Justifiable (32 page)

Using one earphone for his portable FM radio receiver left him with one ear open to hear a child’s cry. Long shot to even think that would happen, but the impossible happened all the time in his business.

A patrol car cruised slowly down the same street toward him with two male officers, both scanning everywhere. But Riley had the better viewing point from the sidewalk. He recognized the officer in the passenger seat as Willie Malone about the time Malone’s gaze snagged on Riley. The officer paused and nodded in acknowledgement as the cruiser kept moving.

At least some law enforcement believed he was helping them. What had happened to the alliance he’d formed with Kirsten last night? She acted like any ground gained had washed away at the strike of midnight and she’d returned to treating him as though he was a burr in her backside.

He intended to keep her a little out of step by cajoling rather than combating, but her assumption that he’d use a child in danger to pump a story for the station struck a nerve he hadn’t realized he’d left exposed.

What would it take to shake up her rigid, biased opinion of him?

He reached the end of the street and crossed with the light to walk down the other side.

What made this murderer tick? If Turner released information on a serial killer, copycats would pop up, and the flood of calls from every person who thought they knew who the killer was would bog down the investigation.

But if this child wasn’t found alive or another became connected to the case, the police might have no choice but to expose the threat to protect innocent kids.

The DJ chattered away in Riley’s ear on the talk radio show that hyped the missing child again. Hopefully all the stations were putting out the word every ten minutes like this station.

Riley’s phone rang. Unknown caller. He answered it quickly. “Where’s the kid?”

“In an ‘88 Chevy parked in a shutdown garage on Lawrence Street. Auto repair with a checkered flag sign.” 

“Who is – ” the call ended. Riley swung around and took off at a run. He’d just passed that closed down garage about ten minutes ago. The police cruiser was nowhere in sight. Shoving the radio and earphone into his pocket, he hit the stored number for J. T. on his cell phone.

The minute Riley heard the click and J. T. start to answer he cut him off. “The kid’s at an abandoned auto repair...”  He took a breath that froze his lungs. “Over on Lawrence Street, west of Vine. Concrete block building...got a checkered flag on the sign.”

“Where are you? Why can’t you breathe?”

“I’m a street over and running that way.”

“Don’t have a heart attack. I’ll have a squad car there by the time you get there, maybe
before
you get there, for once.”  J. T. hung up.

Riley would have laughed if the stitch in his side didn’t hurt like a mother. In less than a minute, he scrambled around the turn onto Lawrence. In the distance, he saw the checkered emblem on a plastic sign that had one corner shot out.

Adrenaline kicked in and gifted him with a second burst of energy.

When he reached the building, Riley raced around toward the back, looking for a window not boarded up. He found a broken window on the side and climbed through.

Approaching sirens whined. J. T.’s men were on the way, but Riley couldn’t wait for them to arrive. Not if the child – Enrique – was alive. He could be suffering from hypothermia.

Every second counted. He couldn’t think about the possibilities or it would paralyze him.

Riley stepped carefully through the building, the air rank with mildew, grease and oil. This guy calling in dead bodies and missing kids was a nut case. There could be a booby trap, so Riley hesitated to call out and unintentionally put the child in danger if he moved toward Riley.

When he reached the garage part of the building, there was an overhead door on his right and a dishwater-gray Chevrolet that had to be late 80’s on his left. In two strides, he was looking into the back seat where a lump the size of a child was wrapped in layers of blankets. Not moving.

Too late?
God, no.

Chapter 43

Riley tried the door handle first. Locked. He rapped his knuckles on the window.

Sirens screamed then shut off. Car tires crunched gravel outside. Doors slammed.

Nothing stirred under the pile of gray and brown blankets in the back seat.

He needed something he could use to break the window. Riley looked around and found a two-foot-long piece of angle iron, checked once more to make sure the child – or whatever was under that blanket – was protected from falling glass, then bashed the corner of the front driver’s-side window.

Men shouted outside the garage door for him to open it.

Riley couldn’t stop to do that. He didn’t know the condition of the child. Wouldn’t waste another second that might make a difference.

He reached in and opened the door then hooked his arm around to open the back door.

Voices filtered in from the direction of where Riley had climbed through the window.

Not wanting to get shot, he yelled, “I’m in the back. Got the kid.”

The voices silenced and when Riley leaned inside the back seat he heard, “Step away from the car with your hands up.”

“Then shoot me, Malone.”

“What the hell?”  Malone lowered his weapon. How’d you get here before we did?” The two other officers with him holstered their weapons as well.

“Got a tip on the location right after you saw me. There’s something wrapped up here in the back, but it hasn’t moved.”  Riley glanced at the officers as they surrounded the front of the car.

Every face in the room looked as gut shot as Riley was going to feel if they found Enrique Stanton’s lifeless body in that small bundle of blankets.

“Let me help.”  Malone stepped up as Riley leaned in. Riley lifted the bundle into his arms, then backed out and held the padded weight as Malone unwrapped the layers and layers of blankets.

The prettiest little girl with black hair and smooth pink skin lay in the nest of blankets. Sleeping. Not dead.

Thank...God
. Riley had never been a religious man, but even he had to admit this kid had an angel watching over her. The crazy caller had put her in a relatively safe place and protected her from the weather by insulating her in the blankets, the car and the garage.

“Any idea who she is?” Riley asked, as the other officers gathered around for a view of what was, for once, good news. He tried not to be disappointed this hadn’t been Enrique.

“I don’t know,” Malone shook his head. “We got a list of missing kids. Be nice to tell the parents the kid’s alive for once.”  He spoke into the radio mic at his shoulder, reporting the discovery and that the child was alive.

Riley tried to wake the little girl by talking softly to her, but she didn’t stir. “I think she’s drugged or she would have heard me smash the window.”

“We’ll take her to St. Joseph’s first to get medical attention. You got wheels?”

“My car’s about two miles away. I’ll get it later. Let’s get her to the hospital.”

“Let’s go.”

Once Riley was settled in the back seat of the car with the little girl, Malone hit the lights and siren. The run to St. Joseph’s wouldn’t take long. Malone was talking into his radio, rattling off instructions to send out the crime unit. He’d left the other patrolmen to secure the building.

Riley’s cell phone rang. No caller ID. “Walker.”

“You get the little girl?” 

Riley didn’t know what to think about a killer who kidnapped a child then worried about the kid’s welfare. “Yes. Your first message cut off before – ”

“Then answer your phone next time.” 

“Is she drugged?”

“Cough medicine to keep her calm. Take care of Pia.”  The line went dead.

What the hell was going on with this guy? Riley gave Malone the information he’d just received and Malone radioed ahead to the emergency room. Then Riley keyed J. T.’s number. When the detective answered, Riley shared the name Pia.

“I’ll send someone to get her fingerprints and run those, along with the vic from the Dumpster and see what we got,” J. T. said, thinking out loud.

“When you see Kirsten, tell her – ” 

J. T. cut in. “She’s right here. You tell her.” 

“What, Walker?”  Kirsten sounded tired, but sharp as usual.

“My theory is back on the front burner. Maybe someone at St. Catherine’s knows this kid. Her name’s Pia.”

“We can’t go blowing in there asking questions without probable cause.”

“What? You afraid to find out there
is
a connection?” 

“Tell you what I’ll do, Walker. If I find out her parents live within a five-mile radius of St. Catherine’s, worshipped there or lived in Philomena House, I’ll share that information with you and question everyone around St. Catherine’s myself.”

Finally. He didn’t know what had gotten through to her but was glad something had. Maybe finding this little girl. “Glad to hear that.”

Kirsten added, “But if there is no direct connection to St. Catherine’s you have to let this go and let J. T.’s people investigate the best way they see fit.”

Shit. He didn’t like that idea one bit, but the killer had been consistent so far. This little girl had to be tied to St. Catherine’s somehow. The sooner Riley could prove that, the quicker they could figure out who had Enrique.

Riley had lost his desire to take a gamble in this business that night in Detroit, but backing away from Kirsten’s deal could mean getting his hands tied, and that could mean the difference in finding Enrique or not.

And Riley held proof in his arms that Enrique could still be alive. “Agreed.” 

Chapter 44

Why had the killer given this child back?

Riley had worn that question out the entire time he’d paced the halls of St. Joseph’s hospital, waiting to find out the identity of little Pia. He was in the ER treatment area now, just outside Pia’s curtained-off area. The staff bustled from one end to the other of the emergency center with cases far more dire than the child’s, but Pia was being seen.

J. T. had told Officer Malone to stick around and talk to the little girl when she regained consciousness. At half past one, Malone heard it might be another hour before he could see her. The officer had left to grab a bite in the cafeteria, telling Riley he’d be back in twenty, which meant any minute now.

Once Malone returned, there would be no reason for Riley to hang around since he’d be barred from hearing anything the child said.

Riley could sit in the waiting room where the air didn’t reek of blood and alcohol, but there were still several newsies perched there, ready to leap on him for a story. He found a certain irony in hiding out on this side of the door.

A sixty-ish woman in a simple paisley cotton dress, plastic boots and a black overcoat entered through a staff-only door on the right side of the triage area. She limped to the nurse’s station, guided by the lady Riley had seen at the emergency check-in desk earlier.

“Where’s my granddaughter?”  The elderly woman wheezed out her question in a teary voice. She leaned on a metal cane and didn’t reach Riley’s shoulder. She was solidly built, reminding him of German bone structure.

The check-in clerk spoke to the nurse, and then said something too soft for Riley to hear and pointed down the hallway to where he stood.

The grandmother nodded and limped toward him, then paused outside examination room four, where little Pia was being checked over.

When she knocked on the door a nurse in scrubs stepped out to talk to her. “Can I help you?”

“I think you have my granddaughter,” the woman said.

“The doctor is examining her. If you’ll have a seat over here – ”  The nurse pointed to a line of three chairs. “I’ll come for you as soon as he’s finished. Pia is still groggy.”

When the grandmother was settled and alone, Riley moved over to sit next to her. He eyed the door Malone would enter through. If Malone caught him talking to a potential witness, Massey wouldn’t have to execute a warrant for his arrest. J. T. would order his officer to cuff Riley and bring him in.

But J. T. and Kirsten had jobs to do, neither of which included sharing vital details on the investigation with an out-of-work reporter. “My name’s Riley Walker. I found your granddaughter.”

The grandmother’s blue eyes watered. “Bless you.”  

“Do you know who might have taken her? Or would her parents know?”

“That worthless mother of hers probably left this baby sitting out on a corner somewhere.”  Grandma gripped her cane with bony fingers. Her voice shook. “My son’s been raising Pia. He’s a good boy who loves that baby, but he doesn’t think straight when it comes to her mama. Girl’s a drug addict, probably holed up somewhere with a needle in her arm.”

Riley hadn’t expected the child’s mother to be so bad. He’d started thinking the body in the Dumpster was possibly the little girl’s father, but that would pop a hole in his theory about the killer protecting children. “Does your son live close by, maybe in the Northern Liberties area?”