Chief chuckled and took off his glasses. “Dog, cat, and horse hairs have been found near the victims. The third victim had a cat, so our guy may have pets or live on a farm. Since the first victim was deceased, he could work in a funeral home. He may think of himself as a do-gooder—his purpose obviously to rid society of sex offenders.
“He’s bold in that he’s taking risks by going into the victims’ homes. He’s childlike in that he’s hiding the object for others to find, but he wants us to find them. He wants the public to notice. He’s smart enough to know to use a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, and he doesn’t want his victims to die. He wants to take away their joystick and make them suffer without it.”
A few men squirmed in their chairs, sniggering and reaching for their crotches.
The chief continued. “He’s left each victim alive in the same place he mutilated them—not performing any additional ‘staging’ for drama. It’s unknown if he lives and works in this county, but there’s a good chance he does since all the incidents have taken place in this general area.”
Chief displayed a map on the overhead projector and pointed to where each victim lived. Then he identified the geocaching sites where the body parts were found. Several officers moved to one side of the room to see the display. Small red dots signified current registered geo-sites. Chief pointed to these sites. “All these need to be checked and monitored. We’re still looking for the last victim’s prize.”
A few of the officers snickered. Chief cracked a smile too. “If the unsub hasn’t hidden the last one yet, he’ll be doing it soon. It’s possible he could live in this area since most of the activity is near here.” Chief drew a circle around where the victims lived and where the body parts had been found. “Our guy is organized in that he’s taken the time to locate sex offenders and learn their habits—when they’re home and when they’re asleep. He’s most likely working alone.”
Next, the chief put a photo of Quinn on the overhead. “This is Quinn. Officer Brett Reed’s daughter.” Chief motioned for Brett to stand. As he did, the lump lodged in his throat. He let his tears fall. Seeing Quinn’s picture put him over the top. Fellow officers glanced his way with brows creased, giving compassionate nods.
Several said, “We’ll find her.”
The chief continued, “We haven’t found the dead victim’s body, but here’s what we know: Twelve men in this county died in the last three weeks. The background of five have been researched—three were cremated; two were buried in Lake Hursey’s Cemetery on the east side of town. The cemetery manager confirmed that the other two had been buried more than a week ago, and there was no sign of tampering at their grave sites.
“If the perp actually severed the dead guy’s piece after he died, the perp could be someone who works in a morgue, having access to dead bodies. But the county coroner said if someone had broken into the morgue, severed the organ, and redressed the deceased, the funeral home staff would know. The embalming fluid would have seeped all over the deceased’s clothing. The coroner didn’t think it was likely that it could have happened before the burial without someone noticing. Two men on the list have been stored in a mausoleum: one in this county at Hursey Lake Cemetery and one in a neighboring county. Neither of these men were registered sex offenders.”
The chief pointed to Officer Hudson as he lifted a paper from his file. “You go to the mausoleum at Hursey Lake and check out this victim. Get a search warrant to open it up.” He handed her the paper, glancing at it. Then he paused, did a double-take, and whistled. “I knew this guy. He was an asshole.” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then reopened them. “This is a happy day.”
What was that about?
A few seconds later the chief pointed to another officer. “You check out the one in Steward County.” He handed her the respective report.
Officer Hudson stood next to Brett. He looked over her shoulder, reading the information on the paper:
Levi Samuel. Born in 1935, married to Rebecca Wright, who preceded him in death in 1990. Where had Brett heard or seen the name Levi Samuel? Maybe it had been on the list of the deceased he’d studied last night. What did the chief know about him?
Chatter hummed in the room. Chief clapped his hands to regain attention. “One more thing. The other foster child, who claims to have seen the perp, was able to give the forensic artist enough information to come up with this drawing.” Chief replaced Quinn’s photo with the drawing. The photo on the screen was distorted, as if the perp had worn a mask or a nylon stocking over his face. He looked bald, but it could have been the way the stocking had disguised the person’s real face and hair color. The child wasn’t certain if the perp was black or white.
But something about the photo looked vaguely familiar to Brett—like he’d seen this person before but couldn’t place him. Or her. And he couldn’t remember where.
The chief separated the task forces into groups, assigning men and women to cover territories across the county. Some were to interview sex offenders, and others were to check geo-sites.
After they all dispersed, Brett returned to his desk next to Clay’s, waiting for the press conference to begin.
Max followed.
Chapter Twenty
After Brett left the chief’s office, he returned to his desk and jotted a note to himself. Research Levi Samuel. Then he scribbled notes for the press release. He sighed, looking up at Clay, who was standing over him, puffing out his chest as if he was Brett’s personal bodyguard. The press had arrived. Brett reached for the large photo of Quinn that sat in a frame on the corner of his desk, and his script, which he glanced at one more time.
Clay peered over Brett’s shoulder. “Don’t read it. This needs to be heartfelt. Whoever he is needs to see that you’re a good guy. He needs to believe everything you say.”
Brett nodded. He hooked Max to his leash, took a deep breath, smoothed his shirt, and headed to the front of the station. The sun peeked out from its hidden spot behind a white cloud, casting bright rays over the crowd that had already gathered.
Brett recognized fellow officers, the blond anchorwoman from that morning, his mother, and … his father. His father looked off in another direction. Brett stared openly. How long had it been since he’d seen him? Six years? The old man’s hair had thinned and grown whiter. He stood a little bent, and his clothes hung on him like he’d lost twenty pounds. His skin pallor had a sickly gray hue to it. Brett had never seen him so gaunt. It stunned him, and he was suddenly overcome with emotion and memories of baseball games, camping trips, and games of chess.
Why weren’t he and his mother at the hospital for his chemotherapy? The old man turned, and their eyes locked. His father smiled and nodded, then gave him a thumbs-up, as if saying, “I’m here for you.”
A lump rose in Brett’s throat. His mother waved and took hold of the old man’s arm. Together they stormed through the crowd toward him. By the time they reached his side, the media had gathered. His mother slipped her hand in his, and his father squeezed his large hand over Brett’s shoulder. His mother stood to his left, his father to his right. Brett took a deep breath, fighting tears, standing a little taller.
Max wagged his tail at Brett’s mother. She stooped to rub his ear, and he sat at her feet.
Before the reporter moved the mic in front of Brett, Sarah approached. She stared at him openly, tears in her eyes. She reminded him of his favorite candy—caramels. The way the sun bounced off her hair, her expression—genuine, caring, and warm. What was it about her that made him pause? A look? An expression in her eyes that lay underneath her independent persona, a glimpse of a hurt little girl? She smiled at him. Openly. He felt his face blush. Quinn had touched her somehow, thawed Sarah’s heart in some way. Quinn had the magical ability to make other people feel good about themselves. Maybe it was because she’d had so much practice with Ali.
The camera’s red light blinked. Brett shifted his attention to the crowd and peered into the camera. His f
ather’s hand still rested on Brett’s shoulder. It gave him strength. He took a deep breath and let his eyes scan the crowd from left to right, and then he spoke.
“I’m here today begging all of you to help me find Quinn, my daughter. This is what she looks like.” He held up her photo. “The last time she was seen she was wearing jeans and a bright-pink top. She has brown curly hair the color of a chocolate bar, and a pale complexion, but it’s her blue eyes that stand out. They’re as light as her hair is dark.”
He cleared his throat, and the wad of tears lodged there. “She’s five years old.” He stared into the camera. “If you have her, please return her to me. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She needs to be with me, her father. If, for some reason, you think she’s in harm’s way, you’re wrong. Child Protective Services placed Quinn in a foster home while she was in her mother’s care, not mine. I’m a good father.”
He took a breath and licked his lips. “The CPS’s job is to investigate every case, and until they knew Quinn was safe, they placed her in a temporary foster home. That foster mother’s son is a sex offender. The state didn’t know this. His mother and he did not share the same name or address. Typically, foster homes are safe.
“Please, if you’re the one who took Quinn, bring her home. She’s not in any danger with me. She’s safe. I’m safe. I’m not a sex offender. I’m begging you to bring her home.”
One newscaster in a navy suit with a red tie said, “Is it true that your ex-wife has a drinking problem?”
Brett nodded. “Yes, she struggles with depression, and sometimes she doesn’t use the best coping tools.”
“Is it true that she was sexually abused as a child?”
Brett’s jaw twitched, and his whole body tensed. “I don’t understand how that has anything to do with getting Quinn back.”
“Are there any suspects?” someone else asked.
Clay stepped forward and identified himself. “Not for now, but we have one person of interest.” He placed his hand on Brett’s arm. “If you see anything suspicious, please call the police department. The suspect may have changed Quinn’s hair color or disguised her so she’s unrecognizable.”
Brett’s father stepped forward. “I’m Quinn’s grandfather, Mason Reed. We’re offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward for anyone who comes forward with the information that leads to his arrest.”
Brett turned to his father, his mouth agape. His mother wrapped her arm around Brett’s waist. He’d forgotten how good it was to have the support of both parents. But was this a show? Was his father only pretending to care so he could make his legal firm look good?
Sarah stepped forward. “Excuse me, but I want to speak on behalf of Hursey Lake’s Child Protective Services.”
The camera crew shifted their positions, and a mic was placed in front of her.
She introduced herself, and as she spoke, her eyes never left Brett’s. “Unfortunately, as humans we make mistakes, but Quinn’s foster mother had an impeccable record. Obviously, if we had known her son was a sex offender, we never would have placed Quinn in her care. Officer Reed is a loving and caring father who would never harm his daughter.” Sarah paused, her eyes misting. “I spoke to Quinn before she was temporarily placed in foster care. She had nothing but good things to say about her dad, and as soon as she’s found I’m confident the judge will allow him permanent custody, especially after he reads CPS’s report.”
Days of fear, exhaustion, and pent-up worry poured off Brett’s shoulders. We’ll find you, Quinn. You’re coming home!
A man with dark sunglasses, dressed in black, stepped forward. “Your wife is a murderer. She killed my fiancée—the woman who should have been the mother of my children. Your wife took away all my hopes and dreams. If you knew she was a substance abuser, how could you have let her drive?” The man’s voice broke, becoming shaky. “Why didn’t … you take away her keys?” He threw a fist into the air. The crowd hushed. People stared at the man and then back at Brett.
The man scowled at Brett. “I hate you, and I hope … your wife …” He leaned on a man who must have been his friend. The friend ushered him away from the crowd.
As he did, the crowd came to life. Questions were thrown at Brett from every direction.
“Will your wife be arrested?”
“Is it true she’ll be a vegetable for the rest of her life?”
“Are you afraid of a lawsuit?”
Brett stared across the crowd at the back of his accuser’s head. His ears buzzed, and his legs felt like rubber. He wanted to say something, but what? What words would compensate for his loss? Had it been his fault? Should he have taken the keys from Ali? He’d tried. Should he have tried harder? He’d known she was out of control. How could he have let his wife get behind the wheel of a car knowing the shape she had been in?
Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t seen his father step in front of the camera. “There will be no more questions. From this point on all questions need to be directed toward me, Officer Reed’s attorney, Mason Reed.”
His dad was going to represent him? Brett had sworn he’d never ask his father for help, but he hadn’t. His father had offered even though everything he’d predicted had come true. Brett had ruined his life. One bad decision had dominoed into a lifetime of problems.
Was his father offering to help so his firm would look good? It didn’t matter. Regardless of his father’s intentions, Brett was grateful for his support. He turned to his father, his eyes stinging from the salt of his tears. “Thank you.”
His father’s bottom lip curled, and his eyes watered. He reached for Brett and embraced him, heaving in a sob and answering Brett’s questions when he said, “I’ve missed you, Son.”
Brett’s chest heaved. A sob escaped. “I’ve missed you too.” The scent of the old man’s shaving cream flooded Brett’s senses with childhood memories of make-believe, of when his father had lathered shaving foam onto his face for a pretend shave. They’d laughed and smeared cream all over the bathroom.
Brett hugged his father in return, feeling the cancer’s curse in how frail he’d become, the beefy part of his body gone.
When his father finally let go, Brett’s body lost all strength, wanting to collapse. Clay slid a strong arm under Brett, whispering in his ear. “Lean against me, man, until we get in the office. You can do it. Just walk away. Use my weight.”
Brett sucked air and puffed his chest, willing strength to fill him. “I can walk.”
Clay released his arm as they moved toward the precinct. His parents followed with Max.
Sarah came to his side, sliding her arm through his. She whispered in his ear. “You are not responsible for Ali’s actions, or her happiness. Ever. You did not kill that man’s fiancée. You will get Quinn back too. I promise.”
The warmth of her breath near his ear and her kind words, the words he needed to hear, made him pause and turn to her. The sun shone behind her head, encircling her golden hair like a halo. He itched to run his fingers through the curls and feel their silkiness. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to stay strong. “Thank you.” How could he have ever been suspicious of her?
#
I stood in the kitchen, rocking side to side in rhythm to the ticking wall clock, licking my lips and drying them, licking my lips and drying them.
Get a grip. Keep it together.
I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to do. The man on TV, the cop, wanted his daughter back. Should I return her?
My head shook back and forth. No. Her father was bad. I had to save her. They took her away from him. I had to keep her away from him. Her father was a liar. They were all liars. Liars, liars, pants on fire.
Father said he loved me. Then he stroked me. It burned and left a scar.
I stomped my foot. I have to protect her. Now was my chance to show that I could. But how do I make her my friend?
Feed her. Maybe she’ll come out if she’s hungry.
But what if she doesn’t like me
?
I’ll make her macaroni and cheese. Then she’ll be my friend.
In the kitchen, I clicked the radio on and boiled the water, staring into the pot as bubbles grew larger, the heat forming sweat on the front of my neck.
After I added the noodles, drained them, and scooped butter into the pot, I ripped open the packet of cheese and dumped the powder into the noodles. I set a place at the table for her, neatly placing the silverware on the right side of the plate.
I squeezed my eyes and tapped on the bathroom door. “Come out and eat. I made mac and cheese.” I used my little-boy voice. “I want to be your friend. Please.”
Nothing.
She hates me. Everyone hates me.
My phone rang. I’d left it on the fireplace hearth. Dashing across the room, I reached for it. It was the office. I hadn’t gone into work. Oh, no! I’d forgotten to call. I’d never done that before. “Yes?”
“You sick today?” Doc Spear asked.
“Sorry, I am. I forgot to call. I’ll b-b-be there tomorrow though. I’ll work extra to m-m-make up for today.”
Doc paused. “You feeling okay?”
“I am feeling good.”
After disconnecting the phone, I returned to the bathroom and knocked on the door again. “If you come out, you can see your daddy.”
The doorknob jiggled. “Are you lying?”
“I’m not. He was on TV.”
She opened the door, but not all the way. “When?”
“A little bit ago, but they will probably show it again. Come to the kitchen. I’ll turn the TV on in there.”
Go to the kitchen. She will follow. You can do this now. Be brave. Daddy is gone.
#
Brett sat at his desk at the precinct, exhausted and raw but wanting to do something to contribute to Quinn’s search. He stared at the note he’d left himself at his desk to research Levi Samuel. Why had the chief said Samuel was an asshole?
Cache a Predator Page 17