by C. E. Nelson
“On the railing. I think it’s blood.”
Palm could see the shine in the light. “Good eyes.”
They moved slowly down the steps, watching where they stepped, peering around the door frame into the family room as they reached the bottom.
“Michael?”
There was no reply. No sign of blood on the tile floor of the family room. The older dark shag in the hallway was no help. Palm walked slowly down the hall towards the boy’s bedroom, calling for Michael as he went. The door to his bedroom was closed. Palm rapped on the door and called the boy’s name again. Still no response. He reached for the door handle, stopped, and checked for any sign of blood. Seeing none, he grabbed the handle and turned it as far as it would go before he pushed it in, peering inside. The room was empty. They searched the remaining rooms on the lower level finding no one. Palm noticed the inner door to the basement was open and walked over, looking through the screen door at the back yard. Backing off, he looked down at the handle of the open inner door against the inside wall. Grace came up behind.
“Blood.”
Chapter 28
Stoxon’s phone buzzed, interrupting his search of the second missing child file.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Your boss’s records are being emailed to you as we speak,” answered Stoxon’s friend.
“Anything interesting?”
“You know I would never look at someone’s private information.”
“Right. Just like you love professional football.”
“Well, some of them do look pretty good in those tight pants they wear.”
“So?”
“So, your boss spends a good deal on eating out and liquor, and even more on his clothes. He shops at some very expensive stores. Is he a good dresser?”
"Not as good as me, but he tries. Anything else?”
“Well, his taste in video is not what I would choose.”
Stoxon felt himself take in a breath. “What do you mean?”
“All he seems to watch are action films and fishing shows. You know he actually pays to watch fishing shows?”
Stoxon relaxed. “Some people. So, nothing more?”
“Nope, that’s it.”
Stoxon thanked his friend and hung up. He looked down at the file he had open on the table, but his focus had been returned to Trask. The email from Kline was in his inbox. He felt a little like a voyeur as he opened the first file, telling himself it was for Trask’s own good. As he went through the statements, he came to the same conclusion as his friend. There was no charge of any suspicious type at all. Someone had set Trask up. But who did it? And why? He needed to know the source of the child porn transmission.
Stoxon was afraid of what it would cost him, but he made the call.
“Jason Reddy.”
“Jason, this is Larry again. I just talked to Dean, and he confirmed that my boss made no purchases of any pornography. Someone set him up Jason, and I need to find out who.”
“I told you, I can’t go any further. Someone will see that I’ve been snooping. You need to have someone at the BCA make a request.”
Stoxon was silent for a minute. “You mean, like the Special Agent in charge.”
“Well, yes I suppose. But isn’t that your boss?”
“Jason, the office of the Special Agent in charge has just made a request for that information. I will send you the form immediately. You can say you had no idea who that was.”
“I can see nothing but trouble from this, Larry.” Reddy sighed. “All right. But this is really going to cost you this time.”
“I had no doubt. Bye.”
it surprised Stoxon when Reddy called back a little over an hour later.
“OK, I’ve got the IP for you. I’ll text you the information.”
“Thanks, Jason.”
“Not so fast. I’ve decided I will receive dinner at Brothers West.” Brothers West was an expensive restaurant on Lake Minnetonka, west of Minneapolis. “And if I get caught and lose my job, I’ll be staying with you free of charge.”
Stoxon cringed. The Brothers West meal didn’t bother him; it was the thought of Reddy living with him. Stoxon had been to Reddy’s place a few times and his neatness did not come up to Larry’s standards.
“Bye.”
Pete Seton and his team had returned to the land behind the Little’s home after lunch, but Seton called it a day after a little over an hour. He knew Trask wouldn’t be happy with his decision, but he didn’t know if Trask was even his boss anymore, so he had made the decision to start again Monday morning. He would not make everyone work on a Sunday for something that may mean nothing. After a quick shower and change at home, he had returned to the office to clean up some paperwork and decide what he should do in Trask’s absence.
He pulled out the evidence bag from the day’s search, scraps of once red cloth inside. Part of Libby Carlson’s dress. The girl Trask was obsessed with. Obsessed with pinning the crime on someone. Someone other than him.
Seton couldn’t believe what he was thinking. Don Trask had not only been his boss but also his friend for many years. Trask had been to watch his kids play ball, had been to his house for dinner. Child porn? It just wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right. As Seton was struggling to decide what he believed, there was a knock on his open door. Larry Stoxon walked in and sat.
“You look tired, Agent Seton.”
“Standing outside all day in this weather will do that to you. You working on a Saturday? And you know you can call me Pete?”
“Yes, sir. Well, I thought I should be in the office, you know, after what happened with Special Agent Trask. May I inquire as to the results of your search today?”
Seton leaned back, pointing to the evidence bag laying on his desk. “Probably more remnants of Libby Carlson’s dress. Nothing else.” Seton stared at Stoxon, afraid to ask his question. “What about you? Anything new on Don?”
“That’s why I’m here, sir.” Stoxon laid out what he had found out about the pornography on Trask’s computer before handing a piece of paper to Seton. “I thought perhaps the Acting Special Agent in charge of the BCA could contact them and see what he could find out about who might have sent the transmission.”
The paper had the information on the IP. “Acting Special Agent in charge?”
“I thought it sounded very official, sir. Might get things moving a little faster.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“I’m sure you have no worries in that regard, sir.”
Seton thought the guy was serious, but he wasn’t sure. Don had mentioned Stoxon’s sarcasm, or possible sarcasm, but had not experienced it himself before now. “I’ll get right on this.” Seton felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulder and a spark of energy passed through him. He called to Stoxon as he reached the door. “Hey, Larry?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Thanks for doing all this.”
Palm and Grace walked to the brush behind the house. It was easy to see where the BCA people had been walking. Someone had big feet, but from what he remembered, not big enough to be Michael Little’s prints. Besides, they looked like they were the bottom of boots, not tennis shoes. A walk along the edge of the yard and into each neighbor’s yard revealed no easily visible prints going off into the brush towards the creek. The men looked down the creek both ways but could see no one.
“Better get the search teams back out here and get dogs too. We got another missing kid.”
“He’s twenty-two. Hardly a kid.”
“Oh, he’s a kid all right. A big kid and an old kid, but definitely a kid. Trust me. I know.”
“Maybe a dangerous kid too.”
Palm sighed. “Yeah, maybe. We better go see if we can find a murder weapon. And we need to talk to Mrs. Little. And we need to find Austin Newman. How can this get any worse?” As they walked back to the house, the sun disappeared behind clouds building in from the west. Palm stopped and poi
nted over the Little’s house. “It’s not supposed to rain again, is it?”
A rumble of distant thunder answered him.
Chapter 29
Michael Little heard the thunder too. He had gone close to a mile, cutting through backyards, across the creek where it made a bend back to the west, and then through the woods. He had decided to run away, but now the thunder was making him rethink that decision. Michael did not like thunder.
He turned and looked behind him at the darkening woods. Michael wanted his mother. He wanted to be home in his room. But he couldn’t go to his room because his dad might be there and try to take his toy again. Dad could not have his toy. Michael had kept the knife to be sure that his toy would be safe.
Michael was on an incline next to the parking lot of the elementary school. As he looked at the lot, the lights suddenly came on, illuminating the lot and the back of the building. The lot was empty of vehicles. There were basketball hoops to his right and an athletic field beyond that. Michael had played on the field when he was younger and had attended the school. There were swings and other playground equipment. Kickball had been one of Michael’s favorite games. He remembered that after they had finished playing, they had put the balls in a storage building. Turning to his left, Michael saw the building was still there.
A large drop of rain hit Michael in the head. Quickly other drops began to hit the pavement in front of him. There was a flash of lightning and another boom of thunder. Michael scrambled up the incline and across the lot to the shed. He pulled on the door, but it wouldn’t open, held in place by an ancient latch with a padlock. Michael slid the knife under the plate for the lock attached to the building, just like he had seen people do on television. He pulled out on the knife, and the plate popped free of the old wood. Michael opened the door and scrambled inside just as it began to pour.
As evening arrived, it surprised Trask to see a tall white-haired man in a suit approach the cell door with a jailer.
“What are you doing here?” asked Trask as he stood.
Dennis Shaw was a friend of Trask. He was also a lawyer. “A little bird told me you may be lonely.”
“Stoxon?”
“Possibly. I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”
“Right.”
“Let’s go.” The men were silent as they walked. “This way,” said Shaw pointing down a back hall. Shaw pushed open a barred door, and they found themselves in a parking lot behind the jail. “I’m over here.” Shaw took two steps toward his car, but Trask did not follow.
“Thanks Dennis, but I think I’ll walk.”
Shaw walked back to him. “You sure you want to do that? You’re big news. Someone spots you and you’ll have the press all over you.”
“I need to walk.”
“I think you’re making a mistake.” Shaw could see he was not going to change Trask’s mind. Shaw shook his head. “Ok, but you should know the press is camped out at your place.”
“Thanks again.” Trask turned and started walking.
Shaw picked up the call as he sat in his car behind the detention center.
“He’s out.”
“Good,” replied Stoxon. “Thanks for doing that.”
“Just my job. And I’m pretty sure I owe Trask a few.”
“How is he?”
“Quiet, but not like Trask quiet. Like he’s thinking about something big, quiet.”
“Hmm. Well, I want you to know that we are almost 100% sure someone planted the porn.”
“Almost?”
“Well, Pete Seton is tracking down the source, but there is no doubt someone planted it.”
“OK. Well, send me over what you have, and I’ll file for dismissal.”
“I’ll do that, only you can’t be specific about the source of your information.”
“What do you mean?” asked Shaw.
“It’s complicated,” Stoxon answered.
“Great! You mean illegal?”
“No, no. I would just be happier if your source was not named.”
“Larry, I got to have something to file.”
“Can you possibly wait until later tonight?”
“I guess so. Why?”
“I think there may be some new public information on this.”
Shaw shook his head. “OK, I guess. Just keep me informed.”
“Right.” Stoxon paused. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. He said he wanted to walk and took off.”
Stoxon thanked Shaw again, disconnected, and then called Jenkins.
“Jenkins.”
“Lieutenant, this is Larry Stoxon.”
“Hi, Larry. And it’s Mel.”
Stoxon let her comment pass. “I thought you should know that they have released Mr. Trask.”
“He’s out? The charges have been dropped?”
“Well, yes and no. His lawyer has been able to get him released, but they have not dropped the charges. Yet.”
“What do you mean, yet?”
“Information has come into my hands that shows that Special Agent Trask had the pornography planted on his computer.”
“That’s great news!”
“Well, yes and no.”
“Yes and no?”
“He definitely had the pornography planted on his computer, but my source of the information is confidential at this point.”
“So…”
“So, we really can’t get the charges dropped until we can provide conclusive proof with a source.”
Jenkins sat back in her chair. “Larry, should I not be hearing this?”
“Oh no. The source is completely legit and nothing illegal was done. It’s just that the source may have some employment issues if he is found out.”
“I see.” Jenkins paused, deciding not to ask any more about the source. “And where is Trask now?”
“I don’t exactly know, mam. It seems he took off on a walk after they released him.”
“A walk. Trask never walks.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Jenkins thanked Stoxon for the update and disconnected. She tried Trask’s phone again but it went directly to voicemail. Time to find him.
Dave Trask paced all day. Several media sources had called asking for a statement, which he declined to do. His calls to his brother’s phone continued unanswered. He finally called Stoxon again.
“Larry, it’s Dave Trask. Any news?”
“I was just about to call you, sir.” Stoxon relayed his story and the fact he had notified Jenkins.
“So, he’s walking, huh?”
“Yes, sir. Not usual, sir.”
“Not at all. Thanks, Larry.” Dave looked out his office window and wondered if he should go looking for his brother.
Chapter 30
Austin Newman was crying. He had wet his pants. He had not wet his pants for several years, but his cries of need to use the toilet had been unanswered, and he just couldn’t hold it any longer. The warm liquid pooled under him and reminded him of the smell of one preschooler who rode the bus. He was calming down when he heard a door above him open and someone descending. The steps grew close.
“Oh, God! What have you done, you little shit?”
“I couldn’t wait. I want to go home!”
“I had brought some dinner for you but now you don’t deserve it. Not after what you have done.”
Austin breathed deeply through his nose. He could smell something. Until now he had been too scared to notice his hunger, but now he felt his stomach muscles contract. And he was thirsty too. Very thirsty.
“Please. I need something to eat and drink. Please.”
The mechanical voice emitted a throaty laugh. “Please? Why that’s very good. Maybe some milk.”
Austin’s lips were dry and sticky as he separated them, his head tilted up like a baby bird. Suddenly his face was covered in a cold liquid, his head jerking back, coughing as the liquid that had entered his mouth rushed down his throat. Austin tried to stop
his coughing, his tongue going to his lips searching for the milk.
“You stupid boy. Look what you’ve done now. I suppose I will have to clean up after you.”
Another sound now. A rustling noise combined with clicking. It seemed to move all around Austin until it returned to the spot where it had started. The voice was walking across the room to his left. There was a squeaking noise and then the sound of something being dragged toward him. Rustling again and a click or two.
The spray hit him full in the face, the stream from the hose tight and stinging. Austin turned his head to the side and the stream continued on the side of his head before it began a back-and-forth pattern across him going progressively lower. When the water hit his crotch he flinched, trying to shut his legs together and move his hands to protect himself to no avail. The voice chuckled. The spray moved around him, coming closer at times and then backing off, the water ice cold now. It sprayed his left side, back, right side, and then returned to his face before shutting down.
The voice moved across the room away from him, turning off the faucet. The voice came back, pulling the plastic curtain that surrounded the boy apart. Austin’s head was bowed, mouth closed, as he waited for the next assault. Finally, the voice stepped away. Austin listened as the voice ascended the stairs, and the door above open and closed. The boy began to shiver. The air in his room was cool, and now soaked by the cold water, he could not control his shaking. Tears ran down his cheeks.
The rain had ended baseball for the Cousins. They went through the drive-through at McDonald's on the way home. Trevor set the bag on the kitchen table, the boys emptying it as he pulled a beer from the refrigerator. He sat back down, removing his sandwich from the bag, ripping the bag open to get at the spilled fries inside. He put a fry in his mouth and took a drink, looking across the table to see the boys staring.
“What?”
“What did you tell him?” said Blake, the oldest, nearly as big as his father already.
“Who?”
“You know who. The cop.”
