by James Hunt
Doctors and nurses rushed past Jim and into the room, immediately working on the girl. Five people in total worked to resuscitate her, and Jim stood helplessly by as he watched their efforts in vain.
All the while, the machine hooked up to the girl never stopped beeping, not even when all the doctors and nurses stood still, and the doctor checked the time on his watch.
“Time of death, 11:53 am,” he said.
The doctor ripped off his gloves and then threw them into the trash, the entire staff standing with their heads bowed, the girl lying lifeless on the hospital bed, and one of the nurses turned off the machine as the doctor pulled the sheet over the little girl’s peaceful expression.
Jim had never seen a doctor covering a body like that, not in this setting.
“Excuse me—” The mother returned, and the moment she stepped around Jim and saw the doctors and nurses in the room, she dropped the two popsicles onto the floor.
The doctors and nurses parted as the mother rushed forward, ripping the sheet down the doctor had just used to cover the little girl’s face.
“No,” the mother bemoaned. “No, no, no, Lacey. No, Lacey, oh God.” She hugged her little girl, using her body to shield her daughter from the other people in the room, even though everyone who was there meant to help.
“Mrs. Goodwin—”
“No!” the mother screamed as the doctor reached for her shoulder. “No, you can’t have her! You can’t!” she cried again, mumbling something that wasn’t coherent into the pillow her child was still resting on.
The doctors waited patiently for the mother to grieve.
“Jim,” Kerry said, calling him from down the hallway. “Marcia Teller’s done with her examinations.”
Jim nodded and then looked back to the room where the mother was still crying. That was a fate he wouldn’t allow Ricky Teller to experience. He was going to find him, no matter the cost. He was done informing parents of their child’s death.
Jim caught up to Kerry, the images of the little girl still fresh in his head, and refocused his attention on pulling the truth out of Marcia Teller.
“The doctor wanted to give us a rundown of her condition first,” Kerry said. “Then we can go in and see her.”
“Good,” Jim said. “I want to know exactly what happened.”
“Dr. Thorn,” Kerry said, and a heavyset man in his forties with scruff on his face and a bowl cut turned around with a clipboard in his hands. “This is my partner. What do you have for us?”
“Well,” Dr. Thorn said, glancing at the clipboard before he returned it to the plastic bin on the wall. “No broken bones, but she does have several contusions around her body. She was beaten with something, but I don’t know what. Hard enough to hurt, but not heavy enough to break a bone.”
“Has she said anything to you?” Jim asked.
“No,” Thorn answered. “She’s a little delirious, but aside from the bruising and the pain, she’s fine, at least from a medical standpoint.”
“We can speak to her now?” Kerry asked.
“Yes, you’re all cleared. Thank you for your patience,” Thorn answered, and then he joined a cluster of nurses walking past, moving on to the next patient.
Jim was amazed at the breakneck pace of the hospital. There was never a moment to catch their breath, never a moment to stop and take stock of what they had gone through. It was a pace that Jim had experienced himself, but there was an entire team of individuals here doing the work while Jim had chosen to work alone.
Maybe it was time to step back into the light and out of the shadows he had been hiding in for so long.
“Why don’t you take the lead on this one,” Jim said.
Kerry arched her eyebrows. “You’re sure?”
“I’m not… in a good headspace right now,” Jim answered, remembering the little girl and how the doctor had pulled the sheet over her. “I think I’d be more effective in watching her reactions. And you might be able to pull something more out of her than I could.”
“Okay,” Kerry said. “Sounds like a plan.”
Marcia Teller was lying in bed, hooked up to similar machines that the little girl had been plugged in to, though Marcia’s were still beeping in a steady rhythm.
“Mrs. Teller,” Kerry said, causing Marcia to open her eyes.
“Oh, thank God you’re finally here,” Marcia said, reaching for Kerry’s hand. “I was attacked.”
“Tell us what happened?” Kerry asked.
“I was leaving the lawyer’s office to finish up some contract work and was going to head straight back home to see if there were any updates on Ricky when I was kidnapped by a bunch of guys in a van,” Marcia said. “I think they’re the same people who took Ricky!”
“And what makes you say that?” Kerry asked.
Marcia stared down at her hands, fiddling with her fingers. “You’ll probably find out sooner or later, so I should just tell you now… I have a gambling problem. I’ve kept it hidden from my family for a long time, but after what’s happened, I think it’s time for me to come clean,” Marcia said.
“Come clean about what?” Kerry asked.
“I made a bet with money I don’t have,” Marcia answered.
“What about the money from the channel, the endorsements, and the events?” Kerry asked.
“It’s all gone,” Marcia said, starting to cry. “I thought I could get it back, but it’s all gone.” She sniffled and then gently dapped her swollen nose with a tissue.
“And exactly how did you gamble all of that money away?” Kerry asked. “I’m sure it didn’t happen overnight.”
Jim watched Marcia carefully. He found it interesting that her story lined up with what the father had told them, with one glaring detail: the money itself. Daniel had tried to orchestrate a catastrophe at the convention center to make Marcia look bad and gain some kind of monetary compensation after the divorce.
“Well, no, it’s been going on for a while,” Marcia said, still dabbing her nose, almost like it was a nervous tick. “Don’t you want to know who did this to me?”
“Did you know them?” Kerry asked.
“I did, yes,” Marcia answered. “It was the bookies I owed money to. They hired a bunch of guys to rough me up, and they told me they’d do the same thing to my son!” she shouted, clenching the tiny ball of tissue in her hand so tightly her knuckles blanched.
Jim listened as Marcia gave them the names. Kerry was writing it all down, and Jim figured they were real, but why Marcia Teller was giving this information to them now was the big question, and it was one Kerry wasn’t afraid to ask.
“Why didn’t you tell us about this before?” Kerry asked. “When your son was taken and we were looking for suspects, you didn’t think this information was important?”
“I was being selfish,” Marcia answered. “You know about my divorce, and I didn’t want to give Daniel anything he could use against me in court.” Marcia’s remorse looked genuine, but it was clear the Teller family knew how to put on a good show.
“I would have thought your son’s safety was more important than your reputation,” Kerry said. “We’re going to have a uniform come and take you downtown so we can ask you more questions. Maybe you and your husband could share a cell?”
Kerry turned to leave before Marcia could reply, and Jim followed her, leaving the beaten mother to contemplate her own moral choices.
“Can you believe these people?” Kerry asked.
“We need to run those names,” Jim answered.
“No, we don’t,” Kerry said. “I already know one of them. He was someone who used to run with my dad.”
“Does he know you?” Jim asked.
“He knows my name,” Kerry answered. “And right now, we have probable cause for a warrant, so he won’t have a choice but to talk to us.” She stared back at the room where Marcia was being held. “Maybe Jamison Kent was right. It really was the parents.”
“Maybe,” Jim said. “But I c
an’t help but feel there is something else they’re not telling us.” He checked the time and realized they had less than eight hours now left on the clock. “Let’s hope we can get these answers soon.”
13
Once Jim and Kerry collected a written statement officially signed by Marcia Teller about what happened to her, it wouldn’t take long to get a judge to sign off on a warrant to search the gambler’s place. But while they waited, Jim wanted to check on something with Missy back at the station.
“It’s crazy about the parents,” Missy said, eyes still glued to her computer screen. “I guess you never can underestimate the power of money.”
“And never underestimate the power of due diligence,” Jim said. “I want another set of eyes on the cases involving the Broker.”
“Am I looking for anything in particular?” Missy asked.
“Not necessarily,” Jim answered. “Anything that could be a pattern, or anything that stick out to you.”
Missy pulled up all twelve cases involving the Broker with their information spread across the six screens at her desk. “I’ve actually already compiled a list of known similarities, but I know how you like to see the raw data.”
“It’s no slight to you, Missy,” Jim said.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Missy said. “In fact, I don’t understand why more people don’t take the time to look at all the information. I appreciate the fact that you’re not lazy.”
Jim wasn’t sure if he should take that as a compliment or not, but he decided to. He studied the information on the screen. “Talk me through it.”
“Each of the children came from broken homes,” Missy said. “Divorce, separation, abuse, neglect, in some form or another. Even number of boys and girls were taken, and all of them were given the exact same phone, through the exact same means.”
“Right, and we can’t access the phones because of the encryption,” Jim said.
“But what we do have are the children’s testimonials after their recovery,” Missy said, and she pulled up the transcripts from each of those interviews. “In every instance, the Broker managed to have the child open up to them. These kids trusted the Broker.”
Jim studied the screen and remembered each of the interviews. All of the children Jim and Kerry rescued had felt betrayed over what happened. They had hoped the Broker, who had used a different name each time he had spoken with the children online, would be the person to save them from their horrible situation at home.
“He’s definitely a master manipulator,” Missy said. “He’s able to find out what the child wants more than anything and then uses that against them to make them think he’s the only one who can give it to them. It’s messed up.”
“He thinks himself superior to everyone he meets,” Jim said. “He’s someone with a twisted mind and a black heart.”
“Like I said, messed up,” Missy said. “He tries to make the kids believe it’s their fault that they’re not feeling well. He preys on their insecurities. He makes them think running away is their idea.”
Jim gestured to Ricky’s laptop, which they had brought over along with Ricky’s journal. “Anything useful on there?”
“Not really,” Missy answered. “The kid didn’t do anything but play video games and watch shows on the computer. No correspondence with the Broker on that device that I can tell, but I’ll keep looking.”
“Good,” Jim said. “I doubt we’ll get lucky, but who knows. Keep scouring, and let me know what you find.”
“Will do,” Missy said.
Jim left Missy to her work and then returned to his desk. Kerry was still on the phone with the DA’s office as they waited for the final approval of the warrant. Once that came through, they’d be paying a visit to the bookies who had beat up Mrs. Teller.
Jim logged into the file Missy had created for the Teller case and reviewed the evidence they had so far. Turner was paid by Mr. Teller to lower the security at the convention center in order to make a case against his wife in court, whom he was divorcing, and both were keeping it a secret from their son who was responsible for the millions of dollars that were made and then secretly gambled away by Mrs. Teller who had a gambling addiction.
However, unbeknownst to his parents, Ricky knew about the divorce. Children were surprisingly perceptive, and if that was information Ricky had shared with the Broker, it was no doubt used against him.
There was nothing more emotionally sensitive to a child than their relationship with their parents, especially if it was a situation where the child and parent connection was already troubled. And for a boy whose sole responsibility was to make money for the family so they could survive, that was a befuddled relation.
Jim imagined how the Broker would do it, slipping into the child’s mind. He could see Ricky’s insecurity, the way he was constantly paraded in front of people, expected to perform. He imagined the Broker would feed into that pain, the loneliness of it all. How Ricky couldn’t confide in anyone.
Not until the Broker came along. Here was someone who was inviting and reassuring in a way Ricky’s parents were not. Jim had been one of those children when he was in the foster system. Despite all of his anger, he still wanted to believe there were adults out there that he could trust.
“Yeah, okay,” Kerry said. “Just speed it up.” She hung up, flustered, and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“What’s wrong?” Jim asked.
“The DA is having trouble finding a judge to sign the warrant,” Kerry said.
“Why?”
“Apparently, the crime syndicate Marcia Teller was involved in is part of a larger federal investigation,” Kerry answered. “The DA doesn’t want to jeopardize pissing off the Feds by going after these people now.”
Jim stood and headed for the lieutenant’s office. He poked his head through the open door, knocking to catch Mullocks’s attention. “L-T, we hit a roadblock.”
Mullocks paused her work. “What’s going on?”
Jim filled her in on the situation as Kerry joined them in the office. “We were hoping you might be able to pull some of your FBI strings.”
Mullocks crossed her arms. “You’re sure about this gambling lead?”
“Not one hundred percent,” Jim answered. “But right now, it’s the best lead we have.”
Mullocks reached for the box of strawberry Pop-Tarts on her desk and pulled one from the packaging. “I could make a call, but I need something concrete to give them.” She bit into the pastry, crumbs falling over her desk and lap.
“What will it take?” Kerry asked.
“I would think capturing the Broker would be enough,” Jim said. “The man is responsible for one death and thirteen abductions to date.”
“But finding Ricky Teller won’t necessarily lead to finding the Broker,” Mullocks said. “Give me something more, and I’ll make the call.”
Jim grunted in frustration, and then he and Kerry returned to their desks. Both of them sat forward, thinking of how to proceed.
“We could wait until the DA finds a judge?” Kerry asked.
“No, if the FBI is involved, there won’t be a judge who will sign off on it,” Jim said. “They won’t want to hurt the big picture.” He drummed his fingers. “If the FBI is building a case, maybe we can help speed things along?”
“How?” Kerry asked.
“Follow me,” Jim answered.
The fifth precinct was home to several different detective divisions. Jim and Kerry handled missing persons, but there were also detectives who handled homicides, home invasion and burglary, and the VICE unit.
Detectives Connie Loughlin and Glenn Ruthers were veterans in their field. Between the two of them, they had over thirty years of experience dealing with drugs, guns, prostitution, and gambling.
“Connie, Glenn,” Jim said, catching their attention, “I need some information.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place,” Glenn said. “I’m a fountain of knowledge.”
&nb
sp; Glenn Ruthers had the appearance of an aging rockstar—tattoos covered his arms and crawled up his neck. He was fit for his age and always wore skintight shirts to showcase his physique.
“And anything he doesn’t know, I do,” Connie replied.
Connie was slightly younger than Glenn, sporting a pixie haircut and a few piercings. She was built wiry, lean and tall.
“What can you tell us about Vincent Marcus?” Jim asked.
Connie and Glenn exchanged a look, dropping the playful act.
“He’s a clever bastard I’ve been after since I earned my shield,” Glenn answered. “You telling me you’ve got something on him?”
“I might, but first, I need information about him,” Jim answered. “What can you tell me?”
“He started out as an enforcer for a local bookie,” Glenn said. “That was about thirty years ago. Since then, he’s risen through the ranks and developed a reputation for being heavy-handed for those who couldn’t pay their debts.”
“You remember the jockey who was busted for betting on the Kentucky Derby ten years ago?” Connie asked. “Well, our boy Vinnie was the guy who made sure the jockey went down alone.”
“We couldn’t ever prove it, but I know Vincent threatened the jockey’s family,” Glenn said. “But everyone was so terrified by the guy that they didn’t dare cross him. That was his style back in the day. Sheer terror for the sake of compliance.”
“Sounds like a real charmer,” Kerry said.
“He’s calmed down a lot in recent years,” Glenn said. “He’s even tried to go legitimate with a few business ventures, but he can’t break old habits and still handles illegal bets on the side.” He held up his hand and formed a narrow gap between his forefinger and thumb. “I’ve been this close to bringing him up on charges a half dozen times, but every time I do, his lawyer always manages to bail him out. It’s infuriating.”
“So you have a file for him?” Jim asked.
Glenn scoffed and then walked over to a filing cabinet. “I have an entire drawer for him.” He slapped the top of the cabinet and leaned up against it. “Now, what do you want with ol’ Vinnie?”
