The Breakthrough

by Jerry B. Jenkins

“I wouldn’t know that, but Miz Quigley could tell you. Anyway, he said he told the pastor about the big surprise, and the pastor gave him her address.”

  Jack turned to Antoine. “Get that pastor’s name. And send Margaret down, would you? Tell Mrs. Quigley that when the rest of the detectives leave, she should stay put. Tell her to talk to no one except CPD about this and that she should call me if she remembers any details she forgot to tell me.”

  Dr. Ragnar Waldemarr came through the front door and headed straight for Jack, looking none too pleased. Jack held up a finger so he could finish with Willie, and the crime lab director stayed back. It was nice to work with professionals, Jack decided.

  He left his card with Willie and thanked him for his time.

  “I’ll be prayin’ you find that boy,” the old man said. “For his daddy and mama’s sake, and for Miz Quigley’s too. She’s feelin’ awful bad.”

  15

  Haircut

  Boone took seriously his vow to be faithful to Haeley in sickness and in health, and it struck him that this was the first time he’d had to fulfill that part of his promise. She’d had not so much as a sniffle since he had known her, until these last few weeks when her pregnancy had resulted in morning sickness and whatever led to her fall.

  But sitting there watching her breathe was not easy. He was willing to do anything for her, of course. But he could do nothing to help. He tried whispering to her, caressing her, gently squeezing her hand. But there was not a hint that anything had changed. The monitors droned on, her pulse and oxygen and pressure and respiration reading the same, the same, the same, the same.

  He wandered the halls, noticing others in ICU. A man down the hall, looking no more than forty, lay glumly staring, one leg elevated, the foot gone from just above the ankle. Boone stole a peek at a sheet on the wall next to the door. Something about his diet. Sugar. Clearly the ravages of diabetes.

  At intervals Boone would mosey to the nurses’ station, but he knew better than to bother them. Once when he approached, it was as if Chaz Cilano could read his mind. She handed him his phone, and he drifted to a quiet corner to check for messages. When he delivered it back, he whispered to Chaz, “I’m waiting for a message that I can talk to my son. He doesn’t know yet.”

  “I gathered that. Got a picture?”

  Boone found one on his phone and showed her. “Precious,” she said. “Raised three of those myself.”

  “You did not.”

  “Can’t believe I’m even old enough to have been married, right, Chief?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Didn’t know cops were liars. Well, I can’t promise we’ll hear your phone, but if we do, we’ll find you. You don’t look so good, by the way. You all right?”

  “Exhausted for some reason.”

  “You can’t imagine why? What you’ve been through emotionally alone would put some people in our unit.”

  “Plus it’s boring in there.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t tell you you’d be more comfortable in a hotel or—”

  “I know. But I’m not leaving her. She wouldn’t leave me. I just wish there was something to do. Watch TV, listen to the radio.”

  “Don’t even have ’em on this floor,” the nurse said. “Can’t have them in the rooms, as I told you. Used to have one in the waiting room, but people waiting on this floor usually can’t concentrate on TV anyway. We lost it due to lack of use. There’s TVs in the waiting rooms on all three floors below us.”

  Boone shook his head. “Where can I find a book or magazine or something?”

  “Gift shop, first floor.” She looked at her watch. “Closing soon, though.”

  Boone hurried down, surprised to notice the sun was sinking. Nothing in the magazine racks appealed. His mind kept going to Haeley and Max. He chastised himself for not taking his phone with him. What if Jack or Margaret called while he was away from ICU?

  One corner of the gift shop’s book display included classics. It had been years since he’d read To Kill a Mockingbird. He ferried his find back up to ICU, hoping there would be news. Boone raised his eyebrows at Nurse Cilano as he approached. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “Find something?”

  He showed her.

  “Nice.”

  Boone settled into the chair in Haeley’s room but found it uncomfortable. He didn’t want to turn the light brighter over her bed, either, though he knew it wouldn’t bother her. Finally he sat on his cot. It was hard but also lumpy, and he could feel the wire mesh beneath the thin mattress.

  Boone squirmed as he opened his book and followed his normal custom—reading every word, skipping nothing, not even the copyright page. By the time he got to the first chapter he’d been in three different positions. Finally he stretched out on his stomach and read from the light above the door. Within minutes he found himself mired in one of the first paragraphs. The words swam as he fought to concentrate.

  Dr. Ragnar Waldemarr, sixtyish and thin with wisps of white hair, sat glaring at Jack in the corner of the lobby of Florence’s building.

  “C’mon, Rags. You know I wouldn’t do this to you on a Saturday evening unless it was important.”

  “I had the grandkids over, Jack.”

  “Then you’ll know how we’re all feeling when I tell you this is about Drake’s boy.”

  “The one he just adopted.”

  “That’s the one.”

  The doctor leaned forward, suddenly animated. “What’ve you got and what do you need?”

  Jack ran down the whole story—including what had happened to Haeley—as Waldemarr winced and scribbled. Finally the older man held up a hand and said, “Let me check with Crime Scene about the Buick.”

  A few minutes later he slapped his phone shut. “Interesting,” he said. “That car never had South Carolina plates, at least not valid ones. The VIN shows it’s registered to a Mr. Shane Loggyn of East Chicago, Indiana, but it’s supposed to have Illinois plates.”

  “How’s that work?”

  “It’s close enough to the border that the owner could have residences in both states. Or maybe just moved.”

  “Excuse me a minute, Doc,” Jack said.

  He moved to another corner, where Antoine and Margaret chatted in hushed tones. Jack handed the detective a slip of paper with the car owner’s name on it. “Get me everything you can on him.”

  “Done,” Detective Johnson said, and excused himself.

  “I’m going home for supplies, Jack,” Margaret said.

  “For what?”

  “You know I’m going to be taking over for Boone. He’s not going to want her left alone, but he’s not going to sit there for a second once he knows Max is gone.”

  “I’m trying to keep that from him.”

  “And how long do you think you can do that?”

  Jack shrugged. When she was right, she was right. “Maybe you can stall him a little. Go see him, check in on her, but don’t let him know you’ve got your stuff in the car.”

  “He’s gonna ask me, Jack. What do I say when he asks what I told Max?”

  “Tell him I said we shouldn’t tell Max yet and that I’ll be along in a little while to talk about it.”

  Margaret shook her head. “You think you’re dealing with a junior higher? He’s gonna know something’s up.”

  “Blame it on me. Tell him I said I’ve got my reasons but that I’ll let it be his call once I’ve talked to him.”

  Margaret gazed at the ceiling. “I don’t know if I can pull it off. I’ll feel like a complete fraud, chatting him up and making up stories, knowing the whole time that he’s gonna flip out when you tell him what’s going on.”

  “I need you to do this, Margaret. Buy me some time. I need to be able to follow some leads here without an emotionally invested father in the mix.”

  “There’s no way you can leave him out of it. Would you stand by and let everybody else do the work if it was your son?”

  “�
��Course not. But I want to keep him out of it as long as I possibly can.”

  “No promises,” she said. “I’ll do my best, but don’t leave me hanging there too long.”

  When Jack returned to Waldemarr, the forensics expert was studying Florence’s cell phone. “This guy may not be as coy as you think he is, Jack.”

  “Why’s that? He made her think he was transmitting a picture of himself with Max, but he didn’t.”

  “But he did send the one of her and Max,” Waldemarr said, “and that could prove a huge error.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It’s just that some people know how to turn off all the tracking devices on their phones, and others don’t. You make him sound like a pretty slick guy, but if he left us any breadcrumbs with the shot he transmitted, we may be able to keep tabs on his phone.”

  “Here’s hoping.”

  “Crime Scene is having the Buick hauled downtown to be dusted and evaluated with a fine-tooth comb. And officers are still canvassing, looking for those South Carolina plates. What else do you need from me?”

  “Just access, Doc. There’s gonna be no time for red tape and bureaucracy.”

  “I’m all yours till this is over, Jack. You know that.”

  Margaret found herself lifting a strange prayer as she threw clothes and other necessities into a bag and stored it in the trunk of her car. “Lord, you know I want you to help us find Max and bring him home safe and sound. And I want you to heal Haeley and keep her new baby healthy too. But most of all, I want this whole thing to somehow reach Jack. Show off. Show him what you can do.”

  At the hospital she approached the nurses’ station and introduced herself to Chaz Cilano. “Let me get this straight,” the nurse said. “You’re Chief Keller’s girlfriend?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m getting to meet the whole extended family, family doctor, pastor, everybody.”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “Not a problem, ’cept my shift is over. I’ll be back tomorrow. We’ve got Chief Drake’s phone here, and you can’t go down the hall while he’s in there. I assume you want to see Mrs. Drake.”

  “I do.”

  “Then you two will have to trade places. I’ll go get him.”

  Margaret went over and over in her mind how to tell Boone why she was there without mentioning Max. To her great relief, the nurse came back alone.

  “Ma’am,” she said, “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, but Mr. Drake is dead to the world. I put his book aside and pulled a blanket over him.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Wait for what? Wouldn’t surprise me if he slept through the night.”

  “Oh, he’ll wake up wanting to talk to his son soon enough.”

  “Max?”

  “He told you?”

  “Loves that boy, doesn’t he?”

  Margaret nodded.

  “By the time he wakes up,” Nurse Cilano said, “it’ll be too late, right? The boy will be in bed.”

  “Ms. Cilano, there’s something I think you should know. Can we sit a minute?”

  “Rather than hurry home to an empty condo? Sure, we can sit.”

  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  “That sounds good too. First floor.” Nurse Cilano left instructions for the next shift.

  “Oh,” Margaret said, “would you mind also tellin’ them that if he wakes up, they should tell him I’m on my way up to talk to him?”

  Jack was on his way to Mount Sinai when Ragnar Waldemarr called. “Coupla uniforms from the 11th found the South Carolina plates in a dumpster about three blocks from the car. They’re on the way to the lab to be dusted. The dumpster was next to a barbershop, and get this: The barber says an Army Ranger brought in a little blond kid who wanted a buzz cut just like his. Said it had been a long time since he cut a white person’s hair, so he was glad it was a buzz.”

  “When was this?”

  “They figure it was just minutes from when they left Mrs. Quigley in the park. Guy was nervous and kept telling the barber to hurry, paid him with a hundred, and told him to keep the change.”

  “I’m going to want to talk to that barber.”

  “No need. He’s got a camera in his shop. We’ve got a visual on the Ranger.”

  “That’s a start. Transmit it to me as soon as you can. Did the barber see where they went after that?”

  “Said they ran down the street. A few people in the neighborhood saw them, thought it was strange for them to be looking like they were having so much fun. They were laughing and playing tag, and the boy kept running his hands over his fuzzy scalp. They jumped into a white van.”

  “Make, model, year, tags?”

  “Nobody even paid attention. White or light-colored is all they said.”

  “Quick and planned,” Jack muttered. “This is not good, Rags.”

  “It’s more than we had when you and I talked.”

  “And what about Florence Quigley’s phone?”

  “Being examined now. You’ll be the first to know.”

  Jack phoned Margaret. She told him where she was and with whom and that Boone was asleep.

  “That’s a relief. Greet Chaz for me. I’ll be there soon.”

  16

  Luck

  Margaret sat with a suddenly sober Nurse Chaz Cilano in the coffee shop at Mount Sinai.

  The nurse sipped her coffee and seemed to be mulling what to say. “You know, Margaret, I get to meet all kinds of people in this job. Usually they’re in distress—like your friend Boone—because someone they care about is in ICU, the last place you want to be besides a morgue. You all seem like good friends, and it’s neat to see you supporting him, but I’ve got to tell you, you’re making a mistake here.”

  “Keep talking.”

  “That man needs to know what’s going on. You ought to send me up there to wake him so you can tell him.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Chaz. That’s not my call, and he’s got more than enough to deal with right now.”

  “Wouldn’t you want to know? He’s a cop. He can take it.”

  “That’d be like kicking him when he’s down.”

  “You’re not doing him any favors. You can tell him you were just trying to protect him, but withholding something like that? I don’t like it.”

  Margaret wrung her hands. “I know you’re right,” she said. “But it’s not up to me. Jack thinks Boone being asleep gives them a chance to gather as many leads as they can before they have to add him—and however he’ll be feeling about this—to the mix.”

  Chaz shrugged. “He wakes in the meantime, he’s not going to let you up about this. You can lie to him, tell him you didn’t want to wake him, and now that he’s up, Max is asleep. But that’s just another whopper you’re going to have to answer for.”

  “I’m prayin’ Jack gets here before I have to face that.”

  Jack took successive calls from Antoine Johnson and Ragnar Waldemarr as he drove toward the hospital. Antoine told him the ransom team was set up and were sure they had entered the Drake house without being noticed—ready to monitor calls on all the likely phone numbers.

  “And I texted you the contact information for Mrs. Quigley’s pastor. Rev. Warren Waters, age 53. He’s what they call bi-vocational. Works somewhere else during the week.”

  “You still with me, Antoine? I may need you the rest of the night.”

  “The wife understands.”

  “You didn’t tell her . . . ?”

  “I just said we’re on a case that involves my boss. I did tell her what happened to his wife. She knows I’m staying on this till we see it through.”

  “You know what we need from Pastor Waters.”

  “Every detail. How much can I tell him?”

  “Whatever’s necessary to get all we need.”

  “He’s going to feel terrible, Chief.”

  “I hope so. Getting talked into giving up information on one of his own parishioners . . . and lo
ok what came of it.”

  “I hope he wasn’t involved,” Antoine said.

  “You and me both.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Waldemarr transmitted a grainy still from the barbershop video camera, and bad as the quality was, Jack could see clearly that the man in the photo was not DeWayne Mannock. Doc also told Jack the South Carolina license plates his people had found in a dumpster, DLJ 725, were traced to a minivan that had been totaled in a wreck four months before. The car had been dismantled for parts at a junkyard in Aiken, South Carolina.

  “So, we’ve got a car owned by a guy in East Chicago, Indiana, that’s supposed to have Illinois plates, and plates off a wrecked car in South Carolina. Any report of that Buick being stolen?”

  “Nothing. The owner, this Shane Loggyn, is a black male, 57, a poker dealer at the Lucky Day Casino in Hammond. No record.”

  Jack got that shiver cops get when things start to come together.

  “Anything new with Florence Quigley’s phone?”

  “That’s going to take a while, Jack. I gave it to one of the snot-nosed kids on our staff who knows all that stuff. He tells me he wishes he had the sending phone. Well, duh. If we had that, we’d have our guy.”

  Jack called the poker room at the Lucky Day. “Is Shane Loggyn working tonight?”

  “He is,” the floor man said. “Till midnight.”

  “Does he have a break between now and then? I want to talk to him for a minute.”

  “I don’t think he does.”

  “How about DeWayne Mannock?”

  “DeWayne is no longer with us.”

  “Since when?”

  “Last week. Hit the lottery or something.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, he came into money somehow. Probably not the lottery. He’s been around, flashing his money, showing off his new clothes. Was he one of your favorites, sir?”

  “Yeah, in a way he was.”

  “Well, you were in the minority.”

  “That so? You weren’t sorry to lose him?”

  “Players either loved him or hated him. An acquired taste, if you know what I mean. Geez, I hope you’re not related or something.”

  “Just an acquaintance.”