STOLEN (17 page)

Marty
arrived at the airport just as Sanders’ flight landed. He had left Oregon the
night before, and with the time change, he arrived at 9:00 a.m. Eastern time.
Even though he never laid eyes on the man, he recognized him immediately. The
man’s aura just oozed cop. He wasn’t quite as tall as Marty, but he was thick,
and fairly well built. From the cheap suit he wore, to the marine-style haircut,
to the black rubber soled shoes, the guy had ‘law enforcement’ written all over
him. Marty must have had the same effect on him, because as soon as he caught his
eye, he headed in Marty’s direction.

“Keal?” he asked, when he got within an arm’s-length distance
after walking over the security threshold and into the terminal waiting area.

Marty held out his hand. Sanders reciprocated and they
shook. The man’s grip was stronger than he expected, but friendly.

“Did you have a good flight?” Marty asked, directing him
towards the lower level where the baggage claim area was.

“The flight from Oregon to LaGuardia was okay. It was the
shuttle here that was a little rocky. I slept most of the way. How far are we
from your town?”

“Not far at all, just a quick jaunt. Do you have any
luggage? Do we need to—?”

Sanders cut Marty off.

“No, just this.” He held up a small duffle bag. “I like to
travel light, but I could use a pit stop.” He looked around, trying to spot the
restroom.

Marty pointed in the direction of the men’s lavatory.

He nodded and wasting no time, he took off in a hurry. The
minute he disappeared behind the entrance, Marty’s cell rang. Jean’s name came
up on the caller I.D.; Sanders came out just as Marty disconnected the call.

“Sorry, but I just hate those in-flight bathrooms. Got this
irrational fear that I’m going to get sucked in. I know it’s crazy,
but . . . .” He scratched his thick brow as he spoke.

“No problem,” Marty told him. He held up the phone. “That
was my partner Jean. We finally got some good news. It seems that Troy Blakey
has regained consciousness. She just got a call from the hospital and she’s
headed over there now; so we can go directly there. Unless you need to check in
somewhere, get something to eat?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m anxious to talk to him. It’s been a long
time coming, and I’m hoping that I can finally get answers for this young
girl’s family. I also wanted to fill you in on what we found in the Blakey home
when we executed a search warrant. One that was way long overdue.”

Marty led him towards the parking lot and to his vehicle. They
reached his ride and he fumbled around, trying to get the seat belt long enough
to cover his bulk.

Marty waited till he got himself situated and then pulled
out of the spot and headed towards the exit. He got a nod that said ‘Go right
through’ when he displayed his badge to the burly attendant, whom he recognized
as a retired fellow officer, and exited the airport.

“I didn’t make any motel reservations, didn’t have much
time, but my assistant said that this is a resort town and it was off season,
and she didn’t think I would have too much trouble finding a room.”

Marty got onto the 17B and headed towards the hospital where
Blakey had just woken up from his coma.

The route, to Marty, was the beating heart of the Catskills
and the scenery majestic, but these mountains probably looked like hills and
the boulders that made up the sides of the mountains probably just looked like
big rocks to his visitor from Oregon.

Sanders was taking in the scenery as he spoke. “Never been
to this part of the country, it’s nice. Always thought New York was just cement
and steel.”

Marty laughed. “No, upstate New York is a far cry from Manhattan
or what we call the city. We have trees and grass in abundance, but you’re not
the first to think that way. Look, there’s no reason for you to get a room.
You’re more than welcome to stay with us. My house is more than big enough to
accommodate one more.”

“No, I couldn’t do that. I don’t want to put anyone out.
Besides, my assistant assures me that the generous state of Oregon will foot
the bill.”

“Lieutenant—”

“Mike,” he interrupted. “Call me Mike.”

“Okay, Mike. If we get you a room, then you’re going to need
a car rental, and we just left the airport where the only car rental place in
this area is. So, I suggest you just sit back, enjoy the ride and accept the
accommodations. My home once was the residence of a brood of nine
children . . four of us are now brothers in blue.”

 “We don’t like to admit it, but the other four are FDNY.
It’s a known rivalry in New York. We have some wild football competitions.”

Sanders had a look of confusion on his face. “You said there
were nine of you? Somehow the math doesn’t add up.”

“Eight of us boys, four are law enforcement, four are in the
fire department. The lone holdout is the oldest, my sister, Mary, and she had
the good sense to get married to a cop.” Marty spoke with a relative amount of
pride.

“Family tradition?”

“Sort of. My dad is a retired corrections officer. He worked
for twenty-eight years in the state prison system. I guess you can say civil
service is in our blood. What about you?”

“First generation. I grew up in the state foster care system.
Parents died in a car wreck when I was six years old. Long story and not very
interesting, which is fortunate for me. I was one of the lucky ones. Always
landed in a good home. Which brings me to what I mentioned earlier, what we
found in the Blakey home, while executing a search warrant.”

They got caught at a red traffic light, and Sanders took
advantage of the brief stop to hand Marty copies of the articles from the
newspapers the investigators found in the Blakey residence during the search.

Marty flipped through them quickly, confused. When he got to
the one about the kidnapping of a child in Fallsburg, New York, with the faded
picture of a smiling toddler, his heart stopped, and he felt like someone
shoved a hot ball of wax down his throat. His stomach muscles twisted into a
knot and he was speechless. He recognized the little boy immediately. The light
changed and it took several angry drivers and violent horn honks behind them
for Marty to come out of the state of shock he was in.

Marty gave Sanders a long, hard glance, but didn’t say
another word for the rest of the drive, grateful they were almost there and it
wasn’t a long stretch. By the time they got to the hospital, his mind was doing
somersaults. The information that Sanders gave him on the ride over had him
reeling and he didn’t know which way to turn. Did the Blakey boys have some
knowledge about the little boy they called T.J.?, the little boy who
disappeared twenty-five years ago from his front yard, less than fifty yards
away from Marty’s own home? Would they finally get some answers on what
happened to his neighbor’s son who disappeared, that April morning, while they
were burying Marty’s mother?

When
Hope and Tristan got to the hospital and entered the Captain’s room, Hope
wasn’t that surprised at Tristan’s reaction. When he first made eye contact
with her future father-in-law, the child stood back as if he wasn’t quite sure what
to make of the man with the bandaged head.

But a few words from the old man, and whatever fear or
anxiety Tristan was feeling immediately vanished.

“Hey, I don’t bite, kid; and from what I hear, if anyone
should be afraid of getting gnawed on by someone’s pearly whites, that should
be me!”

That seemed to tickle Tristan’s funny bone and before long,
the two became fast friends.

Ryan Keal Sr. made a pretense to appear to stumble with his
ability to remember the boy’s name, calling him Max, Charlie, and Seymour;
anything other than Tristan—and for some reason, the kid was enthralled by it.
Finally settling on a nickname, the captain began to call him ‘Tiger’ which
delighted Tristan to no end and his normal grunt turned into a loud roar. The
old man and boy seemed to be magically attracted to each other and within a
short period of time, a bond had developed between the two. It was a good thing,
too, because it was hours later before the Captain got his release papers and
he was allowed to leave the hospital.

Passing a grocery store on the way home, Hope realized she
was in need of some essentials, and if she didn’t stop now, she wouldn’t be
able to leave once they were settled in at home.

Hope felt a little wary about leaving the two of them alone
for any length of time, but she felt she had no other choice but to leave the
two of them together in the vehicle while she dashed into the grocery store and
picked up a few essentials like milk and eggs and the Captain’s favorite foods
and snacks. The only other alternative would mean having the two of them
accompany her inside the grocery store and the Captain was still too weak and
the little boy way too active.

As she closed the car door, she leaned in through the open
window to talk to her passengers. “You two behave yourselves and . . .”
she looked directly into Tristan’s eyes, “you, you are in charge! Do not let
him leave this vehicle. Understand?”

Tristan responded with a very serious nod and the Captain
replied with what sounded like a “Hhmmpff!” to express his playful displeasure.

Fortunately for the Captain and Hope, Marty’s sister, Mary,
had been busy cooking and then freezing meals in anticipation for when her
father was released from the hospital. The whole family knew what a control
freak the man could be, and they all knew that no matter how he was feeling, he
would want to prepare the meals when he came home. Mary knew stocking the
freezer with the prepared meals would keep the old man out of the kitchen and
off his feet. Although the family loved Hope, and welcomed her into the family,
even Hope couldn’t deny that her cooking skills were lacking, and the Captain
would insist on cooking, even in his weakened condition.

Before long, Hope had the Captain settled on the sofa in the
family room. She put the television on for the two of them to watch while she
unloaded the groceries and put them away. Every few seconds, she would pause
and listen, making sure she wasn’t needed in the other room before she started
to prepare lunch. Satisfied everything was copasetic with the Captain and
Tristan, she decided that instead of making a plain old sandwich, she would
take out one of the lasagnas that Mary had left in the refrigerator. She
thought she heard the sound of a doorbell ringing, but assumed it was coming
from the television, so she just ignored it and finished what she was doing.
The T.V. was apparently keeping the two of them occupied, and it was quiet, so
she made the decision to get the food warmed up and ready to serve while things
were still calm.

She set the timer according to the Post-It note Mary so
graciously left on the cover of the casserole dish, and wiping her hands on a
towel, Hope walked back into the family room.

“Food’s almost ready, go wash . . . .”

He was just standing there; his hands were extended, holding
the gun level with her face. Her first instinct was to look to see where
Tristan and the Captain were. She felt her heart actually stop beating until
she spotted them, and then she felt the organ beginning to spasm, in quick
bursts, and it felt like the her heart was slamming against her chest wall and it
was about to explode.

She stood frozen, but managed to calm herself enough in
order to ask the intruder a question. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“You!” His voice was strained and she could hear his
nervousness in that one word. He waved the gun in short jerks. “I need you to
get me something to drink, go back in there and get me a drink.”

His throat was raw and tight, and it almost hurt to talk. His
tongue went to his upper lip, and then slipped under the upper part of his gum and
he passed it over his teeth, as if he was trying to moisten his mouth. His left
hand went to his face and he rubbed his eyes, leaving the pistol in his right hand,
which now trembled uncontrollably. “Go, get me something to drink. NOW!” He
raised his voice and barked it out when he realized she wasn’t moving.

She caught a glimpse of the Captain’s eyes and was able to
read his silent instructions. There was no question that he was trying to relay
to her to just do what the armed man said.

“Is water okay?” She asked the intruder, slowly regaining
some of her composure.

“Yeah, sure, just hurry,” he ordered her, keeping his eyes
targeted on her back, watching that she didn’t make any sudden moves to escape.
He turned his back for a brief second when she was at the sink, and extended
his free hand out to Tristan. “Hey, buddy, come here.” His voice took on a more
gentle tone as he called the boy over.

Tristan got up, but then hesitated, and didn’t step any
closer.

“It’s okay, Tristan, everything’s going be alright. I
promise. I just need these people to give us some stuff and we’ll be on our
way. Okay?” He once again beckoned the boy over with his free hand.

Hope walked back into the room and handed the man the glass
of water.

With his hand shaking, he managed to get the glass to his
mouth and he drank the liquid down in one swift motion. Liquid ran down his
face as he wiped his mouth with the back of the hand that held the gun.

“Go, go sit down there, on the couch, with the old man.” He
ordered her, waving the gun as he placed the glass down on a table at the end
of the sofa.

By now, Tristan had managed to make his way over to Shane
and was standing next to him. Shane pulled the little boy into his side and
gently squeezed him by wrapping his forearm over the little boy’s shoulders with
a warm hug that was obvious to both Hope and the Captain. It gave Hope some
comfort in knowing that Tristan was in no direct danger from this man; but the
fact that this man was overtly nervous and not in much control over his
emotions concerned her. The piece of steel that was in his possession was a
very dangerous weapon and she knew accidents happened, even in the most stable
of hands.

“What is it you want?” Hope asked him again.

The man didn’t answer. Instead he walked over to where the Captain
was seated, with the gun he pointed to the bandages that covered his head. “What
happened to you?”

Still having a bit of trouble responding to questions,
partially because of the medications he was taking and the fact his brain had
just been operated on, the Captain appeared to stumble with his answer and
wasn’t quick enough to answer, so it was Hope that replied. “He is recovering
from surgery, he had a brain tumor. He is very weak and he needs to rest and
lie down. Please put the gun down.” She deliberately kept her tone soft but
stern.

Knowing she was taking a chance by moving, Hope took a few
steps and slowly made her way behind the couch, stopping directly behind the Captain
and placed her hands on the older man’s shoulders.

Both of the men were locked on each other’s eyes, staring at
each other, neither of them making a move, both of the men trying to calculate
the danger of the other’s presence. The Captain reached up and took Hope’s hand
and gave it a squeeze.

“Are you okay, Captain?” Hope asked him.

The older man gave her hand another squeeze in reply.

“Captain? Why are you calling him that? Does he have a boat
or something?” Shane asked her, finally breaking eye contact with the older man,
as he turned his head to look at Hope. Shane was nervous and when he was
nervous, he had a tendency to ask questions. He glanced around the room, not
waiting for an answer. Keeping one eye on the girl and old man, he started to
walk over to the far wall, his arm leading Tristan to follow him. He stopped
and turned back to the old man. “Who are all these people?” He lifted the gun
and pointed to the array of family pictures decorating the wall. He spent a few
seconds considering each photograph. It was as if he was really studying them.
He turned back to the Captain. “Is this you?” He pointed to a photograph of the
Captain taken when he retired from the working at the state prison. He was in
uniform, standing and holding a plaque thanking the man for his thirty years of
dedicated service. “You were a cop, too? Like your kid?”

“Corrections officer.” The Captain answered him, his voice
hoarse. His throat was still raw from the respirator that had been inserted for
his surgery, and the tension in the room made his throat restrict even more. He
knew it was not a good sign to have this man, who was standing in front of him
with a gun, be aware that his son, who could come walking in any moment now,
was a cop. It meant the stranger standing in front of him knew Marty was armed
and he would view Marty as some sort of threat. As foggy as he was from the
medications he was taking, he tried to calculate just how much this man knew
and what his plans were.

Although he tried to keep a slight smile on his face, to
keep the man from thinking he himself was a threat, he envisioned himself
kicking the guy right in the balls, dropping him to the ground, stomping on the
man’s hand and recovering the weapon. But the Captain was no fool. He knew he
was way too weak. And he wasn’t going to take any chances that would endanger
Hope and the boy, just to prove he still had all his faculties. His brain may
have been affected, but his sanity was still intact.

“Are you hungry?” Hope asked the stranger, trying to direct
the conversation in another direction.

When he didn’t answer her, she tried a different approach. “You
look hungry. Can I get you something to eat, maybe more water?”

Shane lifted his arm off of Tristan and studied the wall of
pictures. He wasn’t going to be distracted. “All these people your family? All
these kids?” He placed the nozzle of the gun along the glass frames as he made
his way down the wall of photos.

“Most of them. Some of those pictures are of my
grandkids . . . .” the Captain managed.

Suddenly, Shane looked up, the scent of the food warming in
the oven was slowly permeating its way through the room and finally awakened
Shane’s sense of smell. He took a deep breath through his nostrils, keeping his
mouth closed.

“What is that? Is that Italian food? We like Italian food,
don’t we, Tristan? It’s his favorite. We like spaghetti. Tristan really likes
spaghetti. Don’t you, Tristan?” He rubbed the back of the little boy’s head
affectionately.

Hope tried to keep herself calm, but didn’t know if he would
be able to see through the façade. “It’s Italian, but I’m afraid it’s not spaghetti.
It’s lasagna. Do you like that?” Her body remained tense and stiff, but she was
confident she was able to keep the fear hidden as she spoke. Her words came out
as naturally as if she was talking to an invited guest.

She waited for some sort of response before she continued. When
he nodded his head she took that as a good sign. “It’s about ready. Would you
like some? My future sister-in-law made it, and she’s a wonderful cook.” She
made an effort to keep her voice steady, and friendly, so he couldn’t hear any
of the anxiety she was really feeling.

“Do you have a cellphone?” he asked her.

She nodded her reply.

It was getting harder to pretend she wasn’t nervous; so she
decided the less she said, the better off they all would be.

He held out the palm of his gun-free hand.

“It’s in my bag.” She motioned with her head toward the
kitchen table.

“Get it! Not just the phone, but the whole thing.” He instructed
her again, this time waving the pistol.

She walked back slowly and picked up the bag, handing it
over to him. The silence was broken when suddenly the cellphone’s ringtone blasted
out The Beatles tune ‘Hello Goodbye.’

Shane dug his hand into the bag and retrieved the ringing
phone. He looked at the screen. He hit the red
IGNORE
button and shoved
the phone into the pocket of his jeans.