Apex Predator (10 page)

He turned to Grady, “Bob, I want you to sit down with him and see what he has. I want you to give him as much as we have without compromising anything.”

Grady just stood there without an expression on his face, but behind Freeman, Mullins was cracking up without making a sound. Once he got his soliloquy out, Freeman seemed satisfied with himself, turned around and walked away without looking back.

Mullins was still laughing as he walked away. Grady leaned on the frame to his door and smiled to himself. He had to, otherwise he might cry.

Actually it wasn’t that bad, the Garcia kid wasn’t reckless and he’d shown a willingness to play quid pro quo. He was willing to share information when he had it, as long as it never compromised a source, and he was willing to keep things under wraps as long as it was reasonable.

Grady was actually surprised it had taken this long, especially if the Garcia kid had his nose mixed in it.

He would let Mullins gather all the info on Riche and he would sit down with Garcia. After all, he wouldn’t really be lying. If he hadn’t gotten anything about Riche back from Mullins, there was nothing to share with Garcia other than what he already had, and he was pretty sure the kid didn’t already have Riche, so no, it shouldn’t be that bad.

Steven Loomis still mused over the fact that even in the first decade of the 21st century it was still a wonder to him the amount of information one could obtain if one knew where to look, and by god, no one knew where to look better than Carl, that and well-placed resources in all the pertinent agencies.

Donald Riche, 36, single, no criminal record, not even a parking ticket. He owned a van, which was registered to his name, properly registered and insured. He rented a flat just off Houston street, had been there for five years.

There wasn’t a single conduct report from his employer and he hadn’t missed a single day from work because of being sick. When he was 10 years old, he was removed from his home to live with relatives and never saw his birth parents again. He had gone to the University of Wisconsin and graduated with a degree in English, even though it took him more than six years. He had also taken some graduate courses in finance from NYU.

Steven was pretty sure the police had all of this already and would be looking to make their way to talk to him in person, if they weren’t on the way already.

Out of everyone that Steven had looked at, this guy was definitely setting off the most bells in his head. Putting aside the profiles, he just stood out like a sore thumb, because out of everyone they had spoken to or looked at, this guy was the only one that didn’t really have anything directly connecting him to any of the last two girls’ circles within school or related to their extracurricular activities.

He had just happened to be available to sit for the girls the weekend before they were taken and while it was completely possible that it was just a coincidence, no one with more than half an ounce of law enforcement or investigative instinct believed in those kinds of coincidences.

Steven already had Carl scouring the digital world for any and all credit card, cell phone, email or social networking information that this guy might have generated. He hadn’t come up with anything yet, but he was still running the data. Steven would just hold off for now and see what the police developed.

The electronic and digital surveillance group had been busy and had let him know all their assets were in place, so he wasn’t worried about missing something important.

Instead, he needed to head home. He had already caught up here as much as he was going to catch up and was able to confirm that everything was in fact on track.

His mother-in-law had called him in a panic from somewhere in New York where Marybeth had fallen apart and told him he needed to get home. It had been a difficult call, “We were at the Center for Missing and Exploited Children and she lost it! She’s hurting, Steven, you need to get home.”

He was putting his files away and organizing the desktop on his computer when Art Goodman appeared at his doorway, “Getting ready to head home?”

Steven was caught off guard and a bit startled, “Huh…yeah, I am sir. Everything seems to be under control…”

The General came on in to his office, waving his hands as if to let him know he didn’t have to explain, “Steven, I told you to take as much time as you needed. To be honest with you, I don’t know what the hell you are doing here.”

Steven latched his briefcase and looked up, “I know. I just had to clear my head, you know, had to get a fresh perspective.”

Goodman nodded in understanding, “We all have our own ways of quieting the demons that come knocking and they’re always different. So you take as much time as you need, and if you need anything from us, you know we have your back.”

Steven smiled, picked up his briefcase and started to leave, “I know, sir, I’ve always known.”

He shook Goodman’s hand, but before he let him go, Goodman pulled Steven close to him and in a low voice said, “You know son, the hard part isn’t going to be finding out what it is that happened, it’s going to be deciding what it is you are planning to do about it.”

Steven looked at the old grizzled eyes that still held a spark and experience only gained by holding men as they died and ordering others to their death. Goodman was just under six feet tall and had a full head of silver hair and a lean, hard physique earned through decades of physical training and discipline. There was nothing physically remarkable about him, yet he was incredibly intimidating when he wanted to be. Steven had more than once seen the man take absolute control of a room full of senior executives, A-type, alpha male personalities. He did it naturally, never raising his voice, always saying something that mattered. Always with that intense, penetrating stare that made it seem like he could see through you.

He was about to make a comment about the justice system and how he was planning on letting that work, but this was the General and he knew just how much it would sound like bullshit, so instead he just nodded and went on his way.

The call from his mother-in-law had shaken him. Going through that juxtaposition, talking to his mother-in-law and then running into the General had in a way crystallized what Steven had already been struggling with himself: The pain of losing his daughter left an emptiness he knew he would never fill, but years of training, of responding to any and all situations had also made him realize that his days as just a father, a grieving father, were over.

He would grieve, he would be there for his wife and his children, he wouldn’t let them down, but it wouldn’t be all of him, either. The part of him that died with Tracy would always be missing. It wasn’t something they would notice, but it was something he’d know.

He had already made the decision that he was going to be a part of bringing this to an end. He didn’t know how or when, but he knew that to not do it would leave him with almost as big a hole as Tracy had left and it would be one he couldn’t live with.

Donald Riche had pretty much kept to himself the whole week. He had tried to remain under the radar as much as he could, which wasn’t much more than usual. He knew there was some sort of activity in the office and that the police were talking to Nancy.

He also knew that eventually they would come talk to him and he had been preparing for it.

There really wasn’t that much to tell. In the world they lived their lives in, he was a well-groomed professional who had been nothing but helpful to anyone they asked.

He had an impeccable record at work and had never gotten so much as a traffic ticket. He would be just as shocked and surprised as everyone else about the disappearances. Did they have any suspects? Of course he would do anything he could to help. Nancy was his friend! He had been waiting for them for some days now and was prepared for them.

Now, sitting at his desk and filing his work away, Nancy walked up to his cubicle, “Hmm, Donald, you know my niece Mia is missing.”

Donald looked up with as sympathetic a look as he could put on, “Yes, I heard, Nance. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Nancy half-smiled, “Thank you, no, but I did want to tell you that the police are talking to anyone that saw or was with the girls at all before they were taken, and since you took care of them that Friday…”

Donald stood up and held her hands, “Of course, Nancy, I understand. They’re just doing their job. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

Nancy began crying again, “I’m so sorry, Donald. You were just trying to help and look at what you’re having to put up with.”

Donald put his arms around her and she allowed herself to be hugged, “Thank you, thank you for being so understanding. I’m sure it’s just going to be real quick, you know, just so they can scratch you off their list.”

Riche patted her back consoling her. He was smiling and was also sure it would be nothing more than a standard interview asked of dozens of other people just like him.

Donald Riche had been meticulous about almost everything he had done and was sure he was beyond the reach of those looking for him. In this he was about to find out just how wrong he could be.

He walked into his apartment later that evening and set a few bags of groceries down on the counter. He looked around. The décor was minimalist and tasteful. Not a single ornament or lamp or rug was out of place and none was superfluous. To anyone walking in, it would look like a staged apartment used to show prospective tenants.

He walked into his bedroom where more of the same awaited. His closet was organized by garment, color and size. Even the colors were organized by shades going from dark to light. His shoes were all meticulously polished and organized in a shoe rack.

He hung his coat on the coat rack and smoothed out the wrinkles and removed the two remnants of lint that were visible on it.

As he walked into the kitchen he corrected a spatula that was leaning a bit too far over out of its container. The kitchen, like everything else, was immaculate. It had a small pantry in the corner and every one of the handles and pieces of hardware were as shiny as when he’d bought them.

Just as he was leaving the kitchen, he heard the doorbell ring. He was startled but didn’t panic. He walked over to the door and looked out of the peephole. Just outside the door were two men who were clearly policemen.

Donald waited by the door for a few seconds and opened it, although to keep up appearances he kept the chain to the door engaged.

He cracked the door open, “Yes, can I help you?”

Grady responded, “Mr. Riche, it’s Detective Grady and Detective Mullins from the NYPD. We called you earlier and asked if we could come by to chat.”

Donald did remember them and had in fact been expecting them. Actually he had been expecting just one officer, so seeing the second officer was in fact a bit of a surprise. Still, he was not worried in the least.

As he disengaged the chain to the door, “Of course, of course. Just let me take the chain off the door.” He then opened the door and waved the officers in, “Please come in. Excuse the mess, I wasn’t sure when you would be coming by.”

Grady and Mullins came into the flat and looked around. If there was a mess to be excused, neither officer could spot it. Like all police officers coming into an unfamiliar situation, their training took over and they instantly began to make mental notes about the guy’s place.

The first thing that struck both policemen was that there wasn’t a stitch out of place. Grady and Mullins had at one point or another each had their own place and knew although they tried to keep things presentable there would always be a pot or a plate or a glass or something out of place. Sometimes it might be a pillow and blanket on the couch from a buddy crashing over, sometimes it was empty pizza boxes. It could be anything, but most of the time it was something.

The thing both officers noticed at almost the exact same time is that there was nothing,
nothing
, out of place here. It was almost as if the guy didn’t really live here.

Riche closed the door behind them and motioned to the living room, “Please come in, sit down. Can I get you any water, something else to drink?”

Mullins and Grady declined politely. They were still scanning the walls without being too obvious.

While paying attention to the fact that there was nothing out of place, both officers also noticed that there was not a single picture of a human being anywhere around the apartment. No pictures, no paintings, nothing that showed any connection to anyone. In and of itself, that might have been ticked off as a curiosity, but coupled with everything else, the reasons they were here and what both had to admit was something physically quirky about Donald Riche, it was definitely something to file away for later discussion.

By now the detectives had Riche’s criminal, school and work history. They knew he had no family he kept in contact with. They knew he had never been in trouble with the law, that he owned a van registered in New York, and that he rented an industrial place close to the Brooklyn Bridge for which he was charged monthly out of his checking account.

They had his transcripts from Wisconsin and NYU and had any and all performance reviews he had ever gotten. It was interesting that although in every review he had gotten glowing comments, every supervisor or teacher had made some sort of mention of the fact that while Donald was respectful and polite and that he had absolutely performed every one of his duties exactly as he had been asked to, there seemed to be a detachment from Donald toward his classmates, coworkers, supervisors, anyone he had to deal with.

In every case, there was nothing anyone could put their finger on, it was just a sense that he was not willing to let anyone in past a certain point.

Yes, prior to coming to visit Mr. Riche, detectives Grady and Mullins had put together what was starting to look like a really interesting file on the guy.

Detectives from other precincts were tracking down anyone else that might know him or might have any information about him. They would speak with university teachers, supervisors, coworkers, but Mullins and Grady would be willing to bet that they would get the same type of story.