“Sure,” she said, and hit PLAY.
The man on the screen approached the checkout line carrying a box of black contractor bags, along with the Roll-Baby umbrella stroller. According to Walmart, he’d purchased the stroller at five forty-eight in the evening, eight days before Quinn Joyce had been left outside of Graceland University in Lamoni, Iowa. The man didn’t walk with purpose, he didn’t act out of the ordinary, he simply strolled up to the cash register, and set his items on the belt. But he did pull his hat low and made sure to keep his head down.
“I wonder if he’s aware of the security cameras,” Lola said.
“I think so,” Rachel responded. “I’ve already looked through the footage, and not once does he raise his head. Walmart’s people also viewed the videos and clocked him going into the store at five thirty-seven. He went inside with the intent to buy, not shop. You’ll see on the other videos that he goes directly to the baby section, then to the lawn care department, without deviating.”
The time at the checkout line took less than a minute. The suspect paid with cash and, not bothering with a bag, carried the items toward the exit.
“Okay, that’s the end of that one. Look to the next screen.” Rachel ran the footage.
The man, still keeping his head down, stopped at the exit and tossed his receipt in the garbage can, then left the building.
“Too bad it’s been over two weeks,” Alex commented. “That receipt would have his fingerprints all over it.”
Jessica thought the same thing. But at least they had the confirmation that one of the kidnappers was indeed male. And— “He’s been to the store before,” she said, thinking back to what Rachel had told them moments ago. “He was in and out quickly. He knows the store and where the different departments are located.”
Dante nudged her with his arm. “Good point, Detective.”
When she looked at him and caught the pride in his smile, she couldn’t resist smiling back. “Thank you. I know it’s just a guess, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was living in St. Joseph. If we had a better angle on his face, we could show it around the store or Phil could send it to local builders in the St. Joseph area. Someone is bound to know who this guy is.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen,” Rachel said. “Look at the next two videos.” She hit PLAY again. “This is him walking into the baby section. Look, he barely stops, just grabs the stroller and goes.”
The video stopped. Rachel hit a few buttons on her computer keyboard and a different surveillance DVD began playing. “Now he’s getting the contractor bags.”
“He’s spending more time deciding which brand of bag to buy than he did with the stroller,” Lola said, with a shake of her head.
“That’s because he’s bought the same stroller three other times and knows exactly what he needs.” Jessica turned to Rachel. “Is that all the security footage?”
“No, I have one more.” She tapped the keyboard again. “This is a view of the parking lot.”
Jessica watched as the suspect left the store, head still down, and made his way to a dark grey Ford F-150. “Yes,” she hissed. “Finally, something. Can we get a shot of the license plate?”
“I tried.” Rachel sighed and leaned against the table. “At first I thought there was mud on the plate, but if you look closer…” She moved the computer mouse and zoomed in on the back end of the pickup.
“He covered the plate,” Dante said. “He was definitely aware of security cameras.”
Alex stood and moved closer to the TV. “Looks like he used black electrical tape, doesn’t it?”
Jessica nodded. “I wonder if St. Joseph PD has traffic cameras. If so, we could—”
“Already checked,” Rachel said. “The city suspended the use of their red-light cameras a little over a year ago, because apparently they violate a state ordinance or some such thing.”
“Well,” Dante began, “at least we have the make and model of the pickup truck. We can figure out the year, too. We’ve also confirmed that one of the kidnappers is a male and likely lived in St. Joseph. So, that’s something.” He turned to Rachel. “Did you print off what Phil sent me?”
“Phil?” Jessica asked. “Did DCI come back with the results from Missy Schneider’s crime scene?”
“Not yet,” he said. “This is the DNA result from the hair found on Quinn Joyce.”
She looked to Rachel. “And?”
“According to this report, there’s an eighty-sixty point eight percent chance that the hair is from a male, who doesn’t smoke, abuse drugs or dye his hair.”
Jessica glanced to the still shot of the man at the checkout line. “That’s it? No match in the national database?”
“None.”
She’d known there was a strong chance that the kidnapper wouldn’t be in the system, but she’d been hopeful. Now they had DNA, but no one to match it to.
“What about Missy Schneider?” she asked, moving closer to the TV screen. “The Marshalltown ME should have sent us his autopsy report days ago.”
“I’ll put a call into his office when we’re finished here,” Dante said. “I’ll also call Mark Tanner and ask him if he has any idea when DCI will have their findings from the crime scene.”
“I hate the waiting game,” she complained, then looked to Dante. “Did you notice the kidnapper is wearing a wedding ring?”
He moved closer and stared at the man’s hand. “Thanks to Quinn’s description of his mommy, we suspected a man and woman. Now it looks like we’re looking for a husband and wife team.”
“I’ve never been married,” Lola began, “but I can’t imagine letting my husband talk me into kidnapping or killing. What could have happened to make these people even consider abducting a baby?”
Jessica eyed Rachel’s pregnant belly. “Maybe they can’t have children.”
Lola tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “Then why not adopt?”
“How much did your cousin, Carla, spend on adopting her daughter?” Alex asked. “I can’t remember what Shannon told me, but I think it was expensive.”
She thought about Carla’s four-year-old girl, Gillian. Carla and her husband had one child, but after complications from her pregnancy, they’d decided to adopt. It had taken almost two years before the adoption had gone through and had cost them thousands of dollars.
“Close to twenty grand,” she answered.
“So let’s say they can’t afford to adopt a baby, and they decide they’ll just take someone else’s, why give them back?” Lola asked.
“We’ve kicked that question around dozens of times,” Dante said. “The only conclusion we’ve come up with is that—”
“Everyone loves babies,” Rachel finished, and rubbed her stomach. “That’s sick, and you’d think they would worry about getting caught. Dumping those boys was risky. I don’t care how well they planned it, all it would take is a random person showing up at the wrong place at the wrong time, and they’re busted.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t kill the children.” Lola held up a hand when everyone looked at her. “I’m glad they didn’t, but why leave behind a witness?”
“She’s right,” Dante said. “Those boys are witnesses, but maybe the kidnappers figured whatever the kids would say wouldn’t be taken seriously. Let’s face it. Two-year-olds aren’t exactly reliable witnesses.”
“Quinn gave us a couple of clues,” Jessica reminded her husband.
Alex rose and, taking his ringing phone off his belt, moved toward the door. “Or, if the male was the one dumping the kids, maybe he couldn’t bring himself to kill them. Just a thought.” He shrugged and looked to Jessica. “I have to take this. I’ll meet you in the foyer.”
After Alex left the room, she turned to Dante. “We need to contact Detective Stagliano.”
“Who’s that?” Rachel asked.
“He’s with New Brunswick, New Jersey PD. New Brunswick is where one of the boys, Max Weast, was dropped off three yea
rs ago. Stagliano also has DNA on a hair they found on Max’s clothes the night he was discovered outside of a fire station.”
“Awesome.” Rachel gave her a thumbs up. “If you could have him send me the info, I’ll forward both results to my contact at DecaLab and have her do a comparison.”
“What’s DecaLab?” Lola asked.
“It’s a private forensics company CORE uses to run DNA tests. Since we already have the results, this will be a cake walk for them.” Rachel looked to Dante and Jessica. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I have an answer later this afternoon.”
After Dante promised to call Detective Stagliano, they left Rachel in her domain. When Lola lingered in the foyer, he turned to her. “I’ll meet you in my office and we’ll start looking into those storage units.”
Lola nodded, then shifted her eyes to Jessica and smiled. “It was nice to see you again. Maybe next time we’ll have a chance to talk about something other than an investigation.”
Jessica eyed the beautiful, exotic young woman. Knowing Lola worked closely with her husband no longer had jealousy screwing with her head, though. Not after the week they’d spent together. “I’d like that,” she said, and meant it. Dante had talked about Lola, and had said the girl had only been in Chicago for a couple of months. While Lola had found a condo in the city, she hadn’t quite found her place. Other than work, and the time she spent continuing her martial arts training or at the firing range, she had no friends and no social life. Jessica was short on friends, too, but at least she had Dante, Alex, her cousin and family.
Once Lola walked down the hallway, Dante took her by the arm and led her away from where Alex stood, talking on the phone. “How late do you think you’ll be working today?” he asked, lowering his voice.
“I should be home around five-thirty or six. Why?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh? What kind of surprise?”
“If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” He gave her cheek a kiss. “I’ll see you soon.”
As he headed down the hall toward his office, she decided she would have to give him a surprise of her own. Starting with a cancelled lease.
*
Chloe Young pulled the cardboard box that had been used to transport fruit and vegetables, over her head and huddled as close to the building as possible. Earlier today, when the air had grown so thick she swore she could slice it with a knife, and the fat white clouds had begun to turn grey, she’d acquired the box, along with a few other pieces of cardboard, from the diner at the end of the block. Suspecting it would rain, she’d been tempted to go to the women’s shelter for the night. But Spencer had said he might hook her up tomorrow and she hadn’t wanted to miss an opportunity. The heroin Spencer had supplied was good, better than Roman’s. Too bad Spencer wouldn’t take her in and let her stay with him. She’d asked him this morning after he’d had his way with her, but he’d laughed at the idea, telling her even he had his standards.
The baby kicked. A harsh reminder that she was in a no-win situation until it was out of her body.
Lightning flashed in the sky, momentarily illuminating the narrow alley. Seconds later, thunder grumbled. Fat drops pelted the cardboard and the cement. The wind picked up, along with the rain, which bombarded her flimsy protection, soaking her sneakers and leggings. The thunder and lightning continued, and other than the sounds of tires splashing through puddles, the streets had grown eerily quiet.
The baby moved again, as if it was trying to find a comfortable spot. She moved, too, but found no comfort. Her ass hurt from spending hours sitting on the hard cement, along with the way Spencer had taken her earlier. At least she had the small amount of heroin Roman had given her. But between the wind and the rain, bringing the H to a boil and shooting up now would be next to impossible. Even if she had a cigarette, it wouldn’t have stayed lit. Maybe once the storm died, she’d try. At this point, she could use rainbows and sunshine.
As the rain poured down, she tried to search for those rainbows and sunshine anyway. Thanks to that Bible-thumper, she wasn’t hungry and still had the bottle of water and granola bar the do-gooder had given her. She hoped the woman would stop by again tomorrow with more food. She’d like to hang onto her last few dollars and, after a week of nothing but McDonald’s cheeseburgers, she could use a change in her diet. The baby kicked as if in agreement, and she couldn’t help smiling. Especially when she pictured the plump blonde sitting across from her at the diner down the street. A plate, piled high with pancakes would be between them, along with scrambled eggs and lots of bacon. Even though she wasn’t hungry, her mouth watered. It had been years since she had a decent, healthy meal that hadn’t come from a fast food restaurant or Roman’s freezer.
She rested her boxed head against the brick wall and wondered what Heather was doing now. Praying? Eating a big meal with her husband and kids? Maybe she was curled up on a comfy couch, the AC on high, a soft blanket on top of her while she watched mindless television. Man, how she’d love to be in that imaginary world, even for just one night.
The wind whistled through the alley. The rain came down harder and drummed against the box, which was now weakening. Along with her reserve. The shelter was only a couple of miles away. She could walk there, or use the little money she had to catch the bus. She didn’t have to suffer the storm and could, within the hour, be dry and lying on a cot. But they would check her backpack and take the little heroin she had left. Plus, with the way the weather had turned, the shelter would likely be full. At least she’d be out of the rain, though, and could—
Over the pounding rain, car doors slammed, followed by men’s laughter. She lifted the box slightly and looked to the left, toward the street. Two men entered the alley, the silhouette of a third man remained behind the steering wheel of the car, blocking the alley entrance. The buildings surrounding the narrow passage she’d called home for almost a week made the evening skies greyer, darker. Between the distance and the way the men had pulled their hooded sweatshirts over their heads, she couldn’t make out their features. With how they walked, purpose and intent in their long strides, her gut told her this wasn’t good—at all.
She knocked the cardboard off her, grabbed her backpack and, holding her stomach, pushed off the cement. Instinct and fear propelling her, she took off in a run to the right.
“Hey,” one of the men shouted, his voice muffled by the rain.
Another forty or fifty feet and she’d be on the next street. There was a bar just around the corner. She could go in there and—
A hand gripped her by the back of her jacket. “Slow up,” a man shouted, and, recognizing his voice, relief slowed her racing heart.
“Spencer,” she said, wiping the rain from her face. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He laughed and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t think about how we’d look to you,” he said, steering her back down the alley toward the car.
“Why are you here?” she asked, hopeful he’d changed his mind about letting her stay with him. His apartment was small and filthy, and nothing like she’d envisioned Heather’s home to be, but at least it was dry.
“I was telling my buddies about you. When the rain started, I thought I’d give you a break and let you crash at my place.”
Maybe the Bible-thumper was on to something, and a higher power was looking out for her. Twice in one day someone had come to her rescue. First Heather had given her food and water, now Spencer was offering her a place to crash for the night. Maybe he’d even share his heroin with her again.
“Kick ass,” she said. “The storm sucks.”
He laughed. “That’s about how the weatherman summed it up.” When they reached the car, Spencer opened the door. “Come on, let’s get out of the rain.”
Grateful to sit on a cushioned seat and to be out of the storm, she quickly slid into the back seat. Spencer scooted next to her, while the other man with him climbed into the front, pa
ssenger seat.
Soaked, but hopeful the extra set of clothes in her backpack wasn’t drenched, she couldn’t wait to dry off and change. At this point, she was even cool with Spencer keeping the heroin to himself. Burned out and exhausted, she could use a solid ten hours of sleep.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” she said.
He squeezed her thigh. “You can show your appreciation later.”
Shit. The last thing she felt like doing was having sex. But she’d whored herself for worse than a dry, gross couch. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to clean up and get out of these wet clothes.”
“No prob,” he said as the driver slowed the car, and parked in front of Spencer’s apartment building. “If you’re hungry. I’ve got pizza inside.”
She wasn’t, but she wouldn’t stupidly turn down a free meal. “I could eat.” She opened the car door, slipped out and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “Are these guys your roommates?” she asked as they made their way to his second floor apartment.
“Nope just a few of the guys who’ve stopped by to party.”
A few? Panic had her stopping in the middle of the dingy hallway. Sitting in the rain with only a cardboard box protecting her was beginning to sound like a safer bet. Three men already surrounded her. How many others were there, and what did Spencer want in return for letting her crash at his place? Sex? A blow job? She’d had anal sex with him earlier today in exchange for heroin. But he’d been alone, and she’d been desperate for rainbows and sunshine.
As much as she’d love rainbows and sunshine now, self-preservation came first. “Oh, no,” she gasped and clutched at her neck. “My necklace. It must’ve fallen off in the alley.”
He took her by the elbow. “Look for it tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to find shit in this rain.”
“It’s still light enough out. If you guys can drive me back real quick and—”
Spencer looked over her head to the man next to her, and nodded. Then they both grabbed her under either arm and hauled her down the hallway. “Funny thing,” Spencer began, “you weren’t wearing a necklace earlier. And unless you’re the stupidest whore out there, I doubt you’d wear anything valuable.”
Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) Page 24
