False Positive (17 page)

Monday. Early Afternoon
.

Ethan missing for sixty-five and a quarter hours

Devereaux drove all the way to the end of the track.

It was a route he used infrequently. He'd stumbled across it by accident years ago when he'd spent one of his suspensions searching for long-nosed armadillos, and he regularly checked that it wasn't shown on any current maps. He tucked the Jeep into the shade of a dense stand of Virginia pines. Checked it would be hidden from the air. And left to cover the final mile to his cabin on foot.

There were two things he was very clear about. He wasn't running. And he wasn't hiding. He'd done enough of both in his past. Now he just needed a place where he wouldn't be disturbed. And he needed time to think.

Lieutenant Hale was the only person in authority who knew about the cabin, and he trusted her completely. She wouldn't betray him. The rest of the machine was still in motion—the Find-a-Child tele-canvassers, the legions of officers with descriptions of the boy and the woman, the news segments on TV asking people to be vigilant, the social media outreach, the FBI delving into the law enforcement angle—but Devereaux sensed that something was eluding them. He couldn't shake the images of the missing kids' faces looking down at him from the screen at the FBI field office. They were flashing in his
memory like the illustrations in a magic lantern, jumping and jerking from one snapshot to the next. He thought that if only he could slow the pictures down, he'd be able to see what connected them.

Devereaux reached the cabin and went inside. He scooped up a can of beer—part of his supply from the previous week—and lay down on the couch. He needed to broaden his focus. Empty his mind. Allow the individual images to float free, then coalesce into a pattern he could make sense of.

Devereaux breathed deeply, closed his eyes, and thought about the dead woman. The Crane house, with its unlocked back door. Ethan's secret treasures, hidden inside his toy rabbit. The woman waiting outside, in her stolen Honda minivan. The hair dye, left behind in the hotel…

His trance was broken by the growl of a car engine and the crunch of tires rolling over dried mud. Devereaux jumped up and moved to the door. A police Charger was fifty yards away, bumping its way up the track. There was still time for him to make a break for the woods. No one knew the area like he did. He could get to his Jeep with minimal risk. Get back to the road. And find somewhere else to hole up until he figured out his next step.

Devereaux didn't move. There was only one car coming, after all. And running blind had never appealed to him. He always liked to know who or what he was up against. So he drew his Glock and watched. The Charger drew closer. It was moving slowly, pitching and rolling over the cratered surface. Then it stopped abruptly, twenty yards away. The driver's door opened. And a woman climbed out.

“Cooper?” Loflin took a tentative step toward the cabin. “Hey, Devereaux? Are you here? It's Jan. We really need to talk…”

Monday. Early Afternoon
.

Ethan missing for sixty-five and three-quarter hours

Loflin walked gingerly to the center of the cabin's only room, stood for a moment, then turned three hundred and sixty degrees. Devereaux watched her move, and figured she was searching for something to say that wouldn't sound insulting.

“So.” He slid his gun into its holster while her back was turned, then sat down on the couch. “What are you doing here? Why aren't you behind your desk?”

“I told the lieutenant I was out getting counseling.”

“But you're not.”

“No. Because I want to talk.”

“To me? About what?”

Loflin shrugged, then crossed to the wall and poked gently as if she thought her finger might sink into the wood.

“How did you know I'd be here?”

“I didn't. I guessed.”

“How did you find the place?”

“I heard the lieutenant giving a uniform guy directions, Saturday, before he came to fetch you. I have a good memory.”

“Evidently. So what do you want to talk about?”

Loflin shrugged again, but stayed silent.

Sixty seconds crept past before Devereaux ran out of patience.

“OK, enough.” Devereaux stood, took hold of Loflin's arm, and started to steer her toward the door. “You're wasting my time. I need to think. A child's life's on the line, and you're not helping. Go back to headquarters. Go to a bar. To a therapist. Anywhere. Just find someone else to annoy.”

“No.” Loflin wriggled free and moved back to the center of the room. “Look, I'm not
trying
to be a pain in your ass. It's just—this is important, but it's so hard for me…”

“What is?”

“Cooper, I'm exhausted. I was up all last night. My eyes didn't close till dawn. And I'm so conflicted. Working undercover nearly killed me, but at least I knew who I could trust.
No one
. But now…Do you know how long it is since I've had a regular partner? And then I get
you
.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Her whole body suddenly sagged. “Forget it. This is ridiculous. I should go.”

“Not so fast.” Devereaux blocked her path to the door. “What did you mean by that? You got
me
?”

“Nothing.” Her hands balled into fists. “It's just…I really want this to work out. Being in your squad. I want to fit in. To be accepted here. But people talk. I've been hearing things, and, Cooper—I'm worried. About teaming up with you. You're so…secretive.”

Devereaux's first impulse was to throw her out of the cabin and tell her not to come back. But then he thought back to the phone call he'd made to his old partner, Eddie England. At least Loflin had raised her concerns to his face. She deserved some credit for that. And she looked so thoroughly miserable, standing there in front of him like a heartbroken child. Pools of tears were forming at the bridge of her nose and magnifying the dark circles beneath her eyes. Devereaux could practically feel the anguish and isolation radiating from her.

“OK.” Devereaux checked his watch, then gestured to the stack of six-packs. “I'd hit a wall, anyway. A break might help. Grab a beer. You've got as long as it takes you to drink it. Ask me anything you want.”

“I don't think so. I should go.”

“You should stay. You obviously have questions. And you look like you need a drink.”

Loflin hesitated.

“Well, maybe one won't hurt.” She went to the pile, separated a beer can from its plastic yoke, and came over to the couch. “There's nowhere else to sit. Can I join you?”

“Why not?”

She turned to lower herself down and her heel knocked into the can Devereaux had started before she arrived. It fell, and a stream of beer started soaking into the wooden floor.

“Shit!” Loflin grabbed the can and set it upright. “I'm such a klutz! I can't believe I did that.”

“Don't worry about it. You're not the first person to spill a drink in this place.”

Loflin pulled a wad of Kleenex from her purse and started to dab at the dwindling puddle. “Let me at least clean it up.”

“Leave it.” Devereaux waved his hand. “You're making a clean spot. It makes the rest of the floor look dirty.”

“It is dirty. It's filthy! So's this whole place. How can you keep it so nasty when your car's like an OR?”

“That's your first question? That's really what you want to know about me?”

“No. I want to know…” Loflin held up the beer can as if trying to gauge how much time the liquid inside would buy her. “Let's try this. Between leaving school and joining the department. What did you do?”

“I got by. Doesn't matter how. Ask me something else.”

“OK. You're a detective. How come you can afford a Porsche and a penthouse?”

“Because of my hard work and dedication. Ask me something else.”

“How many times have you been suspended?”

“A few. Comes with the territory. Happens to everyone with enough years under their belt. Including you,
Detective
.”

“What about marriage? Ever been down that road?”

“No.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No. I'm single. And I'm staying that way.”

“Oh, you had a nasty break up. I get it. Recently?”

“No. Years ago.”

“How many?”

“Eight.”

“Wow.” Loflin sipped her beer. “You sure take your heartbreak seriously. What happened?”

“Couldn't tell you.” Devereaux shrugged. “One day: Boom. It was over. Bitch cut me out of her life. Refused to even sit down with me and talk about it.”

“She was another cop?”

“No. A lawyer.”

“Was it a lawyer-cop thing? There's bound to be friction.”

“Could have been, I guess. Or maybe I just got on her nerves. I was home a lot, around the time it ended. I figured she liked me better when she saw me less.”

“Were you out on disability?”

“No. Suspension.”

“Over what?”

“A total crock. I shot a kid, and everyone got in a wad about it.”

“Holy shit, Cooper.” Loflin's purse slid onto the floor. “A kid? Why?”

“He was going to shoot my partner. In the back. From six feet away. There was no chance he'd have missed. And there was no time to shout a warning. So I stopped him. Then I ran in to secure his weapon. That's when I saw he was fourteen years old. He died in the ambulance on the way to the ER.”

“Cooper, that's awful. I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry about it. No one forced the kid to pull a gun on a cop. He got what he deserved. I just wish they hadn't suspended me. It sent me stir-crazy. Then when I came back they made me work in the archives for a week, which was even worse.”

“That's too bad. Being on suspension does suck. And now you have the Feds coming after you, from what I heard this morning.”

“I'm not worried about them. Emrich could have stopped the whole thing before it got started if he didn't have such a huge hard-on
for me. No, what we need is to turn the spotlight back on the Feds. See how far they've gotten with finding the one of their own who took the orphans.”

“You think this woman is a Fed?”

“She has to be. She couldn't be a cop.”

“Why not?” Loflin finished her beer and set the can on the floor. “A cop could have moved to each of the states where a kid disappeared. There was enough time between cases.”

“I guess.” Devereaux stood and fetched another beer for each of them. “But the whole thing's weird. Why snatch only orphans? And why those particular kids?”

“Opportunity. She took a kid in each city she was posted to.”

“Maybe. But how did she single out the orphans? You'd think orphanages would be easier targets. Foster records are hard to get your hands on. And why did only one kid disappear from each state?”

“Maybe more disappeared, but we don't know about them yet?” Loflin put her drink down, unopened.

“Aside from Ethan, these aren't new offenses. One slipping through the net, I could believe. In one place. But at least one in eight other states? I can't see the Feds missing that many.”

“We're assuming these kids are dead.” Loflin got up and started to pace. “What if they're not? They could have been kept alive. Taken somewhere else. That would explain the lack of bodies.”

“But what made them targets in the first place? They were different ages. Different genders. They had different economic backgrounds. And they were from different locations. There must have been other kids in foster care in those cities. Why pick those specific kids?”

“Interesting angle.” Loflin came to a stop, halfway between Devereaux and the door. “We should look at Ethan again. Start digging.”

“Not
we
.” Devereaux glanced down at the floor where the beer had spilled, then met Loflin's eye. “
You
. There's someone I need to talk to.”

The woman was being a little self-indulgent, she realized.

She'd come to the Business Center to attend to some practical matters, but before she got around to them she allowed herself the luxury of an extra few minutes with her webcams.

The little girl was being home-schooled, just as the woman had been herself for a time. She didn't know why. And she didn't really care. The kid seemed happy enough. The mother treated her well, from what she could see. Right now, for example, it was lunchtime. The girl was out in the yard, playing with her dolls, acting out make-believe scenarios the way seven-year-olds do.

The woman congratulated herself. She'd done well, given how little time she'd had to prepare for this additional case. That was the benefit of experience. These things became second nature. She'd thought about passing this job to her successor, but in the end decided to handle it herself. One more go-around, before she handed over the reins. Because there were two unique aspects to this scenario that fascinated her: Where the girl was living, and who she was living with.

The woman had never had to save two unrelated kids in the same city before.

Or rescue a kid from its own natural mother.

Monday. Early Afternoon
.

Ethan missing for sixty-six and a quarter hours

Devereaux's cell network just about stretched to the outer fringes of the woods where his cabin was located, but he didn't want to stop the Jeep where it could attract attention. He didn't want to go anywhere he'd be recognized, either, so he continued to the last Cracker Barrel you pass before entering Birmingham's city limits. It was a place he'd seen often as a kid, but never visited. He didn't get to eat out much, back then. But he did learn to read early, and remembered thinking that anywhere with a barrel might be a good place to hide.

He pulled into the parking lot and took the farthest space from the line of cutesy wooden rocking chairs on the restaurant's veranda. He wondered for a second whether they were real, and if so, who would want to spend time sitting there bathed in the fumes and the noise from the highway. Then he popped the Jeep's glove box and took out a disposable phone. One of five he kept in there. It wasn't that he'd suddenly lost faith in Lieutenant Hale. He just didn't believe in taking unnecessary risks.

“Cooper?” Hale sounded surprised. “Why are you calling me from this number? Wait. Don't answer that. Just tell me you haven't left the country, or done anything stupid.”

“No. I'm still in town. And I have a sane reason to call. I need to know who you put on the Tomcik homicide.”

“No. You don't. You need to get your ass in my office, pronto. I've spent most of the morning assuring Captain Emrich and the pair of storm troopers he brought in from Infernal Affairs that you had a good reason for what you did. You did have a good reason, didn't you, Cooper?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Keeping away from Emrich and Infernal Affairs.”

“That's not a good enough reason!”

“It is from where I'm standing. I figure I have work to do, if we're going to find Ethan. I can't do that from inside an interview room.”

“You can't do that if they put you back on suspension, either.”

“Am I back on suspension?”

“No. Not yet, anyway. But not for lack of trying on Emrich's part. Luckily for you, the agents' boss, McMahan, is an old friend of mine. I told him you'd been acting under my orders when you visited Vernon at the restaurant. We should have checked they didn't have an ongoing action there, but that oversight was on me.”

Devereaux was momentarily distracted by the screeching of tires and blaring of a horn as two SUVs nearly collided, their drivers confused by the vague sun-bleached markings on the pavement.

“Thanks, Lieutenant. But I still need to talk to whoever you put on the Tomcik case.”

“No, you don't. I don't want you anywhere near that investigation.”

“But—”

“Listen, Cooper, I don't want you talking to anyone. I don't want you sniffing around this case. I want clear blue water between you and anything to do with Hayden Tomcik. Understand?”

“No. I don't. Look, this isn't personal. It's not about Tomcik and my father. It's about finding Ethan. Another piece of the puzzle, at least.”

“What piece?”

“The hooker whose body was dumped out of the Honda? I think she was killed at Tomcik's house.”

“Why?”

“Other hookers were there. They were also Eastern European. Tomcik was murdered, so a killer was there. And I remember seeing a patch on the floor of the kitchen that was much cleaner than the rest. Something had been mopped up. It could have been blood. A lot of blood.”

“I'll have it checked out.”

“What's to check? The forensics report will tell us in two seconds. If there wasn't blood, then I'm barking up the wrong tree. Just tell me who's running with the case and I'll ask them.”

“I'll have it checked out. But you're to have no contact with the Tomcik case, Cooper. This is important.”

“What's this about, Lieutenant? What aren't you telling me?”

“Think about it for a minute. The girls from Tomcik's house? They're prostitutes. Illegal immigrants. Vice is working on the link between them and Sean Carver's racket, which the Feds and the DEA are crawling all over. I won't lie to you. Things aren't looking good for Tomcik. And the last thing you need, given your history together, is to get any of his stink on you now.”