Amber Alert, page 8
If she says “move on” Chrissie will scream, but Rachel doesn’t finish her sentence. Instead, after a long stretch of silence, she sits up.
“Please come with me,” she says, so Chrissie follows her.
They put on shoes and coats and leave the house through the back door. There are fewer reporters now that come to their house, and maybe Martinez was right to say that they only care about their ratings. They haven’t heard from Marisa Jenkins since the segment on the morning show aired.
They walk, the night wind cool on their faces. Chrissie wonders if she’d be able to do that, give in to her own pain and leave Rachel behind. She wants to be stronger than that.
We’re not there yet.
They walk a few more blocks to the cemetery, where Chrissie stands at her parents’ graves. She feels empty and drained. No more tears forthcoming. For now—she has learned in the past days that she never knows when the floodgates will open. She has never cried this much before. She wishes she’d have them to lean on, but then again, another part of her is relieved that they won’t have to go through the pain of not knowing. She and Rachel are the adults, the parents now.
Their next stop is at a playground where they often go with Rosie. How can anybody do this, take a child away from their home, and tumble them into a world of fear and confusion? Ann would probably have some answers for her—money, greed, compulsion, or just plain evil. Ann, however, chose the confrontation with these human malfunctions, and the people they spit out. Rachel and Chrissie haven’t made that choice, but it has invaded their lives anyway.
“I want my child back. Is that too much to ask?”
She didn’t even realize she said it out loud, until Rachel answers, “It’s not. It’s not, honey.”
“Marriage is between a man and a woman.” “You are going to hell.”
On top of what they are going through, there are people in this world who believe fervently that they somehow deserve all of it, brought it onto themselves.
On their way home, Chrissie and Rachel stop at a liquor store. They have another night to get through.
* * * *
It’s my ego that is hurt more than anything else. Cal seems to think so too, because since the moment I’ve rejoined the team, he hasn’t stopped yelling at me.
“I gave you a simple order, Detective. What part of ‘Waiting for backup’ did you not understand?”
I don’t answer, hoping the question is merely rhetorical. I’d like to think that he was mostly worried for me, but he can lay it off any time now. He’s not helping with the headache.
“It’s not her fault.” I cringe at Joey’s attempt of an intervention, which at this moment can only fuel the fire. I’m right.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Cal snaps at him. “I trusted your judgment, Ann. I’m beginning to think it was a big mistake to let you in on this in the first place.”
“Hey. Stop it. He got away, yes, I’m sorry about that. If Boggs was alive—”
“He’s not, is he? There are too many dead ends in this for my liking, and guess what, you could have been one of them. Where was your partner anyway?”
Joey starts to explain and I quickly hold up my hand.
“I’ve got this, okay? We’ll talk later.” He looks doubtful. “Please?” I say through gritted teeth, and he shrugs, giving a pointed look to Cal before he leaves the room.
At least he was able to come up with something: the girls Boggs hung out with at the bar confirmed that he had a lot of money on him. He was going to take them on a trip. The thought makes me shudder. I want some Advil and a hot bath. I want a do-over of this night where we would catch Boggs before his murderer did.
“Your apartment or his?”
“You’re serious?” I can’t believe this. “I refuse to even answer that. As you know, I left my partner to talk to possible witnesses. As you know, we learned something as a result of that. Boggs had money, and a lot more that he should have considering that he’s been doing a couple of odd jobs since he came out of prison. How was your evening?”
Cal pulls himself a chair. I’m aware of the responsibility he’s handling, and that I went ahead too fast. Maybe I feel a little guilty even.
“I’m not going to apologize,” he says. “You went against my orders. You could have been killed.”
“I would have done the same if it was any other child. Boggs was dead, the man who killed him knows—Jesus, I am thinking of all of those children. Don’t tell me this is all about the job.”
“It’s a tough time for your family. All I’m asking is that you wait with the major decisions. I don’t want to lose you.”
The admission catches me off guard. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Detective Parker seems to think otherwise.”
“Look—Cal? It’s late. I have a headache. If there’s anything else you can tell me about Boggs, go ahead. Otherwise I’m going home. Alone, if that makes you feel any better. I’ll do my report tomorrow.”
The phone rings, and he motions for me to wait. It’s impossible to make out parts of the conversation, as he says very little, ending the call with: “We’re going to send a team.”
My heart beats faster immediately. Cal’s job revolves around more than Rosie’s disappearance, I know, but something in his expression alarms me.
“We have a body. I think it’s time to bring in Duncan and ask him some questions.” Between the horror and disbelief, I try to connect the dots, wondering how much of a relation is there between this man and the families who are missing their children. “Do they know anything about—?”
Cal shakes his head.
Going home is not an option any longer.
* * * *
We come back to the same woods we’ve searched earlier this week, with cops and a large group of volunteers. There was nothing to be found at the time. Somebody was watching, and waiting, and now there’s a fresh grave in the ground.
The dead child is a girl, dark brown hair in a ponytail. Around her left wrist, there’s a plastic bracelet with pendants in the form of cherries, cheap, but laden with meaning.
It’s not Rosie.
As soon as I’m certain of that, I turn away, stumbling on the uneven ground, away from the horror, to lean against one of the tall trees. It’s one of the worst parts of a cop’s reality, knocking on a family’s door and telling them that their daughter or son will never come home. It won’t be Chrissie and Rachel, not tonight anyway.
Even though the night is crisp and clear, I find it hard to breathe. If I’m going to faint, I can probably chalk it up to the earlier run-in with the man who killed Boggs. The truth is reality is taking its toll. I’ve been talking a big game. This isn’t about any other child.
It’s about every minute ticking by, between the phone call and now, that I was afraid it could be her.
It’s about the fear of failing my family, because they rely on me to bring Rosie home safely, just like another mother who relied on the police to prevent this tragedy from happening.
“If there’s anything I can do—”
“Just leave me alone, okay?”
“Sure. I’ll be…over there.” Contrary to his words, Joey steps forward and embraces me. We shouldn’t go there, not here, not ever, but I’ll claim concussion after all. I need something, someone to hold on to. “Do you want me to drive you home?”
Reluctantly, I extract myself from his embrace. “We’re not done here yet.”
“Okay. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Cal is talking to Martinez, giving me a probing look when I join them as if there’s something I should be aware of. That’s the trouble with men, even the kind and capable ones: they have a hard time suspending competition even for a minute. I’m quite tired of being in the middle of this one.
“What’s next?” I ask. “We’re going to interrogate Duncan tonight?”
“You’re not going to interrogate anyone. Martinez will do it, but you may watch. Frankly, I don’t think you should, for many reasons. Get some rest.”
Martinez looks ready to go to war which is good enough for me. She’ll be okay, but I wouldn’t want to miss this, if it yields any hint as to find Rosie.
“I’ll be fine. As you said, I’m only watching.”
“You better,” he says.
* * * *
There are people who make one wrong turn and barrel down a one-way-street as a consequence. If we can step in soon enough, rehab can work wonders. A person’s background outlines their lives, but it doesn’t have to determine them forever.
Then, there are people like Duncan. They know the difference between wrong and right—they just don’t think they’re obliged to follow the rules, and they are born manipulators. Slime. Nothing on earth could ever excuse what he is, and yet he sits in his chair with a conceited smile, thinking that the rest of us are deluded and sad for not sharing his sick and twisted desires.
I stand in front of the two-way mirror in the observation area, staring at him. If this man got anywhere near Rosie, I’ll personally make sure he regrets it. The time will come.
“Oh, Agent, you must be desperate, if I’m your only suspect,” he says to Martinez. “What did I do now?”
She surprises me by not asking about the bracelet first.
“Did you do anything, Bobby? We shall get to that, I promise you, we have enough time. Tell me about your new buddy Travis Boggs.”
He shrugs, eyeing her with the same sickening smile the whole time. Duncan might not be interested in a grown woman, but he tries to make her uncomfortable.
Good luck, asshole.
“Oh, yeah, Travis. He was no fun, but had a lot of money to spend, so I put up with him.”
I can see Cal rolling his eyes. We suspect Duncan to be involved in crimes that are extremely lucrative. He wouldn’t need another ex-con to buy him a beer.
“Was?” Martinez asks casually.
“Well, I suppose he hasn’t changed much since I saw him last. That was, wait…two days ago. Maybe he went gambling. I have no idea.”
“Oh really? Did he ever tell you where all that money was from?”
Duncan crosses his arms over his chest. “Miss—” He waits for the effect, but Martinez doesn’t take the bait, her cold stare unwavering. “Agent,” he corrects himself. “Why don’t we stop beating around the bush? I get it. I’m in town, and some beautiful children are missing. I heard that some of them were with homosexuals.”
Cal was so right. I don’t want to hear this. I lean my head against the cool glass pane, trying to get my bearings.
“Hey, I don’t judge. Each to their own.” I want to punch him. Judging from Martinez’ tense posture, she has similar feelings.
“You know,” she says calmly, “it’s too bad that there are people out there who have disgusting stereotypes and tell lies about loving families by comparing them to sick bastards like—oh wait. Like you.” Behind Duncan’s back, Cal holds up his hand, and she gives him a smirk.
“Don’t worry, Bobby. Unfortunately, I can’t yet arrest anyone for talking garbage. If you help us out here, it’s a win-win situation, and we just might take you off the suspect list. We really need to know a little more about Travis.”
“You’re a dyke? Did I offend you?” he asks, the smile never leaving his face. “Never mind. Let’s see, good old Travis. He spent a good deal of time with some cheap hookers. He was planning to go on a trip with some money his last job made him. He might have said something about a girl, but I can hardly remember.”
“Well, try harder. It’s not like there’s nothing at stake for you here, as you’ve noticed earlier.”
“See, I know where you’re going with this.” He attempts to appear bored. “You know I’m clean now, all websites I’ve been on are legal.”
“Children’s catalogues.”
I put my hand over my stomach, willing to suppress the urge to throw up.
“I buy things that I send to orphanages, did you know? Part of my redemption.” He leans forward to look at her. “I bet you’d love to lock me up just for the thoughts in my head, too bad you can’t, isn’t it?”
“Did Travis share any of those thoughts?”
Duncan shook his head, and the regret showing in his face is probably the first and only honest reaction.
“He didn’t get it. I think he might have been a little offended too, that’s why he didn’t show up.”
“What about the girl?” She puts a picture of Rosie in front of him, the same that has been all over town, and shown on the TV morning show. Duncan shakes his head.
“That’s why he had all the money, but he didn’t know what happened to her. Maybe they shipped her off to another country…I never got to see her in person.”
Cal and Martinez share a look, and she pushes back her chair, letting it scrape over the floor.
“So? I helped you best I could. Can I go now?”
A grim smile flickers over Martinez’ face.
“Not yet, Bobby. You should call your lawyer too.”
“Wait! What the hell are you talking about? I gave you everything I know.”
“Good for you. Maybe that’s even true. Forgive me if I forgot to mention one detail to you. The girl that we found had one of your bracelets.”
“So? They’re cheap. Anyone can buy them.”
“Sure, but then there are those DNA traces. Tricky, I know.”
He stares at her in surprise and anger.
“Remember, Travis, everything they can do on CSI, we can do better. You might want to make that call now.”
She and Cal leave the interrogation room to join me in the observation area.
“What a creep,” Martinez says as soon as the door closes behind her.
“You really have DNA?” I ask.
“There’s some,” she says. “I’ll bet my ass that it’s his. We tie him to the murder, he’s not going to get out again. With his record, that’ll be it.” Cal nods in agreement.
It’s an outcome as satisfying as it can be under the circumstances, and I hope with all my heart that the charges will stick. Donna Clarks needs to know that the murderer of her daughter will be punished, even though that will never be enough to heal the wounds.
As it is, we learned very little about Rosie. We need to take a deeper look into the life of Travis Boggs, his connections, his family.
I hope to God Duncan told the truth when he said he never saw the girl that Boggs had kidnapped.
Chapter Thirteen
Cal and Martinez left me alone for a moment to get some caffeine. I think of Donna Clarks. I did reschedule the appointment, but wonder if the questions I had for her still make sense at all. It doesn’t matter. I’d feel like a coward backing out now. She’ll already know. There’ll be more tears.
I look at Duncan who appears surprisingly relaxed for someone who’s accused of murder, hoping that Martinez’s bluff will pan out. If it doesn’t, we don’t have enough to hold him. We’ll let a man back out who’s fantasizing over catalogues. There’s not a damn thing we can do about it, unless we can prove that he’s hooking up with the traffickers. In this job, we sometimes have to accept the reality of loose ends. Sometimes, it’s impossible to do so.
Duncan looks up at me when I walk inside, surprised.
“I know good cop/bad cop,” he says. “Although, the guy brooding in the corner wasn’t much help. So what are you?”
I’m watching you, jerk.
“You said you never saw her in person, the girl Travis was talking about.”
“That’s what I said.” He grins. “You’re Martinez’s girlfriend, or what?”
It never ceases to amaze me what a narrow mind can come up with.
“You knew from the picture that it was her though.”
“Yes, he had some pics taken at the daycare center. Pretty girl.” Here it comes. He tried the same thing with Martinez before. It’s the way they talk, the way they try to get to you and turn things around, so they can play victim in court.
“Travis was only interested in the money though,” Duncan says with obvious regret. “I asked him if he touched her…” Every muscle in my body tenses with the effort to stand still.
“…and if her skin was soft like—”
“You sick scum!” I’m not sure how it happened, but the next moment I have him by his collar, up against the wall of the interrogation room. I punched a wall earlier, but this is much better, for a brief moment anyway.
Until reality kicks in.
“Get out of here right now!”
I try to catch my breath. Cal is angry, and damn, he has every right to be. Still, this might have been my only chance to get my hands on Duncan, and I have a hard time regretting it. He deserved that, just for looking at the picture of a little girl, Rosie, that way.
“Hey, thanks, lady!” Duncan snorts as he struggles to his feet, wiping his bloody nose. “This will make for an interesting conversation with my lawyer.”
“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” Martinez says. “You’re still going to prison. I hear that your kind isn’t too popular there. Just stating facts, buddy.”
Cal grabs me by the arm and physically drags me out of the room. I feel offended, but I’m too exhausted to protest much.
“That’s it. You go home, shower, and don’t come back here before you have slept at least eight hours. I can’t have you screw up any more than you already have.”
“That’s harsh. As neither you nor Martinez noticed what Duncan said about Rosie, that he never saw her in person. Boggs showed him pictures. He ID’ed her!”
“Great, so why did you punch him in the face after he was such a great help with our investigation? Look at that man! Come on, Ann, look at him!”
I turn back to the window. The grin is back on Duncan’s face.
“So?”
Cal shakes his head. “I know that your family is going through hell right now, and that you want to find your niece, but this piece of shit here has murdered a child. You just made his life a little easier.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about it, but—”
“Sorry won’t do. You inserted yourself into a Federal investigation, and I let that happen because you’re qualified to be there—but not when it’s family. I made a mistake there.”
