by Rick Mofina
“Thank you, Doctor. We’ll stand by right here.”
In the moment the doctor left, new footsteps echoed in the corridor as Scott Nesbitt, the FBI’s agent in Billings, approached.
“Did he wake up? Did you talk to him?”
“No, it doesn’t look good,” Marsh said. “We’re going to wait it out here.”
“Okay,” Nesbitt said. “Let’s find a room to discuss status before I get back to the command post in Lone Pine.”
Nesbitt found an empty office near a nursing station and closed the door. It was cramped. Shift schedules were pinned to the corkboard beside personnel lists over a table cluttered with textbooks and notes, as if someone were studying. They pulled chairs to the table and consulted the incoming messages on their phones from various investigators.
“We’ve got nothing on the search for the boy so far,” Nesbitt said. “Nothing from the dogs or the air. There’s not much out there but a whole lot of open spaces.”
“Other than the shoe,” Marsh said, “we don’t have anything irrefutable that puts Gage in that van. Preliminary testing on Wixom’s clothing indicates the blood is Wixom’s.”
“Hang on.” Malko concentrated on his phone. “Coogan with ERT just said they’ve confirmed collecting partials on a window in the camper that are consistent with Gage’s.”
“That puts Gage in the camper,” Nesbitt said.
“Yes, but at what point was he removed from it and where?” Malko’s eyes stayed on his phone. “There’s more here from Coogan—they found Wixom’s laptop in the motel.”
“Maybe he left a suicide note in it,” Marsh said. “Can they hack into it?”
“No. Coogan says it’s locked with a password that’s protected with sophisticated security software.” Malko cursed under his breath. “A cyber expert team is flying in from Denver to work on it.”
“The press find out yet?”
“The county says we just got our first call from a radio station in Miles City. You can bet it’s going to snowball,” Nesbitt said. “Now, on Wixom’s vehicle, Montana Highway Patrol says the tires show dangerous tread wear and the left front blew. That’s how he ended in up in the—”
Malko’s phone rang and he left the room to take the call in the corridor.
“Agent Malko, Norm Howell, LAPD. They told me what’s happened and that you’re in Montana. Have you talked to Wixom?”
“No, he’s still unconscious and we haven’t located the boy.”
“I expect you got your hands full but we’ve got something I thought you should have concerning Wixom’s recent activities.”
“What’s that?”
“One of our Interpol operatives who’d infiltrated Illicitum Passio picked up recent posts by a handle that we know is used by Felix Steed Vassellef, one of Wixom’s aliases. In the posts he’d boasted of picking up a fresh date for the market a few days ago while working with a partner.”
“A partner?”
“Yes. And Wixom also claimed he’d been keeping a journal on a successful project while enjoying the heat. My instincts tell me he’s talking about Gage Hudson.”
Malko’s eyes widened slightly as he searched the Billings skyline.
“Norm, you have any indication who this partner is?”
“No, but we’re digging. Did you find a phone or computer with Wixom? His posts have to be in there?”
“No phone—maybe he tossed it—but we have a laptop. It’s locked and we’ve got people working on it.”
“Short of talking to Wixom, or finding his partner, your best shot at finding the boy is unlocking that computer and—”
Voices down the hall coupled with medical staff rushing into Wixom’s ICU room seized Malko’s attention. His pulse kicked up when he saw Dr. Knight hurry into it.
“I have to call you back, Norm.”
Malko returned to the small office to inform Marsh and Nesbitt of the developments. Some twenty-five minutes later, Knight emerged from Wixom’s room to find the investigators waiting in the hall.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Mr. Wixom went into cardiac arrest. Our efforts to revive him were unsuccessful. He’s gone.”
Malko stared at the doctor for a moment, then he lowered his head and thought.
“Doctor, I request that we keep Wixom’s death confidential. Not a word is to be released at this time. Leave it with the FBI as it’s extremely critical to our investigation and efforts to find Gage Hudson.”
69
River Ridge, Illinois
“For viewers who’re just joining us, there’s breaking news in the multistate Amber Alert case of Gage Hudson, the nine-year-old boy allegedly abducted from a suburban Chicago midway attraction a few days ago.”
Cal Hudson reached for the remote and increased the volume as Faith sat transfixed before their television. No one had alerted them to the break in the case and their anxiety mounted.
River Ridge police had put extra officers around their property and it felt like the world was closing in on them.
The news anchor’s voice carried over a split screen—half with aerial pictures of forensic experts in white jumpsuits working on a van embedded in brush and half showing investigators at the Sunset Dreams Motel.
“The FBI and local police have set up roadblocks and launched a massive ground search after finding the camper van of Abel Renard Wixom in a remote section of eastern Montana. The FBI had put Wixom, a midway worker with a history of aliases and offenses against children, on its Most Wanted list, alleging that he’d played a role in the Hudson boy’s disappearance from an attraction known as the Chambers of Dread.”
Cal and Faith’s phones were ringing. NBC News for Cal: “Mr. Hudson, we’re seeking your reaction to developments in Montana...” The Washington Post for Faith: “Mrs. Hudson, can you share your thoughts on the latest events. What’re police telling you?” More press calls followed—CNN, USA TODAY, Reuters, then his own newspaper. They declined all requests for comment. News crews arrived in front of their home as they continued watching the live coverage.
“Sources tell our network that Wixom had attempted suicide and was revived and flown near-death to a hospital in Billings where police are keeping a vigil in hopes of questioning him about the location of Gage Hudson, who has so far not been found.”
“Oh God!” Faith said. “Why aren’t Malko or Price telling us about this?”
Cal called Malko to demand information but he couldn’t get through as images of roadblocks, helicopters and K-9 units appeared on the TV screen.
“Today’s major developments are the latest in a heart-wrenching case that remains steeped in mystery...”
Footage of Cal and Faith at their first news conference at the midway was shown with an inset image of Gage in his Cubs T-shirt.
“According to sources close to the investigation, Gage’s parents—Cal and Faith Hudson—failed their polygraph examinations. And, very recently, undisclosed evidence in the case has been found near their River Ridge home. Sources say the Hudsons have not been ruled out as potential suspects in their son’s disappearance and how, or if, they’re connected to events unfolding now in Montana.”
Faith covered her face with her hands.
After more futile efforts to reach Malko, Cal rushed to their bedroom. In between calls and checking his phone, he began packing a suitcase.
“Where’re you going?” Faith watched him from the doorway.
“What does it matter to you?”
“Cal, please, for God’s sake.”
“Montana. If they find him, I want to be there.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Shouldn’t you stay here with Tate and get your stories straight?”
“I’m not involved! You have to believe me.”
“I don’t, Faith. I don’t know what to believe.
”
“What about you?”
“What about me? I never cheated on you.”
“I heard you on the phone. You’re hiding something, Cal.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“You were in the laundry room, and the window was open. I was outside. You were talking to someone like they knew what was going on, something about one of your stories and a connection to Gage.”
Cal said nothing.
“Who were you talking to?”
“I was begging an old police source for help to find Gage.”
Unsure if his answer reconciled with what she’d overheard, Faith stared long and hard at Cal until the doorbell rang.
River Ridge detectives Price and Lang arrived and the Hudsons assailed them with angry questions about Gage.
“No, Gage has not yet been located,” Lang said.
“I can’t reach Malko,” Cal said. “Why won’t anyone tell us anything?”
“That’s why we’re here,” Price said. “We have few facts—everything’s still unfolding.”
The detectives looked at Cal’s suitcase near the door.
“Is someone going somewhere?” Lang asked.
“I’m going to Montana. If Gage is there, I want to be there,” Cal said.
Price looked at Lang, then back at the Hudsons. “Cal, Faith, it might be best if you come with us to headquarters.”
“Am I under arrest?” Cal said.
“No.”
“Is there a court order restricting my movements?”
“No.”
“Then I’m going to Montana to find my son. Excuse me.” Cal went to the window. “There’s my cab.” He left the house, working his way through the cluster of reporters and cameras out front without commenting.
Watching from the window Lang got on his phone and called for units to follow Cal’s taxi, alert airport security to confirm the airline and alert the FBI on Cal’s travel.
“He’ll be easy to spot.” Lang saw news cars following him, as well.
At the window, watching her husband leave to what may be the death site of their child, Faith’s eyes burned with fear.
“I’ve got to go to Montana, too,” she said, turning to start for her bedroom as Price confronted her.
“Faith, wait.”
“I need to be with my son.”
“We can’t stop you from going but you must understand there’s little you can do there at this time. Come with us to headquarters. We have more questions and we can keep you updated.”
Faith was torn. Hugging herself, she collapsed on a chair, rocked back and forth while tears streamed from her eyes. “I don’t know what I should do. Things are happening so fast.”
“What things?” Price asked.
She was silent, her eyes going around her home.
“Faith? What things?”
“I don’t understand it but I think Cal’s involved.”
Price and Lang traded glances.
“I think you should arrest my husband.”
70
On the way to O’Hare, in the back seat of his cab, Cal had trouble fastening his seat belt because his hands were shaking.
After repeated attempts, he succeeded.
For several miles he forced himself to pray for Gage to be alive, to be found safe and for this nightmare to end. But by the time they got to the expressway he found himself picking through the entrails of his conversation in the laundry room earlier, and the other untold horror story in his life.
With Wixom’s history of aliases and offenses against children, is it possible that he’s tied to what we did? It can’t be. It just can’t! If I reveal what we did I’ll go to prison. But if I hang on, and we find that it’s not tied to Gage, then the whole thing remains buried and no one will ever know.
But if I’m wrong and remain silent I’m gambling with my son’s life.
A tongue of red flared in the cab’s rearview mirror just as the siren sounded behind them and a River Ridge patrol car pulled them over.
“What the hell?” the driver said. “I wasn’t speedin’.”
Cal turned around. Behind the patrol unit was an unmarked car, grill lights wigwagging as Detectives Price and Lang got out and walked toward the cab, coming up on either side.
“Drop both rear windows,” Cal told the driver.
Price leaned toward the right rear where Cal sat. Lang was on the left.
“Cal.” Price raised her voice over the streaming traffic. “We strongly advise you not to go to Montana.”
“Why? Everything points to Gage being there.”
“We have no confirmation. For now, we think it’s best you come with us. We need your help.”
“My help?”
“With questions that might come out of Montana.”
Cal’s seat belt clicked as he unbuckled and got out of the car to face Price. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Something Faith fed you?”
“Cal, if you come with us, you’ll be the first to know should any news arise. We just got word. Malko and Marsh are already on their way back.”
“Why’re they coming back so soon?”
“The FBI didn’t elaborate. Work is still ongoing there and here.”
Cal saw news cameras trained on him from the distance. Traffic rushed by like his fears as he fought to hang on. Seeing an airliner climbing in the distance, he thought of how in a few hours he could be in Montana.
What if Gage is out there? What if he’s dead? What if it’s my fault?
He turned to Price.
“Are you charging me? Is that why Malko’s coming back?”
“No.”
“Are you arresting me?”
“No.”
“Did something happen out there you’re not telling me?”
“Cal, please just come with us.”
“I’m not involved. I’ve got nothing to do with it, no matter what Faith or anyone else tells you. I’m not involved.”
Price nodded.
“None of this is over, Cal. We don’t have all the answers.”
He stared hard at her as gusts from a passing tractor trailer tumbled over them.
“Rachel, you have to tell me—is my son dead? Tell me what you know.”
She brushed away hair that had curtained in front of her face. “I don’t know, Cal. In my heart I pray for his safety.”
He searched her eyes for a trace of deception.
“Swear to me.”
“I swear to you,” she said. “Come with us. We need your help.”
Tears stood in his eyes and he sniffed.
Exhausted and nearly broken, he watched another jet climb away like it was taking with it his last hope. Then he reached into his pocket, gave the driver some crumpled bills and asked him to pop open the trunk. He hefted his bag from it and went with the detectives.
71
“Thanks again for coming into River Ridge.”
FBI Agent Dee Lewin set a ceramic mug of coffee before Elka Thorne.
“Anything to help.”
Thorne, in her early forties, wearing a smart blazer and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, was borderline attractive with an angular face. Her job as a Chicago homicide detective had hardened her smile, which was evident when she offered it to Lewin and her partner, Agent Grant Hern, before sipping from the mug.
“As I told you on the phone—” Lewin opened her file folder “—we’ve been reviewing Cal Hudson’s stories for possible ties to Gage’s disappearance and one of them concerns one of your cases, Detective.”
“The Ezili case.”
“Yes, Ezekiel Lyman Ezili, convicted of murdering six-year-old Teddie Turco.”
“It was a horrible case.”
“
New information on Gage Hudson’s case has come to light,” Lewin said. “We’ve been referencing and cross-checking it with news stories Cal has written, including his reporting on the Ezili case.”
“What about it?”
“Does the term, or the name, Illicitum Passio mean anything to you in relation to the Ezili case?”
“No, I’m not familiar with it. Should I be?”
“It’s Latin, the name used by a secret global network of pedophiles.”
“Yeah, well, we knew Ezili was connected to several networks, as is often the case with pedophiles. I don’t recall all the names. So no, I’m not surprised. This new information you’ve got, did it come out of Montana and the matter with Abel Wixom, your suspect? I saw on the news that he tried to off himself. Is he still alive?”
“I can’t go into details because we’re still processing things.”
“I understand you have to protect your case, but you called me.”
“Yes, and here’s what I can tell you,” Lewin said. “We believe it’s likely Wixom did not act alone in Gage’s disappearance, that he was working with others and that those others may be connected to Illicitum Passio.”
For the next several minutes Lewin related what the FBI knew about the organization. How its members had been known to infiltrate government agencies related to child welfare around the world.
“Gage’s abduction may not have been random,” Lewin said, “but an act against the Hudson family whereby Gage was targeted. Do you have any thoughts on this avenue of investigation?”
“It’s one theory. I’m not privy to all of your evidence, but what would be the motive for such an act against the Hudsons?”
“You’ll recall that Ezili always maintained his innocence, charging that the press had published police fiction about him and that he called on his supporters for a day of reckoning against his enemies. After some political pressure, an internal investigation was launched.”
