Whirlwind (14 page)

28

Duncanville, Texas

J
enna Cooper pressed the baby’s romper to her cheek and wept.

She ran her fingers tenderly over the soft cotton fabric, studying the blue-and-white stripes before she drew it back to her face and breathed in her baby’s sweet smell.

“This belongs to my son. This is Caleb’s.”

A circle of solemn faces watched her in silence.

Jenna had been shaking since Holly’s phone rang forty-five minutes ago with a call from some official who was helping find people missing in the storm. Jenna and Blake were staying with Holly and Garrett at the Embassy Suites nearest the flea market. Jenna first thought that the call was from Holly’s family in Atlanta but then Holly said, “No, Jenna’s cell phone was lost in the storm. She has a new number and left mine for— Yes, I’m her sister and I’m with her.”

Holly listened then put her hand over the phone and told Jenna, “They found something that might belong to Caleb at a shelter and they need you there to identify it.”

Garrett must’ve set a record getting them to Duncanville, using the GPS and with Blake directing him. As their rental SUV roared across the city, Jenna held Holly’s hand. In the wake of what they’d experienced in the high school gym the previous night, Jenna struggled not to get her hopes up and prayed to heaven for good news.

Now she was standing here in the shelter, grappling with the fact that Caleb may have been here in this spot where she was holding the last thing he’d worn before she lost him. Her mind swirled with questions.

“Where is he? Is he hurt?”

“Jenna?” a man in the circle said.

“How come no one held him for me?” she continued. “Where is he?”

“Jenna, I’m Frank Rivera with the Missing Person Emergency Search System. We’re helping police find people who’re missing or displaced because of the storm.”

Numb, Jenna stared at Rivera as he nodded to two uniformed police officers.

“This is Officer Soria and Officer Burns with the Duncanville Police Department. Dr. Charlene Butler is with the medical unit here at the shelter and I believe you know Kate Page with Newslead?”

Jenna offered Kate a weak smile.

For the next several moments, Rivera gave Jenna and Blake a summary of what had transpired at the shelter—how a couple brought in a baby, how Dr. Butler examined him before the couple left, and how the case led to the discovery of the romper.

“It was Kate who alerted us to the romper,” Rivera said.

Jenna gave Kate a quick look of appreciation.

“Now, we’re just starting to sort things out.” Officer Soria had his notebook open. “Jenna, maybe you can tell us how you’re certain that this is your son’s item of clothing?”

“The color, the style, the elephant crest is lifting a bit on the right,” she said through tears. “And the bottom snap is loose. I told that lady, Belle, at the flea market—she put it all in the computer file when I reported him missing.”

Rivera nodded to the officers. “It’s all there, detail for detail,” he said. “And I believe it was submitted to the Dallas PD and State database for entry into NCIC.”

“What’s that?” Blake asked.

“It’s the FBI’s National Crime Information Center,” Rivera said. “It’s a national database. Given Caleb’s age and the fact he disappeared after a catastrophe, his case is listed as a Missing Person file in the system.”

“Like the thousands of other new ones in the aftermath of the storm,” Officer Soria said. “We’ve alerted the FBI’s Dallas Division. They’ve got people on their way here, but I’m sorry, things have been a little overwhelming for them and everyone.”

“Overwhelming for
them?
” Blake said. “Do you have any idea of what we’ve been through?”

“I understand,” Soria said. “Nothing was meant by that, sir. It’s just that resources are being stretched to the limit right now—that’s something everyone’s got to appreciate.”

“We’re talking about our son!” Blake shouted.

“Blake, Blake.” Garrett stepped in. “Let’s just take a breath. The good thing is we found a sign that Caleb’s alive and people are working on it.”

“What I can’t understand...” Jenna started shaking her head slowly. “What I cannot accept, is that from what you just told us—” she nodded to Frank “—Caleb was here with strangers and no one did anything about it. They just let them come into the medical unit and leave with our baby. Like it was nothing.”

Dr. Butler swallowed hard then glanced at the officers indicating maybe Kate should leave, but Jenna caught that.

“No, I want Kate to stay,” Jenna said. “I want her to hear how and why this happened.”

Butler cleared her throat. “The couple was from out of state and came to our unit requesting attention for their baby,” she said. “A male they listed as being three months old.”

“Was he hurt?”

“No, he had a minor abrasion on his head, here.” She touched her forehead. “No sign of a concussion. He was in good health.”

Tears rolled down Jenna’s face. “Did you check for a birthmark on his calf?”

“I saw the mark, yes.”

“You had my son! You had my son in your care and you let those people get away with him! Those people who pretended to be helping me while all the while they wanted my baby! They’re evil and you let them walk right out of here! I don’t understand how you could do that!” Jenna clenched her hands into fists, raised both arms to strike Butler when Blake, Garrett, Rivera and the officers stopped her.

“I’m so sorry,” Butler said. “We’ve been going 24/7 here since the storm. There were no telltale signs about that couple. The woman had short dark hair, not red. We’re not police—we’re medical staff. We didn’t really know until this reporter came to us and questioned us. If it hadn’t been for her, no one would’ve known anything. I’m so terribly sorry.”

Jenna said nothing.

She stared at Butler until she didn’t see her anymore. She sobbed and crumpled into Blake’s chest before Rivera took them to a private corner in the Missing Persons station at the shelter. From there, as they waited for the FBI to arrive, Jenna watched the activity across the floor at the donation table.

The Duncanville police officers were unrolling yellow plastic tape, sealing the area where Caleb’s romper had been found.

29

Duncanville, Texas

“L
et’s go over everything one more time.”

FBI Agent Nicole Quinn reread the files from NCIC, the Duncanville PD and the Missing Person Search System on Caleb Cooper’s case.

Grogan was at the wheel as they rolled from the FBI’s Dallas Division on Justice Way, southbound to the shelter in Duncanville.

Both agents were focused on their assignment, but it was a challenge. The bureau had lost people in the tornadoes. Grogan and Quinn had lost friends and some FBI staff had their homes destroyed. The bureau’s resources were stretched. But despite the storm, the FBI’s work had to continue. Reinforcement agents were coming in from the division’s jurisdictional territory and surrounding states.

“What do you think, Phil?” Quinn asked when she’d finished reading.

Grogan, who’d worked in the fugitive and violent crimes programs, was analyzing matters.

“The fact that evidence shows up over twenty miles from where the mother last saw the baby raises questions,” he said.

Quinn checked her phone for messages. She was also the division coordinator for the National Center for Analysis of Violent Crime and was trying to keep tabs on her other files.

“What’s your take on it, Nicole?”

“The mother’s initial encounter with the two strangers is a factor. The whole thing could’ve been a planned abduction.”

“Or an unusual set of circumstances and coincidences. I’ve seen it before—a case we swore was a homicide that turned out to be a suicide. Another one was a child abduction that turned out to be a runaway who got trapped in a discarded fridge.”

“We’re talking about a five-month-old baby, here, Phil. We’re duty-bound to exhaust all avenues of investigation.”

“I know. I’m just saying we have to keep an open mind. I mean our baby case happened just when we’re hit with force-five tornadoes, so anything’s possible.”

Upon arriving at the recreation center they held up their IDs to the Duncanville officers, who debriefed them at the sealed area next to the table of donations.

“We’re sorry about the baby’s clothing,” Officer Soria said. “A lot of people handled it, but we needed the mother to identify it. We’ve sealed the area and put it in a paper bag.”

“Can you give us a list of people who’ve handled it?” Quinn asked.

“Sure,” Soria said.

The investigators then went to the corner of the station for the Missing Person Emergency Search System. They made the appropriate cursory introductions. Frank Rivera then took them to Jenna Cooper, who was with her husband, sister and brother-in-law. Jenna was sitting on a chair, twisting a tissue in her fists. After the agents identified themselves, Grogan said, “Jenna, Blake, we’re going to do all we can to locate your baby.”

Jenna’s hair was messy. She looked at Grogan with reddened eyes. “Thank you.”

Grogan and Quinn then separated everyone and took initial statements from the key principals in the case: Jenna, Dr. Butler, other staff and volunteers at the shelter.

The agents asked a lot of questions. Some were obvious, others weren’t.

Why did Jenna think the stranger was infatuated with Caleb? Had she received any strange phone calls or emails prior to the event? Did she know anyone who’d recently lost a baby? Had she received a ransom call, or any hint of demand? Did Jenna ever notice seeing the strangers before the event at the flea market, say at a mall, or some other public venue? Did Jenna or Blake owe anyone any money? Did they have gambling or drug debts?

After assessing what was emerging, the FBI agents made calls to initiate an expedited procedure to secure warrants to seize key items, including any recorded images from the center’s security cameras.

Then Grogan requested the Dallas Division’s Evidence Response Team be dispatched to the shelter to process the romper, the medical form the couple had completed and other items for any trace evidence.

When they were alone, Grogan and Quinn compared notes.

“I think our strangers, the people who brought in the baby here to be examined, are our persons of interest,” Quinn said.

Grogan nodded and started making another call. “We’ll get a forensic artist down here to get descriptions from Jenna on the strangers she saw, and from Dr. Butler on the couple she saw. Then we’ll blast them out with details about the baby.”

* * *

The case had taken a dramatic twist. Of that there was no doubt, as far as Kate was concerned. Throughout much of the investigation she’d kept a respectful distance, watching and waiting patiently for a chance to get a few questions into the FBI agents.

Now, seeing Quinn and Grogan standing off in a quiet area, Kate decided to approach them.

“Excuse me, you’re both with the FBI?”

Poker-faced Quinn and Grogan acknowledged her.

“I’m Kate Page, a reporter with Newslead. I’ve covered this story since the beginning. Have you got time for a few questions?”

“Not really,” Grogan said.

“I’ll make it fast.”

“You really should go through our press office,” Quinn said. “The number’s online.”

“Please don’t brush me off. I’m the reason you’re here. I know how these things go. Sooner or later you’re going to need the press for a public appeal, so how about a little courtesy so we can help each other?”

Quinn and Grogan exchanged a quick glance, didn’t move or change their expressions, their way of inviting Kate to continue.

“After talking to people how would you characterize the case?” Kate asked.

Grogan dragged his fingers over his mouth. “The circumstances in this case are disturbing. We’re uncertain what happened, but we’re not ruling anything out.”

Kate nodded and wrote his comments in her notebook.

“What do you think happened?”

“I’m not going to speculate.”

“Do you have any suspects?”

“We’re not going to comment further.”

Kate didn’t push it, except to get the spelling of Grogan’s name.

“You’re with Newslead—that’s the wire service?” he asked, exchanging business cards with Kate.

“Yes. Our stories go everywhere—in print, radio, TV and online.”

“If you hold tight, say for a couple of hours, we may have something for you to go with your story,” he said.

“Like what, so I can tell my desk?”

“Sketches of the people we may be looking for.”

30

Lufkin, Texas

T
he ramshackle bungalow sat well back in the shade of the wooded lot on a dead-end street behind a wall of shrubbery that had run wild.

An eviscerated Ford Mustang, hood raised as if it had gasped its last breath, rested on cinder blocks on the side of the earthen driveway.

No sign of any other vehicles, Gromov thought, removing his sunglasses as he and Yanna stepped from the blue Chevy sedan he’d rented at the airport.

It was a long flight from New York to Houston followed by a two-hour drive north on 59, with the air conditioner blasting. With the exception of a stop in Huntsville for a lunch of cheeseburgers and French fries, which Gromov enjoyed, they went straight to the address he had for Remy Toxton.

The neighborhood was tranquil save for birdsong and the barking of a distant dog. Loose boards on the front porch creaked when they stepped on it. Gromov pulled open the screen, knocked hard on the solid wooden door and waited.

Ten seconds, fifteen. Nothing.

He knocked again and pressed his ear to the door. Not a sound of life inside. Several envelopes stuck out of the mailbox. Gromov shuffled through them, taking what appeared to be bills addressed to Remy Toxton.

“I don’t think you should do that,” Yanna said.

Gromov stared at her, ignoring her protest, sliding the mail into his pocket, returning the flyers.

“Let’s try the back,” he said.

An old Coke machine stood guard by the rear door.

Gromov knocked, then scanned the backyard. A rusted steel drum for burning trash and a forgotten pile of rotting scrap lumber conveyed a sense of defeat.

“No one’s home. Let’s go next door,” he said.

On the adjacent property they found a large two-story home. The yard was bordered by an ornate metal fence. The lush lawn was well kept. The flower beds were a riot of color. Gromov pushed open the unlocked gate and they entered, taking the brick walk to the front door.

No one answered the bell.

They heard the clang of metal on stone and went around to the side, where a man in his sixties was on his knees tending a rosebush. He saw their shadows and turned.

“Can I help you?” He stood, brushing dirt from his knees.

“I’m looking for Remy Toxton, the woman who lives next door. No one seems to be home. Do you know where we could find her, or her partner?”

“Ah, no, not really. My wife may know. She’s in the backyard. Martha! Where are you folks from?”

“Canada.”

“Canada? You don’t sound Canadian.”

“I grew up in Europe.”

“Ah.”

A woman wearing a large sun hat and holding a rake appeared from the back.

“Martha, these nice folks come all the way from Canada. They’re looking for our neighbors to the left, who rent the old Madison place.”

“Oh, the pregnant girl and her beau,” Martha said.

“She’s still pregnant?” Gromov asked.

“Oh, I expect not. She was pretty far along a few weeks ago. Then they just left. Maybe they went to see family with the baby?”

“Yes,” the man added, “the boy’s truck’s been gone for a long time.”

“I understand her boyfriend is a carpenter?”

“That’s right,” the man said. “Sometimes I saw a company truck in their driveway, Triple E Carpenters, I think, down past the Walmart. You could ask them there. They might be able to help you.”

* * *

Triple E operated in a light industrial section of Lufkin out of a prefabricated metal building with a corrugated roof. The rear resembled a lumberyard with various types of wood cut in a range of lengths and stored in neat stacks. Employee vehicles were parked at the side of the building.

The reception office, where a couple of people were working at cluttered desks, smelled of fresh-cut wood. The sound of power saws and ringing phones filled the air. Construction supply posters and tool dealer calendars dominated the walls along with a job board with employee names.

Gromov subtly indicated to Yanna to copy down the names. Tightening her jaw in anger, she sat in a vinyl chair in the reception area, snatched up an outdated magazine. She pretended to be interested in the crossword puzzle as she secretly copied names from the board onto a subscription card.

Gromov went to the counter.

“How can we help you folks today?” the man with the name Bobby embroidered on his shirt asked.

“I’d like to speak with Mason Varno.”

“Mace? Afraid he’s not here. He’s off for a few weeks.”

“Didn’t his wife have that baby?” One of the men at a desk spoke up, having overheard.

“I don’t know. I think she was due,” Bobby said. “That must be it. I was away myself last few weeks.”

“Is there any way I can reach him?”

Bobby shrugged. “You try his cell phone?”

“I don’t have the number.”

Bobby stepped back and looked under the counter.

“Why don’t you give me yours, I’ll see if I can reach him and have him call you, if you like. Can you tell me what it’s about?”

Gromov took one of Triple E’s business cards and jotted down the number of one of the disposable cell phones he was using.

“Just some business I needed to discuss with him.”

“Well, is it about a job?” Bobby tapped the card in his palm. “Were you not happy with it, because while he’s away we can follow up.”

“No, nothing about a job.”

“Is it a church matter, because our guy with the fellowship is out right now.”

“No, thank you. I’d rather not say. It’s on the personal side. I don’t mean to make so much trouble.”

“No, no trouble. Okay, I’ll see if I can reach him for you. Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Victor Kashin.”

“Alrighty. Say, where y’all from?”

“Europe. Just visiting on business.”

“Okay, sir, I’ll give Mace a call and pass him the message.”

When they returned to their car, Gromov gave Yanna a small video recorder and instructed her to inconspicuously capture all the license plates of the cars located under the Employee Parking sign. Gromov backed the blue Chevy sedan out and passed by slowly as if he were using that section of the lot to turn around.

No one noticed.

A short time later Gromov and Yanna were in a quiet booth of a restaurant.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger platter and Cherry Coke,” he told the waitress.

“A house salad and a Diet Coke will be fine,” Yanna said.

Waiting for their food, Gromov used his tablet to send a list of license plates and names to Yuri in New York.

“Yuri will help me to get closer to this Mason Varno.”

“Why don’t you try Remy’s relatives? You’re good at that.”

“Yuri tried. It appears she doesn’t have any.”

Their order arrived and Gromov had not yet taken his first bite of his cheeseburger when one of his cell phones rang.

“Mr. Kashin, Bobby Jensen at Triple E. You were looking for Mason?”

“Yes.”

“Bad news. I tried calling his cell phone but his voice mail box is jammed. I couldn’t leave a message. I’m sorry.”

Gromov thought a moment. “I understand. Thank you for trying. Do you have any suggestions on how I could reach him?”

“
Naw.
I asked around after you left, talked to a guy with the fellowship.” He lowered his voice. “They help guys who were on the inside get straight again. Well, I guess Mason and his girlfriend had complications when they had the baby and he’s taken some time off.”

“What sort of complications?”

“I really can’t say, I don’t know. I asked a couple of his friends—no one knows much. They were pretty private.”

Gromov thanked him, hung up, mulled over the call then explained it to Yanna for her thoughts on what “complications” could mean.

“It could mean anything. She could’ve lost it. Perhaps the baby was born with problems, or she simply had a difficult delivery.” Watching concern and heartbreak cloud his eyes, Yanna proposed another option. “If this Remy Toxton is part of this black market operation, she’s likely a surrogate mother.
Complications
could be a cover story. She could be having second thoughts about giving up her baby for adoption.”

Gromov’s face began contorting with fear and anger before he regained his self-control. He made a fist of one of his hands, touched it to the table and stared out at the street.

“We will find my grandchild. Wherever he is, we will find him.”