Simon Says... Hide

by Dale Mayer

  “I’m not looking for anything,” she said. “I’m open to seeing whatever the evidence shows us.”

  “Are you thinking someone else is involved?” Colby asked.

  She hesitated, knowing all eyes were on her. “Yes,” she finally said. “I don’t know exactly how to explain it.”

  “Oh, here we go, the cop with the gut,” Owen snapped.

  Surprisingly Rodney defended her.

  “Look,” Rodney said. “We’ve all had opportunities when our guts overruled our brain,” he said. “If she thinks something more is to it, then let her keep digging.”

  “Sure, but we have other cases too,” Owen said. “This sounds like he’s good for a lot of these.”

  “Like our victim from this morning. Finding out he’s a registered pedophile opens the suspect list,” she said. “Do we really not want to know about any other cases he might have been connected to?”

  “Not to mention we can’t close them, just assuming he’s responsible to make it easy,” Rodney continued. “Vancouver has hundreds of registered pedophiles. Any number of them could be involved.”

  “I was looking for somebody to help fill in the details,” she said quietly. “The one I’m thinking of works in the Cold Case Division.”

  Colby stared at her for a moment and nodded slowly. “We need to know,” he said. “Bring in whoever you think can help. Make it a priority.”

  She gave a clipped nod. “Will do, sir.”

  After the meeting, she headed to the Cold Case Division. She had a list of files she wanted to talk about with one of the detectives.

  “Detective Morgan, nice to meet you.” Detective Isaac St. Johns sat at the front desk, several folders to his side. His weary gaze matched the gray hair on his head, both speaking volumes about what he’d seen. “So, you are the one who contacted me about a couple of these cases, huh?”

  She nodded and held out the case numbers. “We’re considering a connection to a registered pedophile found dead early this morning.”

  He put down his pencil, steepled his fingers together, and stared at her for a moment. “Grab a seat, and tell me what you’ve got,” he said, as she sat down beside him. She quickly went through the little bit of evidence they had. He shook his head. “So, one thing that ties them together is the mark?”

  “Take a look,” she urged.

  He frowned at her and started pulling up information on the case files. “These photos are pretty indistinct.”

  “They are,” she admitted. “Until you look at the left hand on the inside of the wrist.” He clicked through several of the digital photos, until he found one that gave him a little bit of a mark. “That just looks like a scratch,” he said, looking over at her.

  “Bring up the next case file.”

  He brought up the old digital case files that he had access to. He saw exactly the same looking scratch. By the time he saw the third one, he turned and glared at her.

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t have seen it, but I was looking at a bunch of others.”

  “This is insane,” he said. “How many have you connected?”

  “With these same scratches, about nine so far. But then, we aren’t done yet.”

  “And you are thinking they are all his?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But these child abductions and subsequent deaths belong at the feet of someone.”

  *

  Simon had tried to reach out intuitively to Leonard again tonight, but it was no good. Somehow wanting to do something was completely different than actually doing it. He could only hope the boy was okay.

  And that the detective would find Leonard in time.

  The last thing Simon wanted to do was talk to this detective. She wasn’t good for his peace of mind, and neither was she good for his work apparently. Although his performance tonight at the craps table had been spectacular, he was still a little disturbed by the push to play a game he’d never tried before. And, for the profit, he’d taken an incredible risk, something he didn’t do lightly. Until now, since he was apparently somebody different these days. He poured himself another shot of whiskey, and, as he went to sit back down again, management called, saying the detective was downstairs.

  “Great,” he mumbled. “I will come down and talk to her.”

  “She wants to come up.”

  “Fine,” he snapped. “She can come up.” Slamming down the phone, he walked over to the door. At the door, he waited for it to open, leaning against the doorjamb, trying to settle his nerves. The last thing he would do was let her know how much she rattled him. At the same time, something was just so off at present that he had to guard himself as well. With defenses firmly in place, he turned to face the elevator.

  *

  He wouldn’t be living in these shitty digs if he had money. His sister had the money. That was a minor issue. That was just an irritant between siblings. Even if she did have a fancy Belleview mansion, what could he do about it? She should be making decent money with her education. She was the one who had gone to school; he, on the other hand, had been so used to his lifestyle that he wasn’t at all interested in changing it. But now things were getting a little bit tighter, a little bit uglier, and that was changing everything.

  He stared down at the names of pedophiles on his list, then drew a stroke through Ken’s name. He remembered how much Ken had to say, before he’d taken the man’s life. And there had been a certain satisfaction, almost justification, in purging the world of a seriously sad member of society. He didn’t believe he was above Ken by any means. But, even within the hierarchy of the type of people they were, some pervs deserved respect, and some didn’t. Ken was at the bottom of the list. He was no longer a problem, and that was a good thing. Good riddance. The police should be thanking him.

  It had been odd killing him though. Harder than he had expected, until he climbed onto his chest, so Ken couldn’t expand his chest either, couldn’t inhale anymore.

  He looked at the others on his list. There was a person he could ask next, but he was a whole lot harder to track down, being a whole lot farther away. Trust that guy to be somewhere close to a beach, where he could watch his prey, as they played in the sand. Lots of beaches were in Vancouver. The city was located at an incredible, beautiful ocean, with many opportunities to watch toddlers in all kinds of places.

  He himself didn’t want toddlers per se; he liked them a little bit older.

  His tears caught unexpectedly in the back of his throat; he really missed Jason. He had had that little boy for so many months. Jason had been such a heartfelt part of his life that he just felt so empty right now. And that little girl had done absolutely nothing to fill the void.

  His sister would probably say that he’d jumped back too quickly and would feed him all this replacement therapy bullshit. He didn’t want to listen to that. He just didn’t want to feel so empty inside, and that was a hard thing to fix. Instead he went online to their special dark web group and asked if any of his cohorts had any special friends lately. Several happy-face responses made him feel way worse.

  Damn it, he snapped. No way in hell you should have somebody, and I don’t. He’d be quite happy to forget about the fact he, of course, had been the one with the happy-face response for the last six months with Jason, but the tide had turned, and he was alone again. Willing to share?

  And this time, he got a sad emoji and then a thumbs-down.

  Anybody have one to share?

  One name came back. Nico.

  He stared at that name and smiled. So Nico had somebody too, did he? He quickly checked over his notes. Nico was in Richmond. And that sucked. While nothing in Vancouver was far away—Richmond only like ten miles south—but the drive was five times longer. Richmond was out by the airport, and that meant a forty-five-minute drive, dealing with traffic and anything else that might come up on the way over and the way back. The good thing about it was, by the time he got back home with his new friend, the police would still be
looking for that missing child in Richmond and not in Vancouver, where he was. But, just in case, he asked, Anyone else?

  Nothing.

  “Damn,” he said aloud. Okay, Nico it was. He quickly sent Nico a message, asking again if he had anything to share.

  Nico came back. Maybe.

  Wincing, he replied. Maybe?

  For a price.

  What the hell is up with that? Since when do we charge?

  Since I can’t pay my rent.

  Shit. No fucking way he was paying if it wasn’t something worth paying for though. Damn it. This girl’s face popped up in the screen, and he stared. She had to be about four, maybe a little younger. He frowned because he hadn’t heard of any missing little girls of her age and coloring. And he had to wonder how long this little girl had been Nico’s.

  He quickly typed in a question. How old?

  Five.

  Definitely doable. Although Nico normally lied about the age, just to make it hit his age-five-and-up preference range.

  How long? He knew that Nico would be staring at that question, trying to figure it out, but they all had codes for answers.

  Nico came back. A year.

  A year in the system was a long time for a five-year-old. On the other hand, she’d be well adapted to it. How much?

  Nico turned cagey. What’s your offer?

  He got up and paced his room. Grabbing a cigarette, he lit it. He stormed around and stared at the little girl’s face. It might be easier if he just grabbed somebody himself, but the risk was pretty high, what with China Doll found and Leonard still not located.

  He sighed. A girl that had been in the system this long would be used to the process, so much easier to travel with. Only he didn’t have her dark hair or almond-shaped eyes. So, if anybody saw them together, it could get people asking questions. Nico, on the other hand, was a blend of many nationalities, and you couldn’t really tell where he was from or what he was. It was convenient at times but caused him more trouble over white children in his possession.

  He thought about her for a long moment.

  Then Nico came back. I have others interested too.

  He snorted. Sure you do.

  The trouble was, he actually could have. At least twelve of them were in their small group, but they had access to much bigger groups too. And he hated that, damn it. He didn’t want to have anything to do with everybody else. He thought about her for a long moment, and, just as he was about to type no, he feared the opportunity would be gone, and he’d still be alone. He frowned and then Nico came back.

  Two thousand.

  He swore again. He quickly typed an angry response and got an angry response back. They kept at it, badgering the price down, until he got as low as twelve hundred and that was it. Twelve hundred for a five-year-old Asian girl. Shit, shit, shit. He could pick one up off the streets. That would be free. He quickly sent a last message, saying he would think about it, and immediately logged off.

  Maybe Nico would get desperate and come back at half the price. Half, he could afford—more than that, not so much. He should have asked what the little girl’s name was. But, with her image in his head, and one saved to his desktop, he put it up on the side while searching further. If the investigation into her disappearance was really hot, it would make his life so much more difficult. He came up with absolutely nothing to connect her to any missing child ring. So she’d been in the ring for a long time. A year was possible but more than that? Usually meant she had probably been sold into it much younger. Nico wouldn’t have known very much of the girl’s history.

  Honestly none of them cared.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” he whispered. He got up, grabbed his jacket, and, with his lit cigarette, stormed out of the small apartment and headed to his favorite park. He sat on the swing in the children’s playground and just let his mind go back and forth over his options.

  On the far side he watched a mom with two kids trailing behind her. She was urging them to keep up, as her hands were full of groceries. One was a little girl, somewhere around the same age as the little sweetheart he had kept a picture of, only this one had red hair and pigtails. Beside her was a boy, a little bit older, kicking rocks down the street.

  He was focused too. With fierce concentration on his face, he reached out with a sturdy foot and kicked the rock with all his might. Of course, it went forward about six feet, and that was it. But the little boy kept scampering after it and kicked it again.

  He watched as they headed to a little row of condos up ahead. And surprise, surprise, she went inside and left the other two in the front yard. He stood and casually strolled in that direction. He took note of the street name and house number. As he got closer, the mother called the children in, and, as soon as they heard her voice—and something about her tone—they immediately swept inside, and she firmly closed and locked the door. He kept on walking past, but no way would he forget what was so carefully guarded inside that house.

  Because, man, they were perfect. And he was so damn lonely.

  Chapter 15

  The elevator opened in front of Kate, and she stepped out to see Simon leaning against his living room doorjamb. She stared at him. “Thanks for seeing me,” she said calmly. He just glared. She smiled a little bit. “You weren’t busy, were you?”

  He swirled some golden liquid in the glass he held. “I’m always busy.”

  “Interesting,” she murmured. His gaze narrowed, until she spoke again. “So you don’t happen to know anything about an earlier stabbing, do you?”

  His eyebrows shot up, and his facial expression turned neutral. “No,” he said. “Why would I?”

  She shook her head and said, “Just something I heard on a 9-1-1 call.” She studied his face, but absolutely no change was in his expression. “You must be good at poker. Especially as you didn’t ask me, What stabbing?”

  His gaze flattened. “Are you charging me with something, Detective?”

  “No,” she said. “Should I be?”

  He gave a negligent shrug of those elegant shoulders. Something was just so damn appealing about him, and she had a hard personal line she’d never been tempted to cross, but he was damn hard to forget. But why was she here now, when she should have hauled him in for questioning? Anger over the attraction made her more brisk than normal. “Honestly I’m still not exactly sure what you are up to,” she said. “I just wanted to keep track of you.”

  “You didn’t have to personally come to my apartment to do that,” he said.

  “Maybe I’m looking for injuries,” she said smoothly. She watched as he froze and then lifted his gaze, as he sipped his whiskey. Interesting reaction.

  “Injuries. You already know I got into a fight with that dead guy you found beaten up downtown.”

  “I do,” she said. “I also know what those bruises would look like if they were real.”

  He stared at her. “Did you have any other questions for me, Detective? If so, maybe I should call my lawyer.”

  “If you want to, feel free,” she said, studying him. After a moment she confirmed, “Where were you two weeks ago, on that Monday, between four and six in the afternoon?”

  He stared at her in surprise. “I’m always working. I have no clue for that time frame. Most likely I was moving through some of my building projects,” he said. “You remember those. You followed me often enough.”

  She gave him a flat stare and asked, “Where were you?”

  “Not sure,” he said. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “You have five minutes,” she stated.

  He glared at her, turned, walked over to the side table, pulled out his little black journal, which he used to keep track of what he was doing, and said, “I was on a project on Denman Street.”

  “Any calls on your phone that will prove it?”

  “Phone calls,” he said, looking up at her. “You’ll have to get a subpoena for my records, if that’s the issue.”

  “I can do that eas
ily enough if I have justification,” she said, with a nod.

  “Which you don’t,” he said. “Which is why you are fishing. The question is, why, though?”

  “Because I think you are the one who phoned in that stabbing,” she said.

  He stared at her, the corner of his lips twitching into a tiny smile. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” she said quietly. Her gaze was intent, as she studied him. “But I heard the 9-1-1 call. And there was something in that voice—your voice.”

  “And how would I have known about it?”

  “That is what we all want to know. Most of my colleagues seem to think you are involved.”

  “Interesting,” he said. “And does it matter what that involvement is, or are you just trying to ensure I’m guilty of something, so you can charge me?”

  “No,” she said, “but, if you did call that in, I want to know how you knew about it.”

  “Meaning, I must have been there. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Her gaze was steady. “You would think so, yes.”

  “Or was it a psychic moment?” he mocked. “Detective, you actually sound like you might believe in me.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said slowly. “But I have to admit there was something about that call.”

  When the phone in his hand rang, he said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take this call.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be in touch.” And, with that, she turned, stepped into the elevator, and pushed the button to go down.

  *

  “Jesus Christ.” Simon glared down at the phone. “What’s the matter, Caitlin?”

  “Try to find him. Please!” his ex-fiancée whispered.

  “I have tried,” he said. “I don’t have anything to tell you.”

  “How is that possible?” she said. “I know you have the skills.”

  “No,” he said, “I don’t. I don’t have any of what you keep thinking I have.”

  “You have the sight,” she whispered.

  “Maybe, maybe sometimes. Every once in a while I get some inclination of something,” he said, “but that’s different than instinct or intuition.”