“How do you want to do this?” Fletcher asked. MacGowan’s eyes were locked on the two-way mirror as if he knew we were watching him.
“Directly,” I said. If MacGowan had really nabbed his own kid, why would he risk getting caught for a simple burglary the same week? And if he were that dumb, what kind of trouble was Finn in now with no one around to take care of him? We had to move quickly.
I entered the room with a cold expression on my face, dropping the file to the table with enough force that it hit with an audible thwap. Fletcher shut and locked the door behind us and then leaned against the mirror while I settled into the chair across from MacGowan, staring at him flatly for a long while just to see if he would squirm. He simply looked back at me, sprawled out as languidly in his chair as he could be with his hands cuffed to the table.
“So,” I said finally, “do you prefer Alec MacGowan or Richard Smith?”
That got a reaction out of him. He couldn’t stop his surprise from flitting across his face as he sat up straighter in his chair.
“I’m sorry?” he said, trying to play it cool, but I had already seen through him.
“It’s a simple question. Do you prefer Alec MacGowan or Richard Smith?” I repeated. I smiled at him just to show a smidge of teeth.
“My name is Alec MacGowan. I don’t know who--”
I cut him off. “So you’re not the Richard Smith who was once married to Ainslee Wair? You don’t have a son named Finn?”
“No, of course not.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, and his eyes cut away from mine.
“Why, of course not?”
“I have no idea who those people are.”
“You’re not a very good liar for a thief,” Fletcher said from behind me.
“Why d'you do it, MacGowan?” I asked. “Did you finally get fed up that custody didn’t go your way? Did you want leverage over your ex-wife?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Did you decide you were the better parent? Did you figure it was time to indoctrinate your kid into your criminal ways? Or had stealing inanimate objects simply grown boring, and you thought you’d try your hand at a live one?” I watched MacGowan’s face as I spoke, watched it twitch and jump as he warred to keep his emotions in check, eyebrows furrowing, mouth turned down, fists clenched upon the table.
“I would never,” he ground out, abandoning his pretence.
“Why did you call Finn’s homeroom teacher last year?” I demanded.
Surprise flashed through his eyes as he glanced over at me. “It was a moment of weakness,” he admitted. “I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“Because you suddenly decided you wanted custody?”
MacGowan’s fists flexed, and he struggled to relax them. “No, of course not. I love my son. I just wanted to check in on him. Is that a crime?”
“No, but kidnapping is.”
“Why did you leave if you love him so much?” Fletcher asked before I could tick off MacGowan any more than I already had.
“To protect him,” MacGowan said.
“Good job with that then.” That was cruel, and I knew it, but the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them as my mind threw me back to university and another man who’d been unwilling to stay.
The handcuffs prevented MacGowan from leaping across the table to strangle me, but he certainly looked like he wanted to, despite my greater height and muscle mass. His face had turned red to match his hair, and his hands trembled atop the table. “What the hell do you know?” he yelled. “Do you think leaving was easy for me? I regret it every day! But that doesn’t mean I would kidnap him!” His voice became quieter and quieter, strength bleeding out of him with every word. “I didn’t kidnap my son,” he promised in a whisper.
Fletcher left her position at the back wall and came to sit beside me. “But you knew he’d been taken.”
MacGowan looked between us, the anger dropping from his face and replaced by fear and grief. “I can’t tell you anything,” he whispered. His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to collapse in on himself, his already diminutive frame shrinking even further.
“Why not?” Following Fletcher’s lead, I pitched my voice low and soft.
“I can’t. They’ll--” He stopped himself and shook his head, glancing away from us. He moved as if to fold his arms across his chest, but the motion was aborted by the cuffs holding his wrists in place.
“We’re trying to find your son, Alec.” I used his first name in the hopes that would somehow help him open up to me. “We want to bring him home safe. We can’t do that if you clam up on us.”
MacGowan shifted in his seat, restless anxiety overtaking his earlier forced calm. “If they find out I talked to you, they’ll hurt him.”
“And I promise I won’t let that happen,” I said, and I meant it more than I had ever meant another statement. “But I need to know the truth. If you really want to protect Finn, this is how you do it. Do you know who kidnapped your son?”
MacGowan took a deep breath. “Yes.
Fletcher flipped open her notebook and nodded to me that she was ready.
“Tell me.”
Twelve
Three days ago
Three men cornered Alec by the River Ness Tuesday evening. He had received his usual summons for a job a few hours previous. It was anonymous, typed on plain, white paper, and left in the flowers by a tumbled grave at the Old
