by G. K. Parks
“I’m going to talk to the Captain. Don’t go anywhere,” Jacobs insisted.
Thirty seconds later, Capt. Moretti was standing in front of me. “Parker, great job.” He extended his hand, and we shook. Jacobs sighed as he went to file some paperwork. “I know you haven’t been on the payroll in a while, but hell, you got O’Connell’s niece back. The bastards responsible are still in the wind, and you have more insight into this than most.” He glanced at Heathcliff. “Since everyone’s out of the doghouse, shall I dust off those consulting forms and get your help on this?”
“Sounds good.”
Moretti went back into his office to print off some forms or maybe get approval from his boss. Either way, it looked like I was employed by a law enforcement agency again. It was nice to be home, even if I originally tried to avoid it.
“What the hell did they put in those fries?” Heathcliff asked, interrupting my thoughts. “You look ecstatic, bordering on manic.”
“It’s good to be back.”
After signing the paperwork and settling in more permanently at O’Connell’s desk, I still wasn’t ready to divulge any more information on the situation in the storage unit. If something surfaced and it became important, I would talk but not until then. Instead, I read through all of the official police paperwork concerning the kidnapping, surveillance, suspects, witnesses, financial records, and reports. Although, most of this was new information, the majority led nowhere. The leads the three of us determined in my apartment were far more accurate than what the police department surmised. Politics and public relations had done a lot of harm. I was glad Mercer didn’t play by the rules, or we’d still be looking for Catherine.
Thompson entered the bullpen and smiled brightly. “Are we sure it’s a good thing they freed you from that cage?” he asked.
“Moretti thinks so.” I held up my consultant credentials as he sat down. “How’s Catherine?”
“They took her to the hospital for a check-up. She’s fine. No signs of abuse or mistreatment. Evelyn, Peter, O’Connell, and Jen are with her now. A few officers and some social workers are talking to her about what happened. We don’t want to re-traumatize her, but she has the answers.”
“I’m glad she’s okay. She’s a tough kid.”
“She must be if she was stuck under that cot with you for an extended amount of time.” He winked and went to talk to Moretti.
I finished skimming through the case files and looked at the clock. It was almost five a.m. The adrenaline rush from earlier subsided hours ago, and the caffeine coursing through my veins ceased working an hour ago. I was ready to go home, get a few hours of sleep, and start fresh by early afternoon. I tossed Estobar Santino’s name around to a few uniforms to do some legwork and run a full profile while I was gone. Heathcliff left, and I was logging off of Nick’s computer when a voice interrupted.
“Parker,” it came out a growl, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Fulfilling a promise,” I told O’Connell. “She’s safe, isn’t she?”
I saw the smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “First, you take my badge. Now you’re taking my desk. Am I this easy to replace?” It was a joke. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but it was better than nothing.
“That’s what happens when you get hurt on the job; someone has to fill in until you learn to duck and cover.” We studied one another for a moment. “Anyway, you can have your desk back. I’m going home to sleep.” I stood up and remembered my car was at Mercer’s. Maybe I could borrow one from impound since I was technically working for the police department. “Are you even supposed to be here?”
“No, I’m still on sick leave, but there were reports to file. Catherine’s had a lot to say, and sooner is better than later.”
“Take it easy, Nick.”
“Alexis,” he put up a hand to stop me from brushing past, “Evelyn and Peter wanted to say thanks.”
“No need. I was just helping out a friend.” He gave me a small smile, and I went in search of a ride home.
After a bit of conniving, a fresh-faced rookie dropped me off at Mercer’s apartment. I got out of the car and waved the officer away. Once the cruiser was out of sight, I knocked on Mercer’s door. There was no answer and no sign of the van. I gave the front door one last look, considering the pros and cons of breaking in. The sun was coming up, and I was starting to feel the stiffness creep into my muscles and joints. Settling into my soft mattress seemed like a much better idea than rummaging through Mercer’s information. I dug my car key out of my pocket and drove home.
My apartment was a welcome sight, and I barely managed to change out of my clothes and brush the dust and debris out of my hair before collapsing on the bed. Setting the alarm seemed too tedious of a task, so I hoped I’d wake by my own volition by noon. Shutting my eyes, I managed a few dreamless hours of sleep before my subconscious began to weave facts and questions into my REM cycle.
I woke up horrified. Maybe I was just jumping to conclusions, but the man keeping guard over Catherine was taken by Mercer. The shots fired and the blood in the next room were indicative of someone being injured, and while there was the possibility one of the ex-SAS was grazed, I felt pretty sure that wasn’t likely. My mouth tasted salty, and I swallowed. What my subconscious decided was Mercer took the injured man someplace secluded to torture him for answers. It wasn’t that some sick kidnapper didn’t deserve what he was getting, but this wasn’t exactly how things should be done either. Maybe I was still suffering from memories of being tortured myself.
Getting up, I took a shower and dressed for a day at the precinct. My hip was a lovely blackish-purple and hurt to be touched, but it was of little consequence compared to the assessment I gave my once battered and bloody wrists. The scars left from the rope burns and cuts had long since healed and were barely visible, but I couldn’t help but think what techniques Mercer might be inflicting upon the only current lead in finding Adalina and the Four Seasons. Maybe if I were in his shoes, I’d do whatever it took to find Catherine too.
I decided to splurge and pick up coffee on my way to the station as a way to distract myself from the morbidity of my morning. Getting a few coffees for whoever might be at work, I pulled into the parking lot and carried the four cups into the bullpen. Thompson and Heathcliff were both there, and they looked relieved to have a better beverage option than the mud that was brewing in the break room.
“Any news from our favorite K&R specialist?” Heathcliff asked as I found the folder on Estobar Santino atop O’Connell’s desk.
“Not a word.” I surveyed the bullpen, but no one was paying much attention. The kidnapping was old news after last night’s recovery. “Any bodies turn up today?”
“Bodies always turn up,” Thompson muttered from his seat across from me, “but no one of interest.” I assumed Heathcliff must have connected some of the dots and shared them with Thompson.
After reading through the workup on Santino, I still didn’t glean anything useful. I leaned back in the chair and propped my leg up on the opened bottom drawer, trying to figure out a way to circumvent rules, regulations, and Mercer and his mercenaries. There had to be a way to get close to Santino without jeopardizing Adalina’s safety or the Estes’ wishes. If I could get eyes on him, maybe he’d lead me somewhere solid.
Heathcliff interrupted my thoughts by slapping a stack of papers on the desk. “Do you think this is a vacation?” he teased. “You claim to have mad case-solving skills so get cracking.” I could tell he was as frustrated as the rest of us. Our joviality over Catherine’s recovery lasted through the night, but now the need to prevent the same group from doing this again in the future was overriding all the warm, fuzzy feelings.
Picking up the papers, I realized it was Catherine’s file, containing everything from medical reports to preliminary evidence collection to her statement. This would lead somewhere. Only Catherine could tell us where she was, how many different abductors she encountered, and h
ow long she and the other captives had been held and where. The problem was, unlike her uncle, she wasn’t trained in police procedure and the finer art of noticing small nuances. She was also seven. Still, it was worth a shot.
She wasn’t malnourished or dehydrated. Hell, she wasn’t even exhausted. By all accounts, the Seasons kept her in excellent physical shape. There wasn’t so much as a cut or bruise on her. From what she told her parents and the officers, the men gave her and her friends blankets, pillows, and access to all other necessities. It seemed the only thing the girls were missing were extra sets of clothing. They even had access to showers and bathrooms. They were given privacy, or seemingly their privacy, so at the very least the kidnappers weren’t perverts. They were told numerous times if they needed anything or wanted something to ask. What kind of kidnappers were we dealing with?
As I continued to peruse the reports, Catherine said they were moved four different times. The last place was the scariest because it was dark, and she was alone. Adalina had been with her when they were transported to the storage unit, but they didn’t remain together. There was a guard keeping her there, and before I arrived, he just escorted her back to the cell from another room where she had been given dinner and allowed to watch cartoons. The contradictory nature of the abduction was making my head spin.
“Who the fuck are these people?” I mumbled.
“Minus the lack of free will, it sounds like a vacation,” Heathcliff answered.
Some things were already pinging in my brain, but I decided to finish reading the file before chasing any particular theory through my psyche. Officers canvassed the entire lot of storage units but recovered nothing, except my discarded flak jacket which was in evidence for the time being. The other room that Catherine spoke of was another interconnected unit. It contained a television, refrigerator, a makeshift bedroom, a sofa, and various toys and games to entertain a seven year old. Why did they want to keep the girls happy? To gain their trust and compliance, or to discourage any attempt at escape? How would they even know what a seven year old would be interested in? I had no clue, but from Evelyn and Peter’s remarks, which were added to the file, I could tell the kidnappers were well-versed in current trends. I felt the gnawing in my brain. Something just wasn’t sitting right.
“Hey,” Thompson commanded my attention, and I looked up, “we’re checking out a lead on the clinic break-in. Did you want to tag along?”
“No.” I stood up. “I’ll do some digging on my own.”
He nodded, and the two detectives headed out. I collected my belongings and drove home. My apartment was a much better place for pacing and investigating matters that the police department was not officially privy to.
Thirty
The large wall in my living room had more holes in it than a pincushion after all the reworking our theory underwent. The kidnappers had a familiarity with the girls and with the interests of seven year olds. They also kept them safe and reasonably happy, even if they had no problem leading me to believe they were ruthless killers. My eyes narrowed, scanning through the endless list of suspects. The only clear fact was someone intimately familiar with the Estes’ household was involved.
I blew out a breath and fought the urge to throw something. Means, motive, and opportunity, my internal voice was working through the basics needed for warrants. Estobar Santino had the means. The motive I could assume was financial, but I would assume motive for any kidnapper was financial unless circumstances dictated otherwise. Opportunity, I scratched my head. We couldn’t get close enough to him to even get an alibi. He might have an airtight alibi or he might have grabbed the girls straight from school.
School. I stopped. There were no signs of physical trauma. Why would three seven year olds willing go with someone they didn’t know without so much as a scream? I went back to the report based on Catherine’s story. She said the girls were taken on the way into the building, but no other details were provided.
“Answer your phone, Nick,” I urged, listening to the ringing through the earpiece.
“What?” I knew we didn’t completely patch things up, but surely, I should have received a kinder response than that.
“O’Connell,” I began but stopped, realizing he knew more than he was letting on, and for some reason, he still wanted to keep everyone in the dark. “Why did you go to the precinct to file the paperwork?” I blurted out. It wasn’t the question I intended to ask, but there was something off.
“Despite what you may think, I’m still a cop.”
“Yeah, but the responding officer should have made the report. Thompson brought Catherine in. Why isn’t he the detective on record?”
“Did Moretti hire you to be the paperwork monitor?” O’Connell retorted.
“No.”
“Then who the hell cares? Paperwork is paperwork. No one wants to do it.” He was being defensive and for no reason I could discern.
“Why’d your niece willingly go with her abductor?”
“Drop it, Parker,” he warned. I heard a posh British accent in the background. “I have to go.”
“Are you with Mercer?” My blood pressure spiked, and I wasn’t sure if I was more appalled by the fact that a detective sworn to protect and uphold the law might be assisting in torturing someone or that he still didn’t feel he could trust me to help deal with the situation.
“No.” He hung up before I could ask anything else.
“Fuck you,” I said to the dead air space.
Launching a pillow at the wall made me feel a little better, even though nothing crashed or broke into a million pieces. There were a few other options, but calling on the Cales and persuading them to let me speak to Catherine wasn’t the way to go. The girl had been through enough. I tried dialing Mercer, but he didn’t answer. With nothing better to do, I called Thompson and asked that he do his best to keep his partner out of trouble.
Eventually, I cooled down and went back to work. I was reviewing the surveillance feed from the school, watching as a chauffeured town car pulled up. It idled for a few minutes. The front of the vehicle was out of the camera’s range, making identifying the driver or passengers impossible, and then it left. Initially, I believed it was a parent or driver, dropping a child off at school, but what if that was the vehicle used to pick up the kids? It’d be easy enough to convince the girls that one of their parents arranged for a separate ride to the museum. Stranger things had happened, and with the affluence of the school, it wouldn’t be uncommon for town cars to arrive on a daily basis.
I managed to get a partial plate number from the grainy feed and called it into the precinct. They were running vehicle registries and would get back to me with any feasible matches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress. I tried to review the rest of Catherine’s file, but I was too annoyed with O’Connell and Mercer to concentrate. Maybe I needed a break.
I took a nice long jog to clear my mind. It was intended to be a run, but my hip was sore so a slow jog had to suffice. The fresh air and freedom from the confines of my apartment eased the tension and hostility I was harboring, and my mind went back to ruminating on the questionable facts in Catherine’s statement.
By the time I made it back to my apartment, I was positive the reason the girls were treated so well was because whoever took them cared deeply about their well-being. If this had been a single child abduction in a custody battle, I would have expected as much because the parent would want the child to feel safe and comfortable. But this wasn’t a custody battle, and more than one girl was taken. Could we be looking at things all wrong?
I conducted a search for any public news stories or paparazzi articles concerning the Peruvian gold moguls. If Peru was anything like the U.S., the rich would be treated like quasi-royalty or at least celebrities. Could there be marital unrest? I flashed back to my brief encounter with Senor Estes and his wife. She remained silent and on the outside. As far as I could recall, the two never interacted, and something seemed strange about
the grieving mother.
After I set my computer to conduct its search and translate any non-English results into English, I took a quick shower as my mind continued to race through my new theory. Unlike all our other theories which didn’t hold water or failed to produce results, I was beginning to think I might be getting closer to a plausible explanation for all of this. An explanation would lead to the kidnappers. It was too much to hope for, but I couldn’t help myself. This had been going on far too long.
Tying up my wet hair, I stood in front of my computer, skimming through the results. The problem with tabloid news was it wasn’t always reliable. There were a few stories which spoke of outlandish arguments and threats made by Senora Rosa Estes, promising to take Miguel for all he was worth. The only issue was these stories were dated a year or two back. The more recent tabloid articles spoke of reconciliation, a possible pregnancy, and the two together at various charity functions. It seemed the fighting stopped and was replaced by true love. I scoffed at the notion.
I wished there was a way to get in contact with Rosa Estes, but there was no way around the family’s order preventing a police presence at their estate. The next best thing was to compile a complete workup on her. An hour later and there was still next to nothing on Rosa Estes. Hell, even her maiden name seemed to be top secret. With the way the day had gone, I was positive I was losing my touch.
“Parker,” I answered the ringing phone.
“We identified the perp from the clinic break-in.” Heathcliff got straight to the point. I hadn’t seen his no-nonsense attitude much since he started coloring outside the lines, but now that he was back in Moretti’s good graces, he was acting like his usual cop self again.
“Real cops don’t call the suspects perps,” I teased, but he ignored it.
