“I don’t know.”
“But before your husband started his landscaping business, he gambled.” Grace said.
“Yes, I told you, he said he was a professional gambler. When we met in Las Vegas he was playing the tables.”
“And before that?”
“I think he held quite a few jobs. He seemed to know a little about a lot of things.”
“Rhonda, did he ever do time in jail or prison?”
“If he did, I’m not aware.”
“And you never saw this kidnapper before?” Grace asked.
“No. I don’t know who the hell he is.”
“Not even in the neighborhood?” Perelli said. “Like, maybe he pretended to be lost, looking for directions?”
“No.” Rhonda put her face her hands and shook her head. Then she froze. “Wait! The park! ”
“What about it?”
“He said he met Brady in the park the other day.”
“Met? Was that the word he used? It implies they spoke.”
“Yes. Two, no, three days ago, Brady went to the park with his friends, Justin and Ryan.”
“Which park?”
“The community-pool park. It’s three blocks away.”
“We need to talk to the boys now, they may remember something.”
Rhonda pointed to her fridge and a list of numbers scrawled in Brady’s hand.
Perelli snatched the sheet and started dialing, just as Cataldo called Grace to join her outside. Cataldo was working at a rear window and pointed a latex finger to fresh markings made by a hard-edged tool used to pry open its weak wooden frame.
“Looks like he gained entry here.” Cataldo showed Grace the busted lock latch. “More important, look what he left.”
Under the window, in the soil bed, a full foot impression.
“Looks like a DOC-issued tennis shoe. We’re right behind this guy, Grace. We just need one piece of evidence to lock on to him. We’re breathing down his neck.”
Grace looked through the window and down the hall at Rhonda Boland.
“I pray we’re not too late.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
A cross Seattle in Fremont, Jason Wade sat with his old man in a booth at Ivan’s, searching for the right words.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I let you down. You’ve been wanting to talk and it’s just been crazy with the nun story.”
“It’s all right.”
“I’ve only got a couple of hours to spare today. My editor’s been on me hard to break stories. I’ve been on this one for a solid week and I just got back from Canada chasing this stuff.”
Jason spun around that morning’s Mirror.
“I read them,” Henry Wade said. “They’re good stories. I know this is a busy time and I wish I could do more to help you. No need to apologize.”
“But you sounded like it was bad, like you were at risk again.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, it’s bad.”
“And this is all about your old demon, your partner’s death. The old call.”
His father’s Adam’s apple rose and fell as he looked to the street.
“That’s right.”
“Did you drink, Dad?”
His father’s face creased and Jason saw more lines pressing into him from the weight of his struggle.
“Almost.”
“You said you needed me to help you put an end to everything. What is it?”
Henry Wade rubbed his chin, thinking about that bottle in his pickup as he gazed to the street and back in time. “The call,” Henry said, “it’s about the old call Vern and I got on the armed robbery.”
“I see.”
“I told you how it went bad. How there was a hostage.”
“The hostage was shot and the suspect pleaded guilty and was sent away.”
“More coffee?” the waitress interrupted.
Henry waved her off.
“The whole world changed that day, Jay.”
“I know, Dad, and it took a toll.”
“It took a toll on Vern and it took a toll on me. Look what it cost me. Your mother, my job as a cop. I’m still paying for it.”
Jason patted his father’s hand.
“The other day, this kid, Quinn, he comes from out of nowhere and he starts exhuming the dead.”
“Who’s Quinn?”
“Hotshot insurance investigator, or loss-recovery agent. Something. He calls me up, he’s pushing my buttons about the old case, acting like I know something. Then he’s telling me that the monster’s out of his cage and he’s scheming. I know he’s planning something.”
“Who’s out? Hold on, Dad, I don’t understand. What’s happening?”
“I can’t live like this, Jay. It’s eating me alive. I’ve got to put things to rest.”
“Dad?”
“I’ve been carrying this rot inside me long enough. I’m going to see this guy and I need you to come with me. I have to see him now.”
“What guy? And why do you need me? Dad, you’re not making sense.”
Henry Wade reached inside the chest pocket of his sportcoat and Jason saw the grip of his holstered gun before he unfolded a slip of paper.
“I need you to go with me to this address because I don’t know what I’m going to do, how I’m going to react, because he’s not dead. I’m going to get in his face with one question-just one question.”
“Dad, what’s this all about? Tell me what’s going on.”
“Jay, the hostage was a child.”
“Jesus.”
“A little boy.”
“God.”
“He died in my arms.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
R yan Taylor and Justin Marshall were scared.
Within minutes of Detective Dominic Perelli’s call, the boys were standing in Rhonda Boland’s kitchen.
“Where’s Brady?” Justin said.
“It’s all right fellas. We’re working on that.” Perelli said. “We need your help.”
Ryan and Justin had been hurried to the house by their anxious mothers, Gayleen Taylor and Fanny Marshall, who had always pitied “poor Rhonda” behind her back. Such a tragic case. Widowed by a deadbeat who had the nerve to die in debt.
