STOLEN (8 page)

He
slammed the payphone down on the hook. He had
walked for at least three hours before he found one in working order, and when
the operator refused to give him any information on his brother’s medical
status, he thought he would lose it. He rested his head on the cool metal coin
slot plate and tried to calm himself down. Scratching his head, he wasn’t
surprised when he pulled out some dead weeds and a small twig from his thick, wheat-colored
hair. It was to be expected, since he spent the night sleeping in a small cave
he found in the wooded area as far from the cabin as he could walk.

The handle of the pistol he placed in his waistband was
rubbing against his skin, irritating it. He was so conflicted about whether he
should dispose of it or keep it, just in case. He hated the feel of it. The
cold steel felt foreign to him. First things first, he decided, he needed to
find the kid. That’s what his brother would want him to do, find the kid.
Trying to think, he stood frozen in the rarely used, narrow glass phone booth,
and he could feel his heart beating. It felt to him like it was going to burst
outside his chest wall.

“I’ve got to calm down,” he silently lectured himself. He
looked around, trying to organize his thoughts. The payphone was right outside a
restaurant, and when he folded the door in order to open it, he got a whiff of
something that smelled like Bar-B-Que. He stuck his hand in his back pocket and
pulled out his wallet. He rummaged through the wallet and counted three twenty-dollar
bills and four ones. It wouldn’t last very long, but he would at least be able
to get something to eat, and maybe a room for the night, a much needed shower
and a decent night’s sleep. He looked around, cautiously noting the signage
over the entranceway of the restaurant. The Liar’s Den. He just hoped it wasn’t
some sort of cop hangout. In Oregon, the cops were notorious for eating at
these types of restaurants. The last thing he needed was to run into a damn
cop. He had no idea if anyone had seen him leave the cabin and he needed to
know what the cops knew. He needed to find Tristan, and if he couldn’t get to
his brother, he needed to get to Tristan. He had hidden in the woods and
watched when they took the little girl out of the house. Tristan had run away
from the cops and he was in danger of getting caught himself when the kid spotted
him. He had put his finger to his lips, letting Tristan know not to let on and hoping
Tristan wouldn’t give him away. When the cops finally managed to catch up to the
kid, he was glad the kid didn’t let on. Troy would be proud.

His stomach began making gurgling noises and he knew he had
to get some food. He tried but couldn’t remember the last time he ate. As he
stepped outside the phone booth, he quickly made his decision.

First things first, he decided he would be no good to his
brother or Tristan if he passed out from hunger. He would go in The Liar’s Den,
get something to eat and then make it a priority to find the kid. He needed to
get Tristan and get the hell out of this town.

The tall, ultrathin hostess walked over and asked him how
many were in his party. He looked around before he spoke. “Just one, unless you
would like to join me.” She laughed at his joke and he was still smiling when
the hostess brought him to a small corner table. Watching the hostess walk away,
he had another thought. Maybe this town wouldn’t be so bad. He made up his
mind. He was going to eat and then he would figure something out. Maybe he
would go to the hospital and try and see what shape his brother was in. Either
way, he had come to this town for a reason. With or without his brother, he was
going to find out the truth. He was glad the old bastard was dead, but the fact
the old man was dead was definitely a problem. He just hoped the answers didn’t
die with him.

Marty
tossed and turned all night long, his thoughts jumping back and forth, from his
dad’s situation to the homicide investigation and the two children found at the
scene. Hope, on the other hand, fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
He thought about waking her up and having her relieve all of his growing tension,
but she was sleeping so peacefully, and he just couldn’t bring himself to disturb
her. Instead, he got out of the bed carefully, as to not wake her, showered,
dressed and made himself a cup of coffee and set the Keurig machine so all she
had to do was push the button when she was ready to drink hers. She was still
fast asleep when he left the house.

When he got to the squad room, Jean and Frank were already
there and apparently had been for a while. They were going over the crime scene
photos. The pictures were graphic. A frontal view of the deceased victim showed
him with his eyes wide open. Marty couldn’t figure out if he looked surprised
or if he looked angry that his life was about to take a dramatic turn for the
worse. The area above his mouth showed torn flesh coated with dry blood. A
close-up showed a small bullet hole on the left side of his head, grey hair
plastered down his scalp caked with blood. The shotgun lay a few inches from
his body.

Frank looked up. “How’s the Captain doing, Marty?”

“He’s doing well. They have already moved him into a regular
room, and he’s driving the nurses nuts.” He looked up. “Do we know who this guy
is?” he pointed to the photograph.

“We ran down his prints, and they match the I.D. on one of
his driver’s licenses. Archibald Fredrick Blakey, age seventy-four. Last known
residence, Fort Rock, Oregon. There is an outstanding warrant out for his
arrest for failure to appear in a domestic dispute and he is wanted for
questioning in a homicide of a young woman in Lake County, Oregon. I left a
message with a Lieutenant Sanders, the State Trooper in charge of the
investigation. I won’t be here tomorrow, so I left your names and numbers for
him to contact.”

Marty nodded an okay, then he noticed the video camera
sitting on Frank’s desk.

“Anything on it we can use?” he motioned to the camera.

Frank was tall, his skin a crisp shade of mocha, the result
of his bi-racial heritage. Marty noted his eyes, a pale blue, almost grey; the
color of a hazy summer sky, began to well up with tears. Verbal answers weren’t
necessary; the man’s eyes relayed the message loud and clear.

Marty’s phone buzzed and he pushed the extension that lit up
red.

“Keal,” he said impatiently into the phone.

“Detective Keal, this is Lieutenant Sanders of the H.I.T.S.
division of the Oregon State Police. I got a memo that you are investigating a
homicide of an Archie Blakey, is that correct?”

Marty answered loudly, so Jean and Frank were aware of whom he
was talking to.

“Yes, Lieutenant, thanks for calling.”

Marty pulled out his chair and sat down. He had a load of
questions for this guy. He cradled the phone between his neck and shoulder, so his
hands were free to grab a pad and pen from the drawer.

He began to talk before Marty was settled in place.

“Dead, huh, too bad. I had quite a few questions for the old
man. I see here by the message that Troy was shot, is he still alive?”

“Barely,” Marty answered. “Last word we got was that it was
pretty serious. He made it through surgery yesterday and hopefully he will make
it through the day. Look, Lieutenant, what can you tell me about this kid, the
little boy? Do you know who he is and where he came from?”

On the other end of the phone, Sanders became distracted for
a moment and then apologized for the disruption. “I’m sorry, what was that,
which kid? Are you talking about Tristan? He wasn’t hurt, was he? Cute kid, but
he doesn’t talk. I think he’s autistic or something. Do you know what the
circumstances were that led to the shooting?”

His casualness while mentioning Tristan caught Marty off
guard. He was expecting him to ask him, ‘what kid?’ They had all assumed the
boy was kidnapped like Michaelah. Now this new information had him bewildered.

Marty told him the boy was fine and in the custody of family
services, but he repeated his request, though changing the context of the
question. “What about the boy’s mother? Do you know where we can find her?”

Marty heard him chewing something and trying to be discrete
about it. He swallowed whatever it was and then answered. “I’ll tell you what I
do know, Detective, it’s a little hard to follow. Are you with me?”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead.” Marty leaned back in his chair,
lifting the front legs off the ground, balancing on the rear legs.

“The kid’s mother’s name was Donna Barrie.”

Marty’s gut turned at his use of the past tense.

“Story goes, that when the girl was thirteen years old, Donna
Barrie disappeared while on vacation with her parents from Scotland. The
teenager got into a quarrel with her mother and left the hotel and then just
vanished. Her mother, Norma Barrie, reported her daughter missing, but
authorities chalked it up to a teenager who had a history of being a runaway,
so not too much of an effort was put into the case.”

Marty heard him pause and he imagined him shuffling through
paperwork. He waited anxiously for him to continue. He didn’t have to wait too
long.

“Her mom, Norma Barrie, stayed in the states for two months
hoping the kid would show up, but finally went back home to Scotland. Once the
kid’s mother went back to Scotland, the case went on the back burner and went
cold. He chuckled to himself. “Weird huh, goes on the back burner and goes
cold? Kind of ironic, that expression.”

Marty was going to answer him, but he started to talk over him.
“Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, a few months ago, some workers found some
skeletal remains in some wooded area while excavating the area for a strip mall.
Turns out the corpse’s dental records matched this kid Barrie that went missing
about nine years ago. You following?”

“Yes, go ahead.” Marty started to jot down what he was
saying, but the pen ran out of ink. Rummaging through his desk, he found one
that worked and began to take notes.

“Here is where it gets sticky. Turns out this Donna Barrie,
her fingerprints also matched someone else. She was also positively identified
as M’leigh Blakey, wife of Troy Blakey, your shooting victim. Blakey reported
her missing six years ago. Claims he came home from work and found his three-year-old
son fast asleep in the crib, but the kid was alone. His wife, M’leigh, was
nowhere to be found. I was one of the investigators on that case and I remember
thinking the whole thing stunk, but my superior just chalked it up to a female
with itchy feet that liked to run. Especially when the elder Blakey gave us a
picture of the lady, and one of the investigators recognized her as the missing
Barrie kid. Donna Barrie and M’leigh Blakey were one in the same. My supervisor
at the time figured if she ran away from her parents, it wouldn’t be too farfetched
for her to run away again. He decided the girl liked to run; and when things
got boring, she took off. This time, instead of leaving her parents, she left her
husband and kid. I just started with the unit, but I remember being there when
they interviewed Troy’s father, Archie. He really kept pushing that angle. Kept
telling us in interviews that the girl was always complaining that life with
them was boring, and she didn’t want to be a mother anymore. You following
this?” He interrupted himself.

Marty told him, “Yes,” and readied himself for more of the story.

“I got the feeling that Troy didn’t buy his father’s theory
either, and insisted that the girl wouldn’t desert her son, and insisted we
investigate her disappearance. He came in looking for updates almost every day,
and then once a week; but as time went by, and nothing new was reported, eventually
he just stopped coming around looking for updates. I think his old man finally
convinced him she ran. Something about that whole family gave me the willies.
They lived way back in the woods and pretty much kept to themselves. The old
man was one of those survivalists and kept his kids close. He owned a recycling
place on his property, a real junkyard. Anyway, both his boys worked for him.
His youngest boy, crap, what’s his name, Shane, yeah, Shane and the old man
would get into some really explosive disputes and we were called out a few
times to intercede. Last year the old man went too far and beat the kid up for
mouthing off. Kid, well, not a kid, he’s a grown man now, I think he’s in his
late twenties, well anyway, the guy fell and slammed his head against a toolbox
and got a concussion.” He paused, probably out of breath.

“To make a long story short, this kid had finally had enough
of his father’s bullying him and decided to press charges, and the old man was
given a date to appear in court. Well, the old man, Archie, never showed up for
court, so we issued a warrant for his arrest. We thought the boys really knew
where he was, but for some reason they were covering it up. Even Shane seemed
to have changed his mind about pressing charges. So we were about to let it go,
but a few months later a construction crew was prepping an area for a strip
mall and uncovered the remains of a young woman. We matched her dental records,
and she was positively identified as the missing Scottish girl, Donna Barrie
aka M’leigh Blakey. When the girl’s body showed up close to his home, well, I
was very interested in talking to the old man again; so I went back to the
Blakey place to tell Troy that we found his wife’s remains, and again ask if
they had any idea where I could find their father, but they claimed ignorance. But
I got different vibes this time. Something was not kosher about the whole
thing, so later I went back to interview them again, but the boys were gone. Crazy,
huh?”

He took another deep breath, and then without waiting for Marty’s
answer, continued.

“And if that’s not enough for you, while we were
investigating these guys, we turned up something really interesting. According
to the social security records, Troy and his brother Shane are as dead as Archie
and the girl. All four of them had stolen names and social security numbers. When
we did a search in the system, we found a shitload of court documents; one of
them a birth certificate for the kid, Tristan. According to the birth
certificate, he was born October seventh, two thousand and five. That’s about
three years before this Donna Barrie disappeared for the second time. Mother’s
name on the birth certificate is recorded as M’leigh Blakey, father Troy Blakey.
According to social security records, they are both deceased. We know who
M’leigh is; she’s really that kid, Donna Barrie, from Scotland. What we don’t
know is who the hell Archie and Troy Blakey really are, or for that matter, the
kid’s uncle, Shane Blakey, or for that matter, the little boy. Although he
probably is the only one who is exactly who they say he is. I suppose if we can
find out who these guys really are, we may be able to get some answers. You
follow all that?”

“I think so.” Marty told him, his ear burning from keeping
the phone against the side of his head all this time.

“Anyway, if I can find the money in our budget, I would like
to come out there and have a talk with Troy about the Barrie case. I mean,
that’s if he survives.”

“Sure, no problem, Lieutenant. Just let me know your plans
and I will make arrangements.”

He promised to fax over the file, and as Marty disconnected
the call, he swore he heard the Lieutenant muttering, “What a tangled web we
weave.”