Noah's Rainy Day

by Sandra Brannan

  I noticed Streeter studying Gates, then me. I wondered if he was waiting for me to weigh in or if he sensed my unease about Jack.

  As I was about to explain what I had learned with Beulah, Streeter asked, “What happened to your hands? And your face?”

  I had long forgotten about the mountain lion thing. That seemed like eons ago. It took me forever to explain to Emma earlier in the day that Auntie Liv fell down and went boom but wasn’t really hurt. I doubted if Gates would buy that explanation. I knew Streeter wouldn’t. And Jack already knew.

  “Uh, I fell when I was hiking with my brother-in-law.”

  Their skeptical expressions were like the one Emma had displayed that screamed “liar.” Jack lowered his head, amused. I rubbed my palms on my worn blue jeans as if I could wipe away the scabby remains of Christmas Eve morning. I adjusted the ball cap’s bill lower on my forehead to hide the bruises and scratches, which of course were superficial in comparison to what could have happened. That was something Streeter didn’t need to know.

  My entire focus since returning from Quantico was to impress Streeter, prove to him that I was worthy of his belief in me. I didn’t want him to think for one minute I couldn’t physically handle Beulah when she was intent on marking her target. I was getting stronger, better at reading her unique signals in her communication with me.

  “We were in the mountains taking Beulah for a walk.”

  I would have given him more. His gaze volleyed between mine and Jack’s. I was about to explain the whole story but I didn’t need to.

  “What about Beulah, Liv?” Streeter asked. “What’d she find?”

  “That Kevin Benson is a liar.” I sighed, staring out at the Boeing 747 pushing away from the skywalk. For some reason, the large planes reminded me of whales. “I didn’t think she’d ever be able to pick up the scent here. Hundreds, thousands of people have walked through this place since noon today.” I glanced at my watch. “Anyway, we tracked the same trail three times with no variance.”

  “Not to gate 51?”

  I shook my head. “Benson was lying. Beulah tracked from gate B31, where the boy arrived, down the escalator to the underground trams. I took her on the train three times and each time she took me up the elevator, to—”

  “Out of the secure area?” Streeter interrupted.

  I nodded. “Up the elevator out of the secure area—right past Danica Bradsky at the top of the escalator—to the Buckhorn Bar and Grill in the main concourse, and over to a family bathroom nearby.”

  “To a bathroom?”

  I nodded. “Inside, near the sink.”

  “On the elevator. Off the train,” Streeter repeated, walking next to me and staring at the same blackness beyond the windows. “Out of the secure area.”

  Gates said, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Did you happen to see a TSA employee at the bottom of the escalator when you got off the trains?”

  I shook my head. “No, but the crowds always push their way to the escalators, closer to where the TSA employees sit. I don’t know if any of them even knew about the elevators. I didn’t. Beulah cut across traffic all three times to get there.”

  “Danica was at the base of the escalator for part of her shift, at the top for the other part,” Gates said.

  “From below, she wouldn’t have been in a position to see little Max from where Beulah indicated he’d walked.”

  “Right,” Streeter said. “If someone took the boy from the gate to the main terminal and was intentionally trying to avoid being seen, the elevator would be a good choice.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “But Benson said he took the boy directly to B51, the departure gate,” Gates said.

  “He lied,” I said.

  “Let’s get him in here and see if he changes his story.”

  “Streeter, I was thinking,” I said, turning toward him and nearly forgetting Jack was in the room. “Maybe there’s video? There are cameras all over this airport. They must have something.”

  Gates cleared his throat.

  “First thing we did when we arrived on the scene was to ask airport security for video footage. There are hundreds of cameras throughout this place, so for every hour, we have to look through hundreds of hours. They gathered it up and started on footage from the cameras between gates, focusing first on where the boy was last seen deplaning his flight from New York City at gate B31.”

  “According to Benson,” Gates said.

  “He lied,” I repeated.

  They offered me a smile.

  “Seriously, I believe in Beulah. The boy was taken directly from the arriving gate to the main concourse. Out of security. Easily out the door in no time.”

  ‘“Like casting a stone into the ocean,” Streeter mumbled.

  “But at least Beulah narrowed down the target area and the time. I doubt if much time passed from when they disembarked from the NYC flight to when little Max was hustled into the main terminal,” I offered, eager for acknowledgment from Streeter, which he paid me with the hint of a smile as his eyes locked with mine.

  “Who’s reviewing the video footage?” Jack asked, leaning against the doorframe, his long arms crossed over his chest.

  “Dodson, at the moment, back at your office.” Streeter was curt with Jack. “I was hoping you would do it. Where’ve you been?”

  “Sorry. I was at home, but I had forgotten to turn on my cell after charging.”

  Jack avoided Streeter’s eyes. And mine.

  “I tried your home number, too,” Streeter said, folding his arms across his chest and eyeing Jack.

  “Must have had the TV on too loud,” Jack said with a shrug.

  Jack had told me he fell asleep, the sleep of the dead. And I knew for a fact he never slept with his television on because he told me he needed absolute quiet and even then was often robbed of sleep.

  I could tell from the slightest narrowing of Streeter’s eyes that he was as convinced as I was by Jack’s lame explanation. Jack’s eyes were locked on Streeter’s, as if daring him to challenge him. It looked like a modern day showdown, and I for one wanted to know the outcome.

  In the end, Streeter’s reply suggested it was not the time. “Well, touch base with Dodson and then I’ll need you to work the garbage detail that Gates has set up.”

  “Garbage?”

  The DPD chief walked over to the table near Streeter, picked up a sheet of paper, and handed it to Jack. Gates said, “We gathered all the garbage receptacles and spread the contents in grids. We plowed the snow off of one of the outer parking lots and taped off the grids so we could keep track of where the receptacles came from in the airport.”

  I suspected the sheet Jack was studying was a footprint of the parking lot grids where his team had spread the garbage.

  “What are we looking for?”

  Streeter answered, “Anything.”

  “And you want me to work whatever I find? Out there?” Jack asked. “It’s only five degrees.”

  “No, I want you to work whatever Gates’s team bags and tags in here. You’re just out there to check on them, make sure the procedures work for you. Not to help pick.” Streeter pointed toward one wall. “Kelleher set up your equipment over there. It’s crude, but it will help us get started. Time is of the essence and we’ve already lost a lot of it.”

  “How long has it been?” Jack asked.

  Streeter looked at his watch, as did the rest of us. “Nine hours. Give or take a half hour.”

  Jack’s mouth puckered. I looked at my watch. It was 9:30 p.m. I glanced over at Beulah, glad she was sound asleep on her pallet in the corner.

  “The videos are critical,” Jack said. “I’ll check on Dodson’s progress, but we’ll need to narrow down the footage, Streeter.”

  “Like Liv says, narrow it to the arrival gate, to the main concourse near the Buckhorn Bar and Grill, and the family bathroom.”

  “What about Benson’s story from arrival gate to depa
rture gate?” Gates asked.

  “I trust Liv’s findings,” Streeter repeated. I grinned, happy to know I had finally proved something, at least. I just hoped Jack would find little Max on that footage and further validate Streeter’s belief in me.

  “We’ll study the cameras where the train unloads beneath the main concourse as a priority. Near the elevators. And the arrival gate, which is what?”

  I answered, “Same concourse, gate B31. Directly across from B30.”

  Jack’s eyes flicked over to mine and I held his gaze fast.

  CHAPTER 19

  I PRETENDED NOT TO notice Jack’s concern. “It’s at the end of the last moving walkway on this side of the escalators leading down to the trains.”

  “The trail for the boy leads from B31, the gate where his flight from New York City arrived, straight down the escalators to the underground trams, up the elevator to the main concourse, over to the bar and bathroom, and then disappears,” Streeter summarized. “Which means the boy was taken from the secure area by Benson. That’s what you’re saying?”

  “He was taken out of the secure area, yes. By someone. I didn’t trail Benson’s scent. What I’m saying is the trail of the boy’s scent conflicts with the story Kevin Benson gave us earlier,” I added. “He was emphatic that he and the boy went directly from B31 to B51 and that they were at the departing gate for Los Angeles by 1:00 p.m. or a few minutes before. Then he said they doubled back and went into the bathroom. Then he recanted that story and said he was on the phone with his girlfriend at gate B51. That’s not what Beulah is telling me. Neither story is true.”

  “You think the boy went directly from gate B31 to the main terminal?” Jack studied my face, but only because I was looking at Beulah and not at him.

  I nodded. “Benson definitely lied. I believe Beulah.”

  “Could Benson have taken the boy from B31 to B51 and then someone else snatched the boy from B51 and backtracked toward the escalators to the underground train? Could Beulah simply have taken the freshest trail from B31 down, rather than backtrack?” Gates asked.

  I shook my head. “With some dogs, that may be true. But that’s not how Beulah trails a scent. She would track the scent for the entire path where the boy went, doubling back as many times as the boy did. It’s just how she works.”

  “And you found no scent in the main terminal beyond the bathroom?” Streeter asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Did you try the other concourses?” Gates asked.

  “I did. Concourse A—nothing. Concourse C is in the other direction. I could try that, if you want.”

  “He has to be somewhere.” Gates was getting irritated.

  “The abductor only had five options for escape from the airport,” Streeter said. “By foot, plane, car, public transportation, or … without the child. Right?”

  “We’ve scoured the place over the past three and a half hours,” Gates said. “Every level of each concourse. Each level, every room, bathroom, restaurant, store, airline club, and smoking lounge—one and a half million square feet of this place. That kid could hide in this place for months and never be found, if that’s what he wanted. We haven’t had any report or discovery of a body, discarded clothing, or bodily fluids, not even a stench.”

  “Isn’t it too soon for a stench?” I asked.

  “And too cold,” Streeter added, somehow frustrated by my question.

  “It seems unlikely we missed a dead body. There’s got to be four dozen DPD officers and half that many agents, not to mention the DIA security, which is what? Twenty or so? You tell me how we missed a dead body,” Gates said.

  “What about the bathroom where the trail ended in the main terminal?” Streeter asked. “Let’s get someone from Investigative Control Ops on that, Jack. Cordon off the area, see if we can lift prints, check the traps, and use luminal to see if we find something.”

  “It looked spotless in there,” I said, feeling both relieved and discouraged, not wanting to think about why the scent ended there.

  “Gates, you and I need to put the screws on Benson and get to the bottom of what he knows,” Streeter said.

  “I have a thought.”

  All three men looked my way.

  “Maybe what Benson’s lying about is that he went to the bathroom without the boy, told him to wait, and someone took off with him. That would make some sense, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would imply a traveler in the secure area took a huge chance to snatch a child in broad daylight and left the airport with him or something,” Gates said. “It’s not likely, but not impossible. I would agree with you if it hadn’t happened in a secure area that requires a passenger with airplane tickets.”

  Streeter added, “We’ll ask BlueSky for the list of all passengers who might have missed their flight leaving Denver after the boy arrived. Anyway, it could be an arriving passenger to Denver who was leaving the secure area.”

  “Or an employee,” I added.

  “Which would imply the abductor lives locally,” Gates said.

  I asked, “Didn’t you say you laid out a grid and mapped where the garbage came from?” Gates nodded. “What if I took Beulah out to the grid with the contents of the bathroom? See if she finds anything?”

  “Good idea,” Streeter said. “That would be a fast check on the contents, but we also need to isolate that bathroom’s garbage and bag and tag it. Let’s put a priority on that, Linwood.”

  He nodded.

  “Have you found anything yet?” Jack asked.

  Streeter shook his head. “But we didn’t have it narrowed down.”

  Gates explained, “I instructed the pickers to be looking for a corpse.”

  Streeter instructed me, “Take Beulah out there and see if she can find anything in the outer parking lot. Gates will tell you who to talk to about the grid pattern. See if she can find something our handpicking crews haven’t so far.”

  “It’s going to be cold for Beulah.”

  “Do the best you can without endangering her. Or yourself,” Streeter said, eyeing me. Then, with a frown he instructed Jack, “Go with her. Make sure they’re being thorough out there and that every garbage can and storage bin used to collect the waste for the entire travel day is being analyzed. Dumped and spread. Every inch of it is being searched for throwaways. Pay particular attention to the grid containing the bathroom where Beulah led Liv.”

  “And if they find nothing?” Gates asked. I got the sense he already knew that was the answer Beulah and I would deliver.

  Streeter said, “Either the snatcher took the kid directly to a connecting flight, unnoticed, which is highly unlikely in my opinion, or he left the airport with the kid.”

  “But one thing is for sure. That boy is definitely not still in the airport. Dead or alive,” Gates said. “I trust the results of my team.”

  “You’re probably right,” Streeter said. “But something tells me this is not a typical kidnapping.” He picked up the report and said, “We received most of the reports from the airlines with lists of last-minute reservations between the hours of noon and two today that would involve a boy. There are less than six so far. Gates’s team is following up on those.”

  “What if whoever did this made reservations long ago, planned this ahead of time? Like the nanny or one of the parents? Didn’t you say they were divorced?” I asked.

  Again, all three men looked my way.

  “Great thought. Is that something Max would do?” Streeter asked.

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t think so, but maybe the divorce is an ugly one, a desperate custody battle. Do we know that yet?”

  Streeter shook his head.

  Jack said, “Parental abduction accounts for the lion’s share of kidnapping cases and about one-fourth of the total missing children in America. If it’s one of the parents, then we’ll probably get an indication when Streeter interviews them.”

  Streeter asked, “Where are they, anyway?”

  Gates said, “Acc
ording to Eddie, Freytag pulled their flight plans and estimates that both planes should arrive sometime within the hour.”

  “If it’s not one of the parents responsible for little Max’s disappearance, then God help us,” Streeter said, appearing annoyed by Jack, who was now sitting at a computer and clacking on the keyboard. “At least in that case, the child may still be alive. If it isn’t one of the parents, then maybe this was a kidnapping for money. What are you doing, Linwood?”

  “Sending a request for my team to get the list of BlueSky passengers who might have missed flights after 12:40 p.m. I’ve also told them to get us the list of other airline passengers who meet the same criteria. At least we can narrow down the suspects if this is a random abduction. They’ll pull employee time sheets too.”

  “I don’t know how we will get through all the outgoing passengers traveling on Christmas Eve with children without spending a lot of time researching each one and verifying each child’s identity,” Gates admitted.

  “But you will,” Streeter assured his friend.

  He hadn’t told the others about the directive from John Chandler that I be assigned to the case because Maximillian Bennett Williams II said so. At least, I didn’t think he had.

  “We need to find this guy and quick,” Streeter said, crossing his arms.

  “Why do you think it’s a guy?” I asked, fantasizing about one of our guys down there drawing his weapon and arresting the perp so we could all go home and enjoy the holidays.

  “Most abductors are. That’s all,” he said, glancing my way. “Why would you think it isn’t?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I agree with you. That’s why I asked you. It’s definitely a man.”

  “Because …” he asked.

  I shrugged. “It’s Christmas. Women don’t abduct kids on Christmas.”

  Jack made a noise that sounded a bit like a muffled laugh.

  Gates scoffed, “Well that’s about the most sexist thing I’ve heard in a long time. What kind of logic is that?”

  I felt like I’d just said “shit” in church. Or, reminded of my earlier days, I heard a sea of plaid-clad grade-schoolers giggling after I’d just asked the bishop at Friday mass why women weren’t allowed to be priests. “It’s speculation, not logic. Probably flawed, on second thought. A woman might be driven to such an act if she’s emotionally distraught with the holidays bearing down on her like nails in a coffin. Or another way of looking at it, a woman might kidnap a child, even on Christmas, if it meant protecting the child from something more ominous.”