Amber Alert

by Patrick Logan

  "We've already interviewed the parents of the missing girls and have traced their last known movements. But as I said before, a new set of eyes with different experiences might help shed some light on this. What I propose is that Agent Adams comes with me, and Agent Stitts goes with Jordan. That way we can divide and conquer. Jordan and I are both familiar with the landscape, the local law enforcement, and we met the parents before — should make everyone more comfortable than if you guys go in alone. What you think?"

  The man looked to Chase for a reply.

  She shrugged.

  "I say let's get on with it."

  ***

  "You want me to lead?" Terrence asked as he parked outside Stacy Peterson’s home.

  Chase shook her head.

  "It might be better coming from me… given my past.”

  Terrence turned to face her.

  "I don't want to sound condescending, but I know a little bit about what you're going through.”

  Chase squinted, feeling a whole dose of mansplaining coming on.

  “Before you lash out,” Terrence continued, “let me explain.”

  He reminded her so much of Stitts at that moment, that she reluctantly nodded.

  "My sister was murdered when I was 12. She was older than me, but still only 17 years young. At the time, she was hanging out with the wrong crowd, you know, drugs and alcohol. Nothing crazy, mind you — nothing out of the ordinary for a teenager in rural Tennessee. One day, she was waiting outside a liquor store, trying to convince someone to buy alcohol for her. Eventually, someone did: a man by the name of Rudy Blackmore. His only stipulation was that she shared one with him. They found her body in an alleyway three days later, her underwear pulled down to her ankles, a crimson smile on her throat."

  Chase gawked — this wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting.

  Jesus Christ, she thought. That’s horrible.

  Chase bit back the urge to condescend, to say things that really had no meaning, like, I’m sorry for your loss, or That must have been so hard for you.

  "How do you… how do you control it?" she finally managed.

  Something flashed over the man's dark eyes then, something that was brief but unmistakable: anger.

  Terrence shrugged, and the expression passed.

  "A lot of therapy, I guess. You know, for a long time, for years even, I blamed myself for what happened. I know it was silly, given that I was 12 years old and wasn't anywhere near the place where she was murdered — I was sleeping in my bed when she was taken — but I still blame myself. And as I got older, these feelings of blame grew stronger. Eventually, I just came to the realization that this anger wasn't helping me. It wasn't helping me live a happy life, wasn't helping my parents grieve, and most definitely wasn’t doing anything for Mary’s memory. All it was doing was killing me, rotting me from the inside. I used to drink myself to sleep every night; that was the only way I would be certain that I wouldn’t dream. But despite the damage the alcohol did to my body, the real thing that was killing me was the guilt and the anger."

  Chase chewed the inside of her lip as she considered the man’s words. She could sympathize with Terrence about his demons, and he was right in saying that the drugs and the alcohol weren’t the real poison.

  But he was wrong about one thing: the poison wasn’t the guilt or anger. The real poison was the man in the white overalls, the man with the aviator sunglasses.

  The poison was the person who’d killed Mary, the poison was Agent Martinez, Rebecca Hall, and Mike Hartman.

  And there was only one cure for this poison: to get Georgina back, no matter the cost.

  "Let's go,” Chase said quietly, as she stepped from the vehicle. “Let’s go find Stacy Peterson.”

  Chapter 25

  “She’s a feisty one, that partner of yours,” Jordan proclaimed.

  Normally, Stitts would defend Chase, but he was just too tired to argue.

  “She’s, ahh, she’s got her issues, as we all do,” Stitts said as he looked over the file in his lap.

  In it, he found a picture of little Becky Thompson, the young girl who had been taken from Triune, Tennessee. Located about 30 miles outside the heart of Nashville, and therefore only about 10 miles from the TBI headquarters, Becky’s mother lived in a trailer in a gated community.

  “Father died in a car accident about three years ago,” Jordan said, following Stitts’s gaze to the folder. “Becky’s mother — Rose Thompson — is a nurse. She works long hours… apparently on the day that Becky went missing, she was unexpectedly called in to work. Usually, Rose’s mother came and looked after Becky when this happened, but there was about an hour between when Rose left, and grandma arrived. When she finally got to the trailer, Becky was already gone. We canvassed the neighborhood, visited every single trailer, but no one claims to have seen anything out of the ordinary.”

  Stitts looked at Jordan.

  “She left a seven-year-old alone in her trailer for an hour?”

  Jordan shrugged.

  “It might be unheard of in New York City, but here? In Triune? Not that uncommon. There’s really not that much crime to speak of.” Jordan quickly changed the subject. “So, what’s the deal with your partner, anyway? Did her sister really go missing all those years ago? You don’t think that’s a conflict of interest?”

  Stitts’s brow furrowed as he tried to interpret the man’s intentions. But Jordan’s face, which was heavily lined, was almost unreadable.

  Then he sighed and closed the folder.

  “There’s only one thing they need to know about FBI Special Agent Chase Adams,” Stitts said in a calm voice.

  “Yeah? And what’s that?”

  Stitts handed Jordan the folder and then stepped out of the car.

  “That she gets shit done. When Chase puts her mind to a case, you better believe that it’s getting it solved.”

  ***

  The cigarette in Rose Thompson’s hand trembled as she brought it to her lips and took a drag. It was clear by the dark circles beneath the woman’s eyes and the way her hair was tied up in a greasy ponytail that had been a long time since she’d gotten a good night’s sleep or even a shower.

  Possibly even the full two weeks since her daughter had gone missing.

  “No, nothing — I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary in the days leading up to Becky’s disappearance. I mean, I was working more — Becky wanted a new bike and I needed some extra hours — but that’s pretty much it. Seriously, every night that I try to sleep, I rack my brain about things that I might have done differently, clues that might have been there along, but I can’t come up with anything. Literally, nothing stands out.”

  Stitts nodded. As per their discussion in the car, Jordan did most of the questioning while Stitts observed the woman. He may lack Chase’s intuitive abilities, but he was still a good judge of character, of determining whether or not a person was lying.

  And as far as he could tell, everything that Rosen had said so far was the truth.

  She took another drag.

  “I saw the TBI… Terrence, I think his name is… on the TV. He says that other girls have also gone missing… three other girls. Do you think… do you think that they have something to do with my Becky?”

  Jordan’s cheek twitched.

  “We’re open to all possibilities, Rose. Right now, we really need the public to come forward. Really, if anybody knows anything—”

  Rose shook her head.

  “I asked all my neighbors. This community—” she waved her hands indicating her own trailer, but clearly meaning the rest of the park, “—is pretty tight. If anybody noticed anything, they would have come forward by now.”

  Jordan nodded.

  “I understand.”

  Jordan glanced over at Stitts and gave him a slight shrug; it was clear that the man had done this charade with Terrence already, and that they had reached a dead end. Jordan might come off as a bit of a hard ass, a no-nonsense man
from the old guard, but it was clear that he wasn’t getting his kicks by agitating a grieving mother.

  Stitts cleared his throat. The tidbit of information that Becky was unexpectedly left alone for an hour was perhaps the most important thing they’d learned from the missing girls. The other cases could be chalked up to opportunity, to a passerby noticing that the girls were alone and then snatching them. But in Becky’s case, she was alone. It could have been a coincidence, but it could also indicate that somebody was stalking her.

  Besides, Stitts didn’t like coincidences.

  “Rose, you said that you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary leading up to Becky’s disappearance, but did you see anybody around the park that was new? Maybe someone who came here for just a short while and then left? A friend or relative of one of the permanent tenants?”

  Rose thought about this for a moment before shaking her head.

  “No, not that I can remember. I mean, I wasn’t looking for anybody, but like I said, we’re a tight knit community here. If there was someone shady walking around, someone would’ve noticed.”

  Stitts bit his tongue, resisting the urge to mention that in the majority of these cases, the abductor knew the child in advance; the suspect wasn’t necessarily a stranger.

  He decided instead to change his line of questioning. Maybe whoever abducted Becky didn’t see her at the trailer park first, but somewhere else and followed her back.

  “And you said that Becky usually sticks around the trailer park? Even if, let’s say, her friends were telling her to leave? To go somewhere else?”

  Again, Rose shook her head.

  “She was 7, not 13. Becky wouldn’t leave, trust me.”

  Jordan shot him a look.

  “Agent Stitts isn’t trying to imply that Becky did anything wrong,” he interjected. “Even if Becky left the park, it doesn’t mean that she deserved to be, uhhh, taken.”

  When Rose wiped tears from her eyes, Stitts instantly wished that Jordan had used a different term than ‘taken’.

  “What about you and Becky? Did you guys go somewhere out of the ordinary the week or so before she disappeared? The mall? Or a new park, maybe?”

  “Like I said, I was working long hours, trying to save up for a bike for Becky,” Rose began, starting to shake her head. She stopped suddenly. “But… but, come to think of it, we did go to the fair.”

  Stitts’s eyes narrowed.

  “The fair?”

  “Yeah, the Triune County Fair. It’s just a little fair that rolls in every year, one that Becky loved to go to. She doesn’t really like the rides, just wanted her slushy and to walk around. You know, experience the smells and sounds and stuff. A little bit of a break from everyday life, you know?”

  Chapter 26

  Something inside Stitts’s head clicked.

  Georgina had been taken from the Williamson County Fair by a man who’d offered her and Chase a ride home.

  His heart rate quickening, he continued along this line of questioning.

  “At this fair… do you remember seeing any of these girls?” Stitts asked, removing another folder. He took out the pictures of the other missing girls — of Stacy, Tracy, and Stephanie — and laid them on the table.

  Jordan, eyebrow raised, appeared poised to sweep them back up again should Rose become more agitated.

  “Those are the other missing girls, from the news,” Rose said absently.

  Stitts nodded and drew her attention back to the photos by tapping on the image of Stacy Peterson.

  “Did you see any of them at the fair? Did Becky maybe speak to any of these girls?”

  He already knew from Terrence’s report that none of the girls had known each other socially — they all lived in different circles — but it was possible that they’d gone to the same fair.

  Rose took another deep haul on her cigarette and then closed her eyes.

  Eventually, she shook her head.

  “No, I don’t think so. But there were lots of kids around. I didn’t think that anything was going to happen to Becky. If I’d felt anything — a feeling, anything — I would have paid more attention. I would have taken pictures and—”

  Jordan swept up the photographs and shoved them back in the folder. Then he reached out and put a calming hand on Rose’s shoulder.

  “I understand,” Jordan said. “But nobody could’ve predicted this; it’s not your fault and it’s definitely not Becky’s fault.”

  Jordan twisted his body so that he was situated between Stitts and Rose now, a clear indication that he was trying to end the interview.

  Stitts, on the other hand, wasn’t ready to call it quits yet.

  A thought occurred to him then: what if it wasn’t the children that were targeted, but the parents? What if someone had a grudge against the parents of the children and got back at them by abducting their kids?

  It was a far-fetched idea, particularly given the varying demographic of the parents, but he thought it was worth a shot.

  Quickly flipping through the folders, he came across images of Tracy Weinberg’s parents, as well as Stephanie McMahon’s.

  “Rose, just a few more questions, please.”

  Jordan glanced over his shoulder at Stitts, a hard look on his face. He shook his head, but Stitts was undeterred.

  “I’ve just got a few more photographs I want you to look at, parents that you might’ve seen at the fair. I know this is hard, but anything you could tell us might help.”

  “I think she’s had enough, for now,” Jordan said.

  Stitts reached out and gently guided Jordan aside. The man looked as if he was going to say something, perhaps put an end to this discussion entirely, but Rose intervened.

  “It’s okay, Jordan, I’ll look,” she said quietly. Jordan scowled and reluctantly moved aside.

  “Have you seen any of these people before?”

  Rose squinted at the images and then tapped Stacy Peterson’s mom’s image.

  “I saw her on the news this morning, talking about her little girl who went missing. I think she was offering a reward.”

  Stitts nodded.

  “Did you see her at the fair?”

  Rose shook her head.

  “No, I didn’t. I’m not sure — wait,” Rose said suddenly, her finger hovering over Monica Weinberg’s image. “I think I saw her. Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I remember because Becky was pulling my hand, wanting to go see the teacups. But she caught my eye because she was speaking to a woman in a long white dress. At first, I thought the woman in the dress was working for the fair — you know, some sort of bride or something, I don’t know. But she was there.”

  Stitts swallowed hard.

  A woman in the white dress. Rita had talked about two women in white dresses, one of whom was not the little girl’s mother. And now we have two connections; we have these white dresses and the fair.

  “And what about Stephanie McMahon’s folks? Do you recognize them?”

  “No. I don’t think so,” Rose replied quietly.

  Stitts knew better to push any harder. With a nod, he scooped up the images and once again thanked the woman.

  “If you can remember anything, please call me,” Stitts said putting his card on the table.

  “We’re doing everything we can to find your daughter, Mrs. Thompson,” Jordan said. “The FBI, TBI, and all of the local law enforcement are looking for her. I’m positive we’ll find Becky.”

  On the way back to the car, Jordan reached over and grabbed Stitts’s arm tightly. Stitts shook him off.

  “What’s your problem?” Jordan demanded. “Did you have to put her through the ringer like that? What is with you fucking FBI guys and harassing witnesses and grieving mothers?”

  Stitts recoiled slightly.

  “I wasn’t harassing her, I was just asking questions. The reality is, in most of these cases, the person who abducted the child was either related to them or knew them some way or another.”

  Jordan sudd
enly pushed Stitts up against the car.

  “What the fuck are you saying? You think Rose did this? That she had something to do with—”

  Stitts straightened himself and stared the man directly in the face. He might be a punching bag for Chase Adams, but there was no way that he was going to put up with shit from this guy.

  “If you fucking touch me again—”