Noah's Rainy Day

by Sandra Brannan

  I looked away from his stern face and at the ocean of garbage. “You … you think he’s here?”

  “I believe in you. And Beulah. She found the trail to the bathroom. The end of the line?” His smile was soft and genuine. It was an offering.

  The green corner of fabric in front of Beulah no longer held the victorious aura it had only moments earlier. Now it was something much more ominous to me.

  I looked back at Jack, realizing that my earlier compulsion to stay quiet and not answer him had nothing to do with my concern for little Max. It had been purely out of jealousy. I saw him fly in from Kansas City tonight around 8:30 p.m. and then he’d lied to me—to all of us—about where he’d been. Maybe he had a second home in Kansas City. So what? And what business of it was mine? After dating him, I was starting to fall in love with this man, and my jealousy didn’t need to be the reason I stopped trusting him now. I simply had to ask.

  “I saw you.”

  His smile faded. “You saw me?”

  “Tonight. I saw you get off that plane.”

  His face became guarded.

  “From Kansas City.”

  He averted his eyes from mine.

  “Are you married, Jack?”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I was.”

  That answer took me by surprise. I really hadn’t thought my delusions—that somehow Jack flying to Kansas City meant I was dating a married man or that I had reason to be jealous—would turn out to be real.

  “Does she live in Kansas City?”

  He shook his head, still avoiding my eyes.

  “Do you have kids?”

  It took him many moments to answer. His liquid black gaze slid back to mine and the distance in them indicated his thoughts were a million miles away. In the stillness that followed, I could see my breath linger in the cold air, which gave me a chill.

  His words were small. “I did.”

  CHAPTER 25

  A PIT OF REGRET—MORE like sorrow—grew in my gut hearing the formality of the past tense he used. He’d said “I did,” not “I do.” I sensed this wasn’t going to turn out well for either of us.

  Jack’s gaze returned to me, first with an expression of hurt, and then he tightened his jaw and raised his chin in defiance.

  “My son died. It was tragic. My wife and I couldn’t cope. We divorced, many years ago. I should have told you. I haven’t seen her since. And no, she doesn’t live in Kansas City.”

  I stared at him.

  “Then why did you lie?”

  “You know how Calvin is, my boss. How Streeter is, my peer. I’m on call 24-7. I’m supposed to let them know my every movement, anytime I travel. In case they need me.”

  I did understand that. Work at the Bureau was all consuming. It was almost unnatural.

  “I went to Kansas City to see an old college buddy of mine. I flew out yesterday and back in today. In case you wanted to spend time with me tomorrow. That’s why I couldn’t come to your sister’s house tonight.”

  I must have looked skeptical, because he pulled off one glove and fished for something in his jeans pocket. He pulled out some slick pieces of paper I recognized as e-tickets. “Here. Believe me now?”

  I saw from the itinerary that he’d left on December 23 at 3:46 p.m. for Kansas City, returning at 8:29 p.m. December 24.

  “I left work early. Ask Dodson. Or Noreen. Anyone, really.”

  I shoved the tickets back at him. I watched as he stuffed the e-tickets back in his pocket and demanded, “And your college buddy, male or female?”

  He grinned and kissed my forehead. His lips were warm. “Male, you silly girl.”

  “When are you going to let me meet your parents?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my cheek against his chest.

  He gave me a squeeze. “They are both gone. I never had siblings. You are all I have.”

  The idea broke my heart. “I’m sorry. I really would have liked to meet them. Would they have approved of me? For you?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said, chuckling, and held me closer.

  I laughed. “Sorry I didn’t mention the Kansas City thing until now. I was just … jealous. And I’m on edge.”

  “Me, too. This is personally very hard for me.” He let me go and stared down at me. “A boy missing, I mean.”

  “I’m so sorry about your son. How did he die?”

  He shook his head. “I think we need to focus on finding this boy. Whatever it takes. Even if it means you stay out here and pick with me.”

  My mood brightened, suspecting what Beulah had already found.

  I turned from him and bent down near Beulah who by this time was shivering like a leaf in a windstorm. I fished out the green fabric with my gloved hand and tugged until a tiny beret appeared.

  “It’s the boy’s,” said Jack.

  “Little Max. His name is little Max.”

  As Jack gathered the other five pickers and directed them to the area where we’d found little Max’s beret, I took Beulah back to my car. Loading her into her kennel wasn’t comfort enough for me. I turned the key and let the engine warm up, set the heater to seventy-five, hoping the car would reach a comfortable temperature quickly. I gave Beulah water and food, removed her leather boots, and ruffled her fur to show her how proud I was of her search, waiting to make sure the heat would rise before turning it to a steady seventy and heading back to the picking area.

  All seven us picked through an area that Jack had outlined, what he thought would capture more than items from the single-stall bathroom. Mostly, the mess was paper towels and discarded toilet paper, with candy wrappers, used feminine products, and dirty diapers. Not a pleasant pick for sure.

  As we picked, I said, “The Williamses made it.”

  “Streeter’s interviewing them now?”

  I shook my head. “Waiting for me to get back. He was going to interview Benson’s girlfriend first.”

  The more we picked the more relaxed I became, overjoyed that we hadn’t found a body part or a discarded corpse. Small talk was welcome and reviewing the points of the case was productive small talk.

  “Do Chief Gates and Streeter think Benson might have something to do with all of this?”

  “Maybe,” I said under my breath. I didn’t know the other pickers and didn’t want to discuss the case with them if they weren’t Bureau.

  Jack recognized my reluctance and moved to the farthest reaches of the area, closest to the beret I’d found. He instructed the others to move out to the edges and work toward us.

  “Do you think Benson had something to do with this?” whispered Jack.

  “I’m not sure. Wouldn’t be surprised.” Streeter and Tony had mentioned the difference between planned and random abductions. Was all this coincidence? Benson and his girlfriend’s involvement felt like a stretch to me.

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe he’s a pedophile. Maybe he abducted little Max for attention. Maybe he wanted an excuse for his girlfriend to feel sorry for him.”

  “So he snatched a little boy?”

  I shrugged again, resisting the powerful urge to yack from the sight of the trash I was picking through. I tried to stay focused on the case. “What are the alternatives?”

  The wind died and it was quiet for a moment. Snowflakes fell but quickly turned to dots of wet under the lights. I could hear gloves scraping against piles of debris and sliding along evidence bags; the pickers were talking amongst themselves about planned Christmas activities and holiday feasts.

  I’d almost forgotten I’d asked a question when Jack answered, “Someone might have paid Benson to derail the child’s travels or to get rid of him. Like the father or mother?”

  “Maybe. I know little Max’s dad. I just can’t believe that would be possible.”

  “You know Maximillian Bennett Williams II? The richest man in NYC?” Jack had stopped picking and was staring at me.

  “Why does everyone keep sounding so surpr
ised?”

  Jack grew quiet.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Is he a former boyfriend of yours or something?”

  “And why does everyone keep jumping to that conclusion? No. I did not, would not, ever date Max. He’s not my type. Max is my sister’s ex-fiancé.”

  That seemed to please him.

  “What time is it?” I asked, finding nothing of interest and growing worried about missing the interview.

  “A quarter to midnight.”

  I’d been out there for an hour and fifteen minutes. Benson’s girlfriend had probably been retrieved and taken to headquarters already, and their interview was either already over or just finishing up.

  Jack must have read my mind. “You thinking about cutting out?”

  I nodded. “Doesn’t seem to be much here except a lot of DNA for you and your team to analyze.”

  “Looks like it. At least that means he might still be alive.”

  We exchanged a worried glance. How could I have ever entertained the idea that Jack would cheat on me? Or on his wife? How paranoid could I possibly get? How ridiculous? I rose to my feet, surprised that Jack did the same.

  I asked, “You cutting out, too?”

  “No, we’re almost done here. I’ll head back to the lab downtown with all this and line out the protocol. Mind if I keep the beret?”

  I shook my head. “I want to use it to do another search at the airport. Just in case the Williamses didn’t bring any of little Max’s personal belongings. But I’ll give you his backpack. I promise I’ll give you the beret when I’m done. To analyze. Time is of the essence and all.”

  Something seemed to be weighing on his mind. Maybe it was the beret. “Liv?”

  “What?” I noticed we’d walked out of earshot of the other pickers.

  His voice was still in a whisper. “Don’t tell Streeter. Please.”

  “About you picking out here instead of reviewing videos?”

  “No, about me lying. He won’t trust me.”

  “That’s what happens when you tell lies, Jack. People don’t trust you.”

  “Do you?”

  I studied his face a long time, wondering what it was I saw behind his shiny black eyes. Sadness, desperation? The only thing I could think to say in response was, “Does it matter to you if I do?”

  “A great deal,” he said. “More than you could ever imagine.”

  “Then of course I do.”

  I believed that Jack went to Kansas City yesterday and returned today. I believed he was divorced and had lost a son. I believed he did not want me to tell Streeter about him lying about where he’d been. I believed all he had in the world was me. So why wouldn’t I trust him, even if he had been reluctant up until now to share such important parts of his past? He had been married. He’d lost a child. His parents had died. He had no siblings. He was a man unwilling to trust just anyone and yet he trusted me. And wanted me to trust him.

  I walked slowly across the sea of garbage toward the car, hoping Beulah had warmed up and was fast asleep. Only a few feet away from the pick area, Jack called, “Liv!”

  I turned back and saw him holding something up in the night for me to see. I couldn’t make it out, but I hurried back to the picking area, wobbling and twisting ankles as I worked my way over the unstable surface in response to his urgency. “What is it?”

  “Shoe polish.”

  “So?”

  He shook the large bottle. “Empty.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “If you were a businessman who needed to spiffy up your shoes, you might buy some shoe polish at the sundries store, right?”

  I nodded, still not seeing his point.

  “But a bottle of shoe polish this size would last for months. Years, really. No one could use this up in one buff.”

  “Maybe the businessman brought the nearly empty bottle with him. From home.”

  “Why? Wouldn’t he just polish his shoes before he left?”

  “Maybe the bottle is from one of the airport shoe shiners.”

  “Just one bottle? I was thinking something a little different.” He squatted down and scooped up a handful of used paper towels smattered with black. “See?”

  He held the papers closer for me to inspect.

  “What is that?”

  “Paper towels with black shoe polish on them.”

  “So? They used the paper towels to polish their shoes in the bathroom.”

  He shook his head. “Look closer.”

  I did. And I saw it. “Hair.”

  “Black hair. Maybe it’s actually blond hair dyed black. With shoe polish.” He grabbed the evidence bag from my hand, examining the beret carefully until he found what he was looking for. He pointed. “There!”

  I leaned in and peered through the plastic bag at the tiny cap inside. “What?”

  “Shoe polish. A spot inside the beret.”

  I saw it. Definitely a smudge of black. “Like a partial thumbprint.”

  “Right,” Jack said, grinning. “It means we have hope.”

  “He’s not dead,” I said, feeling buoyed by this newly found evidence.

  “Why bother dyeing a boy’s hair if you’re going to kill him?”

  I stood on my tiptoes, kissed Jack hard on the lips, and headed back to the car.

  A few paces away, I heard Jack call after me. “He was six!”

  I knew he meant the son he’d lost.

  CHAPTER 26

  I WALKED INTO CASE headquarters, just as Streeter keyed his radio. Heads turned our way as I walked side by side with my big red bloodhound. I led Beulah to her pallet in the corner and she quickly curled up and went back to sleep, happy to be left alone for a while. It was warm in the makeshift office space, her corner far from the cold windows and the blackness beyond. And it was well past her bedtime—12:30 a.m.—Christmas morning, technically.

  “Search it again. Tell them all to be looking for hiding places. It’s a long shot, but maybe the child hid somewhere, got stuck or fell asleep. Look through a five-year-old’s eyes, think playing hide and seek. Go!” Gates put the radio back on the folding table.

  “How did you do?” Streeter asked.

  I held up the beret.

  “Good work!” Streeter said, moving quickly toward me to inspect the bagged evidence. “Are you sure it’s his?”

  I nodded. “I brought Beulah back and did a search one last time from gate B31, using the beret. She took the same route, led me to the same bathroom stall and stopped. But this time the bathroom was cordoned off and the pipes to the sink and toilet were missing.”

  “Control Ops removed the catch basin for the sink and the curve of the commode pipe to check for any blood or tissue that might have been flushed down the toilet or washed down the sink. Luminal showed nothing in the bathroom out of the ordinary,” Streeter explained.

  I let out a sigh. “That’s great news. I don’t think you’ll find anything.”

  In reaction to the smile plastered on my face, Streeter pointed and asked, “What’s up with that?”

  “Guess what else Jack found.”

  Streeter scowled. “Jack? I thought he was downtown with Dodson reviewing videos?”

  I shook my head. “He’s still out there with the pickers. But he found something that might have explained why Beulah lost the scent at the sink.”

  “What?” Gates asked, approaching me, taking the bagged beret from Streeter’s hand and turning it over to inspect it.

  “Shoe polish. See the smear inside the lining of the beret?”

  Gates asked, “What does that have to do with—”

  Streeter interrupted. “Quick and easy hair dye when you’re on the run.”

  “Exactly! And the odor would likely be overpowering to Beulah if a child was drenched in it. At least, that’s what I’m speculating at this point,” I said. “Beulah’s trained to scent people. Sometimes animal scents distract her because their scent is more like ours. But not items like sh
oe polish. In fact, she’s trained to ignore them. Like the formaldehyde we use to preserve tissue. So I can’t find the trail beyond the damned bathroom.”

  “And you’re smiling because to you that means little Max is still alive,” Streeter added.

  “Of course. Why take the time to dye a kid’s hair if you’re only planning to kill him?” Gates asked.

  “That’s what Jack said.” I noticed Streeter looked away at the mention of Jack’s name. “He found some paper towels with some shoe polish and some straight hair stuck to it. He’s taking it back to the lab.”

  “He’ll need the beret,” Streeter said.

  I nodded.

  Gates handed the bag to Streeter, who pulled a desk lamp over to inspect the cap more closely. He poked his head over the dividers to see which of the technicians were still with us. Streeter called, “Taylor?”

  A man came over to where we were working.

  “See this?”

  Taylor nodded.

  “See if you can lift a print. Looks like a partial thumb to me.”

  “Did to me, too,” I said.

  “When you’re done with it, upload it to AFIS and tell Linwood. Then run this down to the field office.”

  “Uh, Streeter, do you mind if I search the parking structures before we send the beret back to Jack?”

  He nodded. Taylor took the beret over to his tiny lab area against one of the walls.

  Streeter turned back to me and I said, “I also worked Beulah on a second scent from gate B31.”

  Both men stared at me.

  I held up Kevin Benson’s sweater that he’d left behind accidentally after the interview.

  “Beulah followed the exact same path, only once we got the Buckhorn Bar and Grill, she circled the area several times, wandered about the main concourse, and eventually came back through security, back to Concourse B. I stopped trailing at that point, realizing she was following his scent when he was frantically searching for little Max in those first hours. I’d have been there all night.”