Amber Alert, page 6
“You should go home,” he states the obvious. “We start over tomorrow. There’s nothing you can find in there if it isn’t there.”
I lean back in my chair, wincing at the twinge in my back. I’m tempted by the idea of a soft warm bed. The coffee treat is welcome, but all the caffeine in the world can’t make a difference now.
“You could come with me,” I say.
“I can’t. I’m waiting for news from an agent.”
I swivel my chair around to face him. At least, believable regret shows in his expression.
“Okay then,” I say with a shrug. I hope my suggestion didn’t sound needy to him. It’s not like much was going to happen. Just for a moment, I realized it would be nice not to be alone. Nice. I almost laugh. I better forget about it—that’s not the world we’re living in.
“You never told me about your dinner with the bigwigs. How did it go?”
“Well enough, thanks.” He smiles, a little more relaxed. “You’d think politics is dirty. Truth is, a lot of it is time-intensive and boring.”
“I can imagine. Busting the bad guys is more fun, isn’t it?”
“That’s my girl,” he says, and I roll my eyes at him. I admit it’s not just because he called me a girl. I’ve had the opportunity to work with Cal many times over the past four years, and he’s good under fire. He hasn’t made it this far though for being bored by politics—he’s doing quite well with the diplomatic chitchat. Having a beautiful and supportive spouse doesn’t hurt. I’m aware my thoughts are wandering into a dangerous direction, and jump to my feet. It’s only because I’m so tired. I’ve spent years without being petty and jealous, most of the time, that is.
“Hey. The way out is over there,” he points out when I walk into the direction of the break room.
“Yeah. The vending machine is in there. You didn’t bring me chocolate with the coffee.”
It’s Cal’s turn to roll his eyes. There are facts in women’s lives that men will never understand. Just like I’d expected, he follows me, closing the door behind him. The temperature in the room jumps a few notches.
I should be in bed, trying to get a few hours of sleep before another long, dragging workday. I should go back to my desk, face the nagging guilt head-on. In the plexi-glass of the vending machine, I watch his movements. The touch of his hands on my waist is tentative, asking for permission. I turn around, and we kiss, hungry, desperate. That’s my side, anyway. This is so wrong on many different levels. We’re professionals, we care about each other, but neither of us would go as far as risking their career for an unlikely prospect.
“This is a bad idea. Can’t you just come with me for an hour or so?” My voice sounds breathless.
Being the third party, I’ve learned to turn compromise into an art form.
“I’m sorry, no.” He gently brushes his hand over my hair. “That agent is supposed to call in any minute now.”
“All right then. Chocolate it is instead.”
We both jump when his cell phone starts vibrating this moment.
“Just wanted to know if everything’s okay. You said you’d be home tonight?” I can hear Georgia’s voice. Cal turns away sharply. I sigh and focus on the candy bars on display. One of them will keep me company tonight. Like every night since Rosie was abducted, the fear of what she is going through at the hands of her kidnappers is never far away.
The next day, I’m up before 6:00 a.m., wondering over the third cup of coffee what the hell I am going to do, with this situation in particular, and my life in general. It’s not like yesterday’s reading is giving me nightmares. It’s invading my every thought when I’m awake. Cal didn’t tell me specifics about the agent whose call he expected. What else isn’t he telling me?
Well, maybe that agent never existed at all, because Cal was acting remarkably guilty before we said goodbye, and he went home to his wife as promised. You’d think I should know better. Maybe I should. If anybody ever found out, the result wouldn’t be pretty. I never got to work on a particular case just for sleeping with him—except this one maybe—but things like that are hard to prove. People love innuendo and drama.
I never even meant for this relationship to go this far. It was meant to be a last resort, a place to go to after the adrenaline rush of a case closed, or to stop the fall after a wrong turn. Casual. Did my reasoning ever make sense in the first place?
It’s all about Rosie’s disappearance, the most personal case I’ve ever worked on. It kills me to see Chrissie and Rachel so afraid of the worst case scenarios they can come up with, when in reality they have no idea about what some human beings are capable of. This is the reason why I can’t sleep or hardly eat, and why I just for once would have wanted someone to stay: I know.
The thirty-ish-year-old man who drove the blue van has a lot to answer for. He’ll regret ever laying eyes on my niece.
I turn on the TV with the fourth cup, my last one before I’ll face Cal again, nearly dropping the ceramic mug.
“Oh no.”
Chapter Ten
“This is my child we’re talking about! She’s missing for almost a week, and you have accomplished nothing!”
The accusation silences Martinez for a moment. Chrissie doesn’t feel guilty. In fact, yelling feels pretty good, much better than letting strangers make all the decisions for her. Her and Rachel’s plea to the kidnapper has been aired on the channel’s morning news show, and picked up from there.
Chrissie hasn’t watched it, because it was hard enough to get it done in the first place. They knew they had to steel themselves for the moment the cops would find out. Ann hasn’t called yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Special Agent Martinez, the woman from the task force, arrived only minutes after the first airing.
“We are following different leads,” she says, “and we’re doing everything we can to find your daughter.”
“Well, it’s not enough.” Rachel squeezes Chrissie’s hand. They have talked this through, made a decision, and whatever happens from here, they’ll be in it together. Chrissie wonders if the police could sue them if they thought she and Rachel interfered with the investigation, but she decides that’s probably not the case. They’re all control freaks, a bit like her sister.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but do you really think this woman cares about you or your daughter? You just made their ratings go through the roof. That is all they care about.”
Chrissie shakes her head. When they told their story to Marisa Jenkins from the Breakfast-News morning show, the reporter had tears in her eyes. She has a daughter who’s a little older than Rosie.
“She’s been helping us. If it gives her an advantage at the same time, I don’t mind. I just want my baby back, don’t you understand?”
“Oh, I do,” Martinez says grimly before she gets up, probably in order to remove herself from the conversation she knows she can’t win. On the other side of the room, she makes a phone call, her posture anxious and frustrated.
The door bell rings. Rachel follows her when Chrissie gets up to answer, glad to be out of the agent’s line of fire, so to speak. She’s glad to see Ann, hugging her in greeting. When Ann steps back, her expression tells Chrissie that she’s in for more scolding.
“Don’t say it. We had to do something.”
“This isn’t good.”
“What are you talking about?” Rachel asks. “You put out the word to other cops and agencies, didn’t you?”
“That’s a long way from a human interest story on the morning show.” Ann has raised her voice.
“Yeah, well, we had the same discussion with Special Agent Martinez already. See, we feel it was the right thing to do. If the person, who has Rosie, has any decency at all, then just maybe, we could connect with them. If not…Then it’s too late already, isn’t it?”
Never before has Rachel said this out loud, the possibility that Rosie might not come back. Chrissie feels her vision turning grey on the edges, her fingers going numb, seconds going by before her perception rights itself again.
“You don’t understand, Ann,” she says. “You don’t have a child. This is not a case to us, some riddle to solve, hanging out with the guys for beers when you’ve done it. This is our baby. If I had to jump off a bridge to get her back, I’d do it. You and Martinez just don’t know, don’t pretend you do.”
Ann looks shocked. “I have to go,” she says after a long, awkward moment. “I’ll call you if there’s any news. I wish you’d do the same for me.”
When the door falls shut, Chrissie wishes she still had their parents to turn to, regardless of what they’d be able to do in this mess. She just wants them to be here.
It’s not fair that she can’t count on their solid, unwavering support when she needs it most.
* * * *
It looks like we’re all past crying, but that doesn’t mean we’re past fear and resulting accusations. I can’t focus on the unpleasant confrontation now. When I arrive at my workplace, a note tells me that there’ll be a task force meeting in fifteen minutes. I assume we will do our best to deal with the new situation and a media out of control. I make a face—someone will bring up the family relation, even though I have nothing to do with this.
Joey comes in less than five minutes after me, and I do a bit of a double-take to see he’s not wearing his usual suit, but jeans and a leather jacket with a dark blue shirt underneath. He looks even younger.
“Hey, you got a date I don’t know about?” I tease him.
“That’s right. It’s a date with my computer. Since my partner will be hanging out with the Feds again, I’ll catch up on some reports. Fun times.” He gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry. It’s really not important in comparison.”
“It’s fine. I’m the one who hasn’t been a great partner lately.” That’s because I blackmailed myself into the task force, and mostly get yelled at as a result. I hate what’s happening with Chrissie and me. We might lead different lives, have contrasting views on relationships, motherhood and career, but we never clashed this way. This case brings truths to the surface in an unsettling way—maybe we don’t know that much about each other.
“I saw the news this morning,” Joey says. “Are you okay?”
“I will be, eventually.” I turn away from his scrutiny, self-consciously aware of the dark circles underneath my eyes. “Thanks. Let’s hope this will all be over soon, and we can go back to some of the usual detective work.”
“I can’t wait.”
“You haven’t even started on those reports. They can be relaxing.” I look up to find his gaze still on me.
“I look forward to spending more time with you again,” he says.
Saved by the bell—I’m unsure how to answer this, but it turns out I don’t have to. Cal and Martinez have arrived, and I get up to join them in the conference room.
“I’m sorry about the situation.” I better get this out as long as it’s just the three of us. “Look, I knew that Rachel’s Dad was planning something like this, but he agreed to wait until you’d give him the green light. I had no idea they invited the reporter in.”
“Relax.” Cal looks tired. “This is not about the interview. Our media department will handle it, do damage control. We would have liked to have a say in this, but it’s not the priority at the moment. What’s on your agenda today?”
“Donna Clarks,” I say. That will be the last follow-up visit to the families from around here who have children missing. Despite her traumatic situation, she was called back to work, and it’s a longer drive out to her home, so we had to make an appointment. Her daughter has been missing the longest, and unlike the others, she seemed eager to meet me.
I don’t like the tone of Cal’s voice.
It scares me.
“I don’t think you need to go, at least not at the moment. There’s a different lead, and I want everyone on this for now.”
I take my seat as the other cops file in. There’s some shuffling of chairs and paper, but I hardly notice the sounds, or other people in the room. Is this going to be the day we’ll have news to tell Chrissie and Rachel?
When everyone has settled, Cal closes the door.
“As you all know, everyone’s on the lookout for these missing children, including our undercover agents. One of them got back to me yesterday. It looks like we have a lead.” Appreciative murmurs greet his words. I’m tense, worried about what he’s going to reveal next.
Chrissie was wrong. It’s more than a case to be solved to me. This is our family.
A picture is projected to the white wall, of a man looking quite unspectacular with his glasses and brown hair. You wouldn’t recognize him in a crowd. He doesn’t look threatening.
I feel like there is not enough air in the room.
“It looks like Bobby Duncan has set up camp in town. He looks good as a suspect all by himself. He would give bracelets to his victims, which, we realized, were meant to mark them as ‘his’, to remind them to keep silent.” There’s so much disgust in Cal’s voice that we can almost hear the quotation marks. “There were a handful of convictions, and some charges that unfortunately fell apart. The latter, by the way, had to do with some nasty internet stuff. Apparently, he’s reaching out to contacts, trying to get into business.”
“Why are we learning this only now?” Special Agent Martinez asks sharply.
“The agent is under deep cover. Even now, it was dangerous for him to pass on that information. That isn’t all, though. Duncan was seen hanging out with this guy.”
The next picture is somewhat blurry, but still clear enough to show a man in a bar, standing by the counter. His stance is wary. He’s got dark hair, and his age and build fits the description that Deb, the kindergarten teacher, has given.
“Is that him? Did he talk about any of the missing children?” I realize only now that I’m standing. No one blinks an eye at that, though. They know what is at stake with these cases.
“We have yet to determine the other man’s identity, but Duncan’s communication hinted at ‘uncovering new sources.’ For what, we don’t have to guess.” Cal looks around the assembled group. “Special Agent Martinez and I will work out a plan with most of you. I want to know everything you can find about Duncan, where he goes, who he talks to, when he brushes his teeth or takes a leak. If he so much as looks at a child, we’ll bring him in for questioning.”
“Look, I know you said—” Nobody can say I didn’t try.
“Detective, I want you to reschedule your interview. I have a stakeout for you. Mr. Thirty-Something has a favorite joint to hang out.”
“Why me?” I have answered that question for myself already, but I want him to say it. If the pieces come together the way it looks with this new information, the kidnapper was only a middleman to Duncan who has bigger plans with the “source” he found. I’m not part of the agents’ mission to find Duncan’s connections.
“I’m doing you a favor here,” Cal says, his clipped tone radiating impatience. “This is the guy you want. If he shows up, you’ll be on the frontline.”
I know I have to tread carefully. The other agents might already be suspecting I’m getting special treatment, but I can’t help thinking it’s unlikely that Rosie is still with the kidnapper. In this scenario, something much worse is happening. As it is, I can’t be in two places at once, and I still have the faint hope that there is another side to the story.
“All right.” I swear he’s baffled by this quick agreement. “Is it okay with you if I take Parker? It seems to me that you could use everyone in here.”
“Your assessment is correct. Just don’t let him mess up anything.”
* * * *
I’m excused soon, but while Martinez continues with the meeting, Cal follows me into the hallway.
“Ann, wait!”
A uniformed officer who’s passing us by has a hard time keeping the curiosity out of his face. I slow my steps until Cal has caught up with me.
“What the hell are you trying to do?” he asks. I want to yell at him, but given the fact that we’re still in the workplace, and I kind of have to answer to him at the moment, I suppress the impulse.
“Excuse me? I said ‘yes.’ You’re right, I want this guy, and no, I’m not stupid. I won’t go barging in without backup.”
“Your little puppy,” he says with unveiled contempt. That is new. It’s a given that newly-promoted detectives face scrutiny and sometimes pranks—it’s a men’s world after all. I stop in my tracks and spin around.
“What exactly is your problem? I know what mine is, because my niece has been missing for six days, she’s afraid to stay anywhere longer than a few hours without her moms, and now you’re telling me that she might be in the hands of that sleazeball Duncan. My problem is, what am I going to tell my sister once we know for sure? Joey’s a good cop. That’s all I care about.”
“Really? I thought you were oh so annoyed by him.”
I can’t believe this. “As you know, the lieutenant didn’t ask for my opinion when he partnered us.”
“You weren’t too happy about the occasional politically incorrect remark.”
“He’s learning.” Besides, someone who is cheating on his wife should not be judging anyone else’s political correctness. I bite back the remark. There’s too much broken glass already on this horrible day, with Chrissie, Cal…I can’t afford this. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know where all of this is coming from. It’s not like we’ve stopped caring about each other. It’s the long working hours, the lack of sleep and the tight clutch of fear that has all of us reacting this way. The knowledge is not enough to stop the words when the censors are down this much:
“Are you jealous?” I expect Cal to laugh at me, but instead he shrugs.
“You tell me if I have reason to be. After you’ve read that file and park your ass in front of Thirty-Something’s favorite bar.”
“I can’t deal with this right now,” I say. “I just want to find my niece.”
“Believe it or not, that’s what I want too. Listen, I want you to be careful when you come across that guy. We don’t want to spook him.”
I lean back in my chair, wincing at the twinge in my back. I’m tempted by the idea of a soft warm bed. The coffee treat is welcome, but all the caffeine in the world can’t make a difference now.
“You could come with me,” I say.
“I can’t. I’m waiting for news from an agent.”
I swivel my chair around to face him. At least, believable regret shows in his expression.
“Okay then,” I say with a shrug. I hope my suggestion didn’t sound needy to him. It’s not like much was going to happen. Just for a moment, I realized it would be nice not to be alone. Nice. I almost laugh. I better forget about it—that’s not the world we’re living in.
“You never told me about your dinner with the bigwigs. How did it go?”
“Well enough, thanks.” He smiles, a little more relaxed. “You’d think politics is dirty. Truth is, a lot of it is time-intensive and boring.”
“I can imagine. Busting the bad guys is more fun, isn’t it?”
“That’s my girl,” he says, and I roll my eyes at him. I admit it’s not just because he called me a girl. I’ve had the opportunity to work with Cal many times over the past four years, and he’s good under fire. He hasn’t made it this far though for being bored by politics—he’s doing quite well with the diplomatic chitchat. Having a beautiful and supportive spouse doesn’t hurt. I’m aware my thoughts are wandering into a dangerous direction, and jump to my feet. It’s only because I’m so tired. I’ve spent years without being petty and jealous, most of the time, that is.
“Hey. The way out is over there,” he points out when I walk into the direction of the break room.
“Yeah. The vending machine is in there. You didn’t bring me chocolate with the coffee.”
It’s Cal’s turn to roll his eyes. There are facts in women’s lives that men will never understand. Just like I’d expected, he follows me, closing the door behind him. The temperature in the room jumps a few notches.
I should be in bed, trying to get a few hours of sleep before another long, dragging workday. I should go back to my desk, face the nagging guilt head-on. In the plexi-glass of the vending machine, I watch his movements. The touch of his hands on my waist is tentative, asking for permission. I turn around, and we kiss, hungry, desperate. That’s my side, anyway. This is so wrong on many different levels. We’re professionals, we care about each other, but neither of us would go as far as risking their career for an unlikely prospect.
“This is a bad idea. Can’t you just come with me for an hour or so?” My voice sounds breathless.
Being the third party, I’ve learned to turn compromise into an art form.
“I’m sorry, no.” He gently brushes his hand over my hair. “That agent is supposed to call in any minute now.”
“All right then. Chocolate it is instead.”
We both jump when his cell phone starts vibrating this moment.
“Just wanted to know if everything’s okay. You said you’d be home tonight?” I can hear Georgia’s voice. Cal turns away sharply. I sigh and focus on the candy bars on display. One of them will keep me company tonight. Like every night since Rosie was abducted, the fear of what she is going through at the hands of her kidnappers is never far away.
The next day, I’m up before 6:00 a.m., wondering over the third cup of coffee what the hell I am going to do, with this situation in particular, and my life in general. It’s not like yesterday’s reading is giving me nightmares. It’s invading my every thought when I’m awake. Cal didn’t tell me specifics about the agent whose call he expected. What else isn’t he telling me?
Well, maybe that agent never existed at all, because Cal was acting remarkably guilty before we said goodbye, and he went home to his wife as promised. You’d think I should know better. Maybe I should. If anybody ever found out, the result wouldn’t be pretty. I never got to work on a particular case just for sleeping with him—except this one maybe—but things like that are hard to prove. People love innuendo and drama.
I never even meant for this relationship to go this far. It was meant to be a last resort, a place to go to after the adrenaline rush of a case closed, or to stop the fall after a wrong turn. Casual. Did my reasoning ever make sense in the first place?
It’s all about Rosie’s disappearance, the most personal case I’ve ever worked on. It kills me to see Chrissie and Rachel so afraid of the worst case scenarios they can come up with, when in reality they have no idea about what some human beings are capable of. This is the reason why I can’t sleep or hardly eat, and why I just for once would have wanted someone to stay: I know.
The thirty-ish-year-old man who drove the blue van has a lot to answer for. He’ll regret ever laying eyes on my niece.
I turn on the TV with the fourth cup, my last one before I’ll face Cal again, nearly dropping the ceramic mug.
“Oh no.”
Chapter Ten
“This is my child we’re talking about! She’s missing for almost a week, and you have accomplished nothing!”
The accusation silences Martinez for a moment. Chrissie doesn’t feel guilty. In fact, yelling feels pretty good, much better than letting strangers make all the decisions for her. Her and Rachel’s plea to the kidnapper has been aired on the channel’s morning news show, and picked up from there.
Chrissie hasn’t watched it, because it was hard enough to get it done in the first place. They knew they had to steel themselves for the moment the cops would find out. Ann hasn’t called yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Special Agent Martinez, the woman from the task force, arrived only minutes after the first airing.
“We are following different leads,” she says, “and we’re doing everything we can to find your daughter.”
“Well, it’s not enough.” Rachel squeezes Chrissie’s hand. They have talked this through, made a decision, and whatever happens from here, they’ll be in it together. Chrissie wonders if the police could sue them if they thought she and Rachel interfered with the investigation, but she decides that’s probably not the case. They’re all control freaks, a bit like her sister.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but do you really think this woman cares about you or your daughter? You just made their ratings go through the roof. That is all they care about.”
Chrissie shakes her head. When they told their story to Marisa Jenkins from the Breakfast-News morning show, the reporter had tears in her eyes. She has a daughter who’s a little older than Rosie.
“She’s been helping us. If it gives her an advantage at the same time, I don’t mind. I just want my baby back, don’t you understand?”
“Oh, I do,” Martinez says grimly before she gets up, probably in order to remove herself from the conversation she knows she can’t win. On the other side of the room, she makes a phone call, her posture anxious and frustrated.
The door bell rings. Rachel follows her when Chrissie gets up to answer, glad to be out of the agent’s line of fire, so to speak. She’s glad to see Ann, hugging her in greeting. When Ann steps back, her expression tells Chrissie that she’s in for more scolding.
“Don’t say it. We had to do something.”
“This isn’t good.”
“What are you talking about?” Rachel asks. “You put out the word to other cops and agencies, didn’t you?”
“That’s a long way from a human interest story on the morning show.” Ann has raised her voice.
“Yeah, well, we had the same discussion with Special Agent Martinez already. See, we feel it was the right thing to do. If the person, who has Rosie, has any decency at all, then just maybe, we could connect with them. If not…Then it’s too late already, isn’t it?”
Never before has Rachel said this out loud, the possibility that Rosie might not come back. Chrissie feels her vision turning grey on the edges, her fingers going numb, seconds going by before her perception rights itself again.
“You don’t understand, Ann,” she says. “You don’t have a child. This is not a case to us, some riddle to solve, hanging out with the guys for beers when you’ve done it. This is our baby. If I had to jump off a bridge to get her back, I’d do it. You and Martinez just don’t know, don’t pretend you do.”
Ann looks shocked. “I have to go,” she says after a long, awkward moment. “I’ll call you if there’s any news. I wish you’d do the same for me.”
When the door falls shut, Chrissie wishes she still had their parents to turn to, regardless of what they’d be able to do in this mess. She just wants them to be here.
It’s not fair that she can’t count on their solid, unwavering support when she needs it most.
* * * *
It looks like we’re all past crying, but that doesn’t mean we’re past fear and resulting accusations. I can’t focus on the unpleasant confrontation now. When I arrive at my workplace, a note tells me that there’ll be a task force meeting in fifteen minutes. I assume we will do our best to deal with the new situation and a media out of control. I make a face—someone will bring up the family relation, even though I have nothing to do with this.
Joey comes in less than five minutes after me, and I do a bit of a double-take to see he’s not wearing his usual suit, but jeans and a leather jacket with a dark blue shirt underneath. He looks even younger.
“Hey, you got a date I don’t know about?” I tease him.
“That’s right. It’s a date with my computer. Since my partner will be hanging out with the Feds again, I’ll catch up on some reports. Fun times.” He gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry. It’s really not important in comparison.”
“It’s fine. I’m the one who hasn’t been a great partner lately.” That’s because I blackmailed myself into the task force, and mostly get yelled at as a result. I hate what’s happening with Chrissie and me. We might lead different lives, have contrasting views on relationships, motherhood and career, but we never clashed this way. This case brings truths to the surface in an unsettling way—maybe we don’t know that much about each other.
“I saw the news this morning,” Joey says. “Are you okay?”
“I will be, eventually.” I turn away from his scrutiny, self-consciously aware of the dark circles underneath my eyes. “Thanks. Let’s hope this will all be over soon, and we can go back to some of the usual detective work.”
“I can’t wait.”
“You haven’t even started on those reports. They can be relaxing.” I look up to find his gaze still on me.
“I look forward to spending more time with you again,” he says.
Saved by the bell—I’m unsure how to answer this, but it turns out I don’t have to. Cal and Martinez have arrived, and I get up to join them in the conference room.
“I’m sorry about the situation.” I better get this out as long as it’s just the three of us. “Look, I knew that Rachel’s Dad was planning something like this, but he agreed to wait until you’d give him the green light. I had no idea they invited the reporter in.”
“Relax.” Cal looks tired. “This is not about the interview. Our media department will handle it, do damage control. We would have liked to have a say in this, but it’s not the priority at the moment. What’s on your agenda today?”
“Donna Clarks,” I say. That will be the last follow-up visit to the families from around here who have children missing. Despite her traumatic situation, she was called back to work, and it’s a longer drive out to her home, so we had to make an appointment. Her daughter has been missing the longest, and unlike the others, she seemed eager to meet me.
I don’t like the tone of Cal’s voice.
It scares me.
“I don’t think you need to go, at least not at the moment. There’s a different lead, and I want everyone on this for now.”
I take my seat as the other cops file in. There’s some shuffling of chairs and paper, but I hardly notice the sounds, or other people in the room. Is this going to be the day we’ll have news to tell Chrissie and Rachel?
When everyone has settled, Cal closes the door.
“As you all know, everyone’s on the lookout for these missing children, including our undercover agents. One of them got back to me yesterday. It looks like we have a lead.” Appreciative murmurs greet his words. I’m tense, worried about what he’s going to reveal next.
Chrissie was wrong. It’s more than a case to be solved to me. This is our family.
A picture is projected to the white wall, of a man looking quite unspectacular with his glasses and brown hair. You wouldn’t recognize him in a crowd. He doesn’t look threatening.
I feel like there is not enough air in the room.
“It looks like Bobby Duncan has set up camp in town. He looks good as a suspect all by himself. He would give bracelets to his victims, which, we realized, were meant to mark them as ‘his’, to remind them to keep silent.” There’s so much disgust in Cal’s voice that we can almost hear the quotation marks. “There were a handful of convictions, and some charges that unfortunately fell apart. The latter, by the way, had to do with some nasty internet stuff. Apparently, he’s reaching out to contacts, trying to get into business.”
“Why are we learning this only now?” Special Agent Martinez asks sharply.
“The agent is under deep cover. Even now, it was dangerous for him to pass on that information. That isn’t all, though. Duncan was seen hanging out with this guy.”
The next picture is somewhat blurry, but still clear enough to show a man in a bar, standing by the counter. His stance is wary. He’s got dark hair, and his age and build fits the description that Deb, the kindergarten teacher, has given.
“Is that him? Did he talk about any of the missing children?” I realize only now that I’m standing. No one blinks an eye at that, though. They know what is at stake with these cases.
“We have yet to determine the other man’s identity, but Duncan’s communication hinted at ‘uncovering new sources.’ For what, we don’t have to guess.” Cal looks around the assembled group. “Special Agent Martinez and I will work out a plan with most of you. I want to know everything you can find about Duncan, where he goes, who he talks to, when he brushes his teeth or takes a leak. If he so much as looks at a child, we’ll bring him in for questioning.”
“Look, I know you said—” Nobody can say I didn’t try.
“Detective, I want you to reschedule your interview. I have a stakeout for you. Mr. Thirty-Something has a favorite joint to hang out.”
“Why me?” I have answered that question for myself already, but I want him to say it. If the pieces come together the way it looks with this new information, the kidnapper was only a middleman to Duncan who has bigger plans with the “source” he found. I’m not part of the agents’ mission to find Duncan’s connections.
“I’m doing you a favor here,” Cal says, his clipped tone radiating impatience. “This is the guy you want. If he shows up, you’ll be on the frontline.”
I know I have to tread carefully. The other agents might already be suspecting I’m getting special treatment, but I can’t help thinking it’s unlikely that Rosie is still with the kidnapper. In this scenario, something much worse is happening. As it is, I can’t be in two places at once, and I still have the faint hope that there is another side to the story.
“All right.” I swear he’s baffled by this quick agreement. “Is it okay with you if I take Parker? It seems to me that you could use everyone in here.”
“Your assessment is correct. Just don’t let him mess up anything.”
* * * *
I’m excused soon, but while Martinez continues with the meeting, Cal follows me into the hallway.
“Ann, wait!”
A uniformed officer who’s passing us by has a hard time keeping the curiosity out of his face. I slow my steps until Cal has caught up with me.
“What the hell are you trying to do?” he asks. I want to yell at him, but given the fact that we’re still in the workplace, and I kind of have to answer to him at the moment, I suppress the impulse.
“Excuse me? I said ‘yes.’ You’re right, I want this guy, and no, I’m not stupid. I won’t go barging in without backup.”
“Your little puppy,” he says with unveiled contempt. That is new. It’s a given that newly-promoted detectives face scrutiny and sometimes pranks—it’s a men’s world after all. I stop in my tracks and spin around.
“What exactly is your problem? I know what mine is, because my niece has been missing for six days, she’s afraid to stay anywhere longer than a few hours without her moms, and now you’re telling me that she might be in the hands of that sleazeball Duncan. My problem is, what am I going to tell my sister once we know for sure? Joey’s a good cop. That’s all I care about.”
“Really? I thought you were oh so annoyed by him.”
I can’t believe this. “As you know, the lieutenant didn’t ask for my opinion when he partnered us.”
“You weren’t too happy about the occasional politically incorrect remark.”
“He’s learning.” Besides, someone who is cheating on his wife should not be judging anyone else’s political correctness. I bite back the remark. There’s too much broken glass already on this horrible day, with Chrissie, Cal…I can’t afford this. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know where all of this is coming from. It’s not like we’ve stopped caring about each other. It’s the long working hours, the lack of sleep and the tight clutch of fear that has all of us reacting this way. The knowledge is not enough to stop the words when the censors are down this much:
“Are you jealous?” I expect Cal to laugh at me, but instead he shrugs.
“You tell me if I have reason to be. After you’ve read that file and park your ass in front of Thirty-Something’s favorite bar.”
“I can’t deal with this right now,” I say. “I just want to find my niece.”
“Believe it or not, that’s what I want too. Listen, I want you to be careful when you come across that guy. We don’t want to spook him.”
