Dark River Rising, page 14
“There were several. We often employed kids from the college,” he said, confirming the story Norm had told Radhauser.
“According to Mr. Cartwright, this one was tall, slender, sandy-haired, wore glasses, and had a tattoo of a German Shepherd puppy on the top of his right hand.”
At the foot of the bed, Mrs. Dempsey started to say something, then put her hand over her mouth.
“What do you want with this young man?” Mr. Dempsey asked, then closed his eyes for a moment.
Radhauser waited until he opened them again. “I want to question him. Apparently, he saw Ava three days before she disappeared.” He told Mr. Dempsey about the kitten this employee had taken from the kennel and allowed Ava to hold—about how she’d begged her parents to buy it for her birthday—and about the theory someone had used that kitten, or a similar one, to lure Ava from her bicycle and into the woods.
Mr. Dempsey coughed. “That theory sounds pretty far-fetched. How would anyone know a kitten was used? Whoever he was, the young man in question didn’t do anything wrong. We had a policy of letting potential buyers, and especially their children, hold the puppy or kitten. It was good for sales.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was,” Radhauser said. “But Mrs. Cartwright saw a black and white kitten near the woods where she found Ava’s bike. The place where she went missing.”
Mr. Dempsey coughed again.
Mrs. Dempsey hurried over, pulled a tissue from the box on the bedside table and handed it to him.
He spat some bloody mucus into it. Coughed again. Spat again. The rattling sound in his chest filled the silence.
She leaned close to his ear and whispered something Radhauser couldn’t hear, then tossed the tissues into the trashcan beside his bed.
Radhauser couldn’t help but remember Gracie’s breast cancer and his own bedside vigil.
Mr. Dempsey finally choked out his question. “Do you think this young man could have been involved in her kidnapping?”
“I don’t know,” Radhauser said. “But I do think there may be a connection between that kitten she longed for and the way she was seduced to follow her kidnapper. At this point, I’m calling him a person of interest. I’m hoping he might remember something—might have noticed someone paying a little too much attention to the scene she made about the kitten.”
“I’m so sorry, Detective. I felt terrible when that little girl disappeared. And, along with a lot of other neighbors, I helped search for her. I really wish I could do something to help now, but… I don’t remember anyone with a tattoo like that.” Mr. Dempsey closed his eyes. The effort of the conversation had exhausted him. He was done.
“I think you should leave now.” Mrs. Dempsey’s stance was adamant, arms crossed over her chest.
Radhauser stood and walked out of the room, but he wasn’t finished. Taylor had been so specific in his memories of the tattoo on the employee’s hand. Surely Mr. Dempsey would have noticed a tattoo like that. And why had Mrs. Dempsey stopped herself from speaking when he’d asked about the young man with the tattoo? What had she wanted to say?
He touched her arm near the front door. “Do you remember anyone with that tattoo who worked for your husband?”
She moved away from his touch. “I worked at the hospital and was raising our son. I was never very involved with the pet store and its employees.”
“You seemed to have a reaction when I mentioned the tattoo.”
“I know I reacted and I’m sorry. I don’t know why, but the idea of a puppy tattooed on a man’s hand struck me as frivolous and somehow outrageous. A lot of things do now with Patrick so ill. I have to keep focused on the problems immediately at hand—otherwise my grief over his dying and what my life will be without him, will consume me. Patrick and I were high school sweethearts. He was my first everything. First date. First kiss. First dance. First lover. Do you have any idea what it’s like to lose the only person you’ve ever loved?”
For some reason, Radhauser didn’t believe her about the tattoo. But he did know exactly what it was like to lose your first and only love. However, this wasn’t the occasion to say so. “Thank you for your time. Mr. Dempsey seems like a sensitive and kind man.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I know you have a hard road ahead. I wish you peace.”
This time she didn’t pull away. “I hope you find that baby. A grandmother should know her grandchildren. I pray Bobby, our son, has children someday. Of course, Patrick won’t be…” Unable to finish her sentence, she swallowed hard and suddenly went mute, a spasm of grief passing through her.
Chapter Fifteen
It was 4 p.m. when Radhauser returned to his office to find a message from Agent Kurtis Jackson. It stated the FBI’s facial recognition software had found multiple matches for Ava’s photo on child pornography sites. Jackson was faxing a sampling of them to Radhauser.
His entire body grew heavy, and he sat for a moment to allow the sinking feeling in his stomach to subside. That poor little ten-year-old girl who’d gone out for a birthday ride on her new bicycle. It made him nauseated to even imagine what had happened to her that day. How could something so routine and innocent turn out so badly? But the photos could provide the lead he’d been looking for. Radhauser headed for the fax machine.
He picked up the photographs.
The one on top showed Ava at about ten years old in a white lace, child-sized negligee, posed on her stomach, hands under her chin, lying on a red satin bedspread. Her blue eyes were round and innocent—a sprinkling of freckles across her nose added to the purity of the image.
In the second shot, Ava, looking both adorable and seductive, in a Playboy bunny suit, satin-lined ears and a skimpy pink G-string bikini bottom—a fluffy cotton tail pasted on her tailbone.
He felt a tightening in his chest as he stared at another photo of Ava, a little older, in a black string bikini, the bikini top dangling off her shoulder, her breasts just beginning to develop, her bottom lip in a pout. It made him furious to look at it. The last shot was one of Ava, about another year older and stark naked—a look of horror in her eyes.
Radhauser took a moment to compose himself, then stuffed the photos into a manila envelope. He was headed to Wysocki’s apartment when Perkins appeared in his doorway, bouncing up and down on his toes.
“I think we might have our murder weapon in the Cartwright case, sir. I’ve dropped the baseball bat off at the lab for blood analysis and comparison,” he said. “And I’ve got the CCTV tape from the rest area all set up for viewing if you’d like to look. I’ve fast forwarded to what I think could be our perp.”
Impressed, Radhauser complimented the young officer, then followed him into the small, dark area they used as a media room.
Perkins pitched his chin up a notch, and started the film.
A few seconds later, headlights flashed as what appeared to be a dark-colored van pulled into the rest area parking lot in front of the men’s bathroom. The tape was grainy and poor quality, but Radhauser’s pulse jumped when he saw the license plate on the front of the vehicle. “Zoom in on that.”
Perkins did, but the numbers and letters were impossible to decipher.
The driver of the van didn’t open the door. A full minute passed with no movement. Finally, a man got out, a wooden baseball bat dangling from his left hand. He slammed the door and leaned against it, scanning the parking lot. It was too dark to see his face or to distinguish the make or model of the van. The clock on the video read 3 a.m. The rest stop was quiet. As in most Oregon Interstate 5 rest areas, a line of tractor trailers had stopped for the night.
Radhauser wondered if their generators, humming in the background, had reassured the driver of the van. With no other cars visible in the lot and no one moving in or out of the bathrooms, had he felt safe in discarding the murder weapon?
The man on the tape was tall and muscular looking. He wore a pair of jeans, a leather jacket and a ball cap. When he finally moved toward the side of the men’s restroom, he did so with the ease of someone who was confident, almost cocky. No uncertainty or hesitation as the camera lost him and he disappeared into the night.
Again, Perkins fast forwarded the tape. The camera picked up the man from the back as he returned to his vehicle, still with his cocky walk, but without the bat. He started the car and drove away. Once again, they stopped the tape and zeroed in on the license plate, but had no better luck than the first time.
“Get this over to Heron,” Radhauser said. “See if his forensic boys can get anything useful from it.”
Radhauser went back into his office for the photographs of Ava, then headed to the high-rise apartments behind the Mountain View Elementary School playground. It was time to pay Stefan Wysocki a surprise visit.
Once he arrived at the ten-story luxury apartment building, Radhauser parked in a visitor’s spot and entered the lobby where he was greeted by a uniformed doorman. For a moment, Radhauser wondered if he’d been transported to New York City. “I’m here to see Stefan Wysocki.” Radhauser introduced himself and showed his badge.
The doorman reached for the phone. “Is Mr. Wysocki expecting you?”
Radhauser stretched his arm across the counter and hit the phone’s disconnect button. “I’d like to surprise him.”
The doorman scratched his jaw and gave Radhauser an astonished look. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, sir, but it’s our policy to announce visitors to our residents.”
“I don’t care about your policy.”
“What if Mr. Wysocki is with a customer or otherwise unavailable?”
“I don’t care if Mr. Wysocki is with the pope. I’m investigating a case. Now give me his apartment number.”
“You have to understand, sir. I’m not at liberty to give out that information without the resident’s permission.”
“You will give it to me or I will place you under arrest for failure to cooperate in a homicide investigation.”
The man’s dark eyes widened and his face grew pale. “Homicide. Oh my God. Mr. Wysocki is a bit odd, but he’s never struck me as a murderer.”
“What’s his apartment number?” Though Radhauser had been to Wysocki’s apartment once before—in the Emily Michaelson missing person’s case, too much time had passed for him to remember the apartment number.
“1007. Tenth floor. Turn right.”
Radhauser was halfway to the elevator when he turned back.
The doorman had picked up the phone. When he saw Radhauser, he froze, his gaze riveted to the detective’s face. Even his ears turned red.
Radhauser hurried back to the desk. “I need to make a call,” he said. “May I use your phone?”
The doorman handed him the receiver.
Radhauser hung up the phone and disconnected it from the wall. It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d normally do, but this case had his guts twisted in knots. “I know you can reconnect the phone as soon as I get on the elevator, but I’m asking you to please not do that.”
The doorman winced. “Okay. Okay already. If it’s that important to you. But make sure you tell Mr. Wysocki I tried.”
“Good man,” Radhauser said as he hurried toward the elevator.
When he got off at the tenth floor, he rang the bell to 1007.
Wysocki answered. He reminded Radhauser of a peacock. Even his manicured fingernails shined. He wore a purple and gold silk smoking jacket and the same khaki Dockers® he’d worn earlier, along with a pair of matching gold and purple slippers. As always, his styled hair was perfect, probably sprayed into place. “Detective Radhauser. What in the world are you doing here?”
“I’ve something to show you. May I come inside?”
“This isn’t a good time. I’m expecting clients,” he paused and checked his wristwatch, “any minute now. Why didn’t Henry call to announce you were coming up?”
“Because I asked him not to. And I suggest you make it a good time.” Radhauser stepped inside, forcing Wysocki to back up. “If you cooperate, it won’t take long.”
He'd redecorated his apartment and it was now furnished in black and white. Absolutely no other color. A sectional sofa with puffy white cushions and black throw pillows. Two modern black leather recliners with white throw pillows. Black bookshelves lining one wall and a brick fireplace painted black. Even the books, all of them hardbound, were covered in plain white book jackets.
Odd, Radhauser thought. Wysocki’s life was anything but black and white. If ever there were shades of gray, Wysocki had them. He'd filled an entire wall with 8x10 photographs of children, all girls, in pageant attire and framed in black. There were empty spaces where it appeared, from the slight darkening of the paint, that three additional photos had once hung. A packing box and roll of bubble wrap sat on a small table beneath the grouping of photos.
He thought about his own children, about the photographer who’d recently come to their house to photograph them. Was he legitimate? Or would Radhauser’s kids end up on a porn site?
Wysocki closed the door, then turned to Radhauser. He pursed his lips, his gaze coming to rest on Radhauser’s boots. “Would you mind taking off those clodhoppers? God only knows what you might drag in with them.”
“Yes, I would mind. But I’ll do it.” Radhauser slipped off his cowboy boots and stood on the checkerboard entry tile in his stocking feet.
“Well, you might as well sit down.” Wysocki nodded toward the black leather chairs. “Use one of them in case you’ve got horse manure on your jeans.”
Radhauser laughed as he sat. “My wife is the one who cleans the stalls. I only help out on the weekends if I’m not working on a case.”
Wysocki raised his eyebrows, then sat on the sofa. “How did you manage that?”
“She’s the horse person. Buying a ranch was her idea.”
“I thought she was a nurse. And a mother. Now I find out she’s a horsewoman? Did you marry one of those multiple personalities?”
A creeping sensation skittered across Radhauser’s shoulders. How did Wysocki know so much about Gracie? “I guess you could say she wears more than one hat.”
He gave Radhauser a bemused smile. “My ex-wife had six personalities and I didn’t like any of them.”
Radhauser hadn’t realized Wysocki had been married. The news surprised him as he stood and walked over to Wysocki’s gallery of photographs—the only color in the room. “Are these some of your shots?”
Wysocki joined him. “I took a few of the photos. But all the kids are wearing my outfits.”
A sliding glass door onto the patio was open and Radhauser could hear a chorus of yelping children let loose for their afternoon recess. The simple innocence of the sound, juxtaposed with the wall of photos, launched a brick into the pit of Radhauser’s stomach. “Looks like three of the photographs are missing.”
Wysocki sucked in his cheeks, then let them go with a slight smacking sound. “I’m easily bored and like to change things out every now and again.”
“I want to see the ones you took down.”
“I’ve packed them away.” Wysocki moved closer to the table where the cardboard box sat.
“I suggest you unpack them.”
Laying both palms flat against the table, Wysocki glared at Radhauser. “And what will you do if I refuse?”
Radhauser had no intention of leaving the apartment before he saw what Wysocki had so wanted to hide. “The search warrant you were shown earlier is still good.”
Wysocki lifted three bubble wrapped frames from the box and handed them to Radhauser.
He unwrapped them. All three were photos of Ava Cartwright that appeared to have been taken shortly after her disappearance. One of them a match for the one in the lace negligee Kurtis Jackson had sent him. In the other two, Ava wore bikinis, posed seductively on a beach towel. The bathing suits were different, one yellow, the other blue and white checked, but the towel remained the same, making Radhauser believe someone had snapped them on the same day. He turned to Wysocki. “Did you take these photographs?”
“No. But the bathing suits and nightgowns are part of my pageant line—that’s why I hung them. I like to display photographs so my clients can see how adorable their kids will look in the outfits.”
“And why did you sit in my interrogation room and pretend you didn’t recognize Ava’s fourth grade photograph?”
“Maybe I didn’t.”
“Not possible. You’re a very astute man, Wysocki.”
Wysocki rocked from one foot to the other. “Why do you think someone like me would remain silent?”
Radhauser didn’t have time to play games. “I’m asking you.”
“Because I was afraid you’d think I had something to do with her disappearance and death. I know I’m the first person you suspect when a child goes missing.”
Wysocki’s voice and breathing were so steady Radhauser believed him. “I need to know who took those photos. It’s obvious someone took them shortly after her kidnapping.”
“I have no idea.”
“Where did you get them?”
“I downloaded them from an internet site.” Wysocki slipped his hands into his pockets.
“What site?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Come on, Wysocki. You can do better than that.”
Wysocki’s stance was defiant now, hands out of his pockets, arms crossed, as if he were ready for a fight. “Why should I tell you something that is probably going to get me in trouble? Besides, those internet sites don’t keep the same address for very long. I’m sure it no longer exists.”
“I suspect you still have a computer in your bedroom. Why don’t we go check?” Radhauser headed down the hallway.
The massive room held a king-sized four-poster bed, matching nightstands, a dresser and chest of drawers. His bedspread was a black, velvet-like fabric dotted with crystals. The sitting area on the far-right side of the room housed two white velvet chairs facing sliding glass doors that led to a patio overlooking the elementary school playground. A pair of binoculars lay on the table between the two chairs. Wysocki’s desk sat against the opposite wall. Radhauser stepped over to it and turned on the computer.
