by C. E. Nelson
Daniel opened his refrigerator and peered inside. Although he did not think someone could see it from the outside, he had disconnected the light inside the refrigerator anyway. After removing a bottle of chardonnay, he poured himself a glass and sat at his kitchen table. He had seen the story of the missing boy on the news and assumed that as why the police had come yesterday and returned today. He knew Trask would come again too – he was certain of that.
Trask would not rest until he had him. Trask was so obsessed with him that Daniel had often thought that Trask would at some point try to kill him. Daniel had installed an alarm system to warn him of intruders, with motion detector cameras in his yard. Initially, the purpose of the system was to catch Trask breaking his restraining order. It would not only serve to put Trask in jail, it would also cost him his job.
But after the restraining order expired, and Daniel moved to his new home, he realized this system failed in one important aspect. It also alerted the intruder that there was an alarm. That was fine for any would-be burglar, but it was not fine if Daniel wanted to use the invasion of his home by Trask as a reason to kill him. The system needed to evolve.
Daniel moved to the lower level of his home, sealed off the back door and the two windows, and had it soundproofed. Any alarms set off by the system were now routed downstairs or to Daniel’s phone. Daniel could decide if he wanted to have audible alarms sound to scare the person off and/or alert the police to the break-in. If he saw that Trask was the invader, he could choose to let Trask enter. Infrared cameras on his upper level would allow him to follow Trask’s movements, and his night vision goggles would let him take Trask down.
It had been nearly five years. Daniel had waited, and planned, fantasizing about the killing of Trask. He had been certain Trask would come after the restraining order expired, but that had not happened. He thought Trask would show up after he moved, but that hadn't happened either. Still, he waited. His hatred of the man who ruined his life had not dissipated, but he had nearly given up on expecting Trask to return. But now he was ready. Trask would come and he would be ready.
Tito Gonzales opened the door after looking through the peephole to see his cousin. Upon opening the door, Paul stepped inside and gave his cousin a hug. Tito did not return the hug. He was looking at the men behind Paul.
“Cousin. This is the boss,” said Paul as he turned to look at the short man behind him.
“Hola.”
Tito put out his hand to the man, but there was no attempt made by the man to shake Tito’s hand. Instead the man moved past Tito and into the living room, the two large men behind him following closely. Paul went in after leaving Tito to shut the door.
The boss looked around the room. He walked over and inspected the torn recliner and then walked over to the couch where he sat. Folded his legs and brushed some lint from his brown calf-leather slip-on. His black hair was long, hand-combed behind his ears. His acne-scarred face was red, his dark eyes close-set over a sharp nose, a scraggly mustache on his upper lip with a matching goatee on his chin. The boss wore a short-sleeved white cotton shirt, buttoned to his chubby neck, and stretched by his sizeable belly.
Tito entered the room. “Would you like something to drink, senor?”
The boss pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his khaki slacks and wiped some perspiration from his forehead. “Water.”
Tito went to the kitchen and filled a glass from the faucet, nearly returning before he thought about adding a few ice cubes from the freezer. He walked back into the living room and handed the glass to the boss.
The boss took a sip and said,” Gracias” before he nodded to one of the large men standing across from him. The man removed a silenced pistol and shot Tito between the eyes before turning and doing the same to a shocked Paul. After another sip of water, the boss handed the glass to the other large man, and stood. The large man carrying the glass in his hand followed the boss to the door, the other large man ahead of them, opening the door with a handkerchief, and closing it after they were in the hallway.
Chapter 24
Jenkins had waited an hour before calling Stoxon to see if he knew what was happening. He said he had contacted a lawyer, but that it would probably be late before they released Trask – if it was today. She thanked him, decided there was nothing much more she could do, and left. She thought of letting herself into Trask’s place to wait but a drive-by of the condo discouraged her from that. Jenkins went back to work.
Dave Trask had also called Stoxon, getting much the same story that Don’s assistant had given to Jenkins. Dave knew his brother would be beyond mad but hoped the time he would spend at the detention center would let him cool down. Until he did, there would be little point in trying to reach Don. He decided to focus on work as well.
Stoxon had told neither Jenkins nor Dave Trask of his covert attempt to find out about the contents of Don’s computer. He met Jason Reddy at a small café on Snelling. There was outdoor seating, but neither man thought it made any sense to sit next to a busy street while you tried to eat and so took a table inside near the back. The waiter brought waters and they both ordered.
“You’re looking dapper,” said Reddy.
“This old thing,” replied Stoxon as he glanced at his sky-blue silk suit. “I just threw it on this morning.” Reddy did not reply. “So, what can you tell me?”
“You do realize you’re buying lunch?”
“I assumed as much.”
Reddy looked around as if he thought someone may be listening. “Let’s see it first.”
“Oh God,” said Stoxon shaking his head. He reached into the shopping bag he had set on the floor next to his seat, producing a plastic container. He set it on the table between them and opened it. Reddy leaned forward for a closer look.
“Yummy.” Then he looked up at Stoxon. “The whipping cream?”
“Really!” Stoxon leaned over again and pulled a container from the bag, setting it on the table next to the rhubarb cake. Immediately Reddy grabbed the can and shook it. “What are you doing? You can’t eat that in here. This is a restaurant. Give me that!” Stoxon grabbed the can from Reddy, and then quickly put the cover back on the cake, putting everything back in the bag. “What is wrong with you?”
“I just wanted a bite.”
“Honestly! So, what did you find out?”
Reddy looked around again and then, leaning forward, whispered. “It’s very odd.”
“What’s odd?” Stoxon was leaning forward now too.
“The stuff on his computer. He never opened it.”
“How is that odd?”
“Well, most of the guys who order this stuff pay a good sum for it so they’re pretty eager to see what they got.”
“Hmm.”
“And there was just stuff there from yesterday. One transmission. He had no history of ever looking at anything even remotely like this before on his computer. As far as I could tell, he had never even been to a site or chat room where he could get access to this stuff.”
“So, could someone have just put it on his computer without his knowledge?”
“I would say that’s entirely possible. But there’s something else you might want to look at.”
“What’s that?”
“Like I said, you don’t get this stuff for free. He would have had a charge for it on a credit card somewhere.”
Stoxon sat back, thinking. “I don’t suppose you could trace the source of whoever sent it to his computer?”
“I didn’t dare go any farther.”
Seton reached the Little’s house, parking across the street, waiting for the forensics team to show. He put his head back and closed his eyes. Thankfully the rain had washed out his boys’ baseball games the night before, but he had trouble sleeping. Trask’s obsession with finding Libby Carlson’s killer was on his mind. Or, more precisely, his obsession with finding something to say the Arnold Daniel was Libby Carlson’s killer.
Seton looked at the Little’
s home. More than likely it was the Little kid who did it. And if they found something to tie the kid to it, what was to be gained? A family who had sacrificed to raise an autistic child would now be subjected to more suffering. And it could not be good for the kid.
As Seton watched the BCA truck pull in behind him, dreading the thought of heading down to the creek where yesterday’s rain would only have made it more muddy and steamy, his phone buzzed.
“Seton.”
“Pete, it’s Bill.” Bill Runblad was an investigator on Seton’s team.
“What’s up?”
“Have you heard about Trask?”
Seton sat up, alert. “What?”
“IA arrested him this morning. Found child porn on his computer.”
Seton was speechless.
“Pete? You there?”
“Yeah. It’s hard to believe.”
“I know. They marched him right out of here not too long ago.”
Seton didn’t believe it. He knew Trask for too many years. The man could go off, but not this. “OK, thanks for letting me know. I’m sure someone will be informing the staff soon. In the meantime, just focus on your assignments.”
“Right. See you.”
Seton sat stunned until the slamming of the door on the truck behind him broke his trance. He got out and opened the back door of his car, exchanging his loafers for the rubber boots there. The four men from the truck came with their cases and equipment and shovels to where Seton stood and the five of them walked in silence around the Little’s home.
The sun pierced the trees, hitting them like hot daggers as they trudged to the area of Michael Little’s fort. The men quickly set up, continuing from where they had left off the day before. Seton got a call from Stoxon about Trask shortly after, Stoxon relaying Trask’s claim that someone had set him up, but providing little more in the way of information. After the call, Seton thought for a minute about who would take over as the lead if Trask was gone. Could it be him? And would he even want the job? He tried to forget it, telling himself Trask would be back, but still, he couldn’t help but wonder.
The day wore on, the sun only blocked sporadically by passing clouds, the humidity rising from the soggy ground. The likely burial spot for Libby Carlson was found shortly after noon with additional clothing fragments and hair present, but they located no other burial sites or evidence. Seton was drained, his clothes sticking to him, his team looking just as bad. He called for a break. They marched single-file out of the brush onto the Little’s back yard, Seton bringing up the rear. As he emerged from the brush, he looked up to the house. Michael Little stood at the window on the upper level, the light from behind him making him appear a large dark monster.
Chapter 25
Austin Newman woke, slowly opening his eyes. There was nothing to see. Something covered his eyes. Austin thought he might still be dreaming, blinking his eyes rapidly, but still there was no light. He felt the need to yawn, to take in a deep gulp of air, but his mouth did not want to open. Maybe this was part of his dream too? The boy tried to separate his lips, but they would not part. He pushed his small tongue forward, trying to get his lips to part, but they held tight.
Trying to reach for his mouth with his right hand, he discovered his arm wouldn’t move. The left arm was tried with the same result. Austin could move his fingers, make a fist, but something held his arms in place. He could feel his toes wiggle, but something held his legs in place like his arms. Austin did not like this dream. Shaking his head back and forth the boy tried to scream. Only a small whimper escaped.
Austin tired of his efforts, sucking air through his nostrils, his heart pounding. He had pushed his head against the chair back, his breathing slowing when he heard it and was quiet. A rhythmic pounding, the hollow echo of knocking on wood. It was above him, to his right, and he turned his head in that direction. The noise continued to get lower, nearer, and then it was gone. He strained to hear and picked up a click. Through whatever covered his eyes he could now tell it was lighter. There were a few more noises, muffled, and then Austin could sense a presence. There was someone in front of him.
“Good. You are awake.”
The voice was awful. It sounded like a machine, like an alien in his space invaders game. It was shallow and gravelly and made him cringe.
“You are to do exactly as I say. Nod your head if you understand.” The kidnapper had practiced the voice. It had to be something no one could associate with the kidnapper, while at the same time, something that would strike fear into the children. The kidnapper was very proud of the voice.
Austin was sure that this was a very bad dream now. He did not want to listen to the awful voice anymore or do what it says. He wanted to wake up in his own bed and then run to his mother and hug her as hard as he ever had and never let her go.
“Do…you...understand?”
Austin had been wiggling his toes and fingers again thinking that would wake the rest of him up but stopped at the shout. He was scared now. Scared this might not be a dream. Scared of the voice. The awful voice. Tears formed in his eyes and he sniffed.
“Nod now if you understand. This is your last chance!”
The voice was in front of him, above him. It had moved closer, and Austin thought he could smell something, something on the voice’s breath. He looked up as if he could see the voice and nodded.
“Very well. But you must answer immediately next time I ask you a question, or I will punish you. Do you understand?”
Austin nodded again.
“You children have no respect for adults. Do you know what respect means?”
Austin nodded.
“That is what they all said.”
Austin sensed the voice drawing nearer and then felt a hand on the back of his head. He tried to turn away.
“Hold still, or I will punish you.”
Austin was momentarily still but then felt fingers on his cheek. He pulled his head away. Almost immediately there was a sharp pain across the back of the boy’s right hand, shooting up his arm, and he attempted to scream.
“Be still or you'll be punished more severely next time.”
Tears flowed under whatever covered his eyes and his nose began to run, making it difficult to breathe. The hand was behind his head again and the fingers on his cheek. The fingers scratched at him, at something on him. Austin was doing all he could to be still when he felt his cheek being pulled away from his face. He was trying to understand what the voice was doing to him when pain shot across his mouth and other cheek like a giant bandage had been ripped off. Austin screamed out.
“Shut up, you stupid boy,” said the voice as someone slapped him hard. “No one can hear you.”
“I want to go home!”
Pain shot across Austin’s left hand, and he yelled out.
“I said shut up,” said the voice in a low metallic tone. “Do you want to live?”
Austin tried hard to catch his breath, gulping for air and sniffing. His hands hurt badly, and his face still stung. He nodded vigorously. He sensed the voice standing close and then circling him. The voice stood still in front of him, and Austin tensed, expecting more punishment. Instead the voice moved away. He listened as it moved up and then heard a door open and close. Austin began to struggle.
Palm called Grace. “Where are you?”
“About two blocks from the Newman’s.”
“OK, should we meet there and compare notes? I think we need to give the Newman’s an update.”
“Not a good idea unless you want to be on television.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. The amber alert sure works at finding media types.”
“Yeah.” Palm thought for a moment. “OK, I’ll meet you at the Burger King in front of the mall. I could use a bite, and we need to get our story straight before we talk to the Newmans.”
Ten minutes later Palm was ordering a Whopper meal while Grace went for the chicken salad.
“Aren’t you due to retire i
n a few years?” asked Grace as he slid into the booth Palm had found.
“Yeah. Possibly.” Palm was thinking about Florida and his sister-in-law again.
“Well, if you’re going to make it, you might want to think about altering your diet a little.”
Palm looked over while Grace took a bite of his salad. He was right. His pants seemed tighter every day, and his wife had been on him about how he was looking eight months pregnant. He looked down at his sandwich, something he thought of as a staple of his current diet and thought one more wouldn’t hurt.
“So, you get everyone covered that we missed yesterday?”
“Almost. There was no answer at the Arnold place again. I talked to the kid mowing the lawn, and he said the guy’s some kind of weird recluse. Leaves his lawn mowing money in an envelope under the front mat. All the windows in the place are covered. Some look like they’re blacked out.”
“That’s the guy Trask liked for it.”
“Any more about Trask?”
“No, I haven’t heard anything but I think we better assume that the BCA isn’t going to be doing much now.”
“No, I think they are still on it. I saw their truck in front of the Little’s place. I assumed they were searching back by the creek or maybe inside the house?”
“OK. We need to coordinate with them. The Little kid is still a suspect, and we need to know what they know. I’ll call.” Palm dragged two fries through a pile of ketchup on his wrapper and stuffed them in his mouth. “You talk to the jerk guy?”
“Trevor Cousins. Yeah, it was a real pleasure. I don’t think he had anything to do with the disappearance, but his kids kind of gave me the creeps. They watched me talk to their dad like they were some kind of vampires or something. Kind of gave me the creeps.”
