by James Hunt
After the phone melted down, it was reduced to a pile of plastic and glass. They had eleven more tries to get it right, but every attempt that had followed had offered the same result.
Once Jim determined the phones couldn’t be hacked, he tried to figure out how the Broker delivered the phones to the kids in the first place. After all, there had to be some kind of physical interaction that happened. Phones just couldn’t be teleported to some place. But even after he figured out how the Broker delivered the phones, it only led to another dead end.
Through the use of a fake name, complete with social security number and a driver’s license, with a stock photo of someone from the internet, the Broker would open up a random P.O. Box, and then order a phone via a VPN that made it look like he was buying the phone in a different location than where he was currently located. From there, the phone would be sent to a different P.O. Box, and then the Broker would message the child, usually on whatever social media platform they were using most, with instructions to pick up the phone.
In other words, the Broker orchestrated all of this without ever having to leave the comfort of his computer chair.
Even the communication on the social media platform, that first contact, was wiped clean by the Broker. The man left nothing behind, nothing to incriminate him. If not for the mysterious text messages Jim had received, along with the confessions of all twelve pedophiles saying they had requested the Broker’s service, Jim would have thought the man was a ghost.
But the Broker was real, flesh and blood, and he was still out there, hurting people. He had helped orchestrate another abduction, and he would keep doing it until he was caught. And while Jim and Kerry hadn’t been able to bring the man down, he knew they were still the best chance to catch him.
Jim and Kerry—along with their cyber division—concurred that the individual they were hunting had superior knowledge of coding. But that search criteria was still too broad to narrow an effective list of suspects.
The Broker had the upper hand, but Jim wouldn’t quit until the person responsible was arrested. Because as clever as the Broker might have been, the monster underestimated Jim’s relentless pursuit.
Jim stared down at the scars on his palms. The odds were stacked against him then, too, but he had persevered. Just as he had done throughout his entire time in the foster system. Those years had been just as pivotal to his success as a detective as the years he had spent with Marcia and Ray Swisher. Jim didn’t have any quit in him, which was important because the Broker wasn’t just a monster; he was a sociopath.
Through the past eleven successful recoveries of children, Jim and Kerry had interviewed each of the pedophiles they had arrested and uncovered an interesting detail about the Broker: he never asked for payment.
The Broker did all of this work helping pedophiles abduct children pro-bono, which revealed an important aspect to the Broker’s psyche. There was a conviction in the Broker’s work, a mischievous streak to lash out against society’s most vulnerable. And the Broker always targeted children who were products of troubled homes, which Jim knew made them easier to manipulate. It was probably why Ricky Teller was targeted since his parents were getting a divorce.
All of the children described their conversations with the Broker as incredibly open and understanding. The Broker made the kids feel like they were important, that they were cared about, and that they mattered.
The Broker preyed on a child’s desire to want to please adults, to make them feel like they were needed and loved. And then he turned all of those emotions against the child when it was time for the pedophile to step in during the abduction.
Jim’s phone rang, and he saw that it was Missy down in Cyber. He answered after the first ring. “Tell me some good news.”
“Should I hang up now then?” Missy asked.
Jim leaned forward, elbows thumping on the desk. “It fried again?”
“Sorry, Jim,” Missy answered. “The phone is completely scrambled.”
“Right,” Jim said. “Thanks for trying.” He hung up and then slouched in his chair. He hated how the Broker purposely dangled the phones like a carrot, giving Jim a brief glance of hope. There was nothing as maddening for Jim as a criminal who believed they were untouchable.
“Jim,” Kerry said. “Are you ready to visit Turner?”
Turner was the next suspect on their list. He had been the employee recently fired from the security team at the convention center after his inappropriate conduct with a minor.
Jim picked up Amy Fuller’s file. He might have been so exhausted that he was on the verge of collapse, but he was still alive. That was a gift Amy Fuller no longer had, and Jim wasn’t going to waste it.
“Yes,” Jim answered. “Let’s go.”
11
On the ride over to Ben Turner’s house, Jim researched as much as possible on the former security member at the convention center.
“This guy has quite a few speeding tickets, a drunk and disorderly charge, which was dismissed by a judge, in addition to all of the problems he was having at work,” Jim said.
“Sounds like he should have never been hired in the first place,” Kerry said. “Wouldn’t the company do a background check on him?”
“They did,” Jim answered. “I guess Turner’s previous problems didn’t bother them.”
When they approached Turner’s house, Kerry slowed and parked down the street. She kept the engine running and stared down the road. “It’s three houses down on the left, the one with the blue shutters.”
“Car’s in the driveway,” Jim said and then matched the make and model to what Turner had registered with the DMV. “It’s Turner’s, so he’s most likely home.”
“How do you want to handle this?” Kerry asked. “I have a feeling he might run.”
“Good thing you’ve been keeping up with your cardio.” Jim opened the door, and then Kerry shut off the engine.
The pair moved quickly down the sidewalk, Jim studying the house, looking for as many exit points as he could find.
“No doors on the west side of the house,” Jim said. “So if he runs, he’ll most likely head out through the back.” He looked to Kerry.
“On it,” Kerry said, and then she moved swiftly down one of the sides of the houses before getting to Turner’s.
She would sneak her way up the backside of the houses and wait until Jim gave the all-clear. It was a tactic that they had used many times before, but as Kerry disappeared behind the house, Jim couldn’t help but wonder if Kerry was up to the task.
Jim knew how hard Kerry had taken Amy’s death. She blamed herself, even though it hadn’t been her fault. Therapy had been the last resort for her, but Jim was glad she was getting some kind of help.
In order for either of them to do their jobs effectively, Jim and Kerry needed to be at the top of their game. And lately, Kerry’s indecisiveness was bleeding into their work.
Jim hoped therapy would help Kerry work through some of her issues, but he didn’t know when she’d return to her former self. If they wanted to stop the Broker, both of them needed to be in prime condition. If Jim were honest with himself, neither of them was at their best.
Jim’s childhood as an orphan in the foster system had made him more resilient than most, and he was very used to being on his own. It was a mindset where he was most comfortable.
Maybe he wasn’t meant to have the kind of life that was full. Maybe he was meant to become something that was filed down and sharp and unstoppable.
Because with all of the terrible evil in the world, there needed to be someone willing to go all-in against the evil. Jim had seen and experienced that evil firsthand. And he took it upon himself to stop those who destroyed the weak and the innocent who were too fragile to protect themselves.
And for a very long time, Jim was always one step ahead of the criminals he chased. No one evaded him for long. But over the past year, as Jim began to have a life outside of work, he couldn’t help but won
der if that sharp edge that made him so effective on the job had dulled.
Could he still have a life and still be effective in a job that required him to perform at the highest level? He wasn’t sure, and he had struggled with finding an answer.
Jim pushed his doubts aside and focused on preparing himself to interrogate Ben Turner as he reached the walkway to Turner’s front door. Because Jim dressed in a suit and tie, people always assumed he was either a person selling religion or a cop. To a well-trained eye, Jim always looked like a cop. It was the way he carried himself, but he didn’t know how to hide it.
The blinds were pulled shut on the windows, so Jim couldn’t see inside. He paused at the door, listening for a television, music, a conversation, any noise that told Jim that Turner was home. But he heard nothing.
Jim lingered, making sure he gave Kerry plenty of time to get into position before he knocked on the door.
Jim hung back, putting his hand on the butt of his pistol, poised and ready to act if Turner decided to become aggressive. He was prepared to make a move when the door suddenly opened and a tall, heavyset, white man appeared in the doorway.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Ben Turner?” Jim asked, reaching for his badge once Turner nodded. “I’m detective Jim North with Seattle PD. I’d like to come inside and ask you a few questions.”
Turner looked like he’d just woken up. The undershirt he wore was flipped up and exposed the fat of his belly. He was in sandals and gym shorts, and his hair was a mess. He also had a glassy look in his eyes, but since Turner’s eyes weren’t dilated Jim wasn’t sure if the man was under the influence.
“What’s this about?” Turner asked, his voice scratchy.
“It’s about your time with the security firm at the convention center,” Jim answered, trying to remain friendly but firm.
Turner looked at Jim, and his eyes drifted down to the pistol on Jim’s hip before looking at Jim in the eye again. “Like I said, what’s it about?”
Jim sensed Turner becoming hostile, and he braced for Turner to either run or fight.
“Mr. Turner, this will go a lot smoother if you decide to cooperate,” Jim said.
Turner held the thousand-yard stare, but he finally stepped aside. “Whatever. Just make it quick.”
“I appreciate your cooperation,” Jim said, raising his voice just a little to make sure Kerry heard the all-clear, but he didn’t give the signal for her to join him. He still wasn’t convinced Turner wouldn’t run.
The inside of Turner’s house was a typical bachelor pad. Minimal furniture, no decorations on the white walls, and the biggest thing he owned was the television. Jim had lived like this himself for a long time, minus the television.
Turner stood in the living room next to a recliner and crossed his arms while Jim remained by the front door.
“Well?” Turner asked. “Are you going to ask questions?”
Jim couldn’t see anything in the house that he identified as red flags. He assumed Turner had a firearm since he was licensed to carry. He also figured Turner wasn’t responsible for the actual abduction. The man was too casual, too apathetic toward the whole situation. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of other people involved.
“What was the last event you worked at the convention center?” Jim asked.
“I don’t know,” Turner said.
“You were only fired a few weeks ago,” Jim said. “You don’t remember any detail?”
“Look, I don’t know what you want from me,” Turner answered. “I worked there. I got fired. It wasn’t like I loved the job.”
“Find any new work?” Jim asked, already knowing the answer was probably a no since he was sleeping late on a weekday.
“I’ve got a few prospects,” Turner replied.
“Must be difficult for you now after the allegations that were made,” Jim said.
Turner stepped closer to Jim, the move meant to intimidate, but Jim had gone up against big men before.
“I’d be careful about what you say in my house, Detective,” Turner said.
Now that Jim had a pressure point, he started to push. “I bet the parents of that seventeen-year-old girl didn’t like the things you were saying to their underage daughter.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Turner said. “No charges were filed.”
“That might be the official story, but that’s not how the press will see it,” Jim said.
A small hint of fear entered Turner’s expression. “What?”
“The video of you and the girl is pretty damning, even though nothing actually happens,” Jim said. “But you pair that with a story and I think your life is over. At least in this town.”
“You can’t do that,” Turner said. “You can’t—”
“You answer my questions and I’ll consider keeping that video away from the press,” Jim said. “But who knows? Sometimes our systems are hacked and information is leaked.”
Turner stepped back, no longer emitting the same aggressive stance. He looked like a kid who’d been caught with a stash of dirty magazines.
Jim took Turner’s silence as cooperation, and he stepped forward. “What do you know about the convention that was happening at the center today?”
“I don’t work there anymore,” Turner answered.
“No, but you had intimate knowledge of the security detail of the event,” Jim said. “And I’m sure you saw the AMBER Alert that went out.”
Turner shrugged, but Jim could tell he was starting to sweat. “What does that have to do with me?”
Jim figured Turner would continue to deny his involvement with Ricky Teller’s disappearance. “The boy who was taken was a speaker at the convention center. An event in which you had detailed knowledge of the security, and this morning that security failed, resulting in the abduction of that little boy.”
Turner was sweating, and he slowly retreated down to the hallway that led to the back of the house. He was panicking. He was going to run.
“I didn’t have anything to do with that,” Turner said, his voice dry and hollow.
Jim readied himself to chase or fight. “Don’t do this the hard way, Turner. You can tell me what you know and help me save a little boy from a terrible fate.”
Turner licked his lips, mouth slightly agape, staring at Jim with a “deer caught in headlights” look that Jim had seen a thousand times. But he didn’t want Turner to run because that had the possibility for too many variables. Something could go wrong, which could cost Jim precious time, which Ricky Teller didn’t have.
“Turner,” Jim said, enunciating slowly. “Don’t do it.”
But the man already had the look in his eyes, and he was down the hall, sprinting toward the door before Jim could reach him in the hallway.
“He’s running!” Jim shouted, alerting Kerry to Turner’s movements.
Turner burst out of the back door, and Kerry swarmed him the moment he stepped outside. But he was so big that when Kerry threw her weight into Turner to bring him down, she only succeeded in causing him to stagger a few feet before he managed to right himself.
Kerry clung to Turner’s back, hanging on for dear life as Jim sprinted out the back door. He chased after him and reached Turner before he was at the fence.
With Kerry’s help, Jim managed to bring Turner to the ground and pinned his arms behind his back while Kerry handcuffed him.
“I didn’t do anything!” Turner screamed, his face a purplish red. “Fucking cops, let me go!”
“Yeah, you’re the picture of innocence,” Jim said, standing up and brushing the grass off of him, straightening out his shirt. “I told you I didn’t want to do this the hard way, but now you’re the prime suspect in the disappearance of Ricky Teller.”
“No!” Turner said. “Just wait; I want to make a deal!”
Jim and Kerry exchanged a glance
“What information do you have that we could possibly use?” Jim asked. “Especially after you were
so adamant about not knowing anything to begin with.”
“I was approached by someone, all right?” Turner said, still struggling to catch his breath.
“Who?” Jim asked.
“I tell you and I lose my leverage,” Turner said. “I want a lawyer, and then I tell you what I know.”
Jim and Kerry knew they couldn’t force Turner to talk, but Jim thought he might be able to speed up the process. He reached for his phone and accessed the security video the convention team had sent them, specifically the video that involved Turner speaking to the underage volunteer.
Once Jim had the clip up on his phone, he placed it into an email to the Seattle Times and then showed the clip to Turner.
“You don’t tell me now and this headlines tonight’s six o’clock news,” Jim said.
“You can’t do that,” Turner said, but he didn’t sound like he believed himself.
“I can do whatever I want,” Jim said. “And if you think for one second that I won’t risk getting into trouble to make sure a little boy gets to go home to his family, then you would be sadly mistaken.”
Turner and Jim held each other’s gaze, and then Turner lowered his head back onto the grass.
“Shit,” Turner said, and then he groaned. “Fine.”
“A name,” Jim said, still holding the phone up for Turner to see.
“It was the boy’s father,” Turner said.
Of all the names Jim expected to hear, Daniel Teller was low on the list.
“What proof do you have?” Jim asked.
“He wired me money,” Turner answered. “And I have emails from him. He used a different account, but I’m sure you could trace the account back to him.”
“And you can provide all of that to me?” Jim asked.
“Yes!” Turner yelled. “I don’t know why he did it, and I didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t steal any kid; I just made sure the security was compromised. That’s it, okay?”
Jim lingered next to Turner, looking for any sign the man was lying but saw none. Turner wasn’t sophisticated enough to come up with that on his own. And if it wasn’t Turner’s idea, then Daniel Teller could be the one pulling the strings.
