Idyll Fears Page 5

  “So much snow fell. He’d be nearly impossible to find outside.”

  She frowned. “I know. Poor kid. I don’t know what to hope for: that he got snatched and might be alive, or that he’s passed on and isn’t in pain.”

  “He never was in pain,” I said.

  “That’s right. So bizarre. I didn’t even know that was a thing. That CIPA. My daughter, she’s a nurse. She said there’s very few cases. It used to be if you had it you didn’t make it past childhood.” She bit her knuckle. We both thought the same thing. Maybe Cody hadn’t survived childhood.

  She handed me pink sheets. “Two seem possible. First was a boy, spotted about a mile from Cody’s house around 9:00 a.m. Second was seen at 10:00 a.m. in a parked car at a gas station outside Rocky Hill. Right hair color and size. No coat.”

  I walked the tips to the detectives’ pen and left them on Finnegan’s desk. Wright walked backward when he saw me approach. He bumped into a whiteboard. Tried to play it off. “Finny says you went by this guy Trabucco’s house last night?”

  Finny. He and Finnegan had nicknames for each other. Everyone had a nickname. Billy was Kid or Slim or Hoops. Hopkins was Babe. He resembled Babe Ruth. Me? I was Chief. Always Chief.

  “Yeah. I scoped his place from outside. No sign of Cody.”

  “Warrant?” he asked.

  What part of “no sign of Cody” had failed to register? “No. Hey, I need you to stop by the Forrands’ house at 8:30 a.m. Update them. They want someone who won’t eat them out of house and home.”

  “Hopkins?” he guessed. I nodded.

  “I need them updated, reassured, and I need to know if Cody was carrying anything when he left the house.”

  Billy appeared behind Wright’s desk. “What can I do?” he asked. Wright gave him a look that would’ve made most men back away. Billy didn’t.

  “Check the location of the tips and plot them on the map.” I pointed. “Use the little red dots.” We’d mark the sightings in case there was a pattern.

  “Chief, phone!” a baritone shouted.

  Back in my office, I got my first reporter looking for an angle. Tim Clinton from the Hartford Courant. “Chief, is it true you called off the search for Cody Forrand?”

  “No.”

  “Have you investigated whether this could be a kidnapping?” Tim sounded young and hungry, a dangerous combo.

  “Do us a favor and put Cody’s picture on your front page,” I said.

  “What would the headline be?” As if he expected me to provide content.

  “‘Have You Seen This Boy?’ It’s a classic. Also, to the point.”

  “How are the parents holding up?” he asked.

  “Why don’t you ask them?” I regretted saying it. It sounded flippant, and I didn’t want him calling the Forrands. Not before Wright had spoken to them. “We’re searching for Cody. Neighboring police are on alert. A helicopter is looking for him now.”

  “Now? Isn’t it late for that?” he asked.

  “Are you suggesting we stop looking for Cody Forrand?” I asked.

  “Chief Lynch,” he said. Paused. “You’re the Chief Lynch, right? I didn’t put two and two together when I got handed this story, but you’re the gay police chief.”

  Not now. Now was really not the time. Months ago I got a lot of calls from reporters looking to do a story on me. I’d turned them all down in strong-enough language to discourage further attempts.

  “I’ll guarantee you front-page coverage of Cody Forrand if you’ll give me an exclusive about you.”

  “No.”

  “Nothing sensational. Just a day in the life of the state’s only gay police chief.”

  “You’re really going to bargain a child’s life for an exclusive about me?” I asked.

  “Kid’s probably dead, and if he isn’t, you’ll want to do everything you can to ensure he gets home, huh?”

  “I’d like to talk to your chief,” I said.

  “He’ll just try the same deal.”

  I hung up the phone and stared at the receiver. Fuck. Had I just endangered Cody by not making the deal? Should I call back? No. I didn’t have time to give interviews about my life. It was on the newspaper to do right by Cody.

  Finnegan had returned. He sat, loafers propped on his desk. His hands shook on his pen though. I think we all felt it. Rattled. We wanted Cody Forrand home, safe. We doubted we could get it done. We’d slept a fraction of the night. We were exhausted and sick, and no good news was coming.

  “Any joy?” I asked.

  “Tip number one was a bust. I spoke to the caller, and the boy he saw was taller and older than Cody. Apparently he hadn’t seen Cody’s picture. He must’ve heard about a missing boy and thought ‘Hey, I saw a boy yesterday.’”

  I kneaded my forehead with my fist. “Do I even want to hear about number two?”

  He swung his feet off the desk and onto the floor. “You betcha. Second caller saw a boy matching Cody’s description at a gas station. He was inside a car, holding a box. She didn’t see the driver.”

  “And?”

  “And when I spoke to her, she told me she wasn’t sure it was him. She was pretty sure it wasn’t because his clothes didn’t match the descriptions. She’d wanted to help. So she’d talked herself into thinking the boy she saw was Cody.”

  I picked up a telephone book and hurled it at Wright’s desk. It clanked against the side. Fell to the floor. “God save me from witnesses!”

  Finnegan nodded. “Amen.”

  A voice yelled, “We’ve got a chief call!”

  Finnegan shouted, “I’ve got it.” Then, “Which line?”

  “Two,” the voice yelled. Was it Johnson yelling?

  “Isn’t it for me?” I asked.

  Finnegan snatched up the receiver. “Idyll Police Station. Yes?” He scribbled on paper. Was he transcribing the call? “Uh huh. Wow. Okay. When do you think that will be?” He wrote some more. Hung up the phone. Punched *69. A chief call. He wrote down the number.

  “Was that what I think it was?” I asked.

  “Hmmm?” He wouldn’t look at me.

  “Was someone calling to share opinions about me?”

  “You’re a busy man, Chief. This wasn’t important.” Something familiar about this. What? I scratched my neck. It clicked. Yesterday, Finny had me tell Mrs. Dunsmore he’d tracked the number and logged the call.

  “How many of these have we been getting?” I asked.

  “A few more than you have at home.” So he knew why I’d had him track phone numbers recently. Of course. He was doing the same damn thing.

  “How many?”

  “About forty.”

  “Forty.” I felt like a stone was stuck in my throat.

  “Some are repeat callers though, so probably only twenty-five, really.” Was that supposed to make me feel better?

  Billy came around the corner, map in hand. The red dots went as far west as New York City and as far north as Portland, Maine. Most sightings were local. Six ranged outside Idyll, north and west. Rocky Hill. The gas station. The witness had recanted. I tried to pull the dot off. It clung. I pulled harder. The dot came off, and with it, a quarter inch of map. “Fuck!” My shout made Billy jump.

  Wright said, “Problem?” He stood nearby, hands in the pockets of a long wool coat. Dove gray. His wife had good taste.

  “All I’ve got is problems. Billy, fetch me some aspirin. My head’s in a vice.”

  “Maybe I got something to cheer you up,” Wright said, unwinding his scarf. Billy stopped, wanting to hear news.

  “Did you convince the Forrands we aren’t sabotaging the search for their son?”

  “Nope.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He set his coat carefully on his chair. “Not that it matters much.”

  Finnegan frowned. “Why’s that?”

  Wright smiled. “They found him. They found Cody Forrand.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  We threw questions at Wright
like darts at a board. “Where was he?” and “Is he okay?” and “Who found him?” He clasped his hands together. Ready to tell us a story.

  “Call came in,” he checked his watch, “twenty-five minutes ago. Grocery employee in Canton found him outside the store. Alone. They took him to a hospital.”

  “Are we sure it’s him?” I asked. I wouldn’t fall for a second false identification.

  “Cops seemed sure,” Wright said.

  “Did he say how he got there? Who took him?” Finnegan asked.

  Wright said, “Don’t know. I didn’t take the call. The father did.”

  “Why didn’t you go with them?” I asked.

  “I offered. They declined. Said Cody was found and they didn’t need the police.”

  “What about who took him?” Billy asked. “We have to find him, right?”

  “Which hospital?” I asked.

  “Children’s in Hartford. Cody’s specialists are there.”

  “Wright, why don’t you share the news,” I said. He hadn’t earned the announcement. He hadn’t searched yesterday, and he’d only gone to the Forrands because I’d made him. On the other hand, it might grease our wheels. Our relationship required a lot of grease.

  Wright’s update was met with cheers and whoops and mutters of “Thank God.” More kissed medallions. I stopped by Joanne’s desk. “Guess I can head home, huh?” She’d driven on icy roads to get here early, only to leave two hours later.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “No problem, Chief.” It hit me then. Joanne’s attitude hadn’t changed, not since my big reveal at Suds, when I informed the station I was gay. She treated me as she had before. Maybe she had a gay cousin.

  Billy handed me a bottle of aspirin. My headache had receded. I set the bottle down. “Where’s our map?” I asked. Billy fetched it.

  “Why’s there a hole in it?” Wright asked.

  Finnegan looked at me. He said, “Witness problem.”

  Canton, where Cody was found, was southwest of us. “How far to drive here?” I tapped Canton on the map. Wright said, “Forty, forty-five minutes, in good weather.” I traced the most direct route with my index finger. We had two dots that matched the route. One in Wallingford and one where the hole was. The gas stop in Rocky Hill.

  Finnegan got there first. “Maybe that gas station sighting was legit.”

  “What sighting?” Wright asked. Finnegan explained.

  “He wasn’t wearing the right clothes,” Billy said.

  “Maybe the kidnapper made him change. We should check the description against what he’s wearing today,” Wright said.

  I said, “I’m going to the hospital. We need to ask Cody who took him.”

  “Can’t the Canton cops do that?” Billy asked. Wright snorted. Finnegan laughed.

  Wright said, “They’ve got a part-time force supplemented by state police, and they’ve won the Big Fish Award twice, back-to-back years.”

  “Big Fish Award?” I asked.

  “The Big Fish is awarded each year, for falling for the most outrageous story. Waterbury won for sending a team to check out reports of a shark in Hop Brook Lake.”

  “You’re kidding me,” I said.

  “Nope,” Finnegan said. “Apparently none of ’em knew sharks prefer salt water.”

  “Why did the Canton cops win?” Billy asked.

  Finnegan said, “They believed the president needed an escort through town, on Halloween.”

  Wright said, “A neighboring station pranked them. But honestly, they fell for it. If the president were coming to visit your Podunk town, you’d hear about it before the day of. The story was he was bringing his grandkids trick-or-treating.”

  “Reagan?” I guessed.

  “Bush,” Finnegan said.

  Wright said, “We’re dealing with cops who fell for that story.” He gave that a second’s thought. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Fine. Finnegan, check out the bike shop. See about Mr. Trabucco’s schedule yesterday.”

  We walked outside. I flexed my gloved fingers. Looked ahead. Stopped. Wright collided against me. “Whoa. What’s up?” He stepped off of me as if I was on fire.

  The driver’s side of my car had been tagged with Day-Glo orange spray paint. Sprayed over the police emblem and the words Police Chief were three letters that took up the six feet of the door of my Crown Victoria:

  FAG!

  I removed my glove and touched the paint. Dry. I walked to the other side. Unmarked. The spine of the F was a trembling line. Done in a hurry. I knelt to look under the car. “Do you see a can?”

  “What?” Wright said.

  “A spray can. Do you see one?” I wanted evidence. Wright crunched around the lot. My knee was on the cold wet ground. My eyes searched the snowy lot. Footprints. I’d stomped all over the place. Damn it.

  “No can,” he said.

  I didn’t want to get up, to see pity in Wright’s eyes. Bad enough with Finny and the phone calls. I stood and brushed the snow from my knee.

  Wright said, “Some asshole comes onto police property and tags our car? Oh, no, no. This won’t stand.” Wright might be homophobic, but he was a cop. The golden rule of not fucking with cops trumped any feelings he had about me.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “We’ll deal with this when we get back.”

  “You sure?” he asked. I nodded. Cody Forrand’s kidnapping was more important than my graffiti. Besides, I wanted to put time and distance between my car and me.

  Wright drove like it was second nature. Probably was. I’d not owned a car until I came to Idyll. Oh, hell. The mayor. He’d acted like giving me a car was a big favor. Was there any way to keep the graffiti news from reaching him? No. Billy was his nephew. Besides, everyone in Idyll talked. He’d know soon enough.

  “Your kids are at Idyll Elementary,” I said. “They have a computer teacher? Mr. Calloway.”

  “Maybe. Joshua has a class in computers. Why?”

  “He acted weird when I asked about Cody. Wouldn’t look at the photo.”

  Wright changed lanes. “Great. Not enough I have to worry my kids might get snatched off the streets. Now I have to worry about pervy teachers?” He exhaled loudly. “Idyll was supposed to be better for them.” Better schools, less crime, and a lot whiter than his old neighborhood. When he’d first joined the Idyll force, locals reported that a black man had stolen a cop car. I was surprised he’d moved here, better schools or no.

  The Connecticut Children’s Medical Center was an odd building. A half circle of brick and glass jutted out front. We hurried through automatic doors, into a large reception area. Holiday decorations hung on the walls. We waited behind a father who held a sleeping girl. Her chubby face rested on his shoulder. She snored softly. “I’ve paged Dr. Cansalitz,” the brassy-haired receptionist said to him. “He should be here soon.” The father edged away, his steps careful and slow.

  Wright showed his badge and asked for Cody Forrand. The receptionist tapped at a computer. Frowned at the boxy monitor. “Room 372.”

  Inside the elevator, I asked, “So what do you think happened? Did the kidnapper panic?”

  Wright said, “Maybe the press coverage freaked him out. He decided to dump Cody before he got caught.”

  “Makes him about a thousand times smarter than most kidnappers,” I said.

  We got off on floor three and took a left.

  He said, “No doubt. What I don’t get is why yesterday? Everyone knew about the blizzard. Must’ve been hard, driving out there. And why dump him at a grocery store? That’s dangerous. People around. Not like some empty lot.”

  We reached room 372 and scanned the hallway. “Where’s the cop?” Wright said. We stepped into the room. It had one bed. I hadn’t pegged the Forrands as able to afford a single. Despite its privacy, it was crowded with family and staff. On the bed reclined a small boy. His left hand had an IV line tube snaking from it. His hair looked dirty. No obvious injuries. He wore a hospital gown and was tu
cked under a thin white blanket.

  “You must be Cody.” I stepped to the foot of his bed.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I’m the chief of police in Idyll. This is Detective Wright.” Wright waved.

  Cody said, “He doesn’t look like a policeman.”

  I hoped he meant Wright’s uniform, not his skin color. “Wright gets to wear whatever he wants because he’s a detective,” I said.

  “And because I want to look good, unlike him,” Wright said, jerking his thumb toward my dirty, wrinkled uniform. Cody giggled.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Hungry,” he said.

  “Do you want some food, baby?” Mrs. Forrand asked. She brushed his hair back. He squirmed. Mrs. Forrand asked if he could have lunch. A doctor looked up. “Sure. We’ll get you a menu.” He told the nurse to fetch it. “We” was apparently a royal term.

  “Cody, can you tell us about yesterday?” I asked.

  Mr. Forrand said, “He’s spoken to the police. He doesn’t recall much. He was drugged.”

  “Drugged?” Wright asked.

  One of the doctors said, “We’ll know more when the tests come back.”

  “Cody, do you know how you got here?” Wright asked, notebook out.

  “In an ambulance.”

  “And before that?”

  “On the boat.”

  Mrs. Forrand said, “He means the boat outside the grocery. The kind you feed quarters into and ride. That’s where they found him.” She took a shaky breath.

  “And before that?” Wright asked. “Before the boat?”

  “A car,” Cody said. “Do you have a gun?”

  “Sure do,” Wright said. “Do you know what kind of car?”

  Cody picked at the tube in his hand. His father said, “Careful, Cody.”

  A nurse checked the IV. “It’s fine,” she said. “Just leave it in, okay, honey?” She patted his arm.