giant piece she’d been missing. All her research had focused on Caldwell’s past. Her history had ended in a fuzzy, ambiguous statement like: beyond this point there be bodies. She needed to focus on how he could have hidden such a long killing career.

  Case questions new and old assailed her. Why kidnap Silas Carver?

  So Jack could get back at Rita.

  Why leave a hidden knife in Silas’s place?

  Same reason as taking Silas.

  Why kidnap Karen Tyler?

  She had the media tapping power.

  Both kids were from Edinboro, so why Edinboro? The place had a remarkably low crime rate. Why focus there?

  Because the place means something to him.

  Caldwell had always been careful, but his crimes got more creative and cleaner as the years moved on.

  He got better.

  What sort of man got better at covering up crime?

  By the time Reuben opened the van door, Ann nodded to the distinguished, dark-haired man who’d ruined so many lives. Inside, her soul trembled to be near such evil, but she refused to show it.

  “Hello, chief.”


  Fishing vacation … right.

  ***

  J. Edgar Hoover Building, FBI Headquarters

  Washington, D.C.

  “Is there some sort of homeless guy sting going on that I don’t know about?” inquired Brad Matthews. The lanky computer genius had likely seen some strange things in his career, but his expression said that a man sleeping across the computer lab threshold was a new one.

  Patrick Duncan rubbed his face to help awaken his body.

  “Need your help,” he mumbled. He wondered how that strange kid had convinced him to come here rather than follow his gut straight back to Pennsylvania.

  Unlocking the door, Brad said, “There’s this grand new invention called a cell phone that can reach across a lot of space and save you from sleeping in a doorway.” He stepped over Patrick and flipped on the lights. “What can I do for you?”

  Using the doorframe to pick himself up, Patrick rubbed his neck and stumbled in after Brad.

  “Something’s wrong with my phone.”

  “That’s not really my area of expertise,” said Brad, motioning for Patrick to sit. His eyes swept over Patrick’s scruffy face, wrinkled suit, and skewed tie. “You look … worn.”

  “I can’t get in touch with Ann,” Patrick said.

  “And you think that’s your phone’s fault?” Brad asked, struggling to follow the reasoning.

  “No, that’s not why I’m here. I need to know if you can track a satellite phone.”

  “Is it active now?” Brad’s hopeful grin faded, and he sighed when Patrick shook his head. “Didn’t think so.” He plopped onto his favorite chair, woke up his slumbering computer, and motioned for Patrick to give him the details. “Let’s do some magic.” He tapped his fingers on the keyboard impatiently.

  “What about that other matter I brought up yesterday?” Patrick pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and hoped the long shot would pay off.

  “One thing at a time,” said Brad, waving off Patrick’s question like a bug. “What have you got for me?”

  “You tell me,” Patrick said, handing Brad the paper.

  “Well, the number tells me it’s a satellite phone originating in the U.S., but that’s about all I can tell right away.” Brad’s fingers flew across the well-worn keyboard. “However, my baby might be able to elaborate.”

  A map flashed on the screen with dates and times.

  “What am I looking at?” Patrick’s tight tone said he had a theory.

  “The phone flying that number does a fair bit of traveling,” commented Brad.

  “Did Ann send you her case notes for mapping?”

  “Let’s find out.” Brad brought up his email and searched for Ann’s address. “Yup, got it this morning, and it looks like you weren’t the only one pulling a late night.”

  “Map it and superimpose the satellite phone activity on top of it,” instructed Patrick.

  “What good is that going to do?” Despite the question, Brad followed the directive. “Sat phones can be used anywhere in the world, that’s kind of the point.”

  “Humor me.”

  “You’s the boss, boss.”

  The resulting map showed a mess of pins covering the map like somebody had picked up a fistful of pins and flung them there.

  “Now bring up the results of the search I mentioned yesterday,” Patrick directed, staring hard at the messy map.

  “Ah, I see where you’re going with this.” Brad typed in more commands and the messy map was replaced by its cosmic opposite. Brad whistled. “Either there’s a sat phone convention going on out in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania or somebody’s been playing with phone numbers.”

  “Collate the activity,” said Patrick, as triumph lifted his spirits.

  “It’s a good thing I speak vague fluently,” muttered Brad, carrying out the request. He made a new map that cycled through the pins from the first few maps and linked them to one of the clustered pins on the neat map. “P-man, you’re almost as smart as I am.”

  “Thanks, Brad.” Patrick allowed himself a small smile. It faltered when he thought about the long list of phone calls to make and returned when he focused on the satisfaction. “We’ve got him.”

  Chapter 38:

  Treat

  Ryker’s Base of Operations

  Elk County, Pennsylvania

  “Dude! You owe me a hundred bucks,” called Reuben to Jack.

  “For what?” demanded Jack.

  “She knew!”

  “Yeah, and I bet you told her.”

  “Not me,” said Reuben, grinning madly. “Recorder’s in the van, man. Check it out.”

  “Welcome to my private sanctum, Annie. Please ignore them,” said Ryker, holding out a hand to help Ann down from the van. “They have better things to do with their time.” A pointed stare sent Jack and Reuben off in different directions.

  “You’ve got it, boss man,” said Reuben.

  Jack nodded, pausing to give the handcuff key to Ryker.

  Irrational fear combined with revulsion to make Ann hesitate, but she eventually grasped Ryker’s hand and let him steady her as she descended from the van.

  How many lives have those hands destroyed?

  She watched as he closed the van door then circled her like a wolf eyeing a juicy rabbit. Ann distracted herself from the creepy behavior by thinking. Her guess as to Ryker’s identity had been correct, but now she scrambled to fill in the gaps. As a matter of course, Patrick had emphasized knowledge of allies as well as enemies.

  The background check on Edinboro Chief of Police, Edward R. Finney, came back squeaky clean as expected. He grew up in Albion, PA, attended college in Chicago, and joined the big city police department for three years before deciding it wasn’t for him. His love of law enforcement had taken a few knocks during his Chicago years, but he gave it another shot when he got to Edinboro. After logging only a dozen years on the job, he took over for the retiring chief at the surprisingly young age of thirty-eight.

  Finney’s first year as chief seemed full of big dreams and strong promises about the pursuit of justice, but he faded into the background after a tragedy. His parents had died relatively young from different health issues, but Ann didn’t think that was the tragedy that quenched his fiery approach to keeping his territory clear of evil doers. He’d pretty much married the job and had no siblings. Ann dug deep into her memory, searching for the tragedy. She wanted to say it had something to do with Lillian Green’s murder. Wickerman had made a passing comment that stuck out to her.

  “Last major case,” she murmured, meeting Ryker’s gaze for the first time.

  “I see the light dawning behind your beautiful eyes,” said Ryker, smooth as a snake. He looked younger than she’d imagined. Several days’ stubble darkened his face. One dark eyebrow rose, giving him a permanent expression of challenge when paired with calculating eyes. He kept his hairline neat, exposing a broad forehead. Most of his face formed a perfect rectangle except where his jaw sloped sharply down toward his chin. Although not excessively handsome, Ryker possessed a mysterious look that would intrigue people, especially women.

  Dozens of questions and comments vied for Ann’s attention. She could ask about his plans for her, dig into his true motivations, or plead for her life, but Ann chose the question that most pierced her heart.

  “Did he solve the case?”

  “He was my inspiration for a long time,” said Ryker, nodding in answer to her question. “He couldn’t let go of that little girl.”

  “Lillian,” Ann whispered, needing him to understand that she was more than a random girl. A tiny burst of anger warmed her, making her cheeks flush. “Her name was Lillian.”

  “That’s it! That’s the fire Finney had.”

  The passion Ryker saw nearly consumed Ann as she spoke her next question.

  “What about Gabriel?”

  “Who’s Gabriel?” A smile said Ryker didn’t need her to tell him. He merely wanted her to relive the pain by des
cribing the boy.

  Refusing to give him the satisfaction, Ann pushed thoughts of Gabriel Dawson aside.

  “How did Finney die?” She felt an odd sense of relief knowing that the Edward R. Finney she’d seen in the background check lived up to the honorable name he had built. “How did you become him?”

  “You’d be surprised what money can buy these days,” Ryker noted in a friendly way. He took hold of Ann’s left elbow and started guiding her away from the van. “Come. Let us leave this dreary garage for a special treat. I have something to show you.”

  Ann’s stomach lurched at the thought of a “treat” that would turn him giddy.

  Before she could speculate, Ryker stopped.

  “Oh, this will be much more satisfying if we remove your jacket.”

  Somehow I doubt that.

  Ann held up her handcuffed wrists as an excuse. Even though mud caked her jacket, Ann wanted to keep it on like armor for as long as possible.

  “Well, there is that,” Ryker said with a dramatic sigh, “but no worries, my dear, I can fix that in a jiff when my friend Jack gets back.” He turned and waved effusively as Jack Carver entered pushing Malia.

  “Are you all right?” Ann asked, taking in the thick wrapping around the girl’s right forearm and left wrist.

  A large bruise marked one side of the Malia’s face. The girl looked like she wanted to speak, but operated under strict orders to not make a sound.

  Ann sucked in sharply.

  What did the fiend do to you?

  “Ryker, I told you it’s dangerous to hurt her.” Ann infused as much warning as she could muster while still trying to swallow her fear.

  “So people keep telling me,” Ryker mumbled. “You’ll have to play nice and not make me hurt her then. Jack’s going to watch the girl while I help you with those cuffs. I think you know how this dance should go.”

  Hardly daring to breathe, Ann waited while Ryker released her wrists from the handcuffs, pulled off her suit jacket, tossed it to the side, unbuckled her shoulder harness, threw that aside as well, and finally, reapplied the handcuffs. The short-sleeved blue blouse she’d picked out seemed inadequate without the navy suit jacket.