Cache a Predator (7 page)

“What if I let you take the
Beauty and the Beast
book with you until the next time I see you?”

Quinn nodded.

Sarah reached for a tissue and blotted the tears on Quinn’s face. As they stood, Sarah reached for the book and followed Peggy to the door.

Peggy turned to Sarah, glanced at her watch, and took a paper out of her briefcase. “Would you be able to meet me at this address to do an assessment in an hour?” She handed the paper to Sarah.

Ali Reed’s address was at the top of the form. “Sure. I can be there.”

#

Reading
Beauty
had reminded Sarah of when her mother had read the same book to her: the way her slender, graceful hands had held the book; the way she smelled of lilac bath oil; her soft, soothing voice; and the way she’d sung the words. Usually when Sarah thought of her mother, memories of her father followed—ruining everything good. His anger spilled over and shadowed each poignant thought.

Except today. For a brief moment, while she read to Quinn, memories of her mother weren’t interrupted with visions of him. She smiled. For the first time, having children didn’t seem so bad. Was it true that some women had mommy genes and some didn’t? Did she?

What did it matter? Men screwed up marriages and lives—both in her practice and her life. She didn’t want to be a part of that. The perfect man didn’t exist. She wanted something simpler, uncomplicated. But with that came loneliness. Was that what she felt when she’d read to Quinn? She wasn’t sure.

Now that Quinn had gone, dark memories of her own father flooded back. She tried to repress them and think of Quinn instead, but the room’s lonely eyes stared back at her. It was as if an invisible cloud hung over it, making it heavy and dark. Even though the sun reflected off the lake and threw light into the room, Sarah’s mood had changed. Emptiness filled her chest. She couldn’t stop thinking about Quinn, especially after she’d clung to her when Peggy had arrived.

Chapter Seven

Before Brett left the precinct he approached Officer Katie Williams and asked her to send a patrol out to search for Max. Then he punched the number for the animal shelter and gave them his phone number and Max’s description. Clay had already called them, but Brett felt better doing it himself. The shelter said they’d call if someone brought a golden in that matched Max’s description, but no one had yet.

He drove to the Child Protective Services office located downtown, a few streets away in the business district of Hursey Lake, next to the Historical Society building.

He parallel-parked in the front at the curb and entered the old building. It smelled like an antique store filled with old furniture that people had left behind in dank, moldy houses. The air felt cold and damp—as if the air conditioner couldn’t keep up with the humidity. A receptionist sat at a wooden desk in the lobby.

“Can I help you?”

Brett said, “I hope so. I’m Officer Brett Reed.” He reached across her desk and shook her hand. “CPS took custody of my daughter, Quinn Reed, this morning, and I’d like to talk to someone about getting her back. Who would that be?”

“You need to talk to Mrs. Turnball. She’s handling your daughter’s case, but she’s not here right now.” She reached into a dish on her desk and pulled out a business card. “You can reach her at this number. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you.”

“There’s been a mix-up. I’m perfectly capable of caring—”

She held up her hand. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. You’ll have to talk to Mrs. Turnball.”

Brett nodded and took the card from her as she answered a phone call. He moved to a wooden chair across from the girl and sat near the window, then took out his cell phone and punched in the numbers. He recognized Mrs. Turnball’s name because of other child protective cases he’d handled, but he couldn’t picture her. She answered on the second ring.

“Mrs. Turnball, this is Officer Reed, Quinn’s father.”

“Yes, I haven’t had a chance to call you, but we’re in the process of investigating your case right now.”

“Look, I’m perfectly capable of caring for Quinn. Where can I meet you to discuss this?”

“We need to talk to her mother too. Can we meet at her house in a half hour?”

Brett nodded. If he told her about the protective order it might delay things further. Besides, with Quinn gone now he didn’t care. It changed everything. “Hopefully she’ll still be there, but I don’t know what condition she’ll be in.”

“We like to keep the child in her home environment as much as possible. We’d need the judge’s permission for her to be placed with you, and that could take time. Quinn is being evaluated right now by one of our counselors. If everything checks out, we’ll have to assess your living arrangements too, and then make a decision.”

“How long is all that going to take?”

“Realistically, it could take a few days. Is there a family member you’d like Quinn to stay with in the meantime?”

He thought of Ali’s psycho mother, who was married to an alcoholic. No way did he want her going there. He couldn’t ask his parents either. His mother would love it, but his father would object. No way. “No, there’s no one. I’m perfectly capable. Why is it going to take so long?”

“It’s paperwork. Things have to be recorded. An investigation takes time, Mr. Reed.”

He turned and pounded his fist against the wall. The receptionist glanced his way. Shoot. He lifted his hand to her and mouthed, “Sorry.”

Mrs. Turnball added, “Isn’t your father an attorney in town? We could arrange for her to stay with him.”

Great. She already knew more about him than he wanted. “No, that’s not going to work.”

Brett’s call-waiting beeped. He glanced at the number. His mother. Should he answer it and ask her to take Quinn? No, he couldn’t. That would mean he’d have to talk to his father, and he couldn’t bear hearing him say he didn’t want to take care of Ali’s brat.

#

A hot breeze blew through Brett’s hair on the way to his car. The summer heat reflected off his windshield, blinding him. He climbed in his car and threw on his sunglasses, catching a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and noticing the wrinkled worry lines creasing his brows. His heart lurched at the thought of not being able to comfort Quinn. He hated thinking about how frightened she must feel.

He drove to Ali’s house, his jaw clenched, holding in the anger that wanted to boil over. He stormed up the porch steps with his computer under his arm and pounded on the front door. When she didn’t answer, he turned the knob and found it unlocked. He let himself in. “Ali?”

The smell of the garbage still cluttered in the hallway made him gag. What a pigsty. Should he throw the bags in the garage? No, it was better if CPS saw the way Ali lived.

He took three long strides into the kitchen. Ali was sitting at the table still surrounded by dirty dishes. Nothing had moved since he was there last. She gave him her back and moved to the sink.

He went to the table, pushed dishes out of his way, and put his computer down, firing questions at her. “Did you let someone in here?”

She wouldn’t look at him. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Are you into drugs? Owe someone money?”

She turned around and wiped the tears off her swollen red face. “No.”

“They’re going to put Quinn in a foster home. This is your fault. We’re going to go through hell to get her back. And if I have my way, you won’t
ever
get her back.”

She crossed her arms and set her jaw, looking past him.

Brett banged his fist on the table. Dishes fell, clattering to the floor, and one shattered into pieces.

Ali flinched and shrieked.

“You’re not going to tell me what happened, are you? You’re just going to stand there and cry?”

Ali crumpled to the floor like a deflated balloon.

“Damn.” Brett went to her, plopped down on the floor beside her, and gathered her in his arms, holding her and rocking her as she sobbed into his chest.

He kept his voice low. “I’m sorry. I know you’re upset, but please, tell me why you locked her in her room and who was here. I want to understand. All that matters is getting Quinn back. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

She beat his chest. “Of course it matters to me. She’s my flesh and blood. She’s a part of me. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her.”

“What’s going to happen to her? What do you know? Tell me. Tell someone.” He took her wrists and tried to force her to meet his eyes, but she balled her hands into fists, shutting her eyes and turning her head from his gaze.

He let go of her arms and broke away from their embrace, leaving her alone in a heap on the floor.

The gates to his composure opened, and pent-up rage marched out. “I think the reason you want her back is she’s the only one who can make you feel good about yourself. How pathetic.
She’s
the parent half the time—always making
you
feel good, telling you how pretty you are. She tells you what you want to hear because she knows if she does, she’ll get your attention. You need
her
. Don’t you see how wrong that is? You’re supposed to be the parent. You were supposed to be watching her!”

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!