by Sara Davison
Transportation was the least of his concerns. “Where do the kids go from there?”
She contemplated him.
He met her gaze steadily. No way he would even consider getting involved in something this crazy if she wouldn’t tell him what happened to the kids after he handed them over. I almost hope she doesn’t. That would make walking away that much easier.
The woman nodded, as though she had made up her mind about something. “For six months they will be held at our facility, a type of protective custody if you will. During this time, they will receive counseling to help them through their period of transition. After that they will be placed with a family who has agreed to move to a new city, begin a new life with a child they will introduce as their own.”
He shook his head. “I don’t see how that would work. Kids whose parents treat them like garbage still have an innate desire to protect those parents, even feel a kind of love for them. It seems like drugging them, ripping them away from their homes, and handing them over to strangers would only add to the trauma they already have to deal with.”
She reached into the bag she had set on the floor and pulled out another cream-colored folder. Silently, she set it down on the table and slid it across to him.
A muscle in his cheek twitched. The cover of the folder shook slightly as he lifted it. “What are these?”
She waved a hand toward the stack of photographs. “Look closely.”
He leaned in to look at the first photo. A young boy holding an ice cream cone rode on the shoulders of a tall, athletic-looking man. Both the man and the boy were laughing as a woman with long red hair and kind, smiling eyes, wiped ice cream from the boy’s chin with a napkin.
He lifted the photo to get a better look, then pulled the first pile of folders closer and flipped through them until he found the one he was looking for. He laid the new picture beside the one in the folder. His forehead wrinkled as he looked up. “This is the same kid?”
She nodded. “All those photos match up to the ones you viewed earlier. Each shot was taken one to two years after the children were rescued. You will find that in every case the children are happier, healthier, and more self-confident than they ever were in their old lives. I’m not saying it is easy, Mr. Kelly, but as you can see, it is possible. Children are amazingly resilient, and our counselors are among the best in North America. They have never failed to get through to a child and convince him that he or she really can have a better life.”
“What about paperwork? They wouldn’t have birth certificates or anything.”
She didn’t respond, simply scrutinized him as if waiting for the light to go on. It didn’t take long.
He shook his head. “I guess anything’s possible if there’s as much money as you say.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth.
“Where does all that money come from anyway?”
“We have spent years cultivating an extensive group of investors. Each of them has been chosen based on his or her personal power and financial resources as well as past history.”
“Past history?”
“Yes. Every one of them grew up in similar circumstances as you and your brother. I’m sure it won’t surprise you to learn that, when we approach them, very few of them turn down the opportunity to help children whose pain they understand all too well.”
He slumped against his seat. “This is a lot to take in. Can I have some time to think about it?”
“We can give you forty-eight hours. I realize this is a big decision, but ...” She stared down at her fingers for a moment before looking up. “As I said, everything is ready. The children we are trying to help are all in extreme situations. Their lives are in danger, which is why we are willing to risk everything to help them. And every day that we delay is another day that these children wait, alone and terrified, for someone to come and help them.”
He bent forward slightly, the words hitting him like an elbow to his ribs. “I understand.”
“I know you do. Eight p.m. the day after tomorrow then. We will meet down at dock number five.”
He managed a shaky grin.
“All right, at the Starbucks one block west of here. And you understand that you cannot tell anyone about this.”
“Of course not.”
“Not even your brother.”
His muscles tightened again. “If you read my file then you know my brother has had to live his whole life with the fact that he killed our father. I’d never add to that burden by asking him to keep another secret.”
“I trust you. That’s the biggest reason I want you for this. I sincerely hope you will agree to help us. I believe with all my heart that you are the one to save these children.”
He slid off the end of the bench and got to his feet.
The woman reached up and rested a hand on his arm. “Whatever you decide, Kelly, it was a pleasure to meet you. You are an exceptional man.”
He nodded and, when she pulled back her hand, turned and headed for the door. I’m not an exceptional man, I’m an exceptional fool.
Because only a fool would even consider getting involved in a scheme like the one that woman had described to him.
Chapter Eleven
The hours of darkness stretched on. He’d known he wouldn’t sleep, but it was more than restlessness that kept him tossing and turning in his bed until the sheets, damp with sweat, hung off the side of the bed. Agony twisted his insides, and with a low moan, he clasped both arms tightly across his abdomen, trying to ease the pain.
When the thick blackness outside gave way to a cold mist that pressed against his bedroom window, he gave up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Elbows digging into his knees, he dropped his head into his hands.
Lord, I have no idea what to do. Show me. The anguished plea ripped through him as he lifted his gaze to the ceiling. What if she’s lying? What if she is really part of a child pornography ring or the sex trade or… He couldn’t think of anything more heinous than either of those things. A picture of the woman he’d met at the coffee shop flashed through his mind. Although she was the most guarded person he had ever met, he’d seen something there, deep in those gray eyes—an intense dedication to a cause she believed to be just. There was nothing shifty in her gaze, nothing to hint that she felt guilty or uncertain about what she was doing. Whether or not it was right, she was completely committed to what her organization was doing and was willing to risk a great deal for it. Not exactly the profile of someone involved in something sordid and illicit.
And what about all those people who’d invested in the organization? Personal power. What did that mean? Business people? Politicians? How high up did this thing go anyway? He rubbed his face with both hands. It wasn’t likely she would tell him if he asked. She’s probably already told me a lot more than she wanted to. Or was supposed to.
He glanced back at the rumpled bed. Maybe this had all been a bad dream, a remnant of the take-out Mexican food he’d indulged in at the office.
The sick feeling in his stomach at the idea that this might not be real told him a lot.
His eyebrows drew together. So, the thought of last night’s encounter being nothing more than a bizarre kind of nightmare disappointed him. Maybe he simply wanted to keep his options open. To cling to the idea for a couple of days at least that he actually had options when it came to helping suffering kids. That didn’t mean he was going to blindly jump, like some desperate hobo, on board whatever crazy train these people were riding.
Exhaling loudly, he untangled the navy sheets from around his legs and tossed them onto the bed so he could stand up. Time to go to work. Back to the real world where everyone went quietly about their own business, no one typing on their computer keyboards or gossiping around the water cooler while secretly plotting to take the law into their own hands. The same law that he had a deep respect for, and other than the odd speeding ticket, had always operated within the confines of. An attitude that has served
me well so far in life.
He stumbled into the washroom and twisted on the tap in the sink. Grabbing his toothbrush, he squeezed on some paste and began vigorously brushing his teeth. Has it? Has it served me—or anyone else—well?
His head whipped up, and he glanced around the tiny room as though whoever had thrown that question out was hiding in the shower or crouched behind the clothes hamper. With a grimace, he dropped his toothbrush into the holder, stripped off his boxers and T-shirt, and shoved open the shower curtain, hoping to gain a little perspective under a stream of hot water.
Although somehow he knew it would take a lot more than that.
Chapter Twelve
The red light was flashing on line two. Daniel’s heart rate picked up. A couple of other cops had been handling most of the calls coming in with potential tips after the suspect’s picture had been released three hours earlier. If this one was being passed along to him, it was either because they were overwhelmed by all the responses or, more likely, it sounded like it actually might have merit.
Daniel snatched up the receiver and hit the button to open line two. “Detective Grey.”
“Uh, yeah, I’m calling about the picture I saw on the news, of the man who might be kidnapping those kids?”
“Great. Do you think you know who he is?”
“Yeah. I went to school with the guy. Name’s Ted Stiller.”
Daniel’s chair snapped into place as he straightened up. “Can you tell me where he lives?”
“He grew up in East York. Still there, from what I hear.”
He was already clicking away on his laptop keyboard, looking up Stiller in the East York Toronto neighborhood. There were three in that area, but only one T. Stiller. “Woodmount Avenue?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Used to be his foster parents’ place, but they’re both in a retirement home now, so he lives there alone.”
“And you’re sure he’s the same man as the one in the picture?”
“Positive. I mean, I haven’t seen him in, like, ten years so he looks a little older, but I’d know him anywhere. And, to be honest, I wasn’t that surprised to hear he was in trouble.”
“Why is that?”
“He had a rough upbringing. His dad was gone before he was born, and his mom was an addict. He came to East York to live with his foster parents when he was ten or eleven. From what I gathered, his foster dad wasn’t a good guy. Ted would try to hide them when we changed for gym class, but I often saw bruises on him. And while he came to my house quite a bit, I was never invited to go there. I suggested it a couple of times, but he got all weird about it. Anyway, after high school we went to different colleges and kind of drifted apart. I always wondered what happened to him, and now I guess I know. He obviously went down a bad road, which I’m sorry to hear.”
Daniel asked for the caller’s name and number then jotted it down on a notepad on his desk. “Thanks for calling in. I really appreciate it. I’ll be in touch if I have any other questions for you, okay?”
“Sure. I hate to rat the guy out, but I have kids of my own, you know? I don’t know what I’d do if anyone took them from me.”
“I understand. Thanks again.” Daniel hung up the phone and leaped to his feet. He crossed the hall to his partner’s cubicle. “Shar, I think we’ve got something.”
She spun her desk chair around. “What is it?”
“Someone just called in and ID’d our guy. Sounds legit. He said he went to school with him and was positive he was someone named Ted Stiller over in East York.”
She grabbed her jacket off the hook by the door. “Let’s go.”
They made their way to Daniel’s car in the parking lot. When they reached it, he tossed her the keys. “You drive. I need to call for a warrant.”
A thought occurred to him as he dialed. If Ted Stiller had been in the system, CAS would have information on him that might give them insight into his motivation, maybe even his plans for the children he’d taken. While Sharleen drove, Daniel put in a request for a warrant to search the suspect’s home, and another one to gain access to his CAS file. Traffic was heavy, and Daniel tapped his hand on the car door handle until Sharleen shot him a look and he realized he was doing it.
“I’m getting there as fast as I can.”
“I know. I just want to make sure we get to this guy before he skips town, if he hasn’t already. And if he happens to be holding the kids at his place, every second counts.” It wasn’t likely, given that Stiller and the latest abducted kid—Mia—had headed in opposite directions, but at this point anything was possible.
Sharleen didn’t answer, but she did step a little harder on the gas, which he appreciated. To take his mind off the traffic, Daniel pulled out his phone and logged into his account. He did a search for Ted Stiller, but nothing came up. So the guy didn’t have a police record—that didn’t mean he hadn’t committed any crimes without getting caught, or that he hadn’t recently gone bad.
“Here we are.”
Sharleen turned into the driveway of a well-kept, middle-class home. A silver Camry sat in the driveway. Daniel ran the plates. “It’s registered to a Theodore John Stiller. Hopefully that means the guy is home or that he hasn’t gone far.” He quickly called up his messages then looked over at his partner. “No warrants yet.”
She shrugged. “If there’s any chance the kids have been brought here, that justifies a search under exigent circumstances. Let’s go.”
That was good enough for him. He wasn’t about to sit around waiting for permission, not when children could be in danger. “Right behind you.” He shoved open the car door and jumped out.
No one answered when he rang the doorbell. The mailbox had been propped open by a bunch of fliers and several pieces of mail. Three newspapers had been tossed onto the porch. Looked like Stiller hadn’t left the premises in a few days. Or hadn’t returned to it. Daniel’s stomach tightened. They waited a couple of minutes, ringing the bell, knocking on the door, and peering through the front window. There were no signs of life in the place. Daniel tried the handle. Locked.
Sharleen jerked her head toward the side of the house. “Let’s check the back door.”
Daniel followed her around the building to the yard. The back door was locked too, but older and wooden. Should be easier to break through than the front door. Sharleen nodded at him. Daniel shoved a shoulder against the door three or four times before it crashed open and they stepped inside. “Toronto Police Services.” Daniel called out the warning and listened for any noise or movement in response.
Nothing.
“I’ll check upstairs.”
She nodded. “I’ll do a walk around the main floor then go down to the basement.”
Daniel headed for the stairs. He kept one hand on the butt of the Glock 27 in the holster on his belt as he edged up, his back to the wall. The first room on the left appeared to be largely unused, possibly a guest room. A double bed in the corner was neatly made up, but a thin layer of dust covered the surface of the dresser lining the wall. Daniel checked the closet and lifted the bedspread to look under the bed, but there were no signs of life.
The washroom was clean and the shower empty. He proceeded to a larger bedroom, likely the main one. Again, everything was neat and tidy and sparsely furnished, although this room appeared to have been recently used. A pair of pajama bottoms had been tossed over a wooden chair in the corner, and a glass of water sat on the bedside table on top of a folded newspaper. Daniel leaned in to check the date on the paper. March 8th. Mia had been abducted in the early morning hours of the 9th. Today was the 11th. As he’d feared when he saw the papers on the porch, it looked like Ted Stiller had been away from his home since the evening of the latest abduction.
Which meant there was a good chance that the man had fled the city, possibly even the country, by now.
He quickly finished his check of the last room, clearly an office. Shelves of books lined the walls and a laptop sat on a large oak desk that to
ok up much of the room. As soon as they had a warrant in hand, they could seize that and do a more thorough search for any other items that might provide them with information about Ted Stiller and what he was up to.
Daniel went back down the stairs and met Sharleen in the kitchen. She lifted both hands. “Nothing. There’s no one on the main floor or in the basement. And no signs that anyone has been held here against their will. Everything is tidy.”
“Upstairs too. He does have a computer that we should grab, and there was a newspaper beside his bed dated the 8th. I’m guessing we’ll find papers from the 9th to the 11th on the porch, which would indicate he hasn’t been home since the latest kidnapping.”
“Which does make him look like a prime suspect, at least.”
“That’s true. Let’s get a team down here to go over the place more thoroughly, and we should report to the Detective Sergeant, update him on what’s going on.”
Sharleen tugged a phone from her pocket. “I’m on it.”
While she called in, Daniel headed out to the porch. He confirmed the dates on the newspapers but left them where they were.
Leaning a shoulder against the post at the top of the porch stairs, Daniel ran a mental checklist of everything they knew so far. Sharleen was right. The guy really did look like a viable suspect. His heart pounded in his chest. This could actually be the big break they’d been working toward. If they could bring Ted Stiller in and put him behind bars, they might have made the city a safer place for all the kids who lived there.
Now all they had to do was find him.
Chapter Thirteen
They were crying. Even from far away—where they always seemed to be, no matter how hard he tried to get to them—the fear and desperation in the children’s voices swept through the frigid air between them like a moaning wind. Branches whipped across his face as he stumbled through the woods, frantic to find them. Both arms in front of him, he swiped at the low-hanging branches and crashed his way through the thick underbrush.
