Page 34 of Facing the Enemy
The truth would seep through the fabric of their world soon enough. I hoped they had support from family and friends because they’d need it to handle the inevitable.
Gage wanted me to keep him informed, and the two conversations with Ethan Mercury warranted a call. I snatched my burner and pressed in his number, longing for the call to go to his voice mail. That way I wouldn’t have to talk to him in case he detected my whirlpool of emotions. But he answered.
“This is Risa. I’m using a different burner phone.”
“Normal precautions?”
“Always. Do you have a minute to talk?” When he assured me to go ahead, I told him about the two phone calls from Ethan Mercury regarding Carson’s disappearance.
“He sends you the story about Trenton, lies about his trip, then disappears?” Gage expelled a breath. “All three are indicators to his involvement. I’m not easily persuaded about someone’s guilt, but this kid has blood on his hands. It would take a lot for me not to charge him. I’ll run his plates, see if we can find his exact location.”
“With the holiday break, my days are free to chase him down.”
“Not without me.”
“I forgot this time of year depresses you, and here I am unloading my woes.”
“This is my job, remember?” Gage yawned.
“Late nights? I’m sure you have your hands full, by your own admission.”
“We’ve been busy,” Gage said.
“Is your and Jack’s case coming together?”
“Not by a long shot. You know the drill—following a million trails until something connects.”
Yes, I remembered all too well. The ticking clock, the river-rapid adrenaline, and the weighing of evidence. “I’ll let you go. Sounds like an early-to-bed night. Is this a work weekend?”
“For sure. I’ll get back to you about Carson.”
I could put in the request to trace Carson’s plates from SAC Dunkin, but this was the weekend, and he had family obligations. If I had to wait until Monday, I’d be ready for mega doses of muscle relaxers and antidepressants. And if I conducted the trace, my presence in the system would give me away.
I thanked Gage and bid him good night. I’d read on the secure FBI site more about the Addingtons’ baby abduction to get my mind off my own problems. Organized crime had covered their bases on this one.
Gage, Jack, and CARD were knee-deep in a potential nationalor international kidnapping ring. I read what they’d uncovered and questioned if the explosion at the Vietnamese restaurant, taking the lives of three people, mingled with the current case ... Of course it did. Why else would Gage and Jack include this in their investigation? The restaurant had to be connected, but how?
Curiosity, and a longing to help rid this world of those who committed crimes against children, led me to research deeper into the case.
Interviewing directors of maternity homes allowed the agents to speak to the directors and residents candidly about organized-crime rings who offered high dollars for babies.
Pulling together the interviews of the biological and adoptive parents for any discrepancies in their testimonies or body language—imperative.
I wanted to get back in the game, to doggedly pursue a case again. To laugh at my own fears of danger and challenge the subjects of investigations. But that was impossible until Trenton’s killer stared back at me behind bars.When, Lord? Will I ever understand?
19
GAGE
At midnight, I learned the Phan sisters, Suzi and Hai, had died in the restaurant fire. An empty gasoline can was found in the rubble and debris. Both women had bullet holes in their foreheads. Close range with a .22—execution style. The third death was a male waiter who died of smoke inhalation, the result of a locked door. HPD found no witnesses to the fire, and security cams in the area neglected to video an hour prior to the explosion and thirty minutes afterward.
Had the killers locked the kitchen door after igniting the explosion? Investigating the three deaths was a matter for HPD and the FBI task force. My concern focused on the coincidence of why two women were murdered, the women who were part of Jack’s and my investigation.
Jack and I labored over the fire and death reports until the early hours of the morning, drinking one pot of coffee after another until our guts burned.
I stood to stretch my aching back and ease the acid in my belly. I had a prescription for moments when staying awake on a caffeine binge warred with good sense. But the meds put me to sleep, and that’s a luxury I’d take another day. I set my empty cup in the sink.
“I don’t think I’m off base here, but this isn’t a local kidnappingring. Not with the Asian community involved,” I said. “Granted, I’m tired and attempting to make sense of this. But could we be dealing with national or international fingerprints?”
