The photo was close enough to the field that Connor could make out the names on the jerseys of the soccer players behind them.
There weren’t a lot of people buying tickets that close to the field.
Connor had known Mark and Hillary were well off as soon as the director had mentioned the neighborhood they lived in. He had known they were rich as soon as he had seen the house. Now he knew they were even more than that. This was a couple who had money to spare. A lot of it.
But that didn’t get Connor any closer to an answer. He had already ruled out money as a motive. So what was it that connected this family to his? Could they simply have been selected as stand-ins for his parents at the site of the murder?
Connor didn’t think so. The killer seemed to have a plan. He hadn’t taken Connor when he’d found him in the house, which suggested targeted abductions. He hadn’t killed his parents, while he had killed the Wilsons, which suggested he still needed them alive.
So what was the connection?
He continued to scroll through Mark’s Facebook feed until he saw a picture of the couple with a boy about Connor’s age. They were standing beside a sign that read “Princeton Orientation.” All three were beaming. The caption: “He’s staying on campus this summer. Aiming for an early graduation. So proud.”
Connor wasn’t sure whether this was the connection he was looking for, but he did think it was worth finding their kid and talking to him.
He did some more online digging and found the boy’s name—Olin.
Connor suspected he would have come home after finding out his parents had been abducted. Playing the hunch, he got in his car and drove over to Olin’s house.
Olin answered the door almost immediately. He had sharp features, a slim build. He was wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a nondescript blue tee shirt. Both seemed loose on him. The bags under his bloodshot eyes suggested he had not been sleeping (which, from personal experience, Connor figured was probably the case). The short black hair that had been carefully parted to one side in the Facebook photo was now a mess.
“Can I help you?” He kept one hand on the interior doorknob when he spoke, seemingly ready to close the door if he didn’t like Connor’s answer.
“I wanted to talk to you about what happened to your parents.”
“I’m not interested in talking to the press right now,” Olin said, then proved Connor’s assumption right by stepping back and starting to swing the door shut.
Connor put out a hand to stop him. “Wait. I’m not a reporter. What happened to your parents—it happened to mine, too.”
Olin eyed him suspiciously, then eased the door back open. “What?”
Connor sat at a breakfast table that was both big enough and fancy enough to replace the one in Connor’s dining room.
Olin grabbed a pair of glasses and poured two fingers of scotch for each of them. He placed the glasses on the table and sat down across from Connor.
Connor wasn’t old enough to drink, but that had not stopped him from downing an assortment of cheap alcohol at college parties. If Olin, who likewise was not old enough to drink, felt like playing bartender, then who was he to say no?
“Okay, so what do you mean when you say it happened to your parents, too?”
“I mean exactly that. A man in a ski mask driving a blue panel van pulled up to my house—plowed right through the front yard, as a matter of fact—and took my parents.”
“You were at home?”
“I was in the attic.”
“So the kidnapper didn’t see you.”
“Actually, that’s the strangest part. He did see me. Once he had taken my parents outside, I came out of the attic and grabbed the fire poker. I was ready to go right outside after him. I thought I could stab him straight through with the thing if I had to. Whatever it took to get my parents back, I told myself. But then he was back. Seems he had dropped his phone. I didn’t see it until he picked it up because it was by the front door.” Connor shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable and ashamed of what had happened next.
“And?” Olin asked, filling the silence.
“He had a Taser. He fired it up and I froze. Then he grabbed his phone and left.”
Olin slid his glass of whiskey closer to him. He looked at it for a couple of seconds, took a sip. “I would have stopped him if I’d been here.”
The sentiment stung. It was easy to think you would be a hero under the right circumstances. Connor had always thought he would be. But that’s not always who you were when the time came to prove it.
“How did you hear about my parents?” Olin asked.
“You know that show Uncovered?”
Olin nodded.
“They were at my house today, doing a spot on the abduction. I thought maybe it would help. Anyway, the director—he told me about it.” Then it occurred to Connor that Isaiah Cook had probably been by to see Olin as well, and so he asked.
“Yeah, he came by here. I told him to take a hike. I said let the police do their job. Didn’t see how it would do much good to put the story all over the television.”
“Well, that’s how I felt at first, too, but my parents have been missing for a month.”
Olin’s glass was halfway between the table and his lips when Connor made the comment. He returned it to the table. “That long? Who’s working your case?”
“Olivia Forbes. You?”
“Don’t remember his name. I’ve got his card
