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  Chapter 23

  Tuesday, 8:00 a.m.

  Kate bolted into the station later that morning at eight. She was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, having only collapsed in her bed at four. After dropping his bombshell the previous night, Simon had disappeared almost immediately. She’d done everything she could to hold him there, but he walked, and she saw how terribly difficult it all was for him. Just as he left, she made a plea. “The station, eight a.m., this morning. Please.”

  He’d frozen in the hallway, turned to look at her, and then stepped inside the elevator, disappearing. She hoped not forever, but a part of her wondered.

  As she raced into the office, the rest of the crew looked up and frowned. She said, “Ground zero.”

  Eyebrows shot up, and people bolted to their feet. “Another body?”

  She took a slow deep breath. “Not quite,” she said. “I need to write down some stuff that we should go over, and I must do some research.”

  Colby walked in and said, “No. First you tell us what’s going on.” She glared at him, but he didn’t waver.

  “Well, I can’t really tell you right now. I found somebody with that same mark on their wrist. Someone who is alive today, but was a victim of a pedophile decades ago.”

  “Who?” Colby asked.

  She shoved her hands in her pockets, hating to even bring it up. “Simon.”

  He just stared at her, and his eyebrows went up. “Are you serious?”

  She nodded slowly. “I saw it last night,” she said. “He said that his foster father gave it to him, and that he’d been a victim for many years when he was just a child.” Several gasps came from those around her. She turned her gaze on each, trying to decide if they believed her or if they thought she was making it up. Or worse, that Simon was making it up. It was Lilliana though, who offered another theory that Kate hadn’t considered.

  “You do realize,” Lilliana said, “that he probably wasn’t the victim of a pedophile but was part of the adult pedophile ring, correct?”

  Colby’s frown deepened, and he looked at Lilliana and said, “Go pick him up.”

  “Wait,” Kate said. “I guess that, to you guys, that probably is the next logical step. But he gave me combos, license numbers, and names.”

  At that, they all turned and stared at her. She nodded. “He didn’t want to share anything personal, but he told me to look it up, if I didn’t believe him. I think he realized, once that symbol came up, and he showed me his wrist, that he would be assumed to be part of the ring,” she said quietly. “At least let’s give him the respect of checking out the case number.”

  “What’s the number?” Owen said from his computer. She pulled out her phone, checked the note she’d made for herself, and read the number out loud. He typed it in and brought it up. “Jesus, well, this is pretty ugly. It’s definitely a pedophile case involving a six-year-old boy named Simon.” His gaze shot up over the top of the monitor to look at her.

  Behind him, Lilliana said, “That doesn’t mean it’s the same Simon.”

  “What year?” Kate asked.

  “Thirty-one years ago,” he said. “We’ve got just a bit of a digital file here.”

  “Who was the abuser?”

  He continued to read, handing out bits and pieces of information. “The child had been abused for years by the suspect, his own foster father. Wow,” he said. “This is a pretty shitty deal.”

  “It is,” Kate said. “And it follows everything he said.”

  “But nothing is in there about the marks on his wrist, is there?”

  “Not that I’ve read yet,” he said. “Not to mention, no photograph of it either.”

  “What about his foster father?” Lilliana asked, from behind him, coming up to read the monitor. “Where is that bastard?”

  “I haven’t got that far yet,” Owen said. “His name is Josh, Josh Cameron. I’m still checking the case file to see if he was taken down and if he served his time.”

  “A hell of a lot of pedophiles are in our world right now,” Kate muttered, staring at Owen, willing him to come up with the information. She hated to think that Simon might be classified as guilty of crimes he didn’t commit, having that ring connected to him in ways that she hadn’t expected. But, if his words were true, it would exonerate him.

  “You also can’t walk away from the concept that victims of pedophiles often turn around and become abusers themselves,” her sergeant said. “I know that’s not a theory you are looking to explore,” he said, “but we’ve seen it time and time again.”

  She nodded, hating the truth of the words. “That’s true,” she said. “But we haven’t linked him to any of these children, have we?”

  “Not sure we tried that hard,” Owen said.

  Immediately Colby jumped up. “And that’s your job today,” he said. “Go through all these current cases and see if there’s anything you can lay at Simon’s feet. Any kind of connection, no matter how small, and we bring him in and talk to him here,” he said. “Because, no matter what, we need to know just what the hell happened to him since then.”

  She turned to look at him. “What we need to know is whether he was involved with anybody else. Pedophiles often had other children,” she said. “And maybe some of those are still around too.”

  “Good. Keep thinking. This is breaking wide open,” Colby said. “Everybody at it.”

  People got up and headed toward various corners of the office, all energized at this new link in their case. She walked over to stand beside Owen. “Anything else in there?”

  “I’m sending them to the printer,” he said. “Back then there wasn’t a whole lot in the report. He couldn’t be interviewed because of his age, and he didn’t have much to say. It was his own foster father, after all. So a lot of intimidation tactics at play here.”

  “Also, at that age,” she said, “he wouldn’t have known that this was anything but normal. But where the hell was the damn foster mother?”

  “I’m not seeing anything in here about the mother,” Owen said.

  “Did you send it all to the printer yet?” she asked.

  “Yeah, the whole file,” he said. “Two copies.”

  Lilliana from behind him said, “Print me one too.”

  “I’ll do one for everybody,” Owen said. “So we’ll all be on the same page.”

  Kate walked over to the printer and sorted out the copies as they came out. She delivered one to everybody and then sat down with a cup of coffee and read hers. In black-and-white, it was easier at a distance, but the minute she saw the picture of the little boy, his wrist in a cast and bruises all over his face and his arms, she knew that this wasn’t just an ordinary sexual abuse case.

  “More than just sex abuse going on in this one,” Kate said. “This kid had been beaten to a pulp.”

  “According to the interview, that was after Simon told the police what his foster father had done to him,” Owen said.

  “So the beating was punishment. Interesting,” Rodney said. “Makes sense though. Pedophiles will do anything to keep themselves safe.”

  “So they left Simon with his abusive foster father, even after he told on him?” Lilliana asked, incredulous.

  Owen nodded, his lips pressed in a firm line. “You know as well as we do that they probably couldn’t prove the abuse. Hell, they might not even have tried.”

  “Until his foster father beat him up.” Lilliana shook her head.

  Just then, the phone on Kate’s desk rang. She picked it up, her thoughts still on the picture of the little boy in front of her. Audrey from the front desk was on the line.

  “A man here to see you,” she said, “Simon St. Laurant.”

  She hopped to her feet and said, “I’ll come out and get him.” She stopped, hung up the phone, turned, and addressed the group. “Simon came in on his own. I asked him to show up at eight this morning, and he did.”

  “Good,” Owen said.

  “I don’t want you intervi
ewing him at all though,” Colby said, stalking out of his office, obviously having heard her.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Because you’re too attached,” he said bluntly.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Attached to the case, yes,” she said. “To him, no.”

  “Maybe not,” he said, “but let’s get other people on this too.”

  She nodded agreeably. “I was planning on taking him to interview room A, unless you have a problem with that, sir.”

  He shook his head. “No, Owen and Rodney, you’re on this.”

  “Good,” they said. “We’ll want to do some more research before we go in and talk to him.”

  Steaming on the inside at Colby’s suggestion, yet understanding his position, and even wondering if there was something to his words, Kate headed out to the front. When she saw Simon standing there in a black power suit, she knew this was extremely difficult for him.

  “Simon,” she called out. He turned and looked at her. “Come this way, please.” He didn’t even acknowledge her words with a nod or show that he knew what this was all about in any way. His face was blank, his gaze hard. As she walked him to interview room A, she said, “Two other detectives are to interview you.”

  “Why is that?”

  She hesitated. “Colby said I’m too involved.”

  “Makes sense,” he said in a noncommittal voice. She led him into the interview area, one of the larger rooms they had for this purpose. He looked in, sat down on one of the chairs, and asked, “Any chance of a coffee?”

  “Sure, I’ll go get you one,” she said, and she walked out, leaving the door open. He hadn’t been called in for questioning. He’d come in on his own, and she afforded him the respect he deserved for that. With a cup of coffee in hand, she headed back in. He looked up at her, smiled, and said, “I presume I have to wait for a bit.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “They’ll be along as soon as they can.”

  He nodded and then ignored her.

  She appreciated that. This would be hard enough on everybody as it was, but, damn it, she wanted to be in that room. And she doubted she would be allowed in the observation room either. As she walked back to her desk, Owen and Rodney stood. Lilliana looked at her and said, “I’ll go in and observe. What about you?”

  “If I’m not crossing some line, that’s what I want to do too. I believe Colby is joining us,” she said. She grabbed a notepad and headed in to the adjoining observation room. She watched as both Owen and Rodney walked in, introduced themselves, closed the door, and sat down.

  Simon just sat there and waited, seemingly calm, but then he played poker, and, in some ways, she realized just how unequal this interview was. Rodney and Owen had their hands full, and they weren’t likely to be any match for Simon. She pulled up a chair and sat down, interested to see how this played out.

  Owen started off fairly easily. “It’s come to our attention from one of our coworkers that you have a mark that involves you somehow with our cases.”

  In response, Simon pulled up his shirt cuff and suit jacket and popped his wrist out. They leaned forward, took a look, and frowned. “It’s likely much fainter in my case,” Simon said easily. “The marks were administered when I was a child.”

  That was one for him right there, by showing how old the scars were. It was obvious that these weren’t done recently. She admired the smooth openness that he expressed. He wouldn’t lash out, which she knew, but she was willing to sit here and listen, as much as she could.

  “Can you tell us how you got it?” Owen went on.

  “My foster father gave it to me,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “I was supposed to be a founding member of a club I didn’t want to belong to,” Simon said.

  “A club for what?” Owen asked.

  “Pedophiles,” he said. “Assuming your coworker gave you the case number, you’ve probably already looked it up.”

  Owen nodded and tapped a folder in front of him. “We have the notes, but it was many years ago, and unfortunately it’s not as extensive as we would like it to be.”

  “Well, if it was more extensive,” Simon said, “surely they would have done something about the case then?”

  “What is it you want done?”

  “Find my foster father,” he said easily. “And put him in jail where he belongs.”

  “There’s been no sign of him since?” Rodney asked.

  Simon shook his head.

  “Has he ever contacted you?”

  “No,” Simon whispered in a clipped tone.

  “Where is your foster mother?”

  “I have no idea,” he said. “And I have no recollection of a foster mother.”

  Kate’s heart slammed against her chest. It helped her understand why he was so elusive and so much of a loner. Self-made in whatever direction he’d gone in, and not because of someone behind him giving him a helping hand.

  “Your foster father didn’t mention her?”

  “Not that I remember at this time.”

  “Was he ever married?”

  “That’s for you to find out.”

  She watched as Owen started taking notes. They didn’t have data, and a lot of research needed to be done. In a way, this was to Simon’s benefit. It was good that he’d shown up this morning because, in another few hours, they would have been armed with a lot more information and likely would have a lot more questions. This went on and on, and the more questions that they came around to and repeated, the less cooperative his response. By the end of an hour, he was down to yes or no answers.

  Lilliana looked over at her. “What do you think?”

  “His patience is thin. His tolerance is less than thin,” she said. “But I’m not hearing or seeing any signs of deception.”

  “I hate to say it, but I agree with you. It’s not giving us anything to go on.”

  She looked over at her coworker. “What did you think he would have to give?” Kate asked curiously. “He was picked up as a sexual abuse victim at the age of six. Luckily his blood grandmother found him somehow, and he was with her until age ten, when she died. Simon went back into the system and, as should surprise no one, was a handful and was moved through a series of foster homes before he walked away at eighteen. And that was after running away many times and being hauled back. What could he give us that we shouldn’t have on file already?”

  Lilliana nodded. “It’s hard when the children have been through the system like that.”

  “I just wonder what the system did for him—or to him,” she said. “That hard edge to him isn’t showing any sign of relaxing.”

  “No, he probably built up the barriers as a little child and kept them in place the whole time,” Lilliana said. “If he has no idea where his foster father is, doesn’t know anything about his foster mother—or his biological parents—never met any other family members, then it’s up to us to start doing the genealogy.”

  Just then Owen made a request that caused everyone to freeze. “We’d like a sample of your DNA,” he said calmly. “Do you have any objection to that?”

  *

  Simon stared at him, knowing that this question would come. He looked at the smoked mirror behind him, knowing perfectly well that people were back there, that Kate would be among them. He looked back at the detective and said, “No objection, that’s fine. But you shouldn’t even have to ask me, it’s already in the system.”

  Owen looked down at his notes and said, “They collected a lot of forensic evidence back then, didn’t they?”

  “They did.”

  When asked whether he was ever tested with modern and up-to-date DNA testing, he replied, “I have no idea.”

  “Maybe that’s something we need to put some money back into,” Rodney said, frowning. “We have a lot of cold cases that were never solved.”

  “In this case, you’re looking for my foster father, who is who-knows-where,” he said. “For all I know, he’s living a happy life
on an island somewhere.”

  “But somebody else in your life might have some idea of what’s going on or who was involved back then,” he said. “Do you have any memories of that time in your life?”

  He took a slow deep breath and let it out. “A child between the ages of four to six doesn’t remember much, except for the really bad stuff he went through.” His patience was already clawing away at him to get out of here, to run, but he didn’t dare show any outward sign of it. Any sign of weakness was something they’d jump on. No way he could let these men know how hard this conversation was for him. “And none of that I care to remember,” he said coolly. “To be honest, most of it is a complete blank at this point.”

  He watched as a grimace whispered across one man’s face, revealing that at least one of these two had enough empathy to understand what he, as a child, had gone through. “There were other men,” Simon said suddenly.

  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.