by James, Ed
As I walk away with Ky, I realize my mistake. I need to come up with a better name for him, but first I need to get the hell out of this city.
Ten
CARTER
20:00
Carter stepped out of his service Suburban onto the pavement and eased on his FBI windbreaker.
A pair of beat cops blocked the road with their cars. Both directions were closed off now, with cops doing elaborate mimes to redirect cars.
Uniformed cops were out in force, knocking on doors and talking to the few pedestrians out here, uptown. Mostly joggers, still hopping in time to keep their bodies from cooling down as they shook their heads, all saying, “No, officer, I didn’t see anything, now can I just get back to my run?”
A pair of Priuses silently idled behind him, their engines perfect for Ubers or Lyfts or whatever. A cyclist screeched to a halt and shouted, “Goddamn Uber assholes!” A cop raced over to stop him. Some German diesels behind them. Nearer the house, flashing blue and red lights kissed the wet asphalt, a dozen cruisers idling outside tall brick walls.
And as if the night couldn’t get any worse, a TV crew was already there, boom mics and lights. Lucky for Carter, they were at the other roadblock, so he didn’t have to dust off his book of synonyms for no comment.
He walked toward the roadblock, taking his time to listen in and get a feel for the overall mood. Too much positivity and he’d doubt why the FBI had even been called out in the first place. Too little, and he’d know he was in for a long night, on top of a long day.
A Dodge Charger did a furious three-pointer and swung around, racing away with a volley of abuse aimed at the cops.
A lot of people passing through, meaning someone could’ve seen something. But it was dark and wet, the Seattle weather staying much the same for the last month. It had rained in the hour since the baby was taken, which would make things harder.
Somewhere nearby, dogs barked. Hopefully K-9 units picking up the kidnapper’s trail. More likely to be some poor thing stuck home like Kirsty’s wannabe pet dog, with both parents out at their jobs.
Focus!
Opposite the house, higher walls hid some lakeside houses, all shrouded by darkness. Expensive, and the kind of homes that’d have high-end security. They backed on to Lake Washington, so some would have jetties. That’d be a great way to escape—take a boat over to Mercer Island, then get into a car. Leave without a trace.
Carter put his hands into his pockets and set off toward the police roadblock.
The SPD cops wore navy windbreakers shiny with rain. The younger one was looking at the home. “Isn’t this Cobain’s house?”
“Nah, that’s a couple blocks away. This was that dude, Cole something.” The older cop clicked his fingers a few times. “Band was called Stench or The End or something.” He shrugged, giving up on his memory search. “I haven’t listened to much local music since Pearl Jam and Soundgarden.” More clicking. “God, what was his name? Died in Europe on some tour couple years back.”
“That dude people think’s still alive?”
“You’re thinking of Jim Morrison. Or Elvis.” The older one laughed. “Heck, both are still alive far as I know.”
“Nah, sure there’s some internet garbage about this dude being alive somewhere. Couldn’t handle the fame or something. Lives on an island in the Caribbean.”
“What I wouldn’t give for that, I tell you. Wanna help fake my death?”
Carter approached them. “He was called Cole Delaney, and the band was Sidewalk. And he’s very definitely dead.” He flashed his credentials and saw their irritation twist into nervousness. “Mind if I come on through, or do you want me to tell you all about Nirvana or Soundgarden too?”
“Uh, sure thing, Boss.” The older cop held out a rain-spattered clipboard.
Carter signed his name and passed it back. Didn’t seem like there was much more he could get from them, though he could probably educate them a bit more on Seattle’s music scene, both alive and dead. He crossed the road and the yard was like a Chevrolet dealership, stuffed full of identical black Suburbans. No sign of any of his agents, though.
Only one exit he could see—the front gate, a broad wooden thing, dark horizontal beams stuck together. Would’ve seemed cool in the nineties, but now? Not so much.
The house was at least a hundred years old. Must’ve been built as some local magnate’s home—lumberyard owner, maybe—even before the coming of the motor car. A long hike downtown from here—must be two hours on foot, half an hour in a car. Sharp-pointed gables, the whole thing painted white, but that could’ve been the arc lights bleaching it.
Another blinked on and shone across an old tree, bent and stooped like an old man, growing in the park next door and stretching across the red-brick wall surrounding the home. A feature, or so the realtor would say, but also an easy way into the property.
Less easy getting out with a baby, though.
So where could the abductor have fled to? And how?
Staring at Carter with her dark-brown eyes, Elisha Thompson tugged her red hair back into a ponytail, giving her already sharp cheekbones an elfin look. “Tyler, need you to coordinate the local cops, make sure neighbors are canvassed, yadda yadda yadda. Get the local gossip. Anything is a lead.”
Tyler Peterson was at least a foot taller than Elisha, with the superstar looks of a quarterback. Half an ear was missing. “Not sure the locals will be too familiar with the folks who live here.”
“Even so, they could all be in some swinging club and there’s a dispute over who the baby’s daddy is.”
Tyler frowned at her. “Seriously?”
“No, but find out if anyone knows the parents. Do they keep themselves to themselves? Friendly? Outgoing? Anything you can. And, most importantly, get any surveillance video. Those doorbell cameras, something across someone’s backyard that catches this place. Anything.”
“Sure thing.” Tyler zipped up his windbreaker and set off back through the gates.
“Hey, Max.” Elisha snapped her fingers and pointed at Carter, then waved up at the house. “SPD cops have finished going room to room inside. No sign of Ky.”
“No sign, as in kid never existed or—”
“He’s not here, is all.” Elisha folded her arms in that way that meant business. “Amber Alert’s being processed. Should hit cell phones any minute now.”
“Any leads on how they got in and out?”
Elisha pointed up, left past the house, across a drenched patio toward a wall uphill of them. “K-9 units found a doorway in there. Locked tight.”
“Huh.” Carter took a deep breath. “Let’s see it, then.”
* * *
20:05
The backyard was expensively landscaped, with steps leading up to a patio and a rock garden. Cops and K-9 units searched the grounds nearby.
Elisha led up some stone steps to the perimeter wall, maintaining the same height as below even up here.
Carter couldn’t see much evidence of a doorway. That was probably the point.
Elisha grabbed a handful and lifted up the ivy, fake plastic stuff pinned to a wooden board. She pulled it and it came away like a long strand of hair covering a bald patch.
A wooden doorway, slightly rotten, but still looked sturdy enough.
Elisha tried the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. “Thing is, we can’t find a key.”
Carter nodded. “Have they searched the other side?”
“Sure, but the dogs lose the scent on the other side.”
“So it’s possible they didn’t go through the door?”
“Possible, sure, but there’s no other scents in here.”
Carter looked back down at the house, with a spectacular view across Lake Washington toward Mercer Island, with the towers in Bellevue twinkling in the distance. A plane came in to land at SeaTac in the south. Looked like at least four TV crews out now—two national, two local. Through the police scrimmage, he couldn’t spot any likely suspects.
“Anyone asked the parents about it?”
“Not yet.” Elisha sniffed. “They’re still talking to the SPD sergeant. Guy who called you out.”
“Brave of him.”
“His boss’s shout.”
“Right. I’d like to see where he was taken from first.”
“Shall we?” Elisha held up her arm like she was at a formal dance.
Carter stomped toward the house ahead of her. “This isn’t the time or place to joke.”
She was blushing. “Right. Sorry.”
“Quit messing around if you want to make it to special agent.”
“Okay, okay. It’s just… This place feels so formal. Weird place to raise a kid.”
Carter stopped outside the front door to let a pair of forensics techs inside, then followed.
The kind of place you’d see in a magazine. Pristine, a mixture of machined wood and light fabrics. Perfect, almost, except for the feeling that everything was too correct. Something missing, though something Carter couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe the formality that Elisha had picked up on. Maybe not.
A winding staircase climbed up to two floors. On the left, three doors led off, while the right was open to a ballroom-sized lounge, segmented into a sitting area, a dining area, and one with a chesterfield in front of a huge TV mounted over a fireplace. CNN played on the screen, but no news of the child abduction yet, just the president’s earlier speech from the White House lawn.
A door behind them opened and a cop stepped out, scratching at his head. A kitchen, filled with high-end appliances. Shiny pots and pans hung from the ceiling in the island. Walk-in fridge, walk-in freezer. Another seating area, the giant curved TV playing the local news, still not focused on events here, but it could only be minutes away.
“Come on.” Elisha led him up both flights of stairs, the wood creaking beneath their feet as they thumped up. The top floor landing was filled with boxes of tech equipment.
The first door hung open, with Man Cave stenciled into a plaque. Lab techs worked around stacks of guitar amps, synthesizer keyboards, and a ton of computer equipment. Guitars hung on the walls. So, the father had dreams of being a rock star. Shelves and shelves filled with LPs and CDs.
“Heard they bought it from some rock star’s wife.” Elisha was staring into the room as well. “Was it the Nirvana guy?”
“Not this again… The guy was the singer in Sidewalk.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Big when I was at college. They were pretty good, better than all that grunge stuff. Singer died in Italy a few years back.”
She seemed to shiver. “This is kinda creepy, right?”
The second door opened into a nursery. Most people would kill to have a lounge that big. A crib sat in the middle, empty, soaking in a wall of whale sound coming from the same smart speakers Carter had at home.
The handcrafted crib was made from pale-blue wood. Whether either of the parents had put the love and attention into it—or just paid for someone else to—wasn’t immediately clear.
A camera sat on the far edge, pointing down into the crib. Carter pointed at it. “Have you got access to that yet?”
“Not spoken to the parents yet, Max.”
“Then it’s time we did.”
* * *
20:12
The mobile command center trundled down the road, its back-up alarm surely waking any kids sleeping nearby. A rig mounted with a command module big enough to house ten agents and field interview two suspects simultaneously.
Carter waited until it passed. “Where are they?”
“Local guy is bringing them over.” Elisha frowned as her cell rang. “Better take this.” She stepped away.
Tyler Peterson was standing on the other side of the road, hands in his pockets, laptop under one arm. “I’ve got some surveillance video, sir.” He hugged his laptop tight, like he was desperate to get inside the command center and plow on with his work. He waved back at the house. “Won’t cover the park at the side or the road at the back.”
The command center stopped just outside the Bartlett home, and agents swarmed around it.
“Let me see how good it is.” Tyler set off and jumped up into the back of the mobile building.
Carter looked around, impatient to get speaking to the parents.
Elisha ended her call and stepped back to him. “Seattle PD spoke to an eyewitness responding to the Amber Alert. An elderly man, said he found a woman hiding in his yard. Blonde, and young. She had a baby with her. His sight isn’t what they used to be, yadda yadda. Anyway, she said she was a cleaner, that the kid was hers and she was late for her bus.”
Carter struggled to piece it all together. “Let me get this straight. This girl—or young woman—abducts a baby and takes him on the bus? Seriously?”
“I’m just passing on what I’ve been told, Max. Jeez.”
“Have they got anything to support this?”
“Not yet. He might, though.”
A big lumbering sergeant led a woman out of the yard and across the street. “Jennifer, these are the FBI agents I was talking about.”
She was tiny, barely five foot. Must’ve weighed eighty pounds. Only six weeks and she’d clearly shed the baby belly. Her cropped T-shirt showed sculpted abs, like she specialized in a YouTube channel focused on crunches.
Carter gave her a tight nod. “Mrs. Bartlett, my deepest sympathies for what’s happened.”
Her face a mixture of fury and concern. “You can call me Jennifer, and I don’t need anybody’s sympathy. I just need my baby.”
“Okay, Jennifer, my name’s Max Carter. I lead the FBI’s Child Abdu—”
“This guy just told me who you are.” But the cop had shuffled off and was now deep in conversation with Elisha. “Wouldn’t shut up about how you’ll find my son.”
Carter held her gaze. “Jennifer, myself and my team will do everything we can to find Ky.”
Hearing the boy’s name seemed to temper some of the fire in her eyes. “Right.” She exhaled. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I can’t cope with this.” She brushed at her hair. “My baby boy…”
Carter gave her a warm smile. “Let’s do this inside.” He led Jennifer up into the mobile command center. A small entranceway, with four doors. Ahead was the tiny restroom most people could barely sit in. The left was where his agents were hopefully combing through hours of local private surveillance video. He opened the first right-hand door and stepped into the interview room, the overhead lights flickering on. He gestured at the chairs around a desk, all bolted into the floor. “Please, take a seat.”
“Can I get you a coffee?”
“Sergeant Eastwood’s supposed to be bringing me one.”
“Okay.” Carter set the video camera recording, checking for levels, then sat opposite her.
“Is that thing necessary?”
“Unfortunately.” Carter smiled. “Listen, my team need access to the baby monitor in his nursery?”
“Um, look, that’s my husband’s side of things. Do you need access to the app?”
“Could be crucial.”
“Okay.” Jennifer picked up an expensive smartphone, about three years more advanced than anything Carter had ever seen. She read out an email address and a password. Didn’t strike Carter as particularly insecure or easy to guess.
Elisha was in the doorway, typing into her own cell. “Got it.” She left them to it, replaced by the sergeant holding a white Styrofoam cup. “Here’s your cup of joe, ma’am. Sorry it took so long.”
“Thank you.” Jennifer took the drink and wrapped her hands around it. The door clicked shut and she seemed to shiver.
“Ky’s six weeks old, right?”
“A day short, but yeah.”
“Okay, let’s take this from the start. What happened this evening?”
Jennifer took a tentative sip of coffee. “You know my husband’s Landon Bartlett, right?”
Carter knew the name. Most people in the Paci
fic Northwest would. “Enlighten me.”
“Landon sold his business last year, and works for his family’s foundation full-time now. His late father was a senator, left a charity in his name. His brother, Chase, is on the board too, but he’s only part-time.”
Carter knew the family was rich judging by their home, but adding that kind of power and money to the mix… “In cases like this, there can be any number of reasons someone’s taken a child, but your husband’s status and wealth could attract people. Of course, it could be entirely unrelated, but are you aware of any threats or blackmail notes?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Any reason to suspect he’d keep it from you?”
“We have a very tight relationship.”
“Even so.”
Jennifer sighed, looking rattled. “I work for the foundation too. Trust me, I know people there. If there were threats, I’d know.”
“And what about Chase?”
She shrugged. “I don’t have much involvement with him. You’d need to ask him.”
“Okay. Over the last few weeks, have you seen anyone unusual at the house or in the street, maybe?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
“You got any close friends in this neighborhood?”
“Nobody I’d call close, no. We generally keep to ourselves, but we do get invited to barbecues. Landon and I host our own every fourth of July.”
“Anyone who—”
“No. We have no enemies.”
That she knew of. “Okay, Jennifer, let’s fast-forward to tonight. Take me through when you noticed Ky was missing.”
She dabbed at her eyes. “Well, I was at a dinner hosted by my husband’s foundation. They announced the opening of a cancer center in Seattle. I left shortly after and I got back and…” She sniffed. “Ky wasn’t in his crib.”
“So you left before your husband?”
“I got a notification that Rosita—”
“Who’s she?”
