“That’s him.” Tobias grabbed Sullivan’s arm, comparing the pic from the security camera video to the man across the street, wishing the quality was better. It was happening. After what felt like countless hours, here was the break. “Isn’t it?”
“Just like that, buddy,” Sullivan muttered, his fancy camera already clicking. “Look right over here.”
The man knocked on the front door. Cindy Jackman answered, throwing her arms around him in welcome. He hugged her back, patting her on the bottom.
“An ex, you think?” Sullivan said. “I’d bet a million dollars it was ‘mutual’ but it was actually her decision. She’s out of his league.”
“He’s built the same as the guy in the video.”
Sullivan made a thoughtful humming sound.
Tempted to poke him in order to prod a more excited reaction, Tobias added, “Same height.”
Sullivan lifted an eyebrow. “Let’s see the picture.” They stared together, darting glances back and forth between the grainy page and the man on the porch now brushing a dark lock of Cindy’s hair behind her ear.
“It’s him,” Tobias said. “That’s the guy who took Ghost.”
“If it isn’t, it’s a hell of a coincidence.”
The balding man went inside, but was back outside in fifteen minutes, getting not into his truck this time, but into Cindy Jackman’s beige sedan. Sullivan started the Buick.
Tobias didn’t know much about how to follow someone, but after the long week of stakeouts, he figured Sullivan was more than competent. He always kept two cars between them when he could, and seemed to have a sort of sixth sense for when to hang back before yellow lights and when to assume the balding man would demonstrate a lead foot. All the same, Tobias wanted to tell Sullivan to go faster, to make something happen. He knew it was counter-productive, but he couldn’t help it.
The balding man stopped in front of a brick-red ranch house, and was knee deep in four shouting kids by the time Sullivan had found a place to park. A woman stood on the stoop, a backpack dangling from one hand; she held it out for the man to take, then produced a car seat from behind her, which she shoved into his arms as well before disappearing back inside, shutting the door firmly enough behind her that the kids fell silent for a beat. Then they went back to swarming the man—their father, Tobias figured, and a fairly absent one at that, judging from their near-panicked devotion. All of the children were talking at once and the balding man nodded and listened as he carried the backpack and car seat to the sedan, where he spent several long minutes getting everyone situated.
“That explains why he switched vehicles,” Tobias said. “Can’t take four kids in a truck. He must’ve picked Ghost up either right before or right after he hung out with his kids.”
“So Cindy got in the middle of the marriage but didn’t stick around to be the new mommy,” Sullivan mused. He’d already started taking more pictures. “Write down that address, will you?”
“Yeah.” Tobias grabbed the notepad, thinking about what Sullivan had said. “That’s very cynical. She could be a friend who doesn’t mind lending him her car so he can have his kids for the day.”
“Could be. Isn’t, though.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know he cheated on his wife.”
“Yeah, I do. See how mad she was? Even now, after it’s final? World’s full of deadbeats.”
Tobias eyed him. Sullivan didn’t look upset or angry; if anything, he was far too calm, sitting there cracking his knuckles with his hair hanging in his eyes, espousing a bitter belief system that Tobias rejected on principle. Before he got a chance to argue, the balding man got behind the wheel of the beige sedan.
“He’s leaving,” Tobias said. There was a low pulse of excitement in his stomach. He doubted the balding man would be taking his kids to wherever he’d taken Ghost, but later, eventually, it was going to happen. They were getting closer. “Come on, let’s go. Hurry.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Sullivan said, and put the car in gear.
“No, I can feel it.” Tobias leaned forward, wishing he could will the clunky Buick to move faster. “We’re finally moving.”
* * *
“Not gonna lie, this is not what I expected,” Sullivan said.
Tobias had to agree.
They were standing on the cement path between the two main lakes in City Park, watching the nearby hubbub of picnickers on the grass. Wooden tables with paper tablecloths littered the area in front of a low stage with a podium, and there were people clustered in small groups eating and drinking, the men in T-shirts and jeans, the women in shorts, the kids shrieking and running around. The faint odor of animals drifted on the inconstant warm breeze from the zoo, which lay at the northeast boundary of the park; stronger was the damp duck smell from the green water nearby. Geese were honking in the distance. Strung above the small stage was a big banner which read, in black letters, Congrats to Chief Spratt! Below that, in smaller, red type, was the slogan And Justice for All! At the end of the banner was the logo of the Denver Police Department.
Which made sense, because for every person in street clothes, there were two in uniform.
“Wow, that is a lot of cops,” Sullivan murmured.
“Are we crashing a government picnic?” Tobias asked, his heart pounding enjoyably. “I’ve never crashed anything before. We should definitely go in.” He started forward and Sullivan caught his arm.
“Hold on, Kamikaze, let’s think about this for a minute.”
“What’s to think about?” He tugged his arm free. “There’s like, two hundred people here. No one’s going to know we shouldn’t be here. Assuming it isn’t come one come all.”
“I’m not worried about getting caught crashing. I’m worried about who we might run into.”
“You mean a Krayev?” Tobias asked doubtfully. “Considering how many cops are here, I find that unlikely.”
“No, I—”
“Even if
