Fatal Dawn

by Diane Capri

  “It’s kinda heavy,” Gotting shrugged. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

  Peter jogged across the road. Gotting pointed to an empty space in the trunk. “You can put your backpack down there.”

  Peter pushed his backpack deeper into the Audi’s trunk and patted the tree. “Where are you taking this?”

  Gotting smiled. Man, this kid was gullible. How had he lived to be fifteen? “The place behind us. I can probably manage once it’s out of the car.”

  Peter rocked the tree trunk, judging the weight. “It’s pretty heavy.”

  “I think we’ll manage it together.”

  Peter nodded. “No problem.” He looked at Gotting. “You sure you’re up to it?”

  Truth was, his leg hurt and his foot throbbed as if he’d scraped the skin off within the past hour. Still, he grinned. “I’m not that old, kid. I just need a little hand here. Hurt my back is all.”

  Peter grabbed his end of the tree trunk and Gotting did the same on the other side. “One, two, three.”

  He lifted. Ironically, his back actually twinged. He grimaced and grunted.

  Peter lifted his end clear of the car and stepped back. Gotting shuffled quickly to keep up.

  “Down?” Peter said.

  Gotting nodded, unable to speak. Man, the damn thing was heavy.

  They lowered the weight to the ground simultaneously.

  He panted, trying to catch his breath. “Any chance you could move it another couple of feet?”

  “Sure. You take it easy.” Peter offered a concerned smiled and bent down, adjusting his grip on the bark.

  Gotting checked the street quickly, seeing it was all clear. He pulled a smooth rock from his pocket, gripped it hard, and swung for the side of Peter’s head. The blow was a solid whack. It contacted above his ear, slightly back from the thin skull at the temple. He didn’t want to kill the kid. Just knock him temporarily senseless.

  Peter’s knees gave way, dropping his body straight onto the tree trunk.

  He looped his arms around the kid’s torso and yanked him up and into the trunk, head first. Peter moaned. He folded the kid’s legs and jammed him into the Audi’s trunk.

  He dropped the stone on the ground, yanked off one glove and pulled a syringe from his pocket. He removed the needle’s cover with his teeth, eased the needle under the kid’s skin, and mashed the plunger all the way down.

  No time to find a vein. But the boy wasn’t a hardened addict. He’d get enough into his system to render him unconscious for a few hours.

  Gotting closed the trunk lid, stepped into the car, and drove away. He didn’t waste any time eying possible witnesses. What for? Nothing would cause him to stop at this point.

  Besides, witnesses, if there were any, were usually too shocked to help police much. Only a few minutes later, self-doubt would set in. They began to convince themselves they hadn’t seen anything at all. Of course not. How could they have witnessed a kidnapping and not reacted immediately? Every second of indecision increased his chances of a successful escape.

  Gotting made the planned right turn immediately, and pressed the accelerator, ignoring the throbbing in the top of his injured right foot. The Audi squirmed on the road’s thin layer of snow and then straightened out.

  A car passed in the opposite direction. It seemed to slow. He kept moving and never looked back. He kept his speed slightly above the limit, as much as he dared without attracting attention.

  Two miles down the road, he checked the rearview mirror. No one was following. No sirens. No noise from the car’s trunk, either. So far, so good.

  He took the entrance ramp onto US-24 west and settled into the middle travel lane. He bumped his speed up and set the cruise control.

  He slapped the steering wheel. Hot Damn! He did it!

  “Screw you, Hallman!” he shouted. “You, too, Metcalfe!”

  And then he laughed.

  Gotting was running on pure adrenaline now, his own speed control. The Audi easily handled the inclines. US-24 led into the mountains, on the way to easy street.

  After an hour, he found the gated lane. Whatever house lay beyond the gate was hidden far into the trees. He got out to open the gate.

  He reversed the car and backed up the lane to point the trunk away from the road when he parked. The kid was probably heavier than the tree trunk had been. No reason to carry him any farther than necessary.

  He shoved a roll of duct tape in his pocket and pulled the cover from the needle of another syringe.

  He stepped out into the crisp morning air again. The snow had stopped. He listened for passing vehicles and heard none approaching. He opened the trunk.

  The kid’s head rolled toward him, eyes open but vacant and glassy. He was a long way from real consciousness. Gotting put the syringe back in his pocket. Nothing more was necessary yet.

  He put the boy’s hands together and curled the duct tape around them, trapping his fingers, and running the duct tape down past both wrists. He taped his ankles next and then closed the trunk.

  The boy offered no resistance. His eyes hadn’t even tracked Gotting’s movements as he secured the tape. The kid wouldn’t come around for hours. Which was good. Because Gotting had a phone call to make.

  Jess Kimball would be waiting for news. But first he had to find a better cell signal.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Wednesday, November 29

  8:05 a.m.

  Kansas City, Kansas

  Jess sat in Fernandez’s office, her eyes boring into him incredulously. “After everything he’s done, he wants what? To make some kind of deal? Sure. Great idea. Why don’t we all swim naked together in a cesspool while we’re at it?”

  Fernandez pursed his lips and ignored the sarcasm. “It’s not a terrible suggestion. He wants to trade information we need for some kind of leniency in sentencing.”

  “Just him? What about her? He’s throwing her under the bus?” Jess shook her head. These people were all scumbags as far as she was concerned.

  “He hasn’t shown much inclination to include her, and she hasn’t come to grips with her situation yet.” Fernandez shook his head. “They’re both in custody, but we’re still gathering evidence. We don’t know what we’ll be able to prove, after all this time. And we need to know where these kids are now. Directly and voluntarily from the Norells may be the only way we can get the information we need.”

  Jess shook her head. She’d been around the criminal justice system a long time. She understood the realities. But she didn’t have to like it. Not one bit. “What does he claim he’s got to bargain with?”

  Fernandez sighed. “He says he knows where your son is.”

  Jess stood up and walked around her chair. “How does he claim to know that?”

  “We haven’t heard the specifics.”

  “But think it through. Say Gotting kidnaps the children. Belk organized the private adoptions. Mrs. Norell handled the paperwork at Belk’s firm to hide the money. What did Norell do? What was his part in all of this? Middleman? Salesman?”

  Fernandez said, “That’s our conclusion.”

  Jess nodded. “Okay. So how does the middleman know Peter’s location now? Thirteen years later?”

  “Trace the paperwork. He knew who the adoptive parents were. He’s got the kids’ Social Security numbers.” Fernandez shrugged. “This is the twenty-first-century western world. Surveillance Nations and so on. Everyone can be tracked down these days, given a good starting point, enough time, and some applied energy. Might not even take very long.”

  “Right. So we check the search history on his computer. We seize all of his documents. We search everything they own, down to their underwear,” she said, jutting her chin forward. “You’re the damn FBI, Fernandez. Act like it.”

  He wiped a palm across his face and sighed. “Already done all of that. No sign of anything useful. Likewise, on his phone. No suspicious name searches. Nothing.”

  “Exactly as I thought,” Jess nod
ded. “He has nothing we want. No information to offer. Does he?”

  Fernandez shrugged. “We’ll never know unless he tells us, will we?”

  She sat down, out of steam. “Maybe Belk told him. Hallman went from Gotting to Norell to Belk, right?”

  “Right.”

  “That most likely means Belk was the one who found Peter, doesn’t it?”

  Fernandez nodded. “And Belk probably told Norell when he was called in as Norell’s lawyer.”

  “So Norell could know? Maybe.”

  Fernandez nodded again. “Seems possible.”

  Jess rested her forearms on her thighs and hung her head. All of these scumbags were as low as they could possibly get. Monsters. They stole babies. Sold them to unsuspecting people desperate to be parents, in illegal private adoptions. Maybe they’d even faked international adoptions to fleece more money from them.

  She mashed her hands together. How many times had they done this? Left mothers, fathers, and families to suffer one of the worst possible agonies, a lost child. A child they’d borne, nurtured, intended to love and protect from harm of every kind.

  Exactly like Jess. On the day Peter was born, and every day since, he’d been her entire world. She could not forgive these people. Make a deal with them? No chance in hell.

  She ground her teeth and looked up. “No.”

  Fernandez frowned.

  “That’s why you told me, right? You want me to agree? No.” She stood up, shook her head, and leaned forward over his desk to get right in his face. “No. Definitely not. Never. No.”

  He sighed, but he didn’t flinch. “Jess, we have no idea where Earle Gotting is. So we have to assume he’s alive. We haven’t been able to confirm that Hallman is the one who called you. Could have been Gotting just as easily. We know Gotting’s a killer. He’s going after Peter. We have to assume that, too. Speed is important here. You know that.”

  “It’s not just Peter and me, though, is it?” She gestured outside his office. “They kidnapped so many children. Of course, I want my son to be safe. I want him back. I’ve been looking for him for thirteen years.”

  Fernandez nodded as if she’d finally come to her senses. He was wrong.

  “No. We can’t make a deal. Not until we’ve exhausted everything we can do.” She stepped back from his desk.

  Fernandez sighed. “You know we don’t need your approval or your permission. We have to do what’s best here. Whether you like it or not.”

  She nodded. “Give me one day. If we can find Peter in that time, we’ll also know how to find the others. We can nail these creeps to the wall and get all the kids back.”

  Fernandez didn’t reply. But he didn’t disagree, either.

  “Gotting will call. He wants his money. We’re the only way he can get it.” She paused. “And in the meantime, we keep looking for those adoption records. Use them to find the kids.”

  Fernandez folded his hands together on the desk. “Okay. I’ll get us twenty-four hours. After that, my bosses will do the deal. I’ll have no control over it.”

  “Good. Let’s get to work. We don’t have much time.” She set a twenty-four-hour timer on her phone. “Do you have any good news?”

  “The second body in Belk’s garage was definitely Metcalfe. He was stabbed with a garden fork before being shot. Most likely Hallman killed him, but it could have been Gotting or any one of his other enemies. Metcalfe wasn’t a popular guy.”

  Jess nodded.

  “He had deep marks on his hands, probably made by a lot of tension applied to a wire or cord. We suspect that means he killed Belk.”

  “And then Hallman killed Metcalfe. They did us all a favor,” Jess said.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Wednesday, November 29

  9:00 a.m.

  Kansas City, Kansas

  Jess headed out of the FBI offices toward her rental. The air was damp and cold. A blanket of gray clouds stretched to the horizon. She pulled her coat closer around her neck.

  She might have time to stop by and see Henry in the hospital. He’d be awake. He was an early riser. Maybe she should call first.

  Her phone buzzed before she had the chance. The display showed a transferred call from her office number. Probably her assistant, Mandy. She put a smile in her voice. “Hello.”

  “You Jessica Kimball?” said a man’s voice.

  Her skin tingled and her smile died quickly. “Who is this?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Okay. Sorry. Hang on.” First thing, keep him on the line as long as she could. She found a quiet spot and breathed a moment. “This is Jess Kimball.”

  “Good. You still remember your little boy? Or have you forgotten him?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Like any mother would ever forget her son. “Who is this?”

  “Peter Kimball? You remember him, don’t you?”

  She didn’t recognize the voice. Morris would compare it to the earlier calls, but Jess felt sure this wasn’t the same guy. “You’re going to have to tell me your name.”

  “Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen. You just listen good.”

  Jess remained silent.

  “You want your son to ever see the daylight again, you get me five million in cash. Used bills. Nothing larger than fifties. No trackers. No magic dust that glows in the dark. Nothing like that.” The man’s voice was rough and harsh. He sounded lucid. Under control.

  A car drove past with a radio blaring. She missed a couple of words.

  When she could hear again, he was still talking. “I know what to look for. Don’t screw around with me. Because if I find anything like that, if you try to trace the money in any way, you’ll never see your beloved Peter. Never.”

  Jess turned around and headed back to the FBI office. “You’re the second person to make that demand this week.”

  The man screamed, “You’re trying to mess with me!”

  “Not at all. I received a similar call on Monday afternoon. So, the question is, do you really have my son?” Traffic was picking up along the street. A few pedestrians walked by.

  He raised his voice again. Now, he was angry but controlled. “Yes, I have him. The little puker has turned into a dumb jock. Are you proud of him?”

  Jess gripped her phone harder. “Let me talk to him.”

  “Like I’m that stupid. Waste of time, anyway. You wouldn’t know him if he spoke to you.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because he was a toddler when I took him. He’s never spoken to you. You’ve never heard him say a whole sentence. Baby words is all. Ma-ma. Crap like that. Nothing more.”

  Jess pressed the phone harder against her ear, trying to hear over the increasing traffic noise. “You’re the one who took him? Personally?”

  He laughed. “I let myself into your apartment that night while you ran down to the laundry in that crappy old basement. Easy to take him. He was sleeping. Didn’t even wake up. Not even two years old. Ain’t no way you’re gonna recognize his voice now he’s fifteen. Hell, he don’t look nothing like that picture you’ve been showing on TV.”

  “Denver PM?”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  She nodded. Maybe he was bluffing. “I’ve had plenty of people make the same claim you’re making. They just want the reward money. They don’t really know where my son is.”

  The man scoffed. “You doubting me?”

  “As I said, I’ve heard other people make that claim.”

  After a silence so long, she thought maybe he’d hung up before he spoke again. “The building you were living in was cheap. Flimsy doors, flimsier locks. I bumped the door open. Just leaned on the door frame and, poof, it opened. I walked out with him. Easy as pie.”

  “That much has been on the news. You said you saw me on TV. That’s exactly what I said happened.”

  “You were wearing jeans and a Rolling Stones T-shirt, and flip-flops that squeaked on the stairs.”

 
“But why would you take my baby?”

  “This ain’t twenty questions, lady. Get the money. Just like I said. Get it and wait. I’ll be in touch,” he growled.

  He was about to hang up, so she took the chance. “You’re Earle Gotting.”

  He laughed. “Whoever the hell that is.”

  “It’s you. I know what you did. I know how your scheme worked.”

  “You don’t know crap. That was always your problem. Thought you were so damn smart.”

  She said, “Belk is dead. Murdered. Both Norells have been arrested.”

  “Means nothing to me,” he said, but she heard his voice hike up a notch. Liar.

  “The guy who called on Monday to blackmail me was your friend, Shane Hallman. He’s dead, too.”

  He snapped. His voice turned low and clipped and mean. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. All I want is money. If I don’t get it, I’ll be very sad. But no biggie. I’ve been unhappy before. I can always get more money. There’s lots more mommies like you out there, ready to pay. But you? You don’t get your boy? How you gonna get another one? Huh? Ain’t so easy. So get my money while you still have the chance.”

  “I’m going to need more evidence.”

  “Oh, sure,” he said sarcastically. “Five million. Twenty-four hours. Bye.”

  The line went dead before she could utter another word.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Wednesday, November 29

  10:00 a.m.

  Vista Hermosa, Colorado

  Gotting cruised away from Vista Hermosa, obeying every road sign and sticking firmly to the speed limit. Small towns used visitors to top up their tax revenue. A modern-day form of highway robbery, as far as he was concerned. But a fact of life.

  Was anything Kimball said true? Or was she just trying to rattle him? Belk and Hallman both dead? Not that he’d mourn them, anyway. Good news, actually. Dead men can’t talk.

  But both Norells arrested? More of a problem. He’d been a weasel. She was a bitch, plain and simple. Penny pincher, too. Had to watch her like a hawk or she’d cheat him every chance she got.