Both of the men raised their gazes from the folders in front of them to stare at him. “But I don’t suppose you have any names. Or do you?”
Simon gave him the briefest of smiles. “Even if I did,” he said, “I doubt if they were the names that the members used at any other time.” He stood suddenly. “Gentlemen, if there’s nothing else,” he said, shooting his left wrist out of his suit jacket and checking the time, “I am due for a meeting.”
The two detectives looked at each other and slowly stood. “Please make yourself available for more questions.”
“When you have some questions,” he said, “you can ask them. Until then, let’s not waste either of our time.” He tilted his head in a regal incline and strolled to the doorway. He lifted a hand to the smoke mirror and knew that she’d seen him wave. Nobody tried to stop him as he exited the police station.
He stood outside and took some really deep breaths of air. That was one of the dirtiest little tasks he’d had to do in a very long time. And it wasn’t something he wanted to repeat. He’d had no intention of ever dredging up any of that in his life. But to think that his foster father was still out there, laughing at him, was just something Simon couldn’t bear right now. He wanted to go home, have a shower, and a stiff drink. Make that a half-dozen stiff drinks. Instead he strolled to the harbor and let the splash of the waves, the sound of the tugs, the sight of the sailboats and everything else that happened on the water soothe his soul.
He had a sailboat himself that he hadn’t taken out in a few weeks, and that was something he needed to change. He needed less work, more downtime. He needed to remember why he was where he was, how he got here, and how stupid it would be to not ever enjoy it because of a heart attack or some stupid thing down the road.
He wished he knew where his foster father was right now but had no clue.
“Hope you’re rotting in hell,” he muttered. He had tried as a young boy and again as an angry young man to track him down, but Josh hadn’t been easy to track. Hopefully somebody in his own ring had killed him. But Simon knew that the man was a slippery slimeball and had likely just set up at a new location somewhere else in the world, where he was likely abusing another dozen little boys. And, even as his heart went out to them, finding his foster father was just something that he couldn’t do, even though he’d tried so hard before. He wondered if it was time to try again.
He’d successfully forgotten all about his abusive foster father for decades. Would he even be alive now? Simon thought his foster father very old at his tender age of six. Adjusting for that, maybe his foster father was only in his late sixties, seventies? Regardless, still able to cause havoc for any number of children.
At that age, many of the older generation lost their filters and didn’t give a shit anymore, doing whatever they wanted, regardless of who they hurt. His foster father already didn’t have much of a filter, so Simon highly doubted that anything was left now but evil in the old man. If Simon could, he’d stop him from hurting others. Maybe he’d let the cops do the work for him and then wait.
If they tracked down his foster father, that was something else again. Simon thought about the vague ghostly faces that he’d seen as a child. Other men, the occasional woman’s laughter. That had always taunted him because any woman who knew what was going on couldn’t have been much of a mother figure. How could anybody allow something like that to happen to a child?
But then some women had no maternal qualities, allowing their children to be abused, or even putting their own children up for sale for sexual purposes for others. Just a sad part of the world out there. Then there were ghostly children’s faces. But none clear enough to identity or to even understand what role they played in his history.
Weighed down heavily with a sense of disturbance and trauma, he walked slowly back to his place. As soon as he got inside his penthouse, even though it was only about ten or ten-thirty in the morning, he stripped off and walked into the shower. He might be clean on the outside but cleansing the stain in his soul? That would take a lifetime. Maybe even longer.
*
Tuesday Midmorning
He kept lookingat the front door, expecting the police to come barging in. Yet, so far, they hadn’t even knocked. He knew that his quick call about the stolen vehicle had been a brilliant idea, and he knew they would still come to his door and check up on him. That he was more or less prepared for. He was stressed and had spent some time cleaning up as much as he could.
When the knock came on his door, he froze and swore inside his head. He knew exactly who it was. With a smile plastered on his face, he walked over and opened the door. He smiled at the officers in front of him. “What can I help you with, Officers?”
“You reported your vehicle stolen?”
He nodded. Then gave a gasp of surprise. “Don’t tell me. Did you find it?”
The cop nodded. “It was parked a couple blocks away,” he said.
“Oh my,” he said. “Can I get it back then?”
“Well, we need you to sign some paperwork on it and to check to see if there’s any damage.”
He stepped out on the front stoop, as if to look up and down the block. “Where is it?”
“It’s literally around the corner,” he said.
“Where? I wonder if they planned to return it and forgot where they got it.”
“Anything is possible,” the cop said, as if he didn’t really care. “We’ve seen all kinds of things happen for a lot less reason.”
“Well, I have my keys,” he said. “Give me a moment, and I’ll just grab my shoes and a jacket.” While they waited, he quickly tied his shoes, grabbed his jacket and his truck keys, and followed them down to where he’d left it parked. He looked at it, walked clear around, and said, “This is great. I’m so happy to have this back,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”
“I can send you the forms,” the officer said. “Then just sign and send them back. As long as you’re sure there’s no damage, we won’t have to involve insurance at all.”
“No, it looks fine. As long as it runs,” he said, with laughter. He waved at the officers, hopped into his truck, started it up, slowly pulled out and drove it back home again, where he parked it. That was one of the most brilliant ideas he’d had in a long time, and, so far, it looked like it worked. He knew the cops were still watching, as he pulled up into his parking spot. He hopped out, gave them a wave, and walked back inside, an obvious leap in his steps.
The fact that they were leaving was something to be joyous about. The fact that he had his wheels back was awesome. The fact that they didn’t know where he’d been and what he’d done was another huge plus. He’d been researching information on the little girl that they found. It just drove him crazy to think that he’d been so close but had failed.