Final Approach (14 page)
Authors: Rachel Brady
“Go ahead and have a seat,” Brad said. “This shouldn’t take too long.”
Jeannie and I sat in chairs along the wall. Current issues of
PC Gamer
,
TidBITs,
and
Linux Today
were spread over the surface of an oblong coffee table with uneven legs. Jeannie dug through the magazines and curled her brightly painted lips in disgust.
I relaxed into my chair and stretched my legs. I let my eyes close. It’d been almost thirty hours since I’d slept. My leg throbbed and a headache was coming on. Or maybe I’d had the headache all along but had been too distracted to know.
My cell phone rang. The call was coming from BioTek.
“It’s Bowman.” I punched Ignore Call, annoyed he was wasting my precious battery.
“Of course, it’s him.” Jeannie checked her watch with an exaggerated flourish. “While
I
am on vacation today, I’m afraid
you
are three hours late for work.”
I rested my head on the wall behind me and closed my eyes, wishing my
life
had a button: Ignore All.
“Quit it.” Jeannie didn’t look up from her hands. She was picking at a cuticle. Her legs were crossed, the top foot swinging.
“Quit what?”
“Stop staring at me. You’re bugging me.”
I didn’t know I’d fixated on her. I shifted my gaze to the cluttered tabletop and took in the layers of computer magazines. Except for us, ResusciData’s waiting room was empty.
“I’m trying to make sense of Richard’s theory,” I said.
Jeannie stopped swinging her leg and looked up from her nails. This time, I felt her eyes lock onto me. An automatic air freshener mounted on the wall sprayed out a poof of something lemony.
I stood and paced the little room.
Jeannie followed me with her eyes. The way she looked over the top of her sunglasses reminded me of a disapproving teacher.
“Something’s wrong with you.” She cocked her head, like she was figuring something out. “It’s not what Richard said that’s got you thinking. It’s what Clement said, isn’t it? I’ve been wondering when you’d come back to that.”
I lowered my voice. “How could I
not
be thinking about Clement? He all but told me Trish’s people had something to do with Jack and Annette. That means we were right…they did kidnap Mattie Shelton. When their threats didn’t work, they tried to kill me before I could testify. Except…”
I felt tears welling and wondered if she could see that.
She was careful to keep her voice low too. “Except what?”
“I didn’t go on the boat that morning. Jack wanted me to have time to myself, quiet time to decompress after the threats and the break-in. So, while I was painting my toenails…or reading on the beach…or doing some other selfish, indulgent thing—”
Jeannie dropped her head into her hands. “They went after the boat you rented. Because they expected you to be on board.”
“I think so.”
“But you’re alive. Why not try again?”
I shrugged. “They got what they wanted. I missed the trial.”
She didn’t speak right away.
“I think they got more than they wanted,” I said. “I think they got Annette.”
When I blinked, tears fell down both cheeks. I swiped at them and tried to compose myself, turning my back to the counter so Brad wouldn’t see.
Jeannie seemed confused. “Sweetie, why don’t you—”
“I think they sold her,” I blurted.
I knew I couldn’t keep it together. Not seeing a ladies room, I rushed outside.
Jeannie followed. We stopped at the corner of the building, beyond the lobby windows. If there were people in the parking lot, I didn’t notice.
“Sold her?”
“This is bigger than Trish and Casey Lyons.” My voice sounded far away. Putting words to my fears made my chin quiver. “I think it’s a group, like a ring. Trish Dalton, her brother Mark, Ed Kosh…I think they’re like a cell, part of something bigger.”
Jeannie wiped my cheek. “Slow down.”
“Think about it,” I said. “Cells use people with different skills. People who can fly planes, disable alarms, kidnap hostages…”
Her eyes flashed at the last one. She started to say something, but the glass door to the computer shop swung open, ringing bells that were tied to its handle. Brad poked his head outside. I turned away from him and wiped my eyes and nose.
“Good, you’re here,” he said. “It’s done.”
The bells clanged on the glass again.
“He’s gone,” Jeannie said.
I sniffled, composed myself. She ran a thumb under each of my eyes, her way of fixing me up and taking care of me.
“Guess we should see what he’s got,” I said.
“That’s my girl.”
She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and led me inside.
Behind the counter, we looked over Brad’s shoulder at a list of directories on the hard drive. I wanted to shove him out of his chair.
“Hey,” I said to Jeannie. “Didn’t you want to search the hard drive?”
“Thanks,” Jeannie said, to me. Then, turning to Brad, she added, “Can I take a quick look in my son’s folders?”
She leaned next to Brad and got so close to the screen her shoulder brushed against his. He wheeled his seat backward, to reclaim some personal space, I imagined. Jeannie grabbed his mouse.
“Let’s see what he’s been up to.”
“Okay then,” Brad said. “I’ll be over here, ringing you up.” He faded toward a computer at the far end of the counter.
“Try My Documents,” I whispered.
She double-clicked the folder and a new list of folders appeared.
Jeannie read them off quietly, “Mortgage, Gear, Junk, MP3s, Old, Miscellaneous, Work, Financial, Pictures…”
She clicked on the Work folder, but only old resume drafts were inside. Apparently Edward Kosh—Scud—was a building contractor before he hit it big in human trafficking and contraband.
“Try Financial.”
The folder contained a variety of Excel Sheets: Interest Payments, Master Card, Home Improvements, and New Car, among others. In a list of such specific records, a nondescript filename caught my eye.
“Click on Transactions,” I said. The Date Modified column indicated it was updated only two days ago.
Excel launched and populated a short worksheet. There were no column headers.
Jeannie and I squinted at the data.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Is this what I—”
“This has to be male or female,” I said, pointing at a column of “M”s and “F”s.
“Origin and destination cities too,” she whispered. “And are those the
ages
of kids involved? I can’t believe this. What’s with the question marks?”
“Maybe a child not placed? And that last column…it has to be the person who took each child.”
I remembered the paper I’d found in Kurt’s duffel.
“Wait,” I muttered, unzipping the backpack. Where was that damn paper? I dug through stacks of money looking for it, and two thick bricks cash escaped onto the table. I glanced up in time to catch Brad staring, wide-eyed.
“Long story,” I said, and shoved them back in the bag.
Brad grinned. “Is that—”
“For a prank.” Jeannie reached over me, into the sack, and extracted a crisp fifty from her recent bank run. “Looks real, huh?” She winked and handed it to him. “Just don’t try to spend it.”
He walked toward the counter, inspecting the bill and turning it over in his hand. I wasn’t sure if he’d been tricked or paid off, and I imagined he was asking himself the same question.
The paper I wanted was nestled along the backpack’s liner and I unfolded it and held it near the keyboard.
“Look,” I said. “The first two columns on this paper match the ones on the spreadsheet, right down to the question mark. They could be dates, without the year listed.”
“Wait a minute.” Jeannie leaned forward and looked from the monitor to the paper. “How much money’s in your bag there, Em?”
I frowned. “Before I bought the car it was almost two-fifty.”
She ran a finger down the smooth surface of the flat screen panel and stopped on the last three numbers. “Eighty-nine, seventy-five, eighty-four…that adds to what? Two forty-eight?”
“I hate math.”
“Well,
this
math,” she pointed to the numbers on the computer and paper, “is in
that
bag.” She flung her finger toward my backpack. “Column seven here is money, if you add some zeroes. And you’re hauling around an awful lot of zeroes, lady.”
My eyes followed her finger and involuntarily fixated on the bag. I visualized its incredible stash, safely zipped inside. “Why would they risk toting that amount of cash?”
“Money laundering.” She answered with conviction but I doubted she had any idea what she was talking about.
I looked at the last column of the spreadsheet again. “Dalton and Kosh are obvious. And I know that name Reed.”
She turned back to the screen, as if double-checking me.
“That’s the guy I picked out of the photo line-up in Mattie’s case. The guy I was supposed to forget. He’s the one who went free because my deposition never made it to court.”
“I don’t know what to say. You did everything you could.”
I’d thought so too, but it hadn’t been enough. And now more children had been taken from their homes because that trial didn’t take Reed off the streets like it should have. At least six kids had been snatched this year, if I could believe what I was reading. And then it hit me.
“Where are the other years?”
“This is the only tab,” she said, clicking across the bottom, checking for more data.
“July seventh,” I said. “Do a search on 0707 and see what hits.” God, please something hit.
Jeannie opened a search window and typed in the characters. The computer found the text string in an Excel worksheet called Old that was in Scud’s Junk folder. When the file opened, my eyes went straight to the entry. I fell to my knees next to Jeannie’s chair.
My voice sounded far away again, like a distant whisper in my own ears.
“It can’t be anything else.” I scanned the row of data, reading out loud. “They took her on the seventh. She was ten months old. On the nineteenth, they placed her. That bastard Reed took sixty-five K for my baby.”
Even as I explained, my eyes locked on the entry in the destination column: Galveston.
Jeannie and I took a few wrong turns on our way to Richard’s office, but eventually we found it. I was surprised to discover he shared a suite with a financial planner and a massage therapist.
“Eclectic group,” Jeannie said as we followed him down a hallway, past posters of the musculoskeletal system and a shelf of body oils. She carried printouts of the Excel sheets in one hand.
“This is me.” Richard peeled off into a side room. He flipped the light switch and I looked around. His furnishings were simple: desk, chairs, and a filing cabinet. The walls were bare. No drapes. A group of cardboard boxes were the only other items in the room.
“Just move in?” Jeannie asked.
Richard shook his head and tossed his keys onto his desk.
“What’d you tell the police?” I asked. We hadn’t heard his rundown yet.
“I told them I haven’t been to Gulf Coast Skydiving in over a week and I loaned the car to an associate helping me with a case.”
Jeannie crossed her arms and circled a stack of waist-high cardboard boxes. “You didn’t just move in, but you leave boxes out like this?”
Richard shrugged.
“When they asked me how to contact you,” he said, “I gave the number at your motel. You don’t carry a cell phone, do you?” He winked at me.
“Richard,” Jeannie said, “Has your wife seen this place?” She walked to his desk and sat in his chair. She found a rubberized stress doll, the kind that bends and stretches, and began flexing him in all directions.
“You could get in big trouble if they find out you lied,” I said.
Richard didn’t say anything right away. I had the uneasy feeling bad news was coming.
“They won’t have to dig that far,” he said. “Because it’s time for you to tell them what happened last night.”
“I can’t go to the police yet, Richard. Look what we found on the hard drive.”
I extended a hand toward Jeannie, meaning for her to pass the printouts. She was busy contorting the desk toy.
I found the printouts myself and brought them to Richard. I only showed him the entries from this year; I wanted his undivided attention when it was time to tell him about Annette. Richard studied the paper and sank into a chair on the visitor side of his desk, since Jeannie had taken over his usual spot.
“If this means what you think,” he said, pointing to a row on the spreadsheet, “this entry must be for Casey. Eleven-month-old male, disappeared from Houston on February twelfth.”
I looked over his shoulder. “It says he was placed in Tempe on the twenty-first. That’s today.”
Richard stared into the space in front of him, thinking out loud. “Maybe he’s still here in town.”
“Richard’s right,” Jeannie said. “About the first thing, I mean. It’s time to come clean about last night and hand all this over. If we wait too long, they might never find Casey. And the FBI needs to hear what you know about the agent that was shot. But, if you two go in now with everything that’s happened, you’ll be stuck there for days.”
Jeannie tapped her model-perfect fingernails on Richard’s desk. “I think there’s one angle left that we can explore better than the Feds. David Meyer.”
“The detectives can question him,” Richard said.
“Yes, but he and Emily hit it off. She’s more likable than a strange man with a badge.”
“Trish and her men won’t be back. Not after nearly being busted last night,” I said. “Maybe she’s right, Richard. David might be the piece that unravels this. He has to know
something
about what Trish was doing, even if he doesn’t
know
he knows.”
“At least talk to him before you get tied up at a police station,” Jeannie said.
Richard stared at her. She’d begun inspecting her bruised cheek in the reflection of a picture frame.
“Stop looking at me like you’re surprised I have a brain, Richard.”
“I agree with you,” he said. “We should see Meyer first.”
I nodded toward the printout in his hand. “You see the last line?”
He raised the paper and focused.
I continued, “Eight-month-old female in Houston, taken six days ago. Has she been in the news?”
Richard frowned, “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Well, I think those question marks you see mean the little girl’s on the market.”
“All the more reason to help the Feds bring these folks down ASAP.”
“Not that simple.” I passed Richard the paper with Annette’s information. He took a moment to scan the dates, then instantly understood.
His eyes were still on the paper when he said, “Galveston.”
“I’m afraid to go to the FBI, Richard. I was there when Clement got shot. If he’s unconscious, he won’t be able to vouch for me. They won’t help me unless they believe I’m innocent. That might take days.
“My only chance to figure out who has Annette is to get these people back into town, back into action.”
“Never mind these are the same people who tried to kill you.”
Jeannie looked at me. “Got an idea?”
“They have a baby to sell. I have a lot of money.”
“You’re not thinking,” Jeannie said. “You can’t set up a deal with them. They know you.” She gave a dismissive wave. “They know all of us.”
“I’m sure we could find a stand-in to do it for the right price,” I said. My newfound sack of money seemed able to repeatedly transform major obstacles into trivial afterthoughts.
“How would you contact them?” Richard asked. “The only phone numbers we have are for Kurt’s and Trish’s cells. I don’t care how good your cover story is, calling one of those numbers is sure to tip them off.”
He was right. Money wouldn’t help with that one.
“Okay,” I said, “Back to David Meyer then. If nothing comes from talking to him, I’ll have to take my chances with Clement and the FBI. They knew enough about the racketeering to be undercover at the drop zone. Maybe they know who to call when you want to buy a baby. With data from the hard drive, they could set up a sting.”
“How do we do the David thing?” Jeannie asked. “Show up at his office? Wait at his house?”
Richard produced his wallet and started leafing through cards. He pulled out a paper and walked toward the phone.
“We don’t have time to wait at his house,” he said. “I’ll ask about a visit to his office.”
“See if you can get the IP address for his remote log-ins,” I said.
He nodded and dialed. Jeannie stood and walked to me.
“How are you holding up?” she asked quietly.
I couldn’t answer without breaking down, so I shook my head. Jeannie put an arm around me. On the phone, Richard asked for the information I wanted, then about stopping by to see David. I thought about Annette’s entry on the spreadsheet again and felt my eyes start to sting, but the sound of the phone dropping into its cradle spurred me to keep myself together.
“Meyer called in sick this morning,” Richard said. “He’s not at work today. They’re looking into the IP address.”
Jeannie clucked her tongue. “Is it me, or does the timing of that sick day seem a little strange?”
“I don’t like it either,” Richard said, and grabbed his keys off the desk.