Noah's Rainy Day (17 page)

“The abductor only had five options for escape from the airport,” Streeter said. “By foot, plane, car, public transportation, or … without the child. Right?”

“We’ve scoured the place over the past three and a half hours,” Gates said. “Every level of each concourse. Each level, every room, bathroom, restaurant, store, airline club, and smoking lounge—one and a half million square feet of this place. That kid could hide in this place for months and never be found, if that’s what he wanted. We haven’t had any report or discovery of a body, discarded clothing, or bodily fluids, not even a stench.”

“Isn’t it too soon for a stench?” I asked.

“And too cold,” Streeter added, somehow frustrated by my question.

“It seems unlikely we missed a dead body. There’s got to be four dozen DPD officers and half that many agents, not to mention the DIA security, which is what? Twenty or so? You tell me how we missed a dead body,” Gates said.

“What about the bathroom where the trail ended in the main terminal?” Streeter asked. “Let’s get someone from Investigative Control Ops on that, Jack. Cordon off the area, see if we can lift prints, check the traps, and use luminal to see if we find something.”

“It looked spotless in there,” I said, feeling both relieved and discouraged, not wanting to think about why the scent ended there.

“Gates, you and I need to put the screws on Benson and get to the bottom of what he knows,” Streeter said.

“I have a thought.”

All three men looked my way.

“Maybe what Benson’s lying about is that he went to the bathroom without the boy, told him to wait, and someone took off with him. That would make some sense, wouldn’t it?”

“It would imply a traveler in the secure area took a huge chance to snatch a child in broad daylight and left the airport with him or something,” Gates said. “It’s not likely, but not impossible. I would agree with you if it hadn’t happened in a secure area that requires a passenger with airplane tickets.”

Streeter added, “We’ll ask BlueSky for the list of all passengers who might have missed their flight leaving Denver after the boy arrived. Anyway, it could be an arriving passenger to Denver who was leaving the secure area.”

“Or an employee,” I added.

“Which would imply the abductor lives locally,” Gates said.

I asked, “Didn’t you say you laid out a grid and mapped where the garbage came from?” Gates nodded. “What if I took Beulah out to the grid with the contents of the bathroom? See if she finds anything?”

“Good idea,” Streeter said. “That would be a fast check on the contents, but we also need to isolate that bathroom’s garbage and bag and tag it. Let’s put a priority on that, Linwood.”

He nodded.

“Have you found anything yet?” Jack asked.

Streeter shook his head. “But we didn’t have it narrowed down.”

Gates explained, “I instructed the pickers to be looking for a corpse.”

Streeter instructed me, “Take Beulah out there and see if she can find anything in the outer parking lot. Gates will tell you who to talk to about the grid pattern. See if she can find something our handpicking crews haven’t so far.”

“It’s going to be cold for Beulah.”

“Do the best you can without endangering her. Or yourself,” Streeter said, eyeing me. Then, with a frown he instructed Jack, “Go with her. Make sure they’re being thorough out there and that every garbage can
and storage bin used to collect the waste for the entire travel day is being analyzed. Dumped and spread. Every inch of it is being searched for throwaways. Pay particular attention to the grid containing the bathroom where Beulah led Liv.”

“And if they find nothing?” Gates asked. I got the sense he already knew that was the answer Beulah and I would deliver.

Streeter said, “Either the snatcher took the kid directly to a connecting flight, unnoticed, which is highly unlikely in my opinion, or he left the airport with the kid.”

“But one thing is for sure. That boy is definitely not still in the airport. Dead or alive,” Gates said. “I trust the results of my team.”

“You’re probably right,” Streeter said. “But something tells me this is not a typical kidnapping.” He picked up the report and said, “We received most of the reports from the airlines with lists of last-minute reservations between the hours of noon and two today that would involve a boy. There are less than six so far. Gates’s team is following up on those.”

“What if whoever did this made reservations long ago, planned this ahead of time? Like the nanny or one of the parents? Didn’t you say they were divorced?” I asked.

Again, all three men looked my way.

“Great thought. Is that something Max would do?” Streeter asked.

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t think so, but maybe the divorce is an ugly one, a desperate custody battle. Do we know that yet?”

Streeter shook his head.

Jack said, “Parental abduction accounts for the lion’s share of kidnapping cases and about one-fourth of the total missing children in America. If it’s one of the parents, then we’ll probably get an indication when Streeter interviews them.”

Streeter asked, “Where are they, anyway?”

Gates said, “According to Eddie, Freytag pulled their flight plans and estimates that both planes should arrive sometime within the hour.”

“If it’s not one of the parents responsible for little Max’s disappearance, then God help us,” Streeter said, appearing annoyed by Jack, who was now sitting at a computer and clacking on the keyboard. “At least in that case, the child may still be alive. If it isn’t one of the parents, then maybe this was a kidnapping for money. What are you doing, Linwood?”

“Sending a request for my team to get the list of BlueSky passengers who might have missed flights after 12:40 p.m. I’ve also told them to get us the list of other airline passengers who meet the same criteria. At least we can narrow down the suspects if this is a random abduction. They’ll pull employee time sheets too.”

“I don’t know how we will get through all the outgoing passengers traveling on Christmas Eve with children without spending a lot of time researching each one and verifying each child’s identity,” Gates admitted.

“But you will,” Streeter assured his friend.

He hadn’t told the others about the directive from John Chandler that I be assigned to the case because Maximillian Bennett Williams II said so. At least, I didn’t think he had.

“We need to find this guy and quick,” Streeter said, crossing his arms.

“Why do you think it’s a guy?” I asked, fantasizing about one of our guys down there drawing his weapon and arresting the perp so we could all go home and enjoy the holidays.

“Most abductors are. That’s all,” he said, glancing my way. “Why would you think it isn’t?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I agree with you. That’s why I asked you. It’s definitely a man.”

“Because …” he asked.

I shrugged. “It’s Christmas. Women don’t abduct kids on Christmas.”

Jack made a noise that sounded a bit like a muffled laugh.

Gates scoffed, “Well that’s about the most sexist thing I’ve heard in a long time. What kind of logic is that?”

I felt like I’d just said “shit” in church. Or, reminded of my earlier days, I heard a sea of plaid-clad grade-schoolers giggling after I’d just asked the bishop at Friday mass why women weren’t allowed to be priests. “It’s speculation, not logic. Probably flawed, on second thought. A woman might be driven to such an act if she’s emotionally distraught with the holidays bearing down on her like nails in a coffin. Or another way of looking at it, a woman might kidnap a child, even on Christmas, if it meant protecting the child from something more ominous.”

“Uh-huh,” Gates said.

The judgment in the men’s eyes grew heavier.

“And you don’t think it’s a kidnapping?” I challenged.

“Nope,” Gates said.

“Come on, Chief. I don’t want to be the only one in the confessional. I poked holes in my logic, let’s hear yours.”

“I told you. My guys are digging through the garbage for a corpse. I’m assuming homicide. Just speculating. Because just as you can’t imagine a woman abducting a child on Christmas Eve, I can’t imagine a traveler or employee changing holiday plans in a moment of opportunity without changing his mind just as quickly and deciding to cover up his momentary lapse in good judgment.”

“By killing his victim?”

Gates nodded, holding my gaze. “And I can only hope my logic is flawed.”

“Me too,” I said, dread weighing heavily in my gut and replacing the optimism I earlier felt at finding some answers with Beulah.

“Want to clue me in on the basics, so I’m up to speed and can join the debate?” Jack asked. “I feel like I’m watching a movie in reverse.”

“Next time maybe you’ll remember to charge your phone,” Streeter said, rising to his feet and pacing near the windows. “The missing boy is Maximillian Bennett Williams III, son of Maximillian Williams II and his wife Melissa. The kid sometimes goes by little Max. As far as we know, the five-year-old boy was put on a plane in New York City by his father. The father paid a BlueSky Airlines escort, Kevin Benson, to take the kid to his mother in California. Los Angeles. The kid and escort were supposed to change planes here at DIA. Benson got distracted for a moment and the kid’s gone.”

Jack nodded. “So what distracted the guy?”

“A call from his girlfriend who lives in Denver. It’s a Denver-based crew,” Streeter answered. “At least that’s what he tells us.”

“You believe that story?” Jack asked.

We all answered at once.

Streeter said, “No.”

Gates said, “Definitely not.”

I said, “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Too many holes,” Streeter said. “And Kevin Benson isn’t a good liar.”

“WHY CAN’T I LEAVE?
Haven’t I gone through enough in one day? It’s almost ten o’clock and I’ve been up since—”

“Sit down,” Gates interrupted. “And shut that mouth of yours.”

Kevin Benson’s mouth gaped. Apparently he was unaccustomed to such directness. I noticed a tiny curve to Phil Kelleher’s lips as he escorted Benson to the makeshift conference table opposite Chief Gates and Streeter. I was relieved that Streeter allowed me to hang back so I could participate in the second interview with Benson. I was even more relieved that I didn’t have to go with Jack to the outer parking lot. If I had, we would have been alone, forced to talk, and I hadn’t decided how to handle the lie that Jack wedged between us. Not yet.

I had convinced Streeter to let me linger so I could hear Benson’s follow-up interview, in case he continued to lie about where he went after deplaning at DIA and Streeter needed me to confirm Benson’s movements by using Beulah to trail his scent through the airport. With my decision to stay at case headquarters a bit longer, not only could I help Streeter dig the truth out of Benson but also I could avoid one-on-one time with Jack Linwood. Jack would go alone to the outer parking lot, get to work on organizing the collection of evidence from the priority grid, and then be
on his way back to the office downtown to view video footage with Dodson. Before I arrived with Beulah to search the isolated grid, I hoped Jack would be long gone and I wouldn’t have to pretend that I didn’t see him come off the Kansas City plane at B30.

Benson asked Streeter, “Why is he being such a jerk?” indicating Chief Gates.

“Where’s the boy?” Gates demanded.

“What? I don’t know.”

“Where is he?” Gates repeated.

“I told you before, I don’t know.”

“You told us a lot. Most of it lies,” replied Gates.

“What do you mean? What lies?” Benson looked from Gates to Streeter and back to Gates.

Both men glared at Benson.

“Where did you take the boy?”

“I told you, I didn’t take him anywhere. He took off, got lost, and—”

“Zip it,” Gates said, suddenly on his feet. He lunged across the table and gathered Benson’s shirt collar in his fist. “Remember me? The only time you speak is when we ask you a question, got it? And the only kind of answer you give us better be the truth. I swear if you …” his words trailed.

I didn’t blame him for not finishing that thought. Judging by the look in his eye, Gates might have knocked Benson’s teeth in before he ever had a chance to finish that sentence.

“We know you lied about taking the boy from gate B31 to B51,” Streeter said.

A knock on the door forced Gates to let go and Benson shrank back in his chair as I opened the door. A police officer handed me a file. “From the airlines. The tickets bought today, including those traveling with a minor. There’s an email address if you want the electronic file sent.”

I said, “Thank you.”

“Thanks, Lou,” Gates called out as the officer left.

“You’re welcome, Chief,” the officer called back before I closed the door.

In response to Streeter’s nearly undetectable head motion, I laid the file on the table between Gates and Benson.

“What’s this about?” Benson looked over at Streeter, studied him, and
then leaned back in his chair. It appeared that Benson was sizing up which menacing man he’d rather deal with, and I could have told him neither option was good.

Streeter explained, “You didn’t take the boy from gate B31 to gate B51.”

I could see the Adam’s apple of Benson’s throat bob as he swallowed.

“And if you’re assessing how much trouble you’re in for lying to a federal agent, let me save you the trouble and tell you. Deep. So deep, your nostrils are plugged with excrement,” added Gates, his words measured. “If you start digging your way out now, you just might have a snowball’s chance. Tell us where the boy is.”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Benson said, shaking his head.

“But you do know something,” Streeter said. “You know what happened from the instant you exited the plane from New York City to when you no longer had the child in your possession here in Denver.”

“I …” Benson closed his gaping mouth and lowered his face into his hands, his elbows propped on the table.

I thought he was about to spill his guts, but then he seemed to reconsider.

The long silence was finally broken by Streeter. “Chief Gates, your offer to go easy on Benson—if he tells us what he knows—is quite generous, considering you were planning on hanging him by his scrotum from the scoreboard in Bronco stadium,” Streeter said, without a hint of sarcasm. He stood up, rounded the table, and leaned on the table next to Benson. Close enough that I knew Benson could smell his cologne, although it was more likely Streeter who was detecting the smell of fear on Benson.