The Innocent

Chapter Two

Thursday

Abby sat in the sheriff’s office the next day, waiting for him to arrive. She was bone-deep weary from a nearly sleepless seventy-two hours, and frustrated and heartsick over two investigations that appeared to be going nowhere. No trace of either child had turned up despite a full-scale search, and no evidence had been found at either crime scene. Dozens of leads were being pursued, but so far, nothing concrete had turned up.

Both cases were now being treated as abductions, and the local authorities had requested assistance from the FBI. An agent from the resident agency in Oxford had arrived late yesterday afternoon, just hours after Sara Beth Brodie had been reported missing, and another agent was due to arrive later today from the field office in Jackson.

A task force had been assembled, headed by the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department and supported by the FBI and the Mississippi Highway Patrol Crime Investigation Bureau.

Abby had been assigned to the Brodie case, although she’d asked to be put on the Campbell case. Naomi had been right yesterday when she’d said that Emily’s disappearance on the anniversary of Sadie’s abduction was the first break they’d had in ten years. Sadie’s case file had already been pulled and the information fed into the computer for analysis and comparisons.

But it was Abby’s own theory that had gotten her removed from the Campbell case. She didn’t believe, as almost everyone else seemed to, that they were dealing with only one suspect in the two recent abductions. Although ten years apart, the similarities between Sadie and Emily’s disappearances were striking, but Sara Beth Brodie’s abduction broke the pattern.

“You may be on to something,” Sheriff Mooney had told her. “I want you to pursue the Brodie case from that angle, but you’ll have to coordinate your investigation with the task force. And it goes without saying that all information will be shared.”

The glass door of the office opened, and Sheriff Mooney walked in. When he saw Abby, he nodded. “Good, you’re already here. That’ll save us some time.”

He was followed into the office by a man Abby had never seen before. The stranger was tall, dark, but far more dangerous-looking than handsome. In spite of the August heat, which could be brutal in Mississippi, he wore a navy suit, starched white shirt, and conservative tie. Abby immediately pegged him for the fed from Jackson they’d been expecting.

Even apart from his attire, he had the look of an FBI agent. His posture was ramrod straight, his demeanor tense, his senses on full alert. He was probably in his early forties, with dark hair and a deeply lined face that bespoke too many years of long hours, bad cases, and maybe just plain bad luck.

When he trained his gray eyes on Abby, a slight chill rippled through her. In her five years in law enforcement, she’d never encountered a colder gaze.

Sheriff Mooney lumbered around his desk and sat down heavily in a leather chair that squealed ominously beneath his bulk. “Abby, I’d like you to meet Special Agent Sam Burke. Abby—Sergeant Cross—is a detective in our Criminal Investigations Division.”

Abby rose and extended her hand. “Special Agent Burke.”

The man nodded in her direction, but barely took the time to shake her hand before turning back to the sheriff. But in that moment when their eyes met, in that second when his hand touched hers, the chill inside Abby deepened. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her, about the way she reacted to the feel of his hand against hers.

Special Agent Sam Burke was a very dangerous man, Abby thought. In more ways than one.

“Have a seat.” Sheriff Mooney leaned back in his own chair to observe Burke with unveiled curiosity. “We weren’t expecting you until late this evening.”

“I caught an early flight,” the agent explained, waiting for Abby to sit before he lowered himself into the chair across from Sheriff Mooney’s desk. But even seated, he didn’t relax. Every muscle in his body appeared coiled and taut.

Sheriff Mooney frowned. “You flew up from Jackson?”

“I flew in to Memphis from Washington, then rented a car and drove down.”

“Washington?” Both Sheriff Mooney and Abby stared at Agent Burke in surprise. “We were expecting someone from the Jackson office. Didn’t realize FBI Headquarters paid that much attention to the goings-on down here in our fair state.”

“Didn’t you?” Sam Burke’s gaze never wavered from the sheriff’s face. “I seem to recall the Bureau was pretty active down here back in the sixties.”

A little dig, Abby thought, to put them in their place.

It was apparent from his attitude that Special Agent Burke considered them a bunch of incompetent hicks. Abby doubted that even her degrees in psychology and criminology from Ole Miss would convince him otherwise. Her dander was thoroughly ruffled by the man’s demeanor, but Sheriff Mooney seemed to take it all in stride. But then, he would. It wasn’t his style to worry about the opinion of some self-inflated federal agent.

If you only went by appearances, it would be easy to underestimate Fred Mooney. He was on the back side of fifty, seventy pounds overweight, and his uniform generally consisted of a faded golf shirt—he had them in every color—that stretched tightly over his gut and didn’t always quite meet the low-riding waistband of his trousers. His hair was always rumpled, as if he constantly ran his fingers through it, and his passion—aside from fishing—was his grandchildren, which he talked about incessantly. He had dozens of their pictures displayed on the wall behind his desk, along with an autographed photo of Elvis Presley and a recent snapshot taken with Senator Trent Lott.

The office, like the man who occupied it, was a bit of a mess, and Abby could only imagine the impression both made on Special Agent Burke. But Abby had never met a law-enforcement officer she respected or admired more than Fred Mooney. He knew how to handle the media, too, which had descended in droves since Sara Beth’s disappearance. Abby would match the sheriff’s savvy against anyone’s, including one arrogant FBI agent she could name.

“Wherever you’re from, we’re glad to have you.” Sheriff Mooney clasped his hands over his middle. “We can sure use the help. We’ve got two missing kids, and I don’t mind telling you, we don’t have any solid leads. One of the little girls has been gone for nearly seventy-two hours, the other almost twenty-four hours. Time is working against us here.”

He was right, Abby thought grimly. Time was the enemy in abductions.

“They’re both five years old, white, no distinguishing marks or disfigurements,” he continued. “They were in the same kindergarten class at Fairhaven Academy, a private school on the north side of town. We think the school is the connection.”

“It’s a natural assumption,” Agent Burke agreed with a curt nod. “But assumptions can be a dangerous thing. What about witnesses?”

“None so far, although we keep going back, interviewing anyone we can think of who might have been in the area at the time. We’re also running a background check on all school personnel, including the director, Lois Sheridan, and the girls’ teacher, Vickie Wilder. Lois Sheridan was the director ten years ago when the first abduction took place.”

“First abduction?”

Again Abby and Sheriff Mooney regarded the agent in surprise. “You don’t know about the first one? We sent a fairly lengthy fax to the Jackson office. They didn’t brief you?” the sheriff asked.

“I haven’t had a chance to do more than glance at the report,” Agent Burke said tersely. “Why don’t you two bring me up to speed? Later, I’ll want to have a look at the case files. All three, if the first abduction seems pertinent.”

“Oh, I’d say it’s pertinent, all right.” Sheriff Mooney shot Abby a glance. “Emily Campbell disappeared from the playground at Fairhaven Academy ten years to the day that Sadie Cross was abducted.”

“What about the third child? Sara Beth Brodie.” Abby had been watching the agent’s face closely, and she thought she detected a tightening of his features, a darkening in his eyes when he mentioned Sara Beth. But perhaps that was just her imagination. The man was already about as tense as he could get and had been since the moment he walked through the door. Abby had a feeling the austerity was normal for him.

“Abby?” She almost jumped when Sheriff Mooney said her name. She’d let her mind drift from the conversation, and now she realized they were waiting for her to speak, but she had no idea what the question had been.

Great, she thought dryly. Nothing like first impressions.

Her gaze met Sam Burke’s, and she thought she could discern a flicker of disdain in those icy gray depths.

“Why don’t you tell Agent Burke your theory?” Sheriff Mooney prompted.

“Shouldn’t Lieutenant Conyers be in on this meeting?” she asked, referring to the lead detective on the Emily Campbell case.

“Should be, but he’s not.” Sheriff Mooney glanced at his watch and scowled. Dave Conyers wasn’t known around the department for his promptness, nor for his consideration of others. If he’d missed a meeting called by the sheriff, it could be that he was following a hot lead. Or it could be he’d decided to stop off and have a cold beer. You never knew with Dave. “We don’t have time to wait for him,” the sheriff grumbled. “Go ahead and give Special Agent Burke your thoughts on both cases.”

Abby’s gaze moved reluctantly back to the agent. “I agree the school seems to be the obvious connection, but I’m not convinced the same suspect perpetrated all three crimes.”

Sam Burke lifted a dark brow. “Why not?”

“Partly it’s just a gut feeling,” Abby admitted, bracing herself for the agent’s condescension. “I agree with Sheriff Mooney that the disappearances are connected—maybe by the school, maybe in some other way—but that doesn’t mean we’re looking for only one suspect.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. Agent Burke’s gaze, so intense, was a little unnerving. “Emily Campbell was taken from the playground at Fairhaven on the tenth anniversary of Sadie’s disappearance. That can’t be a coincidence. Same school, same playground, almost the same time of day. The physical characteristics of the girls are also similar. Dark hair, brown eyes.”

Agent Burke was watching her with unwavering regard. Amazing, Abby thought. She finally had his attention. “Two days after Emily goes missing, Sara Beth Brodie disappears from a small drugstore a few blocks from the school. Not from the playground. The pattern is broken.”

“Let me play devil’s advocate for a minute,” Burke said. “After Emily Campbell was grabbed, security undoubtedly tightened at the school. The UNSUB—”

“UNSUB?” Sheriff Mooney said.

“Unidentified subject,” Burke clarified.

Mooney gave a shrug. “We just call ’em suspects down here.”

“All right, the suspect then. The point is, he could have hung around somewhere down the street until school was dismissed and then followed Sara Beth. He didn’t snatch her from the playground because he couldn’t. He was forced to change his M.O. His modus operandi.”

“I know what M.O. means,” Mooney snapped, momentarily losing his cool.

Abby decided she’d better jump back into the fray. “Sara Beth doesn’t share the same physical characteristics as the other two victims. She’s very petite, with curly blond hair and blue eyes.”

“What about a custody grab?” Burke asked.

Abby nodded. “It’s possible. The parents are legally separated, apparently headed for divorce court. There’s been some haggling between the lawyers about visitation.”

“You’ve interviewed both the mother and the father?” A slight emphasis on father.

“Of course,” Abby said with a frown. “Both seemed genuinely devastated by the news, but as we all know, emotions can be faked.”

“Yes,” Burke said. “That’s all too true, I’m afraid.” Again his gaze met Abby’s. She suppressed a sudden desire to avert her eyes, as if he could somehow see inside her. All the way to her soul, maybe.

“Two children missing within two days of each other,” he mused. “Another one disappeared ten years ago. All five years old. All went to the same school. Those are more than just vague similarities.”

“I realize that,” Abby said. “I’m just saying we can’t afford to overlook the possibility that Sara Beth’s disappearance could be a copy-cat abduction, maybe a parental abduction, maybe…something else.”

Again that flicker in Sam Burke’s eyes, a cold darkness that sent another shiver through Abby.

“What time did Sara Beth go missing?”

“Somewhere around 3:30,” Sheriff Mooney said. “Her father’s secretary picked her up from school at 3:15 or so, and they drove straight to the drugstore, which is less than five minutes away. The secretary, Luanne Plimpton, says that she and Sara Beth couldn’t have been in the store more than five minutes when she noticed the child was gone. She and the pharmacist, Gerald Ferguson, searched all over the store. It didn’t take long. It’s a small, privately owned pharmacy. No surveillance cameras or anything like that. The call to dispatch came in at 3:41. An officer was on the scene and had the area secured within ten, fifteen minutes, but what with the initial search, the place was pretty well contaminated.”

Sam glanced at his watch. “It’s just after three now. I need someone to show me where this drugstore is located. I want to be there, watching, when 3:30 rolls around.”

Meaning that whatever routine events had occurred in the area at the time of Sara Beth’s disappearance would likely occur again today at 3:30. Courier deliveries. People getting off work. Kids walking home from school. Potential witnesses that wouldn’t yet have been interviewed.

“I’ve got a couple of deputies already in place,” the sheriff told him. “But another pair of eyes and ears is always welcome. The Brodie case is Abby’s. She can ride along with you and fill you in on whatever details you’re missing.”

Abby had figured that was coming, but she wished she’d been a little quicker on her feet. Wished she’d suddenly had some critical errand that couldn’t wait.

Sam Burke stood. “Let’s get moving then.”

“I’m right behind you,” she said.

But at the door, he paused for her to pass through ahead of him. Abby wasn’t certain whether he’d done it out of common courtesy or to call attention to her gender, so she didn’t know whether to be appreciative or irritated.

She settled on annoyed, an emotion she suspected Special Agent Sam Burke generated fairly often.

SAM PARKED his rental car at the curb near Ferguson’s Drugstore where he and Sergeant Cross would have an unobstructed view of intersecting streets. A sheriff’s department cruiser was parked several feet in front of them and another a block and a half away. To their right lay the cordoned-off parking lot where dozens of tire tracks would have been marked, measured and photographed.

Across the pavement, the closed pharmacy looked abandoned, with its darkened windows and crime-scene tape crossed over the glass entrance.

For a moment, Sam closed his eyes, imagining the scenario as it might have unfolded. He could almost see Sara Beth’s abductor carrying her from the store. Putting her in a car and driving off with her, taking her away from her friends and family. Away from her mother.

Or maybe she’d been taken by someone local, someone who lived in one of the houses across the street. Some lonely, pathetic soul who had once lost a child. Who had seen Sara Beth and simply wanted her. What if the child was still nearby, so close Sam could almost reach out and touch her?

He gazed at the street, at the white, two-story houses with their darkened windows, and a dark dread bloomed inside him. It was possible that Sara Beth was close by, scared and miserable, but safe. Unharmed.

It was possible, but not very likely. Through twenty years in the FBI, Sam had seen how too many of these cases ended.

But not this one. Please, God, not this one.

Beside him, Sergeant Cross stirred in her seat. He gave her a brief glance. She was just a kid. Probably no more than twenty-seven, twenty-eight. Too wet behind the ears to know how to deal with a case like this. How much crime could there be in a place called Eden?

Enough, he guessed. Three little girls had gone missing.

He turned off the engine and rolled down his window. A wave of humidity flooded the car. “You ever worked a case like this?” he asked abruptly.

“An abduction, you mean?” She turned to face him, scowling slightly. “No. But I know what to do. We all do. Everyone in my department has followed protocol.”

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.” She was certainly prickly, Sam thought. It had been his experience that women in law enforcement could be just as territorial as their male counterparts. Sometimes more so. Sergeant Cross appeared to be no exception.

“Sorry.” She offered him an apologetic shrug. “I guess we’re all a little on edge around here.”

She hadn’t seen anything yet. “So tell me more about that gut feeling of yours.”

She gave him a surprised look, but didn’t say anything for a moment, as if she wasn’t quite certain of the sincerity of his question.

“What makes you think we’re looking for more than one UNSUB in these abductions?” he pressed.

“Like I said, it’s partly a gut instinct. Sara Beth’s disappearance just doesn’t feel right to me. And then there are the similarities between the other two girls—Sadie and Emily—which are so striking.” Sergeant Cross sat up straighter in her seat, as if she could make herself sound more convincing by doing so. “A few days before Emily Campbell was taken from the playground, a local TV station did a feature on Sadie’s abduction. My sister was interviewed—”

“Your sister?”

“Sadie Cross was my niece.”

Sam glanced at her, wondering if he should comment. Crimes against children were never easy to deal with, but when they hit close to home, it could be devastating because law-enforcement personnel knew better than anyone the brutal realities.

Oh, yes, Sam thought grimly. He knew about loss. He knew about reality. “Go on,” he said, in a voice that sounded brusque even to him.

“The show spent several minutes on Sadie’s story and even did a reenactment of the abduction. Some of the children who were with Sadie on the playground that day were also interviewed. They’re all fifteen years old now.” She paused, taking a breath. “That program could have been a trigger for Emily’s abductor.”

Sam glanced at her in surprise. He hadn’t expected her insight. His experiences with local law enforcement hadn’t always left him with a favorable impression.

“Think about it,” she said. “Some sicko, a child predator, say, saw the show and decided to act it out for himself. He stakes out the playground where Sadie was taken, and when he sees Emily, who looks like Sadie, he grabs her.” She shrugged. “It may sound far-fetched, but it is possible.”

“Anything is possible,” he agreed.

She paused for a moment, “But considering the timing—the anniversary of the first abduction—it seems more plausible that the same person kidnapped both Emily and Sadie. The suspect—the UNSUB,” she amended, using his lingo for an unidentified subject, “could have been in prison these past ten years for another crime, maybe even another abduction. He gets out, sees the show, and that’s all it takes to make him go on the hunt again.”

“And Sara Beth Brodie?”

Sergeant Cross frowned. “She doesn’t fit the pattern. Her abduction occurred two days after Emily’s and in a different location. And she doesn’t look like the other two girls.”

“Are you saying you think Emily’s disappearance was a stressor for Sara Beth’s abductor?” She had him intrigued, Sam had to admit. She had some things wrong, of course, but it was obvious she’d done her homework. He’d be willing to bet money that Sergeant Cross’s bookshelves were filled with non-fiction works written by some of the legendary profilers who’d come out of the famous Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico, Sam’s old stomping ground.

“I think stressor is the wrong terminology,” she said. “It implies someone with a compulsion. I think Emily’s disappearance gave Sara Beth’s abductor the idea.”

“Which could bring us back to a parental abduction.”

“Not necessarily. In fact, a ransom demand could still be made. Sara Beth’s father owns a car dealership here in town, as well as several small businesses around the county. By Eden standards, he’s pretty well off. And her mother is the manager of the Eden National Bank.”

“You’ve tapped their phones, both home and work?”

“Of course,” Abby said. “Tess Campbell’s phone is tapped as well, but she doesn’t have access to the kind of money the Brodies do. She has her own business, a cleaning service, but she’s hardly well-to-do. She’s a single mother, just like my sister was.”

“But I get the impression Fairhaven is a pretty exclusive school.”

“It is. And that’s another similarity between Emily and Sadie. They didn’t really fit in at Fairhaven. There’s usually a waiting list at the school, but in both Sadie and Emily’s cases, enrollment was down in the years in which they applied. Otherwise, I doubt either of them would have been accepted.”

Sam paused, thinking. “I’d like to talk to the staff, especially their teacher.”

“Her name is Vickie Wilder. She’s been very cooperative, even volunteered to take a polygraph when we interviewed her after Emily’s disappearance.”

“Was one administered?”

“No. She’s never been considered a real suspect.”

“Even though she has a connection to both Emily and Sara Beth?”

“A lot of people do,” Abby said. “This is a small town, Agent Burke. Everyone knows everyone else.”

For a split second, their gazes locked and an understanding, a terrible suspicion, passed between them. Everyone knows everyone else. Including the kidnapper?

Sam turned to gaze at the street, but he was very aware of the woman sitting next to him. Of the way her shoulder-length dark hair gleamed in the sunlight. Of the way her lashes shaded her soft, brown eyes. She was a good-looking woman, no doubt about it. Not too thin. Not too tall. Not beautiful exactly, but she possessed a quality that was hard to define.

She didn’t look a thing like Norah, and that, Sam decided, was definitely Sergeant Cross’s best feature.

“Let’s hit the street,” he said abruptly.

She glanced at him in surprise. “You saw something?”

“No. But I’d like to do a door-to-door.”

She started to say something, then stopped. Sam knew what was on her mind. The sheriff’s office would have already conducted a door-to-door immediately after the child was reported missing. They would have gone back for a deeper canvass once it became apparent Sara Beth hadn’t simply wandered off.

But another round of questions with a fresh set of eyes and ears never hurt, and Sergeant Cross was smart enough to realize that. She got out of the car and walked over to the cruiser, saying something to the driver before she came back over to Sam.

Heat shimmered off the pavement beneath their feet, and Sam could feel perspiration rivering down his back. His gaze moved irrevocably to the front of Sergeant Cross’s cotton T-shirt, where the damp fabric clung to her curves in a way he couldn’t help admiring. He was only human, although he had colleagues, past and present, who might take issue with that. Certainly Norah would.

Sergeant Cross lifted her hand to shade her eyes, and the subtle movement accentuated her body’s contours. The pale yellow fabric of her shirt hugged her tightly, and something inside Sam tightened. He’d gone too long without a woman’s company, and now suddenly, at the worst possible time, lust was beating him over the head with a vengeance.

He tore his attention from the front of Sergeant Cross’s T-shirt and scanned their surroundings.

“You want to do this together, or should we split up?” she asked.

Split up, was Sam’s first instinct. They could cover more ground that way. But he heard himself answering almost gruffly, “Maybe we’d better stick together since you know the area better than I do.”

“It’s your party.” She slipped on a pair of dark glasses and started toward the street.

Sam’s gaze dropped to her backside in spite of himself. Unfortunately for him, Sergeant Cross looked as good going as she did coming.