The Innocent: The New Ryan Lock Novel (6 page)

Ty sheltered under the canopy and scanned the street. He was watching for a loiterer across the street, a vehicle parked with someone inside, anything that suggested surveillance. In truth, the security risk to the family was low but they were wealthy, which made Kristina a potential kidnap-for-ransom target. The chances were that no one was looking at the family but neither Ty nor Lock liked to phone things in. No matter the job, no matter the principal, they liked to do things right and maintain standards. Switching off was not an option they entertained.

Satisfied, Ty walked past the soaking doorman and into the lobby. Lock was waiting at the elevator with Kristina, who was investigating her purchases. She pulled out a fairy costume, complete with wings, and held it up for Ty’s inspection.

‘What do you think?’ she asked the six-foot-four, 230-pound African American.

‘Don’t think it’s my color,’ he replied, deadpan.

‘No, it’s for me, silly.’

Ty made a show of taking a closer look. ‘It’s real nice.’

‘Thanks,’ said Kristina, jamming it back into the bag.

Ty had grown attached to the little girl, who sounded more twenty-nine than nine. He and Lock both had. She was capable, like most kids, of being bratty, and there was no question she was spoiled, but she engaged with and was interested in others. The way Ty looked at it, she’d had no more say in her circumstances than some kid from the projects.

The elevator doors opened and they got in, Ty first, to hold the door, then Kristina and Lock. It was always the same drill. The principal never went first into an elevator, vehicle or building — too easy for a door to be closed and secured, separating them from their close-protection detail.

They rode three floors in silence. The doors opened and Ty stepped out. There were only two apartments on this floor. The other was owned by a Wall Street trader, who was currently skiing in Europe. He and Lock knew about all the neighbors – how many lived in each apartment in the building, whether they owned or rented, what they did and, most importantly, what they looked like. They had also built a profile of their regular visitors and anyone who made deliveries. It all came down to being observant, and looking for two things: the absence of the normal and the presence of the abnormal.

Ty opened the door to the main apartment and they walked inside. Kristina’s father was at work. Her mother was in the kitchen, supervising a small army of caterers who were preparing for a dinner party. Kristina disappeared to her room with her spoils.

Lock had some business to attend to while Ty stayed at the apartment, providing some light residential protection before he, too, headed home until the morning. As Ty stood by the window, scanning the street below, Lock came over and stood next to him.

‘I’m going to head out. You good?’ Lock asked.

Ty turned. ‘Yeah, enjoy your evening.’

‘Just don’t let them catch you trying on that fairy costume.’

The retired marine smiled. ‘I’m all over that shit. Nothing I like better than strapping on a pair of sparkly wings and going for a fly round the living room.’

Ty’s cell phone chirped. He dug it out of his pocket. ‘Yo, Malik!’

Lock shot him a look. Ty’s ‘Yo!’ greeting was one of the reasons Lock handled most of their business calls.

Ty waved him off. ‘I got this. Go do your thing.’ He turned his attention back to the call. He’d planned on calling Malik later to congratulate his old friend on his team’s victory, which had even made the press in New York, albeit a one-line mention in a round-up of college basketball.

As soon as Malik spoke, Ty knew this wasn’t an old pal calling to shoot the breeze.

‘Ty, I need your advice on something.’

Ty stepped off into a far corner of the room. ‘You okay? Has something happened to the family?’

‘It’s kind of difficult. I don’t even know where to start.’

‘Take a breath, and start at the beginning,’ said Ty.

If you worked in high-end private security, as Ty did, you got used to panicky phone calls from people driven into unimaginable places, often for no other reason than bad luck. Like cops, Ty, with his partner Ryan Lock, encountered people who were at what was often the lowest, or most challenging, part of their lives. Kidnapping, stalking, extortion, terrorism, child abduction, blackmail, people like Kristina’s parents being targeted for their wealth, these were the horrors they had to deal with. When the police or other civil authorities couldn’t be called upon, they steered people through these events as best they could and, sometimes, meted out a form of justice to the perpetrators.

But this call was different. Ty had known Malik since third grade. They didn’t see much of each other, and hadn’t done for years, but there was still a bond between them, deep and abiding. Childhood bonds could be strong. Stronger still when you’d grown up in the kind of place that didn’t offer much besides family and friendship. Ty had been best man when Malik had married Kim. He had got to know their two kids. Malik had a life that part of Ty craved, especially as he had moved into his thirties – stable, three-dimensional, filled with small challenges and satisfying milestones.

All of this made what Malik was telling him even more unreal. Not to mention worrying. It wasn’t what Malik had likely walked in on that shocked Ty. He had seen enough to know that while child predators were hardly commonplace (despite what the media would have us believe) they were out there. And, like lions prowling next to a water-hole in the middle of the savannah, they went where the prey was, which included anywhere that involved sport. What worried Ty about Malik’s story was the reaction to it of the authorities where he was teaching. It worried him because Ty knew you could tell a lot from someone’s first response to an incident like that. A regular person’s reaction would have been horror, followed fast by anger and outrage.

The clincher, the thing that had freaked Ty out in the same way it had Malik, was the kid saying
they
, suggesting at least two people had been involved in the abuse, or one person involved and another facilitating it.

‘Tell me again exactly what this Laird cat said to you?’ Ty asked Malik, who seemed to have calmed down since the start of the phone call. ‘His exact words.’ He listened as Malik went through what had happened when he’d confronted the chancellor. He glanced across the room: Kristina had appeared, dressed up in her fairy outfit.

‘How do I look?’ she asked, with a twirl.

Ty put his hand over his cell. ‘Like a princess.’

She feigned annoyance. ‘I’m a fairy.’

‘Like a fairy princess,’ Ty said, extricating himself.

He heard Kristina’s mom call to her from the kitchen: ‘Kristina, leave Mr Johnson alone.’

‘Okay, Mama.’ She darted off.

At the other end of the line, Malik said, ‘Oh, yeah, the cop, Tromso — when he gave my cell back, he’d deleted the picture I’d taken of the car. Ty, I don’t know what to do, man.’

‘You need me up there, brother?’ Ty asked. ‘I don’t finish this gig for another week, but I can ask Ryan to duck out early.’

‘No, you’re good. I appreciate it. And it’d be good to see you. Landon’s always asking about you.’

Ty smiled. He loved Landon like he was his own. He was a great kid. They both were. Smart, talented and, like their mom and dad, they had good values.

‘Soon as I’m done here, I’ll come up. Spend a few days. How about that?’ Ty said.

‘Sounds like just what I need. And in the meantime?’ Malik asked.

‘Well, that depends,’ said Ty.

‘On what?’

‘How much do you like your job?’

Ty had known the answer before he asked the question.

‘I don’t like any job enough to cover up something like this,’ said Malik.

‘I hear you,’ said Ty. ‘So, for one, don’t sign that new deal. See if they follow up. Then, if you don’t get anywhere with the college, I’d go up a level, maybe talk to someone in Minneapolis. That’s where the campus police should have gone in any case. One more thing. Don’t go playing detective, Malik. Leave this to the people who get paid to do it. You don’t know who might be mixed up in something like this.’

There was silence at the end of the line. Ty said, ‘I mean it. Let the cops do their job.’

‘I hear you,’ said Malik. Ty wasn’t convinced he meant it, which worried him.

Malik ended the call. He already felt better. Ty had always been able to calm him. Part of it was his sheer physical presence, but there was hardness too. If Ty told you it was Tuesday then it was Tuesday, even if you could see people heading to church. There was a problem this time, though. Malik knew that Ty was right when he’d said leave it to the cops, but he’d tried that already and it hadn’t worked.

He pulled the piece of paper with the boy’s address from his pocket, and studied it. He knew the area. It was a lower-middle-class part of town. Not poor, but not wealthy either. There wasn’t a lot of money in Harrisburg. Apart from the local Walmart, and a nearby online retail warehouse, the biggest single employer was probably the college. Most of the bars, restaurants and smaller stores were dependent on the college kids too. He could see why the likes of Tromso and Laird wanted to keep everything quiet. In economic terms, the college was the town.

He slipped the piece of paper inside the program, and headed back toward the office. It was usually a brisk ten-minute walk across campus, but with well-wishers and others wanting to talk about the game, it took him forty. When he got there, he passed the program-signing job to one of his earnest young assistants, headed to his office and closed the door.

He pulled up the college website on his computer and clicked on a link that took him to a list of trustees. He was counting on it not already being updated. There were twelve trustees in total. He studied their faces, as if somehow that would be enough. He jotted down names on a pad and started Googling them one by one. He recognized quite a few: he’d had to glad-hand them, along with some of the richer alumni, after games.

After a half-hour, he was ready to give up. No one stood out. Nothing suggested anything untoward about any of the ten. But what had he expected? A trustee wasn’t going to walk around with ‘child molester’ tattooed on his forehead.

Of course, he could wait for the website to be updated, and the man to drop off the list. Work out his identity by a process of elimination. But that could take months, and likely would if Laird didn’t want to draw attention to the man’s resignation or removal from the board.

Tromso wasn’t going to tell him who he was. Neither was Laird. And asking would only alert them that Malik wasn’t prepared to go along to get along.

The phone on his desk rang, startling him. The display told him it was an internal call. He picked up the receiver.

‘Coach Shaw, this is Suzanne in the chancellor’s office. Do you have a moment to speak to the chancellor?’

‘Sure,’ said Malik, reaching over and closing the web browser with its pictures of the trustees, one of whom he was all but certain had been preying upon young Jack Barnes.

‘Hey, Coach,’ said Laird, full of bullshit bonhomie. ‘Have you had a chance to look at the contract?’

Two can play dumb, thought Malik. ‘I have, Chancellor, but it’s not really my area. My eyes kind of glaze over with contracts so I’ve passed it on to my old sports attorney. Hope that’s okay?’ Malik couldn’t have cared less whether it was okay with Laird or not, but he figured his best tactic was to play along. He needed to stall, and what better way than to have Laird think he had an attorney looking over the deal?

‘Well,’ said Laird, ‘that makes sense. But you’re happy with what we’ve offered?’

‘It’s an incredibly generous package,’ Malik said. ‘And I’m sure any issues that do crop up will be a formality. Was there anything else, Chancellor?’

‘Just wanted to make sure you’re happy, Coach.’

Sure you did, thought Malik. Happy enough to keep my mouth shut.

The victory celebrations all but passed Malik by. He was there, but not present. He smiled, shook hands and applauded his team while his mind was elsewhere. A gnawing feeling in his stomach told him the college wasn’t going to make a move without being prompted. He would have to go talk to the cops in St Paul or the FBI.

He was already dreading the conversation and the questions it would bring. Why had he waited until now to report it to them? He was pretty sure it would be near the top of the list. He didn’t doubt that he could provide an answer that might satisfy them. He could explain that he’d felt duty-bound to contact the campus authorities first. The problem was that he wasn’t sure the answer satisfied him. From early on Malik had decided that you had to have your own standards, your own code of ethics. It was fine taking your lead from other people if their morals were solid. But what if they weren’t? What then?

It was all too easy, with the way the world was, to let things slide. To look the other way. To allow money to cloud your judgement. That was what Laird was counting on. He was about to be disappointed.

Malik grabbed the signed game program from his desk, got up and headed for the parking lot.

In less than fifteen minutes, Malik drew up outside the address he had for Jack Barnes. It was a small, single-story ranch house. The homes lining the quiet street were all but identical. For the most part, they were neatly kept, but showing signs of age.

As Malik got out, he noticed an elderly woman with hair pinned up in a bun watching him from behind her curtains. When she saw him looking at her, she stepped back.

Malik walked up three steps onto a small covered porch. The doorbell hung from the frame on a wire. He knocked instead.

A few moments later, the door opened. Eve Barnes stood there. She was wearing jeans and a grey marl Harrisburg Wolves sweatshirt. Her eyes widened. Malik held up the program but made a point of not handing it to her.

‘Coach Shaw! I wasn’t expecting you to drop it over yourself. I thought you’d mail it like you said.’

Malik smiled. ‘Didn’t want to risk it getting lost. Plus I’m on my way home, so …’