by Aaron Lazar
The family and officers filed into a conference room, settling into the padded chairs around the table.
Dunne took charge, pacing around the room. Deputy Mills stood by the door, leaning on the wall with a clipboard in hand.
The sound of crying was everywhere, and Anderson felt his own tears trying to escape. He had to stay strong. Had to be there for Grace, who was at this moment falling apart at his side.
“Listen, people. We’ve got to act fast here. I need to know everything you know. I need photographs of the children. Dates and time when you first ran into this Cromwell woman. We have to get you set up at home in case the kidnappers call. And I need statements as to your whereabouts this afternoon.”
Orville’s brow furrowed. “Why, Sheriff? You think we were in cahoots with this demon woman who stole our children?”
Dunne shook his head. “Of course not. It’s just routine procedure in cases like these.”
Tessie spoke up in a soft, wavering voice. “It’s all my fault. I thought she was a real photographer. I fell for the whole thing.”
Dunne turned to her. “You said the place was set up to look like a real studio. Like a real business?”
She nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes. Lights, cameras, toys, all kinds of props in the studio. And a receptionist in the waiting area. They even had a Keurig coffee maker, tea kettle, cups, sugar, creamer. Everything you’d expect.”
Dunne glanced at Mills. “You getting all this?”
“Yes, sir.” He continued to scribble on his notepad.
“Sounds like they were a couple of real pros,” the sheriff said, almost to himself. “We’re checking now on the office building. They may have rented it for just a month, or planned to run as soon as they scored a baby or two.”
Portia stood, her face red, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “Scored a baby or two? Are you kidding me, Sheriff?”
Dunne held up a hand. “Sorry.”
Grace jerked away from Anderson, who still held her hand tight. She got up and paced swiftly to the Sheriff, standing inches from his face. “This is not just another fucking case, Sheriff. We’re talking our children, for God’s sake!” She took a deep, quivering breath. “Why aren’t you out there looking for those two freaks?”
Speaking quietly, he locked eyes with her. “We have roadblocks up all across the county. I need those photos, pronto, so I can issue the Amber Alert. We’re getting video footage from the street cams set up for the bank next door. And the FBI has been called in. They’ll be here soon.”
Grace’s face morphed from furious to miserable, and she wept fresh tears, tugging on Dunne’s shirtsleeve. “I just want my little girl back.”
“I know. So do we, Grace. Now, please. Take a seat and let’s get back to work.”
Anderson got up and led her back to her seat. Now weeping silently into her hands, she seemed depleted.
They dug photos out of their wallets and handed them over to Deputy Mills, who trotted off to get them scanned and distributed.
“Did you have your children’s hand or fingerprints taken at any time?” Dunne turned to the couples again.
Portia nodded. “Yes. They had a safety thing at our pediatricians’ last year. We have the prints at home.”
Grace turned pale. “We don’t have anything like that.”
The Sheriff waved a hand at her, as if dismissing the concern. “No worries. The photos are the most important.”
Boone stood, fists clenched and face set in a determined frown. “How can we help, Dunne? I don’t want to just sit here and do nothing.”
“You’re not doing nothing. Now let’s go over this again. Tessie, tell us once more how you met up with this woman.”
Anderson held Grace’s hand for the next hour, until it seemed all questions had been asked and answered a hundred times over. When they were done, the police dismissed them, promising to send some tech guy to their homes to set up recording devices in case a ransom call came in. He said the Feds would take over when they arrived, but so far only the local officials had sprung into action.
With a heavy heart, they headed back to Bittersweet Hollow to wait for the call.
Chapter 20
At home that night, Portia sat on the edge of the bed feeling withered and numb. Boone had just come up from his vigil by the phone, and plopped heavily onto the mattress beside her.
She leaned into him, laying her head on his shoulder. “No one called?”
“No, not yet. Well, except the stupid sales calls we get every night. Free credit card. Free vacation. Free whatever.”
“Oh my God. What are we going to do?” Although she felt she’d cried herself out, fresh tears appeared and began to trickle down her cheeks. She’d never felt so empty, so panicked, so lost. Even when Murphy had kidnapped her and kept her hostage for those two, terrible years, it hadn’t been this bad.
“We’re going to find our boy, Portia. The Feds are on the case now. They’ve got an agent coming by at seven tonight.”
“What will he do?”
“What will she do. Her name’s Katrina Walsh.”
Portia sighed. “Well, that’s almost a relief. I’m so tired of talking to these men who don’t get it.”
“I know,” he said. “But they are working hard for us, hon.”
Her lips tightened. “Maybe. But they haven’t found the children yet.”
“It’ll take a little time. But we’ll find them.” He checked his watch. “We’ve got a half hour before the agent shows up. I’m going to shower and change.”
Listlessly, she lay back on the pillows. “Okay. Whatever.” She didn’t understand how he could care about how clean he was or what he was wearing. How could he even think of those things?
Her stomach growled.
When did I last eat?
She couldn’t remember.
Closing her eyes, she tried to breathe.
With a start, she sat up, realizing she’d fallen asleep. But she could swear she’d heard Joey crying out for her.
Had she imagined it? Or was it his pitiful cry, coming through over the miles to reach into her heart? To call out to her?
She knew they had an almost mysterious bond. The closeness she felt with him was something she’d never experienced before. Normally, she knew when he was about to wake up, or when he needed a diaper change, well before he cried or gave any outward signs. Now she felt this heartfelt tug from him.
He was upset. He was crying. He needed her.
She glanced at the clock and then at her husband, who had just emerged from the shower with a towel around his waist.
His face was a study in empathy. “How are you holding up?”
She blew out a long, quivering breath. “Not so good.”
He changed into fresh shorts and a tee shirt and then leaned over her, taking her hands in his. “Babe. We’ll get through this. You just have to have faith.”
Rage filled her and she shot off the bed, pulling her hands from his. “Are you kidding me? Faith?” She began to pace. “I have to have faith?”
He stood back and let her vent.
“How could a God who loves us let anyone take our baby boy, Boone? I don’t believe He allowed this to happen.” A bitter feeling of betrayal swept through her. “The God I know wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“But Portia—” Boone began before she interrupted him.
“He’s deserted us, Boone. Or else He doesn’t exist at all. Maybe all those atheists or agnostics or whatever they are, are right.”
“Don’t say that,” he whispered, trying to slip his arms around her waist.
“No!” She pushed him away. “Don’t touch me.”
The hurt expression in his eyes stopped her. She didn’t know what was happening, or why she was taking it out on Boone. “I’m sorry. I just—”
He closed his eyes. “We’re in this together, Portia. I’m not the enemy.”
“I know.” She crumpled onto the bed again, lowering her face
into her hands. “I just don’t understand why this is happening.”
“Come on.” He took her arm firmly, helping her up again. “Let’s go meet this agent and see if she can explain it to us.”
Chapter 21
Boone led his distraught wife down the stairs. Gently, he guided her into the living room to the couch, where her mother Daisy sat holding Grace tightly in her arms.
He wondered if this stress would reactivate Portia’s trauma from years ago. Had it already set her back? Why had she pushed him away like that? The way she was acting reminded him of that time, when she’d escaped from the bastard who’d abused her so badly.
It could happen, right? Although she appeared to be stronger and pretty much had healed from the experience, maybe deep down, she wasn’t. Maybe she was just doing a good job of covering it up.
Of course, having the baby had given her a whole new purpose in life. She’d thrown herself into Joey’s welfare, had devoted her days and nights to loving this boy. It had been an excellent distraction, that was for sure. And she hadn’t even spoken of Murphy in over a year.
Maybe that was the problem? Was she avoiding the thoughts? Pushing them down too deep?
She’d stopped going to therapy shortly after she discovered she was pregnant. Maybe it had been too soon.
The rest of the family arrived and settled into the room, including Orville, Tessie, and Ned. Shortly after seven, a knock came at the door.
Dirk Lamont jumped to his feet, ushering in Agent Walsh and an anemic-looking young man who hovered at her side. In contrast to her sidekick, the tall black woman blustered into the room in a cloud of confidence.
“Name’s Walsh,” she said, pumping Dirk’s hand hard. “This is Ralph Sweeney.”
Dirk quickly introduced them to the family.
In her flats, Walsh towered over the men in the room. Boone had never seen a woman this tall before. With tight curly gray hair, he guessed her to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties. She wore a navy blue blazer, black jeans, and a white button-down shirt.
The woman exuded confidence, and that gave Boone a good feeling. Maybe she’d really be the one to find their son and his niece.
“Okay, people. Listen up. I’m here mostly to fill you in, but I need to get back to headquarters to follow up on any leads that come in on the hotline.”
“Hotline?” Daisy asked, raising her careworn face to Agent Walsh.
“Yes. We’ve already put out an appeal on the news channels, over the radios, and of course on the electronic billboards lining the highways.”
Sweeney nodded beside her, still seemingly unable to speak in the presence of his boss. Beside the towering woman, he appeared almost boneless. Was he even breathing?
Boone shook the crazy thoughts out of his head, leaning forward. “Agent Walsh. Who are these monsters who took our children?”
Walsh locked eyes with him. “We’ve just finished the profile check based on the surveillance camera footage. This couple has come onto our radar in the past. It’s a mother and son team. Names are Vikki and Truman Wheedle.”
Tessie bolted upright. “You mean that horrible boy in the office was her son?”
Walsh nodded. “Yes. He’s quite the—er—character. Has been wanted for serious crimes in the past on his own, including insurance fraud and identity theft.”
“Why isn’t he in jail?” Grace almost screamed the words.
Walsh held up a hand. “He was. He did his time as a young man in his twenties, just got out a couple of years ago.”
Sweeney nodded again, as if confirming the facts for his towering superior.
“What about the mother. What’s her name, Vikki?” Portia asked. “Is she really a photographer?”
Walsh barked a harsh laugh. “Hell, no. But she’s really good at faking people out. She’s been wanted in several fraud cases in the past, like impersonating folks to get into their security deposit boxes and the like. She’s posed as a nurse for the elderly, and stole thousands from them over the years. She also worked for a while as a bank teller. That job almost got her caught when she began to steal from the accounts, transferring small amounts every day to her own overseas account.”
“But she escaped?” Dirk asked, frowning.
“She’s quite talented at eluding the law. Seems to slip away just before the authorities can catch her.”
Anderson stood and leaned against the back of the couch. “What kind of vehicle did they have? Could you see that in the footage?”
Walsh gave him an appraising glance. “It was a rusty turquoise-colored conversion van. Curtains in the windows. Impossible to see inside. But we did see both Vikki and Truman’s faces behind the windshield. We’ve got an APB out for the vehicle, but so far, no leads. I’m pretty certain they’ve dumped it by now and stolen another.”
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Grace broke it seconds later. “Have you done this before, Agent Walsh? I mean, handled kidnapping cases involving children?”
The woman settled back on a chair, stretching her long legs out before her. She gazed somberly at Grace. “Yes. I’ve spent my life on cases like this.”
Grace’s voice broke and she choked back a sob. “Do you usually get the children back? I mean, what are our chances?”
Walsh’s face remained composed, but Boone thought he saw a flash of pain in her eyes. It was brief, but real. He didn’t want to know what had caused it.
“Every case is different, Grace. Sometimes it’s a clear-cut ransom, and many times we pay the money and retrieve the victim. Or victims, as in this situation.” She nodded almost apologetically to them. “Other times there’s some kind of revenge involved.” She took a deep breath. “And sometimes, babies are taken to be sold to adoptive parents who have no idea that they’re stolen. There’s a large international ring that pays big bucks for beautiful children. Rich, infertile couples pay up to a million to adopt babies like yours.”
“Oh my God.” Daisy fell forward, her face white.
Dirk caught her and helped her sit back up.
“Mom?” Portia grabbed a magazine and fanned her mother’s face. “Are you okay?”
Boone leaned sideways to whisper to Agent Walsh. “She’s recovering from cancer. This stress isn’t good for her.”
Walsh’s serious face grew more grave, and sympathy seeped into her eyes. “I see.”
Sweeney piped up in a reed-thin voice. “What about enemies, Agent Walsh? Shouldn’t we ask the family about them?”
Walsh waited until Daisy had recovered, then stood and leaned with her back against the wall. “Yes. I’d like to go through your contacts and folks who you might have wronged over the years. Or maybe people who imagined you harmed them in some way. Every possible person. So let’s start with you, Dirk, as head of the Lamont family.”
Boone leaned back in his seat. This was going to be a long night.
Chapter 22
Two hours later, in the farmhouse kitchen, Portia handed Agent Walsh a cup of coffee after they’d spent two torturous hours going over potential people who could want to harm either family.
Walsh took a cautious sip and leaned against the counter. “Not too much to go on here, Portia. Except those maniacs, Murphy and the guy you all call Chandler. Real name was Hank Turner, correct?”
“Yes. Murphy hung himself in his cell last year and Chandler shot himself in a cemetery.”
“So they’re definitely out of the picture.”
Portia sank into a kitchen chair, hands cradling a hot mug of tea. “Right. Thank God.”
“Any chance they had relatives who might want to hurt you? A mother? A brother? A girlfriend, even?”
Portia blinked. “I don’t think so. But we never really thought about that. No one has threatened us since the, um, events.”
“We should follow up on it. Your collective past hasn’t been exactly uneventful.”
“I know.” She stood and looked out the kitchen window into the inky
blackness. Mirage neighed in the distance, likely calling to his new girlfriend. “Maybe you should ask Sheriff Dunne about that. He checked into all the visitors who went to see Murphy in prison.”
“Right. It’s on my list. Now, let’s get back out there and see if anyone has thought of any other possibilities. If not, I’ll let you poor folks try to get some sleep.”
Portia’s face fell. “Thank you, Agent Walsh. But I can’t imagine sleeping until I have my son back.”
Walsh gave her a half smile. “I understand.”
“Do you? Do you have children?”
“I have four boys. Before I joined the Bureau, I was a stay at home mother, believe it or not. I lost the boys’ father when my youngest was just two. Iraq.”
Portia sucked in a deep breath. “Oh my God. That must’ve been horrible.”
Walsh straightened and locked eyes with her. “It wasn’t easy. But we survived, I studied hard at night, and I landed a job that eventually brought me to where I am today. Been doing this for fifteen years now.”
“How are your boys doing?”
“Oh, they’re all out of school and working. Two are married. One has my first grandchild on the way. So it’s all good.”
They headed back into the living room.
Agent Sweeney, who’d been on his phone, turned to Walsh. “We’ve got a lead, boss. We need to get going.”
The room stirred with anticipation, conversations breaking out simultaneously.
Grace ran over to Sweeney, begging for information. “What is it? Did they find my daughter?”
“Er, no. Not yet.” Sweeney looked almost helplessly at Walsh while Grace tugged on his arm.
Walsh held up a hand and they were silenced immediately. “We’ve gotta go. But I’ll keep you in the loop.”
Her phone rang and she snapped it up, talking into it as she left with Sweeney trotting at her side.
Part II
A New Family
Chapter 23
Lollie Belvedere surveyed the nursery one more time.
It was perfect.
One side spoke softly of “girl,” plastered in pretty shades of pink and lavender, with dolls and parasols, lace and fringed pillows. The other side balanced it nicely with baby blue blankets, pale green sheets, a teddy bear mobile, and pictures of sailing ships on one wall. The room was tied together with a fluffy cream-colored rug and above with paintings of clouds and cherubs swimming across the ceiling, depicting the images she had already seen of her babies, due to arrive in the next hour.
