“He likes him,” she said to Eddie, who was obviously impatient for Campbell to tell them what possible solution there could be for their predicament.
“He’s been playing with Joey for almost an hour!” he whispered. “What could he possibly be up to?”
Campbell must have heard. He smiled, held up one of the toy cars he and Joey had been pushing around. “Twenty-four,” he said. “You know why it’s important?”
Eddie answered. “He was missing a car. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with twenty-three being a prime number. Joey likes numbers.”
Campbell looked impressed. “Exactly! Joey likes round edges, bland colors, mild flavors, even numbers. Something indivisible like twenty-three seems like a sharp edge to him.”
“All very interesting,” Marly said, “but where do we go from here?”
Campbell lifted himself up into a chair before recounting his time over the past forty-eight hours. He told them of his three and a half-hour drive east to Sudbury, returning to his office at Laurentian University Hospital to search for Marly’s family, finding her re-married mother only after several phone calls. A cousin of her father had known Merle Quinn’s new married name.
Married! Marly audibly gasped.
He told her of driving to one of the better sections of town where Merle and her husband of four years lived in a well-kept brick home along with her son and daughter, and a daughter of his own. “Your sister Grace was married last fall.”
The news hit Marly like a punch to the chest. In her mind’s eye her family was just as she had last seen them. That they had gone on with their lives hadn’t occurred to her.
“You…saw my mother!” Her voice was barely audible.
“And your brother. You told me about him, comparing him to Joey.”
Marly remembered that day in his office. “Why did you go there? What did you say about me?”
“Your mom has spent seven years worried sick over you. She wasn’t sure you were still alive.”
Seven years! Marly had lost count.
“I told her you were fine,” he continued. “Your little brother is fourteen. He asked about you…wants to see you.”
“Timmy! Is he—”
“He’s doing well. Finishing his first year of high school.”
“Why did you do this? I never asked you to!”
Campbell leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees, fingers enlaced. “You asked me to help. I think there’s more going on than you’re telling me.” He glanced at Eddie. “If returning Joey to his father is not in his best interest, we can deal with that later, and he’ll need a stable foster family. That’s why I looked up your mom who has a son also on the autism spectrum. But first, Joey has to go home—now!”
~ * ~
The clock on the wall of the Social Services conference room showed 4:05pm. Eddie sat there alone. Waiting for someone to start the questions. Marly was in another room; Joey had been lovingly whisked away by two women of the staff.
Dr. Campbell said the safest way for Eddie to return Joey to his home would be this way--through a third party and a government entity, as well. He knew Campbell was talking to the police in his office while he watched the clock creep on into the afternoon.
It was another several minutes before the door opened. A man walked in, threw his raincoat over a chair and sat opposite. He was a small man, but solid. If he was a cop, he sure didn’t look like it. He removed wireless glasses, wiped them with a cloth and replaced them before speaking.
“Mr. Hoyne, I’m Detective Constable Riccia. I’ve been talking with Dr. Campbell about your…situation. Now, I’d like to hear what you have to say.”
“Okay.” Eddie felt a chill trickle of perspiration under his shirt.
“So. How do you think the boy got to your house?” The detective leaned forward, putting his forearms on the table.
Eddie knew it would all come down to how he answered this question. He stared at the man’s moustache, avoiding the eyes. “In my car, I guess.”
“In your car. Why in your car?”
“Joey—I don't know—he felt safe in it, I think. Joey’s on some kind of spectrum. He focuses on certain things.”
Riccia made a note in a small notebook he’d placed on the table. “And did you see him hiding there?”
“I wasn’t driving. I wasn’t even there.”
“Then who was?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, you can.” Riccia sat straight in his chair, folded his hands. “Now I need to know who was driving that car.”
Eddie mumbled “My…uh, boss. He borrowed it.” The words came out as if on their own accord, assuring Eddie of a beating by Nick’s goon or worse.
“Who is this person, and what is his business?”
The question gave Eddie a possible way out of his predicament. Nick had a cover business. “Savos Custom Auto. Nick Savos owns it.”
“This is the man you loaned your car to?”
“Yeah.”
Riccia wrote all this down in his book, got the address for the shop and said, “Thank you, Mr. Hoyne. You did the right thing by coming to us. You should have done this days ago. You’d have saved a lot of people a great deal of anguish, not the least being the boy’s family.”
Eddie was close to explaining why he hadn’t, but wisely thought better of it. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”
“You’re free to go for now. Dr. Campbell and your friend Ms. Quinn will be waiting for you in his office.”
Riccia grabbed his raincoat and was away.
Eddie remained there, too stunned that he hadn’t been arrested to move.
Twenty-three
Arnold Terry’s empty desk was no surprise to Andy when she arrived at the detachment the next morning. She correctly assumed the man had consumed more than his usual share of alcohol while hanging out at the Stage Door into the wee hours. It would be worth it if he’d connected with Ray Hobbs, and if that really was their man.
She had spent another night stewing over her relationship with Grant Stacey. He had called her home phone again, but she had ignored his message asking her to call back.
Stacey’s disturbing behavior hadn’t come out of the blue. Three years ago, she’d been surprised to discover he’d been illegally getting spare parts from abroad for his equipment leasing business without paying duty. Only a life-threatening accident with his private plane curtailed that activity, but she’d not felt completely comfortable ever since.
It was a shame to feel that way. When Andy returned to St. Joseph Island from a career in Toronto and Windsor, it had been Grant who had supported her in countless ways from loaning her a car to use to almost single-handedly remodeling her parents’ modest farm house into a charming cottage. Grant Stacey had been a dominant part of her life…plain and simple.
She wondered if her dilemma revolved totally around Grant’s behavior or—if she were honest—Kevin Campbell had something to do with it. It had happened before. She had been infatuated with a handsome, recently-divorced summer resident on the island, a cottager. She’d been seeing him while Grant was recovering from his accident.
Those were her thoughts when Terry burst into the office in his usual noisy way.
“By Christ, my head feels like a twenty-kilo pumpkin!” He reached for Andy’s ubiquitous coffee thermos and poured it into yesterday’s unwashed mug. He removed the morning newspaper from his raincoat pocket and tossed it to Andy. “They got that kid back!”
Andy unfolded the Sault Star to a shocking photograph. The caption read:
“Kidnapped” Boy Recovered by Social Services
Below was a photo of Kevin Campbell walking into Sault Police HQ with a reluctant young boy between him and Detective Anthony Riccia.
“Holy crap!” She leaned back onto her desk.
“My words, more or less,” Terry said, slurping coffee. “Your friend gets around.”
“This is what he’s been worried about lately,” she sai
d as much to herself as to her partner.
Terry dropped his large body into his chair. “I thought he was all about the oxy crisis.”
“He is, but only because he’s an expert on the chemistry of the brain. Drug use is a big part of his research. He’s involved with all sorts of asocial behavior. Doesn’t that boy have special needs?”
“That’s what the paper’s been saying.”
Andy continued to read the short article below the picture. It told how the police had been contacted by Dr. Campbell, advising that the missing boy had been turned in to Social Services. No more detail was currently available.
Andy returned Terry’s newspaper. “Maybe the kidnapper got cold feet.”
“That’d be a good guess. Wanna hear about my undercover caper last night?”
She laughed. “From the look of your bloodshot eyes, it better be good!”
Terry winced. “It could have been better. I could have collared the guy.”
“You saw him?”
“And that’s not all. My plan has always been to hang around waiting for the dude Sault PD says looks like him, then call for back-up as soon as he settles in. Well, the guy shows up and it’s definitely Hobbs, so I get ready to call in when he turns around and walks out!”
“He spotted you?”
“No. He only saw the barkeep, and I’m sure Hobbs did all the talking. He never intended to stay. By the time I get to my car, he’s gone. I did see a truck hightailing it away, though.”
“Truck! Pickup?”
“Yeah.”
“Color? Make?”
“Blake, it was dark! I got a glimpse. The color might have been either blue or green in those damned sodium streetlights.
Andy knew Terry was embarrassed. She tried to mitigate his failure to bring in Hobbs for the assault of Randy Parsons, but more importantly a possible link to fentanyl distribution in the area. “So now we know that Hobbs is definitely still in town doing his thing, driving around in a blue or green pickup. We’ll get him.”
From the look on Terry’s face, she knew he wasn’t assuaged in the least.
~ * ~
Dale Urban watched from his picture window as the last of the television trucks left the property. Muddy tire tracks from last night’s rain remained on the circular drive. Pieces of litter here and there decorated the usually pristine lawn.
It had been a hell of a long night. He’d had to play the goddam role of tearful father whose prayers had been answered. To top that, he’d been subjected to all manner of prying questions from the social workers who had returned his son…questions about the home environment, his schooling, and whether Urban and the boy had access to adequate counseling.
Whatever, Joey was back. Last night the kid had refused to stay for the press, instead bolting for the safety of his room. Urban had brought him a bowl of Cheerios, which he assumed he ate.
About to turn from the window, he recognized a car that entered the drive. Sonofabitch! It was that annoying cop, Riccia again!
He stood in his open doorway as the Sault PD detective exited on the rider’s side of the unmarked car. Another plainclothes cop got out but remained by the car as Riccia walked up the steps.
“Thought you boys were through with me,” Urban said, looking down on the bespectacled policeman.
“Just some tidying up to do. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute or two, Mr. Urban.”
Urban let Riccia pass into the house; watched as he removed a note pad from his jacket.
“How is the young man doing?” Riccia said.
“He’s okay. What do you want?”
“We’re trying to ascertain how your son disappeared, sir. We know he left in a car, but not who took him. Who was here that day?”
“How do you know he left in a car?”
“Answer the question, Mr. Urban. This will get done a lot sooner.”
Urban groped for a response. It was stupid to have Savos at the house, and he cursed himself.
Riccia prodded. “Last time you said you’d had no visitors then, but we now know from talking to your son that he hid in a car that came here.”
“Must have been a delivery of some kind,” Urban said, realizing he’d been boxed in to admitting that much and ruing ever having mentioned an auto mechanic.
Riccia adjusted his glasses. “Now, Mr. Urban, I want you to think carefully. What delivery might that have been? If we can determine that, it would answer a lot of questions.”
“What difference does it make? The kid’s back safe and sound. He just crawled into the back seat of a car as a lark.”
The policeman’s moustache twitched into a faint smile. “Sir, we have reason to believe the boy knew, or thought he knew, the driver. So, I’ll ask you again: who was here that day?”
“Damn it! I told you I don’t remember, and don’t care. The kid’s back. He’s safe. So, if you don’t have anything else to do, please go and let me get back to work.”
To Urban’s surprise, Riccia said, “You’re right Mr. Urban. Sorry to have upset you.” With that, he let himself out.
Urban felt no relief watching the detective depart. The question about the car was a possible problem down the line…a crack in the perfect setup he’d worked so hard to achieve.
~ * ~
Arnold Terry’s desk phone buzzed. He picked up and listened for half a minute before talking. “And this is where?”
Andy looked up from what she was doing at the sound of the urgency in Terry’s voice.
“Yeah, yeah!” Terry was urging the caller. “Keep your distance. We’ll take it from here. Good work!” He set the phone in its cradle and smiled.
“So?” she prodded.
“Off-duty constable, Jerry Bishop, goes to this bar up on Fifth Line to watch a soccer match and sees a guy get out of a blue pickup that matches our Ray Whatever-his-name—”
“Teacher…Hobbs…take your choice,” Andy added. “He’s there now?”
“Seems so.” Terry was heading for his jacket hung behind the office door. “Coming?”
“What do you think? Let’s take my Jeep. Your Buick screams ‘COP’.”
Twenty-four
As advertised, among the dozen cars parked at the bar, a royal blue Ford F150 sat in plain sight. Terry wrote down its tag number as Andy cruised on by, made a U-turn and parked by a mail box about 100 meters up the highway.
Terry looked up from his cell phone to announce, “That match must be the Liverpool-Manchester City one that’s streaming now. It’s the last few minutes of the game. Three to two, Liverpool. So, unless Manchester ties it, we should see people leaving soon.”
On cue, two men exited the place, soon followed by another. They left in separate cars. Over the next ten minutes others departed, leaving three vehicles in the lot, including the blue pickup.
“What do you think?” Andy asked.
“I’m not going in. He could have noticed me at the Stage Door. I don’t want to spook him.”
“Well, don’t look at me. We can wait for a bit. He’s bound to come out, unless he lives there.
In fact, they didn’t need to wait. The large body of Ray Teacher, AKA Raymond Hobbs, ambled out the door and headed for his truck.
“Think you can tail him without being spotted?” Terry said.
“Watch and learn, young fella,” Andy countered.
The pickup headed south, back toward town. Andy waited until a white Ford and a green Toyota van passed before pulling back onto the highway. The blue truck was clearly visible three cars ahead. They followed south past Second Line into the city. Andy sped up when the truck made a right turn to the west. She got to the corner in time to see him, blocks away, signaling a left turn.
“Looks like he’s heading for the Steelton area,” Terry said.
When they made the turn, there was no sign of the truck.
“Damn!” Andy slapped the steering wheel.
“Keep going,” Terry said. “Lots of side streets here. Could be down
any one of them!”
They gave it a try, but there was no sign of a blue Ford F150 on any of the streets.
“Did he make us?” Andy was furious at losing the truck.
“I don’t think so, Blake. Don’t fret. We had to keep a distance. There are too many twists and turns in here. Let’s go back to that bar and talk to the owner.”
~ * ~
Nolan Roberts was walking in the door when they returned to the detachment. “What have you two been up to?”
“We got eyes on our man,” Andy said.
“That Ray guy?”
“Hobbs.”
Terry said, “Followed him from a bar north of town to Steelton, but lost him in there. Too many streets and densely packed houses.”
Andy added, “We talked to the owner of the bar. He recognized Hobbs’ photo but says he’s not a regular. The place is one of the few that streams all the soccer matches. Hobbs showed up alone and didn’t mix with any of the regular clientele.”
“Where does that leave us?” Roberts persisted.
“He must have a place in or near Steelton. It’s all residential in there, a gazillion houses packed cheek by jowl,” Terry said.
Andy removed her jacket in the warm entry. “How about giving us a man in an unmarked to cruise the Steelton streets? If he’s there, his truck is easy to spot. We even have his tag number.”
Roberts shook his head emphatically. “No way can I spare someone to spend who knows how long searching for someone who might not even be there. Sorry. You lost him, you find him.”
“He’s right,” Andy said, returning to their desks. “We had him…should have collared him.”
“And then what? We’d get him for assault, but he’d clam up about the reason and any connection he has to the drugs.” Terry slumped in his chair.
Andy was getting back into her jacket. “We can’t just wait around for something to happen. I’m going back to talk to Charles Bell. He said something at our interview that bothers me. I need to follow up.”
“Whatever,” Terry said. “I know what I’m going to do. If Roberts won’t give us a man, I’ll do the cruising myself. I know that sonofabitch is in there!”
Steel Town Page 11
