Requiem, page 3
“What kind of groups, Jill? I know some people think the dark web is a haven for criminal activity.”
“We suspect one is an illegal international adoption ring.”
All the blood drained from Wyatt’s face.
“Is that where you found Danny’s picture?”
McDade nodded. “And photos of many other children.”
“Are you going to rescue them? Make arrests?”
“We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t know where they are, or who they are.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Our people only got a glimpse inside this ring before risking being detected. It has extremely sophisticated security systems that require specific customized software. It’ll take some time for us to infiltrate and get a lock on the players and their locations.”
Wyatt stared at the photo.
Searching the eyes of the boy he believed was his son, Lisa’s words echoed.
“Find Danny, Ray. Bring him home.”
CHAPTER 6
Downey, California
From the poster, Wanda Stroud smiled at her friend, Colleen Eden.
It was a recent picture of Wanda, right there under the words POLICE BULLETIN and MISSING PERSON, emblazoned in bold red letters.
Next was a description with Wanda’s date of birth, her height and weight, hair and eye color.
Then came details and dates—how Stroud’s last known location was believed to have been LAX (Los Angeles International Airport) after she’d arrived in the U.S. on a flight from Mexico City, Mexico; how Stroud, a retired librarian, had texted a friend over the phone from the airport, planning to meet the friend near her home in Downey the next day; how Stroud failed to show up and had not been seen since. The poster offered a case number and invited anyone with information to call Downey Police or Detective Brandon Chambers.
At home, in front of her computer monitor, looking at Wanda’s missing-person poster, Colleen’s heart filled with fear. She found a measure of comfort in the fact she had called police and reported Wanda missing.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Detective Chambers had assured her.
She’d met with him at police headquarters after a patrol unit first checked Wanda’s bungalow on De Palma, before setting the investigation in motion.
Colleen recalled how Chambers’s eyebrows lifted slightly when she told him the now-disturbing detail of Wanda’s last message from the airport.
“Something weird happened on the plane.”
“Did she offer you details on what happened?” Chambers asked after he made note of the remark.
“No. None.”
After asking her more questions about Wanda, Chambers assured Colleen that Wanda’s case was a priority. He outlined all the police would do, including: contacting Wanda’s carrier to track down her phone’s location and the last calls made; checking all activity on her credit and banking cards; entering all the case information in all law enforcement databases and networks; and working with the LAPD, the FBI, and authorities at LAX, who could check security cameras.
“We’ll issue a press release and get the poster up on all our social media accounts as soon as possible,” Chambers said.
The Downey police had moved fast, Colleen thought.
Now, looking at Wanda’s missing-person information, Colleen’s thoughts raced with a million fears.
Praying for her friend, she couldn’t stop Wanda’s words from haunting her.
A weird thing happened on the plane.
CHAPTER 7
Alhambra, California
“Got anything for the Sked today?”
After reading the email, Sabrena Roha typed her response.
“Not today, Agnes. First day back.”
Roha sipped some coffee, then contemplated the palms outside her apartment window on Almansor when she received a reply.
“No problem, Sabrena. Good work on the shooting series,” said Anges Finney, the assignment editor with True Signal News in New York.
“Thanks,” Roha said.
She scrolled through the Sked, a schedule of stories True Signal’s journalists across the country and around the world were working on. The items were labeled with a single word, known as a slug. That was followed by a byline, identifying the reporter; then a placeline, identifying where the story originated; and then a short summary. Sometimes a story fell through, and it was removed from the Sked; sometimes it changed, and was reslugged. But usually, the articles came together.
Roha glanced at today’s lineup. Among the Sked offerings were: JETMYSTERY, by Ana Ilano, MANILA: Families search for answers a year after jetliner disaster; LOSTEMBRYOS, by Sylvia Parker, CHICAGO: Eggs and embryos lost after storage failure at fertility clinic; HOSTAGEHUNT, by Denis Hugo, PARIS: Dragnet across Europe for bank robbers who fled with three bank tellers.
They all looked strong.
Roha sipped more coffee, pondering ideas for a new story. She had just come back to work after completing a four-part series on a mass shooting in Los Angeles, and how it had devastated the families involved. Her heart went out to mothers, wives, fathers, husbands, children—everyone whose life was fractured by another senseless act. Writing on a tragedy was emotionally draining for Roha; it always had been. She was no rookie; she had done so many stories like it before.
You blink, and you’ve put in nearly two decades in this business.
Right out of college, Roha had parlayed weekend student work at the San Diego Bureau of the Associated Press into a full-time reporting job. In her five years with the AP in San Diego, she’d covered drug cartels, border issues, the military, sports, entertainment, and every tragedy imaginable.
Then she joined the Los Angeles Times, where she worked as an investigative reporter in Metro.
But the industry was changing. Newspapers were losing readers and ad revenue. There were job cuts. Scores of papers folded; many died a slow death. So, after 10 years at the Times, Roha took a buyout, figuring it was best before another round of layoffs. At the same time, she applied for a position with a new media outlet, True Signal News.
“Your work is first-rate,” Chase Lockner, managing editor of True Signal, had said during her interview. “I like that you were with the Associated Press. My grandfather worked for the AP.”
Lockner stressed that True Signal’s mission was to get to the truth, no matter how long it took; to go beneath the surface of investigations; to break stories while striving for excellence.
“Sounds good to me,” Roha said.
Lockner hired her.
Roha could work from home and travel anywhere a story required.
“Just give us good, meaningful reads, Sabrena,” Lockner said.
She’d been with them for a few years and was glad she’d joined their staff. True Signal’s subscribers now reached nearly three million around the globe.
All right. Time to find a new story.
Roha opened her folder of potential leads—unconfirmed tips she was pursuing. A regional car rental agency allegedly was obtaining vehicles from a car-theft network. An extremist group was plotting to carry out armored car heists to fund other operations. Somewhere in Calaveras, a cult, claiming to have made contact with aliens, was building a rocket ship to transport them to a distant planet to create a new world.
So far, none of her leads had gotten any traction.
Roha’s focus shifted to a distinct, on-screen alert to an email.
She subscribed to dozens of law enforcement accounts that instantly informed her when a new press release had been issued.
This one was from Downey Police, a bulletin about a missing person.
Roha leaned closer to her monitor and read about Wanda Stroud, 66, a retired librarian, last seen at LAX after a return flight from Mexico City.
Roha studied the photo.
She looks like a nice lady.
Tapping her finger on her desk, she wondered.
This wasn’t a Silver Alert. Nothing about a lost senior. Nothing about a medical condition. A flight from Mexico City? Could cartels be using seniors as mules? Could have nothing to do with Mexico, nothing to do with drugs. Could be anything.
Roha stopped tapping her finger and reached for her phone.
CHAPTER 8
Manhattan, New York
The diner was on West 23rd Street.
The counter had chrome-ringed stools, and there was a line of booths with green vinyl, patched with duct tape. It had a low ceiling, and the air held the aroma of deep-fried food, but Wyatt wasn’t hungry.
His stomach was twisted in knots.
He went to an empty booth at the back, where he resumed analyzing what McDade had revealed to him the previous day in Bryant Park.
Danny had been stolen from us in the fire at Banff and taken into a criminal adoption ring.
Wyatt didn’t get much sleep after his meeting with McDade. He could only think of the picture she’d shown him.
It was Danny.
Wyatt raised his fist to his mouth.
Danny.
McDade wouldn’t let him copy the picture, but it was burned into his heart. It had ignited wild fears, because this FBI lead arose from the investigation of the Hydra Killer and was tied to a criminal adoption ring’s networks on the dark web.
My God, what have they done to Danny?
Where is he now?
“What would you like?” asked a man with a white apron and a mop of dark hair standing at the table, order pad in hand.
“Just a coffee, thanks.”
As the server left, a man entered the diner. Wearing a dark sport coat, white shirt, and jeans, he came straight to the booth, sighing as he sat across from Wyatt.
“Raymond. It’s been a while.”
“Thanks for meeting me, Tony.”
“Getting back into the news racket has turned out well for you.”
Wyatt looked at his friend and long-time source, Tony DeCastilla, retired NYPD detective, now a private investigator. He had offered Wyatt a job before True Signal News hired him.
“That was a helluva story in Vermont, Ray. From what I hear, it’s going good for you. You got some book deal on the Hydra thing.”
“The book’s on hold. I don’t think the story’s ended.”
DeCastilla detected something unsettled in Wyatt’s eyes.
“What’s going on? You seem uneasy.”
“Something’s come up. Tony, I need help. It’s why I reached out.”
The server brought Wyatt’s coffee.
“Can I get you something?” he asked DeCastilla.
“Yeah. I’ll have a coffee. Thanks.”
The server left.
“What is it, Ray?”
Wyatt had weighed his decision before he sent a message to DeCastilla last night. He’d only promised McDade he’d do the right thing, and the right thing was to find Danny at any cost.
Now, at the diner, he related all he knew to DeCastilla, because he trusted him and because he needed help.
DeCastilla whistled softly.
“Geez, so the feds think your boy is alive with an illegal adoption network. Damn, that’s a helluva thing, Ray, a helluva thing.”
“So, can you find out what’s going on with their investigation?”
“You want me to poke around in an ongoing FBI investigation?”
“I know I’m walking on a thin edge here. Maybe even crossing a line.”
“No maybe about it, Ray. It’s risky stuff.”
“But it’s my son,” Wyatt said. “They’ve got to be working with people on the Hydra investigation. You must know some people with the other agencies on the task force who are on the inside.”
“It’s possible, but you’ve got McDade, Ray, so you’re already further ahead than I could get you.”
“She won’t tell me much more.”
“I hear you. She showed you the picture, to help her, and maybe because she considers you a friend. Not telling you more may not be nice, but you can bet she has her reasons—a big one being to protect the investigation.”
“What about going to Devlin Foxe, who’s cooperating with the FBI?”
DeCastilla shook his head.
“You know better, Ray. If Foxe is working with the FBI, as a key player trying to work a better sentencing deal, then going to him could be seen as obstruction. You gotta think this through. If you or I step into this, we risk damaging or blowing their investigation.”
“I know how it works,” Wyatt said. “There are police investigations, and there are journalistic investigations.”
Wyatt rubbed his chin, picked up his phone, and scrolled to the last photos he had of Danny. They were taken at Banff. He came to a favorite—Lisa holding Danny, with the Rocky Mountains behind them.
Wyatt closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the heat of the fire, before opening them to the picture on his phone.
“Ray.” DeCastilla saw what Wyatt was looking at. “I know this hurts.”
“I’ve already lost so much. I’ve got nothing left.”
“I know.”
“Will you help me, Tony?”
DeCastilla looked at him, then nodded.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
CHAPTER 9
Alhambra, California
Roha’s first call was to the Downey Police detective on the case.
“Chambers,” he answered.
“Hi. Sabrena Roha. I’m a reporter with True Signal News, and I’m looking into the case of Wanda Stroud for a possible story. Do you have a moment?”
“Go ahead.”
“This will be on the record, okay?”
“Sure. That’s fine.”
“Is she still missing?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me more about the case, other than what’s in the news release?”
“Such as?”
“Do you suspect foul play, or have any suspects? Is Wanda Stroud known to police? That kind of thing.”
“I see.” Chambers waited a moment. “I don’t have a lot to share at this time, other than it appears she landed at LAX, called a friend, but never made it home to Downey from the airport.”
“Any theories on what may have happened?”
“Nothing at this time, but it’s too early to rule anything out.”
“Your press release indicates she went missing after arriving at LAX on a flight from Mexico City. Can I get the airline and flight number?”
“Hold on.”
The line went silent for several seconds before Chambers came back.
“It’s a Mexican airline, Cee-ell-low-ah–our-rah.”
“Cielo Ahora. That’s Sky Now,” Roha repeated, helping him with the correct pronunciation and translation.
“Thanks,” Chambers said.
“No problem. And the flight number?”
“CA359.”
“And given the connection to Mexico and LAX, are you working with other law enforcement agencies?”
“We are. Police at LAX, LAPD, L.A. County, Homeland, the FBI, everyone.”
“What’re they telling you?”
“Nothing I can share. But we’re investigating with all available resources.”
“Are they checking video at LAX?”
“That would be part of the investigation.”
Roha took everything down before asking, “Anything strike you as unusual about this case?”
“It’s unusual for her to go missing. Totally out of character.”
“The friend she called from LAX that she’d planned to meet—is that friend the person who reported her missing?”
“Yes.”
“Can you put me in touch with the friend?”
“Give me your contact info. I’ll pass it to her, and let her decide.”
Roha gave him her number and email, then said, “Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything that should go into the story?”
“I think that’s pretty much it for now, except to say that we’re doing all we can to locate her.”
“Okay, thanks. Can I get the full spelling of your name?”
Chambers gave it to Roha, and then she ended the call.
For a long moment, she looked at the palms outside her apartment window, thinking how the call had not even touched the surface of the story, debating on whether to go further.
I’ll dig a little more. Let’s see what happens.
Roha opened her folder of contacts she’d developed over the years. She had hundreds of them. She also scrolled through others on her phone. She knew people with the airport police at LAX, Customs, Homeland, the Transportation Security Administration, known as the TSA, L.A. County, the LAPD, and the FBI. She also had sources within the Mexican Consulate in Los Angeles, and the FBI’s legal attaché at the U.S. Embassy in Mexico City.
She got busy—sending emails, making calls, leaving messages.
She was getting up for more coffee when her phone rang.
“Hello,” she said.
“Is this Sabrena Roha with True Signal News?”
“Yes.”
“This is Colleen Eden, Wanda Stroud’s friend. You wanted to talk to me?”
CHAPTER 10
Downey, California
Sabrena Roha drove a 2017 Grabber Blue Ford Mustang.
It had belonged to her fiancé, Cliff, a Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputy, who was killed when he was shot in a traffic stop.
Losing him had turned Roha’s world upside down, and became a factor in her decision to take a buyout from the Times. She withdrew socially. Worried friends tried to help her reconnect, but she never really got out much. She chose to focus on her job.
Still, not a day went by that she didn’t think of Cliff.
It’s been a couple of years. I’ve got to get on with my life. But it hurts.
She opened up the Mustang’s V-8, heading west on 10, before south on 710 through East L.A., then continuing south on the Golden State Freeway.
Along the 20-minute drive, her phone vibrated and chimed with responses from the calls she’d put out. In keeping with the law, Roha used her phone’s hands-free speaker and voice command features.
