Clay had a point. Brett needed to let him handle this. But what if Mark got away? Ugh! Giving up control was not an easy thing, especially when Quinn was involved. “Okay, but call me.”
Brett stepped out of his car and headed back to the porch to gather his uniform, but when he heard a scratching sound coming from the side of the house, he froze. He set his uniform on the front porch again and slowly moved toward the other side of the house—toward the garage in the back. He hid in the shadows with his back up against the house. Where was his weapon when he needed it?
He crept inside the side door to the garage and reached for a shovel that hung on a Peg-Board hook. He held the blade in the air and tiptoed out the garage and along the sidewall toward the noise. He heard another sound and paused, listening, and waited. It sounded like something was dragging toward him. It was moving closer, scraping the ground as it went. What if the guy had a gun? It was better to wait. He forced his breathing to slow, but his heartbeat sounded like drums banging in his ears. He listened. More scraping. Then he heard a whimper.
Max?
Brett turned the corner, the shovel raised above his head, ready to strike. But it was Max. He lay in the grass on his stomach, doing the army crawl. When he saw Brett, his tail thumped slowly against the ground, and he stood.
“What’s wrong, boy?” Brett leaned the shovel against the house and bent to examine the dog. Prickly burs were tangled in his hair around his ears, neck, paws, and abdomen. His back leg was caked in dried blood. Brett scooped him into his arms, and Max yipped. “Sorry, boy. Shhh, let’s get you inside and take a look at you.”
Max relaxed, slapping a wet kiss across Brett’s cheek.
Brett went to the back door that led to the kitchen. He jostled Max in his arms and fumbled in his pocket for the keys. After he opened the door, he carried Max into the house and placed him on the kitchen counter. Maybe it was exhaustion or raw emotion, but Brett couldn’t hold the tears from flooding his eyes. Quinn, Max is back! He’s back. Now it’s time for you to come home too. He wiped his tears with the back of his arm. “Where have you been, boy? We’ve been worried.”
Max wagged his tail again, but Brett could tell it took great effort.
“I wish you could talk.” Brett cut the burs out of Max’s fur and washed his leg wound, which didn’t look as bad as he’d originally thought, as the dog could stand on it now. When Brett finished, he lifted Max and placed him on his doggie bed on the floor next to the kitchen table.
“I bet you’re hungry.” As Brett filled Max’s bowls with food and water, the dog scrambled to stand, his legs quivering as he moved. He sauntered over to his bowls and ate and drank like he hadn’t eaten since before he left. Brett remembered the last time he fed him and how Quinn had stood within arm’s reach. Oh, how he wished she was standing there now. Had that only been two days ago?
His phone rang. Clay.
“Yeah?”
Clay said, “We found him at his house, in bed. Said he never left. He said even if he had been parked in front of your house it’s a free country. We couldn’t book him with anything. Sorry, guy.”
Brett swung his fist in the air. “He’s lying! I know he’s up to something!”
“I’m keeping Riggs parked nearby in an unmarked car. If Mark’s our guy, we’ll get him.”
Had Mark known where Max had been? It seemed strange that Max showed up when Mark was parked out front.
Chapter Nineteen
A horn honked in the distance. Brett woke with a start. Darn! He’d fallen asleep at the kitchen table, next to Max, who slept on the floor. The computer and the list of deceased men lay on the table next to Brett. He glanced at the clock on the stove: 6:28. He’d slept for two hours. His hands tingled from sleeping in an awkward position. Guilt punched him in the gut. How could he have possibly fallen asleep when Quinn was out there somewhere, needing him? He stood, rubbing his eyes. It felt like someone had thrown sand in them.
Just before he’d fallen asleep, he looked over the list, reading the names and addresses but not seeing them. He couldn’t focus, and he hadn’t been able to make calls because it was too late.
He shook the tingle out of his arms.
Max stirred and hobbled to Brett. He knelt in front of the dog, enveloping his head in his lap and rubbing his ears. “We’re going to find her, boy. We will.”
As if Max knew who Brett was talking about, he limped to Quinn’s room. Brett followed and watched Max sniff her bed, the floor, and the toys on her shelf.
The doorbell rang. Max barked. It was probably Clay. He hoped it was him bringing good news.
Brett hurried to the door and opened it. A tall blond woman stood on the porch with a bald man who held a camera on his shoulder. Not another news crew!
The woman spoke first. “Officer Reed?” Her voice squeaked. She cleared her throat. “Could you answer a few questions for us?”
He didn’t have time for this. He needed to call the station, talk to Clay, get out of there. He started to close the door.
“Wait! You haven’t seen the morning paper, have you?” She handed him a newspaper. “This was in your driveway.”
He took the paper and pulled it out of its plastic wrap, then shook it open to read. On the front page was a photo of him with Quinn. Seeing Quinn’s face made him gasp. Officer’s Daughter Kidnapped by Sex Offender Mutilator.
Brett stared at the words, his mouth agape. Seeing the headlines made his nightmare even more of a reality. He glanced over the names of the victims, the crimes, and the profile of the perpetrator. The words blurred. He leaned against the doorjamb, overcome with vertigo.
The woman put the mic in front of him, and the camera’s red light flashed. “Why did Child Protective Services take your daughter?”
Brett stared into the camera, his voice barely audible. “Leave me alone.”
“The paper said your wife’s blood alcohol level was twice over the legal limit. Do you expect your wife will be charged with vehicular homicide?”
“What?” His ears buzzed.
“What’s her prognosis?”
“Go away.”
“Will you sue the state for putting your daughter in harm’s way?”
Brett grabbed hold of the door, using its weight to lean on. “Go, just go! I need to find my daughter.” He shut the door, wishing he could shut out the same questions that drilled through his own mind.
The lady spoke through the door. “The community wants to help.”
He ignored the reporter and stoically walked to the living room. Ali had been drunk? He sat on the edge of the sofa and read the paper. Next to the article about Quinn’s kidnapping was one about Ali. Her wrecked car and the victim’s were also on the front page. It was a miracle Ali had lived. Her driver’s side was practically gone.
Ali had run a stop sign going ten over the speed limit. The victim, Holly Daby, was only twenty-five years old and engaged to be married soon. She and her fiancé were studying to be dentists and were finishing their schooling in Indianapolis. She’d come home to Hursey Lake to visit her family. She died at the scene of the accident.
Brett closed his eyes and pictured the young man waiting at the hospital. He dropped his head into his hands.
Tears stung his eyes. He shook his head and pressed his fingers into the sockets. He wasn’t going to cry. Not now. There wasn’t time. He hurried into the bathroom, but the first things he saw were Quinn’s yellow duck towel hanging on the hook and her Barbie toothbrush in the holder. He stopped and rubbed the towel against his face. Daddy will find you, baby. He’ll find you.
When he opened the drawer to grab his razor, he saw a tube of Ali’s lipstick. He remembered a time when she’d put it on her lips and then Quinn’s and how they giggled. Memories of Quinn surrounded him. He sat on the stool and wept.
When no more tears would come, he took a shower while listening to his usual AM talk radio station. The announcer discussed how easy it was to get information about sex offend
ers. A person only needing to do a computer search by state. Indiana was broken down by counties. In one click, search engines brought up the names, addresses, ages, and photos of the offenders.
People were calling in saying how that was a violation of privacy, but other callers disagreed, complaining that all citizens had the right to know who their neighbors were for their safety and the safety of their children. He shouted at the radio and clicked it off, disgusted. “What about those sex offenders who move to a new town without registering?”
After he lathered his body and his hair, his phone vibrated against the countertop. With wet hands, he reached for it. His mother. Oh, crap! She’d be frantic. He couldn’t answer now. He’d call her later. Right now he needed to get to the precinct.
#
Brett retrieved the uniform he’d left on the front porch last night and shook it, hoping the wrinkles would fall out. There was no time to press them. He dressed quickly, the damp clothing bogging down his mood even further. When he was ready to go, he opened the car door for Max and helped lift him into the backseat. No way was he going to leave him home alone now. He doubted the chief would mind, given the circumstances, but it didn’t matter because right now he didn’t give a darmn. Having Max nearby made him feel closer to Quinn.
After putting on his flashers, he drove to the station. He was about to call Clay, when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. His mother. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Son,” his father said.
Dad? Brett froze. His father’s voice sounded foreign—older and deeper. Why hadn’t he noticed how it had changed when he called earlier? “Uh, hi.”
“Your mom was worried.”
Nothing about him being worried. “I’m sure. I haven’t had a chance to call her, you know. It’s been crazy.”
“I know. We read the paper.” He paused. “I’m sorry. I, er, I know … I haven’t been there for you in a long time, but I want you to know that I’m here for you if you need legal counsel.”
What if I need emotional counsel? Brett heard his mother in the background saying, “Give me the phone.”
She said, “I feel so bad. If we had taken Quinn this wouldn’t have happened.” She sobbed.
“Don’t say that, Mom. Dad’s health is important right now, and you didn’t know this was going to happen.”
“Have they found Quinn yet? How’s Ali?” Her voice sounded shrill.
“No, they haven’t found Quinn. Ali’s condition hasn’t changed. I’m on my way to the station. I’ll let you know as soon as I know something.”
“Your father meant what he said. He wants to be there for you.”
Why? So he can say “I told you so”? So, he can rub it in my face—that I threw my life away by not finishing my law degree? Would his dad remind him that being a cop didn’t pay the bills, that his life was a mess because of the poor choices he’d made? “Thanks, Mom. That means a lot to me.” He had to say that because that’s what she wanted him to say.
He heard his call-waiting beep and glanced at his screen. It was Clay. “Mom, I have to go. I’ll call you when I know more. I’m on my way to the station right now.”
“Okay.” Her crying quieted.
He switched the call over. “Did you find her?”
“Where are you?”
“Almost at the station, why?” Brett held his breath. “Have they found her?”
“No.”
Brett exhaled, the air rushing out of him, draining him of hope. He smacked his fist into the seat.
“We need to hold a press conference. People are calling in, asking if they can be a part of a search party to find her. The phones are ringing off the hook. You need to address this, tell people how they can help.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“You also need to let this perp know you’re Quinn’s father. If he knows and thinks you’re an offender, you seriously could be his next target. You need to make an appeal so he realizes you won’t harm her. Do you think we can get Sarah to address what happened so panic doesn’t run rampant in our foster homes too?”
“I think she’ll do that.”
“They’d better do it. CPS’s butt is on the line right now. They were negligent. Someone needs to be accountable.”
“Has Peggy given a statement as to how this happened?
“She said they didn’t know Stookey had a son who was a sex offender. She’d been a prominent teacher in our school system for a long time and had a stellar home study. No one knew about her son. He moved away years ago.”
Brett’s call-waiting beeped again. “Clay, the hospital is calling. I’ll be at the office in five minutes.”
“Okay, we’ll schedule the press conference for eight thirty, in an hour. Oh, one more thing, I’ve been thinking about the perp. There’s no ransom letter. I doubt there will be. He doesn’t want money. He never has. He wants to harm sex offenders. Make them live without their wand. I really don’t think he’ll harm Quinn.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Brett switched calls. “This is Reed.”
“Have they found Quinn yet?” Ali’s mother didn’t bother to say hello. She must have used Ali’s hospital room phone, which was why the hospital’s number had appeared on his screen.
“Nothing yet. How’s Ali?”
“She’s still in a coma.”
“Nothing’s changed?” Brett heard beeping monitors in the background.
Mrs. Greer said, “Some guy came by to visit her. Said she killed his fiancée and he’s going to sue her for everything she has. Said Ali took away his entire future.” She sniffled. “I told him he needed to talk to you. That you were responsible, not Ali.”
Brett rolled his eyes. Of course she would say that. She really believed that if he hadn’t divorced Ali, she’d be here safe right now. Give me a break.
“I gave him your name and phone number.”
“How nice of you.”
Brett disconnected the call and pulled into the station parking lot. Almost every single spot was taken with patrol cars from all over the state. A lump formed in his throat. All these officers were here to help find Quinn. Never had he seen a force this large in his little town.
#
When Brett entered the precinct, fellow officers greeted him, squeezing his shoulder and patting him on the back. Several others welcomed him with a nod and a smile. Max’s tail wagged as officers approached and acknowledged him too.
Clay rubbed Max’s ears. “Where did you find him?”
Brett explained as he took a seat at his desk. “I can’t help but wonder if Mark dropped him off. It’s sketchy how Max returned home when Mark’s car was parked out front.”
Max lay on the floor beside him, resting his head on his legs, his eyes following Brett’s every move, as if waiting for the moment they could go find Quinn.
Brett noticed Clay’s dark beard and wrinkled clothes. “You never went home last night, did you?”
Clay shook his head. “Officer Riggs followed Mark to a geo-site around midnight.”
“What?” Brett bolted out of his seat. “Is he our guy?”
Clay waved his hand. “Not sure. Riggs brought him in for questioning, but he claimed he was only out trying to find the latest prize. He said he didn’t even know Quinn was gone, and he’d never heard of geocaching before all this.”
“You believe him?” Brett bit his lip.
“We had to let him go for lack of evidence, but Riggs is tracking his moves.”
Was Mark their guy? Brett didn’t trust him. The guy knew more than he was saying. But why would he have taken Quinn? “Can’t we search his home?”
“Riggs did last night. Mark said he didn’t have anything to hide, and he let him take a look around.” Clay squeezed Brett’s shoulder. “There was nothing there. Sorry.”
Brett’s stomach soured. His hands clenched into fists, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “That guy knows more than he’s saying, and I’d like to beat it out of him.”
<
br /> Chief Dunson strolled into the room. His wire-rimmed readers rested on his nose as he peered over the top of them. “Let’s all meet in the conference room.”
By the time Brett and Clay joined the others, it was standing room only. Every chair was filled. Brett couldn’t remember a time when so many officers had been in the conference room at one time.
Chief whistled and everyone hushed. “People in the community are starting to panic. This perp has made them realize we live among sex offenders. That they’re living all around us—that their children are surrounded by these pervs. This unsub has brought attention to sex offenders in this community—which is precisely what he wants to do. Now, with Officer Reed’s daughter missing, we need to ramp up our efforts to find this guy.”
Chief’s secretary walked into the room and handed the chief a folder. He took it from her and began. “First, I’ll go over the facts based on the forensic evidence. Then, I’ll give you the rough profile of who we might be looking for.
“Our first victim’s identity is unknown, but he was dead at the time of amputation. The medical examiner estimated he’d been dead about two weeks. The next three victims were sex offenders. The unsub used chloroform on a rag to render them unconscious. Then he injected them with an anesthetic, used a rubber tourniquet to cut off the penis’s circulation and used something like a scalpel to amputate. The three victims were sleeping at the time of attack. Two were under the influence of alcohol.
“So, given the above facts, we can draw some conclusions. The unsub is most likely male and either a victim of sexual abuse or lost a loved one to a sex offender. But we can’t rule out a female who hates men and who may have been abused.”
Someone blurted out. “Or a woman who has penis envy.” Men laughed, but the women sat stoic.
Brett thought of Sarah. Suspicious thoughts of her loomed in the cells of his brain. Hadn’t she alluded that she didn’t trust men, that she’d had a difficult experience with them? And she was also a geocacher. That was crazy thinking, but he’d caught her near one of the sites. Was it possible? No, why would she have taken Quinn? Besides, Sadie’s description had sounded more like a guy with clunky shoes. That didn’t make sense. He forced his attention back on the chief.
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