Bannon Brothers

by Janet Dailey

  And that Randall wasn’t necessarily the real family name.

  He’d have to hit some databases, maybe call in a couple of favors on the federal side through Linc or Deke.

  Bannon sifted through the copied papers of the Montgomery files several more times, looking for something he might have missed, setting aside anything, no matter how minor, that concerned the little girl. Crimes of this type often involved crossing state lines. He and everyone else with a badge in the state of Virginia had sat through talks on the subject by federal officers and the occasional criminologist, but Bannon had listened more than most, studied up on his own time when he could. Child predators wanted sex; child abductors sometimes just wanted a child. But those lines blurred.

  Before he’d made detective, he’d been schooled some by a grizzled veteran of the state police on the grim truths of crimes against children. Sometimes the victim is killed within an hour or less. Sometimes not. Some kids are kept for years, until they forget their own names.

  What else had the man said?

  Sometimes there’s more than one perp, especially in abduction cases. Easier to take a kid if a woman’s involved.

  One trick the old guy had shared was that it could help to put yourself in the shoes of an abductor or predator. Set aside the concept of right and wrong. Adopt the twisted logic of a psychopath and think like one. Then look at the clues again with that mindset.

  Bannon would try to.

  He had very little to go on, but the most likely scenario was that there had been two people involved in the Montgomery kidnapping. A woman to keep the little girl from becoming too frightened and screaming. A man to take care of the rest.

  But there were no details to go on. In the months the case had been headline news, virtually no physical evidence relating to Ann’s disappearance had turned up. Reviewing everything spread out on the coffee table once more didn’t reveal points of connection he’d missed.

  But he wasn’t going to dismiss his instincts. He had more digging to do, that was all, in places other than the official files. Bannon rubbed his forehead. He’d have to search county records, libraries, look through bound copies of newspaper accounts in those years—grunt work. Not thrilling. But he would do it.

  He sat back into the couch cushions and closed his eyes, constructing scenarios in his mind, interweaving theme and variations, methods and motive.

  A pair of child abductors had snatched a little girl from a rich family, reasons unknown. They had never asked for a ransom. The whirlwind of media attention could have panicked them into killing little Ann, most likely within a few days of taking her.

  Think like them.

  The idea was loathsome, but he forced himself to do it.

  They hadn’t wanted money. They had wanted a child young enough to forget where she came from. And they had left no trace, a sign of meticulous planning. Ann had been taken in the night, when the household was asleep.

  But why would anyone assume they could get away with kidnapping the only daughter of the Montgomerys? For the perpetrators, there had to have been an element of challenge to the crime. To Bannon, that suggested a high degree of intelligence.

  Ann Montgomery had been taken in a more innocent time, before nationwide Amber Alerts. The abduction had been all over the newspapers, but that didn’t mean the investigation was everything it should have been.

  Then and now, kids vanished without kidnappers. Off the record, the officers involved could have seen the case not as an abduction but a simple disappearance, especially without a body and or any apparent clues. A curious child wandered out of bed and out the door. It did happen. Lost in the woods. Swept away by a rising creek in a nameless gully. Trapped in the twists of a hidden cave at the back of a rock overhang.

  Missing, presumed dead.

  It was a routine phrase for official documents. Still, it nagged at him. It was the first thing he’d read on the Montgomery case. Had the original investigators been too quick to jump to that conclusion? Bannon had no way of knowing.

  He pushed himself up and off the couch, afraid he was overthinking things. Sure, his scenario was plausible, as far as it went, but believing it instead of finding out facts wasn’t going to get him anywhere. The way certain elements of Erin’s story fit his theory—that could trip him up, big time.

  Bannon found his cell phone and punched the speed dial key for her number as he walked to the window. It was a nice day. She might be outside. He was pleased when she answered before the last ring on his side of the call.

  “Hey.” She sounded happy to hear from him. “I was just going to call you.”

  “Yeah? Then I must be psychic.”

  Erin laughed warmly—the sound that did something to his heart. “Were you thinking about a big black dog?”

  “Uh, no,” he said honestly. “But is Charlie okay?”

  “Oh, he’s fine,” she assured him. “But I was going to get started on the painting for Montgomery today. I can’t bring Charlie to the stables and I don’t know how long I’ll be there. So it just occurred to me—if you happened to be driving out this way—”

  “Yes,” he said instantly.

  Erin laughed again. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

  “I don’t care. I just like saying yes to you.”

  “Be careful, Bannon. I might take advantage of you.”

  “Please do. Whenever. So you want me to walk the dog? No problem. Over the hills and through the woods. I’ll even check him for ticks afterward.”

  “Charlie, did you hear that?” Her voice was distant for a few seconds as she spoke to the dog. “Bannon’s a good guy.”

  “I try,” he said. He felt a little guilty for not asking her if he could look at the card she’d tucked back into the scrapbook. He was just going to do it. “When are you leaving?” he asked.

  “In fifteen minutes.”

  He frowned. That was sooner than he could get there. “Okay. I’ll be out there in half an hour.”

  “Sorry to miss you.” Her voice held a seductive, faintly teasing note.

  “Yeah. Well, I have a lot of things to do. Another time, right?”

  “You bet. I’ll make dinner.”

  Bannon grinned. “Sounds great. Tell me when.”

  “As soon as I go food shopping. We’ll figure it out. Oh, by the way, before I forget, the key will be under the mat.”

  “You might as well leave the door wide open,” he said wryly.

  “Okay, it’s dumb, but I can’t think of a better place.”

  “Then maybe I can get out there a little sooner.” He could practically hear her sigh.

  “I’ll be gone. Thanks again, Bannon. I really appreciate it. And so does Charlie.”

  She hung up and Bannon grabbed his car keys and a jacket. It had been years since he’d gotten a speeding ticket. If he got pulled over, he’d flash his badge at the highway patrol officer, say he was on a case. If the guy didn’t buy it, so what? Keeping Erin safe was worth a few points on his license.

  Her car was nowhere in sight as he drove up to the house. What he’d expected, but he felt a pang knowing she was gone, even though he’d have the house to himself.

  Charlie’s deep bark came to his ears as he got out and slammed the car door. It was a good sound. Intimidating.

  He glanced through the driver-side window, remembering the laptop he’d strapped to the passenger seat so it wouldn’t bounce around on the road. Bannon opened the door again and moved the laptop to the footwell, and then locked the door. You never knew.

  He saw the dog move from window to window inside the house as he walked around outside, doing a perimeter check for the hell of it. Everything looked okay.

  Charlie must have caught a whiff of his scent through the rattletrap windows, because he stopped barking by the time Bannon got to the rear windows. From where he was, about fifteen feet away, he could see in pretty well. The dog had his paws up on the windowsill and was grinning at him.


  “Yeah, you’re going for a walk,” Bannon said. He gave everything a once-over and then his gaze was caught by white bits of something on the ground under the windows. He went closer to have a look-see, squatting on his haunches to touch a finger to the dirt and pick up a couple of the white bits.

  They were paint flakes. He straightened and inspected the old panes and the frames, paying particular attention to where the upper window met the lower.

  On the other side of the glass, Charlie followed his motions. “Down, boy,” Bannon said. The dog might have pushed against the windows, loosened the old paint. Hard to tell. There were no marks on the exterior wood, nothing that showed an attempt at forced entry. He ran his fingertips over every inch of the frame that he could reach, feeling for what he might not be able to see.

  A couple of places flaked under his touch and more white bits fell to the ground. Inconclusive. But it worried him. Bannon stepped back. From a distance, everything looked fine again.

  He turned around and headed back to the front door, letting his gaze sweep over the surrounding land. The gently rolling acres blended into the brushstrokes of green that brightened the woods. Spring was coming on strong. Above it all the Blue Ridge loomed, gradually diminishing toward the north and south.

  He came around the corner of the house, went up the porch stairs, and bent down to raise the mat and retrieve the key. Unlocked, the door swung in and there was Charlie, sitting firmly like the well-trained dog he was, ears up and alert. His tail just barely wagged.

  “At ease,” Bannon said jokingly. He covered the distance to the dog and gave him some solid pats. Charlie scrambled to all fours, shamelessly making the most of the unexpected attention until it stopped.

  Bannon straightened and turned his head, suddenly aware of a faint, very feminine scent in the air—the sweet essence of Erin. He guessed that it was wafting from her bedroom, brought to him by a drafty window. The door of her sanctuary was slightly ajar. Maybe she had left the cap off a perfume bottle.

  He could just see inside, but he forced himself not to look.

  Desperately in need of a distraction, Bannon glanced around for the dog’s leash. Not that he would need it for Charlie. But one thing for sure, it wasn’t in her bedroom. He spotted it on a hook by the front door and grabbed it, yanking open the door. He was nothing but a hound dog himself.

  He and Charlie set out in the same direction that Erin had taken him before, ambling over fields that were a little muddy, then running where it was drier. Bannon sucked in deep breaths, enjoying the freshness of the air. He stopped for a little while, warming his hands in his pockets as Charlie found something unbelievably interesting to sniff. Bannon surveyed Erin’s house from this new vantage point.

  His fingers found the key he’d taken along. It bothered him that she’d left it under the mat, even though she’d done it for him. Granted, she’d grown up in the country, but things had changed. There were no safe places left in the world.

  Charlie brushed by his leg and Bannon realized the dog was heading back to the house. He followed, wanting to get back in himself. True to his promise, he checked the dog for ticks and found none before he opened the front door for both of them.

  The big dog padded to a rug that had to be his favorite, judging by the way he thumped down on it and stretched out.

  “Did I wear you out?” Bannon asked.

  A heavy black tail pounded in answer. Charlie raised his head to look at Bannon.

  “Lie down,” he said. He was heading for the box that held the scrapbook and he didn’t want to be watched by the dog. Charlie obeyed.

  He found it quickly, flipping through the pages once he had the scrapbook on a table. The birth certificate and its little footprints caught his eye. Bannon paused there, reading the information on the form more closely.

  Slipping a finger under the plastic, he eased the form out, remembering that there were two copies when he saw an identical one beneath the first. He inspected the embossed official seal. It would be easy to find the hospital where she’d been born so he could compare hers to her brother’s, see if it all matched.

  If the addresses were different, he’d have more leads and other people to talk to. Shouldn’t be a problem. Flashing tin at nervous clerks had netted him a lot of useful documents in the past.

  Yes, sir. Happy to help. Bow and scrape.

  He didn’t mind taking advantage of minor bureaucrats.

  Bannon flipped through more pages, looking intently at the photos, and then finding the handcrafted card. That he took over to the light. The handwriting was wobbly, with none of the polish of the calligraphy on the store-bought card. But there were those same damn words. His brows knitted as he stared at them.

  The soft sound of the dog exhaling was enough to startle him. But Charlie was asleep.

  Great. No witnesses, he thought wryly. But he hated to take even scraps of paper from her without asking. His gaze moved over the shelves and settled on a row of bulky shapes surrounding her widescreen monitor. Scanner. Backup hard drive. And a printer-slash-copier, exactly what he needed.

  He pressed the power button on the printer-copier. A small green light came on. Then he checked the paper tray. Almost full, good to go. He slid the birth certificate onto the glass and pressed the start button, then took it out and photocopied the card.

  Doing both took less than a minute, although it didn’t entirely ease his conscience. He folded the copies and tucked them into his shirt pocket. Then Bannon stepped over Charlie, heading for the table where he’d left the scrapbook. He put both originals back exactly as he’d found them, trying to make no noise with the protective plastic, and closed the book. Once it was safely back in the box and that put away, he left, pulling the door shut behind him and locking it.

  Bannon squatted down to replace the key under the mat. Then he took off, not pulling over until he reached a town that was big enough for him to pick up a decent wi-fi signal in the parking lot of a new-looking strip mall. He reached into his pocket and unfolded the copies he’d made, entering the name of the hospital on the birth certificate in the search bar.

  A couple of hits appeared way down on page five of the search results.

  Just as he’d thought. The hospital was no longer in existence. No biggie. He clicked on a bookmarked database for paramedics and first responders and keyed in a couple of useful codes, then spent about thirty minutes figuring out where the hospital’s paper records had ended up.

  At yet another hospital. Not at the same location. Farther away. Bannon pulled up a map, memorized it, then shut down the laptop and headed that way

  An hour later, he was walking through basement corridors that gleamed under narrow bars of fluorescent light, to the records department. He could see the door from where he was—a half door with a section of counter built in to it. The bottom part was closed and the top part had been left open.

  The sound of his footsteps got someone’s attention in there. A balding man in a shirt that was too large for him reached the other side of the door just as Bannon was about to knock on the counter.

  “May I help you?”

  “I hope so.” Bannon reached for his badge and opened the flat leather case that held it, putting his thumb over the name on his ID. The clerk didn’t seem to notice that little maneuver, even though his eyes widened at the sight of the badge.

  “What do you need, Officer?”

  Bannon gave him an amiable smile. “Nothing too difficult. I’m trying to track down a birth certificate for a baby boy.”

  “What kind of case is it?” the clerk asked eagerly. “I watch all the police shows. True crime too.”

  Bannon nodded. “It isn’t anything exciting. Sorry.” He reached into his shirt pocket and unfolded the photocopy of Erin’s birth certificate. “The boy was her brother. He died before she was born, and that was, oh, twenty-seven years ago.”

  The clerk whipped a pad onto the counter and made notes as he read the information on Erin’s c
ertificate. “Male child’s age at death?”

  “Under two years,” Bannon answered.

  The clerk did a little math. “Then that would be more than thirty years ago. Goodness. That block of files is a little disorganized, but I think I can help you. May I use this for reference?” He held up Erin’s birth certificate.

  Couldn’t the guy remember a name like Randall? For some reason, Bannon was reluctant to let go of the copy. But all he said was, “Of course.”

  The clerk folded it in half and pointed the pencil at him. “One more thing. Do you know the birth month of the male child?”

  “No. This is just to confirm a couple of details. Like I said, nothing exciting.”

  “Is that all you need? I could get you a death certificate,” the clerk offered. “That is, if the decedent had been admitted to the old hospital. If not, then he’s not in the system. The female child will be, of course. But you have that certificate.”

  Male child. Female child. Decedent. Not in the system. The clerk’s officiousness annoyed Bannon, who tried not to show it. The guy couldn’t be making much of a living at a job like this, so maybe he had to make what he did sound important.

  “You could also obtain a copy from the county bureau of records,” the man was saying.

  Something he hadn’t thought of. It might be interesting. “Let’s start with the birth certificate,” Bannon replied.

  The clerk pushed a pen and several forms at him that asked questions about who he was and why he was requesting the certificates. For something to do while he waited for Bannon to fill in the blanks, the clerk got busy feeding pencils into a whining electric sharpener near the counter part of the door.

  The noise made Bannon grit his teeth. And the forms made him reach for his wallet. Given that he hadn’t been officially reinstated, he didn’t feel like answering any questions. He took out a fifty, slapped it down on the forms, and pushed them back toward the clerk.