Rick Dolan, Tommy's dad, reached out his hand.
“Hi, Wade. How ya doing?”
“Good, you?”
They shook hands.
“Fine.” Rick gestured towards the field.
“Did you know coach was going to put Jack in goal?”
Wade was surprised and his voice showed it.
“No, is that where he played today?”
“Yup, did real good, too.”
Wade knew how much Jack wanted to play goal. The circle broke up and the boys straggled over. Jack ran.
“Dad, I'm playing goalie tomorrow!”
He was beaming.
“I heard, Sport. That's awesome!”
“Will you be there?”
Wade put his arm around his son's shoulder as they walked to the car.
“You bet. Ten o'clock, right?”
“Yup.”
“I told mom we'd stop and get Chinese.”
“That's cool.”
Wade ruffled Jack's hair before they got in the car.
“Cool,” he agreed.
*
They arrived home with dinner in hand about half an hour later. Jack burst through the door.
“Mom…mom, I'm playin' goalie tomorrow!”
Katie hugged Jack.
“Really? That's great!”
Wade gave Katie a peck on the cheek.
“Yea, and I heard he was awesome in practice today.”
Jesse came down from his room and Jack gave him the news. Jesse worshiped his big brother.
“Yay, Jack. You'll be the best ever.”
“Thanks, Jesse.”
Wade held up the 2 bags of Chinese food.
“Let's eat!”
He was nearly trampled by two hungry boys.
“All right!”
*
Michael sat in his car just down the street. He had followed Wade from the office as he picked up Jack and the Chinese food. As he watched the house, the frustration he felt ate at him. He was watching what his life should have been. The life he and Tammy never had, never would have.
The fire in him raged. So much had been lost, so much had been stolen. Hopes, dreams, plans. They all died the night they took his son.
He knew he'd better go. If the anger controlled him, he might ruin everything. He wrote down the address, started the car, and sped away.
*
Saturday morning dawned clear and warm. By 9:30, the Duncan’s were all gathered at the soccer field. Jack had gone to warm up with his teammates while Katie, Wade, and Jesse went to find a seat in the bleachers.
“Over here!”
It was Shirley.
“Hi, mom. You’re here early.”
Wade nodded at his mother-in-law.
“Did Katie tell you Jack was playing goal today?”
“Yes. I bet he's super excited. Hi, Jesse. Give grandma a kiss.”
Jesse was already seated next to her and reached up to give her a hug and a kiss.
“How's my little man?”
“Good.”
The game began, and they cheered until their voices started to give out. It was near the end of the game when Wade's cell phone rang. He looked at the number and didn't recognize it. Thinking it might be a client; he slipped out of the stands and answered.
“Hello?”
“Is this Wade Duncan?”
“Yes, it is. Can I ask who is calling?”
The voice on the other end of the line hesitated.
“Hello?” Wade repeated.
“You took my son. I want him back.”
Wade didn't think he'd heard right.
“I'm sorry?”
“You took my son. I want him back.”
Wade still wasn't sure he'd heard right.
“I'm sorry, there must be some mistake…you have the wrong number.”
Wade noticed Shirley was focused on him rather than the game.
“There's no mistake. You have MY son. I want him back.”
Wade pushed the disconnect button. He stood, staring at the number.
Shirley got up and came over.
“Everything all right?”
“Yea...yea, fine. Just trying to save a big sale.”
“I see; you looked like something had upset you.”
“No, it was nothing.”
She gave him a skeptical look, but didn't push the issue.
Wade returned with her to the bleachers and watched the rest of the game. His mind kept playing the conversation over and over. The man had to be mistaken. He was confused, and had him mixed up with someone else. But somewhere in the back of his mind, something was gnawing at him.
He just couldn't put his finger on it.
*
Jason couldn't figure the connection from Michael to Benny Carter. He also hadn't found a link between Benny Carter and Susan Turnbull. He knew that Michael’s son had to be at the center of the puzzle, but he needed more pieces to make it come together.
The uniformed officers had been to Stan Turnbull's place twice and had not been able to reach him. They had a phone number, but it went to voicemail, so he thought he'd go poke around the brother's house.
He got the address and directions from Sam and drove over. Getting out of the car, he noticed that privacy was obviously a major concern for Mr. Turnbull. There was a large privacy fence that ran from one side of the house to the other, running around the entire back of the property. The fence was covered in some sort of flowering vine that made seeing over it all but impossible.
Jason crossed the lawn and rang the doorbell. He waited a few minutes and tried again. He knocked. Cupping his hands, he peered through the front window. Nothing seemed out of place, no sign of trouble. He tried the door. Locked.
He walked around the side, stepping over piled up newspapers, to the gate leading into the backyard. The latch gave and he walked the path to the back. When he came around the corner, he found a covered porch with a table and some chairs. There was a half-full cup of old coffee and a newspaper sitting on the table.
Jason turned to check the sliding door and stepped on broken glass. The window opposite the table was shattered. He drew his gun and stepped over to the window. He didn't see anyone, nor did he see any blood. In the wall across from the window, was a bullet hole.
“Stan Turnbull! Police!”
Jason pulled out his cell phone and dialed Sam Garner.
“Garner.”
“Sam, Jason here. I'm at Stan Turnbull's, and I've found a window in the back shot out. Can you send me back-up?”
“I'll send a black and white. Get out front where they can see you. I'm on my way.”
“Alright, I'm moving out…oh, shit!”
“What!?”
Jason had caught sight of something in the pool. He quickly realized what it was.
“I think I found Stan Turnbull.”
“Is he alright?”
“I wouldn't say so, no”
*
Jason waited in front while they pulled Stan Turnbull's body out of the pool. He'd swelled up like a balloon in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and Jason hadn't had lunch yet. He already knew it was murder—the handcuffs told him that—but like the sister, Jason couldn't tell why Stan Turnbull had been targeted. He was also going on the theory that Michael Barton was responsible for both deaths, but he didn't have a solid connection there, either.
Sam came through the gate and joined him.
“Nothing. No fingerprints, no blood. The slug is a .44 and it didn't come from the victim’s gun. We found his gun in the nightstand, a .38”
“Same story as the sister's place, nothing to directly connect my guy.”
Sam nodded.
“I still agree with you, though. He seems the most likely suspect, just because of the trail of sightings and the fact that he is still missing.”
Jason didn't like always being one step behind.
“Any other family show up on record?”
“No.�
�
“His phone was on the table; find anything in it?”
Sam pulled out an evidence bag with the phone in it.
“I'm taking it downtown now to have the numbers checked. Until then, I guess we wait.”
Jason didn't like it.
”Wait for what? Another body?”
Sam gave him a wry smile.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a another lead.”
*
Michael sat in his car just down the street from the Duncan home. It was a comfortable looking two-story with dormers over the upstairs windows and ivy growing on one side. The lawn was cut, but not manicured, and the driveway had bikes, skateboards, and a football lying on it.
The front door was in the middle of the house, cranberry in color, and was flanked by two picture windows, one on each side of the entranceway. The exterior was bricked all the way around, and it gave the home a solid appearance.
This was the third day that Michael had been watching their morning routine, and so far, they had not varied from it. Around 7:15, the boys would come out the door and load up in their mom's van. He had followed them one day, so he knew she was driving them to school. From there, Katie would go on to work at the local Lowes store.
At around 8:30, Wade Duncan would come out and get in his car, usually talking on the phone, and head for Golden Century Realty. Michael had remained for at least an hour after their departure each day to make sure that they did not return. He knew that would give him the window of time he needed.
Michael looked at his watch. 7:14. The front door opened and the boys appeared, followed by their mother. Within a few minutes, they were gone. Wade was late leaving today. He was not gone until 8:45, which cut into Michael's safe window.
After Wade Duncan drove away, Michael got out and walked quickly to the front door. With a credit card, he was inside in seconds. Closing the door behind him, he stopped to record a mental map of the interior.
The stairs were to the right, and beyond them, the living room. The furniture was all browns and tans, the coffee table glass. A large flat-screen was mounted on one wall. The living room appeared to run the length of the house from the picture window in front to a door leading out to the backyard.
Directly ahead was a hallway. To his left was the dining room with a large wooden table and eight chairs. Running the length of the wall was a mirror that reflected the seating arrangement. Michael moved down the hall. There was a bathroom on the right with a closet opposite it on the left side.
The hall opened up into the kitchen, which was bright and airy. White walls, white floors, and white appliances. It was a stark contrast to the subdued shades of the front rooms. The only color was the red check curtains, place mats, and potholders. There was another door that opened into the backyard.
Michael retraced his steps and went upstairs. At the top, he turned left into the master bedroom. The subdued colors picked back up here with greens and golds. A large bed was flanked by a chest of drawers on one side and a make-up desk on the other. A bench ran along the bottom of the bottom of the bed, facing the large mirrored closets.
With each step, he was memorizing, making his map. He needed to remember the entire layout so he would be able to move around silently and even, if necessary, in the dark.
He walked back to the top of the stairs and to the bedroom there. As he stood looking into the room, he heard a noise at the front door. He swung around the bedroom door, hiding behind it and closing it to just a crack. He could see someone coming in. It was an older woman that Michael didn't recognize. She was holding a phone to her ear.
“Hi, Katie, it's mom. I know you can't answer at work, but I came by the house to get my suitcase and found the door unlocked.”
She started up the stairs towards Michael.
“You guys need to be more careful about locking up. Anyway, call me when you get off and, of course, I'll lock the door when I leave. Bye.”
Michael squeezed the door shut a little more until he could barely see. Reaching behind him, he drew a knife out of his back pocket. The woman reached the top of the stairs and turned towards the master bedroom. Michael could hear her rummaging in a closet and after several minutes, she reappeared carrying a small suitcase. As she reached the top of the stairs, she paused.
Michael's grip tightened on the knife. Setting the suitcase down, she returned to the bedroom.
Michael considered bolting from the house, but before he could act, the woman returned to the top of the stairs, this time with what looked to Michael like a make-up case. She picked up the suitcase and headed down the stairs.
Michael relaxed his grip on the knife and within a few minutes, he heard the front door close.
He stood up and put the knife away. Looking around, he realized that this was his son's room. There were two pennants on the wall, one for the NFL Rams and another for the NHL Blues. On the back of the door was a poster of a Rams player. It had a signature with the number 13 on it. A Star Wars poster was over the small desk at one end of the room. A dresser and bed filled the other end.
Michael walked over to the dresser and picked up a picture. It was a team picture of a boys’ soccer team. Smiling from the back row was his son. Next to the picture was a trophy. He set the picture down and lifted the trophy. Michael read the inscription.
Jack Duncan
Champions
Under 8 Boys Soccer
He rubbed his hand over the inscription of Jack's name, wishing he could erase it, rewrite it as ‘Kristian’.
He replaced the trophy and went over to the bed, sitting on the edge. He let his hand rest on the pillow where his son's head had been. He bunched up some of the blanket and held it to his nose. He inhaled the smell of his son sleeping.
This all should have been theirs. His and Tammy's, and it had been stolen from them. These people had taken it and left in its place pain. He vowed that they'd know what it felt like.
He looked at his watch, realized his time was up, and after one last look around, went back downstairs. Cracking the front door to make sure it was clear; he slipped out, leaving the door unlocked behind him.
*
Katie Duncan parked her car in front of the grocery store.
“Come on, boys, we just need to pick up a few things before going home.”
She watched them take off their seat belts and put their backpacks on the floor. She had just picked them up from school and they weren't happy about having to stop on the way home.
“Jack, take Jesse's hand.”
“I know, mom. I always do.” He rolled his eyes. Katie thought he was too young to be doing that already. She smiled to herself.
Jack was used to watching over his little brother, he had been doing it all his life, but she always reminded him anyway. Jack rarely put up a fuss; Jesse and he were best buddies.
Jack stood a head taller than Jesse and had jet-black hair, which was wavy to the point of being wild. Green eyes and broad shoulders. He was handsome in a Tom Cruise kind of way. Add in the attitude of a big brother, and you had Jack.
Jesse, on the other hand, had his dad’s straight brown hair and blue eyes. Small for his age, he was in perpetual motion. He had inherited Wade's big smile and it never seemed to leave his face.
“Will we still get our ice cream, mom?”
Katie knew this was the reason for their impatience. Every day after school, she let them go to the end of the block and meet the ice cream truck.
“If we're quick, I think we can make it home in time.”
Jesse flashed a big smile but Jack managed to look skeptical. They hurried down several aisles, Jack dragging Jesse, until they had collected the few things she needed for dinner.
Heading for the 20 items or less aisle, she nearly collided with another cart.
“Oh, I'm sorry.” She looked up to see a man smiling at her.
“It's fine, please, go ahead.”
“You sure?”
“I'm sure, no
problem. I'm in no hurry. Besides, it looks like you've got your hands full.”
Katie saw him tip his head towards the boys. She smiled.
“They keep me young, that's for sure.”
“I bet. What are they, six and ten?”
Katie was loading her stuff on the counter, talking back over her shoulder.
“Jesse is seven and Jack is ten. Say hi, boys.”
The man looked at the two boys.
“Can you guys shake?”
He put his hand out to Jesse first and they shook.
“My name is Michael.”
Jack extended his hand and Michael took it. A little of Michael's smile disappeared.
“I'm Jack, and this is my brother, Jesse.”
“Nice to meet you, boys.”
Katie finished paying.
“Come on, boys, let's go”
Michael let go of Jack's hand, and they were gone.
Michael tried to gather himself.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes…no…I changed my mind.”
Michael left his cart and went to his car. He sat there, trembling. The pain mixed with the anger was making him shake. It took more than ten minutes before he was finally able to drive himself back to the motel.
The whole way, he relived that moment when he held his son's hand. Over and over, he felt the touch of his son. He wanted that again. He wanted to be hugged, to be called ‘Dad’.
And he felt the darkness taking control.
*
Katie pulled into the driveway just as the ice cream truck was coming to a stop at the end of the block. She gave Jack the dollar for him and Jesse to get a treat, and they were off. Katie gathered the two sacks and went to unlock the door. It opened without her turning the key, and she was immediately alarmed.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
There was no response, and everything looked in place. She set the bags down and called her mom.
Where's My Son? Page 8
