STOLEN (10 page)

The
temporary home that Sophie Harris had provided for the boy was only a few
blocks away, not too far from the station, so Marty and Jean immediately headed
there. They didn’t even bother to hit the siren since they were so close. The
social worker was standing on the wooden porch, outside the home, with a stocky
woman of about fifty years. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and she wore
little makeup. Behind her were two toddlers hanging onto her pants’ leg.

“I can’t believe this is happening. This never happened
before. I just went in to get him a peanut butter sandwich, and when I came
back into the room, he was gone. Gone! Just Gone!” There was no mistaking her
reaction, the woman was distraught and in panic overload.

Marty was afraid she was going to collapse; her hand went to
her heart as if she was in pain.

They walked up a few of the steps, but remained one below
her. “Mrs.?”

“Fiona, I’m Fiona Hunt. I am so sorry, this has never
happened before. I just went to make him a sandwich.” She started to sob out
loud.

Sophie’s hand reached out to hold the woman’s trembling one,
in an effort to calm her.

“Mrs. Hunt, did he say anything while he was with you?” Jean
asked.

She shook her head no in response. “No, nothing. That sweet
little boy just looked so sad. So sad.” She repeated between sobs.

Marty let out a sigh. He looked around and tried to imagine
in which direction Tristan would go. The streets were starting to fill with
kids who had just been let out of the nearby school. This was going to be like
trying to find a needle in a haystack.

“Was he dressed in the same clothes he came in, Mrs. Hunt?” Marty
asked her, hoping somehow he managed to get some warmer attire.

“They gave me some of the clothes they found, so he had on a
fresh pair of underwear and a change of jeans. But, he was shivering a little
and I thought he was cold; you know, maybe it’s a little damp in the house. It’s
been pretty chilly, as of late, and this old house isn’t insulated very well, and
my furnace isn’t working that wonderful. So anyway, I found a sweater that
belonged to my son, he’s in college now; so I found one of his old sweaters, it
was just a little too big, but it was warm. He gave me the sweetest smile when
I put it on him.”

She stopped for a moment, as though she was at a loss for
words, and then the poor woman looked Marty in the eyes, hers glazed over with
tears. “He smelled it. That little boy just kept putting the sleeve to his
little nose and smelling it. It had been in a cedar chest we have, and I guess
he never smelled that scent before. That sweet little boy kept bringing the
sleeve of the sweater up to his nose and breathing it in, and then he would
just smile, just smile.” She softly repeated the last two words.

By the time they left, Marty thought that he had convinced
the woman she wasn’t at fault and that they would find Tristan and return him
safe and sound. Marty and Jean got back in the car and set about looking
through the crowd of children for one curly brown-haired boy now wearing a butterscotch-colored
knit sweater.

Marty knew it wasn’t a logical response, and he told the
woman she wasn’t to blame, but he wasn’t being exactly honest. He blamed her
and was angry that she was so careless as to let the kid out of her sight.

“They are supposed to watch these kids and keep them safe,” Marty
muttered, anger seeping into his words. Jean’s cellphone buzzed, indicating a
call coming in as they headed in the direction they thought the little boy
would go. From the corner of his eye, Marty saw her glance down at her phone
and then bring it up to her ear.

“Hi, honey. Whoa, wait, calm down.” Marty could hear the
anxious voice of her daughter, Bethany, on the other end.

“Look, I’m really busy, Bethany. Just tell him to report it
and a uniform officer will write out an incident report,” Jean offered, as her
eyes scanned the streets, looking for the missing little boy. Marty noticed
that she rolled her eyes more than once during the conversation. When she hung
up, she did it again, breaking out into a broad smile.

“What?” Marty prodded her for the reason she looked so
delighted all of a sudden.

“I guess somebody up there really does like me. Apparently,
someone just stole Dylan’s motorcycle.”

Marty was about to ask her what was going on when his cell
beeped, letting him know a text message was in. Frank had sent over the fax
from Sanders, in Oregon. He didn’t want to take his eyes off the road, hoping
that he would spot Tristan hiding amongst the crowd of children getting off a
school bus, so he handed his phone to Jean. “Looks like the gunshot victim is Troy
Blakey, or whoever he really is. So Shane Blakey is unaccounted for.” She
lifted his phone up so he could see a photograph on the screen. The first mug shot
was of Shane. He had a thick mane of dark blond hair that fell past his
shoulders. His jaw was strong and defined. A large, distinctly-shaped scar, about
two inches, marked his forehead just above his left eyebrow. His left eyelid
slightly drooped, giving him a kind of lazy appearance. There was something
about him that bothered Marty, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The next
picture she showed him was of the man lying in the hospital. She was right,
that was definitely the man they previously identified as Troy Blakey. Both photos
were taken quite a few years earlier when the men were still in their teens.
She read off the charges against Shane Blakey; nothing bad, just kid stuff. Shoplifting;
and one charge of possession of drug paraphilia.

There were no mug shots of Troy. The picture they were given
was a photo enlarged from what appeared to be a high school baseball team
picture. Marty was relieved, for at least the moment, neither of them was
charged with violence or abuse towards children; but he was skeptical. Jean
called Frank and asked him to put an A.P.B. out on the man they believed to be Shane
Blakey, and added that he was presumed armed and dangerous; but Frank was on
top of things, and he told her he just gave the order before she called. So now
they knew the kid was out there, and this suspect was out there, but they
didn’t know whether or not they were together, or if Tristan
was
with
this man, was he safe? The whole situation was unnerving. Jean disconnected the
call from Frank and sat back in the seat.

“Marty, let’s go see Michaelah. She may be ready to talk to
us. Frank just said that he spoke to the mother and the kid is talking up a
storm.”

Marty was pretty conflicted. He didn’t want to leave the
search for the little boy, and he knew the whole police force was out there
looking for him. Odds were he wasn’t going to be the one to find him. So, with
a great deal of reluctance, Marty made a quick U-turn and headed towards the
highway. They got onto the New York Thruway, and drove across the Tappan Zee
Bridge, and continued south onto the Major Deegan Expressway passing the Taj
Mahal of the Bronx, also known as Yankee Stadium. It never failed to impress him.
This new stadium was an awesome sight and an architectural work of art, and it
gave him such a feeling of pride since he was a diehard Yankee fan. As a kid, his
dad used to take them at least once each summer to see the boys in pinstripes
play. They still tried to get to the games; but their lives get so busy, and
the television reception and pictures are so remarkable, it’s more convenient
to stay home where there are no lines and no traffic to fight.

Marty’s daydream faded, because before long that daydream
became a nightmare as he slammed on the brakes to avoid a collision. They were
in stop-and-go traffic heading into Queens on what used to be called the
Triborough Bridge but was now called the Robert F. Kennedy. Marty knew it was
crazy, but as they crawled along, at barely fifteen miles per hour, he peered
into every vehicle they passed, looking for that little boy, knowing quite well
that the odds were he was still somewhere near Mrs. Hunt’s house and hopefully
not too cold, not too tired, and not at all hungry. He had forgotten to ask if Tristan
was given anything else to eat before Mrs. Hunt left him alone, to get him the
peanut butter sandwich. He comforted himself knowing that he at least had that
cheeseburger the day before, and he hoped that would sustain him until they got
him to a safe place.

As
hard as she tried to get enthusiastic about the hairstyles in the book, she
found her mind drifting back to the scene at the hospital. She was startled
when Tawnya tapped her on the top of her head. “Earth to Hope! Are you
listening, sista? This is the one!” Tawnya, her friend and hairstylist, lifted
the book up and tapped the picture on the right. The glossy photograph showed a
beautiful model, her long dark hair in loose soft curls with a delicate pearled
veil set on top. “Oh, I’m sorry, Tawnya, it is pretty.” Hope answered
unenthusiastically.

“What’s wrong, Hope? This should be the most exciting time
of your life. You look like you just lost your best friend.” Tawnya pulled over
a stool and looked at Hope’s reflection in the mirror. “You’re not getting cold
feet, are you? I mean, if you don’t want the man, well, I will take him in a
heartbeat. Well, I would if I wasn’t already married.” She smiled at Hope’s
reflection in the mirror. She was waiting for Hope to return the smile and
after a few seconds she realized she wasn’t going to get one in return. “This
is serious; what’s wrong, sista? Tell me, what’s going on?”

Hope dropped the magazine into her lap and nervously flipped
the corner of the magazine’s page.

“I know it’s silly, I know he’s nothing like Richard. I just
wonder sometimes if I’m enough for him.” The conversation between the two women
continued through their reflections in the mirror.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Hope, stop doing this to yourself.
Richard was a complete dog; and you deserved so much more than that cheating
son of a bitch. I know Marty, I have known him since grade school, and he is
nothing like that first husband of yours. You are beautiful, and smart, and one
of the most desirable women in this town—so stop this crap right now; and let’s
decide on how we are going to make you into the most beautiful bride this town
has ever seen.”

Hope smiled, not quite convinced, but grateful for her
friend’s lecture. She was about to pick up the magazine once more when
something caught her attention in the mirror. She turned around quickly to see
if she could spot it outside the spa’s front window. Nothing.

She turned her attention back to Tawnya. “Okay, I think
you’re right Tawnya. Let’s go with this one.” She pointed to the page her
friend had suggested a few minutes ago. “I just feel silly going through all
this, big wedding and all. I’ve been there, done that. It seems so elaborate.”

“Yes you have, but Marty hasn’t. Give the man his day. I
have never seen him so happy, Hope. I swear he is more excited about this
wedding than you are. Do you think the Captain will be able to walk you down
the aisle? Is he going to be up to it?” She toyed with Hope’s hair, simulating
the look from the magazine. Hope laughed.

“He swears that nothing is going to stop him and I believe
him. I just hope he doesn’t overdo it trying to prove himself. It was a very
delicate surgery and he needs to baby himself. We wanted him to go back to
Mary’s to recuperate, but he insists on coming home, probably it is for the better.
Mary’s house is always so chaotic with her brood. I’m going to take a couple of
days off to stay with him when he comes home from the hospital. Marty was on
vacation, but with this new case, he seems to have been recruited back to work,
probably good for him and the Captain. He . . . .”

Once again Hope caught something in the mirror, again she
turned around and saw nothing but her car parked in the lot. She stood up,
handing Tawnya back the magazine. “Thanks, Tawnya. You always make me feel so
much better.” She turned and gave the tall blonde a warm hug.

“Just get out of here and take care of your man. He’s lucky
to have you, and vice versa, sista!”

A bell jingled when the door opened, and a new customer
entered, holding the door open for Hope as she exited. She was feeling a lot
better now than when she left Marty. Something about her friend Tawnya always
gave her a little lift. The woman was like a Piña Colada on a warm summer day.
So, with a new attitude, she opened her car door and got in. She got about
thirty seconds down the road when she heard it.

Somebody, or something, was in her back seat. She tried not
to panic, but she immediately broke into a cold sweat. She nonchalantly stuck
her hand in her purse and tried to dig out her cellphone. She couldn’t decide
whether she should pull over and stop the car or just drive to the police
station.

She knew Marty would be furious with her, because there was
a murder suspect out there somewhere, but she decided to pull over and stopped
the car, thankful she was still in a residential area and not on the highway. Without
looking down, her finger hit the numbers
9-1-1
and was ready to press
down on the send button when she turned around abruptly and leaned over to see
what was in the backseat. A pair of big green eyes stared back at her from under
a blanket on the floor she left there last week when she had transported her
mother’s dog to the vet. She had completely forgotten it was back there and
hadn’t returned it to her mother.

She didn’t know who was more startled, her or the boy.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her door and
immediately got out and opened the back passenger door. She felt her heel slide
a bit, as she realized she had stepped on a mound of very fresh dog feces.

Snarling under her breath, she quickly realized that the
child was watching her closely and she didn’t want to frighten him any more
than he already was. She held back her frustration and sat down in the backseat,
her legs hanging out the door, the stench of dog poo already starting to reach
her nasal passage.

“What on earth are you doing here? How on earth did you get
here? Come on, come up here.” She patted the seat next to her. Guessing that he
got a whiff of the pungent aroma by the way his nose twitched, she laughed.
“Yes, that foul smell is dog doo.” She lifted her leg to show him. “Apparently,
I had to find the perfect spot to park, now, come on up here.”

She coaxed him by tapping on the backseat.

The boy slowly made his way out from under the blanket, and
onto the backseat, but sat as far away from her as he could, his back up against
the door, his fingers curled into a tight fist.

“Tristan, how did you get here?” Realizing her question
wasn’t going to be answered, she pulled out her cellphone and started to tap in
Marty’s number. It went immediately to voicemail. Without leaving him a message,
she disconnected the call and then tried Jean’s. Same thing. Next on her list
was Sophie Harris, the social worker that had taken Tristan from the hospital
and had arranged for him to go to a temporary foster home.

Sophie answered before the first ring completed.

Hope explained what she found in her backseat and could hear
Sophie’s relief in her voice.

“I’ll bring him back, what’s the address.” She grabbed a
piece of scrap paper from her console and a pen from her pocketbook and started
to jot down the address, when Tristan grabbed the pen, still in her hand, and
forced her to cross out what she had written, all the time grunting and shaking
his head no.

Hope looked into his eyes and struggled with her conscience.
“Sophie, let me get back to you. I have him and he’s safe with me. Let me see
if I can find out what’s going on. Can you call whoever you have to and tell
them I have him. I will give Marty a call and let him know.”

Tristan’s little hand remained on hers and his eyes never
blinked until she put down the phone.

She put her hand out and stood up, trying not to be too
obvious as she scraped the dog fecal matter from her shoe. The boy slowly made
his way out of the car, carefully watching where he stepped as well. Hope led
him to the front passenger side of the vehicle and opened the door and waited until
he was seated in the front seat and then buckled him in securely.

“Don’t move!” She told him as she shut the door and ran to
the other side, praying he wouldn’t try and escape before she managed to get
in.

She let out a sigh of relief when she got back in the driver’s
seat and saw that he hadn’t moved. Still, she didn’t let herself relax until
she, herself, was buckled in and they got back on the road. The stench from her
shoe had diminished, but she was still able to smell the putrid odor. Obviously,
so could Tristan, because he kept making faces by wrinkling up his nose.

“I have to take you back, Tristan; you can’t be out here by
yourself.”

The little boy violently shook his head, his brown curls
whipping back and forth in defiance. Suddenly he started to bang on the window
and point.

The car was still in motion when he suddenly unhooked his
belt and grabbed the door handle to get out of the car. She grabbed him just in
time before he fell from the moving vehicle. They were in front of the hospital
when he tried to pull away from her. She pulled into the parking lot and
stopped the car.

“Tristan, you can’t do that again!” She firmly told him as
she began to recoup from the moments of panic that just passed.

“Dirtee!”

“The man in the hospital? You want to see the man in the
hospital, Tristan?” She kept her hand tightly wrapped around his thin forearm,
not giving him a chance to take off again.

He stared at her before nodding his head in an exaggerated
motion.

“Okay, okay. Just for a minute. The man is very ill, Tristan,
and he needs his rest if he’s going to get better. Do you understand?” She
asked him, her voice firm and steady now.

Once again, he raised and lowered his head, acknowledging
that he understood what she was saying.

“Okay, let’s go. Just stay with me, do you understand?”

He nodded again.

“Do you promise?” Hope prodded, not quite sure she would
believe him even if he did agree.

This time he smiled, wide enough where Hope could see a
small gap where a baby tooth used to be towards the back.

“Okay, young man, I’m taking you at your word.” She spoke in
a stern tone, while telling herself that for a child who was non-verbal, he had
excellent communication skills, and an uncanny ability to get his way.

She got out of the car and walked over to the passenger side,
thankful that he had waited for her to open the door before he got out. He
practically pulled her all the way across the parking lot and into the
hospital’s lobby. Once they got through the electric sliding doors, he looked
in every direction, trying to decide which way to go.

“This way, Tristan” Hope told him, as she gently directed
him towards the elevator. When they got in, it was Tristan that punched in the
fourth floor without her saying a word.

“How did you know that?” She asked, bewildered.

When they got to the fourth floor, he jumped over the gap
between the floor and the elevator and started down the hall. It was at that
moment Tristan caught a glimpse of the man. The boy immediately stopped short,
his breath starting to come in short gasps. Tristan saw the man raise his index
finger to his lips and then disappear behind a corner. Tristan turned back to see
Hope, a few feet behind him, trying to catch up. As soon as she got closer, he started
jumping up and down with his hands on his crotch.

“Do you have to go to the bathroom?” She questioned him.

He nodded yes.

“Okay, come on” Taking his hand, she led him down the
hallway and stopped in front of the men’s restroom. Not quite sure if she
should let him go in by himself, she hesitated for a moment, and then concerned
about his apparent need to relieve himself, she opened the door slightly and
listened to hear if it was occupied. Convinced he would be alone, she held it
open for him.

“Okay, go on, and wash your hands when you’re done, okay?”
She barely got the words out when he scooted under her arm and ran into the lavatory.