20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Palpable pain
Matt
T his meeting should’ve wrapped up fifteen minutes ago. Instead, we’ve taken the path of regulation violations the state agencies committed when handing off the last copycat killing. “All I’m saying is the ninety-nine percent effort with one percent results is a bullshit waste of time. Nothing has been streamlined. Nothing has been cohesive.”
When the police captain attempts to speak, I add, “Not to mention it shouldn’t take four hours to make contact with us when your investigator requested it.” Running my hands through my hair then gripping the back of the seat in front of me, I take a deep damn breath. I’m agitated, really fucking over the lack of follow-through.
Six killings in four states. We’re no closer to any answers than we were on day one.
“Agent Scholl, I will personally call you directly with any updates,” the captain says with a sheepish look on his face. “In real time.”
My name is called out as I’m walking back to my office, going over patterns from the killings in my head. “Scholl? Hey…Matt.” My secretary, seeing she’s got my attention, jumps up with a frantic look on her face. She is usually unflappable, so this can’t be good.
“Yes?” I’m dreading her response since I have a list of things a mile long that need my attention.
“Call home. Right away.”
Pulling my silenced phone from my pocket, I have several missed calls from Caleb, Hutton, and other local numbers I don’t recognize. Not one from…fuck. Fuck. Nothing from Eden?
We should’ve acted sooner on the threats Eden’s been getting. If something’s happened to her, I’ll never forgive myself. Goddamnit. I fight back tears before I know if my suspicions are right.
She’s been in danger. Why the hell haven’t I stayed closer to home?
Before I can dial anyone back Harrison’s number comes up as an incoming call. “Matt? You need to come home. Get here quickly if you can. Your son is missing…Weston is missing.”
The news hits me like a bomb going off.
I’ve been focused on Eden as a target, but if they grabbed one of our children…
There isn’t a way I could’ve prepared for this.
I’m on the phone with Harrison while sprinting to my vehicle. “What does that mean…missing? What were you and Bristow doing? The cameras…Have you looked at the cameras?”
“Keep your head clear, Matt. We’ll find him.” He doesn’t answer the questions I shoot at him. “Get here safely.”
My head is reeling. Where could he be? Would he venture onto our neighbor’s property again? Or did he go across the road to the vet clinic to check on the animals in the kennels? Would he get in a stranger’s vehicle?
We’ve had numerous safety talks with the kids. Weston more than the others because he’s endlessly curious and gets carried away by whims.
I can’t let myself consider he may have been abducted. That doesn’t happen under the watchful eye of FBI agents, a father overly concerned with safety who puts cameras all over, a mother whose brother disappeared at eight years old…it doesn’t. Does it?
My fervent prayers, bargaining with God, and fighting back an onslaught of tears last until I pull into the driveway. Four police cruisers, two unmarked FBI squads, and a dozen or so people with two K9s are all in front of the house.
Agent mode kicks in immediately, barking orders and taking charge. If I let myself think like a father, I’m going to be worthless. I’ll crumble completely. Harrison sees me stalking toward the house and heads me off. “Hutton is pulling up every camera feed, and Bristow is speaking to your neighbor. We have a search team organized…” He rattles off information while I search for Eden in the crowd.
“Where’s my wife?”
He scratches his head frowning. “Uh, look I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t listen…She’s out in the woods looking for Weston. Keir went looking for her.”
“I wouldn’t wait around, either. You and I both know time is crucial. Where are Blaine and Caleb?”
He waves away one of the police officers before telling me Blaine is with Hutton, and Caleb is at the vet clinic searching every nook and cranny with members from his church.
“What happened? Tell me what happened,” I say to Steve through clenched teeth.
He relays Wes missed the bus because he was in the animal enclosure checking on Petunia and giving her a treat. Steve and Dave were on a foot patrol around the perimeter of the property when their phones alarmed because three cameras near our neighbor’s property had been damaged. They found the trees down and were dealing with that. “It was around half past seven this morning when we found the trees. Made contact with the guy after pounding on his door for ten minutes. I suppose we dealt with that until a bit after eight.”
Then he goes on to tell me Hutton called him around half past eight, when they were gathering the destroyed cameras, asking them to get to the house because they couldn’t find Wes. “At that point, he was streaming all the backlog of footage to figure out…to see if he had any footage of him leaving.”
He doesn’t say it, but we both know damn well.
My son didn’t wander away. He was taken.
Weston was kidnapped.
“What did he find?” I pivot to go inside, and Harrison follows me. “Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t believe this is happening.” I say the last bit to myself, but he hears me anyway.
“I know.” Harrison claps a hand down on my shoulder. “I know, Matt. We’ll get him back.”
I lose some of my hope when Harrison says, “When Hutton accessed the videos, all cameras south-facing, where the road is, were blacked out at 8:16 a.m. A complicated code, designed by Hutton, overrode them. They don’t go back online until 8:55.”
“What the fuck do you mean designed by Hutton?” This makes no sense.
Shrugging a shoulder with a grimace Harrison replies, “I don’t understand computer shit. He said a code he developed, originally for the FBI, not only appears to be hi-jacked, but they’ve altered it enough he can’t tell where it is coming from. He said it’s nearly fool proof.”
“Nearly?” God, please help me here, I’m trying like hell to keep it together.
“Yeah, nearly. He said he’ll do it, but it could take too long.”
We walk into Hutton’s office, which is crowded with people. I immediately note a hole in his wall that wasn’t there a couple days ago, a dented trash can on its side near a wall with a litter of garbage around it, and a smashed monitor lying near the desk. Looks about right. I’ve seen his rage…This would unlock that like nothing else, other than losing Eden.
Blaine says, “Sure. Looks like you’re doing a lot and nothing at the same time.” The uniformed officer’s face reddens at his snide comment. “Have you talked to the nutcase next door yet?” He stands up taller with his arms across his chest. “All you’ve managed to do is stand here asking us the same questions over and over again.”
I know I should intercede when Blaine gets started. He tends to let his mouth get him in trouble, but I’m more focused on finding Hutton in the throng of people huddled around his desk.
When Blaine spots Harrison and I, he abandons the officer to start in on us. “I see just how important having your agents here was. Couldn’t even keep our six-year-old safe. Good plan.” His eyes are reddened, drying tears on his cheeks. He pushes past me before I say a word. “I’m joining the search party. Fuck this pointless standing around with our thumbs up our asses. Fucking morons.”
There’s no sense trying to stop him.
I’d rather be combing the area with as many people as possible. I shout at him, “Make sure everyone has Wes’s picture.”
“That’s already done,” he yells at me, giving me his middle finger behind his back.
“...no, it doesn’t. Cuts out, going black at 8:16 a.m., then back online at 8:55 a.m.,” I hear Hutton explaining to a plain-clothes detective with gray hair. A county badge hangs off his belt. “The cameras were effectively shut down, and there is no getting back footage the cameras didn’t capture.” His tone is flat, steady.
We make eye contact, and I see the agony. He’s holding himself together carefully to get things done, but I recognize his pain. I feel his fucking pain.
“We have a timeline then,” I add, coming to stand next to Hutton. “I’m one of Wes’s dads…Matt Scholl.” I shake the man’s hand.
“Agent Scholl?” he asks, giving me a strong shake back. “We briefly met a few years ago on the Martinetto case. I’m sorry we’re meeting again under these circumstances. I’m Detective Sam Nealy.”
There isn’t much to go on.
Bristow and Harrison can vouch for our wack job neighbor, they were with him over the property damage. The vet clinic to the south of our property, off the same road, doesn’t open until mid-morning today. There were no staff there. They have an old camera that is grainy at best but is pointing toward the ground doing a great job of recording the gravel lot near the building.
His description is given: six years old, Caucasian male with dark brown hair, blue eyes, dimples, wearing a blue sweatshirt with light-blue stripes, black jeans, and one red Paw Patrol sneaker…the other recovered on our property. His picture is messaged to the search group’s phones. We have neighbors, volunteers of the sheriff’s department, family, and friends, a group of sixty-three people and two search dogs, all combing the surrounding five miles.
In my heart, I know he’s not going to be found close by. If he’s been taken by the person threatening Eden, they’ll be long gone.
Our kids. I stop listening to Nealy’s rundown of a press conference to turn away. We need to tell the rest of the kids. But first…I need to see Eden.
“Has anyone seen Eden?”
Harrison speaks up. “Not since she went into the woods. Keir was only a few minutes behind her though.”
I keep dialing each of them rushing to the backside of our property. I need to get to Eden. In every missing child case, I’ve ever had the misfortune of being involved in, it’s the mother who is struggling the most. And for Eden this is going to bring back her brother’s disappearance.
Pocketing my phone since my calls are all going unanswered, I start to yell her name. “Eden?!”
Close to losing my voice from all the shouting, first to Eden and then Wes, I stop. I pick up the pace past the treehouse, where Weston used one of my ties to hang an action figure. The tears spill. I can’t keep it in anymore.
My sweet, fun-loving, energetic boy. My Weston.
What the fuck are we going to do?