Cache a Predator Read online

  Ali buried her face in the crook of her arm, stood, and stomped out of the kitchen toward the living room.

  Brett followed, his voice rising. “She has to remind you of everything—which groceries to buy, to turn the stove off, to set your alarm. What happened to you? What robbed you of all your self-esteem?”

  She turned on her heels to face him. “Maybe it was you! Did you ever think of that?” She barreled past him and into the bedroom, slamming the door.

  He threw his arms up in the air. What had he done?

  He hadn’t bothered telling her the social worker was on her way. He didn’t want to give her time to get it together. It was better if they saw her the way he did—surrounded by her true colors. And smells.

  His cell phone vibrated. Clay. Brett answered and returned to the kitchen, settling in a chair at the table. The room spun as he forced himself to keep calm. He took two deep breaths. “Tell me something good.”

  Clay sighed. “I wish I could. I tried. I checked with the CPS director, but because you’re a cop they have certain protocols they have to abide by.”

  Brett clenched his jaw. “So it’s worse because I’m a cop? That makes all the sense in the world.” He shook his head sarcastically and with disgust.

  “Wait it out. Play their game fair, and you’ll get Quinn. It’s probably going to have to go to the judge first.”

  Brett’s heart sank. He figured this could take longer than one day, especially since it was getting late, but hearing his partner confirm it made it worse. He wiped his clammy hands on his pant legs. “The judge will never let me take her home. She’s the one who smacked me with the protective order and sentenced me to the anger management course.”

  “Yeah, but this is different, dude. Quinn’s a child. She can’t stay with Ali. Just stay positive. Your girl will be with you soon.”

  Brett sighed. “Wish I had your confidence.”

  “Want an update on what the scouts found?”

  “Sure. It’ll give me a diversion.”

  “A dick, but it didn’t belong to this morning’s victim.”

  Brett stood and paused. “There’s another?” He grabbed the broom out of the pantry and swept the floor with one hand, holding onto his cell with the other.

  “Looks like it. But we haven’t found him yet.” Clay snorted. “The coroner said it’d been cut off a few days ago—sliced off a dead man. There was embalming fluid in it.”

  “Seriously? That’s crazy.”

  Clay said, “We’re looking into the obits—men who died in the last few weeks. Medical examiner said that’s how long it’d been decaying.”

  “How many can that be?”

  “Exactly? Seventeen local deceased. Twelve of them were men. But we don’t know if this guy was local. He could have been from anywhere.”

  “What’s the rap on the guy this morning?” Brett tried to focus on their conversation, knowing the distraction would help, but he couldn’t block out Ali’s soft crying in the next room. He had no interest in going to her, but the sound grated on his nerves.

  “Jake Hunter, previously arrested for domestic abuse, and he’s a registered sex offender. He did a kid, served time. Works at the Dayle Foundry uptown. His ex has a confirmed alibi—claims she worked all night—she’s a waitress at Stephen’s Bar. She said she wished she would have maimed him herself though, said he raped her repeatedly during their marriage.”

  “What a dirtbag. Any clues on who our perp is?” Brett continued to sweep.

  “None at this point, but I’m looking into the victim’s family. The dick the scouts found this morning was in a geocaching site.”

  Brett stopped sweeping. “A what?”

  “Geocaching—it’s a game hikers play. Someone registers the location of the box at an online site, indicates if it’s an easy or difficult find, and lists GPS coordinates on where to find it. The hikers look for the cache using a GPS device. They load the coordinates and off they go. Sometimes the cache is buried. Sometimes it’s camouflaged in something other than a box.”

  “Do they put money in it?” Brett dumped the broken dish into the already-full garbage can.

  “No money.” Clay explained. “It’s usually filled with random stuff—never human body parts.”

  While Clay explained the game, Brett heard phones ringing in the background and figured Clay was at the office.

  “How many of these sites do we have in our county?”

  “I haven’t researched that yet. When you have time, Google it. ” Clay paused. “The chief said he sent you home for a few days, but I thought you might wanna stay in the loop.” He paused again. “I’m gonna have to take another call here.”

  “Yeah, keep me updated, but for now all I can think about is getting Quinn back.”

  “I understand. Don’t worry. Quinn will be with you soon.”

  Brett clipped his phone back on his belt loop and sat at the kitchen table amid the clutter. He strummed his fingers waiting for Peggy Turnball to arrive. Every minute felt like an hour. Come on, already!

  He opened his computer sitting on the table and waited for the screen to light. He Google-searched “geocaching.” When a list of sites appeared, he clicked on the official site and then typed in Hursey Lake’s zip code, pressed Enter, and a list appeared. Four hundred and fifty-nine sites? That’s insane!

  The doorbell rang. He shot out of his chair, running in circles, hating the mess surrounding him but reminding himself CPS needed to see the way Ali kept house. He raced to the front door and opened it, but it wasn’t Mrs. Turnball.

  It was his neighbor, Ray, standing on the porch with his little beagle, Bella. “Hey … I-I-I noticed your car here, and … and …” He stuttered like he always had, but for some reason he couldn’t look Brett in the eye. “Is everything okay … okay with Quinn?”

  “Why? Did you see someone here this morning?” Mr. Ray was a retired widower who often brought Quinn cookies and something special on Halloween and Christmas.

  Mr. Ray bent down to pet Bella. “Well, no, I had to take Bella to the … to the vet, but … but … there are rumors.”

  “About what?”

  “You.”

  “What about me?”

  Mr. Ray cleared his throat. “Uh, that you”—he coughed—“hurt Quinn.”

  “I hurt her? How?” Couldn’t people mind their own business?

  Mr. Ray shrugged. “They said you”—he cleared his throat—“molested her.”

  “What?” Brett shot out the door, his voice ringing down the street. “Who’s spreading that filth?”

  Mr. Ray backed away, lifting Bella tight to his chest, staring at the ground. “I didn’t know the person. I heard it at the grocery store. Of course I didn’t believe it, but I thought you should know what they’re saying. I figured they was lies, Mr. Reed. It didn’t make sense. I know you l-l-love Quinn. I-I-I told them that.”

  Brett lowered his voice. “Thanks for telling me.” He squeezed Mr. Ray’s shoulder. “I appreciate that you stood up for me too.” Blast Ali for spreading lies about me.

  “I’m sorry to b-b-bother you, Mr. Reed. Tell Quinn I said hello.” He nodded and scurried away like the bucked-toothed squirrel he looked like.

  Brett took a deep breath and walked back into the house, then slammed the door. He hurried into the living room to open the drapes, but stopped short. Ali was sitting on the sofa—her hair brushed, with makeup and clothes on. “You telling lies about me now too?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She reached into her purse for a medicine bottle, opened the lid, and took out a pill. She then threw it in her mouth and chased it with a swig of bottled water.

  “What did you just take?” He yanked the drapes open.

  She ignored him and reached into her purse for her car keys.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t have to tell you.” She stood to go.

  He lunged for the keys, struggling to take them, but she clos
ed her fist and scratched his arm with her other hand, drawing blood. Then she darted across the room, toward the kitchen.

  He chased her, took hold of her arm, and spun her around. “You can’t leave.”

  She jerked her arm out of his clasp. “Watch me.”

  “Don’t you want to get Quinn back? A caseworker from CPS is on her way. She needs to meet you.”

  Ali paused and her eyes widened, seemingly panicked. Tears spilled down her cheeks again. “Look, I don’t remember anything, okay?”

  “How can you not remember? Were you that messed up?” He shook his head. “You’re disgusting, and you still reek like booze. You aren’t in any condition to go anywhere.”

  Her cell phone vibrated on the coffee table. Brett took a few steps back toward the sofa and looked at the screen. “Your boss is calling.”

  She paused, crossed in front of him, and snatched her phone. Then she turned, shoving the phone in her purse.

  He heard a car in front of the house and glanced out front to see if Peggy had arrived yet. Ali ran toward the back door through the kitchen, her heels clicking on the tile. The door slammed before he could stop her. What kind of mother wouldn’t stay to fight to get her daughter back? He knew the answer: a mother who didn’t want CPS to see her in the condition she was in.

  The fact that she left wouldn’t help CPS assess her, but it might help his case. He let her go. It’s not like he could stop her.

  Her little red Focus, with its dings and large dents—evidence of a reckless woman—squealed out into the street the way a criminal would flee the scene of a crime.

  Why wouldn’t she talk to him? What was she hiding?

  He sauntered across the room toward the front door and stopped when he saw the blanket on the floor—the one he’d wrapped around Quinn. Had it been just this morning that she had told him she loved him? How could anyone believe he’d ever hurt her? He reached for the blanket and found Lambie, the stuffed animal Quinn always carried with her so she could rub its ear while she sucked her thumb. He pressed it into his face, smelling Quinn’s sweet smell.

  Tears threatened to spill. He swallowed the lump in his throat, folded the blanket, and set it on the sofa, tucking the lamb under his arm. The doorbell rang.

  He crossed to the door and opened it. Two women stood in front of him. One was probably in her mid-forties. She had dark hair pulled back and peered over the top of black-rimmed glasses.

  The other lady reminded him of Carrie Underwood, his favorite female vocalist, garbed in stylish western wear—boots, jeans, and a ruffled blouse with a country-looking vest. Her large leather briefcase resembled a horse’s saddle. The lady’s blond hair tumbled past her shoulders, and she stood at least five inches taller than the vocalist, just a few inches shorter than Brett. Something about the way she stared at him with her large deep-set brown eyes made him feel like an insect under a microscope.

  The dark-haired woman in the glasses stepped toward him with her hand out. “Mr. Reed? I’m Peggy Turnball.”

  He shook her hand. “Yes, come in. Call me Brett.” Lambie fell out from under his arm. He bent to retrieve it, his face feeling hot.

  Mrs. Turnball didn’t smile, but she didn’t seem cold either, just preoccupied. “You can call me Peggy.” She nodded toward the other lady. “This is Dr. Sarah Grinwald, Quinn’s assessment counselor.”

  The doctor reached for Brett’s hand, locking her eyes on him and seeming to smirk at the lamb under his arm. “Call me Sarah.” Her voice sounded smooth and soothing, the kind of voice a therapist might use to get someone to say how they felt.

  He took her hand in his, noticing her firm, confident grip. “Call me Brett.” He held the lamb out. “Quinn’s lamb. She takes it everywhere.” A knot formed in his throat. He coughed, trying not to look like as nervous as he felt.

  Sarah nodded as if she understood. She didn’t look like any doctor he’d ever met. She continued to eye him, as if she could see into his soul and knew his intimate thoughts. It made his mouth dry. What had Quinn told her?

  Peggy said, “Was that Quinn’s mom leaving?” She pointed in the direction Ali had fled.

  Brett nodded. “Yep, I couldn’t get her to stay.” He motioned for them to enter. “Come in.”

  Peggy paused in the doorway, cocking her head to the side. “This is her house, but you’re here alone?”

  “You asked me to meet you here.”

  “Yes, but I hadn’t realized until I read your file that there was a protective order against you.”

  “Let me ask you something—if your child called you crying, asking for help, would you let a protective order stand in your way?” He paused. “Look, all I want is to do whatever is necessary to get custody of Quinn.”

  “Do you have your own key to enter any time you want?”

  “Yes, but I only come when I think Quinn’s in danger.”

  Peggy glanced at Sarah and back at Brett and then at his arm, nodding. “Did you fight with her?”

  Brett followed her line of vision to the scratch on his arm. Great! “It’s not what it seems. I tried to take her keys away.”

  Peggy paused.

  He motioned for them to enter. “I didn’t hurt her. Come in and we can talk about it.”

  Peggy exchanged looks with Sarah. “These are exigent circumstances, so we’ll come in to assess, but it would have been advantageous for us to talk to her.”

  “I told her that, but she took off anyway. She probably didn’t want you to smell the booze on her breath.” He jostled around them to close the door. “I can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do.” He motioned for them to head to the living room. “Excuse the mess and the stench. I didn’t clean up because I wanted you to see the way Ali lives.”

  Both women entered hesitantly.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m a good guy, a cop. My job is to help people in this community, not harm them.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sarah couldn’t take her eyes off of Quinn’s dad when he answered the door. His appearance startled her. It wasn’t because he was in a cop’s uniform, because men in uniforms never tripped her trigger. She typically liked the rugged outdoorsy-looking guys. When she’d heard he was a cop, she figured he’d be the typical bad-ass type, but he looked more like a schoolteacher, especially carrying the stuffed lamb under his arm. His curly dark hair hung just a tad over his ears, and his pale blue eyes reminded her of an adult male version of Quinn.

  His innocent but desperate look really knocked her off balance too. It was the same look Quinn had displayed before she left Sarah’s office. The one that tugged at her heartstrings. He didn’t look the type to have anger issues either.

  Typically, Sarah was good at staying neutral, but this was difficult. She wanted to believe that Brett was a monster, especially after reviewing his case and learning of the protective order. Her first impression was not what she expected. She almost felt sorry for him, especially when she saw the garbage lined along the wall and smelled the filth. She couldn’t imagine raising a child in that environment. What kind of mother was Ali that she would flee even though she knew they were coming? Probably a mother who had something to hide.

  When Sarah had seen the deep scratches on Brett’s arm she’d almost gasped, remembering another time when she’d been the one who had inflicted similar scratches on someone in her life. When tears had welled in Brett’s eyes, she believed his story was different from hers, but how well did she really know him?

  As they stood in the entryway, Brett said, “So, you’ve seen Quinn? How is she?”

  Sarah exchanged a glance with Peggy. “She’s doing well considering the circumstances. I’m sure you’ll get to see her after we finish the assessment.”

  “Really?” He sighed like he was genuinely relieved. “Thank you. Where is she now?”

  Peggy took a few steps into the living room, surveying the home, then moved on to the kitchen.

  Sarah stayed in the entryway, facing Brett. �
��She’s in a room at the sheriff’s office. It’s where we hold children until we assess their situation. The room is equipped with a TV, a DVD player, and a staff that will spoil her.” She smiled, trying to help him relax.

  “I’m familiar with that room. Has she asked for this?” He held up the lamb. “She never goes anywhere without it.”

  Sarah shook her head. “She’s mostly concerned about her dog.”

  “I’ve got a unit out looking for him.” He paused and nodded toward the other room. “Can I get you something to drink? Make a pot of coffee?”

  Peggy, who had returned to them, said, “No, we don’t have time. For now, we need to ask a few questions, search the home, and present you with a few documents.”

  Brett rubbed his eyes. “Of course, sure.” He led them into the kitchen and pulled out two chairs, brushing the crumbs off the seats. “I’m sorry for the mess. Clutter is invisible to Ali.” He closed his computer and moved it out of the way before he sat across from the women.

  Peggy set her briefcase on the floor, opened it, then brought out a file. “Where do you live?”

  “In a one-room apartment across town.” He gave her the address. “After I divorced Ali and lost the custody battle, I wanted to keep Quinn in familiar surroundings, so as not to upset her world too much. So I moved out and let Ali keep this place. All I could afford was a one-room apartment.”

  Peggy scribbled notes on her clipboard.

  He said, “Look, this has all been a terrible misunderstanding. Quinn can live with me. She doesn’t need to go anywhere else.” He exhaled loudly. “Ali hasn’t been well for a while, but the courts decided to grant her custody because mothers always get the children. I tried to fight them, to explain her emotional issues, but she lies well. They believed her. And she stayed sober long enough to pass a drug test.”