“Finn wasn’t there, and his kidnappers were waiting for us. I’m sorry.”
MacGowan sat up, a despondent look on his face. “Finn’s dead, isn’t he?”
“We don’t know that,” Fletcher said quickly. “We’ve got one of the men in custody, though he won’t talk until his lawyer gets here.”
“Is there anything you can think of that you didn’t tell us before?” I asked.
MacGowan rubbed at his face as he tried to think.
“We believe there has to be a mastermind behind this,” I continued. “What kind of common criminal wants a deed to a ramshackle castle in the middle of nowhere? Do you know of any players with big money?”
“I worked for hire. Most of the people I stole for preferred to stay anonymous.” He hesitated. “Allegedly stole for.”
If there was a leader hidden in the wings, they probably hid their criminal predilections behind a perfectly legitimate facade. That would make them hard to track down. It became a question of want. What exactly did this person, or organization, want from the Castle of Old Wick? What was so important or valuable to go through the trouble of kidnapping a child for? If we knew that, maybe we could get a bead on their identity.
Before we left, I took one last look at MacGowan, at the way he drooped within the cell, head sunk to his hands, elbows resting on his knees.
“Listen,” I said slowly. “This is probably way outside protocol, but we have to update Ainslee on the case. What do you want us to tell her about your involvement?”
MacGowan lifted his head from his hands, seemingly shocked by my question. “Don’t tell her I’m involved. She doesn’t know what I am, and I don’t want her to. Please.”
“Okay. I won’t. And I know this isn’t my place, but you should think about reaching out to your son when all this is over. He may be young and not concerned with it now, but at some point, he will feel abandoned, and he will hold it against you. You don’t want that.”
MacGowan’s eyes sharpened, and there was just a bit of a growl in his voice when he replied. “You’re right. It’s not your place.”
“Fine, fine.” I held up my hands in surrender. “Thank you for all your help, Mr MacGowan. Have a nice time in prison.”
And we left him there, alone in a cell with only the stone walls for comfort.
“Someone’s got daddy issues,” Fletcher whispered at my back as we emerged into the station’s harshly lit main floor.
I snapped my head around and glowered at her. “I do not have daddy issues.”
She smirked and raised her hands in an imitation of the gesture I’d given MacGowan. “Whatever you say, boss.”
I narrowed my glare to make sure I got my point across and then let the subject drop. “I need you to find all you can on the Castle of Old Wick. If we can figure out what they dug up, maybe we can dig up who took Finn. Look into Allraise Ventures as well. Dunnel said there’s a file on my desk. We need to know what their goal is.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go tell Ainslee what we’ve found out.” It was not a task I relished, but someone had to tell her that we’d failed to find her son. Better it be me, the senior partner, than put that on the rookie’s shoulders during her first case. Then I remembered the poor wreck that was my vehicle. “Can I borrow your car?”
Fletcher passed me her keys with a nod. “Good luck.”
“You too.”
I found Fletcher’s Renault out in the lot and fired up the engine. It took me a moment to get a feel for the unfamiliar clutch, but before long, I was cruising through the streets towards Ainslee Wair’s house, eyes peeled for any sign of a suspicious white delivery van. She lived within walking distance of the school, and I parked in the street outside her small townhouse. Hers was the middle unit, and apprehension crawled in my stomach as I approached the door.
I rang the bell and waited. There were two other cars in the shared drive, so there was a good chance she was home. If I had a missing kid, I’d probably never want to leave my house, just in case he showed back up on the doorstep at some odd hour.
The door cracked open, and Ainslee’s pale face peered out at me from behind the short chain. Her eyes widened with shock as she recognized me, but it wasn’t a good kind of shock as she took in the large scrape across my cheek. Her face immediately fell, crumpling as if it were a sheet of paper crushed within a fist.
“Ms Wair,” I said. “May I come in?”
Fighting back tears, she nodded and opened the door all the way for me. I followed her into the small den. Several pictures of Finn sat on the mantle above the fireplace. Most were school photos, marking his progress through the years, but there was also a candid shot of him happily exploring a rocky outcropping above a stream flowing into a pool of water, bundled up in a thick coat, hat, and that white and red scarf. I felt a pang of sadness at the sight of them, quickly followed by an almost furious determination to find him and bring him home.
“Can I get you some tea? Coffee?” Ainslee asked as she motioned for me to take a seat in a wood back rocking chair.
“No, thank you,” I said, though I was dying for another cup of coffee. “Sit down. I have news of the case.”
“Oh, no.” Ainslee onto the worn, brown couch and clutched one of the throw pillows to her chest. She looked like she had already convinced herself of the worse and was just waiting for my confirmation.
Lena Taggert appeared out of the kitchen, a steaming mug in her hand. She wore a billowy white shirt
