Cache a Predator Read online

  Brett didn’t want to listen to her apologies. He wanted answers.

  Clay stood in the center of the room, his large dark frame towering over the scene, his voice booming and commanding authority. “Mrs. Stookey, are you ready to tell us the truth now, or should Officer Reed read you your rights?”

  Brett moved to the sofa, working to keep his temper in check, clenching his fists and releasing them, clenching and releasing.

  “What do you mean?” Mrs. Stookey wiped her face with a tissue.

  Clay shifted his weight. “Where did you go tonight? Why weren’t you here, and how were you able to get a foster license with a sex offender living in your home?”

  She averted her eyes. Tears fell down her face.

  Clay said, “It’s better if you tell us the truth straightaway.”

  Brett added, “You could be charged with aiding and abetting a sex offender.”

  “No, I promise. I had no idea Calvin would harm these girls. He’s been without work, so I left the girls here for him to watch until I returned. This isn’t my home. It’s the one Calvin’s renting.”

  Brett leaned forward in his seat, staring at Mrs. Stookey. “I can’t believe you left two young girls with a sex offender!”

  His voice shook. He pounded the table with his fist.

  Mrs. Stookey squealed. “Calvin’s been through counseling. He hasn’t, er, done that, uh, in a long time. He’s been good.” Her voice trembled.

  Brett shook his head. Was she so blind and stupid that she hadn’t heard what Sadie had said? Between clenched teeth, he stood with his back to her so he wouldn’t have to see her, and said, “How often have you left them in his care?” He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath waiting for her answer.

  Mrs. Stookey hesitated before she quietly said, “Just the last two nights.”

  He exhaled and stormed out the front door, shoving the handle with so much force the door hit the side of the house. Just long enough for your son to cause permanent damage to my daughter and somebody else’s daughter. He was glad her son lost his dick. Maybe this butcher perp was making the community a better place after all.

  He stared into the star-filled sky and let his tears fall. Where are you, my twinkling star? Daddy is going to find you! But as far as Brett knew, there were no leads.

  Why would this person take Quinn? Wasn’t he only intent on maiming sex offenders? Wouldn’t he hate anyone who harmed a child? Why then would he have taken Quinn?

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Sarah arrived at West Shady Lane, Brett and another officer, clad with rubber gloves, were dusting for prints and placing soiled sheets and garments into bags. Sarah stood outside the bedroom door watching the men. She didn’t want to interfere, but she needed to know what had happened. She stood on shaky knees waiting to hear.

  Brett glared at her with pursed lips. He dusted off his clothes and introduced her to his partner, barely making eye contact. “This is Officer Rizzo.” He turned to Rizzo. “This is the counselor who placed Quinn in a safe home.”

  Officer Rizzo nodded at Sarah. “Name is Clay.” He continued to the other side of the room, dusting for prints.

  Brett’s sarcasm pelted Sarah, but she understood. He was pissed. Guilt bled through her. This had been her fault. He was right. She’d promised him that Quinn would be safe and now look. He wore the same clothes he’d worn when she’d seen him at the geo-site, before the hospital had called about Ali. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was still pocked with mosquito bites. As he approached, she could smell that he hadn’t showered either. Obviously he’d never made it home. “I haven’t heard back from Peggy yet. I woke her and begged her to look into what happened.”

  Brett glowered at her. “It kind of doesn’t matter now, does it? Quinn’s gone.”

  “I’m really sorry. Tell me what happened.” She wished he would meet her eyes.

  He looked away.

  “How’s Ali?”

  He shrugged, continuing his work. “Brain-dead, for now. Not sure she’s going to live. And now, Quinn … “ He squeezed his eyes shut, paused, and turned to Sarah, speaking between gritted teeth. “Her friend Sadie, the other foster child living here, admitted she was sexually abused by this perv. Did you know that?” Brett had moved to within inches of Sarah, close enough for her to see his red-rimmed eyes. “Which means Quinn may have been abused too!”

  She backed up, tears filling her eyes. “No, please no! Don’t assume that. Don’t let your mind go there. I’m sorry. I don’t understand how this happened. Mrs. Stookey had an impeccable reputation. She’s been fostering children for five years.”

  Brett shook his head, his voice booming. “And now, Quinn’s with … some madman, and who knows if she’ll …”

  He didn’t finish his sentence, but Sarah knew what he was going to say. If she’ll make it out alive. Sarah hated how defeated Brett looked and sounded. Seeing his little-boy face in such turmoil caused a surge of protectiveness in her heart. What could she say to give him hope? She leaned against the doorjamb. “Tell me what you know about the guy who took her.”

  Brett said, “He’s a penis mutilator who targets sex offenders.” He turned his back to her, continuing his work.

  Sarah said, “He’s only harming men, right?”

  Clay nodded. Brett seemed to ignore her.

  “Maybe this guy thinks he’s saving Quinn from the sex offender. Obviously, he targeted the guy who lives here. Maybe he hates men who harm children. And quite honestly, I agree. Who doesn’t hate pedophiles? But if I had to profile the guy, I’d say he thinks he’s doing something good, like he’s saving people from these perverts.”

  Brett strolled to the TV, dusting for prints, his back to Sarah.

  Was he thinking about what she’d said?

  She continued. “Maybe the guy took her to a safe place.”

  Clay nodded to Brett, smirking. “Let’s hope the guy doesn’t target you.”

  “Why would he do that?” Sarah turned to Clay.

  Clay said, “Rumor on the street is that Quinn was placed in protective custody because Brett was harming her.”

  “That’s crazy. Who said that?”

  Brett turned to Sarah. “Does it matter? Once the press gets wind of a rumor, it’s truth no matter if it is or not.”

  “That’s wrong, so wrong.” She wanted to wrap her arms around him and give him hope, take away his worry. Her heart ached for Quinn. That poor, poor child.

  Brett’s shoulders sagged. He turned to Sarah. “So if he really hates sex offenders and rumors are spreading about me molesting my daughter, he’ll probably show up at my house in the middle of the night and whack off my—”

  “That’s not true. Think about it. How does he know that Quinn is your daughter? If he saw her in this offender’s home, maybe he thought he was rescuing her from him, right?”

  Clay interrupted and nudged Brett with his elbow. “Check out the floor.”

  Brett bent down and knelt, scanning under the bed. “Hand me the flashlight.”

  Clay reached for his pencil light on his belt and handed it to Brett. Brett flashed the light under the bed and gasped.

  “What?” Clay fell to his knees beside Brett.

  Brett lifted Quinn’s lamb and put it up to his face, tears filling his eyes. He sat in the middle of the floor, clutching the lamb, his eyes squeezed shut. He moaned, its sound reverberating across the walls, rocking the silence. “No!”

  Clay sat beside him, placing his hand on his back. “We’ll find her, man. I promise, we’ll find her.”

  Sarah looked away, overcome with emotion. There was something about seeing a man cry that made her shudder. Seeing Brett cry tore her insides to pieces. She remembered his visit with Quinn and how he’d embraced her. Tears spilled as she remembered Quinn’s tight grip on the lamb too. If the child had been under the bed, then she must have been hiding. Sarah understood. She’d hidden under beds before too. And since the stuffed animal had been in this ro
om there was a good chance that Quinn had been molested too. Dread filled Sarah. She hoped her intuition was wrong.

  #

  Brett placed Lambie in a crime scene bag, knowing he had to, but wanted to keep it with him. He and Clay finished their work while Sarah watched. They were on their way to load the patrol car with what little evidence they could find, when a lady carrying a small dog came running over to them from the house next door. Sarah, who’d walked out with Brett, stopped to listen too.

  The lady wore thick glasses and had red Keds on her feet. “Excuse me, but my little Biscuit was barking last night at something over there.” She pointed to a group of pine trees next to the garage. “Biscuit barked and growled, and I thought it was strange because he doesn’t usually go over this far to Mr. Moore’s house.”

  Sarah, who held her keys in her hand, paused and stared at the lady. “Mr. Moore?” She turned to Brett. “Is that the name of the guy who lives here?”

  Brett nodded.

  Sarah turned to the lady. “What was his first name?”

  The lady stared into space for a few seconds before she said, “Uh, he told me it was Michael, but I think it was Calvin because shortly after he moved in I got his mail by mistake, and it said Calvin Moore. But I didn’t know him personally.”

  Clay asked the lady to point to where her dog had been barking.

  She pointed to the row of cedar trees.

  “Did you see anything or anybody?”

  “No, I never did. Is Mr. Moore going to be okay? What happened?”

  Brett answered. “We’re not able to discuss that right now, but if you think of anything else, please call.”

  Clay handed her his card.

  Sarah butted in. “What did this Mr. Moore look like?”

  The lady put her hand on her hip. “Let me see. He had dark hair and wore his pants real high—hiked up to his chest. But at night he’d get all dressed up and go out looking like Elvis. The transformation was amazing.”

  Brett studied Sarah’s face. Why did she look shocked?

  The neighbor lady started to turn toward her home but stopped. “Am I safe?”

  Brett wanted to say, no one is ever safe. Instead, he said, “Just lock your doors.” Once the lady was out of earshot, Brett turned to Sarah. “Do you know this guy?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I thought he was a harmless man, a perfect gentleman. He’s a patient. Just goes to show I’m not a very good judge of character.”

  “You’re right. You’re not.” Brett couldn’t help lashing out at her. She should have done a more-thorough investigation on Mrs. Stookey’s background. He moved toward the row of pine trees, where the neighbor had pointed, his head down, looking for clues. He kicked over dead needles. A Snickers wrapper surfaced. “Hand me a crime kit,” he said to Clay.

  #

  On the way back to the precinct, the dark night surrounded Brett and Clay. Few drivers were on the road.

  Brett sat with Lambie enclosed in plastic on his lap and rested his head against the seat, thankful Clay was driving. Thoughts swirled in Brett’s head like dead leaves in a tornado, dizzy from the flitting and bogged down from the rain. The lack of sleep didn’t help contribute to his emotional state, but how could he sleep now?

  Why had the perp taken Quinn? Had she watched him sever Moore? Oh, he hoped not! Had he found her hiding under the bed crying and wanted to rescue her? Brett wanted to believe the latter. Sarah had. She’d looked sincerely upset about Quinn. Her whole demeanor toward Brett seemed to change. There was something in her eyes that made him think she understood. That she wanted to help. That she felt miserable about assuming Quinn had been in a safe home. Or was he a fool?

  Was Sarah the vigilante? She was an avid geocacher and he suspected she’d been sexually abused. Her comment about hating pedophiles seemed personal too. On the other hand, she was trying to keep him confident by saying the perp wouldn’t harm Quinn. He wanted to believe this, but bad thoughts seeped in his mind, like black tar oozing between cracks. They tortured him. Did Sarah know more than she was saying?

  Clay called the chief and put him on speakerphone.

  Chief answered. “Dunson here.” His voice sounded gruffer than usual, like he’d been woken from sleep.

  “Hey, it’s Rizzo and Reed.”

  “Reed, we’re working to find your daughter. Officer Hudson has an artist working with the other child who was at the house—what was her name?”

  Brett leaned forward in his seat. “Sadie. Did she think it was a man?”

  “Not sure. The kid said he was dressed in black with clunky shoes, but he had something over his head, maybe a mesh cap. I have units out now searching sites. I’ve called in all local units and those from Jasper, Livingston, and Pulaski counties. We should have a force of about a hundred officers by seven a.m. We’re going to cover all these geo-sites and find your daughter, Reed. Soon.” He cleared his throat. “Officers Pierce and Rankin are checking with Moore’s neighbors as to whether they saw anything.”

  “Thanks.” He appreciated how much help the officers were giving. They’d find the guy or a clue soon. They had to.

  After Clay disconnected the call, Brett phoned the hospital. The operator connected him to a nurse in Ali’s ICU room. Ali’s condition hadn’t changed. At least he wouldn’t have to tell her about Quinn. Not yet.

  Clay interrupted his thoughts. “You sure you want me to take you to your car?”

  Brett nodded. “Yeah. By the way, do you have that list of deceased men from the county?”

  Clay pointed toward the floorboard in front of Brett. “Yeah, they’re in that folder there.”

  Brett reached for the thick accordion folder.

  “They’re filed under ‘W’ for Whacker.”

  Brett opened the folder and shuffled through the tabs for the “W” file. He grabbed the papers and pulled them out. Using the light of his phone, he glanced at the names and ages of the deceased. They didn’t mean anything to him. No name looked familiar. “The whacker’s only victim who doesn’t fit in with the others is dead and probably on this list, right?”

  “Assuming he lived in this county, yes.”

  “Finding him would help.” Brett tucked the papers under his arm as Clay pulled into the hospital parking lot.

  Clay pulled alongside Brett’s car. “Officer Hunt is working on that list too. Why don’t you try to get some shut-eye—even if it’s a few hours?”

  “Are you crazy? I can’t sleep. Looking over these names will give me something to do. I need to shower and get in my uniform. I’ll be at the precinct as soon as I can.” He opened his door. “Call me if you hear anything—anything at all.”

  “Of course. I’ll head to the lab first and drop off the piece you found from the geo-site. I’ll have them check the bedding from Moore’s. They’ll know whether Quinn was in that bed. I’m praying her DNA doesn’t show up.”

  Tears filled Brett’s stinging eyes. “I am too.” As he climbed out of the car, he handed Lambie to Clay.

  #

  I paced the wooden floors in my living room, twirling the bottom of my shirt, my feet clunking on the planks. Now what? The girl was sad. She didn’t like me either. Why didn’t she feel safe? Didn’t she realize I’d saved her? Why wasn’t she happy to be with me?

  She sat in a chair near the fireplace and crossed her arms, glaring at me.

  “Would you like to play a game?”

  “No, I want my daddy.” Tears fell down her cheeks. She sniffled.

  “No, please don’t cry.” I’d seen tears so many times before, and there had been nothing I could do. My stomach twisted at the memories. I paced.

  Maybe she was cold. “Would you like me to build a fire? Momma always said a fire made everything inside feel better, that it warmed her heart.”

  She turned her back to me.

  I rubbed my fingers across my lips, over and over again. What should I do? “You’ll be okay now. I’ll take care of you. We could watch TV.” />
  She stood and stormed across the room to the bathroom. “No. I don’t want you! I want my daddy. You aren’t my daddy.” She slammed the door and turned the lock.

  I stomped my foot. I didn’t know how to get it right. I wanted her to feel safe, to like me. She didn’t want to look at me. Pressing my ear up to the bathroom door, I listened. Her whimpering made me cringe. Had I done this to her? No, not me. But someone else. Why then did she want her daddy?

  #

  Brett pulled up to Ali’s home around three a.m. exhausted. He went to Ali’s because it was closer to the precinct, and he wanted to feel closer to Quinn, to another time when he’d held her.

  He needed to shower and change his clothes. Maybe then he’d get a second wind. Thankfully, he kept a spare uniform in his trunk.

  Ali’s street was dark and quiet; few homes were illuminated, but he noticed a parked car a few doors down that wasn’t ordinarily there. His heart raced. He thought he saw a silhouette of a person in the front seat. He pulled his cruiser into the driveway, climbed out, and popped the trunk. After gathering his clothes, he headed toward the door and placed his clothes on the porch, ducked behind a few bushes, and examined the car from a distance.

  It looked like Mark’s truck, but he couldn’t be sure. What the hell was he doing?

  Brett dashed, squatting toward the back of the vehicle. When he was within twenty feet, the engine started and the driver sped away with only his parking lights on.

  It sure looked like Mark. Jerk!

  Brett reached for his phone and called Clay. “I think Mark was just parked out front. Not sure why he was here. He’s heading east toward Main Street in a white truck. I’m afraid if I go after him I’ll lose my cool.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Clay’s sirens blared through the phone.

  Brett climbed back into his sedan. “I’m going to chase him from behind.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let me handle this, Reed. Stay put. I’m not that far away, and if I don’t find him we’ll park a car at his house and wait for him. I’ll let you know when I’ve got him.”