“His Uncle Greg bought it,” she said. “After Cody burnt his hand on the stove. I’d taught him ‘hot’ and ‘danger,’ but the second I turned my back, he laid his palm on it.”
Wright shuddered.
“I smelled his skin burning.” She winced at the memory.
Finnegan looked green in the gills. “What about babysitters?” he asked, eager to change the subject.
“Babysitters?” she repeated, as if learning a new word. “My sister, Jess, watches them sometimes, but with Cody, I can’t just leave him with some teen from the block.”
“I was on TV!” Cody said.
“Were you now?” Dix asked, humoring him. “When?”
“Cody,” his mother said, “what did we say about telling the truth?”
“I was almost on TV,” Cody said.
“Better,” she said. “Can we get back, now? Pete’s half out of his mind with worry, but I wanted him to stay with Anna. Calm her down. She’s obsessed with locking all the doors and windows now.”
“When was Cody on TV?” Wright asked.
“Oh.” She looked at Cody. “Five months ago, we went to New York. We’d been asked to be on the Sally Jesse Raphael show, for a program on children with rare medical conditions. There was Cody and Beau, a boy who can’t be exposed to sunlight, and Jennifer, who has progeria, which makes her age at an accelerated rate.”
“I think my wife saw that show,” Dix said. “Cody was on it?”
“No,” she said. “He got fidgety and wouldn’t sit still long enough for them to include him in the show.” She turned her grimace to a smile. “But we saw the Statue of Liberty, didn’t we, hon?”
“Yup!” Cody said. “And a mouse!”
“It was a rat,” she whispered. “The things kids think are cool.” She shook her head. “Come on, bud. Dad and Anna will be wondering where we got to.”
“Bye, policemen!” Cody said. He held up his hand for a high five. We all smacked his palm, lightly, forgetting, again, that we wouldn’t hurt him if we exerted too much pressure.
“It’s too bad about the TV thing,” Wright said, after they’d left. “Almost seemed like a lead. Sicko sees Cody on TV. Decides to grab him.”
Finnegan grabbed a bag of Swedish Fish from his desk drawer. He showed me the sixteen names the Forrands had listed. Wright critiqued them. “A third are family, a third are friends, and the last third are acquaintances or laborers, like the nameless plumber. Sixteen isn’t a lot of names.”
“Isn’t it?” I calculated who’d been inside my house since June. Five people, one of them Damien Saunders.
“You’d think they’d be friendly with other parents. I can’t tell you how many people Janice has paraded through our house in the past two weeks.”
“Your wife is social,” Finnegan said. “And none of her kids has a terrible disease. Maybe that kept the Forrands from getting out much.”
“Maybe,” Wright said. He sounded envious.
“Did we hear anything about the drug Cody had in his system?” I asked.
Finnegan moved his candy aside and said, “Yeah. It’s a barbiturate used by people who suffer insomnia, but it’s in other things like migraine medicine.”
“Maybe someone on that list can’t sleep or has headaches,” I said.
“So the person grabs a kid with a disease that requires constant watching? Talk about a recipe for insomnia and headaches,” Wright said. “I don’t get it. Why take him?”
I said, “Maybe whoever grabbed him didn’t plan to keep him long. Most don’t.”
“Then why re-create the bedroom?” Wright asked.
“Who knows?” Finnegan said. “We’ll start on the vehicles. See if any of these folks drives a silver or white car.”
“You can’t do much more now. Go home, get some sleep. Come back bright and early with your shiny thinking caps on.”
“Listen to Chief Cheerful.” Wright yawned. “He doesn’t have to assemble an air-hockey table before Christmas.”
“Don’t worry,” Finny told him. “You’ve still got eight days.”
“Damn it,” I said. “I haven’t bought gifts yet.” They both looked at me. “I didn’t hatch from an egg. I have a family.” I swiped a candy fish from Finnegan’s desk. “I’d better send somebody to relieve Klein.”
“Has he stopped calling?” Wright asked.
Klein had misunderstood my remark about reporting suspicious activity. He’d telephoned me about every car that drove by the Forrands’ house.
“Yes, though I suspect I’ll get a twelve-page report with all of his findings. I’ll be sure to share it.”
“Thanks,” Wright drawled.
“Nighty-night, detectives.” I wandered toward the front of the station. There was a poster of Cody Forrand on a bulletin board we’d failed to take down. Thank God his mother hadn’t seen it. I stared into his brown eyes and wondered who’d taken him. Who would steal a broken boy? Why? I unpinned the poster and crumpled it, tossing it into the nearest bin.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Being a cop, you get used to a fragmented life. One minute you’re analyzing bloodstain spatters, and six hours later you’re holding up spaghetti-sauce jars, picking the one you want. You’d assume your mind would reject red sauce after seeing a kitchen soaked in blood. But you’d be surprised at the brain’s ability to compartmentalize. Bloodstains go here; spaghetti sauces go there. So though part of my brain was focused on who had taken Cody Forrand, the other parts were dealing with mundane nonsense, such as the fact that it was eight days until Christmas. I hadn’t bought a thing. And I didn’t have eight days. I had five. I visited my family on the 22nd. I wrote “Shopping” and put the note front and center on my desk. I’d leave early. Hell, technically, I was off today.
A German shepherd trotted toward me. “Hi, Jinx.” Jinx sat by my knees and looked at me with dark liquid eyes. I wasn’t fooled. I’d seen him take down a man in training. He’d seized the cop’s padded arm with his big teeth. Refused to let go until Yankowitz shouted the magic word. Even then, you could see Jinx debate whether to obey.
“Tough guy.” I ruffled the fur at his collar. Worked my fingers into his nape and massaged the skin below. The dog relaxed, its legs splayed in pleasure. “Or maybe not so tough after all, huh?” I whispered, putting my face near his. His breath was hot and rank. I pulled back. “You need to brush your teeth.”
“I do brush his teeth.”
I looked up. Yankowitz held a cup of coffee between his hands. He smiled. “Jinx likes you.” He made it sound like an achievement.
“Thought dogs liked everyone.”
“Hardly,” he said, “and not Jinx. You should see him around Hopkins.”
Jinx didn’t like Hopkins. I rubbed behind his ears. “Good dog,” I said. “Do you need me?” I asked Yankowitz.
“No. Jinx gets bored. I was making sure he wasn’t getting into anything he shouldn’t.”
“Such as?” I asked.
“Mouse traps.”
We had them at the station. Some of the men acted skittish around them. My city breeding paid off here. Mice? Roaches? No problem. Those damn raccoons, though. Nearly gave me a heart attack four months ago, sneaking out from under my porch.
A knock at the door. Wright. He was late. Maybe he’d gotten some real information from the Forrands. He stilled when he saw the dog. “I can come back,” he said. His eyes never left Jinx.
“It’s fine. We can talk now,” I said.
He didn’t enter the room.
“Jinx won’t bite,” Yankowitz said. “Unless I tell him to.”
Wright glanced his way, then back to the dog. Yankowitz was enjoying this. Small wonder. Before I’d put him in charge of our K-9 crew, he’d been a meter maid. Bottom of the food chain. Wright, as detective, was at the top. I let Yankowitz have it, for another minute. Then I said, “Later, Jinx.”
Yankowitz said, “Herkommen.” Wright slid into my office and hugged the opposite wall as the dog w
alked past and out.
“Don’t like dogs?” I asked. We’d sent a survey when we’d begun the K-9 unit. No one had objected. I hadn’t expected them to. Macho posturing is what cops do best.
“Got mauled when I was six,” he said. “German shepherd. Don’t mention it to the guys.”
“Ouch. How’d your talk with the Forrands go?” I asked.
He sat in a chair opposite me, the one with sturdy legs. “They had a visitor. Friend of the family, Mrs. Donner.”
“Didn’t she have a kid with CIPA that died? What was she doing there?”
“Brought them food. Their kitchen was overflowing with casseroles and cookies.” His stomach rumbled. “Anyway, she was there, along with the family.” He slapped his notepad against his knee. “I wish I could’ve talked to Cody alone. Every time I asked a question, they’d talk over him or clarify.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
“Same old, same old. Silver car picked him up near the Christmas house.”
“Ms. Hart’s.”
Wright nodded. “Cody says the driver said they were going to go to the Power Ranger base. Looks like he ate a snack. Pretzels. Then he had cocoa, which was likely drugged, so his memory after that is pretty spotty.”
“Did he say anything about where he was taken?”
“He thought he was asleep in his room. Then he realized Anna wasn’t there and the bed he was in wasn’t a bunk bed, so . . .” he shrugged. “I asked about windows, doors, anything, but he didn’t remember. I asked if he ever saw the person without the mask on. He said no. He said he thinks that maybe the person wore a black coat. Then his mother weighed in, saying that before he said it was brown. Mrs. Donner said kids with CIPA couldn’t distinguish colors as well as other kids because they often develop eye infections at a young age. Mr. Forrand said Cody hadn’t had eye infections.”
“So not much new information.”
“No, although there was one thing. I asked him what the car smelled like, and he said, ‘old lady.’”
“The car smelled like old lady? What does that mean?” I asked.
Wright said, “Mothballs?”
“Lavender perfume?” Like Mrs. Dunmore wore.
Wright said, “I’m going to put Dix and Klein on tracking down sellers of the Power Rangers mask and the sheets. Oh, and we should pull photos of everyone on the Forrands’ list.”
“Okay.” I rubbed my eyes. We needed more men. I knew what the selectmen would say if I broached the topic. They were still grumbling about the overtime paid out during the North murder investigation.
He walked to the doorway and looked both ways, for Jinx, before stepping out.
What next? “Shopping” stared at me. No time like the present. I dialed my brother, John. Marie picked up. “Hi, Marie. How are you?”
“Tom! I’m up to my elbows in flour. Baking. Some stupid PTA thing. If they don’t turn out right, I’m buying cookies from Madonia Brothers.”
“Can’t go wrong with Madonia Brothers.” The thought of their prosciutto bread made me homesick.
“John’s at school.” My brother taught at NYU. “Or did you call to speak to me?”
“I need to do Christmas shopping. What are the boys into this year?” I asked.
“Moody silences, backtalk, and a lack of hygiene. I swear, Tom, you think you know how bad teenagers are and then your child turns into one. Like raising a werewolf. Gabe is almost as bad as Tyler.” Gabe was twelve; Tyler fourteen.
“How does that translate into gifts?” I asked.
“Can I have a Taser?” she asked. “For when they get out of line?”
“Sure. And for them?”
“Gabe’s into music, that mumbling crap that was always on the radio. He’s begun to play guitar. You could get him picks and some sheet music. Tyler’s into sports.”
“Sports?” Tyler was built like John. Average height and lean. “Which ones?”
“All of them, in video game form. He’s big into this fantasy league nonsense. I’ll figure out who his best player is. Maybe you can get him an overpriced jersey.”
“Sure. Let me know.”
“I’ll talk to them tonight.”
“Hey, Marie, the boys don’t play with Legos anymore, do they?” There’d been a time when colorful plastic cities littered their floors. John once told me I didn’t know pain until I’d stepped on Legos, barefooted. I didn’t mention that he’d never been shot on the job.
“No. Oh, I miss those days. They used to hug me, and tell me they loved me. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve got this case. Kid had a Lego truck kit and I wondered—”
“The truck kit?”
“Huh?”
“The truck kit is one of those die-for toys. You know, the stupid toy that gets crazy popular and grown-ass adults wrestle in stores over it? That’s the truck kit. It’s a special edition. It was on the news the other day. A fight broke out in FAO Schwarz over the last one.”
“Thanks. That’s helpful. Might be easier to track it.”
“I’ll give you a ring later. Let you know what I learn from los sobrinos.” Marie spoke better Spanish than me. I’d picked it up in school and on the job. I’d probably forgotten most of it. Idyll didn’t have a large Hispanic population.
“Hasta luego,” I said.
I found Finnegan. “Just spoke to my sister-in-law, and she tells me people are fighting to get that truck kit Cody had. Might be an easier lead to follow than the sheets.”
“Thanks.” He glanced at my gloves. “You headed out?”
“Off to the Tavern House. See if anybody saw something the night of the Sweet Dreams break-in.”
The Tavern House had a wooden sign hung above its door on short chains that creaked in the wind. Inside, bricks emerged from plaster walls. Big wooden beams crisscrossed overhead. At the edge of the dining room was a fireplace big enough to roast a pig. The waitstaff wore costumes that included lederhosen. Odd, since the cuisine was American. “Table for one?” the hostess asked. She’d been spared the costume and wore a sweater with black pants.
“I’m here on police business. Was the restaurant open the night of the 11th?”
“Day before the snowstorm? Sure.”
“Were you working?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet Dreams was vandalized that night, sometime after 10:00 p.m. Did you notice any vehicles parked down that way?”
“No. I had to pick up my sister, and it was a slow night, so I got out at 10:15. I don’t remember seeing anything.”
“Anyone else here work that night?” I asked.
She looked into the dining room. Pointed to a woman with her hair in Heidi braids. “Helen was in the dining room with Jodi. Jodi’s not in tonight. The chef, Francis, and I think, Jason.” She grimaced. “Yes. Jason was on because he kept making remarks to Jodi about her size. As if he’s anything to write home about.”
“Think I could talk to them?”
“Let me ask the manager.” She disappeared. I perused the menu. Butternut-squash soup, salad with beets and goat cheese, rack of lamb, and duck breast. The prices made me blink. The hostess returned and said to the couple behind me, “I’ll be right with you.” She twitched her shoulder, indicating I should follow. Through the kitchen doors the temperature rose along with the noise level. Pots banging, shouts of “two salmon!” and underneath it all, a tinny radio playing country music. A man in a dress shirt and tie greeted me. “Hello, I’m Jeremy Rivers, the manager. Won’t you come into my office?”
The office was a cramped room filled with menus, bills, checks, and orders. “Pardon the mess.” He cleared a chair by removing a milk carton filled with wine glasses. “You want to hear from people who worked Thursday night?” He licked his thumb and pushed it through papers. “Charles and Dave are great people. I hope you find whoever wrecked their shop.” He snatched up a sheet. “Here it is. Okay, you’ve spoken to Rachel, our hostess. Helen was here. Jodi, but she’s out today. Patrick a
nd Jason, and the chef, Francis. We’re just wrapping up lunch. I can send people in as they become free.”
I spoke to Patrick, the dishwasher, first. On the night in question, he’d gone out back for a smoke around 9:30 p.m. He’d clocked out at 11:30. He couldn’t recall seeing anyone parked near the store or seeing or hearing anything suspicious.
Helen came next. She’d left work at 11:15 that night. “Oh, gosh, I wish I could help.” Her braids flopped as she shook her head. “I was on the phone the second I got out. New boyfriend—I wasn’t paying attention. I’m so sorry. My mother’s always telling me I’ll be murdered cuz I keep my phone to my ear and don’t watch my surroundings.”
The chef, Francis, smelled of garlic and cigarettes. “You wish to know what I saw? I saw snow and ice and the same little businesses, dark and closed, I see every night. I should’ve taken that job in Las Vegas when I was twenty, but c’est la vie, yes?” His vague French accent was a put on. His ignorance was not.
I’d given up hope when Jason appeared. His haircut teetered on mullet. He stood, arms crossed, near the door. “Have a seat,” I said.
“I’m fine here.”
Not worth arguing.
Before I asked a question, he said, “I don’t know why someone hasn’t trashed the place before now. They sell candy to kids. What sort of idiots let their kids shop there? They probably have a ‘special room’ where the kids get ‘special’ candy.”
Was Jason a former victim of abuse, or did he just have a filthy mind?
“The shop was vandalized after ten o’clock on the night of the 11th. Did you see something?” I asked.
“Something like two men making out?” he asked.
“Did you see that on the 11th?” Dave had worked alone that night, according to Finnegan, and Charles hadn’t picked him up. He’d been at home.
Idyll Fears Page 11
