“You know what it’s like, “ Vickie said. “Heat of the moment, nobody ever really gets a good look. And the guy was waving a knife. We got great descriptions of it. Two of the witnesses thought the guy’s head was shaved, though, as opposed to naturally bald. One of them said it was a real neat job, tight to the skull.”
Laking said, “Interesting,” and glanced again at the composites. “Which one are you going to run with?”
She pointed at the middle two sketches. “The artist said these two had the most points in common. Said she’d do a blend and let us go with that.”
“Okay, what else you got?”
“Interviews with the kid, the older sister who was with him at the park, and the parents. Nothing much there, either. The guy was carrying the kid face down, and when he dropped him, the sun was in the boy’s eyes. The kidnapper called him ‘Baby’, though, as in, ‘Don’t be afraid, Baby.’
“Like he knows the kid?”
“That’s what I thought, but the parents couldn’t think of anybody, family or otherwise, who’d be capable of an act like this. Ditto for the sister. No weird friends who might’ve fixated on the brother, no jilted boyfriends. They’re a pretty normal bunch. And as far as motive goes—outside of the obvious deviant stuff—ransom seems highly unlikely. Both parents work, but they’ve got four kids they’re trying to build college funds for, two cars, and a mortgage. I haven’t seen the house yet, but it sounds like they live fairly modestly.”
Laking glanced at one of the reports and said, “The kid’s got two older brothers.”
“Yeah, nine and eleven, both away for the week at a music camp near Parry Sound.”
“What about forensics? You talk to Smitty yet?”
“Yeah, just before I came up here. He says the mask’s a DNA gold mine. Sweat, saliva, skin cells. He said he’d put a rush on it, but even then it’s going to take a couple of days.”
“Alright. Let’s hope our boy’s in the data base. Anything from the neighborhood yet?”
“Nada.”
“And the white van?”
“No plates, thousands to choose from in the Greater Toronto area.”
Laking pushed back in his chair and said, “So what now?”
“I’m going to escort the Cades home, have a look around the premises.”
“You think it was a random snatch?”
“Looks that way.”
“That what you told the parents?”
Vickie nodded. “I said the guy’s probably in another province by now.”
“They happy with that?”
“Not really. The father wants extra protection until the perp is caught.”
“And?”
“I told him we could probably have a squad car make hourly passes overnight. Maybe stick a surveillance camera on the pole across the street, if we can find a spare.”
“Tell you what,” Laking said. “Why don’t you tell him we’ll park a couple of plainclothes officers across the street from the house. See if that does it. With any luck, we’ll have the prick in lockup by morning anyway.”
Vickie said, “Shall do,” and gathered up her files.
* * *
There was an accident on the 400 just north of Barrie that tied them up for almost an hour, traffic grinding to a standstill in the August heat. While they were waiting, Roger found another news update on a Toronto FM station that said essentially nothing had changed. Police were still looking for a white van, a composite of the kidnapper was due for media release later today, and the six-year-old victim had been discharged from hospital with a clean bill of health.
When traffic finally started moving again, around eight-thirty, Roger said, “Back at the house, what were you looking for in that video?”
Peter looked at him and said, “You don’t want to know.”
“I’m asking.”
He decided to just say it. “When I watched the newscast the first time, at the hospital, I saw David on the monkey bars.”
“Could it have been a kid who looked like David?”
“When I watched it again at your place there was no kid on the monkey bars. I would’ve been prepared to believe I’d only imagined it if the Cade boy hadn’t pointed right at him and called him Tommy Boy.”
“Tommy Boy?” Roger said. “Like the movie?”
“Exactly. David loved that movie, and his mom used to call him Tommy Boy sometimes.”
Surprising Peter, Roger said, “Makes sense. I read someplace that kids are more sensitive to things like that, seeing ghosts.”
Peter said, “So suddenly you’re a believer?”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far, chum. But everything you’ve told me so far has pretty much panned out, so either you’re some weird kind of Sherlock Holmes or there’s at least an element of truth to all of this.”
Peter felt oddly comforted by this. Validated, less alone.
In a calm voice Roger said, “That’s the real reason you figured the kidnapper’d go after this boy again, right? Because of the video?”
Peter nodded. “Even if I imagined seeing David in the newscast, the kid calling him Tommy Boy...I can’t believe it’s just a coincidence.”
Roger nodded now, too.
They were coming up on a Barrie exit and Peter said, “We’re down to less than a quarter tank and I’m starving. How about a pit stop?”
Roger agreed and they pulled into the next service center. While Peter gassed up, Roger ran into the Wendy’s for burgers and drinks. Peter’s cell phone rang while he was paying for the gas and he answered with a brusque hello.
It was Erika Meechum.
“Peter, hi.”
Her voice was somber, tentative somehow, and though Peter felt a vague guilt for not responding to her messages earlier in the summer, he said, “Erika, listen, I really can’t talk to you right now. I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls. That was rude of me, since it was me who came to you in the first place, but—”
“Did you see the news?”
A chill surfaced at the back of Peter’s neck and rippled down his spine. He said, “Yes. We’re on our way there now.”
“You and Roger?”
“Yes.”
Silence. Then: “Tommy Boy. Is it David?”
“Yes.”
“I saw something, Peter. On the monkey bars.”
That chill again, coursing through him in quickening cycles. “You saw him too?”
“Not him. Just...energy. An aura, like a smudge of light.”
Peter thought, So maybe I’m not crazy and said, “Roger wants to be close by when they catch him,” because he had no idea what else to say.
“I’m sorry you were upset by what happened that night,” Erika said. “With the toy train. But I stand by what I said.”
Through the booth window, Peter saw Roger coming out of Wendy’s with a paper bag in one hand and a molded tray of drinks in the other. He said, “I hope you’re right, Erika, I really do, but I’ve got to let you go.”
“I understand.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“Peter?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
Peter said, “I will,” and signed off.
In the car, Roger handed him a burger wrapped in yellow paper, then dug one out for himself. Peter stuck his meal on the dash and got them rolling again, his appetite gone.
12
THE CADES LIVED IN A quaint, single-family dwelling on Cahill Street, two blocks south of Warner Park. In contrast to the cramped design of most suburban developments, the homes in this section of town had been built with a little breathing space between them, and the whole neighborhood had obviously been cut from very old forest, the hundreds of trees left standing all huge and majestic, giving the area a shaded, rural feel. Compared to the townhouse Vickie and her husband shared in Mississauga, eight minutes east on the 401, Oakville seemed a paradise.
Christopher Cade took Vickie on a tour of the house. The fi
rst thing he pointed out was the alarm system. “State of the art,” he told her. “Just had it installed last spring. So far we’ve only been using it when we’re out, but you can bet I’ll be arming it at night from now on.”
On their way through the kitchen, Cade asked Vickie if she'd like something to drink, and Vickie politely declined. While Cade grabbed a glass of water for himself, Vickie scanned the sheaves of kids’ artwork attached by magnets to the fridge. Interspersed with the artwork were a few newspaper clippings, one of which showed a smiling Graham Cade balancing a huge, cone-shaped piece of what looked like amethyst crystal. The caption read, YOUNG ROCKHOUND WINS MAN-SIZE DOOR PRIZE. Vickie started scanning the brief text and Cade said, “That was last month, at a gem show in Toronto we take him to every year. He was so proud of himself that day it was ridiculous.” Cade set his empty glass on the counter and said, “Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
They did the upstairs next, four bedrooms up here, the master bedroom and Risa’s room in the back, the oldest brother’s room, and the one Graham shared with the nine-year-old in the front. A second staircase serviced the back of the house, and Vickie commented on it, saying how unusual it was to see something like this in a newer home.
Cade said, “Yeah, we thought it was neat. With a big family like this, it’s kind of nice not having to hear the night owls thumping up stairs at all hours. It’s not really that unique, though. Not in this neighborhood. There’s at least a dozen more like it in the Warner subdivision alone.”
Graham was in his room playing checkers with his mom, and Vickie traded smiles with him as she walked by the open door. The boy looked hollow-eyed and exhausted, but Vickie was betting he still wouldn’t sleep all that well tonight.
They finished the tour with the basement. Cade had a gun safe down here and he showed it to Vickie now, saying, “And if the sick bastard is stupid enough to actually break into the house...” He patted the safe as one might the shoulder of a trusted friend.
Vickie said, “Mister Cade, believe me, I understand how you feel; I’ve got a daughter of my own. But the worst thing you can do is start prowling around here at night with a loaded gun. People who do that end up shooting the wrong person almost one hundred percent of the time. And it’s usually a family member.”
Cade seemed disappointed by Vickie’s response, but unswayed.
Vickie said, “I reviewed your case with my superior, and he’s in full agreement with what I told you and your wife earlier on. Given the evidence we’ve accumulated so far, the attempt on your son was almost certainly random. The mask, the heavy clothing, the fact that he was in the park, these things all strongly suggest that he was trolling; but it’s highly unlikely that he’d actually targeted your boy in advance. Graham was just...handy.”
“Be that as it may,” Cade said, leading her back upstairs. “But if you’ve got a child of your own, Sergeant Taylor, I know you’ll understand: I’ll do anything—whatever it takes—to protect my family. You just get this son of a bitch behind bars, where he belongs, then we can discuss probability.”
“We’re doing our best, Mr. Cade. All I’m asking is that you try to stay calm.” She led him to the living room window and pointed across the street. “See that gray Lumina over there?” Cade nodded. “In it are the two officers I told you about. They’ll be there until eight in the morning.” She handed him her card. “Our main number’s on the front. I wrote my cell number on the back. If you have any concerns, please, feel free to give me a call.”
Cade looked at her and smiled, and for the first time since meeting the man, Vickie got the sense that he was starting to relax.
“Thanks, Sergeant Taylor,” he said. “It’s just...pretty terrifying, you know?”
“I understand,” Vickie said. They were standing at the front door now. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a quick look around the grounds before I leave.”
“Of course, whatever you need. Want me to tag along?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”
Cade shook her hand, thanked her again, then let her out. On her way down the steps, Vickie heard him run the deadbolt home behind her.
She turned left at the bottom of the steps and strode across the lawn, noting the narrow basement windows and thinking again about Cade’s gun safe. She’d have to give her plainclothes guys a heads up on that. Citizens with guns made everyone nervous.
Now she turned left into the broad space between the Cade’s home and the neighbors’, a couple of those huge trees along here, an oak and what looked like a poplar. A pair of black squirrels were chasing each other around the oak, settling a dispute, Vickie assumed, over squatters’ rights. Watching them, it occurred to her that in some ways animals were very much like human beings. The ground was littered with acorns, more than enough for fifty squirrels, and these two were fighting over who owned the tree.
The back yard was surprisingly large, a wide, sloping expanse of lawn bordered by lush flower beds edging a high cedar fence that enclosed the area in shaded privacy. What struck Vickie most were these fabulous trees, twisted, weather-beaten trunks sprouting thick branches that reached out as much as twenty feet in some instances, a few of them encroaching on the house itself, spanning high over the deck to brush the brick siding with their leaves. Her cop mind saw this as a liability, easy access to the upper windows for an agile cat burglar, but the little girl in her remembered wanting to live in a place like this when she grew up. The house was just a house, but this space was wonderful, a slice of Eden in the midst of endless suburban sprawl.
She strolled down the gentle incline to the rear of the property and unlatched the gate in the fence. It swung inward on oiled hinges to reveal a dirt alley that bisected the block, plastic garbage bins back here, wildflowers and scrub grass sprouting up between the ruts in the road, every yard on either side of the alley discretely fenced in.
Vickie swung the gate shut and secured the latch. After a last look around, she walked back to the street along the other side of the house and got into her car. On her way down the street, she pulled up alongside the Lumina and told the officers about Christopher Cade’s gun safe.
* * *
Graham heard his mother say, “Bedtime, sweetheart,” and felt her cool hand on his forehead. Yawning, he opened his eyes. He was lying on the couch in front of the TV. He’d been watching America’s Funniest Home Videos, but now something else was on. The news. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and saw himself on TV, in Risa’s arms, talking to the reporter lady. Then the screen went dark, making that funny prickly sound. Graham looked at his mom and saw her aiming the remote at the TV. He said, “Mom, I was watching that,” and gave her a grumpy look.
His mom put the remote on the table and lifted him off the couch, making a groaning sound and saying how heavy he was getting. She always did that. He put his arms around her neck, liking how her hair smelled, and heard her say, “You don’t need to see that, sweetheart. I want you to forget about all that stuff now. You’re home safe with us, and tonight I’m going to thank God in my prayers for helping you get away.”
He wanted to tell her it wasn’t God who helped him get away, but decided against it. His mom hugged him, then put him down, asking him if he was hungry. Graham said he wasn’t and his mom said, “Go brush your teeth, then. I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in.” He looked out the window on his way up the stairs and saw his dad talking to two men in a car across the street. It was already dark outside.
He brushed his teeth with his electric toothbrush and got into his jammies. He heard his dad come back in the house, then heard him tell Mom he’d tuck Graham in.
Giggling quietly, Graham tiptoed into his bedroom and hid behind the clothes hamper. Sometimes it was fun being small, because you could scrunch into places people never thought to look.
His dad was in the back staircase now, the squeak of the second-last step telling Graham he was almost at the top. He heard his dad say, “Gray?” then hea
rd him push open the bathroom door.
In the tight space behind the hamper Graham stifled a laugh. He liked hiding on his dad, then jumping out at him and yelling, “Boo!” because his dad always pretended he was having a heart attack, and when Graham went to save him, his dad would tickle him until he laughed himself silly.
“Gray?”
His dad was in the room now, turning on the light, and he shouted Graham’s name—“Gray”—and Graham heard his mother’s voice downstairs, “Chris, what’s wrong?” His dad said, “Graham?” and Graham realized his dad was really afraid. He popped up from behind the hamper with tears in his eyes and said, “I’m right here, Dad,” but his dad was in the hallway again, saying, “Angie, are you sure he came up here?” to his mom, who was running up the stairs.
Afraid now himself, Graham ran into the hallway saying, “I’m right here, Dad, I was just hiding,” and his dad lifted him up and hugged him and now his mom was there too, her arms around both of them and they were all crying, Graham saying, “I’m sorry, Dad,” his mom and dad saying, “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay.”
After a minute, his mom went into the bathroom and came back with a Kleenex for each of them. Wiping his eyes, his dad said, “Wanna bunk in with us tonight, trooper?” and Graham said he did. He asked his dad where Risa was, and his dad told him she was sleeping over at Sara’s house tonight. Sara was Risa’s best friend.
His dad took him into the bedroom and plunked him in the middle of the huge bed. Graham stood up and did a few bounces, touching the ceiling with his fingers, then crawled under the comforter and pulled it up to his chin. First his mom, then his dad kissed him on the forehead, saying they’d both be along in a minute. His dad turned off the main light, leaving the one on the dresser on. Graham didn’t like that light—three metal monkeys with creepy faces using their hunched-over backs to balance a yellow bowl that had the light bulb inside it—but it was better than no light at all. Graham had a night-light beside his bed. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, he just didn’t like it.
His mom and dad went into the little bathroom his mother called an on-sweet and Graham heard them brushing their teeth in there, the water in the sink running hard. He could hear their voices over the hiss of the water, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then the water stopped and he heard his mother say, “I don’t want that gun up here, Christopher. You know how I feel about those damn things. I don’t even want them in the house. You promised me six months ago you’d move them out to the garage.”
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