Cache a Predator Read online

  She avoided his eyes before she responded. “This is my job. I hear abuse stories all day long. It happens far more than you think.” She continued looking out the window at the lake.

  He figured she had patients with problems, but he suspected again that she had personal experience with abuse. “I can sympathize with Ali’s predicament and her family abuse, but I can’t fix her. I’m not responsible for her actions. I learned that a long time ago.”

  She shifted her eyes back to him and smiled. “Bravo. You’re farther ahead than most people.”

  “Ali denies she has problems. She insists she forgave her mother years ago.”

  “Which makes it even more difficult for you, because until she realizes she needs help, she won’t seek help or get better.”

  “Don’t I know it. But if you’re telling me I can’t have custody of Quinn because I left her yesterday when her safety was compromised, then I can’t win. You’re telling me that it was my responsibility to make sure Quinn was safe, but I’m not responsible for Ali’s behavior. Do you see my point?”

  “Totally.” She nodded.

  Her eyes finally locked onto his, and something made him believe that she understood better than anyone. A spark flickered inside him. Shoot, he was attracted to her. Was he crazy? This wasn’t the time to think about having a relationship with someone, especially someone who was his ticket to getting Quinn.

  He rubbed his palms on his shorts, not realizing how sweaty they had become. Leaning toward her, he smiled and said, “So, after hearing about my predicament, does it help my case? Do you think I’ll get sole custody?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  He sighed. “Divorcing her was the selfish thing to do. It made my life easier because I didn’t have to live with her dysfunction.” He threw his hands up in the air. “But in the end, it didn’t change anything. She’s still dysfunctional, and I’m not around to ensure Quinn’s safety. I only worry more because I ended up with less control.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s frustrating.” Sarah turned the clock on the table toward her. “Ali probably didn’t show up because people like me scare her. She’s not ready to spill her guts.”

  Brett leaned back in his seat. “Well, I hope she keeps screwing up, so she doesn’t have a chance in hell to get our daughter back.”

  #

  I sat in my truck across from a counseling office, eating my lunch, when I saw the same dark-curly-haired girl that was with Mrs. Stookey yesterday. The girl wasn’t with Mrs. Stookey today. She was with another woman. They were coming out of the doctor’s office building and getting into a car together. Where was the lady taking the girl?

  I wonder if she’s that little girl I heard about at work—the daughter of a cop? The pervert cop. Mrs. Bailey, a customer at work, said they took the girl away from both parents. Was this the girl?

  I turned the ignition key. The truck rumbled, and I followed them. The lady drove across town to the same street where Moore lived, but one block farther. The lady parked in the driveway. I parked one house away and watched.

  The little girl climbed out of the car and skipped to the front door. Mrs. Stookey and the other little girl answered. They opened the door for the dark-haired girl and let her in. Shortly after, the lady drove off alone.

  I sighed. Didn’t they know Mrs. Stookey’s son was a pervert? Probably not, since he hadn’t registered yet. I’d better get to him tonight then, before something happens to those girls.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Shortly after noon, Brett called Clay on his way home from Sarah’s office. Clay agreed to meet him at Chloe’s Sports Grill off Center Street for lunch. The restaurant had a wireless Internet connection, and Clay wanted to bring his laptop.

  Brett pulled into the parking lot, entered the restaurant, and waited for Clay in a booth. An older couple, probably in their seventies, sat in an adjacent booth side by side—just the two of them. They smiled and waved at Brett. He didn’t know them. They just seemed like a friendly couple. He tried not to stare, but couldn’t help watching how they rubbed arms and laughed together like they were telling each other jokes, like they were new lovers. Would he ever find that? He thought of Sarah. What was her story? Why was he attracted to her?

  Clay interrupted Brett’s thoughts as he entered the restaurant, his long stride bringing him across the room in five steps. He took a seat across from Brett and set his laptop in the middle of the table. “You doing okay, man?”

  Brett nodded. “For now. I filled out some form asking the courts for a hearing in three days to grant me custody. Say some prayers that the judge approves.”

  “Still don’t want to call your old man?”

  Brett shook his head and stared at his hands. Clay didn’t know about his father’s cancer, but Brett couldn’t talk about it. Not yet.

  The waitress brought them water and took their orders.

  Clay placed a county map on the table, pointing out the geocache sites he’d marked. “Here’s where Jake Hunter lives.” He pointed to the spot on the map marked with a red circle and the number 2, then pointed to another red circle with the number 1. “This is where our dead guy’s piece was found. There’s a YouTube video online of this location. It’s one of the URL addresses you gave me from Mark’s computer history.”

  “Really?” Brett studied the map. “What about the other URL?”

  Clay pointed to Terry Bull’s house, indicated with a yellow X, and the other cache site where Hunter’s penis was found at the other red circle and the number 3. “The other URL address from Mark was not this site. It was from another local geo-site.”

  Next, he showed Brett where the county sex offenders lived in that general vicinity. They’d been circled with black X’s. There were fifteen.

  Brett saw a pattern and possible correlation between where the items were found and where the offender lived. Jake’s penis was found near his house.

  Clay drew a circle around the geocache site near Terry Bull’s house. “This is where I think you should look for his dick. It’s the closest site to Bull’s house. I had several guys looking for it with no luck.” He smiled and looked up at Brett. “You sure you’re ready to hunt for a dick-in-a-box?”

  Brett chuckled. “I can spot them a mile away. Besides, I’m not doing anything else, and I need to stay busy. This will be a challenge.” In more ways than one. He’d never geocached before, and he didn’t have a keen sense of direction. “What about Mark? Have you talked to him?”

  Clay nodded. “Yeah, I did a background check on him. He owes a lot of cash to investors after soliciting funds for a start-up that tanked. He’s had a few speeding tickets, but other than that, he’s clean. I met him at his office, and we chatted about Ali. He claims he didn’t have anything to hide, that he told you everything he knows.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “No. He seemed too nervous.”

  “Do you think he’s the whacker?”

  “I doubt it. He had an alibi. A woman friend, but not sure if she was covering for him or telling the truth. He said he’d heard about the geocaching thing from TV and Googled it out of curiosity.” Clay chuckled. “He was pissed that you broke into his house though. Are you crazy?”

  “When it comes to my daughter, yes.”

  Clay reached for his PC. “I put a tail out on him, so he’ll be watched.” He turned the PC around so he could see it. He typed, clicked, and turned the machine back around for Brett to see.

  Clay pointed to a spot on the screen. “Every geocache site listed at geocaching.com is a waypoint. The website generates a unique GC code associated with every geocache listing. Once the reviewer finds the cache, they sign a logbook that’s usually found in the box. We’re interviewing those who have registered and signed the logbook, asking questions about other caches they found along their way, who they saw, that type of thing. So far it’s a bust. We’ve archived these two sites here where we found the prizes.” He pointed to the screen.
“By archiving them, it removes the listing from public view.” He clicked on another screen. “We temporarily closed down the site for our county an hour ago. Cache hikers are out hunting in herds. They think it’s funny. I’ve got Officer Greer monitoring the site for any newly posted sites.”

  Brett read the screen. There were 587 sites in the county. “Do you have a team inspecting every one of these sites and taping them off?”

  “We don’t have the manpower to cover them all, and some of these boxes are tough to find.” He chuckled. “Plus, we don’t want people to panic. Chief says we’ll block off as many sites as we can near here. He’s planning on making an announcement this afternoon for the public to avoid geocaching in our county because they could be potential crime scenes, but that might just stir more trouble. People will blatantly ignore that request.” He rolled his eyes.

  Brett studied the site. When he looked up, Clay was watching the TV that hung in the corner of the bar, behind Brett.

  Clay gasped. “Check it out, Reed.”

  Brett turned and followed Clay’s eyes and watched what Clay was viewing on the TV screen. It was Brett with the mic in his face at Ali’s house. The reporter asked his questions, the last one being about sexual abuse, and then the clip ran of Brett pummeling the guy’s jaw. Brett shook his head and rubbed his hand. Dread filled his gut. “I’m hosed. That was really stupid.”

  “It was. If you’re going to hurt the guy, you gotta do better than that.” Clay snickered.

  Brett didn’t. He covered his face. “Let’s hope the judge doesn’t see that. This could totally ruin any chance I have at getting Quinn.”

  Clay’s forehead creased. “You have another problem too. Let’s hope the perp doesn’t see that and think you did your kid. You’ll be hunting down your own dick in a box somewhere.”

  Brett froze. “You aren’t serious!”

  Clay laughed. “I don’t know, but if I was you, I’d be sleeping with both eyes open.”

  Brett threw an ice cube at Clay, hitting him in the chest. “He’s after convicted sex offenders, not the accused ones.”

  Clay’s laugh rang across the room, deep and strong. “You sure? You could be the first accused.”

  The waitress brought their food and set it in front of them. Brett was no longer hungry.

  Clay bowed his head. “Dear God, please guide us to find this guy before he whacks off my partner. Keep Brett strong and able to sleep with his eyes open.” Clay chuckled, hesitating. “Seriously though, give Brett the strength to battle against the courts to get his daughter back. Show him your love, and give him the courage to stand alone. Help him to see that he is a good and loving father. Amen.”

  Brett avoided looking up and into Clay’s eyes and stared at his food instead. He didn’t trust his composure. “Thanks. No one has prayed for me like that before.”

  “I think you need to start saying a few of your own.” He chuckled again. “Let’s eat.”

  Brett told Clay how Ali had disappeared with her clothes and Quinn’s and how he feared she’d track Quinn down and take her.

  “I don’t think you have to worry about her going anywhere. She’s not strong enough to take Quinn, dude. She can’t even take care of herself.”

  Brett nodded. “You’ve got a point.”

  Clay wiped his mouth with his napkin and took another bite of his burger. “Listen, you’re going through a crisis right now. You can’t see it, but you’ll come out stronger.”

  “Will I? Not sure, but you’re right about one thing—I can’t see it. I don’t have the same faith you have.”

  “You can change that. Just ask God into your life. Develop a friendship with the Guy. You’ll see that amazing things happen when you do.”

  #

  Brett parked the cruiser at Hursey Lake Park, the closest parking spot near the trails. He’d have to hike the rest of the way on foot. This cache was buried somewhere off the beaten path. The clue had been “fools look for gold.” What was that supposed to mean?

  Clay had had to get back to the precinct to organize a team of searchers, so Brett went on his own.

  He opened the trunk, took out his backpack, and slung it over his shoulder. He remembered the last time he’d hiked. He’d been eight years old, and the backpack had been too heavy for him to carry.

  He’d gone with his father on a two-day trip through the Hoosier National Forest. His father had showed him how to use a compass, and how to identify poison ivy and poison berries, and they’d brought two magnifying glasses to inspect nature’s world. They sat on the ground and watched ants dance up a hill, and identified animal tracks. They saw spiders in their webs and a praying mantis up close.

  His father had showed him the beauty in nature and how to listen to their sounds. They once sat on a tree stump next to each other and played a game. Dad said, “Close your eyes and listen.”

  Brett heard a strange sound, a chattering noise. He played the guessing game and said, “Is it a monkey?”

  His father laughed. “Nope, just a squirrel.”

  Brett opened his eyes and looked to where his father pointed. In a tree, out on a limb, a squirrel faced another, sounding like he was shouting at the other, making a noise Brett had never heard before.

  They had played the game until Brett recognized all the sounds on the trail—the wings of a bat, a cardinal’s call, a crow, the difference in the buzzing sounds of a fly and a wasp, and the creek’s water lapping over rocks.

  Would he recognize all the same sounds today?

  As he trudged toward the trails, he saw people sitting on picnic benches, and children running on the playground, glancing his way. They must have seen him getting out of his car. Cops had a way of drawing attention, even when they weren’t dressed in uniform. Concrete trails leading into a greenway bordered the park alongside a large creek that fed into the lake miles away. Cyclists, joggers, and dog-walkers filled up the scenery.

  He welcomed the hike, avoiding the time when he’d have to go home to an empty house. He checked his map and his iPhone, studying the coordinates he’d transferred from online—the one closest to Terry Bull’s house.

  The sun beat down on his back until he reached the trail where he lost the sky in the woods. He welcomed the trees’ shade. Flies buzzed, birds called back and forth, and a nearby stream gurgled. Leaves rustled, making him think someone was near, but each time he turned he only saw squirrels skipping over the ground and scurrying into the trees foraging for nuts.

  After swatting at a half-dozen mosquitoes, he stopped, opened his bag, and took out a can of insect repellent, then sprayed himself. His cell phone vibrated. He unclipped it from its strap and glanced at the caller ID. His mother. He didn’t want to talk to her, but if he didn’t take her call now, she’d keep calling.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Have you heard how Quinn did last night?”

  “Yes, I saw her this morning. She looks great and seems to like her foster home. I’m good.”

  She sighed. “Thank God.”

  “How’s Dad?”

  “He’s okay. We’re at the hospital waiting to talk to his doctor. I hope you get Quinn soon.”

  “Me too.”

  “Dad wants to see you. It’s been too long since you two spoke. This is the perfect opportunity to get you two back together.”

  “I’m not sure of the timing right now.”

  A young girl, maybe in her twenties, jogged past him. Her long ponytail swished from side to side. Another man walked by with a large white fluffy dog. The dog’s tail wagged as he pulled his owner down the path.

  “Mom, can I call you back? I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Are you eating well?”

  He rolled his eyes. She always thought about food. “Yes, I had lunch with Clay. Thanks for thinking of me. I’ll call you when things are back to normal. I promise.”

  He disconnected the phone. Would things ever be back to normal? How much time did his father have? Pancreatic can
cer was a killer. He worried about his mother. This had to be difficult for her. She and Dad had always been close.

  Would he ever have the kind of love his parents had? He checked his cell again. Had he missed a text from Ali? Nope. None. He returned his phone to the clip and put the thoughts of his family on another shelf, continuing down the path.

  After another quarter mile the worn path continued one way, but the coordinates of the GPS directed him down an area where there was no path, in another direction. It wound its way around a creek and through dense woods. He avoided tree roots and stumps threatening to trip him. Mosquitoes buzzed in his ear and swarmed around his head. Locusts chirped all around him. He trudged up a steep hill, watching the GPS. He was getting closer. He hoped he’d be able to find his way back. Finding his way with the navigation system was easy, but he’d never asked how to program it for his return. His stomach churned thinking about finding his way out of the middle of the woods.

  He panted as he climbed. Man, he was out of shape. He listened to himself puffing like an old man. Pitiful. When had he let himself go?

  When he reached the top of the hill, the sun beat down through a clearing, but the trees and bushes rustled as a breeze kicked up, cooling the air for a moment. Brett stopped to sip water from his canteen. The GPS indicated the cache was approximately twenty more feet, but he had to go down a narrow dirt path and over the pebble creek first. His steps were smaller now, not as surefooted. He leapt over larger rocks, slipping often.

  A clicking sound whirred toward him. It came out of nowhere and seemed to be getting closer. He turned, looking behind him. A cyclist weaved in and out between the trees. A neon orange flag waved to and fro from the back of the seat. Brett hid off to the side, watching from the shadow of a tree as the cyclist flew down the path next to him and splashed over the shallow creek in the same direction Brett was headed. As quickly as he’d come, the cyclist was gone.