“What about the man? Could you see what he looked like?” I asked.
“I think he wore a black rain slicker and a hat. He…” She bit her lip in thought. “He was clean-shaven.”
It wasn’t much of a description to go on, but it was a start. I was willing to bet it was the boy’s father, Richard Smith, who was starting to seem like a more and more likely suspect. We were still waiting for the tech guys to get back to us on that phone number as well as Smith’s last known address. Maybe Smith had suddenly decided that he wanted a closer relationship with his son and had gone to extreme lengths to achieve it, but that didn’t quite match the fact that he sent alimony money to Ainslee every month. We needed to know more about their relationship. If there was bad blood between them, if custody had been taken away from Smith.
“What about that man I saw you speaking with last night?” It was far too personal a question for an interrogation and probably had nothing to do with the case, but something about it rankled me, and I didn’t think it was the fact that I was maybe a little jealous.
Lena’s fingers ceased their constant motion, and she stared at me, swallowing heavily. “Just an ex. He’s been trying to get me to talk to him ever since I broke things off.”
If I were trying to get back together with my ex, I certainly wouldn’t ambush her down a dark alley like an absolute stalker, especially not after a show that had brought her such joy.
Fletcher nudged me and shot me a questioning look, not understanding where I was going with this. I didn’t either, just knew I wanted to push it a little further.
“Has he been bothering you, stalking you?”
“I’m not sure I’d say stalking,” Lena said with a short, strained laugh. “But I guess he won’t leave me alone.”
“I could do something about it for you.” I cleared my throat, well aware that I was stepping outside my professional bounds, hoping I wasn’t about to offend her. But Lena smiled and reached for my hand, halting the motion before her fingers touched mine.
“That’s very sweet, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. And it has nothing to do with Finn Wair, who is far more important than my problems with my slightly creepy ex-boyfriend.”
“Is there anything else you can think of about Finn or the man you saw with him?” Fletcher asked, saving me from any further embarrassment.
“No, but I’ve got your card,” Lena looked at me as she said this, “and I’ll call if there’s anything else.”
Fletcher and I stood to see Lena out of the interrogation room. I held the door for the other two, the babble of the station jarring after the secluded silence of the interview. A young constable approached as we were leaving, pushing a red-haired man in handcuffs in front of him.
“Are you done in there?” he asked. “Can I use it?”
“It’s all yours,” I said and stepped aside so they could enter.
“Thanks, picked this guy up for petty theft a couple of days ago, and he just won’t talk.” From how eager his voice was, it sounded like the constable’s first collar.
“Good luck with that,” I said.
Lena stared hard at the man as the constable urged him forward into the room. No doubt it was the first criminal she’d seen up close and personal. The man refused to look at any of us, just kept his eyes straight ahead as he was paraded into the room, his chin tilted up even as something cracked within his eyes.
My phone rang as we said goodbye to Lena, and I tugged it free to see Martin’s number on the caller ID. “Do you have something for me?” I said by way of greeting.
“Not really, sorry,” Martin said, and I had to close my eyes for a moment. “I can’t track down that number you gave me. It was probably a burner phone, and there are about a million Richard Smiths, but none of them is listed as previously married to an Ainslee Wair.”
“What about the alimony payments? Were you able to trace those?” I put the call on speaker so Fletcher could listen in, too.
“Unfortunately, it sounds like he always paid in cash, and the return address was always somewhere random. Usually libraries.”
“This guy sounds like a ghost,” Fletcher said. “Who needs to be that untraceable?”
“Maybe he’s into something shady,” I replied. “Martin, thanks. Talk to you later.”
“There’s one more thing,” Martin interrupted before I could hang up. “I’ve been looking at your sister’s photograph--” I quickly took the phone off speaker and stepped away from Fletcher, giving her a look that clearly said to wait, “--and it is wild, man. It’s definitely a new sighting, and I’ve started comparing it sightings and hoaxes to see if I can determine what it actually is, and--”
I quickly cut him off, jerking my hand to the side even though he was actually there to see it. “That’s great, Martin, but I don’t really want to know. Just tell me when you prove that it has nothing to do with, well, you know.”
“You should submit this to a newspaper,” Martin suggested, completely blowing past what I just said. “I bet it’d blow up.”
“I’m not doing that,” I said flatly. “Goodbye, Martin.” I hung up on him and heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose for just a moment.
“What was that about?” Fletcher asked. She cracked her gum as she put on her leather jacket.
“Absolutely nothing,” I said, closing the subject.
Fletcher shrugged, but she didn’t seem hurt by me shutting her out. “Okay. You think it’s the father?”
“Looks like it. Maybe he got fed up with the custody ruling and decided to take matters into his own hands.”
“Do you want to talk to Ms Wair again?”
I drummed my fingers against my desk and looked down at the case file where I’d dropped it on top of the keyboard when my phone rang. Finn’s picture had half fallen out of the folder, and one bright eye glittered up at me from under his red curls.
“Not yet. Let’s go talk with his friends. He might be more likely to tell them about seeing his father, especially if his mother’s as overprotective as his teacher said.”
“I’ll call ahead,” Fletcher said and flipped through her notepad until she found the information she’d taken down at the school. I found my coat while she chatted with the parent on the other line. “We’re in luck. The three of them are actually together right now.”
“Good. Save us a few trips.” We headed for the parking lot, nodding to a few of the officers we passed on the way.
“Am I ever going to get to drive?” Fletcher asked when she saw that I already had the keys in my hand.
“Probably not.”
She grumbled something under her breath but didn’t argue as she slid into the passenger seat of my car.
For the first time this week, the sun shone in the sky, unfettered by clouds. The world was a brilliant blue above the city skyline, though the wind still had a crisp bite to it as it blew through the streets. The traffic was considerably lighter compared to yesterday afternoon, and in no time, we had crossed the River Ness to the west side of the city, away from the bustling city centre and into the quieter, residential neighbourhoods. Trees lined many of the roads, throwing shade across the rows of townhouses and the meandering sidewalks between them. We found the house we were looking for at the end of a peaceful cul-de-sac, seated beside a patch of forest. The planter under the front windowsill only had a few patches of colour left, but the bushes beside the door were still green and leafy, home to a slumbering black and white cat who awoke and skittered away as I pulled up to the curb.
Fletcher and I approached the house, and she glanced at me as we reached the door. “How good are you with kids?” I asked.
“I am not. You?”
I shook my head.
“Brilliant.”
Eight
The door opened at our knock, and a woman with streaks of grey in her brown hair peered out at us from behind the door chain. When we showed her our badges, she nodded and let us in, smiling gently. “Can I get y
ou inspectors anything? Tea, coffee, biscuits?”
“No, thank you,” I said, returning her smile. “Are Finn’s friends still here?”
“They’re downstairs.”
The house was small and narrow but cheerfully decorated, framed pictures marching along each wall, small, colourful boots tumbled near the door. The scent of vanilla filled every room and hall, and each curtain was thrown open to let in the sunlight. The woman, Rachel Cohen, if Fletcher’s notes were anything to go by, opened the door at the end of the foyer, leading us down a tight set of stairs to a half-finished basement. The floor was cement but covered in many carpets, colourful tapestries hanging off the walls.
Three children Finn’s age played between the couch and the two armchairs before the television, though they were much quieter than playing kids should be. A pall hung over their hands, sadness in their eyes even as they laughed at the way the Jenga tower crashed to the ground. I wondered how much they understood of what was going on. Did kids have a concept of “missing?” Were they simply picking up on their parents’ emotions? Did they think Finn was like a missing toy, one that would show back up if someone picked up the right blanket?
“Kids,” Rachel called, false cheer in her voice. “These inspectors are here to talk to you about Finn. Would that be okay?”
The children looked up. One was missing both his front teeth, and his glasses were too big for his face. The tallest had pulled her hair out of its once-tight braid, and now, it fell to her waist in uneven waves, and she had tied a couple of small action figures into it. I couldn’t tell why. The third boy looked at us with eyes that belonged in an adult’s face. He stared right at me, considering me, and before I knew it, I was in a staring contest with a seven-year-old. His friend nudged him, and he blinked, distracted, and I really hoped no one had noticed our little competition because it was just as embarrassing to win against a child as it would have been to lose.
“Is Finn back?” the girl asked. If I remembered Fletcher’s notes right, her name was Rosie.
“He’s not.” I glanced at Fletcher to see if she would speak first, but she left it up to me. “But we’re working very hard to find him. We were hoping you might be able to help us.”
“We don’t know where Finn is,” Glasses Kid said. He was either Sean or Henry.
“That’s okay. We just want to ask you a few questions,” I explained. “What do you say?”
The kids all looked at each other, sharing their thoughts in the way only kids can, and then they nodded as one. I pulled Rachel aside and lowered my voice.
“Could we speak with them alone? They might tell us more that way.”
She hesitated, wrapping a hand around the pendant at her neck, but then she nodded and, with a last look at her son, walked back upstairs, closing the door behind her. Fletcher and I crossed the room and sat down on the floor beside the kids. I thought I had read somewhere that it was best to talk to children on their level. I had no idea if that was actually true.
“I’m Callum. This is Tara.” I gestured to Fletcher.
“Rosie.” Action Figure Hair.
“Sean.” Glasses Kid.
“Henry.” Old Eyes. “Are you really police inspectors?”
“We are.” I gave him my badge, and the three of them passed it around, whispering excitedly over it. I was suddenly convinced that I would never get it back.
“How long have you guys been friends with Finn?” Fletcher asked to catch their attention again as she began to rebuild the Jenga tower. I’d been sitting cross-legged for thirty seconds, and my knees were already beginning to ache.
“Forever,” Sean said. He closed my badge but didn’t give it back.
“Do you think he would run away?” I said, but the three of them shook their heads.
“Finn doesn’t like the outdoors,” Rosie explained.
“Does he ever talk about his dad?” I continued.
“What do you mean?” Rosie tightened the knot around one of her action figures as it began to slip loose from her hair.
“Does he know who his father is? Does Finn want to meet him? Has he ever mentioned seeing his father around?”
“Ms Wair doesn’t like to talk about Finn’s dad,” Henry said. “She gets all sad whenever Finn brings it up. They’ve never met. I don’t think Finn really wants to meet him.”
“At least that’s what he told us,” Rosie added.
Fletcher finished constructing the tower and pulled the first block out, placing it on top. “When did that come up?”
“Last week.” Rosie went next, selecting a loose middle block. “It was Parent-Teacher Conference Night. John made fun of him for only having a mom.”
“And what did Finn say?” I asked. Henry took his turn, then Sean, and then Fletcher and the three kids stared at me expectantly. I looked back at Fletcher and raised an eyebrow. “What?” She nodded at the wooden tower. “Fine.” I found a loose block on the left and added it to the top.
“Finn said he didn’t care,” Rosie continued as soon as I was finished.
Fletcher was one of those Jenga players who liked to destabilize the tower as quickly as possible because she insisted on pulling blocks so that there were only middle ones left on the bottom. “We spoke with his music teacher, and she said a man tried to speak with him last month. She thought he might be Finn’s father. Did Finn tell you about that?”
The kids glanced at each other again. “Not that I remember,” Sean said, and the others shook their head in agreement. “But I don’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday.” He pulled out his block, and we went another round in silence. I tried to counter Fletcher’s destabilization efforts by picking a middle block, but the tower was looking pretty rickety.
“What happened on Tuesday?” Fletcher said after she set her block on top.
“We went to school.”
“Headmaster Finnegan was in a bad mood.”
“I had crisps for lunch.”
“We watched a movie in history class.”
“Recess ended early because it was raining.”
“I thought I saw an ice cream truck, but it was just this dumb white van.”
“My mom picked us all up except for Finn because he had his class.”
With each successive statement, another block got pulled from the tower and placed on top, and the whole structure grew taller and increasingly unstable. My phone buzzed after Fletcher’s next turn, and I motioned for them to keep going as I stood and walked towards the stairs to answer.
“MacBain.”
“Callum, it’s Martin. We found something on the scarf.”
“What?”
Behind me, I heard the tower crash to the floor, Fletcher shouting along with the kids.
“Blood.”
Nine
My fingers went cold around the phone. It almost slipped from my grasp, but I tucked it between my shoulder and chin and turned so that my back was to the children, lowering my voice to a strained whisper. “What?”
“We found blood on the scarf,” Martin repeated. “We don’t have a match for it in our system, but…”
“But you think it’s Finn’s,” I finished.
“Yes.”
“Thanks, Martin. I have to go.” I took a moment and a breath and then spun back around. “Fletcher,” I said more sharply than I intended.
She caught onto my tone immediately and grew serious as she stood and hurried towards me. “What is it?”
I glanced over her shoulder to see the kids trying to eavesdrop on us, so I pulled her in close and whispered in her ear. “They found blood on the scarf.”
Her eyes widened. Surely, Finn’s father wouldn’t want to hurt him, not after going through all the trouble to send alimony. But maybe Finn got startled, scared, and got hurt in the struggle, a cut cheek or a bloody nose. I certainly hoped it was nothing worse than that.
“Kids, thanks,” I said, forcing what I hoped was a bit of cheer into my voice. “You’ve been a grea
t help.”
“Really?” Sean asked, eyes wide behind his glasses.
“Of course.”
“And you’ll bring Finn home?”
I returned to their little circle and knelt before him, holding out my pinky. “I promise.”
Sean wrapped his tiny pinky around my own and smiled up at me, tears whelming in his eyes as he passed my badge back. I ruffled his hair, though the gesture felt awkward and out of place, and I stood abruptly and rejoined Fletcher at the stairs. We thanked Rachel on our way out and left a card with her, though my stack was quickly running low.
Outside, I banged my fist against the roof of my car in annoyance. We still had no real leads, and with every hour that passed, it would become harder and harder to find the missing kid. Not to mention how Finn’s fear and confusion would continue to mount, how his mother’s grief would rise while her hope quickly plummeted.
My phone rang again as I was unlocking the car, an unknown number flashing on the screen. I held up a finger to tell Fletcher to wait, and she hung half in and half out of the door, a curious expression on her face.
“MacBain,” I said.
“Hello? DCI MacBain? It’s Haruto Sato.” Haruto sounded nervous, his words quicksand jumbled together. “I’m sorry to bother you, but that van is back. It’s been sitting across the street from the Archive Centre for the past hour.”
As if conjured by his words, another white delivery van cruised down the street Fletcher and I stood on. There really were a lot of them in the city. I’d started seeing them everywhere after Haruto had mentioned them the other day.
“Has anyone gotten out?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” Haruto answered. “But I’ve been trying to focus on my work and not stand at the window watching it. It’s probably nothing, right?”
I pulled my door open and eased into the driver’s seat. “Fletcher and I are on that side of town now. Why don’t we swing by and take a look?”
Buried Secrets (DCI MacBain Scottish Crimes Book 1) Page 6
