Leaning back into the truck, I instruct Connor, “Go kid.”
“We’re in,” he tells Salem using the Bluetooth connection. Then to us, Lost instructs, “Check this fuckin’ place is empty.”
The three of us fan out. There’s no hiding place in the large open plan living area, and in the kitchen, the coffee pot feels cold to the touch, as does the stove. Seems like Devon is an early riser and has long left.
I then check out the study, carefully looking for any sign of a panic room, but I find nothing. By the time I’ve inspected the bathroom and half bath on this floor, I’m content I missed no one.
Returning to the living area, I find Lost, and then watch Token come down the stairs. “No one’s home,” he announces.
“Grumbler’s coming to let you in.”
I dip my chin but pause before going to open the door for the others. “There’s a computer in the study,” I inform Token, who looks like a kid on Christmas day.
“Now we might get fuckin’ somewhere,” he states, grinning.
It takes a matter of seconds to open the back door, and let Dart, Salem and Pennywise in. When I return to the study, it’s in time to see Token opening a small bag he brought into the house. I assumed it was just carrying the jammer, but it appears to hold other stuff as well. One item he brings out is his laptop.
Having booted up the PC, I’d be stumped at the login password, but Token’s hands fly over the laptop keys, and plugs a small device into one of the USB slots. Within moments, the home screen awakens.
“Bingo,” Token announces. “I’m in.”
With his fingers flying fast, Token goes through the files on the PC. He talks as he works. “Okay, as I suspected. There are pictures from his photo shoots all in various galleries. They look kosher to me.”
Apart from the little fact his models don’t get paid, of course.
Dart leans in to look. He’s alone, Pennywise and Salem have taken up position close to the front door to warn us of any approach.
“Contracts for photo usage and model release forms are all here,” Token continues. “No videos though. They must be buried under some secure levels. Possibly not even held locally.” Token tries again, following searches on the PC, tracing fuck knows what.
He sighs, shakes his head, clenches his jaw, but the PC won’t give up any secrets. “Jesus H Christ. It’s got to be here somewhere. Maybe it’s obvious…” Token clicks on a program, and video editing software appears. “Jackpot,” he says softly, his eyes intent on the screen.
“Alicia?” I try to see over his shoulder. It’s not footage of her and Owen. It’s far, far worse.
“Fucker must still be editing this. He hasn’t deleted it from the PC yet.” Token touches another key, and the video starts playing.
“I want my mommy,” the child, who’s little more than a toddler, wails.
The man with her laughs. “Your mommy doesn’t want you, kid. But now you’ve got a new daddy. Call me daddy, yeah?”
The toddler does nothing but cry.
“Daddy’s going to give you a bath. You want to get all clean, don’t you?” The man roughly overpowers the little girl and despite her protests and wriggling, removes her clothes. “You’ve got to be nice to your new daddy.”
“He’s dead. So fuckin’ dead,” Lost pronounces. He covers his eyes with his hands, then, manfully, looks back.
Me? I turn away, my stomach revolting.
“Oh God, no.” I don’t need to, can’t look at this. Token’s commentary is bad enough. “He’s got his dick out. He’s—”
“You really need to watch that, Token?” the VP sounds in the same amount of distress as me.
Token clicks a key and minimises the window. “I feel I have to man, but you don’t.” He puts headphones on. “Leave me be, okay?”
Lost places a hand on his shoulder, and Dart and I follow him away.
Out of sight of the PC, Prez shudders. “I want to bleach my eyeballs just from the little I’ve seen.”
“We need to shut him down,” the VP states. “Christ knows where he got that kid from. Surely, someone, somewhere is missing her.”
“Could be the parents are involved,” I suggest. “Twisted fucks selling their daughter.”
“But we know Devon doesn’t like to pay,” Lost points out.
Suddenly, I hear a chair moving so fast it falls over. Token rushes past, and I hear him being violently ill in the bathroom I’d inspected earlier. Hardening my resolve, I stride back to the PC, but all it’s showing is an innocuous scenic image.
When Token returns, the back of his hand wiping his mouth, he informs us in a harsh, disbelieving whisper, “He raped her. She was… she was hurt bad, Prez.”
Jesus. I stop breathing. Then when my lungs can do without air no longer, I inhale, and say, my voice almost unrecognisable, “That kid?” I don’t need his confirmation. It leads me to say the words I don’t often utter, “We’ve got to get the cops involved.”
Prez, white as a fucking sheet, considers for a moment. “I think we go one better.” He pulls his phone out of his cut, selects a number then calls it.
“Snatcher? I think we’ve got one for you.” He explains what we’ve found in gory details that I hope never to remember while only too well aware it’s going to haunt my nightmares for nights.
Lost updates the Utah prez on what we’ve just found, adding, “Token thinks it’s recent footage he’s editing. Can’t find anything else. Maybe he only keeps it locally until the final product is done. Yeah, I’ll pass you over.” He hands the phone to Token.
“Brother? Yeah. Here’s what I got.” Returning
