WHERE'S MY SON? (7 page)

Michael parked down the street and turned off
his car. He slid down in his seat and waited. His thoughts went to Benny Carter, who was doing the same thing ten years ago, in the Pontiac down his street. The image of Benny watching his family ate at him and fed his anger. He was getting closer every day to fulfilling his promises, he could feel it.

*******

Susan let herself into the house and folded her umbrella up. She liked the rain, and found herself looking forward to a quiet night of reading, curled up in her favorite chair.

After changing into jeans, she made coffee and grabbed the latest Grisham novel. She read until her eyes started to get heavy. Getting another cup of coffee, she decided to take a bubble bath and continue her reading in the tub.

With bo
ok and coffee, she slid down into the soapy water. It was her favorite way to relax. She read for a while and finished her coffee. Lathering up, she dipped beneath the water. When she came back up, wiping her eyes, a figure sat on the toilet watching her.

He h
eld a pistol. “If you scream, I'll kill you.”

Susan's eyes cleared
, and she slid down in the tub, letting the suds cover her. “Who are you? What are doing here?”

He
stared at her with dead eyes.

“What do
you want...and how did you get in?”

He smiled and it made her shiver involuntarily
“It’s not important how I got in. What I want, now that's a different matter.”

Susan lo
oked around for something to cover up with, but she’d have to get out of the tub to reach anything.

She turned her attention back to the stranger.
“You don't know who you’re messing with!”

The next time he spoke, the smile was gone,
and his voice was devoid of emotion. “What I want is information, and you're going to give it to me.”

She spat at him.
“I'm not telling you jack!”

He picked up her hair dryer and threw it in
to the tub. Susan recoiled, closing her eyes. Nothing happened. When she opened them again, he was still sitting on the toilet, the cord to the hair dryer dangling in his hand.

Susan started to get out
, but the gun came up until it aimed at her chest. “Don't move.”

She slid back
into the water.

His voice dropped, almost hissing.
“Now, where's my son?”

She did her best not
to show her fear. “I've got nothing to say.”

The intruder slowly reached over and plugged the
hair dryer in.

Susan's body convulsed and she bit her tongue
, spewing blood into the tub.

When he pulled the plug back out, the searing pain released. She fought to collect herself.
Her defiance was gone, and in its place was pure terror.

He leaned forward.
“Where's my son?”

“I don't know...which
...your son is.”

The lo
ok on the man's face told Susan he didn’t know there were others.

He narrowed it down for her.
“Baby boy…San Antonio…ten years ago. I'm losing patience.”

“I don't know
…I mean…I don’t know where.”

His hand raised the plug toward the outlet.
“Where what?”

Susan freaked
. “No…stop…I don’t know where he was put.”

He plugged it in again.
This time her body arched as she screamed. He took the plug out.

“Last chance.”

“My…my…my brother,” she wept. “Number…in my…phone.”

The man stood up, staring down at her. She just wanted him to leave
, and she thought he would, but he reached back and plugged in the dryer one more time. This time he didn’t unplug it.

Chapter 7

Detective Jason Strong got off the flight to Springfield anxious to get going. He rented a car and drove to police headquarters where he was to meet Detective Sam Garner.

The front desk called upstairs
, and a couple of minutes later, Detective Garner emerged from the elevator. He strode—or was it shuffled?—over to Jason with his hand extended. “Sam Garner. Nice to meet you.”

“Jason Strong.”

Jason sized up the detective. He was round everywhere. His face, his chest, his arms, his legs. He reminded Jason of the Michelin Man with a goatee.

“Come on, I'll take you upstairs
. Let’s see what help I can be.”

“Appreciate it.
I brought a picture of someone I think may be in the area. He's tied to a kidnapping case from years ago, and he's gone missing.”

“Was he the kidnapper?”

“No, the father of the child taken.”

Sam gave Jason a sideways glance.
“Ever find the kid?”

“Not
yet.”

They got off the elevator on the third floor and Sam led the way to his desk.
The squad room looked like a poorly organized cubicle farm.

When they got to Sam’s desk, the big detective
sat in his chair and Jason took the one opposite him.

Jason
slid the picture of Michael in front of Sam.

“His name is Michael Barton. The last search on his computer was
‘St. Luke’s Missouri.’”

Sam picked up the picture. “How can I help?”

“The search results showed one here in town, and another in St. Louis. I want to pay a visit to the one here in town. Do you know anyone I can connect with?”

“Sure, the head of security over there is an ex-cop. I'll give him a call for you.”

“Great, and can I get you to show this guy’s pic at the pre-shift patrol meetings? Maybe one of your beat cops has seen him.”

“That's no problem
. Can I keep this copy?”

Jason nodded as Sam picked up the phone.
“I'll call over to the hospital. When do you want to go over there?”

“Now.”

*******

Jason pulled up at St. Luke
’s carrying with him another picture of Michael Barton. He wasn’t sure if Michael had been to this St. Luke's yet, but Jason hoped if Barton had been here, someone would remember his face.

When
Jason came through the door, he found a horseshoe-shaped desk attended by a young lady in a candy striper outfit. Sam Garner had arranged a meeting with the head of hospital security, so Jason showed his badge and asked her to let Tom Evans know he was here.

She smiled, picked up the phone, said a few words
, and hung up. While he was waiting, Jason pulled out the picture of Michael and showed it to her.

“Have you seen this man?”

She studied the photo before shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Tom Evans walked up and extended his hand to Jason.
“Detective Strong, I'm Tom Evans. Sam asked me to give you any help I can. He and I go way back.”

Jason sho
ok his hand and looked back at the girl behind the counter. “Thanks for your time…Jessica, is it?”

“Yes, and
you’re welcome. Sorry I couldn’t help with the photo.”

Tom led Jason to his office while Jason filled him in.
Before ever getting seated, they decided to take the photo from floor to floor, stopping first at the nurse’s stations, and then the offices.

They completed their tour two hours later. Nobody recognized the photo.
If Jason came back the next day, there might be different staff, but he didn't want to waste time. Getting to the St. Luke’s in St. Louis seemed the next best step.

He thanked Tom for his help and told him he'd call when he decided
whether he would return the next day. As he walked past the entrance desk, he saw a different girl there. He stopped to show her the picture.

“
Hi. My name is Detective Strong.” He showed her his badge. “Could you tell me if you've seen this man?”

This girl
’s nametag read ‘Britney.’ She looked at the photo for a moment. “Oh sure, I remember him. He was here a couple days ago.”

“Really?
Are you sure?”

“Yes. It was definitely him.”

“Can you remember what he wanted?”

“Sure. He wa
s looking for one of our nurses, and asked if I knew her.”

Jason's mind raced.
“And did you?”

“Actually, yes. He was lo
oking for Susan Turnbull. He said she took care of his niece and he wanted to thank her.”

“Did he see her that day?”

“No, she’d gone home already. I think he planned to stop in on his way back through town from somewhere. I don't remember where, though.”

“Is there anything else you can remember about the meeting?”

“Just that he seemed very upset to find she wasn’t here.”

“Britney, thank you very much. You've been a big help. If you think of anything else, will you call Tom Evans in security?”

“Sure. Is the man in some sort of trouble?”

Jason didn't hear the question. He was already on his way
back to the security chief's office.

Tom Evans was still
at his desk when Jason got there. “Jason, forget something?”

“No. I just showed the picture of my guy to a
candy striper at the desk and she recognized him. She said he came in asking questions a few days ago about a nurse named Susan Turnbull. You know Susan?”

“Sure, nurse in OB.”

“How about an address?”

Jason
dialed Sam Garner while the security chief looked up the nurse’s address.

“Detective Garner.”

“Sam, this is Jason Strong. I may have a lead on my guy.”

The security chief
slid a piece of paper with an address and phone number in front of Jason. While Jason relayed the address to Sam, Tom Evans called the nurse’s number.

He shook his head as Jason watched him.
“Went to an answering machine.”

Jason told Sam
. “Sam, no answer at the number. Do you know where the address is?”

“
Yes. I'll pick you up in ten.”

“
I'll be waiting.”

*******

Stan Turnbull climbed the steps out of his pool and grabbed the towel hanging on the fence. He tried to have a swim in every morning before starting his day. This morning was no different.

Most o
f the backyard was taken up with an Olympic-sized pool. Across the back and down the sides of the property was an eight-foot high, wood privacy fence. Blue morning glories grew over most of it.

Attached to the back of the
one-story house was a covered patio. He toweled himself off as he walked to his chair under the patio roof. The sun was out and the day promised to be hot.

He sat down, sipped his coffee
, and opened the paper. Unable to focus, and after a feeble attempt at the crossword, he set the paper down.

Details ran through his mind. He
was planning the next ‘adoption,’ and things had to be just right to make it equally as successful as the previous jobs.

He
needed to talk to Benny Carter and see if he wanted in on another deal. He’d tried to reach him a couple of times, but hadn’t got an answer. Picking up the phone, he punched in the number again.

It rang three times before picking up.
“This is Benny, you know what to do. Wait for…”

Stan
hung up. He didn’t leave messages; they were loose ends that could be traced back to him. He took another sip of coffee and decided to call his sister.

He punched her speed dial
number. “This is Susan, sorry I can’t answer. Leave a message.”

He hung up before the beep.
“What's the deal? Is no one around?”

He heard the click of a gun hammer
as it was being pulled back. “Sure, Stan. I'm here.”

Stan
started to turn around, when he felt the end of the gun barrel press against his skull. He froze as a black leather bag dropped into his lap. “Who are you? What is this?”

“Open it...put
‘em on.”

Stan didn't recognize the voice.
“And if I refuse?”

A
tremendous explosion next to Stan’s ear was followed by shattering glass. The gun barrel returned to the back of his head, but this time the end was hot and burned him. Stan’s mind spun with the echo.

“Open...it...and
…put...them...on.”

When Stan had gathered himself, he fumbled with the bag until the contents spilled out
into his lap. Two sets of handcuffs. A chill ran down his spine and he hesitated.

“Put them on, the feet first.”

As Stan leaned forward to cuff his feet, the gun never lost contact with his body. It traveled down his neck and back as he bent over, then retraced the path as he straightened up.

“Now the hands
.”

Stan complied.

The stranger walked around in front of Stan and took a chair opposite the cuffed man. The gun remained pointed at Stan's chest. “So, do you recognize me?”

“N
o, but I won’t forget your face. I promise you that.”

“Maybe if I showed you a picture of my son
,” he pulled a picture of a baby out for Stan to see. “He has my eyes, don’t you think?”

Stan stared at it.
It started to dawn on him what this was about, and fear quickened his pulse.

“
Picture doesn’t jog your memory?” the man asked.

Stan didn't answer.

“Ten years ago, my son was taken from my home; does that help?”

Stan now
stared off in the distance, no longer looking at the picture.

“How about Benny Carter?
Do you remember him? An ex-con who lived west of San Antonio. He seemed to remember you.”

Stan pretended not to hear, but no
w he knew which kid this man was after. He looked around, trying to find a means of escape, some way to turn the tables in his favor. He didn’t see one.

*******

Michael stared at the large, redheaded man. This was the face behind it all, the one ultimately responsible for what had happened to his son, and to the Barton’s lives.

Michael wa
s convinced that whoever had his son knew he didn’t belong to them. The darkness in him swore they would pay, too. But for that to happen, he needed information, and he needed it from the man in front of him. “Stand up.”

Stan slowly got to his feet as Michael moved around behind him
, putting the gun in the big man’s back, shoving him forward.

Stan stumbled in the cuffs and almost fell.
Fighting to regain his balance, he swung around to face Michael. “Whoever you are, you’re going to regret this!”

Michael bore into the
man with an icy stare. He picked up the pole to a pool skimmer, and without saying a word, jabbed it into Stan’s massive chest. Stan teetered backwards, getting ever closer to the edge of the pool.

Michael
’s anger boiled over. “Where's my son?”

“I’m not telling
you nothin’!”

Michael
smirked. “Oh, you will, or you’ll learn to swim with those cuffs on.”

All the blood drained out of Stan’s face
and Michael thought the man might pass out.

“I
…I don’t remember...”

“Really
? Your sister seemed to remember.” The look on the big man's face told Michael he’d struck home.