“Yes they do,” said Wallis. “That was very good of you.”
“We do it through our church. They get children in from other parts of the country. We had to go through all sorts of, I guess they call it vetting. But that makes sense because children are precious. And they pay us, of course. Most of the money goes for the child’s expenses and the like, but there’s some left over. It’s a lot of work.”
“I’m sure it is,” Wallis said. He slipped something from his pocket. “Now, ma’am, we need a positive ID on Frankie. I, uh, I have a photo here.”
Duncan stiffened. “I saw the sketch on the news. That’s why I called the number. Do I…do I have to look…?”
Wallis said gently, “If you would, ma’am. Just to be sure.”
Wallis passed across the photo.
Duncan glanced at it, cringed, changed color, and hurriedly handed it back.
She nodded. “That’s…Frankie.”
Wallis put the photo away and said, “We’re very sorry for your loss.”
The noise upstairs intensified. Duncan said, “The other kids don’t know. They’re so young, I was thinking of not telling them what…what happened. I thought I might just tell them that Frankie went to another family.”
“Whatever you think best, Ms. Duncan,” replied Wallis.
Pine said, “When was the last time you saw Frankie?”
Duncan sat back in a chair that had half its stuffing missing and was covered with a frayed throw rug.
“Three days ago. He went to school and then when he didn’t come back home, I called around to see if anyone had seen him. He’d already made friends in the neighborhood. I thought maybe he’d gone over to one of their homes.”
“How did he get back and forth from school?”
“On the bus. I would usually walk him to the bus stop in the mornings. But in the afternoons he would walk home. There’re lots of kids around. And parents.”
“But did you walk him to the bus stop that morning?” asked Wallis.
She shook her head, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “No. He…he said he knew the way and wanted to walk there by himself. I think…I think he was embarrassed to have me with him. You see, most of the other kids just walked there by themselves. They might have made fun of him, for all I know.”
“Was it confirmed that he was actually at school that day?”
“Yes, he didn’t miss any classes.”
“And he was on the bus home?”
“Yes.”
“And he got off at his regular stop?”
Now Duncan looked uncertain. “The thing is, the kids and parents I talked to weren’t sure that he did. And the police talked to the bus driver, but he lets off so many kids at so many stops, he’s not always paying attention who gets off where. And…and there are a lot of little boys who look like Frankie.”
“Meaning Hispanic?” said Pine.
“Yes.”
“So it was not confirmed that he got off at his regular stop?”
“No, it wasn’t. But why would he get off somewhere else? He knew the right stop.”
“He might have if someone had asked him to.”
“But who would do that? And if they did, Frankie wouldn’t have done it. I told him never to talk to strangers.”
“Well, it might not have been a stranger,” pointed out Pine.
“I can’t believe that anyone who knew us would have done this to Frankie,” she said stubbornly.
“Would he walk home with some of your other kids?”
“No, they’re in kindergarten. They have different hours. Frankie was in fourth grade. I never had a second thought about him using the bus. His English was pretty good. He said his mother taught him.”
“And where are his parents?” asked Laredo.
“I don’t know. No one ever told me. Frankie didn’t have any pictures of them. I believe Frankie was born here.”
Laredo glanced at Pine. She said, “So what did you do when you couldn’t find him?”
“I started phoning around to everyone I could think of, including the school. After that, I called the police.”
“And they came and took a report?” said Wallis.
“Yes. And that was the last I heard from them. Until I…until I saw that sketch and the description on the news. I knew right away it was Frankie.” She pursed her lips. “Can I…can you tell me what happened to him?”
Wallis glanced at the two FBI agents before saying, “His death was not from natural causes, I’m sorry to say.”
Her eyes welled with tears. “Someone…hurt him?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Pine sat forward. “That’s why it’s so important to tell us anything you can remember. His friends. Anyone he might have mentioned. Someone you might have seen lurking around here?”
“I don’t remember anything like that. Frankie hasn’t really been here all that long.”
“What was he wearing that day?”
“Jeans, a red pullover, and sneakers. Was…was he found in them?”
“Not exactly, no. What about your husband? Could he know something useful?”
“Roger didn’t spend a lot of time with Frankie. I mean, he’s good with the kids and all. He’s as committed as I am to them. But he works long hours.”
“Did he ever take Frankie to work with him?” asked Laredo. “Little boys love cars.”
“Well, now that you mention it, he did. Once or twice. On the weekends.”
“What sort of cars does the dealership sell?” asked Pine, giving Laredo a sideways glance.
“Mercedes-Benz.” She smiled. “It’s funny.”
“What is?” asked Pine.
“Roger drives a ten-year-old GMC pickup truck, and I have a third-hand Kia.” She looked up at them and smiled brightly through the sheen of tears. “But if you need a fancy car to make you happy, well, something’s wrong.”
“Makes me think of the Janis Joplin song about God buying her a Mercedes-Benz,” said Laredo. “But unlike Janis, my friends don’t drive Porsches, either,” he added.
“You said your husband is at work now?” asked Pine.
“Yes. He was really upset about Frankie. He and some other fathers from the neighborhood went looking for him and asking people if they’d seen him. But nobody had.”
“We’ll need to talk to him.”
“I can give you the address. It’s on the other side of town.”
“Thank you. By chance, do you know anyone named Hanna Rebane or Beth Clemmons?”
Pine watched the woman closely for her reaction. She seemed sincerely befuddled.
“No, who are they?”
“Just some other people who might have a connection to the case. Do you have a photo of Frankie?”
“Yes, I took one on my phone when he got here. I had it printed out and framed. We do that for all the kids. To make them feel part of the family.”
“That’s very nice. Do you mind if we borrow it?” asked Wallis. “We’ll be sure to get it back to you.”
She fetched the photo for them, handed it to Wallis, and led them to the door.
“I can call Roger and tell him you’re on the way.”
“No need to do that,” said Pine quickly. “It’ll be fine. We probably won’t need to talk to him long.”
“Okay,” said Duncan, looking confused.
Wallis said, “One last thing.” He took the St. Christopher’s medal from his pocket and held it up. “Do you recognize this? Did Frankie wear it?”
“No, he never wore anything like that.”
“Well, thank you.”
They walked back to their car.
Wallis said, “Well, either Frankie picked up the medal somewhere or the killer put it on him. I’m opting for the latter explanation.”
“Why didn’t you want Ms. Duncan to phone her husband?” Laredo asked Pine.
“Just a gut thing. I wonder how many dealerships in Georgia sell Paganis?”
“Pagani?”
exclaimed Wallis. “What the hell is that?”
“An Italian-made car that costs about three mill,” replied Laredo.
Wallis looked at the FBI agent in disbelief. “Three million dollars! For a car.”
“There are people who will pay it.”
“In Georgia?” said a disbelieving Wallis.
“You never know.”
“But Duncan’s husband works at a Mercedes dealership, not, not this Pagani thing,” pointed out Wallis.
“Right,” said Pine absently. Her mind was obviously racing ahead.
“And what’s a Pagani got to do with anything?” persisted Wallis.
“One was spotted watching Atlee’s old house,” said Laredo.
Wallis shook his head. “A three-million-dollar car in Andersonville? Now that’s something I thought I’d never see.”
“Well, I’d like to see that Pagani and whoever was driving it,” said Pine. “But for now, let’s stick to Mercedes-Benz. And Roger Duncan.” She glanced at Laredo. “My friends don’t drive Porsches, either.”
“Well, instead of buying us a Mercedes, maybe God can give us a lead on this case.”
“Can I get an amen to that?” said Wallis.
“Amen,” said Pine and Laredo together.
Chapter 54
ROGER DUNCAN SLOWLY wiped his hands off on a greasy rag and motioned for them to follow him to a small room off the work bay where he had been laboring on a Mercedes sedan with a matte-gray finish.
He was tall and lanky with thick, muscled forearms.
They had explained why they were there. He leaned back against the wall, rubbed a shock of blond hair out of his face, folded his arms over his chest, and sighed.
“Shit. He’s really dead? Little Frankie? What the hell?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Wallis. “Your wife said he sometimes came to the dealership with you?”
“A couple of times. They have strict rules about that stuff, for safety reasons. But it was on a weekend and I let him in the work bay with me and explained some of the things I did. I even let him sit in some of the cars. He thought it was really cool. I never told him how much they cost. He’d probably never be able to afford one, same as me.”
“Did you introduce him to anyone here when you brought him in?” asked Laredo.
“Yeah, a couple of the other mechanics. Don, who works in the business office. He and Frankie talked for a bit while I was dealing with something. And one of the sales gals. Why?”
“We’re just trying to figure out how he ended up dead in Andersonville, Georgia, so we have to track down all interactions with other people.”
“Well, I can’t believe anyone here would hurt him. Why would they? They’ve all worked here a long time, same as me.”
“When was the last time you saw Frankie?” asked Pine.
Duncan thought for a moment. “I was out the door to go to work before he left for school that day. We had supper together the night before. He went to bed. Then he went to school the next day.” He added defensively, “Genie is a great mom. She watches those kids like a hawk. But they have to go to school.”
“And your wife got worried when he didn’t come home from school?”
“Hell, yeah. Genie was frantic. The bus stop is only a few blocks over. Lots of kids get off there, so we never worried. She called me at work. Then she called the agency where we got Frankie, but they weren’t too much help, according to Genie. Then she was calling around to everybody she could think of. Nobody had seen him after he left school. So she called the cops. I left work early and went looking for him, too, with some other dads from the neighborhood.”
“Your wife told us about that,” said Wallis.
“How the hell did he end up in this other place? How far is it from here?”
“About an hour and a half by car,” said Wallis.
“This is crazy. Do you think some pervert snatched him? Hey, whoever took him didn’t…you know?”
“He was not sexually abused, if that’s what you mean,” replied Wallis.
“The things you hear about these days,” said Duncan in a disgusted tone. “I mean, how can you call folks human who do that kind of crap?”
“Do you have any theory about what might have happened?” said Pine. “Did you see a strange car passing through the neighborhood? A strange person hanging around?”
“No, nothing like that. Our neighborhood is a tight little community. We watch out for each other. Anything like that, someone would have mentioned it.” He paused and looked down. “I guess we…we need to take care of his…remains.”
“Right. We’ll let you know when we can release the body, Mr. Duncan,” said Wallis. “It probably won’t be too long now.”
“Okay. Damn. I mean, who wants to hurt a kid?”
“The answer to that might surprise you,” said Pine, watching him closely. “Do you only work on Mercedeses here?”
“About ninety percent of the time, yeah.”
“And the other ten percent?”
“What they call exotic cars.”
“Like what exactly?”
“Aston Martin. Rolls-Royce. Even worked on a Lamborghini Veneno once. That was cool.” He grinned sheepishly. “That one car costs way more than I’ll ever make in my whole life.”
“How about a Pagani?” asked Pine.
“A Pagani,” he snorted. “Ain’t no Paganis around here.”
“So you know the brand?” asked Laredo.
“Hell, just seen ’em in magazines. Damn beautiful cars. Love to work on one.”
“Who was the person in the business office you mentioned again?”
“Don, Don Bigelow. He’s worked here forever.”
“Thanks.”
Pine led the two men to the business office, where they found Bigelow, a large-boned man with a big belly, in his early sixties, simultaneously pushing paper on his desk and clicking keys on his computer.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, a pair of rimmed specs tilted up on his forehead. “You folks buy a car or need financing? They usually bring in the paperwork first.”
Pine held out her badge, as did Laredo and Wallis.
“We’re not looking to buy, we’re here for some information,” she said.
Bigelow looked nervously at them. “FBI? Please don’t tell me some folks here have been embezzling or something. Look, you can check all my records. I’m clean as a whistle.”
“No, that’s not why we’re here. We understand that Roger Duncan brought one of his foster kids in recently.”
Bigelow looked blankly at them for a moment. “Oh, you mean the little Mexican boy?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, he did. Nice kid. He likes cars. Hell, who wouldn’t like a Mercedes in the driveway?” He stopped and looked suspiciously at them. “Why are you asking about the boy? Nothing happened to him, did it?”
“You haven’t heard?” said Pine.
“What?”
“Something did happen to him,” said Wallis.
“What?”
“Someone murdered him.”
A visibly distraught Bigelow slowly rose from behind his desk. “Holy Lord. Sweet Jesus. That cute little boy? Who the hell?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” said Pine. “Did you talk to him when he was here?”
“Yeah, Roger brought him in to see me. I’ve got six grandkids and we babysit all the time. He was a nice boy. Spoke English real good. You could tell that he and Roger had developed a nice relationship, kidding around and stuff.”
“Was he here long?”
“I saw him for about ten minutes. Roger had to step out to deal with something. I sort of described what my job was here, but he wasn’t interested in that.” He grinned resignedly. “Too boring to hold a kid’s attention. He was more interested in sitting in the cars and pretend driving ’em than hearing about how you buy them. Who can blame him? I’d rather be doing that, too. I did give him a little metal replica of
a Mercedes race car. We get them for promotion purposes. Had one in my drawer. You’d think I gave the kid a million bucks.”
“Roger mentioned that the dealership works on cars other than Mercedes?” said Pine.
“We do, usually for Mercedes customers who have other cars.”
“Like exotic cars?”
“Yeah. Exactly. Hard to find qualified folks to work on them around here. Have to go to Atlanta. So we save them a trip. Our mechanics are top-notch. Certified on lots of different types of makes and models.”
“Roger said he had worked on a Lamborghini Veneno?” said Laredo.
“Yeah. That would be Mr. Driscoll. He has one. Only man I know who does around here. He made a ton of money in commercial real estate development. And he has some business with the folks at Fort Benning, too.”
“Any Pagani owners?” asked Laredo.
He shook his head. “No, we’ve never had a Pagani in here. I’ve never even seen one for real.”
“Know of any place that sells them around here?” asked Pine.
“There’s a dealership in Atlanta that sells Ferraris and Maseratis. They might sell Paganis. They’re all Italian cars after all.”
Pine said, “Did you ever sell a car to a Jack Lineberry? Or did he ever have any vehicle serviced here?”
Wallis shot Pine a look but remained silent.
Laredo just watched her.
“Lineberry? Don’t ring no bells, either. But let me check. I can’t remember everybody.”
He sat down at his desk and started clicking on his computer. “Nope. Never sold a car to anybody by that name.”
“How about service on a car?”
Bigelow hit some more keys and then shook his head. “No, nothing.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Who do you think killed the boy?” asked Bigelow.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“Hope you catch the bastard.”
“So do we,” replied Pine.
Wallis’s phone buzzed. He answered it and moved over to a corner of the room while he spoke.
When he was done he came back over to them.
“We got a lead.”
“What?” asked Pine.
“Some kid saw a man talking to Frankie on the way to the bus stop the day he disappeared. And the kid thinks the man might have slipped Frankie a note in an envelope along with some cash.”
A Minute to Midnight Page 28
