Amber Alert Read online

  “True!” Chrissie says with renewed resolve that’s somehow breaking through the drugged haze she’s been in. “They’ll go through credit records and stuff. If one of them has an SUV like Deb saw, they’ll find him real soon.”

  “I’m sure.” Rachel smiles at her, as they hold on to each other’s hand.

  Chrissie can tell how hard it is for her. “I love you,” she says.

  “I love you too.”

  Rachel leans forward against Chrissie’s shoulder, trembling. She’s crying quietly. If there’s anything that will get them through this, it’s this certainty.

  Rosie will be fine. That is all there is to say, or think.

  * * * *

  The trace has been set up, but there has been no ransom call yet as time is ticking away. I don’t need anybody to tell me this is not good. There are dumb, small-time criminals who think a kidnapping is easy money. There are people so desperate to have a child that they break the law in order to try and have one.

  Then, there’s the snake-pit.

  Cal has been quick to set up a task force, and his people are all highly skilled professionals. Well, so are we at Major Crimes.

  There are cops out in the field to organize volunteers for a search. The media has been informed, and an Amber Alert has been issued. On the other hand, the colleagues at Chrissie’s and Rachel’s house are instructed to keep reporters away from them. They want to control what information is given out at this point. Cal’s already been in a shouting match with Rachel’s Dad, because the latter wants a TV appearance in order to appeal to the kidnapper.

  Here, within the core of the investigation taking place at headquarters, I’m stuck with a dozen others, mostly FBI. They don’t sugarcoat the possibilities. They’re talking all possible areas, pedophiles, sex trafficking networks. I want to shoot somebody.

  Cal’s look at me doesn’t quite say “You asked for this,” but it’s “I told you so” at best. I square my shoulders. He’s right, I asked to be here, and I’m going to do my job.

  “Are those theories, worst case scenarios, or do you have actual proof that any of those groups is operating in this area?” I ask, proud of how calm my voice is, not giving away the rage inside.

  Special Agent Martinez points to the map behind her. “Unfortunately, hard proof is lacking. What we do know is that there’s been an increase in missing children. We’ve been reaching out to informants and undercover agents to identify any new players—” I feel sick at her choice of words, even though I don’t blame her. If I didn’t know Rosie, the use of the same detached language would be instinctive.

  “No luck so far.”

  I struggle to make sense of her words. I know they have their statistics. Those numbers aren’t conclusive to determine that the criminal landscape has changed, is there?

  “How long until you know for sure?”

  “Hard to say.” She casts me an apologetic glance. “We’ve seen these numbers increase over the past two months, within a rather wide area. We don’t know yet what this means.”

  I feel lightheaded. Two months? No. We need results sooner than that. There’s no way—I stop myself. I’m a guest here, and I’m not invited to criticize their proceedings.

  “How many?”

  She points to the map again. “There were five in this area in a matter of weeks, children between the ages of three months and six years. Two were taken from their homes. Before you ask, there’s no relation whatsoever between these families. This is definitely orchestrated by professionals.”

  “The kindergarten teacher saw the kidnapper. I wouldn’t call that a pro job.”

  Martinez shrugs. “We’d appreciate it if they started making mistakes this early in the game.”

  The cop in me agrees. Never mind it was my first impulse to shake her. It’s not Martinez’s fault. She is doing her job. Words have a different meaning when a case concerns you personally, and I don’t like the word “game.” My sensibilities don’t matter here though. We’re on the same side.

  I press my hand against my forehead, feeling a massive headache building. Where can we go from this? I give myself the answer. Initial responses are in motion. We’ll have to wait, for a ransom, a witness calling in, anything.

  I recall the last time I’ve seen Rosie, only yesterday, about to fall asleep on my lap. She’s such a smart and happy child. Her family and the little group in the daycare center are her whole world. She must be terrified. Hell, I am terrified, because with each minute ticking by, I have to give up the idea that the person who took her will show any regard whatsoever for her well-being. Whatever happens, though, that person will have to answer to me, and there’s going to be hell to pay.

  * * * *

  Travis hasn’t shown much regard for the law in his life, but he’s never lost much sleep over it. From B&E and armed robbery to selling drugs to high school kids, he’s never been too picky when it comes to a job, and why would he be? Money speaks for itself. He hasn’t killed anyone. As he looks over to the seat next to him, Travis has to admit that this is a different league.

  He’s glad he didn’t have to use the sedative for now, but he already screwed up by letting the kindergarten teacher see him. The girl has stopped screaming at least, but she’s still crying, no matter how often he tells her it’s all just a game. It’s getting on his nerves. He can’t wait for the moment when he can hand her over to the Middletons, collect the money and get the hell out of town. Forget about palm trees. Unless they double the pay for the next job, it’s not worth it.

  Travis stops at a fast food restaurant, parking the car at the far end of the parking lot. He makes sure the girl is strapped into her kid seat and then quickly heads for the counter. They have to eat, right? He considers a kid’s meal, but thinks twice about it. Somebody might remember him and wonder what he needed the toy for.

  Reality bites. Back in the car, Travis learns that a burger is not an appropriate meal for a two-year-old. He tears off a few pieces and hands them to her. The girl makes a pouty face and shakes her head firmly. “No!”

  Damn, he should have thought of ice cream. She presents her sticky fingers to him, smeared with ketchup and mustard. She doesn’t quite manage all the words, but he figures out what she is saying. There’s no way he can take her inside to wash up. It’s another hour to the meeting point Mrs. Middleton gave him.

  It’s going to be the longest hour of his life. He quickly wipes the girl’s hands with the tiny napkin that came with his order, wondering what could be the best possible approach. Finally, he hands her the chocolate muffin he bought. When she tastes it, her eyes light up for the first time since they got into the car.

  Eyes on the prize, Travis tells himself. He’s almost there.

  Rosie, that’s what the lesbians had called her, lost a shoe when he picked her up, but she managed to hold on to the stuffed plush dog that soon has chocolate crumbs smeared all over him. Wow, kids are messy. He’s never considered that, but he does now, deciding he’ll bill the good Middletons extra for the cleaning of the car. After ditching the van, it’s his own he’s driving for the last stretch.

  “Where’s Mama?” Rosie asks. She’s grown quieter, trying to make whatever sense she can of this strange situation.

  “She’ll be waiting for us.” Fortunately for Travis, it’s not his job to deal with her when she finds out otherwise. The two-year-old stares at him with big eyes, making him uncomfortable. It’s as if she can see through the lie.

  “Mama,” she whispers, clutching the dog close to her.

  Truth be told, Travis doesn’t think she’s been treated badly, but then again, why would the Middletons lie to him? They’re in it with quite a bit of money. Besides, they sure talk a lot about family. With their institute and adoption agency on the side, they must know.

  Chapter Five

  Cal sets a mug of steaming coffee in front of me.

  “After this, I want you to go home,” he says, adding “Hear me out?” when I jump to m
y feet, ready to give him all the reasons why I shouldn’t. “Your sister and her wife have already been interviewed, but there might be a gap that only you can close. I want you to think hard, about the cases you’ve worked, who got out of prison lately, anyone who is likely to link you to them. Find everyone who ever threw a homophobic slur at them.”

  The thought makes me flinch, but I nod and sit back down. “Do you have any suspicion? I thought Martinez said the parents weren’t—”

  “I don’t know yet. There were two single mothers, one gay couple, and one het. Then, Chrissie and Rachel. It’s not a pattern.”

  “But…?” I prompt. It’s a world I don’t inhabit, but I hear things from Rachel, Chrissie and their friends sometimes. They are frustrated how some groups that pretend to care about faith and family spread lies about same-sex couples and families. Usually, they don’t revert to crime. The overall lack of equality for these families has for a long time protected the hate-mongers. Not so much anymore since the Supreme Court’s marriage decision. They might be deluded and angry, but not stupid enough to break the law—or are they? I can’t imagine them going as far as actually snatching children. “No ‘but’. Just make sure you cover all angles.”

  “Will do. God,” I say, “This is a nightmare. I worked on a couple of kidnapping cases.”

  “What happened?” he asks.

  I take a long sip of the coffee, before I answer. “One was a custody battle gone bad. The dad turned himself in and brought back the boy.”

  “…and the other one?”

  “Didn’t come back.”

  He lays a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently, and I get up once more. I don’t want to get into any details, not now, not ever. What’s equally as important, I don’t want to give him any reasons to cut me off. I finish my coffee and say goodbye, picking up my keys and jacket on the way out.

  As I drive out to Chrissie and Rachel’s, I’m pondering the homework he’s given me. Is it more than a distraction? I’m sure Cal and his team are as aware of any dangerous individual out there as I am, if not a lot more so. No one stands out, and there’s no one who has threatened me personally, or seems likely to do so.

  We’re aware of hate crimes in the area, but those are usually somewhere in between damage to property and violent assaults. Rachel and Chrissie go pretty much under the radar, as far as I know. They don’t go out much, especially since they have Rosie. Why them?

  My train of thought inevitably brings me back to the most horrifying ideas. There are criminals who stop at nothing, people who think that money should buy them everything…and it does. There’s always the theory of the single offender. Someone new in town?

  I park in the same spot as yesterday, a little over twenty-four hours ago. The light has changed, and I only now realize how many hours have passed. My fears are screaming at me, It’s been too long already, but I have to ignore them. I have to go face the parents of a missing two-year-old, and I’ll have to ask them some hard questions.

  Their friend Paula is with them, which gives me a pang of guilt for showing up so late. There’s nothing new I have for them, and what I’ve heard earlier, they can’t know. Everyone is subdued, so I try to bring up the subject as diplomatically as possible. I know they’ve had some heated online discussions, enough reason for me to rarely use the Internet for private purposes. There are too many unpleasant people out there.

  “I don’t know what you want, Ann,” Chrissie says. She’s tired, frustrated and scared. It’s showing. “We don’t start that kind of dispute, and we’ve only answered a few times when somebody sought us out.”

  “Lately, was there someone in particular?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve asked myself that a million times?” Her voice is rising. “No, there isn’t anyone. Don’t tell me you’re wasting your time looking there. Yes, it’s annoying when people feel compelled to tell you that you’re going to hell. It sucks big time. Those are teenage bullies, and they’re also proud grandfathers, or wives. Unfortunately, it’s not a crime to be a self-righteous asshole, but other than that, they stick to the law. Don’t you watch the news? The ‘turn away the gays’ bills kept popping up even before we had marriage equality, and now there are still many places where you can get married, but also fired or evicted just for being gay. So far, the law works fine for them.”

  Rachel and Paula exchange a look, and then Rachel gets up and says, “Honey, I’m sure Ann is hungry. Why don’t you stay here with Paula for a moment?”

  I have the suspicion that food is the last thought on her mind. No one here cares about food at this moment.

  When the kitchen door is closed, she wipes a hand over her face before giving me an intent look. “Okay, tell me the truth. What are we looking at?”

  “I told you. There is no news, and you’d be the first to know anyway.”

  “Really,” Rachel says. I don’t like the sarcasm. “Why are you asking these questions? We both know that it’s not the haters’ M.O. They are happy with leaving a few hateful comments on Facebook, not even knowing how far they’ve gotten their heads up their asses. They won’t even take responsibility for themselves, why would they kidnap a child?”

  I let her speak while wondering if I paid so little attention before. I didn’t know she was so angry, or Chrissie, for that matter.

  “It’s not that, right?”

  “We must consider every angle.” I keep it vague, for her sake and mine.

  “We took down the balloons just this morning,” she says, playing with her wedding ring. “I can’t stop thinking about that man. What if he’s one of those sickos who—”

  “No,” I say firmly. “No. Right now, there’s only very little that we know, so let’s not jump to conclusions.” I can tell from her expression that there’s more. “Look, if you have any idea, no matter how vague it is, now would be the moment—”

  “How can you even think that?” she snaps. “I’ve been going over every little detail, every possibility a million times. We don’t exactly make enemies on a daily basis. You know a lot more about these things than we do, but you’re not telling us anything, just asking questions. You have no idea how much that scares me...I went on the Internet. Chrissie doesn’t know about it.” She swallows hard. “There are some sick people out there. ‘Baby brokers’?”

  “Don’t do that.” It’s not a suggestion. “I know it’s hard.” The look she gives me says clearly “You don’t know anything.” For what it’s worth, I have to try. “You can’t do this. You’re going to drive yourself crazy. It’s not the time to think of worst case scenarios. We’ll bring her home, Rachel!” Damn all those cop shows for spelling out all the horrible possibilities in more detail than anyone can bear.

  “I can’t take this much longer.” She turns away from my gaze.

  “It will be okay.” If we say it a few more times, we might be able to make ourselves believe. Rachel gives me a grateful smile that doesn’t quite cover the underlying emotions of fear and despair.

  “Is there something I can fix you?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll have something on the way back. It’s going to be—” A long night, I almost say, but stop myself in time. “Fine,” I say instead. Tonight, tomorrow, no one of us has an idea, but it’s nothing I can say out loud in this house. I follow her back into the living room where the trace is set up. The tension in the room is palpable.

  * * * *

  I thought my life was complicated before…I handled the job and the relationship with a married man, one I work with on occasion, pretty well. Then came the fateful day when the lieutenant called me into his office to tell me it would be up to me to babysit the new detective. He looked young, attractive in that up-and-coming actor kind of way.

  I just hoped he wouldn’t puke all over a crime scene on my watch. Joey did fine, thank God, and the only time he came close to puking was when he was trying to prove himself in a drinking contest with the guys.

  Men.

  He’s eage
r to learn, though, asking many intelligent questions, some on the verge of being nosy. I know all about his family—Mom and Dad own a farm, he has five siblings, three girls and two boys. Family is everything. What about me? On this all-night stakeout, there wasn’t anywhere to go. Yes, my sister is married to a woman, and they have a kid together. I said it with a bit of defensiveness, not that I think it’s a bad thing in any way, but I know not everyone has a live-and-let-live attitude.

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” he said after a moment of consideration.

  How very generous of you. It was almost 4:00 a.m., and I was too tired to be snarky.

  “I’m glad we could establish that.”

  “Sure, some think of it as an affront on tradition, that marriage should be between a man and a woman.”

  “Well, traditionally marriage was between one man and more than one woman at some point. What, you’re sad you can’t have five wives?”

  “Hell no.” He laughs. “It’s hard enough to find one. Hey, I’m not saying they’re right or anything, it’s just what you hear from some folks.”

  It’s not something I ever hear from my friends or family, except Uncle Ed maybe. I have to admit I haven’t thought about these questions too much, mostly because marriage is something I never envisioned for me in the first place. Regardless, it’s not up to me to judge—or him.

  “Did I offend you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He sounded relieved. We both stared out into the night in silence, not a suspect in sight. I didn’t expect anyone on our short-list to show up. In my mind, I was already visualizing pancakes, and a long hot shower.

  “Would you like having breakfast after we’re done here?” Joey asked, his tone hopeful. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. His gaze was still directed at the house we’d been watching for the past—too many—hours. I wondered if saying yes would get me in any kind of trouble, emotionally, job-wise, or with Cal. It was likely on all counts, but hey, I’m a woman who’s okay with taking chances.

  “Sure,” I said.