Cache a Predator Read online

  Quit humming. Deep breath. Do it, do it, do it. Not scared now. Not scared. I’ll show him. I’m brave now.

  I turned the knob of the side door that led into the house. Unlocked. Score! I tiptoed into the kitchen. Brownies.

  No, I can’t eat them now.

  Someone snored. I lifted the backpack onto the kitchen table and gathered the rag, the syringe, and the tourniquet. I hummed softly. After pulling on my gloves, I applied the liquid to the cloth and gathered the syringe and the rubber band.

  Do the deed, do it. I followed the snoring noise down a hallway and peeked into the room. The pervert’s dark hair showed against the white pillow. The bedsheets lay in a crumpled mess around him, reminding me of Mama’s bed. And then the lies. I wadded my fists.

  I entered the room. Shut the door. Lock it. Go to the pervert. Cover his face with the rag. Hold it down. Wait. A little longer. He’s done kicking. Get out the syringe. Poke him. Only a little. Doc Spear uses this all the time. It won’t kill. It’s okay, it’s okay. Get out the rubber band. Wrap it tight, knot it. Pull it tighter. I know how to make a double knot. Open the bag. Get the scalpel. Slice, slice. Red blood, go away. Damn blood.

  A whimper. From under the bed. Who’s there? “Don’t cry; don’t listen to the lies. Shut your ears. I’ll save you this time. Daddy can’t hurt you now. I promise.” Let me stop the blood first. Wrap the piece in the plastic. Put everything away, wipe it on the towel. Tuck it in the backpack.

  “I’m coming. I’m a big boy now. I’ll save you. I see you under the bed. Scoot to me. I’ll help you.” It’s the little girl with the dark curly hair. “Come to me, come to me.” Aw, she’s crying. Poor baby girl. So sorry. “Mommy is looking. Smile. Don’t be scared. I’m not scared. I’m a big boy. Come to me. It’s all better now. Daddy’s gone.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brett and Clay turned to leave the chapel but stopped short when a small voice called out from the back of the church. “Are you happy now?” Ali’s mother, Mrs. Mable Greer, stood in the doorway, glaring at Brett.

  Give me a break, crazy woman. What was she talking about? His temper soared at the sight of her—big dirty T-shirt, polyester pants spread too thin across her dimpled pear-like bottom, and curlers dangling from her thinning hair.

  Despite her short frame, Mable’s love for control could dominate the largest room. Her presence suffocated him. She loved making him feel inferior, questioning his motives, telling him how worthless he was. But what was she saying now? No, he wasn’t happy. Especially seeing her. She was the last person he wanted to talk to.

  She shuffled double-time up to the front of the church, tears streaming down her face, her nose bulbous and red. Her voice sounded higher pitched than usual, as if she was on the verge of hysteria. “Ali could die! This is all your fault. She’s really out of your life now, isn’t she?”

  Brett kept his voice low. “What are you talking about? I didn’t do this to her. I never wanted her out of my life this way.”

  She slammed her fist into his chest. “This never would have happened if you hadn’t divorced her. She’d still be at home, safe.”

  Brett crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you insane? Ali’s self-destruction started way before I divorced her.” Brett started to turn away, but stopped, years of pent-up anger spilling over. “I gave Ali every chance to get it together. Did she tell you that she’s the reason Quinn is in foster care right now?”

  Mrs. Greer’s mouth dropped open.

  Brett had turned to go, Clay at his side, but stopped and turned to the lady. “Yeah, that’s right. CPS took her away because Quinn was found wandering the streets in her pajamas a block from home. Guess where Ali was? At home hungover, asleep on the sofa.”

  The old lady put her hand across her heart melodramatically and reached for a pew. She sat down, fanning herself.

  “She didn’t tell you that, did she?” Brett asked.

  Clay touched Brett’s arm, but Brett flung it off. He was tired of taking the blame for Ali’s behavior, and he didn’t care about Mrs. Greer’s theatrics. He’d seen her antics before, and tonight he was too tired to care about her loss. His voice boomed off the walls of the small chapel. “Since when do you give a care anyway? If you want to go throwing stones, maybe you should pitch one at yourself. If you hadn’t left your boyfriends home alone with Ali to abuse her, maybe she wouldn’t have been so messed up!”

  Mrs. Greer shriveled against the pew, throwing the back of her hand up to her forehead.

  Clay pressed his arm against Brett’s chest. “Maybe you two should take a deep breath. Obviously you both care for Ali.”

  Brett threw his arms up in the air. “I’m done. I’m not sure what I’m doing in here anyway. Prayer has never worked for me.” He turned his back on Clay and Mrs. Greer and headed out the chapel door.

  Clay’s radio chirped. “Unit twenty-five, do you read?”

  Clay snapped the radio off his belt and answered. “Ten-four.”

  “We have a report of another amputation at 621 West Shady Lane. The victim’s mother also reported the assailant kidnapped her foster child. Do you know where Agent Reed is? Copy?”

  Brett, who had moved to the other end of the chapel, ran back and grabbed Clay’s radio. He spoke into the mic. “This is Agent Reed. Does this have anything to do with Quinn?”

  “Ten-four.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Appears our mutilator took her with him, sir.” She didn’t offer any more information.

  Radio static filled the church and shook every nerve fiber in Brett’s body. His knees buckled. He leaned against a pew. How could this happen? What the hell was Quinn doing in the home of a sex offender? Hadn’t Sarah promised she was safe? He swung a fist into the cushioned seat of the pew.

  Mrs. Greer cried out. “What did she say? Did someone take Quinn?”

  Clay placed his hand on Mrs. Greer’s arm. “We need to go. We’ll find out what we can and let you know.”

  Brett’s adrenaline raced and fueled him with energy. Quinn had been kidnapped! He ran ahead of Clay. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Clay grabbed a hold of Brett’s arm. “Slow down. You’re not in uniform, and you’re not in any shape to handle this.”

  Brett chucked Clay’s arm off him. “This is my daughter! Who else is better able to handle this? I’m tired of giving everyone else control. No one is doing a good job of keeping my daughter safe. I’m done! I’m taking matters in my own hands.”

  Clay tightened his grip around Brett’s arm. “Don’t be stupid, Reed. You’re going to get yourself into trouble. You’re all Quinn has right now. Leave your cruiser here. Come with me.”

  Brett turned and charged out of the chapel, leaving Mrs. Greer racked with sobs, sitting alone in a pew. He heard Clay’s footsteps following him.

  When they stepped outside, Brett followed Clay to his cruiser and slammed his fist into the hood of the car, growing like a mother bear. “Grrrrr, how the hell did CPS place my child in the home of a sex offender?”

  Clay shrugged. “We don’t have all the facts yet. You don’t know for sure if he was a sex offender.”

  “Why else would the perp slice him? My gut is saying this reeks. This reeks bad.” Brett flung open the cruiser’s door. He tore his cell phone off his belt clip and reached into his pocket for Sarah’s card, then punched in her number. He didn’t say hello. He didn’t care that she answered in a sleepy voice, and he didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Quinn’s been kidnapped by some psycho penis mutilator. You said she was in a safe home. If she was in a safe home, how did this happen?”

  “What?”

  “If I find she’s been harmed, I’ll have your ass and the county’s ass hung in court.”

  “Slow down.”

  “Is this what the state calls a safe environment? I want answers, and I want them now!”

  “What happened?”

  Brett explained what he knew and gave her the address of where he was
headed.

  “I’ll be there shortly. I’ll call Peggy. Give me a few minutes to throw on some clothes.”

  Brett put his phone back on his belt clip and stared out at the dark highway, his back rigid and his jaw clenched. Cars and trucks moved to the side of the road, their brake lights flashing red on the highway.

  Clay sped between them, weaving in and out of the lanes. The cruiser’s siren blared, and its lights flashed.

  West Shady Lane was at the other side of town. Brett watched as they zoomed by dark houses and businesses. Few people occupied the streets. Everyone seemed to be sleeping. It didn’t seem right that the town could sleep while Quinn was in danger. It was wrong. Like they needed to grieve and search with him until she was found.

  When Clay turned down West Shady Lane, Brett stared at the dark homes they passed and the shadows along the road. Was Quinn in one of these homes, or hiding in the trees? Was she crying for him? If she was with a madman, she wouldn’t understand. How could she possibly know the mind of a criminal? No five-year-old could. She’d never met anyone mentally unstable, and he was certain, if she really had been kidnapped, that the man was deranged. Only an angry person could do what he was doing. But maybe, just maybe, this was all a sick joke. Maybe Quinn was safe with her new friend Sadie, and the dispatcher had gotten it all wrong. He could only hope. Besides, why would a penis mutilator kidnap a child?

  Clay slowed when he saw the ambulance flashers in the driveway. He pulled to the curb.

  Brett opened his door and raced to the ambulance, not bothering to close his door. The patient lay on the gurney in the van, moaning like a cow in labor, reaching for his crotch. The techs busied themselves with their patient, taping the IV to his arm and checking his vitals. Brett scooted in between them and took a hold of the patient’s shirt, lifting him to within an inch of his face. “Who are you, and where’s my daughter?”

  The patient looked cross-eyed at Brett.

  “Did you touch her, you pervert?”

  Each tech grabbed one of Brett’s arms and pulled him off the patient. “Easy, easy.”

  Brett relaxed his grip and looked from one tech to the other. “Who is he? Is he a registered sex offender?”

  One tech said, “Name is Calvin Moore but he’s been using Michael as his alias. His mother is inside. She said he just moved here from Ohio.”

  Brett lowered Moore’s head to the gurney. But once Moore’s head relaxed on the pillow, the jerk smiled. His words came out slurred, but Brett swore he’d said, “You have a real sweet daughter.”

  Brett thrashed and struggled to break free of the techs’ grips, ready to bust Moore to pieces.

  Clay took hold of Brett’s shoulders and held him back. “Take it easy, Reed.”

  The techs let go of Brett and lifted Moore into the van. Clay held Brett off until the van doors shut. “Look, Reed, I’ll release you if you promise to keep your head on, okay?”

  Brett nodded and Clay released him.

  “Give me your radio.” Brett held out his hand for Clay’s device. He radioed the precinct, gave them Moore’s address and name, and asked them to check it out.

  A middle-aged woman in a white blouse and brown polyester slacks stood on the porch with a little girl dressed in Dora the Explorer pajamas. The girl held a yellow square pillow and sucked her pointer finger. She yawned.

  Clay approached them, reaching into his pocket for his badge. He showed it to the woman. “I’m officer Clay Rizzo. This is my partner, Officer Reed. Quinn’s father. Obviously he’s not in uniform right now, but he’s a cop. We need to ask you a few questions and examine the evidence.”

  The lady twisted a tissue in her hands. “I’m Melanie Stookey, the foster mom.” She nodded toward Brett. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Brett gritted his teeth. “Not as sorry as I am. Where is she?” Brett’s eyes darted around the woman to the inside of the home.

  Clay looked at the neighbors gathering on their lit porches and nodded to Brett. “Let’s go in.”

  The woman cried, wringing her hands. “She’s gone. I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” Brett shook his head.

  Clay motioned for Mrs. Stookey and the girl to go into the house. He took hold of Brett’s arm and ushered him in after them.

  Brett stepped over the bloodied beige carpet. A brown leather sofa and a black worn recliner stood in the middle of the room. Exotic animal posters hung on the walls—cheetahs, monkeys, snakes. The home smelled like mold growing in a wet crawl space. Brett shivered. Quinn had been staying here in this dump? He shook his head.

  Mrs. Stookey said, “I dropped her and Sadie off here around ten this evening. I had to go to the nursing home. My mother is dying.” She twisted her hanky.

  Clay said, “Is Sadie a foster child too?”

  Mrs. Stookey nodded. “When I returned and saw the blood, I knew something was wrong. That’s when I found my son and—realized Quinn was gone.”

  “Exactly what time was that?” Brett said.

  “Around midnight. Sadie was sitting there, crying.” She pointed to the sofa. Mrs. Stookey put her arm around the girl.

  “You left the girls with your son?” Brett’s voice boomed off the walls.

  She shirked and nodded. “I had to go. There wasn’t anyone else.”

  Brett wanted to scream. “But he’s a registered sex offender!”

  She whimpered and lowered her voice. “He was, but he just moved back from Ohio. He hadn’t registered yet.”

  Brett noticed Sadie looking down at her bare feet, curling them in as if she was pigeon-toed. Tears ran down her cheeks. She sucked her finger and held her pillow up to her cheek.

  Brett knelt in front of her. “What a beautiful name for a pretty girl. Quinn told me about you. She said you’re her best friend.”

  Sadie smiled.

  “I’m her daddy. Were you sleeping with her last night when Mrs. Stookey left?”

  Sadie nodded.

  “Did she snore?” he said, teasing.

  Sadie giggled and shook her head.

  “Where were you sleeping?”

  Sadie nodded at the sofa she was sitting on and swept a strand of her straight blond hair out of her eyes. “But he took her to his room.”

  “Who’s he?” Brett’s blood boiled.

  “Mr. Moore.” Sadie pointed down the hall.

  Mrs. Stookey gasped.

  Brett ignored her, keeping his eyes on Sadie, ready to lose it but forcing himself to stay calm. “How do you know?”

  “I saw him, but I pretended to be asleep.”

  “Did he ever take you to his room?”

  Sadie looked at Mrs. Stookey and then back at Brett. She slowly nodded.

  Mrs. Stookey gasped again and twisted the tissue in her hand faster. “It’s not what you think. It can’t be. He hasn’t done anything like that in a long time. He went through counseling.”

  Brett’s stomach lurched. He ignored the woman sniffling beside him and stayed on his knees in front of Sadie. “I’m sorry he took you. I hope he didn’t hurt you.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes.

  Brett said, “Where did he hurt you?”

  She pointed to her groin.

  Mrs. Stookey collapsed onto the sofa, shaking her head. “No!”

  Brett held Sadie’s hand. “He’s a bad man. You were very brave. You’re going to be safe now. I promise. No one is going to hurt you anymore.”

  Her shoulders shook as she hiccuped a sob. Brett put his arms around her and held her to his chest, letting her tears spill, and wishing he was holding Quinn instead. He wiped her face with a tissue until all the anger inside him erupted.

  He stormed to where Mrs. Stookey sat and came within inches of her face, shouting, his spittle flying. “What kind of person are you to let your pervert son take care of innocent children? Are you mad? This is all your fault.”

  The woman sobbed louder.

  Clay took Brett’s arm. “Easy.”

 
; Brett turned to him. “Easy? We should cuff her and make her sit in the slammer.”

  Sadie let out a cry. Brett turned and saw panic in her wide eyes. The child trembled, making Brett feel guilty for his outburst. As he moved back to the child, he saw Officer Beth Hudson, a rookie cop in her late twenties, enter the house. Brett waved her over and knelt in front of Sadie again.

  He lowered his voice. “This is Officer Beth. She’s going to take you to a safe place and buy you some ice cream. You like ice cream, don’t you?”

  Sadie nodded.

  Beth, who was short, thick, strong, and loud, took Sadie’s hand. If anyone could reassure a child, it was Beth.

  He asked one more question. “Did you see the person who took Quinn?”

  Sadie nodded and put her finger back in her mouth.

  Brett’s heart raced. “What did he look like?” Brett held his breath.

  Sadie shrugged.

  Brett pressed. “Was it a man?”

  Sadie shrugged again. “I don’t know. There was something over his face.”

  Clay placed his hand on Brett’s shoulder. “Let it go for now, man.”

  Was he crazy? This child may be the only one who’d seen the perp. “Would you tell Officer Beth if you remember something about him?”

  Sadie nodded and took the officer’s hand. They headed toward the door.

  Brett locked eyes with Officer Hudson, begging her to find out something. He waved good-bye to Sadie, hating how she would be tossed into another foster home like some kind of unwanted animal. He promised her he’d bring Quinn to visit her soon. And he meant it. Sadie smiled.

  Why wasn’t she with her parents? Why did people have children if they couldn’t take care of them? Why had Ali? Why had he ever thought that marrying her was doing the right thing? That all she needed was to be rescued?

  Mrs. Stookey, slumped in a worn recliner, whimpered. “I’m so sorry, so, so sorry.”