by James Hunt
“What?” Kerry asked.
Missy pulled up the account, and Kerry was shocked to find photos of her daughter and her friends. Thankfully, there wasn’t anything inappropriate, just girls her age doing silly things.
“It looks like she uses this mostly for messaging with her friends,” Missy said. “And she also talks to boys, but it was all very PG,” she added very quickly.
“I’ll have to have a talk with her about this,” Kerry said. “Does any of this information help us?”
“It doesn’t seem like the predator tried to contact your daughter in any way,” Missy said. “Which is a good thing for her but bad for gathering more evidence. I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on all their online activity, though, to make sure they’re not making contact.”
“Thanks,” Kerry said.
“And the same goes for your foster family, Jim,” Missy replied. “Though only some of the older kids have any social media accounts that I could find, and our predator seems to tap out at anything older than twelve.”
“Do we have any good news?” Mullocks asked.
“Your families are still alive,” Missy answered.
“Right,” Jim said. “Thanks, Missy.”
Even with her family safe, Kerry couldn’t help but worry. She paced nervously once they returned to Mullocks’ office where it was just her, Jim, and the lieutenant.
“We need to consider taking you two off the case,” Mullocks said.
“Lieutenant—”
“No, Jim,” Mullocks said. “This is getting too personal for both of you.”
It had been exactly what Kerry had wanted to hear, a way out. She had been tormented over these cases for the past three months, and now it was affecting the safety of her family.
“Kerry,” Jim said, looking to his partner, “we have to stay the course.”
She knew Jim was looking for her to help him out, but all she could see was Amy Fuller, the girl she couldn’t save, lying face down with a plastic bag over her head, the pair of dead eyes fixed on a random spot in the room.
“I can’t let my children be hurt because of me, Jim,” Kerry said.
“It’s not because of you,” Jim said, looking between Mullocks and Kerry. “This is all because of one man, and if we walk away now, we’re sending a clear message to him that what he is doing is working. We are still the best people to handle this case. We are still the only ones who can see this through to the end. Do you really want the fate of your family in someone else’s hands?”
Jim had a point. Kerry trusted herself to take care of her family more than anyone else she knew. She might fear for her family’s life, but she and Jim were still the best detectives to handle this.
“He’s right, Lieutenant,” Kerry said. “I don’t want him to be right, but he is. Keep us on. We’ll figure this out. And I trust the department to help keep my family safe.”
It was a far cry from how Kerry felt about the rest of the department years ago, but she knew she had earned the respect of her peers through her dedication to the job. And what would she be saying to them, and to her family, if she walked away now?
But none of that mattered if Mullocks didn’t leave them on the case.
“Susan,” Kerry said, dropping the formalities with the lieutenant, “if I’m going to put my child’s life in someone’s hands, I want it to be mine. I know you’d feel the same way about your child.”
“I can’t argue that,” Mullocks said, and then she shook her head. “I won’t take it away from you.” She walked over to them, moving closer. “But you need to get this kid home, and we need to find the Broker. The longer this goes on, the more unstable the situation becomes.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Jim said.
“I’ll get a team over to Jamison’s house,” Mullocks said. “We need to make sure this guy doesn’t try to make a run for it.”
“All units, be advised to converge at 1213 Maple Drive,” Jim said, speaking into the radio as Kerry accelerated quickly through traffic, the lights from their interceptor flashing against the vehicles they passed. “Suspect is Jamison Kent, age thirty-nine, and should be considered dangerous and unstable.”
Kerry weaved around a van that refused to get off the side of the road, and she laid on her horn to make sure the driver heard her.
“We believe Kent has recent missing child, Ricky Teller, in his custody,” Jim said.
“Copy that, unit twenty-two,” Dispatch said. “Command is setting up a perimeter, and you will have air support in fifteen.”
Jim took his thumb off the button. “How much longer until we get there?”
Kerry made a hard right, then another hard left, and she cleared her throat. “It shouldn’t be more than ten unless these idiots don’t get off the road.”
“Unit twenty-two, come in,” Dispatch said.
“Go for twenty-two,” Jim said.
“SWAT is in route,” Dispatch said. “ETA ten minutes.”
“Copy, tell SWAT to engage immediately,” Jim said. “I repeat, immediate engagement.”
“Copy,” Dispatch said.
Jim relaxed his grip on the speaker and then looked to Kerry, who was white-knuckling the steering wheel. “You don’t think—”
“I don’t know,” Kerry said. “I hope not, but I don’t know.”
Because of the money involved, Jim didn’t think Kent would be crazy enough to hurt the kid, but after everything they’d seen and experienced during these cases to date, Jim wasn’t sure if that were true or not. And he knew that neither he nor Kerry wanted to go down another dark road like they had with Amy Fuller.
Jim paid attention to the radio as Kerry pulled off the exit that would take them to Kent’s address.
“SWAT just arrived,” Jim said. “They’re gearing up.”
Kerry exhaled, and she continued her breakneck pace toward Kent’s residence. The only thing that filled Kerry’s mind was the image of Amy Fuller on the floor, naked with a bag over her head, a pair of lifeless eyes staring up.
“I don’t want to lose them,” Kerry said.
“Don’t think about it,” Jim said. “Just focus on what happens next. We get to the house, we find out the situation with SWAT, and we reassess, but none of that matters if you end up crashing before we arrive. So just focus on the road.”
“Right,” Kerry said, and she swallowed. “Okay, I can do that.”
Kerry focused on moving through traffic as quickly and efficiently as possible. If she second-guessed herself before they even arrived, then there was no telling what they might lose. Now was not the time to lack confidence. She needed to trust herself. She needed to trust her partner and the rest of her peers.
“Unit twenty-two, SWAT is on scene,” Dispatch said. “They are moving into the house now. I’m patching you in to their feed now.”
Jim leaned forward, bracing his arm against the dash as if they were going to crash, and depending on the news that came next, they just might.
“This is unit one, approaching the front door. Unit two, are you in position?” The voice sounded grainy over the radio, but it was being filtered through two systems.
“Copy, unit one, unit two is in position.”
“Breach on three, two, one, breach, breach, breach!”
What followed over the radio was a mixture of heavy footfalls, breathing, and random shots as the SWAT team moved through Kent’s house.
“There,” Jim said, spotting the house and the police vehicles that had swarmed the place outside.
Kerry barely slowed down as the officer at the end of the drive waved them forward when he saw the lights. Kerry pulled up right behind the SWAT van parked near the front entrance.
“Hands up! Hands up!”
Jim and Kerry exchanged a glance. Their heart rates elevated, their breaths quickening. Jim didn’t bother to check over the radio to see the situation. Instead, he and Kerry jumped out of the vehicles and sprinted toward the rundown house Kent called home.
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All Jim and Kerry thought about was how this situation mirrored what had happened with Amy Fuller. How close they had come only to find that it was too late.
But when Jim and Kerry entered the home and found the cluster of SWAT agents clogging the hallway, it took all of Jim’s strength not to push them aside with force to get him there, but he knew that wouldn’t help anything.
“What’s going on?” Jim asked the nearest SWAT agent.
“Suspect is inside with the kid,” the officer answered.
“Is he alive?” Kerry asked.
“For now,” the officer answered.
Jim and Kerry took it as a small victory, but they wouldn't rest easy until they had Ricky Teller back in custody.
“Let us through,” Jim said.
The SWAT team moved aside as Jim and Kerry made their way forward. When they turned the corner from the hallway into the room, Jim and Kerry raised their pistols to find the SWAT sergeant with one of his men in the room.
Jamison Kent had Ricky Teller held up against his chest. Wrapped around them was a vest of C-4. And Jamison had his finger on a dead man’s trigger. The arm not holding the detonator had Ricky in a chokehold, with a knife in his hand.
“Oh my God,” Kerry whispered only loud enough for Jim to hear.
“Let Ricky go, Jamison,” Jim said.
Kent was drenched in sweat, his hair glued to the top of his forehead. He was shirtless, save for the vest of C-4, and wore sweatpants. Ricky was fully clothed, but he had been crying, his eyes bloodshot red.
“I can’t,” Kent said. “This is the only thing that’s going to change the way it works. People only respond to violence, don’t you get that?”
“What I get is that you have an innocent kid in your arms, with a bomb strapped to your chest,” Jim answered. “That goes against everything you said you stood for. You said you wanted to help kids like Ricky.”
“And you don’t think that is what I’m doing?” Kent asked. “You already know about his mother, right? She sold him out! She’s the whole reason he’s here with me, and for what? Money?” He laughed, his pitch manic and piercing. “No child should have to go through that.”
“You’re right,” Jim said. “But this isn’t the way to do it. Ricky deserves a chance to live a life, just like you did.”
“And what kind of life have I lived, huh?” Kent asked. “You’ve seen me in the tabloids. Everyone knows what a piece of garbage I am!”
Jim’s focus was split between Kent and the dead man’s trigger in his hand. If anyone put a bullet in Kent before they disarmed that vest, then everyone in the room was dead.
“You’re not garbage,” Jim said. “You just had a tough go of it, but you’ve turned it around, right?”
Kent shook his head, keeping Ricky close to his chest, tears filling his eyes again. “You don’t understand. You’re not a father or a parent.”
“But I’ve had shitty parents,” Jim said. “I know what it’s like to be abused.”
“But you didn’t have your shame plastered all over the news,” Kent replied.
“I did,” Kerry replied, and she stepped forward, lowering her weapon. “I had my family’s shame plastered all over the news. I was vilified.”
“Kerry—”
Kerry held up her hand back to Jim, quieting him. She held all of her attention and focus on Kent.
“You’re talking about your father,” Kent said. “The cop.”
“That’s right,” Kerry said. “Once his secrets got out, it ruined my family. People threatened us; they called us every name under the sun.”
“They thought they owned you,” Kent said, connecting with Kerry.
“That’s right,” Kerry said. “They did. People I never even met before, they would come up to me and think they had the right to call me whatever they wanted. I was just a kid at the time, but I never forgot how it made me feel. Powerless.”
“Yes,” Kent replied, whispering like a man who had finally found water after wandering in the desert. “Powerless. And they’re never afraid to shove that fact in your face. They never let you regret it or live it down.”
“No,” Kerry said. “They don’t, so why don’t we talk, just you and me.”
Jim stepped forward, realizing what Kerry was about to do, but the SWAT sergeant was ahead of her.
“Detective, we cannot—”
“Yes, you can,” Kerry said sternly. “You need to give us some time. There’s a lot we need to discuss.” She looked back to Kent. “Right?”
Kent still looked like he was on the verge of losing his mind, but the communication with Kerry seemed to help him calm at least a little, and in a negotiation this tense, they had to take what they could get.
The SWAT sergeant looked back to Jim, who nodded in agreement. He squeezed his radio and then slowly retreated. “Units, stand down. I repeat, stand down.”
Once the SWAT officers were out of the room, Kerry looked at Jim.
“Go,” Kerry said.
Jim hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Kerry alone with this madman, but if Jim tried to contradict Kerry now, she would lose what little credibility she had with Kent. So, against his better judgment, he lowered his weapon and closed the door on his way out, praying Kerry knew what she was getting into.
Once the door clicked shut, Kerry realized the danger of the situation. She had gone completely off book on this, but it was the only thing she believed would be able to work should all of this go south, and she prayed she could pull something off. But not to recognize the danger she had put herself—and Ricky—in, and everyone still in the house, would be a foolish and costly mistake.
She needed to tread lightly.
“So,” Kent said. “You understand what I’m doing here? What I’m trying to accomplish?”
Kerry chose her words carefully. She couldn’t outright agree with Kent because she didn’t want to embolden him, but if she were too harsh with him, he might lose his temper and try to detonate the bomb. There was no telling how unstable Kent was in this current moment.
“You’re trying to help,” Kerry said, keeping her support vague.
“That’s right,” Kent replied, smiling. “You do understand.”
Kerry realized she hadn’t come up with a plan beyond this, and she needed to figure out a way she would be able to talk Kent down from the ledge he was teetering on.
“I think it might be helpful to let Ricky go,” Kerry said.
Kent tensed again and took a step back. “Is that all this is to you? A way to get the boy back so you can shoot me?” He raised the detonator in his hand, and all Kerry thought was how easy it would be for his finger to release the trigger and then boom.
Kerry shook her head. “No, no, of course not.” She knew the weapon wasn’t going to help her at all, so she set the pistol down on a chair to her right, then kept both of her hands up so Jamison could see them. “See? No gun. I’m here to help, that’s all.”
Jamison looked at the pistol in the chair and then back to Kerry. He relaxed.
Kerry wouldn’t benefit from a prolonged engagement with Jamison. She needed to stop him quickly.
“How is Ricky doing?” Kerry asked. “I’m sure he’s scared.”
Jamison looked down at Ricky, who was still whimpering and quivering. The boy was white as a sheet, sweaty, trembling. He looked like he wanted his mother.
“He’s okay,” Jamison said. “He understands that I’m trying to help—that we’re trying to help. Don’t you?”
Ricky nodded, and Kerry couldn’t help but be amazed at how intuitive and brave the boy was in the moment.
“Could we give him a break for a minute?” Kerry asked. “Since it’s just you and me?”
Jamison grew skeptical but not as angry this time, and Kerry kept pushing.
“You still have the bomb, Jamison,” Kerry said. “Even if he’s not at your side, anyone in this room would die if you took your finger off the trigger.”
Jamis
on stared at the trigger in his hand and then cleared his throat. “All right.” Slowly, he released Ricky, and the boy relaxed a little bit.
Kerry was glad Ricky didn’t come running to her. Any sudden movement could make Jamison nervous and he might blow the trigger out of fear or a mistake.
“There,” Jamison said. “Better?”
Ricky nodded, but he was still trembling. Kerry didn’t know how much longer this was going to last before SWAT decided to call an audible. She needed to get close enough to keep her hand over the trigger.
“So,” Kerry said. “We need to talk about how we’re going to get out of here.”
“Out of here?” Jamison asked. “No one is going anywhere.”
“I thought the point of this was to create awareness?” Kerry asked. “I thought you wanted to make a statement?”
“I do, and we will,” Jamison answered. “Because when the world is watching, I will make my final demands, and then I will blow us all sky high.”
The moment Jim was out of the room, he led the SWAT team back outside where a command center had been set up.
“What the hell was that, Jim?” Sergeant Martinez asked. “That was not protocol. That was reckless, and now we don’t have any eyes inside!”
“We do have eyes,” Jim said, trying to remain calm. “Kerry isn’t going to do anything rash.”
“She doesn’t have the training to handle something like this!” Martinez yelled. “If this goes south, it is your ass. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” Jim answered.
Jim glanced back out to the street where the perimeter had been set up. News vans were showing up, and Jim knew this was exactly the kind of spotlight Jamison craved. “Here comes the attention he wanted.” He jogged down to the officers on the perimeter. “You need to get the news crews to hold off.”
The officers laughed. “You’re joking, right? We don’t have the authority to do that?”
“Just stall them,” Jim answered. “We’ll get shit from the ACLU, but the moment our suspect has the spotlight, we run out of bargaining room, okay? So, go!”
