Endangered

by Robin Mahle

  Stroud picked up his list and held it against the steering wheel as he drove, glancing at it briefly. A single name remained and he had no idea if the Feds had tracked the kid down or not. He had to assume they tore the shit out of his house by now. He shouldn’t have left the pictures there, but then he hadn’t planned on them discovering his identity. Stroud believed he had covered all his bases. It should’ve been an easy plan to execute. Different places, none of the kids knew one another or had any connection to him. They would’ve been untraceable.

  He’d made a grave mistake early on, somewhere along the line, but didn’t know what it had been. They weren’t far behind and if they had figured out who those kids were, they’d be at the boy’s house when Stroud showed up. If they hadn’t, he could finish what he started, except for Sophie Curtis. She was one lucky kid. One thing was certain, though, this would be his last hurrah.

  The question now was whether Stroud should take the risk. He’d studied the boy, learned his habits, even engaged him on social media once. The kid was bright, though, and never showed back up in that chat room.

  He was so close now, he could almost taste it, and his desire grew for this final thrill, even if it wasn’t supposed to be the end of his plan. Continuing on, as he had wanted, choosing others in different places, working odd jobs and staying on the move and just picking off those kids one by one; that had been his true heart’s desire. The list he had now? It was only phase one. His “endangered species list” would’ve grown until he was satisfied he’d controlled them and consumed them until they were nothing but shells and then discarded them with the trash as he had been. He would take the risk again because he knew it would be the last. He had no more tricks up his sleeve and no other place to go. “I ain’t no one’s prison bitch.”

  Stroud flicked his cigarette out the window and continued onto the outskirts of a darkened parking lot in a strip mall. He killed the lights and rolled forward to a stop. There was no time to steal another car. He could, however, take the plates off of one and put them onto the Honda. It would, at the very least, buy him some time. He stepped out of the car and made his way, as stealthy as possible, toward a nearby vehicle. This one was a newer model Chevy Tahoe. It would do.

  He returned to the Honda in search of a screwdriver or something that would be a good substitute. The woman’s car was clean, no trash. He checked the glove compartment, but all that was inside was the car’s manual and insurance information.

  With the center console panel raised, he peered inside. A coin. He spotted a penny and he had to laugh at the irony. He was in this predicament for just such a thing. The girl had escaped by using a coin to loosen the bolts and he’d seen that very coin lying next to the leg of the bed frame. It was an ingenious idea that he would now find himself considering.

  With the coin in hand, Stroud began to remove the plate cover. It read, “My other car is a boat.” Typical, he thought. A noise sounded in the distance, and he stood but didn’t see anything around. He continued to the task of removing the car’s plate.

  Once the change was made, Stroud started up the car and drove north, in the direction of the boy, Matthew Grimes. He looked at his list to see the schedule of the kid’s locations he’d jotted down. Tonight, the kid would already be home by the time Stroud made it there. That would present a few minor problems, not the least of which was the fact that his parents would be home.

  He continued in the direction of Matthew Grimes’ house. He would draw near, then leave the car and make his way on foot as close as he could get. If the cops were waiting, he’d see them before they’d see him if he was on foot.

  Surface streets offered better routes than the highway, which would surely be patrolled, so Stroud opted for the longer route. He meandered toward the suburb where the boy lived and stopped at a red light. A car pulled alongside him. Stroud cast a sideways glance, but the driver in the other car was oblivious as usual. He figured if only a quarter of the people in this country paid attention to their surroundings, crime would drop substantially. “Thank you, smart phones.”

  The light turned green and the other car pulled out ahead, which was fine by him. The next right was where he would abandon the Honda and take to foot. Stroud made the turn and realized there wasn’t a good place to leave it. Sure, he could leave it roadside, but it would be easily spotted, if anyone, like cops, were looking. A change of plates would divert them, but only temporarily.

  He peered through the windshield in search of a better location and noted an alleyway. “Perfect.” It was behind a row of stores and was probably there for the dumpsters. Stroud drove into the narrow alley, until it widened enough that would allow him to turn around. He parked at the edge, against a wall. The lights of the stores were off and they appeared to be closed.

  Stroud exited the car but didn’t lock it. If he needed to bolt, every second would count and he highly doubted anyone would try to take it. He wasn’t planning on being very long.

  With his baseball cap pulled low again, Stroud made his way to the end of the alley and veered left toward the boy’s street, which was about two blocks away.

  The night hadn’t brought with it cooler temperatures and Stroud began to sweat through his shirt. Another turn to the right and he’d be on the street. This was the moment Stroud needed to remain confident. It would only take a brief look-see if there were any cops around. And so he continued, after taking a deep breath to settle his nerves. Several more steps and Stroud didn’t see anyone around. No neighbors or cars on the road. It was as if the street shut down at nine o’clock at night. The house was in view now. He stopped. Lights were on, but no cars in the drive. The kid just might be alone.

  » » »

  “This is the kid he’s going after.” Captain McKinnon zoomed in on the monitor in the conference room of his station. “What we know now is that whoever he is, he must live somewhere inside the area where we found Olivia Rice.”

  “We need to access NGI.” Dwight turned to McKinnon. “Is your department utilizing the program?”

  “Yes. When it became fully operational last year, we signed up. How will it benefit us in this scenario?”

  Nick began to approach. “We had limited our search criteria to Virginia, since the other victims were in the proximity of roughly 150 miles. We had no need to assume he would venture out. And that was our mistake. Now, with the use of NGI, social media, airport travel, any place where this kid would’ve been caught on CCTV. The program will be able to run facial recognition.”

  “The intent of NGI wasn’t to integrate it with those systems, with the exception of airport security. The use of it in this manner is risky, which was why we hadn’t before,” Kate replied.

  “Agreed, except that the Privacy Impact Assessment hasn’t been completed for this program yet,” Nick replied. “There is currently no oversight program in place, which leaves the door wide open.”

  Kate knew Nick often crossed the line when it came to obtaining information. However, she was hesitant in this instance because privacy concerns were a huge issue that the Bureau battled on a daily basis. “Agent Scarborough, if we use the program for purposes it wasn’t intended for, we’ll be vulnerable to litigation, both personally, as well as the Bureau, if privacy advocate groups get wind of it.” She also understood that Nick’s letter of censure already put him in danger of any further involvement in this scenario.

  “This boy’s life is at stake and I sure as hell don’t want to be the one to look his parents in the eyes and tell them that we had a chance to save him, but we were too worried about being sued by the Electronic Frontline Organization and groups like that.” His temper was rising. “But, Agent Reid, if you’d like to make that call, I’ll defer to you.”

  Fuming, Kate held his gaze, which was growing darker by the minute. She was trying to protect him and he either didn’t see that or didn’t care. Perhaps she shouldn’t care either. They could save the boy, but there was no guarantee they’d find anything. �
��Just do it then. We’re out of time.”

  Dwight logged in and began typing on one of the computers in the back of the room. “I’ve already got this digital image in the system, since we’ve been looking for him and it appears this picture is from a social media post. We might have luck here.”

  They all waited for something to pop up. Something that would give them a name and a location.

  “Captain, where are we on the search for Stroud? Can you follow up with your team?” Perhaps Nick had begun to see that maybe breaking this rule could be avoided.

  The captain retrieved his radio. “Four-four-two, come in. This is Captain McKinnon.”

  “Four-four-two here. Go ahead.”

  “Do we have a location on the 2010 Honda CRV?”

  “We’re patrolling a ten-mile radius in the vicinity of our previous victim’s location. Nothing yet, but we will be broadening the search.”

  “Ten-four. Thank you Four-four-two.” McKinnon turned to Nick. “They’re still searching.”

  Dwight continued to access NGI and enter the parameters. Minutes passed with a painful lethargy. “Hang on, I got something here.”

  Kate leaned over his shoulder. “What am I looking at?”

  “This is a Facebook post—public—on April 5th. Looks like it came from a relative’s account. Maybe his mother?”

  “Who is he?” Nick moved in for examination.

  “The account is under the name of Claire Grimes. The post reads, ‘Matthew striking it up at the bowling alley.” Dwight turned to Nick. “That’s the kid. Matthew Grimes.”

  “That has to be his mother. Run both names and get a location ASAP!”

  With a feverish pace, Dwight keyed in the names and waited for the massive brain behind the NGI database to spit out a location. “Claire Grimes lives at 3259 NW 1st Street, Owings Mills,” Dwight said.

  “That’s not far, twenty minutes, tops.” McKinnon picked up his radio again and made the call.

  “Do we have a phone number? Anything we can do to warn the mother?” Kate asked.

  Dwight continued to type on the keyboard. “Here. This is her cell phone.” He turned the monitor toward her.

  Kate immediately dialed it, her heart pounding with anticipation. She prayed they weren’t too late. The line rang. One, two, three times. “God damn it. Voicemail.” She ended the call. “Captain, how close are your units?”

  “They’ll be there in three minutes.”

  “Good. Tell them not to approach the home, but try to get a visual inside.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because Stroud will kill the kid. We need a coordinated approach.”

  “Agreed,” Nick replied. “We burst in there with guns blazing, he won’t hesitate to take out the boy. We have no choice but to assume he’s already there.”

  “And what if he’s not there?” McKinnon asked.

  “Then we’ll get the family someplace safe and be ready for him.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  A shock wave jetted down his spine as he stood watch outside the boy’s home. It was that customary tingling and bolt of energy that came when the time was near. But he had to be sure the boy was there—and alone. He’d taken cover behind a tall, wide shrub between the home and a neighboring house. He double-checked his gun was at the ready.

  Another survey of the immediate area confirmed no bystanders and no cops, but how long he had, Stroud couldn’t be sure and so a decision must be made. He stepped out from behind the shrub and began making his way toward the home. A light in the front window burned with a soft white hue that spilled through the slats of the closed shutters.

  He was next to the garage now, hiding behind the stone column. If only he could see through the garage window for a car, but the windows were too high. Even if he could manage a peek inside, the garage was dark and it would be difficult to see a car anyway. When he believed it was safe to continue, Stroud moved toward the front of the home and stood near the porch steps. A deck spanned the entire length of the front of the home and he could approach from the far right side, remaining obscured from view of the front window and anyone who might be approaching from the street. He leaned toward the window, listening. Only a low, muffled sound emerged and sounded like a television.

  He had but one chance and the time had come to take it. If the parents were home, he’d simply make up an excuse and leave. If they weren’t, then he’d take his shot. Stroud stepped toward the front door and knocked with three firm thumps of his knuckles.

  The faint sound of footsteps approaching made Stroud’s pulse rise. He swallowed hard and hardened his stance, ready to push his way inside. But the door didn’t open. The steps ceased to make any further sounds. Something was going awry. It occurred to him that if the boy was alone, he might not be willing to open the door to a stranger. The door had a peephole and he might have already gotten a look and opted to pretend no one was home. If that was the case, it would all but confirm that the parents weren’t home. A much easier, and much more desirable scenario.

  Stroud waited a moment longer, then turned and stepped down from the porch. He walked around the side where he would not be spotted and waited for the kid to make a choice. He hoped a call to the police wasn’t in the program. The kid was thirteen; smart enough to know what to do in a situation such as this. Then again, this was a safe neighborhood and the chances the kid would know Stroud was on the loose was slim. Last anyone reported was that he was still in Virginia.

  The question now was, how to get inside. Now that he felt comfortable with the certainty that the parents weren’t home, he would need to find a way in. Time was still critical and the cops could show up if the boy made the call. However, Stroud had no intentions of taking this kid anywhere. It was an unavoidable deviation from his initial plans. He would do what needed to be done without delay because he knew his chances of getting away clean this time were slim and none. It didn’t matter now. Stroud had nothing to lose by getting caught.

  Stroud began to walk toward the back of the home where a red cedar gate hung between wooden posts of a picket fence that could be scaled, but with some difficulty. A certain level of physical fitness was required when endeavoring to capture pre-teens and young teenagers. He tried the latch, but a long bar hung across it. It wasn’t going to be that easy. The fence was short, maybe only five feet in height and Stroud was five feet nine.

  Stroud gripped the top of the fence posts, their pointed tips difficult to hold on to. But he pulled himself up with the strength of his arms while his sneakers slid against the smooth surface. He needed traction, but had none. His arms bore all the weight as he pulled on them to lift himself higher. Just a little more, he thought.

  His waist reached the top and from there, he lurched over the edge, counterbalancing the rest of his weight before finally flipping over to the other side. The thud of his fall sounded loudly in his ears and he quickly got to his feet and pressed himself against the sidewall of the house. A moment passed while he waited for someone to come outside, but no one did.

  Stroud dusted off his jeans and stepped with caution toward the rear entrance of the home. While he hadn’t heard the presence of a dog, there was no way to be sure one wasn’t in that back yard, but as he proceeded, no dog came running. He could have easily broken the dog’s neck in any case.

  A sliding glass door extended the length of the covered patio in the rear yard. There would be no need to break the glass. Stroud knew how to lift the slider from its track to gain entry. Another handy-dandy trick he learned in prison.

  The door was obscured by window coverings and now it would be all too easy to get his hands on the prize. Stroud approached and began to lift the far end of the glass door until the wheel raised a few inches. The lock would then disengage and pulling the door away would be no trouble. He did just that and slid the door back about a foot, enough for him to slip through.

  As he emerged beyond the curtain, an unexpected surprise awaited him.

  �
�Stop!” The boy held a large butcher knife in his hands. With wide eyes and a pale face full of fear, his voice cracked. “I already called the police. Get out of my house!”

  “Well, aren’t you a smart one.” Stroud moved a step closer and removed his baseball cap. A sign that he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I told you! Leave!” His hands gripped the knife with such force that it turned his knuckles white and returned a red-hue to his cheeks.

  “So, you called the cops, huh? I guess we ain’t got much time then.”

  » » »

  Kate refastened her vest and was again ready to apprehend Lyle Stroud. McKinnon’s team was only two minutes from the residence when the call came in from dispatch. The boy had called 911. Stroud was already there.

  “Let’s head out, Reid.” Dwight walked past her in the corridor, already prepared to go.

  She followed him, tugging on her vest to ensure it was secured. Her gun was holstered and she was ready to take Stroud down. And when they reached the lobby, Nick seemed ready to do the same. She feared what he might do, given his state of mind. Once he got something in his head, no one could convince him otherwise; not her and not Dwight. But she couldn’t think about that right now. Her first priority was to save Matthew Grimes and she hoped it wasn’t too late because if it was, there was no telling what would happen.

  “We’re leaving.” Nick checked his weapon and secured it again before walking through the door.

  He hopped into the driver’s seat of one of McKinnon’s patrol cars and Kate had a rare opportunity to sit next to him. She looked back at Dwight in the rear seat with inquiring eyes.

  He nodded.

  It seemed he might have wanted her there to keep Nick in check. She doubted she had that sort of sway over him.

  Nick started the car and roared out of the parking lot, heading toward Stroud’s location. “Who’s the officer in charge on scene?”