Page 4

Quaid

N ixon Davis seemed a somewhat better when I landed back at my desk. Jordyn had found the man a box of tissues and hot coffee.

He apologized the moment I sat as though his child’s abduction had somehow inconvenienced me. Had Jordyn hinted about it being my last day of work? I hoped not.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Mr. Davis.”

“Where’s my birdy?”

“She’s having something to eat with another detective. This is a stressful situation, and she could use a break.”

Something crossed Nixon’s face, and he slapped his forehead. “Oh god. I’m such a shit father. I didn’t feed her. I planned to make pancakes… She told me she was hungry, but… It completely slipped my mind.” He covered his mouth, and fresh tears flooded his eyes. “My baby girl. How could I do that?”

Since we didn’t need another breakdown, I slid my chair closer and rested a hand on Nixon’s knee. “You’re not a shit father, and your daughter will be fine. She’s being taken care of. You’re under a lot of stress, and right now, I want you to focus on telling us what happened to your son.”

Nixon blew his nose, nodding robotically, but it did nothing for the faucet of tears and snot running down his weary face.

His chest hitched a few times before he took a shuddering breath and squeezed the tissue in his fist, doing what he could to compose himself.

“My son is gone. He… I was late… I told her I would be, but…” He huffed humorlessly.

“Crowley thinks he’s so grown up some days.

Work has been hell, and fucking Jude is…

I’ve been trying to put out fires left and right.

She fired our nanny… I don’t know why. She needs her, and I couldn’t get there on time.

I told her to keep him home. He’s too young to go alone.

She isn’t supposed to be up and about, but it was a game night, and Crow…

God, why didn’t she keep him home like I asked? ”

I patted Nixon’s knee. “Deep breath, Mr. Davis. You’re talking in circles, and I can’t understand anything. I need a linear timeline with details. Can you do that? Your son’s name is Crow, right?”

“Crowley. We call him Crow.”

“And he’s eight?”

“Yes. He turned eight last month.”

“Do you have any other children besides Crow and Sparrow?”

“No. Not yet, but my wife is thirty weeks pregnant with our third. She’s on bed rest because of… a placental abruption. She almost lost the baby at twenty-four weeks. Went into premature labor and… They stopped it. It was a miracle.” His face crumpled like he was about to lose control.

“What’s your wife’s name, Mr. Davis?”

“Imogen. I’ve always called her Genie. She isn’t supposed to be out of bed or taking care of the kids.

No stress, the doctor said. No lifting or excess activity.

I hired a nanny six weeks ago when she was put on bed rest, a university student who was off for the summer already and looking for work, but Genie fired her last week. ”

Nixon scrubbed his face with both hands, visibly trembling.

“I don’t know why. Genie needed her. I needed her.

I tried to pick up the slack, but things at work are…

really fucking shitty right now. Everything is falling apart.

” He tugged his hair and gritted his teeth.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I can’t be at home and at the office at the same time.

I told Genie that. I can’t chase after the kids and keep a business running. It’s why I hired help.”

“Okay. Tell me about Crow’s abduction.”

Nixon blew his nose again. I checked in with Jordyn who sat nearby, taking notes on the iPad. Our gazes locked, and she angled her head at the note on the desk. I nodded. We’d get there.

“Crow plays soccer on Tuesday nights.” Nixon twisted the mangled tissue. “The Soccerplex is a few blocks from the house. Ordinarily, it would have been Clementine’s job to bring him.”

“Clementine is the nanny?”

“Yes. It was part of her responsibilities. She would bring Sparrow along and let her run around on the outdoor play equipment by the complex while Crow had practice, a game, or whatever was happening. It’s a noncompetitive league. Beginner stuff. He loves it.”

“Keep going.” Parents tended to get caught up in irrelevant minor details. “What time was his game that night?”

“From six to seven. Since Clementine wasn’t there, I told Genie I’d do my best to get home on time, but I couldn’t promise anything.

I knew how important it was to Crow, but I work downtown, and traffic at rush hour is…

Well, you know how bad it can get. It’s forty minutes on a good day.

On Tuesday, I ended up in a meeting with…

an accountant. It wasn’t planned, and it ran late .

“I didn’t get out until after five thirty.

I knew I wouldn’t make it, so I called home.

Genie was angry. Crow wanted to walk to the field by himself.

She said I could meet him there and bring him home.

I objected. We live in a decent neighborhood, but he’s not old enough for that.

The shortcut would take him across the train tracks, and I’ve seen the people who hang around there.

It’s dangerous, but Genie insisted he would be fine and let him go. ”

Nixon’s face crumpled, and he needed another minute to compose himself. I pulled more tissue from the box. He accepted them gratefully.

“I assume Crow wasn’t at the field when you arrived.”

“No. I got there halfway through the game. His coach said he didn’t show up.

I asked other parents if they’d seen him, and no one had.

The Soccerplex is an indoor facility. I went through every room, thinking maybe he’d gone to the bathroom and got lost. I searched the outdoor park and ran every street between the field and home shouting his name, searching for any sign of him.

As I scoured the train tracks, Genie called. ”

We lost the distraught father again as he folded in on himself. His gut-wrenching sobs filled the bullpen as he buried his face and cried. That time, I waited him out.

Nixon motioned to the note tucked inside the evidence bag. “It came via FedEx and required a signature. Genie got it around the same time I was harassing a homeless guy, asking if he’d seen Crow.”

New avenues of thought materialized. A courier. Who sent the package? Would it be traceable? I wanted the name of the driver and the depot where it had originated. I didn’t have to tell Jordyn to write down my thoughts. She was one step ahead, reading my mind .

It was time to address the most important detail. The one thing that concerned me most of all. “Mr. Davis. This happened on Tuesday night?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Friday.”

“I know.” He keened, crumpling in his chair, hugging himself. “I know.”

The public didn’t always understand the critical window regarding abductions.

Seventy-two hours. The chances of a child’s survival beyond that timeframe dropped at a fantastic rate.

Although ransoms didn’t always follow the same rules, they weren’t an exception, and if an abductor made demands and didn’t get what they wanted within what they considered to be an appropriate window, they might take action and kill the child.

The note didn’t give us a window. Its ambiguity made me hope we weren’t too late.

“Why didn’t you contact the authorities sooner?”

“Because it said not to, and Genie wouldn’t let me. She said whoever took Crow might kill him if we didn’t listen, but after three days, we didn’t know what to do. We haven’t heard anything and don’t know what this note even means. We thought whoever had him might explain, but…”

Nixon shook his head. “I’m here against Genie’s wishes. She’s so mad at me, but my son… Please help me.”

I picked up the note, studying it for anything I might have missed.

It was short. Simple. Again, I touched Nixon’s thigh to grab his attention since he was buried in his hands, lost in grief.

When he lifted his head and met my gaze, I read the note out loud.

“‘If you ruin me, I’ll ruin you. The truth, or you’ll never see him again.

No police!’” I inserted a long pause. Let the message absorb.

I had no doubt Nixon had analyzed it to death in the three days he’d not reported his son’s abduction.

“Did you talk to Genie about what this could mean?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure you came up with ideas. Maybe you fought about them. Maybe you disagreed. Sparrow shared there’s been yelling at home. What’s that been about?”

Nixon ducked his head, shoulders slumping. “It’s been… rough.”

“I understand that. This is a specific threat, Nixon. This is someone you know. Likely, someone close to you or your wife. A friend. A relative. Someone who feels wronged. Deceived. This person believes you’re trying to ruin them, and I’m not saying you are, but it’s how they feel.

Name names. I don’t care how remote or unfathomable the reasoning. List people who fit this category.”

Nixon shook his head, tears waterfalling down his cheeks. “I really, really don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Now isn’t the time for secrets or holding back. Your son is missing. Who had a reason to write this threat?”

His mouth opened and closed several times as his gaze flicked back and forth as though accessing an internal data bank. Something flickered in his eyes, but his silence persisted.

“Who?” I pushed.

“Jude?” He threw his hands up. “That’s all I’ve got, but it makes no sense. Jude wouldn’t do this.”

“Who’s Jude?”