Gone Again

by James Grippando

  Gavin entered through the open door and stepped into the foyer. “I’ll check,” he said, as he started down the hall.

  Debra came down the stairs quickly, her expression showing concern, if not worry. “Alexander?”

  Gavin returned to the living room, and the worry had officially kicked in. “He’s not in the kitchen, game room, or the guest room.”

  “See if his bicycle’s in the garage,” said Jack.

  “Does he have a bike?” asked Gavin.

  “Yes,” said Debra. “It’s blue. I’ll check the backyard.”

  Jack followed her through into the kitchen and out the French doors to the patio. Debra broke to the left side of the swimming pool. Jack and Jenna went to the right, around the stone fire pit, the swing set, and a basketball hoop.

  “Alexander!”

  They saw no sign of him. Jack ran around to the side of the house, and Debra went the other way, each calling out Alexander’s name loud enough to be heard by the other. Jack checked the bushes and even behind the pool heater and the air-conditioning unit. Nothing. They reconnected at the front porch. Gavin joined them from the garage.

  “His bike is still here,” said Gavin.

  Debra caught her breath. “Oh, my God!”

  Jack waited for one of them to say that he or she was going to call the police, but perhaps they were in shock. “Someone needs to dial 911,” said Jack.

  “I don’t have my phone,” said Debra. She looked ready to buckle at the knees anyway.

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” said Jack.

  “No, I will,” said Gavin as he reached for his cell.

  Jack focused on Debra. “When did you see him last?”

  “About an hour ago,” said Debra, her voice shaking. “He went up to his room. I packed for him, but he’s such a little grown-up he always checks to make sure I put everything he needs in the bag. I went downstairs and got on the treadmill.”

  Jack got a visual in his head: boy upstairs alone; mom downstairs on a noisy treadmill.

  “Do you wear headphones when you exercise?”

  “Yeah,” she said, and then she took his point. “Do you think someone came in the house?”

  Jack went with a less scary option. “Or Alexander left and you didn’t hear him.”

  “Yes, that could be it,” she said. “Maybe he didn’t want to go with his dad this weekend.”

  Gavin covered his phone, clearly having overheard his ex-wife while on the line with 911. “Debra, I swear, if you are fucking around and sent Alexander somewhere to keep him away from me . . .”

  “No! I would never do that!”

  Gavin didn’t seem totally convinced, but he got back on the line with the 911 operator.

  “I’ll check the neighborhood,” said Jenna. “Can someone text me a recent picture of him?”

  “I will,” said Debra, and she hurried toward the house for her cell phone. They agreed to split up and walk in opposite directions, but Jack let Jenna go first as he grabbed a moment alone with Debra in the driveway. “After we talked, I told Andie that you thought Mikhail Volkov was watching you and Alexander. Did you tell the police like I asked you to?”

  Her face went ashen.

  Jack tried not to make her feel worse. “Be sure to tell them when they get here,” he said.

  He stepped away quickly and caught up with Jenna at the end of the driveway, the first two foot soldiers in the search for Alexander.

  CHAPTER 57

  Another Friday night. Another missing Burgette child.

  “Unbelievable,” said Jack.

  He was standing on the street outside Debra’s house in Cocoplum, bathed in the glow of police beacons that flashed in the growing darkness. Theo was with him; like dozens of other volunteers, he was drawn to the scene by the need to show up and do something.

  “Fucking unbelievable is right,” said Theo.

  The front door to the house was wide open. Police radios crackled all around him, as several squad cars were parked on the grassy swale along the sidewalk, along with a green-and-white van from the Miami-Dade Police crime-scene investigation unit. Jack took it as a positive sign that no ambulance or medical examiner’s van had yet arrived. Still, he knew a cadaver-sniffing dog when he saw one, and the canine unit was in the neighborhood. Crime-scene investigators crisscrossed the yard, coming and going under the yellow police tape at the front porch. The first media van appeared around seven, too late for the first evening broadcast but in plenty of time for “breaking news at eleven.” Jack recognized the reporter. Two summers earlier, Jack’s defense of a young mother accused of murdering her two-year-old daughter had garnered major media interest, and Susan Brown had covered the trial. She checked her makeup in the van’s side mirror and then called the cameraman over as she approached Jack.

  “Hey, Swyteck. Can I get you in a thirty-second spot?”

  Jack took a step back. “Both parents are here, Susan. I’m sure they’d welcome help from the media. A personal plea from them would be a better way to motivate the community.”

  “Good thought. Can you point them out for me?”

  Gavin was standing in the driveway, beside his Porsche, along with two MDPD officers. The doors and trunk were open. Jack knew that in any missing-child case, especially one involving divorced parents, search of the parents’ vehicles was standard.

  “I’ll take you to him.”

  Jack led Susan Brown up the sidewalk and made the introductions. Gavin didn’t seem to warm to the idea immediately. “Can I talk to you a second, Swyteck?”

  The two men stepped to the other side of the driveway, away from the police and the camera crew. “I don’t want to go on television if this isn’t real,” said Gavin.

  “What do you mean, not ‘real’?”

  “Apparently Debra had a really bad meeting with DCFS this morning.”

  “I know,” said Jack.

  “She has a crazy idea in her head that Nicole and I are behind these social workers’ push to take Alexander away from her. But she’s wrong, and her thinking makes no sense. The department knows that both of us looked into rehoming Sashi. It came out at the hearing. DCFS is going after Debra and me.”

  “So you think Debra is staging Alexander’s disappearance to get back at you?”

  “I don’t know. Look, I told you I was with another woman when Sashi disappeared.”

  “I didn’t pass that on to Debra.”

  It took a moment, but Gavin seemed to believe him. “Okay. Good. And for what it’s worth, that’s not who I am.”

  “What’s not?” asked Jack.

  “I’m not a cheater.”

  If it walks like a duck . . .

  “Okay, I cheated,” he said, shaking his head in confusion. “But I am not a cheater. I hated myself for it. I hated what our family was becoming. I hate what we’ve become. This is so completely fucked up. All I can tell you is that I married Debra Kincaid, woman of my dreams. I divorced Debra Burgette, fucking nut job. Is she playing a game here with Alexander? I honestly can’t say. I don’t put anything past her anymore, no matter how outrageous it might sound.”

  Jack paused, not wanting to seem too quick to dismiss his concern.

  “Do the TV interview, Gavin.”

  Their eyes locked. Then Gavin broke away and walked toward the camera, but one of the police officers stopped him.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Burgette. We need a cheek swab from you.”

  “A what?”

  “DNA sample. It’s standard in an investigation like this. Open your mouth, please.”

  Gavin glared at Jack—as if to say, “See what I mean?”—as he submitted to the swab.

  Jack’s gaze drifted past him, across the driveway and the yard, all the way to the front porch. Debra was standing in the open doorway, beside a detective. She seemed to be searching in the distance for someone, as well as the streetlamps would allow, and then she spotted Jack. She came quickly down the stairs, and Jack met her halfway across the drive
way. She was about to say something, but the blast of brightness from the television lights startled her. They were warming up for Gavin’s interview.

  The cameraman was ready. The reporter fixed her hair for the fifteenth time and smiled.

  “Not so toothy,” the cameraman said. “The poor guy’s kid is missing. And in five, four—”

  “Let’s step over here,” Jack told her. They walked toward the garage, out of the glow of the camera lights.

  “Any news?” asked Jack.

  “I can’t get hold of Aquinnah,” she said, and she sounded more than concerned. “I don’t know what’s going on. Hopefully, she’s out for a run or just has her phone off. The police are headed to her duplex now.”

  “I’m sure it will be okay,” Jack said, but he was nowhere near “sure.”

  “I’m busy with MDPD. They need all kinds of information about Alexander. Could you go over to Aquinnah’s place and see what’s going on?”

  “Of course. I’ll go right now.”

  She jotted down the address for him on the back of one of his business cards. “Thank you so much, Jack.”

  “You bet.”

  “I’ll put some other volunteers on the neighborhood search with your friend Jenna.”

  “I’ll text her to let her know,” said Jack.

  Debra turned and walked quickly back toward the house. Jack rounded up Theo and explained the assignment on the way to his car. His cell phone rang as he opened the door. It was Hannah. For a moment, he’d almost forgotten about the Freedom Institute.

  “What’s up?” he asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

  “We just heard from the court of appeals,” she said.

  Jack froze, but he knew what she was going to say.

  “It’s a one-line order signed by Judge Isaacs: ‘The petitioner’s emergency motion for stay of execution is denied.’”

  Jack breathed out, suddenly speechless.

  “Jack? You there?”

  “Yeah. All I can say is that I was wrong to think it.”

  “To think what?”

  He pulled the door closed and started the engine. “That things couldn’t possibly get worse.”

  CHAPTER 58

  Debra was in her kitchen, seated across the table from MDPD Detective Raul Perez and his younger partner. Perez was an unusual combination of Hispanic good looks and a dry “just the facts” demeanor. There was a reason his colleagues called him “José Viernes.”

  “We picked up Mikhail Volkov,” said Perez.

  Debra had heeded Jack’s advice and told MDPD about him. “Do you think he did it?”

  “He denies it. Says he was at work till five. We’re checking that out.”

  “If that man took my child . . .”

  “Let’s not limit our focus just yet,” said Perez. “Here’s where things stand in general. Every neighbor in the area is being interviewed. Every emergency room in the county is on alert. National Center for Missing and Exploited Children is already on board. Alexander’s photo went out with height, weight, eyes, and hair information, a description of the clothes he was wearing, his shoes—”

  “Oh, I just remembered! He has a birthmark about the size of a quarter behind his left knee.”

  “Good. We’ll add that. Now, let me tell you what the team has found here so far. We’ve swept the house and checked every door, every window, every point of access. There is no sign of forced entry.”

  “There are other ways to get in besides breaking in,” said Debra.

  “Agreed,” said Perez. “The door to the cabana bath was locked. French doors from the master bedroom to the balcony, also locked. French doors from the kitchen, the front door, and the utility door to the garage—all unlocked.”

  “That makes sense. I had just come in through the front door and was talking to Gavin on the porch when this happened. I went out through the kitchen to look for Alexander. Gavin went to the garage.”

  “Was the kitchen door locked or unlocked when you went out to the patio?”

  “Locked. We’re fanatics about locking doors and windows in this house. We’ve . . . been through this before.”

  “Right. Did Alexander have a key to the house?”

  “Yes. I pack one in his overnight bag whenever he goes away for the weekend.”

  “And you’re sure that his bag is gone?”

  “Yes. I’ve triple-checked the whole house. It’s not here.”

  “And you didn’t hear a car pull up, a door open, or anything like that?”

  “No, I’ve told you at least twice now: I do an hour on the treadmill every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon. I wear headphones. I really can’t hear anything.”

  “Sorry for the repetition, ma’am. Just being thorough. Who else has a key to the house? His father?”

  “No, Gavin doesn’t—at least not that I know of. My daughter Aquinnah has one.”

  “Anyone else? A friend? A neighbor?”

  “No.”

  Perez massaged between his eyes, thinking. “So we have three possibilities,” said Perez. “One, Alexander left by himself. Two—”

  “Excuse me,” said Debra. “Alexander didn’t run away. He would never do that. He’s the opposite of his sister Sashi.”

  “All right. For discussion, let’s assume that’s not what happened. That means Alexander left with—”

  “Sorry to interrupt again,” she said. “But he didn’t just ‘leave.’ If he went with someone he knew—someone like Aquinnah—either he or Aquinnah would have told me.”

  “Got it,” said Perez. “So Alexander was abducted either by a stranger or by someone he knows. Now, seeing as how the abductor locked the door on the way out, we ask ourselves: Which of those two possibilities seems more likely?”

  Debra gave it a moment of consideration. “I don’t think it cuts either way. If a child abductor doesn’t want to arouse suspicion, why wouldn’t he lock the door? Especially if there was a house key in Alexander’s bag.”

  “A fair point. But here’s what troubles me: we still don’t know where Aquinnah is. And her car is missing from her driveway. We ran a vehicle check for her and issued a statewide BOLO—‘be on the lookout.’ Nothing has turned up yet, but we’re on it.”

  Debra closed her eyes, then opened them slowly, barely able to say what she was thinking. “If that monster took both my children . . .”

  “We should be able to verify pretty quickly whether or not Volkov was at work till five. His alibi could check out.”

  “I don’t care if he has an alibi. Volkov is a predator who makes friends with dangerous people. Just because he was at work doesn’t mean he’s clean. He could have an accomplice.”

  “Another fair point. And it’s normal to fear the worst. But there’s a less catastrophic possibility. Ms. Burgette, can you think of any reason Aquinnah might have to take her little brother?”

  “Aquinnah? No. That makes no sense.”

  “Sometimes what seems to make no sense actually makes perfect sense if you take the time to think about it.”

  Debra’s head was starting to hurt. She already had too much to think about. “Okay. I will give it some thought.”

  Perez flipped the page on his notepad, as if the investigation itself were getting a fresh start. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to drill down a little more on Aquinnah and Alexander.”

  “What do mean by ‘drill down’?”

  “I want to know more about their relationship.”

  “They’re very close,” said Debra. “They’ve always been.”

  “I don’t want your characterization of it,” he said, his voice taking on the dry edge that had earned “José Viernes” his nickname. “I want the facts, ma’am.”

  “That’s fine,” said Debra. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  CHAPTER 59

  Rush hour was technically over, but northbound streets leading out of downtown were jammed through sunset. Jack took every available shortcut,
but it was well after dark by the time he and Theo pulled up at Aquinnah’s place.

  “Next time, I drive,” said Theo as they climbed out of the car.

  The scene was eerily like the one they’d left at Cocoplum. Squad cars lined the curb, beacons flashing. Police tape marked off one of the front doors—the entrance to Aquinnah’s half of the duplex. Police radios crackled in the night as uniformed officers secured the perimeter. Two crime-scene investigation vans, one from MDPD and one from the FBI, were parked in the driveway. Jack wasn’t surprised that the Bureau had gotten involved, but he did a double take when he saw the agent standing beside the van—the woman with the opened blue windbreaker and the pregnant belly. Andie spotted him a second later and walked over.

  Andie had worked child-abduction and serial-killer investigations in Seattle before transferring to Miami to do undercover assignments, but Jack was still a bit taken aback to see her. “You’re on this case?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Half the agents in our office who used to do child abductions have been reassigned to Homeland Security. My ASAC said he needs me.”

  “Debra Burgette asked me to check things out here for her. Can you fill me in? Or is the conflict-of-interest barrier still in place?”

  “I guess we can talk. This doesn’t technically deal with Sashi.”

  “Well, if you have any lingering concerns, the court of appeals turned us down an hour ago. Hannah is taking our last shot at the Supremes tonight.”

  “I’m sorry—if that’s the right thing to say.”

  Another young woman approached, dressed like a college student. “Are you Jack Swyteck?”

  Jack answered, and she introduced herself as Aquinnah’s best friend, Charlene Spencer. “Aquinnah’s mom called and said you were coming,” she said. “I’m sort of the unofficial point person here.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “We’ve got social media covered. Maybe you’d be better doing some old-fashioned legwork?”

  Jack was twice her age but didn’t take the “old-fashioned” thing personally. “Sure.”