Dividing Zero

by Ty Patterson

  There was stunned silence for a second and then the woman’s eyes widened.

  ‘Bruno,’ she yelled, ‘get back, NOW!’

  She caught Bruno’s leash when he returned and beckoned to the twins. ‘Let’s go to my house.’

  Heidi Cote, Julie Peltier’s neighbor, listened to them without interruption as she moved in her kitchen and poured them tall glasses of lemonade.

  Her refrigerator was adorned with pictures of her family; husband, a daughter and herself, in various poses.

  ‘Jake’s an engineer in a defense firm,’ she mentioned the company’s name as she followed Meghan’s eyes. ‘Milly is at school. She’s the same age as Maddie. We’re from Little Rock, came here three years back when Jake was offered a job here.’

  ‘We moved in after the Kittrells had already left. Never knew them.’

  Heidi Cote was never still; she bustled about her kitchen, setting plates right, wiping mugs, making sure everything was in its right place.

  She talked as she moved, told the twins their backstory, never once commenting on the Kittrell story she had just heard.

  Avoiding it, probably because her daughter is the same age, Meghan thought.

  ‘Where’s Julie Peltier, ma’am?’ she asked when they had heard enough of the Cote story.

  ‘Heidi,’ Heidi Cote smiled brightly.

  ‘Where’s your neighbor, Heidi? We would like to talk to her.’

  ‘Julie’s in Peru. She is working with some aid organization there, building villages, providing sanitation. That kind of work.’

  No one from that time seems to be around.

  Meghan ran a nail around the rim of her glass and voiced her thought.

  ‘I can see why you got that idea,’ Heidi laughed. ‘Julie had a larger home several years back. She sold it for a nice sum when the defense companies arrived, and bought the neighboring one, which was smaller.’

  ‘She was left with a large pot of money. It gave her freedom, and off she went to Peru. Her husband had died a long time back; her daughter was married and had moved away. There was nothing left to hold her back.’

  That’s pretty much what Quam told us about many other residents.

  ‘She never returns, Heidi? We would love to talk to her.’

  Heidi Cote slapped her forehead dramatically. ‘There’s a number for her. I forgot about it completely.’

  She went to her refrigerator door, scanned it, and with a triumphant snap of her fingers, removed a sticky note.

  ‘Go ahead, call her,’ she urged Meghan.

  Beth whipped out her phone before Meghan could, punched in the number and turned on the speaker.

  The phone rang once the connection was made, with the distinctive sound of an overseas call.

  It rang twice, and four times before it was answered.

  ‘Hello?’ a female voice came over the static in the line.

  ‘Julie, this is Heidi,’ Heidi Cote answered before the twins could.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Julie, can you hear me?’

  ‘Hello, who is this?’

  ‘JULIE, CAN YOU HEAR ME?’ Bruno came running at hearing the yell and barked loudly.

  Heidi Cote shushed him and tried again, but it was clear Julie Peltier couldn’t hear them.

  ‘We’ll keep trying, Heidi. Thank you for your help.’ Meghan rose, her twin followed, and they headed to the door.

  Bruno barked once in parting and then they were back in their Escalade, disappointment weighing heavily on them.

  Beth tried Julie Peltier’s number a few more times. Peltier didn’t pick up.

  She called Chuck Keyser and got his voicemail. She left a message and watched Baybush disappear and the airport appear.

  Meghan returned the rental vehicle and it was when they were heading to the Gulfstream, that Beth’s phone buzzed.

  She brought it out quickly and looked at it.

  ‘It’s a text from Chang.’

  She turned the display for Meghan to see.

  Any luck?

  No. Got some names, but not able to speak to them, Beth texted back.

  ‘Ask him what’s happening at his end,’ Meghan prompted.

  Your end? Beth texted back.

  The reply came back immediately.

  Amy Kittrell has collapsed. She’s in the hospital.

  Chapter 17

  Five days after Maddie’s disappearance, the twins were with Pizaka and Chang, at One PP, in New York.

  Pizaka was leaning against a window, his shades looking out at the city below. Beth had her arms crossed and was watching Pizaka.

  Chang and Meghan were seated, opposite each other, across a white topped desk that was scratched and worn.

  Chang was narrating the events. The rest of them were listening.

  ‘We went to interview her again, yesterday, to get a handle on this dude, who was identical in looks to Josh Kittrell.’

  ‘Death certificate. Benefit money. No real friends. No employment record. No driver’s license. Disappearance of belongings,’ Pizaka spoke over his partner.

  ‘To ask her about all that too,’ Chang said comfortably. He was used to Pizaka’s interruptions.

  ‘We went along with a female officer who works on child abuse cases. You know, to follow up on Maddie’s comments.’

  ‘Get to it, Chang,’ Beth snapped. ‘What happened?’

  He sighed and rubbed his temples. ‘She was shocked obviously. She didn’t believe anything.’

  ‘She said we were treating her like a suspect, instead of finding her daughter.’

  Beth moved suddenly at that, pushed away from the wall she was leaning against and paced.

  ‘She started yelling, threatened to sue the NYPD, and then she fell. One moment she was standing, shouting. The next, she was on the floor.’

  ‘We called an ambulance. She’s now in New York City Hospital.’

  Beth stopped her pacing and came closer to the table. ‘How’s she?’

  ‘She is stable. The hospital said she was undernourished, sleep deprived, and has hypertension. They said she’s heading for a heart attack. They have asked us to back off for a while.’

  ‘Do you think she was lying all along?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  No one broke the silence for a long while and then Chang stirred.

  ‘What happened in Baybush?’

  Beth told him while Chang took notes.

  ‘We’ll check property records in that town, see who owns their house,’ he said when she finished.

  ‘Nothing will turn up in Baybush,’ Pizaka’s shades seemed to glow as they caught the sun when he turned towards Chang and Meghan.

  ‘We managed to speak to two of the dead man’s cousins. One is in Chicago, in city politics. Another is in Seattle, working for a tech company.’

  He paused a beat. ‘No one looks like Josh Kittrell. No family member looks like the other.’

  Meghan nodded unconsciously. I was expecting something like that. Nothing about this case is straightforward.

  ‘There are people who look like others. You have folks who make a living out of being doubles.’

  ‘That’s our theory,’ Pizaka agreed. ‘She probably dated men who looked like her former husband.’

  ‘Our computers ran a comparison on the two men,’ Chang broke in. ‘They weren’t conclusive. Facial recognition isn’t an exact science.’

  He rose to lead the twins out. ‘Bottom line, John Doe is not her husband. And he’s got Maddie. Lord knows why.’

  The man who had lived with Amy Kittrell, woke suddenly. He lay still on his bed for a while, listening, and then realized what had woken him.

  It was the distant wail of a police cruiser, rising, falling, as it sped toward an emergency.

  The man looked at his watch. It was close to midday, on the fifth day since he had run away with the girl.

  He looked at the other bed and made out her shape under her blanket. A leg stuck out from underneath and twitched
occasionally in response to her dreams.

  They had stayed awake late, the previous night, watching movies on TV, and when she had fallen asleep, he had carried her and laid her on the bed.

  The man rose and padded to the bathroom silently. He washed his face and studied himself.

  Brown eyes, reddened from lack of sleep. Brown hair, thinning with age. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He shaved, showered, and finished dressing in a clean Tee and a pair of jeans.

  He sat at the window of their hotel room and watched the city hustle, below.

  This isn’t how I wanted it to happen.

  He knew things were coming to a head, but he had thought he had time.

  He had started making plans several months before; he had stashed cash and had new credit cards in different names. He wasn’t mentally prepared though; he was thinking the time to act was further away.

  The phone call from a friend had alerted him that things were progressing faster than anticipated.

  Blind panic had set in.

  He had rushed to the house and had collected all his belongings. The sanitization of the house took longer; he was experienced, however, and had done it several times before.

  He had taken his stuff and stowed it in a locker he had rented a long time back. Insurance for a time such as this.

  He had then wandered aimlessly, subduing the sudden surges of anger. He had gone to the park and yelled in rage, when he was far enough from others.

  His bouts of anger were periods of insanity. He became a different man when the red mist descended.

  He walked in the park till his blood stopped pounding, till his breathing normalized and then he made another call.

  The reply sent adrenaline surging through him. He started shouting and swearing.

  He didn’t know when he hung up and pocketed the phone. He remembered running, cutting a swift path through the park.

  He reached the building on Columbus Avenue and slowed to a walk, allowing his perspiration to dry. He wasn’t worried about people looking at him strangely.

  This was New York City. Home of strange.

  He pulled the hoodie over his head, and then realized he would need a getaway vehicle.

  Luckily, he knew a car rental agency a block away. He ran, slowed down when he neared, and half an hour later, he was driving a vehicle.

  He made another call and was reassured when he got the answer. He had time.

  He circled the block a few times and slipped into a parking space when another vehicle exited.

  Then came the waiting. He thought he knew what he was up against, but didn’t want to make any more calls to the other person and run the risk of that person getting suspicious.

  He Googled the firm on his phone while he waited.

  Security consulting. That could be a problem. But I’ll wait and see who comes out.

  The wait became an hour, then two hours.

  Finally a woman emerged. He recognized her from the firm’s website.

  An older woman appeared, two girls in tow, and finally another woman came out, holding the hand of the girl.

  A cab was hailed. He drifted closer. Pulled the hoodie tighter over his head.

  A cab flashed its lights. He broke into a jog.

  It slowed and stopped. He ran.

  He rammed a shoulder in the woman, grabbed the girl, and then he was away to his parked vehicle.

  Easier than I thought.

  Chapter 18

  The man was still in New York, with the girl.

  He knew there would be alerts for both of them in public places. He didn’t dare use the subway or any kind of public transport.

  He parked his vehicle in a long term parking lot and switched cabs several times after his escape with the girl. He spoke softly to her and spun a story that it was an elaborate game they were playing on Mommy. It calmed her.

  He went to Brooklyn and used the identity he had been creating and checked them into a seedy motel.

  ‘My daughter has always wanted to see the city,’ he told the uninterested clerk who was more eager to get back to the porn magazine on his desk.

  The girl asked many questions. He quieted her each time. Once in their room, she started screaming and demanded she be reunited with Mommy.

  The rage came suddenly and without warning. He smacked her bottom, lightly, and asked her keep quiet. He would unite her with Mommy soon.

  The girl looked at him in shocked silence, her green eyes wide in fright, tears trickling down her face. She took great gulping sobs, threw herself on the bed and burrowed under the blanket.

  He went to the window of the motel, raised its shades and peered out. It was like any other day. People went about, cocooned in their private universes; some rushing to work, many tourists, many street hawkers.

  There were no cruisers outside the motel. He didn’t hear footsteps rushing up to pound their door now.

  Still undetected.

  He knew it wouldn’t last, that the cops would have alerted every hotel, every house and room rental agency in the city.

  From the newspapers he had read and the news he had followed, the search for the girl had caught the people’s imagination. It wasn’t because she was a celebrity; however something about her looks and the way she had been kidnapped fueled the city’s interest.

  I should have planned it better; however, I didn’t have time. They moved faster than I thought.

  He looked back at the girl. She was still sleeping.

  He left a note for her by the bedside table, donned his jacket, pulled a ball cap low over his head and went outside.

  Their room was on the fourth floor. He took the stairs, avoiding as much contact with people as possible, and went to a Duane Reed and bought a packet of chewing gum.

  He popped one white stick in his mouth, chewed it, discreetly pulled on a pair of flesh colored gloves and went to a pay phone.

  He dialed a number he knew by heart. The phone rang several times without being answered.

  His heart pounded at the implications. Sweat beaded his forehead.

  This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

  He paced, bought a burger from a street side vendor, bought another for the girl, and thought furiously.

  He went to an electronics store and stood outside and watched the news flash on one of the TV screens.

  There were regular updates on the search. The NYPD was pursuing leads. The help line number rolled underneath the headlines

  A reporter started briefing on a train accident and that gave him an idea.

  He walked a couple of blocks till he found a Best Buy and bought the cheapest laptop, with cash.

  He went back to the motel and found the girl was still sleeping.

  He used a private browser, one of those that didn’t share data on the internet, and researched Amtrak routes.

  He then looked up train schedules.

  He glanced at his watch.

  There was time.

  He went to the bed and shook the girl awake.

  ‘We have to go.’

  Meghan and Beth didn’t have any more lines to pursue.

  Josh Kittrell the lawyer was a dead end. General Klouse said he had impeccable references. There was nothing shady in his private life or his financial affairs.

  Mayo and Kane wasn’t of interest in the investigation. It wasn’t a crime to represent defense contractors.

  Amy Kittrell still wasn’t talking. The man who had lived with her was a ghost.

  Chuck Keyser and Julie Peltier hadn’t made contact. The reporter hadn’t bothered to call back. Neither had the sole surviving detective.

  Amy Kittrell had no social media profile. Werner hadn’t detected her on dating sites.

  Werner had come up with two hundred men who looked like the dead Josh Kittrell, and was working on tracing their whereabouts. It would take time.

  Maddie was still missing.

  They went to the gym, two floors below their office, in the same buil
ding. They had let out that floor to the gym, and in return got free access, at any time.

  Meghan sparred with a martial arts trainer while Beth took her frustration out on a punching bag.

  Zeb poked his head through, once, watched their hands flying, the intense looks on their faces, and withdrew.

  His phone buzzed. A text from Broker.

  How’re they doing?

  Frustrated.

  Do you need me?

  No. Spend time with Burke. Once we get a mission, you’ll have less time with her.

  She’s still not sure if she likes you.

  I know.

  More texts came.

  Bear and Chloe said they would be back in a few days.

  Bwana and Roger were heading back too.

  He put his phone away just as the twins exited the gym, wiping their faces with towels.

  They stopped when they saw him in the hallway.

  There was a look of determination on Beth’s face.

  ‘We’re going to talk to Amy Kittrell.’

  Chapter 19

  Six days after Maddie was grabbed, Meghan drove their SUV to New York City hospital.

  Beth called Chang while they were driving and briefed him on their visit.

  ‘Yeah, we’ll let you know if we find anything.’

  ‘He says we might get lucky,’ she told her sister when the call ended.

  ‘Fat chance,’ Meghan laughed without humor.

  Gramma, Liz, and Peaches were in Amy Kittrell’s room when they entered it.

  Peaches launched herself with a squeal into Beth’s arms, a question in her eyes.

  Beth smiled at her reassuringly, detached her, and greeted Amy Kittrell.

  She didn’t reply and an awkward silence fell in the room.

  Beth made eye contact with Gramma who got the message and led her wards out of the room.

  ‘Ma’am, we need your help,’ Beth pleaded with the mother. ‘Your husband died five years back. Who was the man living with you?’

  Amy Kittrell kept silent. Her face was pale; her body thin, beneath the hospital gown.

  She wasn’t twisting her hands, yet the one hand that was visible, twitched.