Blindside (Michael Bennett)

by James Patterson

  I thought he was lying. I asked him where the boy might go or what interested him. The man ignored me, watching a Yankees– Red Sox game on TV.

  No way I wanted to waste time. Every minute counted with a missing child. I wanted to threaten him or scare him in some way. He’d spent a year in Rikers, awaiting trial on a robbery, and been arrested half a dozen times over the years. I couldn’t threaten much that would scare him.

  Then I had another idea. I’d let others threaten him. I took the remote from the bar and changed all the TVs at the same time to HGTV. The reaction was understandably outrage.

  I said in a loud voice, “I’ll turn the game back on as soon as this man answers my questions about a missing boy. A three-year-old. So you need to decide if it’s easier to take the remote from me or make him talk.” I noticed all the eyes in the place fall on the boyfriend.

  Someone said, “Why won’t you help someone looking for a missing kid?” That was the nicest thing said.

  Quickly, the boyfriend realized the danger he was in and jumped up to tell me that his girlfriend’s sister always took the boy without telling anyone. She felt like the boy was more hers than her sister’s.

  Twenty minutes later, I was back at the apartment, asking about the mom’s sister, Crystal Fuches. According to the mom, Crystal was, let’s just say, untrustworthy. They clearly didn’t get along.

  I found Crystal Fuches two blocks away. She was nothing like her sister had made her out to be. She was a bank teller who was concerned about her nephew. She took him some afternoons to give him a healthy meal and read to him. I was impressed.

  She said, “I’m surprised my sister and her no-good boyfriend even noticed he was missing.”

  “To be fair, only your sister missed him. She seems nice. Just in a difficult situation.”

  “A situation she constantly puts herself in.”

  “Have you seen your nephew?”

  “Of course. I put him to bed an hour ago. My sister never looked up from her phone.”

  When I rushed back to the apartment and checked the boy’s room, he was snoring, bundled in his blankets.

  That’s why I always check every room in an apartment more than once during an investigation.

  Natalie’s apartment looked fine. A little messy, but it was a typical twenty-one-year-old’s apartment. Except that she had no roommates. That was unusual down here where an apartment like this regularly went for more than four thousand dollars a month.

  The quick background I had done on Natalie and her mother hadn’t shown any large incomes. I knew the mayor was proud of coming “from the people.” He lived on the mayor’s two-hundred-thousand-dollar salary. That sounded like a lot of money, but in New York, even when you were living for free in Gracie Mansion, it didn’t get you that far.

  There was no super in the building, so I called the leasing office. I explained to the property manager who I was and that I was looking for a missing person. The woman on the phone sounded helpful, and I found the office a few blocks away.

  The woman who met me at the office, Renee Schobert, was about my age and very well put together, in a professional dress with a colorful scarf. Her sandy hair draped down her right shoulder.

  Renee ushered me into her office, crammed with file cabinets. She said, “I pulled out Natalie’s file after you called. There’s nothing out of order or unusual. Except her deposit and six full months of rent were paid at the same time.”

  I said, “So you don’t know her personally? Didn’t ever visit the apartment?”

  She shook her head, then slid the open file across to me. She said, “The entire amount was wired here from Danske Bank in Tallinn, Estonia.”

  I glanced at the wire transfer and wrote down the information on the bank. The address was Narva Maantee 11, 15015 Tallinn, Estonia. I wasn’t sure what this meant, but I knew it was important. It was one of those gut feelings cops on TV always seem to have. They only came to me occasionally. It took me years to recognize them and longer to trust those kinds of feelings.

  Just as I was finishing my notes, Renee Schobert looked closely at me and said, “Oh, my God, you’re the cop who’s been on TV. The one who shot that kid in the Bronx.”

  I nodded, hoping to get out of there quickly.

  She said, “How could you shoot an unarmed boy like that?”

  I could’ve explained to her what happened. I could’ve told her not to listen to some of the things she hears on TV. But I had a job to do. And I thanked God that I had something to keep me occupied. That way I didn’t focus on the exact question she had asked.

  I thanked her and slipped out of the office quickly.

  CHAPTER 22

  I WAS GLAD to be home just as it was getting dark. I decided to play down anything I was doing, officially or otherwise. Mary Catherine still felt I needed a break, and, yeah, I was too chickenshit to tell her I was back at work full-time.

  Hiding exactly what I was doing at work didn’t turn out to be a problem. Mary Catherine met me in the hallway as soon as I walked in. The way she hugged me, I knew something was up.

  I stepped back to look her in the eyes and said, “Tell me what’s wrong.” After you’ve lost a wife to cancer and you’ve dealt with the problems of ten kids, you rarely have time for people to beat around the bush. Not that Mary Catherine ever did.

  She came right to the point, as usual. “Some of the younger kids are upset. They were teased at school. Excuse my French, but that asshole, the Reverend Caldwell, stuck a microphone in Jane’s face and asked her if you felt any guilt at all.”

  That hurt. Any parent will tell you they would take any amount of abuse so their kids wouldn’t have to.

  I said, “Is Jane upset? What did she say?”

  Then Mary Catherine let a smile slide across her beautiful face. “She used a few words that we don’t allow in this house and the nuns at Holy Name would usually frown upon. Only in this case, Sister Sheilah backed her up. She looked at the reverend and said, ‘Let’s see you use that quote on TV, you jackass.’”

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Mary Catherine said, “It was quite the scandal at school today. Things have quieted down now.”

  Trent saw me and rushed over to give me a hug. He looked up at me with that sweet face and said, “Michael Sedecki and some of his friends said you were a racist.”

  “That seems like an odd thing to say to you.”

  “I pointed out to them that I’m black and I have a black sister, a Korean sister, and a Hispanic sister. They said it didn’t matter. Then they said I was com-compli …”

  Mary Catherine offered, “Complicit?”

  Trent said, “Yeah. Exactly. What’s that mean, anyway?”

  I said, “It means the kids were just being stupid.” I kissed him on his head and hugged him. Nothing I had seen as a cop had ever affected me like the smallest injury to my children. Physically or emotionally.

  When Trent hustled away to do his homework, I said to Mary Catherine, “Now, what exactly happened with the Reverend Caldwell?”

  “Sister Sheilah dealt with him.”

  I laughed out loud. No one had ever crossed Sheilah twice. At least not by choice.

  Mary Catherine snuggled in close to me and wrapped her arms around my midsection. “This will be like a vacation. I can have you all to myself tomorrow.”

  I said, “I, ummm …”

  She stepped back to look at me.

  I blurted, “I’ll be back at work full-time tomorrow.” I held my breath.

  Mary Catherine didn’t say a word. That was worse than anything else she could say or do. I was in real trouble.

  CHAPTER 23

  I WAS STUCK. I knew better than to chase after Mary Catherine immediately. She needed to calm down. Not that I would ever say that aloud. She once told me she felt it was in her DNA to blow up, then take a short time to calm down. This was a textbook example of one of those times.

  I ducked into the dining room, where Ed
die, Ricky, Trent, and the twins, Fiona and Bridget, were all in various stages of homework. The long dining room table served multiple purposes. With ten kids, any house or apartment would feel like one of those tiny houses on TV.

  A big rule in our house: homework was to be done before dinner unless there were extenuating circumstances. That included basketball practices, dance lessons, and after-school meetings. But not TV or playing on a cell phone.

  This was a rare night, with none of those things occurring. All the kids greeted me with smiles and waves. I was rarely much help with their very specific homework assignments, but I was great for moral support.

  I sat on the couch and knew better than to turn on the news. I gazed out the wide windows to catch a glimpse of the Hudson River.

  Chrissy hopped onto the couch next to me. She didn’t say anything. Just smiled and started reading a book, about a young girl who volunteered after 9/11. I liked to see her read non-fiction books occasionally.

  I could tell when she was really concentrating and when she was faking it. When concentrating, her brow furrowed. She could really focus. When she was faking it, her eyes darted around the room and she finished a page every six minutes.

  I said, “What’s wrong, pumpkin?”

  “I don’t feel like doing my reading for today. I keep trying, but I just can’t get excited about it.”

  “Do you like the book?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s really good. I just don’t like the way people have been talking about you. I don’t understand why people are mad at you.”

  I sighed. “Neither do I.”

  There was a long pause, then Chrissy said, “Are you sorry you shot that man?”

  I draped an arm across her shoulders and pulled her tight. Kids really do know the right questions to ask. I’d been struggling with the shooting. Reliving it over and over again. Dreaming about it. And my little girl had crystallized one of the main issues: I regretted the shooting, but I couldn’t apologize for wanting to live.

  I said quietly, “I am sorry. I’m sorry I had no choice. I had to shoot that man if I wanted to have chats like this with a girl like you. Sometimes in life things like this happen. Then you have another choice. You can let it bother you the rest of your life and affect how you act. Or you can appreciate the extra time you have. Every time I look in your face, or one of your brothers’ or sisters’ faces, I thank God that I’m alive.”

  She gave me a quick hug. As she was about to scoot off the couch, Mary Catherine reappeared.

  She said, “Room for one more?”

  Chrissy immediately squealed, “Yes,” and scooted in next to me so Mary Catherine would sandwich her between us.

  Mary Catherine looked at me like she needed permission to join us.

  I said, “I’m thinking.”

  Mary Catherine dropped the pitch of her voice and said, “Don’t think too long.”

  “Okay. Maybe you can join us this once.”

  I suspected the errant elbow I caught in the face as she slipped past me to sit next to Chrissy was no accident.

  CHAPTER 24

  CHRISSY DOZED OFF on the couch next to me, and Mary Catherine moved so she could snuggle up close. Now I was the middle of the sandwich.

  Mary Catherine dropped her head on my shoulder and said, “I’m sorry I blew up, Michael.”

  I lifted my head and stared at her.

  She said, “What? What’s wrong?”

  “I almost thought I heard you apologize. I’m worried you might’ve suffered a head injury. Or perhaps we’ll have to call my grandfather to complete an exorcism. This doesn’t sound like my Mary Catherine.”

  She punched me in the arm. Hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough for me to whine about it. She said, “I’m serious. I’m sorry I lost control. I also think we should talk about it.”

  “About going back to work? You knew it was going to happen.”

  “Not this fast. You’ve been through something traumatic. We all have. Don’t you think you need some time to recover?”

  I thought about how much to tell her. Then I said, “It’s not exactly like I’m back on the street. At least it’s not my usual assignment. I’m working a missing persons case.”

  “Really? I thought you only worked homicides.”

  I explained to her my meeting with the mayor. Not in great detail. I remembered the admonition to keep things quiet. But I couldn’t just lie to my fiancée.

  When I was finished, Mary Catherine said, “What’s he like, the mayor?”

  I shrugged. “He’s a politician. But he’s not quite that dick everyone makes him out to be. Talking to him, I had the sense that he was a concerned father. I understood that.”

  “Everyone has their good and bad.”

  “Is that an Irish saying?”

  “No, Reader’s Digest.” Mary Catherine looked at me with those big, beautiful eyes and said, “Could you have refused?”

  “I could have, but …”

  “But what?”

  I could hear in her voice she was getting annoyed again. I blurted out, “It might help Brian.” I told her what the mayor had said about making some phone calls.

  “Is that right? Is it right to use a person’s position, like the mayor’s, to help your family? Can he even make a promise like that?”

  I said, “He didn’t promise anything.”

  Mary Catherine said, “But is it right to use his position like that?”

  “No, probably not. Do you want me to refuse?”

  “No way. I want Brian back. I miss him.”

  I said, “Exactly.” Everyone is an idealist, until the issue affects them. I knew I was going to do what I had to do.

  CHAPTER 25

  ALICE GROFF AND Janos Titon had to move on to someone else after they eliminated Tommy Payne from their list. The next nerd they started looking for was named Jennifer Chang. Alice had one photograph of her. She was a really cute twenty-four-year-old Asian woman from Los Angeles.

  They didn’t have a lot on her other than a couple of possible addresses and the fact that she lived with another computer genius named Oscar Gonzales. Alice smiled at a line Henry had written in his notes about her. He pointed out the fact that her relationship with Oscar was platonic. That immediately told Alice that Henry was interested in Jennifer for more than her computer skills. At the end of the notes, Henry had added that she was not to be hurt, no matter what.

  Alice also smiled at the idea of someone telling her how to do her job. She hurt people. That’s what she got paid for. She wouldn’t let something like an infatuation interfere with her job. If the cute Ms. Chang didn’t want to get hurt, she should do as they say. Henry needed to think with his head more. He also shouldn’t show vulnerabilities like that.

  Henry wasn’t like a drug lord or a Russian gangster. He wasn’t so ruthless that he would track people down for a slight to his honor. But he was relying more and more on the two crazy Dutchmen he used as muscle. They were always eager to show how tough they were.

  Alice had no desire to tangle with them.

  Janos looked at the notes and said, “So all we do is ask Jennifer to come back with us. Nothing more.”

  “Are you certain? It doesn’t help Henry’s business reputation if we let this girl walk.”

  “What are you saying? Kill her even if we don’t have to? That’s no business, that’s just weird.” Janos turned to stare at Alice. A smile crept over his face. “Or is there something else? Are you jealous of young Jennifer? Is that why you want to put a bullet in her?”

  Alice was silent for a while. Finally she said, “Not jealous in a romantic way. Henry prizes these computer people but barely acknowledges our contributions to his business.”

  “He recognizes us with cash. I’ll take that any day. So let’s not hurt this girl. Please tell me you’re smart enough to know not to harm a purple-dyed hair on Jennifer Chang’s pretty head.”

  Alice frowned but managed to avoid an overt promise, and they went
about their business.

  One of the addresses they had was a brownstone in Queens. They were dressed professionally today and expected this to be a simple visit. Janos was even wearing a tie he’d bought from a place called Daffy’s, not far from Times Square.

  They found the apartment door on the first floor but got no answer. Janos slipped a credit card out of his pocket.

  Alice said, “What are you going to do with that?”

  “I saw this on TV. I’m going to jiggle the lock open.”

  “What TV show?”

  “I saw it at home. It’s an American show. The Rockford Files.”

  Alice shook her head, knowing it would never work.

  After a short and furious bout of wiggling the card, Janos got frustrated and used his shoulder to smash in the door. The flimsy doorframe snapped on the inside, and they found themselves staring at an empty apartment. Not just that no one was home; there was no furniture or clothing.

  Alice mumbled, “Damn.”

  On their way out of the building, a young man was now sitting on the stairs, navigating a Samsung tablet. He looked up and smiled. “Are you guys looking for Oscar?”

  Alice kept Janos from saying something stupid. She immediately said, “Why? You know where he is?”

  “Are you from Columbia or Fordham?”

  This time Janos spoke. “Columbia. Do you know where Oscar moved?”

  “Yeah. He and Jennifer found a place near Midtown. It’s above a warehouse that holds caskets and funeral parlor accessories. Like a wholesaler.” He gave them directions.

  Alice stood behind the young man as he spoke with Janos. She started to calculate the odds of leaving a witness like this behind. If something happened and an investigator was thorough enough, this young man might be able to provide a description of them. That went against her professional ethics. Never leave viable witnesses.