by Hank Edwards
"This is from his number?" Pearce asked.
"Yes," Mark replied.
"What is it?" Jake asked.
Pearce held the phone out so Jake could see, then Pearce extended it to Steve Grady whose face paled as he saw the picture.
"Oh my god," Grady said quietly.
"I need to speak to your sons right now, Mr. Grady," Pearce said, his tone hard and cold. "I will get a warrant if you make me, but if this man dies during that time, it will be because of you."
Grady nodded as he stared wide-eyed at Pearce. "Hunter's at school. I'll have to… I'll have to call Kent."
"Do it now, please," Pearce said as he forwarded the photo and message to his own phone. He looked at Mark and asked, "You okay?"
Mark nodded. He was numb, and it felt as if he no longer knew how to form words.
"We need to keep this image intact," Pearce said. "Okay? I forwarded it to myself, but I need to leave it on your phone, too. We may be able to use it to locate Calvin's phone."
Mark nodded again. It seemed to be all he could do.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Pearce asked.
Another nod, but this time he managed to speak as well. "Yeah. I'm… Yeah."
From across the living room, Grady swore and hit the disconnect button on his phone. "It went directly to voice mail."
"He's turned it off," Pearce said, and exchanged a look with Jake. "He doesn't want to be tracked."
Jake had his own phone held to his ear. "I'm having the office try to pinpoint Calvin's phone again."
Mark sat on the love seat. The cushion still retained a touch of warmth from when he'd sat on it before. He scratched absently at his left elbow through the sleeve of his jacket as he stared at the floor. He kept seeing Calvin's eyes open wide with terror, and his stomach clenched painfully.
Was his and Pearce's entire relationship just building up to this? Was Calvin's life going to be the ultimate cost of them foiling Morgan's initial plan?
32
The principal's office was small and cluttered, and it had set off a low sense of claustrophobia inside Pearce. He paced the open floor behind the two visitors’ chairs where Steve Grady and Mark sat facing the principal behind her desk.
"Will it be much longer?" Grady asked in a soft voice.
"I'm sure Hunter will be along soon," replied Sharice Sinclair, the principal. She was a tall black woman with a bright smile, and she had a firm grip when she'd shaken Pearce's hand. "Agent Pearce, are you sure you don't want me to find you another chair?"
Pearce waved her offer away and continued to pace.
The image of Calvin tied up and gagged, eyes wide with fear kept flashing through his mind. He'd sent the photo off to Jake who had gone back to the Bureau to have it examined for clues and also get a search warrant for the Grady house, specifically Kent Grady's bedroom. They had kept Mark's phone with them in case Morgan got in touch with them again.
He seemed to be able to feel every minute tick past.
Not only did he fear for Calvin's life, he was concerned about Mark, too. How was this affecting him? Would he ever be able to recover if they didn't get to Calvin in time?
Before he could reprimand himself for letting his thoughts turn too dark, the door opened, and one of the office assistants led Hunter Grady inside.
"Hunter!" Steve Grady got to his feet and Mark stood as well.
Hunter looked at each of them with wide eyes. He paled even more, and it made the bruised skin beneath his eyes look darker.
"Dad?" Hunter looked from his father to Pearce where he stood by the door. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, buddy," Grady said, and motioned for Hunter to sit in the chair he'd just left empty. "Sit down, okay? Remember these guys from Saturday?"
Hunter looked at Pearce quickly, then nodded to Mark. "Yeah. They're FBI."
"Right," Grady said with a bright, false smile. "That's right. Well, they have a few more questions to ask you, okay?"
Hunter leaned in close to his father and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Am I in trouble?"
"What?" Grady let out a laugh that sounded forced and unnatural. "No, you're not in trouble. Why would you ask that?"
Hunter shrugged his narrow shoulders and sat back in the seat. "Dunno."
Pearce sat in the chair Mark had vacated and turned it to face Hunter. "Hi Hunter, my name is Aaron."
Hunter frowned. "I thought it was Pearce?"
Pearce laughed, and though it was short lived, it felt good. "Well, that's my last name, like yours is Grady."
"Okay."
"I want you to know you're not in trouble, okay?" Pearce said, keeping his voice low and friendly. "Mark and I just have a couple more questions for you. Think you can help us out?"
Hunter looked to his dad who smiled and nodded in encouragement. He looked back at Pearce. "I'll try."
"Great, that's all we ask. Now, it's important that you be very honest and tell us anything and everything you know when we ask these questions, understand?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Now, you knew Erik from the Gaymer group, right?"
Hunter flicked his gaze toward the principal.
"Don't worry about Ms. Sinclair," Pearce said. "She's pretty cool with the gay thing."
"We're very protective of all of our students, Hunter," Sinclair said, and followed it up with a reassuring smile.
"Yeah, I knew Erik through that group," Hunter replied.
"And your brother, Kent, knew him, too?"
"Yeah. We were both in the group at first, but after awhile, Kent said it was for babies and dropped out."
"Did Kent have an argument with Erik over his dropping out?"
Hunter shook his head. "No. He just stopped going."
"How did they get along when Kent was attending the group?" Pearce asked.
Hunter shrugged again "Okay, I guess."
"They got along okay?"
"Yeah, I guess so. We mostly talked about and played video games."
Mark crouched next to Pearce's chair and smiled at Hunter. "Hi, Hunter. Did Kent go to every meeting with you before he dropped out?"
Hunter looked at the floor and shifted in his seat. "I dunno."
Pearce exchanged a glance with Mark, then leaned a little closer to Hunter. "You don't know or you don't want to tell?"
Hunter looked at his father. "Do I have to tell?"
Grady knelt at the side of Hunter's chair. "It's okay, Hunter. I promise. Just tell the agents what you know."
Hunter leaned in closer to his father and whispered, "But Kent could get in trouble."
Pearce's palms were sweating, and his pulse picked up. This was getting them closer, he could feel it. First they needed to know Kent was involved in some way, then they needed to find him.
"Don't you worry about Kent," Grady said and smiled at Hunter. "He's a big guy and can take care of himself. Just tell us what you know."
"I won't get punished?" Hunter asked.
"You make it sound like I beat you guys!" Grady said with a nervous laugh that made Pearce wonder just what went on inside their house. "You won't get punished. Just say the words. It's okay."
Hunter looked back at Pearce. "He didn't always go to the meetings."
"Do you know where he went instead?" Pearce asked.
"He met a friend," Hunter replied.
Pearce's mouth went dry. "Do you know this friend's name?"
"Alan."
"Alan?" Mark repeated. "Did you ever see Alan?"
Hunter shook his head.
"Do you know what Kent and Alan did when they met up?" Pearce asked.
"I can't say," Hunter replied, his voice small and sad. "Kent made me swear."
Grady put a hand on Hunter's shoulder. "Hey, buddy, it's okay to tell us. You can break the swear you made to Kent. I give you permission."
"But Kent—"
"Kent doesn't matter right now, Hunter," Grady said in a sharp tone. "Right now you need to answer the question.
Do you know what Kent and Alan were doing?"
Tears poured down Hunter's face as he looked between Pearce and his father.
Finally, he drew in a shaky breath and said, "Growing pot."
Pearce saw his own confusion and crushing disappointment reflected in Mark's expression.
He ducked his head to catch Hunter's gaze again and asked, "Is that all they were doing?"
"Probably kissing," Hunter said, then, lower lip trembling, looked at his father. "He didn't want you to know."
Grady frowned. "Why not? I know about both of you being gay, and I haven't had a problem with it. Right?"
Hunter nodded as he palmed tears from his face. "Yeah."
"Well then why didn't Kent want me to know?"
"Alan's your friend."
Pearce watched Grady's face. He looked confused a moment, and then he paled and pushed abruptly to his feet and turned his back.
"That's all they were doing?" Pearce asked, glancing now and then at Grady as he stood very still with his back to them.
Hunter nodded, his gaze on his father. "Dad?"
Grady looked over his shoulder and tried to smile in a reassuring way. It didn't convince Pearce, and by his expression, it didn't convince Hunter either.
"It's okay, buddy," Grady said. "You're not in trouble."
"Don't be mad," Hunter said.
Grady shook his head. "Nope. I'm not mad. You did good telling us these things, okay?"
Hunter nodded, then looked back at Pearce. "Can I go?"
"Do you know where Kent met up with Alan?"
"Alan's house," Hunter said. "He grows the pot in his basement."
Pearce nodded and smiled, though he felt cold and tired. "Thanks for your help, Hunter."
"Here's a note to give your teacher when you get back to class, Hunter." Sinclair handed him a piece of paper. "Go on back now."
Hunter stood and wiped away more tears. He walked up to his father and stood looking up at him. Pearce noticed that Hunter came up to Grady's chest already; in another year, he'd probably be as tall if not taller than him.
"Dad?"
Grady squeezed his shoulder and smiled. "It's okay, I promise."
Hunter nodded and, without looking back, left the office.
"Alan is a friend of yours?" Pearce asked.
Grady turned and nodded. "Known him for almost twenty years. Had him over for cookouts and football games. Went to games with him and his kids. He and his wife are separated, and his wife's got the kids."
"Might want to have a talk with Alan," Pearce suggested. "But after you cool down."
Grady nodded absently as he stared at a spot on the floor. "He's forty-one, just a couple years younger than me."
"Don't do something you'll regret," Pearce said. "Give it some time."
Grady snapped his gaze up to meet Pearce's. "You going to raid his home?"
Pearce shook his head. "Not part of my case."
"Cops in his town might be getting an anonymous tip," Grady said.
"Just be careful you don't lose Kent at the same time," Mark said.
Grady pressed his lips tight together and nodded. "Yeah."
Pearce looked at Sinclair who still sat behind her desk, watching Grady closely. "Thank you for your time."
"It sounds like it wasn't very productive," Sinclair said.
Pearce nodded. "Sometimes it's knowing where not to look that's the most helpful. So thank you."
"I'll keep an eye on Hunter," Sinclair said. With the look she directed at Grady, Pearce knew it was more of a warning directed at Hunter's father than a reassurance meant for him.
"Come on, we'll walk you out," Pearce said, and motioned for Grady to precede them out the door.
They were silent on the walk down the hall and out the door. He and Mark stood next to the rental car and watched Grady drive off. When Pearce met Mark's eye across the roof of the car, he shrugged and shook his head.
"Another dead end," Mark said.
Pearce got in the car and waited for Mark to get in beside him before saying, "We can cross Kent off the list."
Mark nodded. "So now what?"
"I want to drop you back at the hotel," Pearce said. "You look exhausted."
"So do you."
"I need to tell Jake to stop working on the warrants."
Mark unlocked his cell phone and looked at the picture of Calvin again. "It kills me to see him like that."
Pearce put a hand on his shoulder. "I know it does. I'm doing everything I know to do."
Mark wiped away a tear and nodded. "I know you are. I just… I can't believe it's real."
"Is he in a basement?" Pearce tipped his head and leaned in closer. "Can you see any details?"
With a tap, Mark opened the photo to full screen. He spread his thumb and forefinger to zoom in on different areas of the background. A cinderblock wall painted black was visible behind him. The gold finish of the chair back gleamed in the wash of light from the flash. The very edge of a counter was visible on the right edge of the photo.
"Black painted walls," Mark said. "That chair looks like the cheap kind you'd find in a reception hall or something."
"Is that a counter on the right there?" Pearce asked.
"Can't see enough to tell what it is," Mark replied. "It's too far out of the frame to be able to see it."
Pearce stared at the photo a bit longer, then swore and shifted position so he sat behind the wheel once more. A lot had happened the last few hours, and as he tried to put his thoughts in order, they kept shifting away. He was tired, more tired than any other time in his life, it seemed. He needed some downtime to be able to stay effective. With that thought, he started the engine and backed out of the space.
"Taking me back to the hotel?" Mark asked.
"Yeah," Pearce replied. "And then I'm going to the office for a bit, but I'll come join you shortly. I need some sleep. I'm no good to Calvin if I can't think."
Mark reached over and took his hand. The warmth of his touch was reassuring, even as Pearce's heart pounded and the wire in his chest tightened a little more.
33
Mark paced the room, stopping now and then to look out over the city. It was almost one in the afternoon on Monday, and he hadn't slept since Saturday night. He knew he would crash soon, it was inevitable, but his brain didn't seem to want his body to shut down yet. The sun had been out earlier but now was hidden behind a heavy cloak of gray clouds that threatened snow. Down on the street, people were going about their lives as if it was a typical Monday lunch hour.
"Fuck you, Robert Morgan," Mark whispered as he rested his forehead against the cool glass and stared at the traffic down below. "Fuck you and whoever's helping you."
He wondered how Pearce was doing, and how he was interacting with Jake. Now that they had for the most part ruled out Kent Grady as Morgan's accomplice, and not yet ruled out Jake, the tension between them must be high. Pearce was pretty short-tempered on a good day, and Mark hoped Bata wouldn't throw him off the case for some kind of disruption.
"I feel really fucking useless!" he shouted, and turned away from the window to pace some more.
He needed to feel like he was contributing somehow, putting some effort into helping bring Calvin back alive. He pulled out the chair at the small work desk and sat down. When he'd returned to the room, the first thing he'd done was retrieve the gun and clips from the safe and set it all within easy reach on the desk. Now he picked up each of the clips and ejected the bullets. Pearce had not only given him shooting lessons, but instructed him in gun maintenance as well.
He got up and grabbed a pair of socks from a drawer, then returned to the desk. Pulling the socks on over his hands, Mark wiped fingerprints off each clip and every one of the bullets. He struggled a bit to manipulate the bullets back into the clip with the socks still on his hands, but after some work, he managed it. The task helped him focus his thoughts and kept his mind active. Once every bullet in each clip and the gun itself was wiped clea
n of either his or Pearce's fingerprints, Mark dropped the weapon into his right-hand jacket pocket and removed the socks from his hands. If he was going to be forced to use the gun at some point, or if it was taken from him, he didn't want Pearce's or his fingerprints anywhere on it.
The battery on his phone was in the red, so he plugged it in to charge and resumed pacing, hands clasped behind his back as he considered everything he knew about the other cases. Erik Hamill was the key to everything, but exhaustion seemed to stall any possible progress. Every time he tried to focus on any one detail of Erik's case, his brain locked up. He caught himself scratching at the tiny scar in the crook of his elbow for the umpteenth time and knew it was no use. He was too anxious, too rattled by Calvin's abduction, and too tired to even attempt to make sense of any of it, let alone the specifics of one particular victim.
Although some part of himself would feel that he was simply wasting time, Mark knew what would help calm his mind and steady his nerves. To get the full effect, however, he would need to strip down, like he had done back in the apartment in DC. He sat on the bed to pull off his socks, then clenched and released his toes against the short nap of the carpet. The sensation relaxed him a bit, so when he stood up and stripped down to his underwear, his mind had settled a bit. He wouldn't need to boot up his laptop to watch the combination workout and self-defense DVD, he knew every move by heart.
The rhythm of the movements soothed and relaxed him even more. He focused on the flow of motion, the tightening and release of muscle, the grace of each limb. He limited his thinking only to the next move, blocking out all other thoughts and concerns. A light sheen of sweat glistened all over his body as he worked, and when he had completed the full program, the noise in his mind had stilled.
After a quick shower, he stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and hurried to check his phone. The battery was at forty-five percent, and there had been no calls or text messages. The cloud cover had thickened while he'd been working out and in the shower, and the weak light coming in the windows barely made it halfway across the room. Mark left the lights off as the gloom seemed to fit his mood. He felt stranded and helpless, and he wished Pearce would return to the room to give him an update and get some sleep, while at the same time, he hoped Pearce had the energy to keep pushing the details of the case and find Calvin. Getting dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved pullover sweater, Mark sat in the armchair by the window where Pearce had first thought they could have sex. He stared at the gloomy sky and let his thoughts go where they wanted.
