“What are you talking about?”
“A different one entirely,” he said.
“Do you have an address for him?”
“Yeah, but its back down in this corner.”
“So, what the hell is he doing in his buddy Nico’s house in Richmond?” She stopped, turned, and looked back at the house. “I need a warrant to get in. No Richmond RCMP here yet either. I can’t get rid of the feeling something is going on here.”
“Hang on,” he said. “Let me make some calls.”
She stepped back to the open window, knowing that she needed an official warrant, unless she had justifiable cause. As far as she was concerned, having one pedophile in another pedophile’s house, while several kids were missing, was a good enough reason for her.
She pulled on a pair of latex gloves from her pocket. She always carried them. Then climbed through the window and stepped into the kitchen. The basement door was open; she made her way downstairs with the lights on and found just storage. It didn’t look to be anything other than that, until she came around the corner and saw another door. She walked over, and it was locked.
Kate swore and pushed her ear against the door. She couldn’t hear anything, but that wasn’t good enough for her. She’d learned a long time ago how to pick locks; she just wasn’t allowed to use that method. But, right now, she didn’t have a whole lot of choice. She pulled her tools out of her back pocket and quickly popped the lock. She pushed open the door and turned on the light. There in front of her, curled up in the bed, was a child. She raced over and checked, and the child was alive. It was a little girl. She called Rodney. “I’m inside. I found a child in the basement. Behind a locked door. She’s alive but comatose.”
“Jesus!” he said.
“Get me an ambulance and get your ass out here. I think this is the girl from the chat room.”
“Watch your back,” he said. “You only ran off one of the pedophiles. So where’s the second one?”
“Good point,” she said. “Get your ass here and fast.” She didn’t want to leave the child, so she got up and walked over to the door and locked it again. She took several photographs of the little girl’s face and sent it to Aaron and the IT Division, and then to the guys following up on sex trafficking rings. Something had to be here that she could use to get this little girl out of here.
As she turned, she stared at the closet; the small solemn room was all dolled up as a little child’s room, with a child’s bed, all kinds of toys, and a bookshelf off to the side. But in a corner of the room were cameras. She quickly grabbed pieces of clothing and put them over the cameras, in case somebody was watching her right now. Then she heard footsteps.
Swearing under her breath, she raced behind the door and waited. She didn’t know who the hell it was, but no way she would let anybody take this little girl again. Not on her watch.
*
Monday Evening
Simon couldn’t relax;he couldn’t seem to settle into doing anything. It was Monday evening, and all he could do was think about those kids. It was pissing him off. He hopped up, grabbed his wallet, and walked down the stairs this time, forgoing the elevators, hoping to burn through some of that ugly energy. He strolled out to the street. He needed to pick up something for dinner, simply too damn tired to do much. And he was frustrated, angry. A fish-and-chips shop was not too far from here, so he walked that way and ordered some, along with a beer, and sat down with it.
As long as he was within the boundary of the shop, he could have his beer, but he longed to get a walk around the block. As he sat here, he knew something was going on. He saw it—just vague disjointed visions. He felt it. And, damn it, he tasted it, and that made the fish and chips taste like shit. He looked down at it in disgust, knowing he needed it for sustenance, but he sure as hell didn’t want to eat the rest of this.
His fingers itched to contact the detective, just knowing that she’d found something. He could only hope that what she found was the right something. Finally he couldn’t help himself. He quickly sent her a text.Progress?
When there was no answer, he got pissed again. Of course he got no answer because she wasn’t allowed to tell him anything. But there had to be some progress. He sent her a second text.Follow up when you can.
Then he got up, tossed back the rest of his beer, dumped the last of the fish and chips he couldn’t eat, and headed home again. Instead of walking the normal route, he went via some old buildings he was rehabbing; then he walked back to where he had found the little girl’s body. Children were in every corner of this damn world, and it was distressing, bringing back so many ugly memories. Memories he had no intention of dealing with.
As he went to cross the street, a pickup truck bolted in front of him; it didn’t even have its lights on. He stepped back quickly to avoid getting run over and swore at him. The guy had a fist out the window, with a finger straight up to the sky. Simon just glared at the small little truck as it tore off. Then he saw the license plate numbers, yet he shouldn’t have been able to read them. The truck was going by too fast, but the numbers were emblazoned in his head.
He frowned and didn’t know what to make of it. But he had no instinctive urge to send those to her, so he carried on. Soon his footsteps took him in the same direction as the truck had gone. That didn’t seem logical either, since no way he would catch up with a speeding vehicle; the asshole would be miles away by now. Except, as he came around the corner, he saw the same truck, parked off to the side.
He frowned at that, but he approached slowly, not sure what he was looking for. He walked past, and the driver was sitting in the truck with his head back, deep breathing, as if trying to calm down. Simon pounded on the window and heard a shriek from the inside, as the guy woke from whatever meditative nap he was trying to take. He rolled his window down and screamed, “Asshole, you fucking asshole!”
But a tremble was in his voice, as if he were terrified. He had had a rough life too, proven by the little bit of his aging face Simon could see. He looked to be in his fifties easily. Whatever his age, he was scared. Catching that note, Simon looked at him and snapped, “You are the one who flipped me off, after nearly killing me on the road.”
But the other guy just started up the truck, shaking his head. Wordlessly he pulled away at a much more sedate pace.
“What was that all about?” Simon wondered aloud. Was the jerk just out here, trying to recover from some shock of his own? And recover from what? But, in this location, it could be anything. It was a pretty ugly side of town. As Simon watched the blue truck head up the street, it took a right, heading toward the area where Simon had found the little dead girl. Suspicious, Simon quickly took several shortcuts through the back alleyways and came out on the same corner, about a block or two down from where the little girl had been.
As he stood here and watched, the same blue truck came around the corner, slowed, and then picked up speed again. Simon pulled out his phone and texted the license plate to the detective. She didn’t answer, but then what did he expect? He pocketed his phone and, this time, headed home for good.
Chapter 21