and probably never would be. Families needed the closure that burying their child brought. As a father, he respected their anguish, not having had a chance to say goodbye to their child; but as an FBI agent, he had to move on to the next case. Otherwise, the dead children would drive him mad.
“We searched the fields next to Jennings’s apartment. Nothing. I’m sorry.”
“So that’s it?
“Mrs. Brice, Chief Ryan closed the case-and it’s his case. I don’t have independent jurisdiction to continue the investigation. And FBI resources are not unlimited.” Her face fell. “Mrs. Brice, we’ve conducted the most extensive search in all my years with the Bureau. And your reward, the national publicity-if she was out there, someone would’ve seen her. We usually locate the body with the abductor’s help. With Jennings dead, it’s not likely we’ll ever find her. I’m sorry.”
He did not tell Mrs. Brice that her daughter’s body might be found one day, maybe a year from now, maybe two, by a hiker or a hunter or a farmer or a road crew; by that time, her body would be decomposed and unrecognizable as Gracie Ann Brice.
“What about all the sightings?” the mother asked.
“Mrs. Brice, before your reward offer, we had zero sightings. In the two days since, we’ve had over five thousand. We’ve cleared a thousand. The others just weren’t credible.”
Colonel Brice said, “What about Clayton Lee Tucker in Idaho? He seemed credible. You’re not even going to check him out?”
Devereaux was stung, the colonel thinking he hadn’t done everything possible to find Gracie.
“Colonel, I would never fail to clear a lead like that. We e-mailed Gracie’s photo and the blow-ups from the game to our office in Boise. I got an agent out of bed at five his time to fly over to Idaho Falls to interview Mr. Tucker this morning.” He put his reading glasses on and flipped open a file on the desk. “Agent Dan Curry just faxed in his 302… his report. Mr. Tucker could not ID Gracie or the men or the-” He was about to say “tattoo,” but he remembered his promise to the colonel. And the tattoo meant nothing now anyway. “Or anything about them.”
A puzzled look came over the colonel’s face.
“Colonel, Agent Curry’s report also states that Mr. Tucker wanted to discuss the government’s monitoring of UFOs in Idaho, said he sees them all the time. And the report states that Mr. Tucker admitted he drinks heavily since his wife’s death.” He shook his head. “That’s the problem with big rewards, they bring out the nutcases.”
“Why’d he say something different to me on the phone?”
“Happens all the time. An agent shows up, flashes the badge, all of a sudden they decide to tell the truth instead of some story to get a piece of the reward.”
The colonel seemed unconvinced, so Devereaux held Agent Curry’s report out to him. He took it; his eyes ran down the page. He shook his head slowly.
“Colonel, sexual predators don’t travel halfway across the country to abduct a child. And they don’t abduct a child then take her halfway across the country. Child abductions are local crimes by local predators against local children. Gracie’s body is within a few miles of the park, I guarantee it.”
The colonel tossed Curry’s report on the desk.
“I’m sorry, Colonel, but there’s no mystery-Jennings did it. That’s the only plausible answer for the jersey, the photo, the phone calls, his description, the coach’s ID, and most of all, the blood-that DNA puts Gracie in his truck.”
“Maybe it’s someone else’s blood.”
“Colonel, the odds that that blood is not Gracie’s is-and I’ve checked this-is one in twenty-five quadrillion, and I don’t even know what a quadrillion is.”
The father: “A million billion.”
“Look, sir, I know this is tough to accept, but sexual predators don’t plot out their crimes and they don’t frame someone else to avoid apprehension… and innocent people arrested for a crime they didn’t commit don’t hang themselves. They hire a lawyer.”
“He didn’t fit your profile.”
“No, sir, he didn’t. Not even close.” He shrugged. “An aberration. Or those guys in Behavioral don’t have a clue. Either way, it doesn’t matter.”
The mother gestured around the room. The agents were packing up the equipment.
“So you’re giving up?”
“Mrs. Brice, we never quit until the body is found. We will always respond immediately to any new evidence or information, I promise you. But we can’t operate out of your house indefinitely, I told you that when I agreed to establish the command post here. We’re moving the command to the Dallas field office. Agent Jorgenson will be able to reach me in Des Moines-”
“ Des Moines? ”
“A five-year-old boy was abducted-”
“You’re leaving? ”
“Yes, ma’am. We have a known sex offender at large up there, and a child is missing. That’s where I’m needed now.” God, this was hard. “Look, I know this isn’t the ending you were praying for. I know every piece of the puzzle doesn’t fit together, it never does. Some things just can’t be explained. We never get every question answered. That’s just the way it is.” He stood. “I’m sorry for your loss. Gracie must have been a wonderful child. But it’s over.”
Devereaux’s eyes went from family member to family member, all of whose eyes dropped when they met his, until he came to Colonel Brice. His eyes did not drop.
“No, Agent Devereaux-it’s just begun.”
After the family had departed the command post, FBI Special Agent Jan Jorgenson got up from her station and went over to her superior. Agent Devereaux’s eyes were sad and tired. He slumped down in his chair. He exhaled audibly.
“If I ever get a child back alive,” he said, “I’m through. I’m giving up the chase.”
She nodded. “I made some contacts, about the mother, at Justice.”
“Proceed.” Then he added, “Not that it matters anymore.”
Jan checked her notes. “Her unit chief was an Assistant Attorney General named Raul Garcia-”
Agent Devereaux was rubbing his face.
“And what did Mr. Garcia have to say about Mrs. Brice?”
“Nothing. He’s dead, too.”
Devereaux stopped rubbing his face.
“ Both of Mrs. Brice’s superiors at Justice are dead?”
“Yes, sir. Garcia died two years ago, in Denver, shot in a carjacking.”
“Jesus.” Devereaux stood. “High mortality rate over at the Justice Department these days.”
“And I called the Army about getting the names of those SOG soldiers. All SOG records were destroyed in ’72.”
“Figures.” Agent Devereaux picked up his briefcase. “Jorgenson, it’s your case now. I’m catching a flight to Des Moines.”
Devereaux thought about Gracie Ann Brice all the way to the airport. Another life ended before it had begun. Another family destroyed by a sexual predator. Another failure for FBI Special Agent Eugene Devereaux. What good had he done here?
He was fifty-six years old. He had handled abduction cases exclusively for ten years now. It was getting to him. His wife had begged him to transfer to the public corruption unit: “What could be more fun than investigating crooked politicians?” she had said. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to give up the chase, one hundred twenty-eight dead children. Good God, one hundred twenty-eight dead children! And he wouldn’t have to travel as much; there were plenty of crooked politicians in Texas. He’d have more time with the family. And maybe in time he wouldn’t see the faces of dead children when he lay down in bed each night and closed his eyes.
Jorgenson pulled the sedan over in front of the American terminal and turned to him. “Agent Devereaux…”
