Authors: Michelle Weidenbenner
“Let’s say one day, hypothetically speaking, you’re not in uniform, but you’re at the corner of a crime district. You’re distracted—maybe you’re texting someone. A guy on the street attacks you, steals your wallet, and beats you over the head. You blame yourself for being distracted, for not paying attention to your surroundings, and for letting the guy get away. You chase him down, but you’re injured and you’re too far behind. It’s not your fault, but you scold yourself for not being more alert. You mull the incident in your head over and over again, wondering where the guy came from, what you could have done differently. And sometime afterward, you decide it’ll never happen again because you won’t let your guard down.”
Brett nodded, thinking,
Does she know me, or is she guessing?
She brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and crossed and uncrossed her legs again. “Now, imagine if you’re a child like Ali with immature thoughts, trying to make sense of when and why abuse is happening—and it’s occurring much more frequently than what happened to you with the mugger. One week something happens, and she tells herself it was because she glanced at her mother’s friend a certain way, or didn’t listen to him. After a while she gives herself bizarre explanations for the abuse, thinking she was responsible. She believes she did something to cause the abuse, and wants to figure out how to get it to stop, to prevent it from happening again.
“In many abusive families the child is taught to hide the family secrets, and so the child never develops normal healthy relationships. Their concept of a healthy relationship is distorted. And in Ali’s case, maybe it was the only way she felt loved. So, she learned to be ashamed to love.”
Sarah shifted in her seat, but kept her honey-brown eyes on Brett, suddenly making him feel warm all over. She spoke with passion. Was she speaking from her own experience?
She continued. “Ali’s problems are complicated. It’s going to take a long time and a lot of counseling to break through the barriers of her abuse. I can understand why you wanted to divorce yourself from her. It must have been difficult living with a person who couldn’t show love, who possibly struggled with why she did, and still does, certain things.”
Sarah seemed so connected, understanding, and nonjudgmental. Brett didn’t know if it was the setting or just being in her presence that made him more than comfortable. He’d never shared this much information with anyone—not even Clay—and it felt liberating. Was Sarah just good at her job? Or was he attracted to her? He better get that thought out of his mind right away. He didn’t trust his judgment where women were concerned. He sighed and leaned back in his seat, crossing his leg over his knee. “You sound comfortable talking about this, like you speak from experience.”
She avoided his eyes before she responded. “This is my job. I hear abuse stories all day long. It happens far more than you think.” She continued looking out the window at the lake.
He figured she had patients with problems, but he suspected again that she had personal experience with abuse. “I can sympathize with Ali’s predicament and her family abuse, but I can’t fix her. I’m not responsible for her actions. I learned that a long time ago.”
She shifted her eyes back to him and smiled. “Bravo. You’re farther ahead than most people.”
“Ali denies she has problems. She insists she forgave her mother years ago.”
“Which makes it even more difficult for you, because until she realizes she needs help, she won’t seek help or get better.”
“Don’t I know it. But if you’re telling me I can’t have custody of Quinn because I left her yesterday when her safety was compromised, then I can’t win. You’re telling me that it was my responsibility to make sure Quinn was safe, but I’m not responsible for Ali’s behavior. Do you see my point?”
“Totally.” She nodded.
Her eyes finally locked onto his, and something made him believe that she understood better than anyone. A spark flickered inside him. Shoot, he was attracted to her. Was he crazy? This wasn’t the time to think about having a relationship with someone, especially someone who was his ticket to getting Quinn.
He rubbed his palms on his shorts, not realizing how sweaty they had become. Leaning toward her, he smiled and said, “So, after hearing about my predicament, does it help my case? Do you think I’ll get sole custody?”
“I can’t answer that.”
He sighed. “Divorcing her was the selfish thing to do. It made my life easier because I didn’t have to live with her dysfunction.” He threw his hands up in the air. “But in the end, it didn’t change anything. She’s still dysfunctional, and I’m not around to ensure Quinn’s safety. I only worry more because I ended up with less control.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s frustrating.” Sarah turned the clock on the table toward her. “Ali probably didn’t show up because people like me scare her. She’s not ready to spill her guts.”
Brett leaned back in his seat. “Well, I hope she keeps screwing up, so she doesn’t have a chance in hell to get our daughter back.”
#
I sat in my truck across from a counseling office, eating my lunch, when I saw the same dark-curly-haired girl that was with Mrs. Stookey yesterday. The girl wasn’t with Mrs. Stookey today. She was with another woman. They were coming out of the doctor’s office building and getting into a car together. Where was the lady taking the girl?
I wonder if she’s that little girl I heard about at work—the daughter of a cop? The pervert cop. Mrs. Bailey, a customer at work, said they took the girl away from both parents. Was this the girl?
I turned the ignition key. The truck rumbled, and I followed them. The lady drove across town to the same street where Moore lived, but one block farther. The lady parked in the driveway. I parked one house away and watched.
The little girl climbed out of the car and skipped to the front door. Mrs. Stookey and the other little girl answered. They opened the door for the dark-haired girl and let her in. Shortly after, the lady drove off alone.
I sighed. Didn’t they know Mrs. Stookey’s son was a pervert? Probably not, since he hadn’t registered yet. I’d better get to him tonight then, before something happens to those girls.
Chapter Fifteen
Shortly after noon, Brett called Clay on his way home from Sarah’s office. Clay agreed to meet him at Chloe’s Sports Grill off Center Street for lunch. The restaurant had a wireless Internet connection, and Clay wanted to bring his laptop.
Brett pulled into the parking lot, entered the restaurant, and waited for Clay in a booth. An older couple, probably in their seventies, sat in an adjacent booth side by side—just the two of them. They smiled and waved at Brett. He didn’t know them. They just seemed like a friendly couple. He tried not to stare, but couldn’t help watching how they rubbed arms and laughed together like they were telling each other jokes, like they were new lovers. Would he ever find that? He thought of Sarah. What was her story? Why was he attracted to her?
Clay interrupted Brett’s thoughts as he entered the restaurant, his long stride bringing him across the room in five steps. He took a seat across from Brett and set his laptop in the middle of the table. “You doing okay, man?”
Brett nodded. “For now. I filled out some form asking the courts for a hearing in three days to grant me custody. Say some prayers that the judge approves.”
“Still don’t want to call your old man?”
Brett shook his head and stared at his hands. Clay didn’t know about his father’s cancer, but Brett couldn’t talk about it. Not yet.
The waitress brought them water and took their orders.
Clay placed a county map on the table, pointing out the geocache sites he’d marked. “Here’s where Jake Hunter lives.” He pointed to the spot on the map marked with a red circle and the number 2, then pointed to another red circle with the number 1. “This is where our dead guy’s piece was found. There’s a YouTube video online of this location. It’s one of the URL addresses you gave me from Mark’s computer history.”
“Really?” Brett studied the map. “What about the other URL?”
Clay pointed to Terry Bull’s house, indicated with a yellow X, and the other cache site where Hunter’s penis was found at the other red circle and the number 3. “The other URL address from Mark was not this site. It was from another local geo-site.”
Next, he showed Brett where the county sex offenders lived in that general vicinity. They’d been circled with black X’s. There were fifteen.
Brett saw a pattern and possible correlation between where the items were found and where the offender lived. Jake’s penis was found near his house.
Clay drew a circle around the geocache site near Terry Bull’s house. “This is where I think you should look for his dick. It’s the closest site to Bull’s house. I had several guys looking for it with no luck.” He smiled and looked up at Brett. “You sure you’re ready to hunt for a dick-in-a-box?”
Brett chuckled. “I can spot them a mile away. Besides, I’m not doing anything else, and I need to stay busy. This will be a challenge.” In more ways than one. He’d never geocached before, and he didn’t have a keen sense of direction. “What about Mark? Have you talked to him?”
Clay nodded. “Yeah, I did a background check on him. He owes a lot of cash to investors after soliciting funds for a start-up that tanked. He’s had a few speeding tickets, but other than that, he’s clean. I met him at his office, and we chatted about Ali. He claims he didn’t have anything to hide, that he told you everything he knows.”
“Did you believe him?”
“No. He seemed too nervous.”
“Do you think he’s the whacker?”
“I doubt it. He had an alibi. A woman friend, but not sure if she was covering for him or telling the truth. He said he’d heard about the geocaching thing from TV and Googled it out of curiosity.” Clay chuckled. “He was pissed that you broke into his house though. Are you crazy?”
“When it comes to my daughter, yes.”
Clay reached for his PC. “I put a tail out on him, so he’ll be watched.” He turned the PC around so he could see it. He typed, clicked, and turned the machine back around for Brett to see.
Clay pointed to a spot on the screen. “Every geocache site listed at geocaching.com is a waypoint. The website generates a unique GC code associated with every geocache listing. Once the reviewer finds the cache, they sign a logbook that’s usually found in the box. We’re interviewing those who have registered and signed the logbook, asking questions about other caches they found along their way, who they saw, that type of thing. So far it’s a bust. We’ve archived these two sites here where we found the prizes.” He pointed to the screen. “By archiving them, it removes the listing from public view.” He clicked on another screen. “We temporarily closed down the site for our county an hour ago. Cache hikers are out hunting in herds. They think it’s funny. I’ve got Officer Greer monitoring the site for any newly posted sites.”
Brett read the screen. There were 587 sites in the county. “Do you have a team inspecting every one of these sites and taping them off?”
“We don’t have the manpower to cover them all, and some of these boxes are tough to find.” He chuckled. “Plus, we don’t want people to panic. Chief says we’ll block off as many sites as we can near here. He’s planning on making an announcement this afternoon for the public to avoid geocaching in our county because they could be potential crime scenes, but that might just stir more trouble. People will blatantly ignore that request.” He rolled his eyes.
Brett studied the site. When he looked up, Clay was watching the TV that hung in the corner of the bar, behind Brett.
Clay gasped. “Check it out, Reed.”
Brett turned and followed Clay’s eyes and watched what Clay was viewing on the TV screen. It was Brett with the mic in his face at Ali’s house. The reporter asked his questions, the last one being about sexual abuse, and then the clip ran of Brett pummeling the guy’s jaw. Brett shook his head and rubbed his hand. Dread filled his gut. “I’m hosed. That was really stupid.”
“It was. If you’re going to hurt the guy, you gotta do better than that.” Clay snickered.
Brett didn’t. He covered his face. “Let’s hope the judge doesn’t see that. This could totally ruin any chance I have at getting Quinn.”
Clay’s forehead creased. “You have another problem too. Let’s hope the perp doesn’t see that and think you did your kid. You’ll be hunting down your own dick in a box somewhere.”
Brett froze. “You aren’t serious!”
Clay laughed. “I don’t know, but if I was you, I’d be sleeping with both eyes open.”
Brett threw an ice cube at Clay, hitting him in the chest. “He’s after
convicted
sex offenders, not the accused ones.”
Clay’s laugh rang across the room, deep and strong. “You sure? You could be the first accused.”
The waitress brought their food and set it in front of them. Brett was no longer hungry.
Clay bowed his head. “Dear God, please guide us to find this guy before he whacks off my partner. Keep Brett strong and able to sleep with his eyes open.” Clay chuckled, hesitating. “Seriously though, give Brett the strength to battle against the courts to get his daughter back. Show him your love, and give him the courage to stand alone. Help him to see that he is a good and loving father. Amen.”
Brett avoided looking up and into Clay’s eyes and stared at his food instead. He didn’t trust his composure. “Thanks. No one has prayed for me like that before.”
“I think you need to start saying a few of your own.” He chuckled again. “Let’s eat.”
Brett told Clay how Ali had disappeared with her clothes and Quinn’s and how he feared she’d track Quinn down and take her.
“I don’t think you have to worry about her going anywhere. She’s not strong enough to take Quinn, dude. She can’t even take care of herself.”
Brett nodded. “You’ve got a point.”
Clay wiped his mouth with his napkin and took another bite of his burger. “Listen, you’re going through a crisis right now. You can’t see it, but you’ll come out stronger.”
“Will I? Not sure, but you’re right about one thing—I can’t see it. I don’t have the same faith you have.”