Water Walker (The Full Story, Episodes 1-4)

by Dekker, Ted

  “She had a birth mother and a birth father.”

  “Yes. Her father was James Paul Ringwald—”

  “The congressman who was killed in the plane crash a few years ago?”

  “Yes. He had an affair with a woman right before his presidential bid. When he discovered she was pregnant he cut her out of his life. Several years later, she committed suicide.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Catherine Miller. But you see, they’ve both passed. As to Alice’s missing years . . . I doubt any information I could give you would help you find her.”

  “It’s my job to determine what information will help us. If I’m going to find her, I have to know more about her past.”

  “It’s just that . . .”

  “It’s just what?”

  She heard him take a deep breath.

  “This is very sensitive information, you understand. No one must know, for Alice’s sake as well as the others.”

  “What others?”

  “The other children. Promise me that what I tell you goes no further.”

  She thought about his request.

  “I have to file—”

  “No files. Just you. Promise me.”

  “Okay. Just me.”

  “I can trust you?”

  “You have my word.”

  Another short pause.

  “A project was established in the Colorado mountains. Thirteen years ago, thirty-six orphans were legally adopted by a classified orphanage, totally isolated from the rest of the world. I’m not at liberty to reveal any specific details about the location or the project . . . It’s best for the children, and there’s nothing there that would help you find her.”

  She doubted that.

  “Then tell me something that will help. What happened at this orphanage?”

  “You should know that Alice isn’t just any girl. She, like the others, is quite special.”

  Special. Alice is a very special girl . . .

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before the project was shut down, some of the children were able to affect the world in ways bordering on the paranormal. Some of it got out of hand, but it was all self-contained. It was why the project was shut down, you understand? Fortunately, none of the children has any memory of their years at the monastery.”

  “Monastery?”

  “The orphanage was located in an ancient monastery.”

  “How did they lose their memory?”

  He hesitated.

  “They were exposed to a substance that had some side effects, one of which was to eliminate memory. It was the only way they could be reintegrated into society.”

  “What kind of substance?”

  “A poison of sorts, produced by an extremely rare species of worm. It’s no longer of relevance. Either way, you must find Alice. Beyond this, I’m afraid I can be of no further assistance.”

  “What about the other children? Isn’t it possible that someone who worked with them is now targeting all of them?”

  “Highly unlikely. We have our ways of monitoring them.”

  “Ways that obviously failed Alice.”

  He didn’t respond. So she pressed.

  “It could happen again.”

  “That’s our concern. Yours is to find her.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “And yet it has to be.” He paused. “Find her, Agent Strauss. Find her quickly.”

  * * *

  WYATT, THE MAN who’d taken me, said that he would tell me everything, and that I could ask him anything. So I did.

  “Are you my real father?”

  “Yes.” He shifted in his chair. “Well, not by birth, no. Which is why your last name isn’t Ringwald anymore either. It’s Lowenstein. My name. Your birth father was James Ringwald, a senator from Nevada. He died a few years ago. He was the one who took you away from your mother because he wanted nothing to do with either of you after you were born. Sent you away to an orphanage and forced Kathryn into an institution to cover his tracks and save his career.”

  “Now you’re doing that to me?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Forcing me.”

  He looked horrified. “No, it’s not like that. Those people have no right to you by blood. You belong with your mother. And me. It’s the way God designed it. Sometimes the law just isn’t on God’s side, is all.”

  “Shouldn’t I have a say? I know I’m only thirteen, but I’m not a nobody that can be pushed and pulled around.”

  “No, sweetheart! No, of course you’re not.”

  “What if I want to go back?”

  Judging by the look on his face, this seemed like a new idea to him. So I continued.

  “You frightened me and hurt Louise, who loves me very much. Why didn’t Kathryn just come to the door and ask to speak with me?”

  “You don’t understand. They put her in an institution to get her away from you! You think they would just let her take you back?”

  “Why would they want to keep my mother away from me?”

  “Because James Ringwald was an evil man. He didn’t want Kathryn to mess things up for him—he was married to someone else and he wanted to keep her quiet so he accused her of being crazy and sent her to an institution. When she got out, you were gone and there was no way for her to find you.”

  It sounded like it could be true, but I didn’t know if I could believe him.

  “I may be young and I may have lost all my memory from before I was thirteen, but I can still make my own decisions. If my mother loves me, she would understand that.”

  “You lost your memory?”

  So he didn’t know.

  “You don’t remember anything?”

  I wondered if I should explain. Then thought it would better not to.

  “Everything up until six months ago.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You see? You poor thing, you’ve been hurt. You belong with your mother. I promise, after you meet your mother and brother in a few days, you can make your own decision. Kathryn would never make you stay. That wouldn’t be right.”

  I stared at him, confused.

  “I have a brother?”

  “Yes. Bobby. He’s ten and I know you’re going to love him. He needs his big sister, you’re going to see that too. You belong with us, Eden. But you can decide for yourself. Promise.”

  He used that word a lot. Maybe he meant it. Maybe he didn’t. But the idea of having a brother worked its way into my mind—one more thing to make my head spin.

  “Then why not just take me now and let me decide?”

  “I’m going to, but I can’t yet. Zeke says the first two or three days are the most critical. I can’t be on the roads. He set it up so we could spend three days here—it’s an old ’shiner’s place, empty for a couple months. Right now the FBI’s all over the place hunting for my truck. It’s got Tennessee plates so they’ll think I’ve gone there, but we’re right here, hidden in their backyard. We’ll leave the truck here when we go. They’ll eventually find it but we’ll be long gone and back home. Then, if you decide not to stay, you can come back.”

  I could leave a note, I thought. When they did find this place, they would find the note.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “A long way away. But I can’t tell you where, not yet. You’ll see for yourself. No one can know. If they find us, they’ll put your mother in jail. Both of us. Even if you decide to leave us, you can’t ever tell them where we live. You have to promise me that much. Okay?”

  He was going to trust me? Maybe he really did mean everything he said. Or maybe he had no intention of ever letting me go.

  “I promise,” I said. But I don’t know if I meant it.

  “So you’ll come with me?”

  It was a strange question.

  “Aren’t you making me?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Then you�
�ll take me back?”

  “No. No, I can’t do that. It would kill your mother. You can come with me and you’ll see.”

  “And then I can leave if I want to?”

  He hesitated a moment, then dipped his head. “Sure. But you have to come with me first, of course.”

  His thinking was a little upside-down, I thought. As if he wanted my participation in what he was actually forcing on me, maybe to make himself feel better. Which meant he did care. But he’d taped me up and kidnapped me.

  “So you’ll come?” he asked again.

  I nodded.

  He slapped the tabletop. “That’s what I’m talking about! Kathryn will be delighted. If we had cell service up here, I’d call her now and let you talk to her. Wait here.”

  He stood up, hurried into the kitchen, withdrew a jar of clear liquid from the cupboard, and came back, grinning ear to ear.

  “We’re going to make a toast,” he said, unscrewing the jar’s lid. “To you. To Kathryn.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Moonshine, sweetheart. Made it myself. It’s strong but it will purify you inside and out.”

  He took a drink and swallowed, then passed the jar to me.

  “Me?”

  “It’s holy juice. Just take a small sip. You’ll see.”

  I took the jar tentatively, sniffed it, then took a tiny sip.

  It tasted like poison and I spewed most of it out.

  He laughed. “Good, isn’t it?”

  “It’s horrible!”

  “Well, yes, at first I guess it is a bit strong. But it’s the real deal, sweetheart. You’re now purified. Welcome to the family.”

  For a moment I actually felt like part of some strange family, and I think I might have even given him a little grin.

  Then I remembered where I was and I wasn’t so sure.

  Not at all.

  5

  Day Four

  9:03 am

  OLIVIA LOOKED over downtown Greenville from the second-floor conference room as the morning sun made its undeterred journey to mark the beginning of this, the fourth day since Alice had been taken.

  Four days too long.

  Although her office at the FBI headquarters in Columbia was only an hour-and-a-half drive south, the local field office had become her base for the last three days because of its proximity to the crime scene.

  Behind her, several caseworkers sat around the long table that filled the room, poring over the situation reports that had come in during the night from local police who were helping follow up on leads.

  “You should think about getting some sleep,” Benner said and passed her a steaming cup of coffee.

  “I’m not tired.”

  “Well, you look it.”

  She took a sip.

  “At least get a bite to eat.”

  She turned on her heel and walked toward the front of the room. “Not hungry.”

  Olivia set the coffee on the table’s edge and stopped, arms crossed, in front of the flat-panel TV mounted on the wall. Multicolored markers dotted a digital map, each one indicating a lead in the case. Three days ago, the majority had been yellow and green—good, or at least viable, leads mostly reported sightings of the truck after the Amber Alert had been issued.

  Now she was staring at a landscape of red.

  We’re losing her.

  Professionalism only went so far. No one could bury their frustration forever. The energy in the room had taken a negative turn—she didn’t want it to take root.

  She turned to face them. “All right, people. Let’s run through what we’ve got.”

  The low murmur of activity stopped. All eyes focused on Olivia.

  “We’ve missed something. Something right in front of us. Today’s the day we find it. We start at the beginning.”

  The beginning again. Yes, again. Always from the beginning.

  “Tell me what we do know about the perpetrator.”

  “No positive ID on the man,” Benner said as he settled into a chair. “We canvassed the whole area; the artist’s sketch of the suspect didn’t turn up anything.”

  “Kristen, anything new from forensics?” Olivia focused on the petite blond next to Benner.

  “Nothing new. We’ve expanded the database search for the partial print CSI lifted from the doorbell to include Canadian and UK repositories. I want to rule out all possibilities.”

  “Still no hits on CODIS?”

  Kristen shook her head. “I’ve run our data set through the paces and we’re oh for three on hair, fiber, and prints. Our guy’s a ghost.”

  “Nothing on the ViCAP cross-reference?” The violent crimes database.

  “No, ma’am. If our abductor’s a career criminal, he knows how to stay off the grid.”

  A ghost. Unfortunately, Alice had also been a ghost.

  Olivia’s enigmatic conversation with Andrew DeVoss ran through her mind. She’d gone as high and as far as she could in an attempt to uncover more information on the project he’d referenced, but come up empty-handed. She’d also kept the information to herself, as promised.

  Information from Alice’s mysterious past might be helpful, or it might not, as Andrew insisted. Either way, it wasn’t in play.

  “Anything new from known associates? Tutors, teachers, her therapist?”

  Benner: “We covered all the bases—neighbors, friends, school administrators, grocery store clerks, gas station attendants, anyone who could’ve had contact with the family. Local vice detectives also tapped their sources for possible child trafficking connections. Nothing.”

  Olivia picked up a remote from the table and pointed it at the TV. An image of a young woman filled the screen.

  “Which brings us to our most likely connection. Her mother.”

  How far would Olivia have gone to recover her own daughter? Pretty far.

  “Catherine Miller of Houston, Texas. Raised in a broken home, ended up with child services.”

  The screen transitioned to a headshot of a teenager. Catherine.

  “She ran away from an orphanage and eventually turned up in Vegas where she got a job in Ringwald’s campaign office. They hit it off and she got pregnant. Typical story. Ringwald shut her out and arranged for their daughter to enter an orphanage. Then he put Catherine in an institution to keep her quiet. Clearly, the man had some expensive lawyers.”

  She clicked the remote and the image shifted to a mug shot of Catherine, now staring into the camera with vacant eyes.

  “Two years later, she escapes the mental facility and turns up dead. I still think she’s our best lead.”

  “She’d not a lead,” Benner said. “A maid found her remains in a Reno motel. Police report said she was seen with a local pimp that night.”

  “There’s no conclusive evidence that she died in that room. They never found a body.”

  “Because it was in pieces. They found a severed finger positively identified with her fingerprint from her police record. There was enough blood to paint a small bedroom.”

  “We still don’t have a body. And I have a missing girl who was abducted by someone who appeared desperate to get her. We can’t dismiss the possibility that she faked her death and went after her daughter.”

  “We’ve chased it down,” Benner said. “There’s no record of a Catherine Miller meeting that description alive in the country today. If it is her, she’s out of reach.”

  “Then chase it down again!” Olivia snapped.

  They stared at her in silence.

  The whole chain of evidence was disintegrating. No forensics that linked them to anyone. No witnesses. Nothing they could sink a hook into.

  “What’ve we got on the truck? From the top.”

  “It’s registered to a Donald Harper from Lawrenceburg, Tennessee.” Jay Lee, an analyst with unruly hair, sat at the opposite end of the table. “It was swiped from long-term parking at Nashville International Airport six days ago. No helpful footage from security cameras. Metro PD in Nas
hville contacted the owner after we ran the plate. Apparently, he’d left the keys in a magnetic box in the wheel well.”

  “And no link between him and the Clarks or Alice?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing new on the contents reported stolen? Just the toolbox?”

  He flipped through a copy of the police report. “Just the toolbox in the back. And a cell-phone charger.”

  “Cell phone charger? Why would the owner report a cell-phone charger worth twenty bucks?”

  “Exactly. Worthless.”

  “That’s not the point. Why?” she reiterated. “Why would anyone report a cell-phone charger missing? It makes no sense.”

  Unless . . .

  “Get on the phone with the owner. Find out if he meant cell-phone charger, or cell phone and charger. If he had a cell phone, find out what kind. If it has GPS capabilities and was on, the wireless company may be able to track the phone’s movement.”

  “It’s been eight days since the truck was taken. Even if it was on, the battery’s probably dead.”

  “Depending on the make and model it could still have juice. Call him.”

  “On it,” Jay said, heading for the door.

  It was a long shot, but at this juncture, she’d take a long shot over no shots. She scanned the room, thinking she should say something. But there was nothing new to say. They’d covered the same ground today as they had yesterday. Nothing but dead ends.

  She slid into a chair, ran a hand through her hair, and stared at the wall. The waiting was always the hardest part. Hours, days, weeks, months . . .

  Years.

  That was a lot of whys.

  “No further sightings in Tennessee?” she asked absently.

  “None.”

  “Nothing new from the DMV?”

  “No.”

  She slammed her hand on the table and took her frustration out on no one in particular. “Come on, people! There has to be something out there that we’re missing! Think!”

  The door swung in. “Got a hit,” Jay said, phone still plastered to his ear. “He had a smartphone in the truck for work. Said he reported it stolen with the toolbox. Cell phone and charger.”

  She felt her pulse spike.

  “Did he have it on?”