Misconceptions Page 2

  Beyond her, his other brother-in-law, Joe, walked in with an unfamiliar woman trailing behind him. I hope she’s not a reporter.

  ***

  At the sight of the family huddled at the table, the reporter in Dominique wanted to start asking questions and formulating theories as to what could have happened, while the compassionate side wanted to sit with the family and take care of their needs.

  If the phone call she placed to her boss at the TV station before they left the hospital panned out, maybe she could do both. Their affiliate in Cincinnati had sources. Maybe one of them could help. It was worth the few extra minutes she’d taken to return to her office to place the call in private before she drove Joe here.

  As Joe introduced her to Travis and Cindy, the tall officer turned away from the table. The badge fixed to his belt and the gun in his shoulder strap identified him as a detective, but the noticeable resemblance to Joe—although taller and a bit leaner—confirmed him as Joe’s brother.

  As she committed their names to memory, she walked to the back of the room and studied the bulletin board filled with information about seven missing children.

  Joe came up behind her. “This display breaks my heart.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing.” She touched one of the photos. “I wonder why there are only four pictures posted when seven children are missing.”

  He lowered his voice. “The rest are like Emily’s case. There’s no picture available.”

  Dominique’s throat tightened.

  “People are desperate. The number of pregnancies has dropped so low that some people will do anything for a child. It’s gotten so bad a pregnant woman can’t even walk the streets, and a mom with young kids can’t go to the park alone.”

  A policewoman stepped in front of Dominique. “Excuse me.” She pinned to the board a snapshot of a young boy with a huge smile. He clutched a toy car in a chubby hand. The name beneath the photo read Max Montgomery.

  “Dear God, please help us.” Joe rubbed the back of his neck.

  His heartfelt prayer fueled both her investigative reporter side and her compassionate side. What would it be like to know your baby was out there somewhere, but you had no idea what your son or daughter even looked like? Were they being loved and cared for? Were they even alive? She stopped the unsettling questions … they cut too close.

  She had to help. She would love nothing more than to help his family find Max. And hopefully, she could help Emily’s family find their baby too. “They’ll find him, Joe.”

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She checked the caller ID. “I have to take this.” She squeezed Joe’s arm and walked out of the room. Finding a break room with no occupants, she sat down and answered Stew’s call. “You got my text. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. Tell me our affiliates have some lead or information to share on the kidnapping.”

  “Yeah, they do, but it’s a long shot,” Stew huffed.

  “Let’s hear it.” She rummaged through her purse for pen and paper. “I’ll take anything you’ve got.” She wrote down the information her boss relayed to her.

  Crackhead

  abandoned warehouse (10th and Sycamore)

  South side

  Illegal activity and exchanges

  cargo van – white (parked in back alley)

  “You’re right; it’s not much. But it’s all we have to go on.” Now, how could she pass this information to the police without blowing her cover? Her best bet would be to call the anonymous tip line.

  She pulled up the voice-changing app she had downloaded in preparation for the assignment … just in case.

  When the dispatcher answered on the first ring, Dominique let out a relaxed breath. Knowing her voice would be disguised as a man’s gave her some measure of security. “I have information on the kid taken from the mall.”

  “May I have your name, please?”

  “There’s a warehouse on Tenth and Sycamore.” Dominique peeked out from behind the blinds in the break room.

  The dispatcher was motioning to Houston to pick up the extension.

  Dominique chewed on her bottom lip. What if Houston somehow recognized her voice? Too late now. She continued, “Look for a white cargo van parked in the back alley between the two buildings. I think you’ll find what you’re looking for.” She ended the call before the dispatcher could ask any other questions.

  Several minutes later, she returned to the interrogation room. She handed Joe a cup of coffee and took a seat next to him. “Any news yet?”

  “Houston’s keeping close tabs on all the calls coming in. He thinks the last one we received may have some merit. The other officers aren’t taking it too seriously because the caller wouldn’t identify himself. It’s hard to weed out the real leads from the quacks.”

  Her heart slammed in her chest. What if they didn’t follow the tip? “I think they should take every single lead seriously.” She paced in front of the bulletin board with the children’s pictures. “What if they miss something important?”

  Joe smiled. “Houston agrees. He took off while you were on the phone.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thanks again for driving me here. That was really kind of you, considering we’ve just met.”

  He was so sincere, while she hid behind a tall stack of lies. One wrong word and they would all tumble down. She shook the thought off. There were more important things to worry about—like finding Joe’s nephew. “What prompted Houston to follow up on the tip the rest of the department wrote off?”

  “Vinnie Fernandez.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “He’s a guy that owns half of this town. Some of it legally, most of it not. The police have been after him for years. Whenever there’s enough evidence to press charges, something happens and Vinnie goes free. Last year, Houston testified in a big case against Fernandez. The evidence was rock solid, but the jury didn’t convict. Houston’s convinced Vinnie got to more than one member on the jury.”

  Dominique processed Joe’s response. “What do you mean something happens?”

  “You know, evidence disappears, witnesses change their stories or end up dead. It’s more than a coincidence, so Houston keeps after him.”

  Vinnie Fernandez. Dominique cataloged his name for future use. Maybe Houston was onto something and Vinnie was connected to the kidnappings. The story would make a great companion piece to for the declining birthrate angle. Stew would love it. The big challenge would be proving Vinnie’s involvement without becoming another statistic.

  Chapter Three

  Domestic violence and abandoned warehouses were two calls that put any police officer on high alert. With no time to lose, Houston sped to the address the anonymous caller had given.

  The warehouse was located at the end of a long street. The farther he drove, the more graffiti defaced the decrepit, abandoned buildings, and the few houses that remained had been boarded up long ago.

  Houston parked in front of the warehouse and scanned the abandoned buildings of the warehouse district—a popular hangout for drug dealers, prostitutes, and the occasional homeless person. Gun secure, radio checked, he moved past a sagging chain-link fence and walked toward the warehouse. The back end of a white cargo van peeked out from an alley that separated two buildings.

  The hair on his arms stood on end. He eased his gun from the holster and inched forward His boss would have his hide for coming here with no backup, but he if the tip was real and he didn't act immediately, Max would be lost forever.

  Using the building’s shadows as cover, he approached the back end of the van. The license plate hung at an odd angle. Probably stolen. Nevertheless, he memorized the number. He wiped the grime off the back window and peered inside.

  Empty.

  He opened the door and searched for anything that would confirm Max had been there. He slipped his hand under the driver’s seat and pulled out one empty Mountain Dew can and a plastic bag with a pacifier in it. His shoulders slumped. Someone's chil
d had been in the van, but not Max. He had never used a pacifier.

  Houston stuffed it in his pocket. He took a few minutes to call in his discovery and request backup. Maybe forensics would be able to find some evidence that would be helpful in one of the open cases.

  Where are you, Max? Houston swiped a hand over his face, and his jaw clamped tight. If he was going to find Max, he had to focus. Where should he start searching?

  If his wife Becky were here, she’d tell him to pray. The thought poked his conscience.

  A child’s scream pierced the air. He jerked to the right and scanned the first building.

  There! Movement through a window on the second floor.

  He darted across the alley to the building on his right. His mike bounced with each step as he called again for back-up.

  At the doorless entry, he flattened against the building. He flicked a glance inside.

  Empty.

  With light steps, he slipped in. He treaded softly as he crept up a dusty wooden staircase, The scent of motor oil and years of filth tickled Houston’s nose, but he held back a sneeze. If Max was in here, he'd need a good scrubbing to strip away the stench of motor oil and dirt.

  A muffled crying came from above. He followed the sound to the top of the staircase, where he cracked the door open and peered down the long hallway, dotted with four doors on each side. All were closed except the first one on the right, across the hallway from the stairwell.

  Another high pitched cry pierced the air. It came from the room with the opened door.

  Houston darted across the hall, then flattened himself against the wall.

  When the crying stopped, the silence felt more disturbing than the wailing.

  He peered through the crack in the door. A disheveled man stood in the center next to a gray metal desk. Houston committed the man’s description to memory: approximately six feet tall, dirty blond hair, dressed in faded blue jeans and a gray T-shirt. The most distinguishing feature was a prominent, deep purple birthmark on his neck.

  A bundle wriggled atop the desk.

  Houston’s breath caught in his throat. Max. He laid a hand on the metal door, gun ready to shoot off the shaggy man's face if he made a move.

  The stairs creaked behind him.

  He snapped his gun around, aiming at the door and whoever might walk out.

  The door cracked open, then Lt. Kenny Davidson stepped into the hallway, his own pistol drawn.

  What was his boss doing here? He shouldn’t have been able to get here from the station so quickly.

  Houston lowered his weapon and placed a finger to his lips to warn Kenny not to speak. He pointed to the stairwell, then followed Kenny as he retreated back the way he came.

  “Has something changed?” Houston asked. “Is there more news?”

  His boss gave him a puzzled look. “No. Why?”

  “Earlier, you said you thought the tip was bogus.”

  “I was nearby when you requested backup. Decided to respond, even though you shouldn’t be here.” Kenny glared at him for a moment.

  "They have him across the hall, Kenny. They have Max."

  Kenny’s left cheek twitched. “How many are there?”

  “I’ve only seen one. Did you bring anyone with you?”

  “They’re on the way.” Kenny pushed past Houston, crossed the hallway, and glanced in. “I think we can take him. You get Max. I’ll get the perp.”

  Houston hesitated only a split second. Something didn’t feel right, but he’d worked with Kenny for seven years, and they had a job to do. “How much time till more backup arrives?”

  Kenny ignored the question and barged into the room. “Freeze!”

  The suspect dropped the medicine bottle he held and ran through a door that adjoined the next room.

  Houston charged in just as Max started crying again.

  “I’m going after him!” Kenny yelled as he sprinted after the kidnapper.

  Houston returned his weapon to its holster, picked Max up, and pulled him close to his chest. “You’re okay, you’re okay.” He kissed Max’s forehead.

  Max’s sobbing quieted. “Huey.” He rubbed his eyes and buried his head in Houston’s neck.

  Houston’s eyes burned with unshed tears. Never had the nickname sounded more precious. “Let’s get you home.”

  Clutching Max to his chest, he darted across the hall and made his way down the stairs. He nudged the door open and peered out. The front of the warehouse was deserted. It looked like there weren’t any other perps, but they weren’t out of danger yet—not with the suspect still loose.

  He pulled Max closer and rushed to his car, but frowned at Kenny’s car. He wouldn’t be able to leave with it blocking him from behind. He pulled the standard-issue car seat from the trunk, maneuvered it into the back seat, and settled Max in, then moved to the front seat and picked up the radio. “This is Detective Armstrong. What’s the twenty on our backup?”

  “Be advised, Detective, there are two units with an ETA of six minutes.”

  Kenny walked toward Houston’s car. No suspect in sight.

  Houston rolled down the window. “What happened? Where’s the suspect?”

  Kenny held both arms in the air. “He got away.”

  Houston’s eyes narrowed. “Is the van still here?”

  “What van?”

  Houston ran his fingers through his hair. “There was a white cargo van parked in the alley between the buildings. Just like the anonymous caller reported. The engine was still warm when I got here.” How could Kenny not remember that tip?

  “I’ll go back and check.”

  Houston bit back a sarcastic reply. Instead, he checked Max for injuries. If that goon hurt one hair on Max’s head …

  Several minutes later, Kenny hustled back to the car. “It’s gone.”

  Houston swore under his breath and reached for his radio. “I’ll call in the plates. They’re probably stolen, but it’s worth a shot.”

  “I didn’t get a good look at him, Houston. Did you?” Kenny asked.

  Goosebumps spiked on Houston’s arms. Instincts urged him to lie, but he settled for a half-truth. “I saw what he was wearing.”

  “You sure?”

  Houston nodded. That man’s face was etched in his memory

  “At least you got the boy back.” Kenny opened his car door. “I’m heading to the station. I’ll look for your full report on my desk ASAP.”

  Houston kept his eyes on Kenny’s car as it turned the corner and rubbed the tightness from his chest before reporting to dispatch.

  In spite of an increasing sensation that something about Kenny’s actions was off, Houston slid into the car and buckled up. This matter would have to be solved another day. Priority number one was to get Max back to his parents. He pulled out his cell phone and called his brother-in-law. Dispatch would relay the message to them, but he wanted to be the one to give them the good news.

  Travis answered on the first ring. “You found him?”

  Houston looked in the rearview mirror at Max’s droopy eyes. “Yes, I have him.” He choked out the words through a throat tight with emotion.

  “Is he okay?”

  Houston laughed. “He seems okay. He’s still in the dress. But I think they may have given him some Benadryl. He seems a little groggy. Meet me at Valley Memorial.”

  He drove the short distance to the hospital, thankful Max slept peacefully in the backseat. Travis and Cindy were lucky. Max had almost been lost to them forever.

  As he carried the toddler into the ER, Houston ignored the flashes from the reporters’ cameras and the shower of questions they shouted out.

  “Who kidnapped your nephew, Detective?”

  “Is the suspect in custody?”

  “Do you have leads on any of the other missing children?”

  Houston lowered his head and maneuvered past several news cameramen in the waiting room.

  A nurse pointed him towards the double doors into the ER itself. On
the other side of the doors, she gave him the room number and waved in the general direction of the end of the hallway.

  He walked past the nurses and doctors and the two officers outside the doorway of the last semi-private room.

  Cindy, Travis, and Justin huddled around an empty bed. The moment they spotted him, they rushed forward.

  Cindy pulled Max from Houston’s arms. “Thank God, he’s okay. Oh, thank you, Lord.” She planted kisses all over Max’s face and head. “Thank you, Houston! I don’t know what to say.”

  Travis could only parrot Cindy as Max whimpered into her chest.

  Houston wiped away the tears from his eyes. “I’m glad I could help. We got a good lead, and I’m thankful it panned out.”

  Travis ran his hand through Max’s hair. “Did you get the man who did this?”

  “No, but we’re pursuing all leads.”

  Joe rushed into the room. “Mind if I give him a once-over? I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  Everyone except Cindy stepped out into the hallway as she placed Max on the examination table.

  Houston pulled Travis aside. “I need to speak with you.”

  “Sure.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Houston released some of the tension. “I know you’ve had an incredibly stressful day, but I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Sure, but I thought we went over everything already.”

  He waited until they’d walked far enough away from the others not to be overheard. “How many people have you discussed the investigation with?”

  Travis shrugged. “Including you? Two, maybe three. I can’t be sure. I’m sorry.”

  Houston looked over his shoulder and turned back to Travis. “I just want to warn you to make sure you’re very careful, because right now, I’m not sure who can be trusted.”

  Chapter Four

  Two weeks later, Stew’s threats still thundered in Dominique’s mind as she rode the elevator to the hospital’s maternity ward. Bring me a story, Dominique, or I’ll send a reporter there who will. You want that promotion? You have to earn it! So far, despite interviewing pregnant patients in the waiting rooms, documenting pregnancy trends, and various other research tasks, nothing pointed to what might be causing the pregnancy crisis. This hospital boasted the highest birthrate in Ohio, yet nothing stood out to her.