Noah's Rainy Day (21 page)

When I’d done research at Quantico, I found that most search dogs in the mountain states were trained German shepherds or Malinois with thick coats to withstand the cold. But a bloodhound’s sense of smell was estimated to be sixty times greater than that of a German shepherd. I also discovered that bloodhounds were known to be the most docile and least likely to bite, which utterly confounded me every time I thought about Beulah at the Hanson cabin attacking the killer. Bloodhounds didn’t have that attack instinct or propensity to bite. Especially Beulah. I’d always wondered what sent her into attack mode during that moment. She had saved my life.

Beulah’s loyalty to me had earned her special favors. I would search for the perfect apartment where she could have the indoor comforts and the ability to duck outside if need be. Until then, we’d enjoy the accommodations at the Hogarty house.

After the fourteenth pass, I was trying to decide if we should continue or abandon the search and head back to Concourse B for the interviews with the Williamses. I glanced at my watch. Eleven o’clock. I’d only been out searching for a half hour. I’d finish up the priority grid, admit the search was a bust, and head back. On the sixteenth pass, just as we were nearing the end of the first hundred-foot length before hitting the twelve-foot snow wall and doubling back, Beulah lurched to my left, pulling me into the new area of garbage that hadn’t been searched. She lowered her nose a bit and stopped, looking back over her shoulder at me.

“Beulah?” I asked, looking around the area to find what it was she’d detected.

Luckily, a light plant stood at the edge of this side of the outer lot and the area was easy to scan. I looked around at my feet, around either side of Beulah and in front of her, digging in the garbage with the toe of my boot. Beulah shivered, her body trembling from the cold. For a minute while I poked and prodded through paper towels and discarded coffee cups and chunks of wasted, rotting food, I wondered if Beulah had simply bolted off course in defiance of this silly exercise I had her doing. After all, I’d felt the same way a few passes back, until I saw the corner of green poking up from beneath the layer of strewn garbage.

Right in front of Beulah.

“Way to go, girl,” I said, sensing immediately that this is what we were hoping to find.

Just as I bent to pick up the green cloth, a voice called, “What’d she find?”

I was so startled that I nearly fell on the layer of garbage we’d been searching. A hand grabbed me under my arm and kept me hovering until I regained my footing. I rose to a standing position, finding myself face-to-face with Jack Linwood.

I said nothing.

He smiled.

“What did you two find?”

I realized then that he was the sixth picker I hadn’t yet passed on my search with Beulah. He was dressed like the others—same blue parka, same navy stocking cap, and black gloves. He had been picking through
the garbage, a task well beneath his pay grade, off by himself on a remote part of the priority grid. Helping out to speed up the investigation? Or waiting for me?

“I … We …” I couldn’t find my words.

For an instant, my mind said I shouldn’t answer him.

After all, here he is out in the priority grid, picking through garbage on his own, blatantly disregarding Streeter’s instructions to oversee the operations for the priority grid, gather key evidence already collected, and help Dodson review videos.

“What are you doing out here?” I managed.

My breath hung in the cold air near his chest.

He looked down at me. “Searching. Like you.”

“But you were supposed to oversee the search efforts, not become a part of it.”

His smile wavered as he looked over his shoulder toward the other pickers. “It’s Christmas Eve and five degrees out here. I don’t have a lot of people helping.” Something came over his face that I would have to describe as a grave seriousness. “We have to find the boy. We’re running out of time. And it’s very cold. He won’t survive in this cold if he is out there.”

I looked away from his stern face and at the ocean of garbage. “You . . . you think he’s here?”

“I believe in you. And Beulah. She found the trail to the bathroom. The end of the line?” His smile was soft and genuine. It was an offering.

The green corner of fabric in front of Beulah no longer held the victorious aura it had only moments earlier. Now it was something much more ominous to me.

I looked back at Jack, realizing that my earlier compulsion to stay quiet and not answer him had nothing to do with my concern for little Max. It had been purely out of jealousy. I saw him fly in from Kansas City tonight around 8:30 p.m. and then he’d lied to me—to all of us—about where he’d been. Maybe he had a second home in Kansas City. So what? And what business of it was mine? After dating him, I was starting to fall in love with this man, and my jealousy didn’t need to be the reason I stopped trusting him now. I simply had to ask.

“I saw you.”

His smile faded. “You saw me?”

“Tonight. I saw you get off that plane.”

His face became guarded.

“From Kansas City.”

He averted his eyes from mine.

“Are you married, Jack?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I was.”

That answer took me by surprise. I really hadn’t thought my delusions—that somehow Jack flying to Kansas City meant I was dating a married man or that I had reason to be jealous—would turn out to be real.

“Does she live in Kansas City?”

He shook his head, still avoiding my eyes.

“Do you have kids?”

It took him many moments to answer. His liquid black gaze slid back to mine and the distance in them indicated his thoughts were a million miles away. In the stillness that followed, I could see my breath linger in the cold air, which gave me a chill.

His words were small. “I did.”

A PIT OF REGRET—MORE
like sorrow—grew in my gut hearing the formality of the past tense he used. He’d said “I did,” not “I do.” I sensed this wasn’t going to turn out well for either of us.

Jack’s gaze returned to me, first with an expression of hurt, and then he tightened his jaw and raised his chin in defiance.

“My son died. It was tragic. My wife and I couldn’t cope. We divorced, many years ago. I should have told you. I haven’t seen her since. And no, she doesn’t live in Kansas City.”

I stared at him.

“Then why did you lie?”

“You know how Calvin is, my boss. How Streeter is, my peer. I’m on call 24-7. I’m supposed to let them know my every movement, anytime I travel. In case they need me.”

I did understand that. Work at the Bureau was all consuming. It was almost unnatural.

“I went to Kansas City to see an old college buddy of mine. I flew out yesterday and back in today. In case you wanted to spend time with me tomorrow. That’s why I couldn’t come to your sister’s house tonight.”

I must have looked skeptical, because he pulled off one glove and
fished for something in his jeans pocket. He pulled out some slick pieces of paper I recognized as e-tickets. “Here. Believe me now?”

I saw from the itinerary that he’d left on December 23 at 3:46 p.m. for Kansas City, returning at 8:29 p.m. December 24.

“I left work early. Ask Dodson. Or Noreen. Anyone, really.”

I shoved the tickets back at him. I watched as he stuffed the e- tickets back in his pocket and demanded, “And your college buddy, male or female?”

He grinned and kissed my forehead. His lips were warm. “Male, you silly girl.”

“When are you going to let me meet your parents?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my cheek against his chest.

He gave me a squeeze. “They are both gone. I never had siblings. You are all I have.”

The idea broke my heart. “I’m sorry. I really would have liked to meet them. Would they have approved of me? For you?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, chuckling, and held me closer.

I laughed. “Sorry I didn’t mention the Kansas City thing until now. I was just … jealous. And I’m on edge.”

“Me, too. This is personally very hard for me.” He let me go and stared down at me. “A boy missing, I mean.”

“I’m so sorry about your son. How did he die?”

He shook his head. “I think we need to focus on finding this boy. Whatever it takes. Even if it means you stay out here and pick with me.”

My mood brightened, suspecting what Beulah had already found.

I turned from him and bent down near Beulah who by this time was shivering like a leaf in a windstorm. I fished out the green fabric with my gloved hand and tugged until a tiny beret appeared.

“It’s the boy’s,” said Jack.

“Little Max. His name is little Max.”

As Jack gathered the other five pickers and directed them to the area where we’d found little Max’s beret, I took Beulah back to my car. Loading her into her kennel wasn’t comfort enough for me. I turned the key and let the engine warm up, set the heater to seventy-five, hoping the car would reach a comfortable temperature quickly. I gave Beulah water and food,
removed her leather boots, and ruffled her fur to show her how proud I was of her search, waiting to make sure the heat would rise before turning it to a steady seventy and heading back to the picking area.

All seven us picked through an area that Jack had outlined, what he thought would capture more than items from the single-stall bathroom. Mostly, the mess was paper towels and discarded toilet paper, with candy wrappers, used feminine products, and dirty diapers. Not a pleasant pick for sure.

As we picked, I said, “The Williamses made it.”

“Streeter’s interviewing them now?”

I shook my head. “Waiting for me to get back. He was going to interview Benson’s girlfriend first.”

The more we picked the more relaxed I became, overjoyed that we hadn’t found a body part or a discarded corpse. Small talk was welcome and reviewing the points of the case was productive small talk.

“Do Chief Gates and Streeter think Benson might have something to do with all of this?”

“Maybe,” I said under my breath. I didn’t know the other pickers and didn’t want to discuss the case with them if they weren’t Bureau.

Jack recognized my reluctance and moved to the farthest reaches of the area, closest to the beret I’d found. He instructed the others to move out to the edges and work toward us.

“Do you think Benson had something to do with this?” whispered Jack.

“I’m not sure. Wouldn’t be surprised.” Streeter and Tony had mentioned the difference between planned and random abductions. Was all this coincidence? Benson and his girlfriend’s involvement felt like a stretch to me.

“Why?”

I shrugged. “Maybe he’s a pedophile. Maybe he abducted little Max for attention. Maybe he wanted an excuse for his girlfriend to feel sorry for him.”

“So he snatched a little boy?”

I shrugged again, resisting the powerful urge to yack from the sight of the trash I was picking through. I tried to stay focused on the case. “What are the alternatives?”

The wind died and it was quiet for a moment. Snowflakes fell but quickly turned to dots of wet under the lights. I could hear gloves scraping against piles of debris and sliding along evidence bags; the pickers were talking amongst themselves about planned Christmas activities and holiday feasts.

I’d almost forgotten I’d asked a question when Jack answered, “Someone might have paid Benson to derail the child’s travels or to get rid of him. Like the father or mother?”

“Maybe. I know little Max’s dad. I just can’t believe that would be possible.”

“You know Maximillian Bennett Williams II? The richest man in NYC?” Jack had stopped picking and was staring at me.

“Why does everyone keep sounding so surprised?”

Jack grew quiet.

“What?” I asked.

“Is he a former boyfriend of yours or something?”

“And why does everyone keep jumping to that conclusion? No. I did not, would not, ever date Max. He’s not my type. Max is my sister’s ex-fiancé.”

That seemed to please him.

“What time is it?” I asked, finding nothing of interest and growing worried about missing the interview.

“A quarter to midnight.”

I’d been out there for an hour and fifteen minutes. Benson’s girlfriend had probably been retrieved and taken to headquarters already, and their interview was either already over or just finishing up.

Jack must have read my mind. “You thinking about cutting out?”

I nodded. “Doesn’t seem to be much here except a lot of DNA for you and your team to analyze.”

“Looks like it. At least that means he might still be alive.”

We exchanged a worried glance. How could I have ever entertained the idea that Jack would cheat on me? Or on his wife? How paranoid could I possibly get? How ridiculous? I rose to my feet, surprised that Jack did the same.

I asked, “You cutting out, too?”

“No, we’re almost done here. I’ll head back to the lab downtown with all this and line out the protocol. Mind if I keep the beret?”

I shook my head. “I want to use it to do another search at the airport. Just in case the Williamses didn’t bring any of little Max’s personal belongings. But I’ll give you his backpack. I promise I’ll give you the beret when I’m done. To analyze. Time is of the essence and all.”

Something seemed to be weighing on his mind. Maybe it was the beret. “Liv?”

“What?” I noticed we’d walked out of earshot of the other pickers.

His voice was still in a whisper. “Don’t tell Streeter. Please.”

“About you picking out here instead of reviewing videos?”

“No, about me lying. He won’t trust me.”

“That’s what happens when you tell lies, Jack. People don’t trust you.”

“Do you?”

I studied his face a long time, wondering what it was I saw behind his shiny black eyes. Sadness, desperation? The only thing I could think to say in response was, “Does it matter to you if I do?”

“A great deal,” he said. “More than you could ever imagine.”

“Then of course I do.”

I believed that Jack went to Kansas City yesterday and returned today. I believed he was divorced and had lost a son. I believed he did not want me to tell Streeter about him lying about where he’d been. I believed all he had in the world was me. So why wouldn’t I trust him, even if he had been reluctant up until now to share such important parts of his past? He had been married. He’d lost a child. His parents had died. He had no siblings. He was a man unwilling to trust just anyone and yet he trusted me. And wanted me to trust him.