by Dale Mayer
“From those numbers I gave you?” Pleased, he leaned over the railings and stared at the deep dark ocean beneath him. “I know it’s just a drop in the hat,” he said, “but I’m glad that I contributed in some way.”
“A lot of the things you’ve done have contributed,” she said. “I just haven’t figured out if it’s in a good way or a bad way just yet.”
“Neither have I,” he said, with a crack of laughter. “But we can count on the fact that this time, at least, it was worthwhile.”
“Maybe so,” she said. Then she hesitated.
He waited. “What’s up, Detective?”
“God help me, but I was just wondering if you’d seen anything else,” she said.
He stopped, and then he laughed. “What’s this?” he asked. “Aren’t you the one who can’t stand charlatans?”
“You’re absolutely right. I can’t,” she said. “And, if I ever find out that you’re making up all this shit, you can bet I’ll fuck with you every bit as much as you’ve been fucking with me. But, in the meantime, as long as any of the visions you have are helpful,” she said, “I still have a seven-year-old boy missing and a dead six-year-old girl in the morgue.”
“I’m sorry about the little girl,” he said softly. “She was so young, so beautiful. So perfect.”
“Maybe that’s what got her killed,” she said. “A lot of parents don’t realize how much a pedophile can lock on to a look and can’t think of anything else until they get what they want.”
“Then a lot of these parents dress up their children like models and take them for dancing classes, thinking how cute they are.”
“There’s no justifying taste,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter what these parents did. No child deserves what these pedophiles have done to them.”
“Agreed. So, no locations or anything identifiable in the videos?”
“No,” she said, “at least nothing yet.”
“I don’t envy you going through all that.” That would ruin his faith in humanity if he had to do that. Not that he had any left.
“No,” she said. “So, if you find anything or something else comes up, please let me know.”
“Like I said, I won’t be answering the phone.”
“So then what? You’re off to fleece a bunch of people to get more money to build your rehab projects?”
Simon was stunned; her words were very close to the truth. Close enough that he stopped and stared out at the city lights, playing on the ocean waters. “What’s this? Trying to be psychic on your own?”
“Not at all, but you have no visible means of support, and yet your building projects aren’t cheap.”
“Gambling is like that,” he said. “I had a really good run here the other day.”
“Believe it or not, I found out about that,” she said, “and you’re right, especially considering it wasn’t even your game.” And, with that, she hung up.
He swore, as he stared down at the phone. “Are you following me, Detective Morgan?”
Of course she was. Not only was she following him, she was keeping track of every step he made. Which meant, in theory, that she should know exactly where he was right now. He pocketed his phone and, feeling that same disquiet, turned and headed back to his room. He’d spend some time on the paperwork that had piled up, while he waited for dinner and the night’s activities.
This was his chance to lose himself in something that he knew very well, something that he was comfortable in. He wondered who else would be here. He knew a large group of guys came and went on these short weekend gambling cruises. He could only hope that he knew somebody who would make the trip a little bit easier. As he walked toward his room, he thought he saw someone he recognized. He called out.
His buddy turned, raised a hand. “See you tonight,” he said. “First drinks on me.”
Simon laughed, his spirits picking up. This is what he needed—friends in a world that he was used to.
*
“The old bastard,” he said aloud about Nico, as he stared at the photo of the little girl, but it was definitely doctored. That’s a manipulated image.
Don’t dare take her outside.
Don’t you have any photos of where she was originally?
That’s hardly a proof of life.
He swore because, of course, that’s quite true. Then give me proof of life in your house, he wrote. Unless you live in a tent or something?
I have a house, he replied. It’s a decent one too.
Are you sure you are not renting some squalid little basement?
Nope, it’s my house, been living in it a good thirty years, Nico typed. Bought it a long time ago, when I was still a prof at the university.
“Interesting,” he murmured. He immediately wrote down notes because, if Nico owned a property, he should find out which one it was. How the hell to do this? Pull a few connections. But Nico was not being any more open than that. And was still not being very agreeable on the photos. No money without proof of life, he wrote, then quickly logged off. He called his sister. “Can you get a record of property ownership?”
Her voice was distracted, as she said, “I don’t know, probably. Maybe. I’d have to pull a favor to get it. Why?”
“I’m just trying to find where somebody lives, and he owns a house in Richmond.”
“Why?”
But at least he heard just curiosity in her voice. “Sorry, I guess you are at work,” he said, wishing he’d thought first before he’d called.
“I’m always at work these days,” she said. “You know me.”
“Well, that’s good,” he said. “At least you should be bringing in lots of money.”
“I am,” she said quietly. “But it’s lots of stress, lots of bills.”
He winced. “Bills suck.”
“They suck the life out of you and take your income down to far less than half. Listen. I don’t know about this address thing. Why don’t you just call the cops? You had a couple friends on the force.”
“I did, but I don’t know if I still do,” he said.
“Well, check online first then,” she said. With those words, she hung up on him.
He frowned. He still wanted to drive past her house. Maybe when he was out driving one of these times. He quickly did an internet search about checking property ownership sites, then headed to the county assessor site, looking to see if he found any help there. But his first attempt only allowed him to look up by address.
What he needed was a way to look up by name. It didn’t take too long, and, after a couple phone calls to government entities, he found how to track down what property a person owned. The trouble was, he only had Nico’s first name, and he needed the last name. Where to start? Then he remembered what Nico had said about being a professor.
It took the rest of the day for him to figure out where Nico had been a professor, based on the little scraps of information he knew about him. Over time the little snippets of information added up, and, once he applied himself, he found he knew quite a lot about Nico.
Before long he’d determined where Professor Nico had worked for close to fifteen years. He didn’t know if Nico’s hobby was the reason he got sidelined from that very profitable venture or if he’d actually retired. Nonetheless, now armed with a name, he backtracked and found the property ownership records, including the physical address. A further search led him to discover that it hadn’t been sold in the last several years, and the value on it had his eyebrows shooting straight up.
Three million dollars? Goddammit! What the hell was Nico doing fleecing him for twelve hundred for that little girl, if he had that kind of a house? Furious, he grabbed his wallet and keys, then headed to his truck. With the GPS programmed for Nico’s address, he drove over the bridge to Richmond. It really pissed him off that somebody living in a multimillion-dollar house wanted to be paid for this little girl, when he needed her and was broke.
It didn’t take too long, and, after an extra ten minu
tes or so, he neared the side of the bridge, and the GPS gave him quick instructions, turning left or turning right. Before he knew it, he was going down a tree-lined street, with decent-size houses. This was a much older part of town. All of these were likely to have been built before the airport became such an international hot spot. Richmond itself was reclaimed land, and this area looked to be part of the original settlements.
It was a beautiful area, with huge brick mansions. Very similar to the house where he’d grown up, in the Point Grey area of Vancouver. But this was more regal.
The GPS announced his arrival at the destination address. Stopping, he looked around and found it on the right. He stared at this huge old house, with a big brick fence across the front and a wide iron gate. An alleyway must be at the back for parking because no driveway was in the front. He drove forward a bit more and came around the rear, where, sure enough, he found an alleyway.
He drove around the block a couple times and finally parked one block away, got out, and walked back. No way for Nico to know who he was, what he looked like, or what vehicle he was driving, but that sense, that awareness, that he could get caught, rode him hard. He walked down one way and across up the four sides, then he walked down the alleyway, slowing his steps, as he studied the massive building.
“Christ, he could have a half-dozen kids in there,” he murmured. “How the hell is that fair?”
The more he stared at what this guy had for wealth, the angrier he became. It was all too possible that he might have been the most broke, the most in debt, and the most borderline destitute person in the whole damn group. For somebody who came from such high beginnings, this was bullshit. It was dark outside, and the lights were on inside the house, but there didn’t appear to be movement inside.
The dark alleyway had a garage and a side gate. He tried to open it, but it was latched from the inside. He could probably jump the gate in the front of the house because it was much lower. The one at the back was very inaccessible. He suspected it was also locked, which meant the garage was probably where the vehicle was parked. And he didn’t see any side door, outside of the massive front door and the one rear entryway, to get in either. The fence came right up to the side of the gate and went all the way around the property.
Muttering to himself and getting more pissed by the minute, he headed to the front. In the darkness, he stepped onto the neighbor’s side and studied the fence between the two homes. It wasn’t as high on this side, about the same as the front. However, it was a bit out of the view from the front windows and the house on the sides. No lights were on in the neighbor’s house, and the For Sale sign in the front yard seemed to say that nobody would be home and probably hadn’t been for a while.
Damn, a cop car pulled slowly through the area. Damn. He froze up against the fence. The cop made the block and came by slowly once more. Damn, damn, damn. If he runs my plates … Running back to the alleyway, he watched for the black-and-white. Taking a chance, he jumped in his vehicle and left as fast as he could.
He hit the steering wheel over and over, still cussing. I’ll have to come back. Damn it. Meanwhile he searched for a coffee shop, pulled in, using their Wi-Fi to connect with Nico. Give me until Monday 5:00 p.m. to get some cash.
Chapter 18
Friday Late Afternoon
It was still Friday, another busy day, but, so far, Kate hadn’t accomplished anything. She got the canvassing back from the entire neighborhood and everybody except for one person said the same thing—that they hadn’t seen Ken. But one person reported seeing him walking in his property, using a cell phone. With the name of the person and the address, she quickly bolted to her feet and told Rodney, “I’ll go talk to the one person who saw our pedophile.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’m working with Forensics on that street.”
“I’ll be back,” she said. She raced outside, picked up a pretzel from the vendor on the corner of the block, grabbed a coffee, and headed to her car, taking off to Ken’s place. She knocked on the neighbor’s door and waited, in her hand. A little old lady opened the door and stared up at her in worry.
Kate smiled. “Hello, I’m Detective Morgan,” she said. “I understand that you saw one of your neighbors, Ken, out walking in his yard.”
The little old lady nodded and tilted her head, sending bubbled lavender-colored hair in all directions. “I did talk to that one young gentleman about Ken,” she said, with a smile. “A nice young cop.”
“How often did you see Ken?” Kate asked, in a conversational tone. The problem with witnesses is that you never knew what they knew, and they didn’t know themselves, until they were given the right questions in order to pry out the information.
“I used to see him a fair bit,” she said, “but less and less as time went by.”
“Do you know how long he’s lived here?”
“Quite a while,” she said. “Maybe ten years.”
“And he doesn’t work?”
“Well, I imagine you know more about him than I do,” she said, with a trilling laugh.
“Yes,” Kate said, with a half laugh. “He doesn’t appear to have been working constructively for the last five years.”
“No. I’m sure he told me at one point in time that he was looking after his sister’s kids.”
“Did you ever see him with children?”
“At the odd times,” she said, “but not for quite a few years now.”
“You know that he hasn’t been out of prison for all that long?”
The little old lady’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t know that,” she said. “I guess maybe that’s why I haven’t seen him all that often recently.”
“He served four years,” she said.
“But he’s been home for several weeks now at least, if not several months,” the lady protested.
“Exactly,” she said. “He’s been home at least six months, I think.”
The old lady looked relieved. “For a moment there, I thought I was losing it.”
“No. He was away but has been back for some time.”
“And did you say what was he in for?”
Kate looked around, as if checking to see if anybody was close by. “He was a pedophile,” she said quietly.
The little old lady’s face blanched. “Oh no, please don’t tell me that he hurt those little children.”
“I’m not sure which little children you mean,” she said, “but I’m afraid it’s all too possible. He didn’t have a sister.”
The little old lady immediately brought her hands to her chest and started patting herself, as if trying to recover from a shock.
“Ma’am, can I help you sit down somewhere? I know this is a bit much.”
“Come in. Come in,” she said, and she let herself be led to the couch, where she sank into a corner.
Kate walked back over and closed the door. “I’m sorry. It’s been such a shock.”
“You just never know, do you?” she said. “My name is Alice. And I’ve been alone for a long time, so I love to take an interest in my neighbors, though I find most people don’t really like to have an interest taken in them.”
“I think most people prefer privacy these days,” Kate said, with a smile.
“It’s very sad. Nobody does anything for each other anymore.”
“Well, in this case, it’s quite possible that your neighbor had something to hide.”
“I won’t sleep now, thinking about the children I saw him with.”
“Maybe you could describe those children to me,” she said.
The old lady looked at her for a moment, concentrating on something. “You know what? I think I might have a picture of them too.”
Kate sat back, her heart slamming against her chest. “If you could show us any pictures you have, that would be a huge help.”
“Let me take a look,” she said. “I have a bunch that are unsorted.” She got up and disappeared. While she was away, Kate got up and walked around the living room,
checking out the photos on the wall. They were obviously of an era gone by. There was her husband and what looked like two children of her own.
When Alice walked back in, she pointed at the picture Kate was looking at and said, “That’s my husband and two sons. They are all gone now.”
“Even your sons?”
Alice nodded sadly. “Yes. I didn’t realize it, but I had passed down a rare disorder to them,” she said. “They both had it and were gone before thirty.”
Such sadness and grief were in her voice that Kate couldn’t speak for a moment. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “That’s got to be difficult.”
“It’s even worse when you find out you’re responsible,” she said, “but there was no testing back then, no way to know.”
“That must have been emotional,” Kate said gently. “But what if you had known? Surely that wouldn’t have been easier.”
Alice looked at her, understanding. “Isn’t that the truth? Maybe I’m blessed as it is.”
“You at least had them for a time,” she said. “It looks like you were all very happy then.”
“Indeed,” Alice said, with a smile. “My husband died about ten, eleven years ago now,” she said. “God rest his soul. He found the loss of the boys even more difficult to bear than I did.”
“I think every man wants a son,” Kate said.
Alice sat down, placing a thin six-inch-long plastic bin on the coffee table.
“Where are these photos from?”
“I had a camera for a while,” Alice said. “I was trying to fill my time after my husband’s death, and I thought maybe I could pick up a hobby. So I started taking pictures, but I found that, once we moved into the digital photos, it was so much cheaper, yet I had nobody to show the photos to anyway,” she said. “So it didn’t seem to make any sense to even take them, you know? I’d look at them once and never look at them again.”
She pointed at the ones in the bin. “Originally I started printing off some of the digital pictures,” she said. “I had a photo printer, though you can see that they aren’t very good. But here’s what I have.” There were some full-size sheets of photos in the bin and a bunch of smaller ones too. Some were film paper, as if she had had them done at a store, and others were, indeed, just on plain printer paper.
