Paying The Piper (7 page)

T
he Piper turned into
the driveway of his ranch and stopped his F-150 in front of the house. He’d last been up here a couple of months ago to repaint the exterior of the house, but the place had changed. This was no longer his weekend retreat. It was a place where he kept children against their will. It had taken him a long time to dislodge that feeling after Nicholas Rooker. Now all that hard work was ruined. Nicholas seemed like only yesterday.

He let himself into the house, bringing his provisions with him. He stocked the pantry and refrigerator with enough food to last him close to a month. He didn’t expect to be here that long, but it paid to be prepared. He’d brought a camp stove and a supply of bottled water in case of a standoff scenario.

He removed the leather pouch from a box and unzipped it. The 9mm automatic slid into his hand. It felt cold and alien in his grip, but regained familiarity as he loaded the weapon and stuffed it into his waistband.

He propped the door open and opened up all the windows to flush out the stale air. He liked the ranch house but rarely used the place. It was the reason why he’d gotten rid of the horses. He had someone in to take care of them when he wasn’t around, but it wasn’t fair to the animals. He left the house to air out and crossed over to the paddock. He’d considered trying again, moving to the ranch and renting out his home in Half Moon Bay, but Sammy Fleetwood had changed everything.

Sammy’s kidnapping was a mistake. Sheils would stop at nothing this time. He’d turn the country upside down before he gave up on the boy. There was a chance he’d find this place—not now or even soon, but in the long term, there was a
chance.

He didn’t like the morbid funk settling over him, and he turned away, only to be faced with another reminder of the past. The barn stood pressed up against the line of eucalyptuses as if trying to hide, but there was no making it disappear. It had all happened in the barn.

He recalled the faces of the children he’d kept here. They’d been good kids. None of them had caused him any trouble, although the chloral hydrate helped there. He settled on the face of Nicholas Rooker. On the night he’d smothered the boy, he had gotten the feeling Nicholas sensed something wasn’t right. Nicholas stared right into him as if he were made of glass. Had he known what was going to happen? Had he seen the hypodermic filled with a larger-than-normal dose? The Piper wasn’t sure, then or now. He just knew Nicholas was extra quiet when he had gone into the barn that final night and placed the pillow on the boy’s face.

He walked over to the barn and inspected the padlock before opening it. No one had tried to force it. The last thing he needed now was a vandal or someone looking for a place to crash. He swung the doors open. He flicked on the light switch and a single fluorescent tube ignited but failed to illuminate the vast expanse beyond a dull glow. He didn’t need light to find what he was looking for. He’d built it, carved it out by himself.

He grabbed the shovel leaning up against the wall and picked a spot on the ground. He dragged the shovel’s blade across the dirt. After eight years, it had settled, squeezing out the air to form a crust. He chipped away at the soil, easily finding the corners. He continued until he’d exposed the entire edge,
then shoveled the few inches of dirt off the surface of the trapdoor.

He reached for the iron ring and took a breath before yanking the wood door open. He snapped on a flashlight and aimed it into the depths. The light fell upon the cramped confines. The cot had stood up well over time.

His trepidation left him in that instant. He’d feared time had blunted his razor-sharp instincts, but just one look into the cellar, and eight years of dormancy was eradicated. He was the Piper. He was and always would be. The realization struck him hard, harder than he’d expected. When the moment had passed, he descended into the cellar where he, the Piper, kept other people’s children.

Eight years earlier
…

T
he rain hammered down
on Golden Gate Park, beating the ground like galloping racehorses. Storm clouds had cloaked the city since dawn.

Scott followed the police officer through the park toward the gathering. He hunched his shoulders against the relentless rain, but it still got underneath his jacket collar. Its chilling touch failed to match the chill he felt from within.

The congregation turned toward him when he drew close. Several of the assembled cops and agents cursed him under their breath.

“Let him through,” Sheils barked, and a path opened.

The FBI agent glared at Scott. His hands were balled into fists and looked ready to throttle him. Instead, he pointed at Nicholas Rooker’s body lying on the ground.

He looked so peaceful. His head lay on a small rise in the park as if it were a pillow. But the boy was too still to be asleep. His chest failed to rise and fall, and he didn’t flinch as the raindrops pounded his eyelids. His legs were placed together with his hands interlaced across his stomach, and he held a note between his dead fingers. The rain’s onslaught had smudged the words,
but it remained legible.

YOU’RE TO BLAME

Sheils grabbed a fistful of Scott’s jacket and jerked him closer to the corpse. None of the assembled law enforcement agents made any attempts to stop him.

“I wanted you to see this. The Piper and I don’t agree on much, but we do agree on one thing.” He pointed at the smudged note. “That boy is dead because of you.”

“I know,” Scott said. He was responsible. There was nothing he could ever do to repair the damage. Nothing.

“Good. Then write about that.”

Charles Rooker’s voice cut through the roar of the rain. “Where is he? I want to see him. I want to see my boy.”

Sheils released his hold on Scott with a shove.

Rooker burst through the perimeter of people surrounding his dead son. Alice Rooker and two agents restrained him. The moment he set eyes on his murdered child, his legs went out from under him. Only the agents prevented him from falling to the ground.

“Oh, God, Nicholas.”

He shook free of the agents and crawled on all fours toward his son. Alice stood transfixed at the sight of her dead son, frozen in place by her own private hell, but the sight of her husband crawling on his hands and knees galvanized her. She dropped to her knees next to him and embraced him.

“Stop, Charles. Please, just stop.”

The sight of the Rookers turned Scott’s stomach and he had to look away.

Sheils swept in to stop Rooker from contaminating the crime scene. With Alice’s help, he lifted the man to his feet. The harsh tone he’d used with Scott only moments before had been
replaced with sincere compassion.

“Mr. Rooker, I can’t let you touch him. We need to check for physical evidence. I don’t want the Piper getting away.”

“Why’d he do it? I was going to pay. He didn’t have to do this.”

Sheils struggled for a reply. How did anyone answer a question like that? How did anyone explain someone like the Piper?

“Let me hold him,” Rooker pleaded.

“I can’t. Not yet. You can be with him later.”

Suddenly, Rooker became aware of the people around him. He stood back from Sheils and palmed away the tears.

“You’re right,” Rooker said. He spotted the note, seemingly noticing its presence for the first time. He nodded. “We are to blame. We let Nicholas down.”

The present
…

Scott stared at the spot where Nicholas Rooker had lain. He’d visited here several times over the years when guilt compelled him to return to the scene of the crime. If he focused on the spot, he swore that he could make out the indentation left in the ground by Nicholas’s body. It was crazy, he knew. There was nothing after eight years to mark the event other than his memories of that night.

His rubbed the Piper’s cell phone in his pocket, willing it to ring. He’d phoned the Piper repeatedly on the drive to the park, but the son of a bitch hadn’t answered. Scott had the information the Piper wanted. The scrap of paper was a slug of molten lead burning in his pocket, and he wanted to hand it over. The Piper was fucking with him for no good reason other than he could.

A vehicle crunched to a halt on the street behind him, followed by someone’s hurried footsteps. Scott didn’t have to turn around to know it was Sheils.

Revisiting Golden Gate Park gave him a cover story.
What could he say? I skipped out for twenty while I beat the crap out of a known associate of Mike Redfern? No, he needed something else. The park gave him that excuse. But he hadn’t come here purely to muddy the waters. As the messages on his phone mounted up and he saw his options running out, something occurred to him. Something Sheils needed to understand. Eventually, he’d answered the phone and told Sheils where to find him.

Sheils clamped a hand on Scott’s shoulder, spinning him around. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

“I had to get away.”

“This isn’t the time to play damn fool games.”

Scott turned away and returned his stare to where Nicholas had lain. “You spend too much time worrying about me and not enough about the Piper.”

“I have to worry about you. You’re the target of this bullshit, or haven’t you worked that out yet?” Then the fight went out of Sheils, and he fell in next to Scott, examining the same spot. “I come here every year.”

Scott looked at Sheils. This boy’s death had scarred so many. The scars might look different, but they were all made with the same weapon.

“I come now and then,” Scott said. “Usually when I think about it all.”

Sheils nodded.

“Jane doesn’t know I come out here. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her.”

“Sure.”

“You still blame me for the boy’s death.”

Sheils opened his mouth to object, but stopped. “Yes. Yes, I do. You got caught up in the drama and the attention. You did nothing malicious, I know, but you were a contributing factor in Nicholas’s death.”

“I know, and I live with that every
day. You don’t have to keep following me around like I’m a criminal.”

Scott knew the hypocrisy of what he was saying, but he also knew that even if the Piper weren’t pulling his strings, he would be telling Sheils this.

“I’m just doing my job.”

Scott shrugged the weakhearted answer away.

“
You’re to blame
,” Scott said. “Remember those words?”

“Of course.”

“You think that note was meant for me, and the kidnapping of my boy is my punishment, yes?”

“You said it.”

“Consider this. I’m not the only one who screwed up the Piper’s plans.”

“Sharing the blame. How nice of you.”

“For Christ’s sake, Sheils, put your grudge aside for a second. It’s blinding you to something here.”

Muscles in Sheils’s jaw flexed. “And what’s that?”

“You bought into the hoax too. We all did, and it cost Nicholas his life. I don’t think he’s just punishing me. I think he’s punishing you too. This was aimed at everyone who fell for Redfern’s game.”

“Bullshit.”

“Maybe. But you’re here again, stumbling about in his tracks, making the same mistakes you did on all the other investigations. If the Piper gets his way, you’re going to lose again. But this one is going to crush me as well as you. My son’s life is in your hands. You get it wrong, and the blame will be all yours this time.”

Scott knew he’d struck a nerve. Sheils’s jaw muscles flexed as if he were gearing up to challenge the accusation, but he bottled his reply. “Let’s forget the blame game, I need to get you home. The negotiator has arrived. He wants to prep you before the Piper calls back.”

A
n air of expectancy
greeted Scott when he walked through the door with Sheils. The Piper could call at any time. Sheils’s people were dialed into their tasks at hand. Jane, Peter, and Rooker were deep in conversation with Brannon. Scott had no objections to Rooker’s presence. He had a stake in this kidnapping. His two million was sitting on the dining table in a black duffel tricked out with the latest in tracking devices. More importantly, Scott owed the man. Rooker had never seen closure. Sadly, he wouldn’t today, either.

Scott’s arrival ended the conversation with Brannon. Jane was upset. She wanted an explanation for his disappearance. He promised answers later, but she wasn’t about to be sidelined. Sheils came to Scott’s rescue, interrupting the burgeoning argument.

“Scott, this is David Dunn, our negotiator. He’s worked a lot of kidnappings. He’s top-notch.”

Dunn was around forty, with a boyish face but a heavily receding hairline. He smiled benevolently. “I’d like to talk through some tips with you to help us the next time the Piper calls.”

“Sure.”

Like Sheils the night before, Dunn stressed the importance of building a relationship with the Piper. The greater the bond between the kidnapper and victim, the greater the chance he wouldn’t take action against his captive. Scott
saw this working in a more conventional kidnapping, but not on this occasion. There were much more powerful motives at work here.

“Keep the dialogue going,” Dunn said. “It gives us time to trace his location as well as building the bond between the two of you.”

Scott had built his bond already. Just not the kind Dunn was hoping for.

“Really push to speak to Sammy,” Dunn said. “You need to personalize the conversation. Remind him that you’re the target, not Sammy.”

“But don’t worry if he doesn’t let you speak to Sammy,” Sheils said. “Our belief is that the Piper keeps the children stored at a second location during the drop.”

“How do you know that?” Jane asked.

“He made a mistake during negotiations on the fourth kidnapping. When proof of life was asked for, he remarked that the child wasn’t with him.”

This information gave Scott no comfort. He hated to think of Sammy stashed somewhere alone, but then again, if he was alone, the Piper couldn’t hurt him.

“I’d like to do some role-playing to see how you handle yourself, and suggest improvements,” Dunn said. “Sound good?”

It sounded like a waste of time, but it beat waiting for the phone to ring.

Dunn made a stage production of the role-play. Scott would play himself, and Sheils, the Piper. Dunn handed Scott and Sheils a cordless handset and sat them down in front of each other. Scott felt like he was part of some bad improv skit.

Dunn pulled out a stopwatch and clicked it. “Take it away.”

Sheils put the handset to his ear. “Have you got the ransom?”

The words sent a chill through Scott. Sheils injected the same sense of superiority that the Piper did. It startled him how easily Sheils took on the Piper’s persona.

It hit Scott that this was serious. This
was his one and only chance to practice before the real thing. He tuned out the burble of conversations coming from the FBI agents in the other rooms. He saw only himself and Sheils.

“I want to speak to Sammy,” Scott demanded.

“Very good, Scott,” Dunn said. “Avoidance. I like it.”

“I asked you a question. Have you got my money—yes or no?”

“I have the two million. I have every penny you asked for.”

“Nice,” Dunn said. “Substituting twelve words when only one was necessary.”

“Good. I want you to bring the money to the corner of Market and First.”

“Will Sammy be there?”

Dunn gave Scott the thumbs up.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?” Scott asked.

“Stringing this call out.”

“I just want to know that my son’s okay. Please don’t hurt him. He’s innocent in all this. This is about what I did to you.”

“No, you’re playing with his life, but that’s what you like doing, isn’t it?”

The remark hit Scott hard. Sheils fixed him with a stare that could cut through steel.

“Watch for this, Scott,” Dunn said. “The kidnapper is trying to control you through fear.”

Sheils’s remark had nothing to do with demonstrating the Piper’s need for control; he wanted to needle him. Scott should have guessed Sheils would retaliate for running out on him.

“I would never play with my son’s life.”

Sheils leaned forward in his seat. “No, you’d do that with someone else’s son.”

“Fuck you.”

Dunn cleared his throat.

“Not so cocky now,” Sheils said.

“Where’s my son?”

“Safe and sound, as long as I get
my money.”

“You’ll get it.”

“Come alone. If I see cops, I’ll kill the boy.”

“You harm Sammy, I’ll kill you.”

“Then you’d better do the right thing, then, hadn’t you?”

Click
.

Sheils put the handset on the coffee table and stood.

No one spoke. Everyone was focused on their exchange. Dunn broke the deadlock.

The negotiator cleared his throat. “Very good, Scott, you did very well at stringing out the conversation. Don’t take the harsh comments to heart.” He eyed Sheils. “The kidnapper will say hurtful things when cornered.” He checked his stopwatch. “A minute twenty. We could get a significant trace in that time, but if we can get that to two or three minutes, we’ll have him.”

Scott put the handset down on the arm of the chair. He’d been gripping it so tightly it had marked his hand.

“Let’s take five and then try that again.”

Sheils pounded him for another hour, but it had the desired effect. Scott got better at making the conversation personal and putting Sammy on a pedestal. Eventually, the punishing role-plays with Sheils lasted seven to eight minutes.

When it was over, Brannon came over to Scott. “We expect a call in the next hour. You should get changed. You’ll be doing a lot of running around tonight.”

Scott was getting changed into sweats and running shoes when the Piper’s cell vibrated. He went over to the bedroom door and locked it.

“You didn’t pick up earlier.”

“I was busy finding Redfern.”

“And have you?”

Scott sat on the bed. “Yes. He’s changed his name to Ray Banks and lives in Lebanon, Oregon. I have his address.”

“Oregon? That’s a problem.”

“Not for me. I got you his information.
Now I want Sammy back.”

“Scott, I think you’ve misunderstood.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to bring Redfern to me.”

Scott saw the machinery coming apart and any chance of recovering Sammy disappear. The Piper was crazy. What he was asking was impossible to achieve.

“Are you kidding? The FBI won’t let me take a piss without their company. They aren’t going to let me run off to Oregon to find Redfern,” Scott said.

“Let me worry about that.”

“They’re gearing for the money drop tonight.”

“The FBI isn’t running this. I am. The drop will follow my schedule. Not theirs.”

Scott went to speak, but heard footsteps outside his door, followed by a voice.

“Scott, it’s Dunham. Agent Sheils needs to go over tactics.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he called out.

“Okay.”

“Poor Scott. His back is up against the wall. Don’t worry, it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

“What do I do?”

“Wait for my call.”

Scott didn’t like the helpless situation the Piper had put him in, but what choice did he have? He pocketed the phone and rejoined everyone downstairs.

The effort it took him to descend the single flight of stairs robbed Scott of his remaining energy. He was exhausted already and this nightmare was less than thirty hours old. The whole scenario seemed so unfair. The FBI was just jumping through hoops. He debated telling Sheils about the Piper’s facade, but the Piper said he’d know if Scott squealed. How? Was his house bugged? Did the Piper have an agent on his payroll?
As much as he wanted to play it straight with Sheils, he couldn’t.

It was all so futile. They couldn’t beat this bastard. He already had the drop on them for tonight, and the money wasn’t even part of the equation. The FBI was just pissing in the wind. Scott wondered how many mistakes Sheils’s team had made, how many kidnap victims had died, and how many bungled money drops they had been part of to attain their proficiency.

The phone rang and the house went silent. Brannon came into the kitchen. “It’s him.”

Sheils guided Scott into the living room. Dunn reeled off last-minute advice. Scott glanced over at Jane, who had Peter in her arms. Rooker had his arm around her shoulders and was telling her everything was going to be okay.

“Anytime you’re ready, Scott,” Sheils said.

Scott picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“Do you have the ransom?” the Piper’s garbled voice asked.

“Yes, I have it all. All two million. Just as you asked.”

Dunn flashed him the thumbs-up.

“Well done. I didn’t think you’d do it.”

Scott glanced over at Rooker. “I have a generous benefactor.”

“So I see. You must feel like a real shit, considering what you did to him.”

It sounded as if Sheils and the Piper went to the same insult school, but Scott wouldn’t be goaded. “I want to speak to Sammy.”

“When I’ve got my money.”

“No, now.”

“Don’t make me hurt your son, Scott.”

Dunn performed a hand gesture, like he was pulling taffy between his fingers. He was telling Scott to stretch the conversation out.

“I need assurance that Sammy is okay.”

“I don’t hurt kids. That’s your assurance.”

“You hurt one last time.”

Scott glanced over at Rooker. He hadn’t wanted to go here, but he couldn’t ignore an opening like that.
Rooker squeezed out an encouraging smile.

“You left me no option, Scott.”

“You always had an option.”

“Scott, would you like me to recite the Pledge of Allegiance?”

“What?”

“To draw it out. I’m guessing the Feds and the phone company are working hard to trace this call. You insult me, Scott. Really, you do. I’m going to make this simple. I’ll contact you later about where to leave the ransom.”

Scott didn’t have to act. Panic tore through him. He knew this was part of the Piper’s plan, the diversion to get him to Oregon, but it still scared him. The Piper was a runaway train with everyone else trapped aboard. “No, I’m ready to do this. I’ve got the money. Just tell me where.”

“Eugene, Oregon. Be there tomorrow.”

The line went dead.