The Abduction Read online

  As soon as Capshaw paused, Slater moved in, “We’ve made an inventory of her clothing, with her mother’s help. She said that perhaps you’d given her an item or two. A baseball jacket of some sort.”

  Theo swallowed hard and tried to speak clearly. “Yes, sir. Last year I gave April a Twins baseball jacket and a Twins cap.”

  Capshaw wrote even faster. Slater said, “Can you describe this jacket?”

  Theo shrugged and said, “Sure. It was dark blue with red trim, Minnesota colors, with the word TWINS across the back in red-and-white lettering.”

  “Leather, cloth, cotton, synthetic?”

  “I don’t know, synthetic maybe. I think the lining on the inside was cotton, but I’m not sure.”

  The two detectives exchanged ominous looks.

  “Can I ask why you gave it to her?” Slater said.

  “Sure. I won it in an online contest at the Twins website, and since I already had two or three Twins jackets, I gave it to April. It was a medium, kid’s size, too small for me.”

  “She a baseball fan?” Capshaw asked.

  “Not really. She doesn’t like sports. The gift was sort of a joke.”

  “Did she wear it often?”

  “I never saw her wear it. I don’t think she wore the cap either.”

  “Why the Twins?” Capshaw asked.

  “Is that really important?” Mrs. Boone shot across the table. Capshaw flinched as though he’d been slapped.

  “No, sorry.”

  “Where is this going?” Mr. Boone demanded.

  Both detectives exhaled in unison, then took another breath. Slater said, “We have not found such a jacket in April’s closet or anywhere in her room, or the house for that matter. I guess we can assume she was wearing it when she left. The temperature was around sixty degrees, so she probably grabbed the nearest jacket.”

  “And the clothing on the body?” Mrs. Boone asked.

  Both detectives squirmed in unison, then glanced at each other. Slater said, “We really can’t say at this time, Mrs. Boone.” They may have been prohibited from saying anything, but their body language was not difficult to read. The jacket Theo had just described matched whatever they’d found on the body. At least in Theo’s opinion.

  His parents nodded as if they understood completely, but Theo did not. He had a dozen questions for the police, but didn’t have the energy to start firing away.

  “What about dental records?” Mr. Boone asked.

  Both detectives frowned and shook their heads. “Not possible,” Slater said. The answer provoked all manner of horrible images. The body was so mangled and damaged that the jaws were missing.

  Mrs. Boone jumped in quickly with, “What about DNA testing?”

  “In the works,” Slater said, “but it’ll take at least three days.”

  Capshaw slowly closed his notepad and put his pen in a pocket. Slater glanced at his watch. The detectives were suddenly ready to leave. They had the information they were after, and if they stayed longer there might be more questions about the investigation from the Boone family, questions they did not want to answer.

  They thanked Theo, expressed their concerns about his friend, and said good night to Mr. and Mrs. Boone.

  Theo stayed in his seat at the table, staring blankly at the wall, his thoughts a jumbled mess of fear, sadness, and disbelief.

  Chapter 10

  Chase Whipple’s mother was also a lawyer. His father sold computers and had installed the system at the Boone law firm. The families were good friends, and at some point during the afternoon, the mothers decided that the boys needed some diversion. Perhaps everyone needed something else to think about.

  For as long as Theo could remember, his parents had held season tickets for all home basketball and football games at Stratten College, a small, liberal arts, Division III school, eight blocks from downtown. They bought the tickets for several reasons: one, to support the local team; two, to actually watch a few games, though Mrs. Boone disliked football and could pass on basketball; and, three, to satisfy the college’s athletic director, a feisty man known to call fans himself and badger them into supporting the teams. Such was life in a small town. If the Boones couldn’t make a game, the tickets were usually given to clients. It was good business.

  The Boones met the Whipples at the ticket window outside Memorial Hall, a 1920s-style gymnasium in the center of the campus. They hurried inside and found their seats—mid-court and ten rows up. The game was three minutes old and the Stratten student section had already reached full volume. Theo sat next to Chase, at the end of the row. Both mothers kept looking at the boys, as if they needed some type of special observation on this awful day.

  Chase, like Theo, enjoyed sports, but was more of a spectator than an athlete. Chase was a mad scientist, a genius in certain fields; a violent experimental chemist who’d burned down the family’s storage shed with one project and nearly vaporized the family’s garage with another. His experiments were legendary and every science teacher at Strattenburg Middle School kept a close eye on him. When Chase was in the lab, nothing was safe. He was also a computer whiz, a techno-geek, a superb hacker, which had also caused some problems.

  “What’s the line?” Theo whispered to Chase.

  “Stratten’s favored by eight.”

  “Says who?”

  “Greensheet.” Division III basketball games were not favored by gamblers and oddsmakers, but there were a few offshore websites where one could find a line and place a bet. Theo and Chase did not gamble, nor did anyone they knew, but it was always interesting to know which team was favored.

  “I hear you guys were down at the river when they found the body,” Chase said, careful not to be heard by anyone around them.

  “Who told you?”

  “Woody. He told me everything.”

  “We didn’t see a body, okay. We saw something, but it was pretty far away.”

  “I guess it had to be the body, right? I mean, the police found a body in the river, and you guys watched it all.”

  “Let’s talk about something else, Chase. Okay?”

  Chase had shown little interest in girls so far, and even less interest in April. And she had certainly shown no interest in him. Other than Theo, April didn’t care for boys.

  There was a time-out on the court, and the Stratten cheerleaders came tumbling out of the stands, hopping and bouncing and flinging each other through the air. Theo and Chase grew still and watched closely. For two thirteen-year-olds, the brief performances by the cheerleaders were captivating.

  When the time-out ended, the teams took the court and the game resumed. Mrs. Boone turned and looked down at the boys. Then Mrs. Whipple did the same.

  “Why do they keep looking at us?” Theo mumbled to Chase.

  “Because they’re worried about us. That’s why we’re here, Theo. That’s why we’re going out for pizza after the game. They think we’re real fragile right now because some thug who escaped from prison snatched one of our classmates and threw her in the river. My mom said that all parents are sort of protective right now.”

  The Stratten point guard, who was well under six feet tall, slam-dunked the ball and the crowd went wild. Theo tried to forget about April, and Chase as well, and concentrated on the game. At halftime, the boys went to get popcorn. Theo made a quick call to Woody for an update. Woody and his brother were monitoring a police radio and surfing online, but so far there was no word from the police. No positive identification of the body. Nothing. Everything had gone quiet.

  Santo’s was an authentic Italian pizza parlor near the campus. Theo loved the place because there was always a crowd of students watching games on the big-screen TVs. The Boones and Whipples found a table and ordered two of “Santo’s World-Famous Sicilian Pizzas.” Theo didn’t have the energy to ponder whether the pizza was indeed so famous. He had his doubts, just as he doubted the famousness of Gertrude’s pecan waffles and Mr. Dudley’s mint fudge. How could a town as small
as Strattenburg have three dishes achieving the status of world recognition?

  Theo let it go.

  Stratten College had lost the game in the final minute, and it was the opinion of Mr. Boone that their coach had blundered badly by not managing his time-outs better. Mr. Whipple wasn’t so sure, and a healthy discussion followed. Mrs. Boone and Mrs. Whipple, both busy lawyers, were soon tired of more basketball talk, and they launched into a private chat about the proposed renovation of the main courtroom. Theo was interested in both conversations and tried to follow them. Chase played a video game on his cell phone. Some fraternity boys began singing in a faraway corner. A crowd at the bar cheered the action on television.

  Everyone seemed happy and not the least bit concerned about April.

  Theo just wanted to go home.

  Chapter 11

  Friday morning. After a crazy night of dreams, nightmares, frequent naps, insomnia, voices, and visions, Theo finally gave up and rolled out of bed at 6:30. As he sat on the edge of his bed and pondered what dreadful news the day would bring, he caught the unmistakable aroma of sausage drifting up from the kitchen. His mother prepared pancakes and sausage on those rare occasions when she thought her son and sometimes her husband needed a boost in the morning. But Theo wasn’t hungry. He had no appetite and doubted if he would find one anytime soon. Judge, who slept under the bed, poked his head out and looked up at Theo. Both looked tired and sleepy.

  “Sorry if I kept you awake, Judge,” Theo said.

  Judge accepted the apology.

  “But then, you have the rest of the day to do nothing but sleep.”

  Judge seemed to agree.

  Theo was tempted to flip open his laptop and check the local news, but he really didn’t want to. Then he thought about grabbing the remote and turning on the television. Another bad idea. Instead, he took a long shower, got dressed, loaded his backpack, and was about to head downstairs when his cell phone rang. It was his uncle Ike.

  “Hello,” Theo said, somewhat surprised that Ike was awake at such an early hour. He was not known as a morning person.

  “Theo, it’s Ike. Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Ike.” Though Ike was in his early sixties, he insisted that Theo call him simply Ike. None of that uncle stuff. Ike was a complicated person.

  “What time are you headed to school?”

  “Half an hour or so.”

  “You have time to run by and have a chat? I have some very interesting gossip that no one knows.”

  Theo was required by family ritual to stop by Ike’s office every Monday afternoon. The visits usually lasted about thirty minutes and were not always pleasant. Ike liked to quiz Theo about his grades and his schoolwork and his future and so on, which was tedious. Ike was quick with a lecture. His own children were grown and lived far away, and Theo was his only nephew. He could not imagine why Ike wanted to see him so early on a Friday morning.

  “Sure,” Theo said.

  “Hurry up, and don’t tell anyone.”

  “You got it, Ike.” Theo closed his phone and thought, How odd. But he had no time to dwell on it. And, his brain was already overloaded. Judge, no doubt because of the sausage, was scratching at the door.

  Woods Boone had breakfast five days a week at the same table in the same downtown diner with the same group of friends at the same time, 7:00. Because of this, Theo rarely saw his father in the morning. Theo received a peck on the cheek from his mother, who was still in her robe, as they exchanged good morning and compared how they slept. Marcella, when she wasn’t tied up in court, spent the early part of each Friday morning getting worked on. Hair, nails, toes. As a professional, she was serious about her appearance. Her husband was not quite as concerned about his.

  “No news on April,” Mrs. Boone said. The small television next to the microwave was not on.

  “What does that mean?” Theo asked as he took a seat. Judge was standing next to the stove, as close to the sausage as he could possibly get.

  “It means nothing, at least for now,” she said as she placed a plate in front of Theo. A stack of small round pancakes, three links of sausage. She poured him a glass of milk.

  “Thanks, Mom. This is awesome. What about Judge?”

  “Of course,” she said as she placed a small plate in front of the dog. Pancakes and sausage, too.

  “Dig in.” She took her seat and looked at the large breakfast sitting in front of her son. She sipped her coffee. Theo had no choice but to eat like he was starving. After a few bites, he said, “Delicious, Mom.”

  “Thought you might need something extra this morning.”

  “Thanks.”

  After a pause in which she watched him closely, she said, “Theo, are you all right? I mean, I know this is just awful, but how are you handling it?”

  It was easier to chew than to talk. Theo had no answer. How do you describe your emotions when a close friend is abducted and probably tossed in a river? How do you express your sadness when that friend was a neglected kid from a strange family with nutty parents, a kid who didn’t have much of a chance?

  Theo kept chewing. When he had to say something, he sort of grunted, “I’m okay, Mom.” It was not the truth, but at the moment it was all he could manage.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Ah, the perfect question. Theo shook his head and said, “No, I do not. That just makes it worse.”

  She smiled and said, “Okay, I understand.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Theo hopped on his bike, rubbed Judge’s head, and said good-bye, then flew down the Boones’ driveway and onto Mallard Lane.

  Long before Theo was born, Ike Boone had been a lawyer. He had founded the firm with Theo’s parents. The three lawyers worked well together and prospered, until Ike did something wrong. Something bad. Whatever Ike did, it was not discussed in Theo’s presence. Naturally curious, and raised by two lawyers, Theo had been pecking away at Ike’s mysterious downfall for several years, but he had learned little. His father rebuffed all nosiness with a brusque, “We’ll discuss it when you get older.” His mother usually said something like, “Your father will explain it one day.”

  Theo knew only the basics: (1) Ike had once been a smart and successful tax lawyer; (2) then he went to prison for several years; (3) he was disbarred and can never be a lawyer again; (4) while he was in prison, his wife divorced him and left Strattenburg with their three children; (5) the children, Theo’s first cousins, were much older than Theo and he’d never met them; and (6) relations between Ike and Theo’s parents were not that good.

  Ike eked out a living as a tax accountant for small businesses and a few other clients. He lived alone in a tiny apartment. He liked to think of himself as a misfit, even a rebel against the establishment. He wore weird clothes, long, gray hair pulled into a ponytail, sandals (even in cold weather), and usually had the Grateful Dead or Bob Dylan playing on the cheap stereo in his office. He worked above a Greek deli, in a wonderfully shabby old room with rows of untouched books on the shelves.

  Theo bounced up the stairs, knocked on the door as he pushed it open, and strolled into Ike’s office as if he owned the place. Ike was at his desk, one even more cluttered than his brother Woods’s, and he was sipping coffee from a tall paper cup. “Mornin’, Theo,” he said like a real grump.

  “Hey, Ike.” Theo fell into a rickety wooden chair by the desk. “What’s up?”

  Ike leaned forward on his elbows. His eyes were red and puffy. Over the years, Theo had heard snippets of gossip about Ike’s drinking, and he assumed that was one reason his uncle got off to a slow start each morning.

  “I guess you’re worried about your friend, the Finnemore girl,” Ike said.

  Theo nodded.

  “Well stop worrying. It ain’t her. The body they pulled from the river appears to be that of a man, not a girl. They’re not sure. DNA will confirm in a day or two, but the person is, or was, five feet six inches tall. Your friend was about five one, right?”


  “I guess.”

  “The body is extremely decomposed, which suggests that it spent more than a few days in the water. Your friend was snatched late Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning. If her kidnapper tossed her in the river shortly after that, the body would not be as decomposed as this one. It’s a mess, with a lot of missing parts. Probably been in the water for a week or so.”

  Theo absorbed this. He was stunned, relieved, and he couldn’t suppress a grin. As Ike went on, Theo felt the tension ease in his chest and stomach.

  “The police are going to make the announcement at nine this morning. I thought you might appreciate a little head start.”

  “Thanks, Ike.”

  “But they will not admit the obvious, and that is to say that they’ve wasted the last two days with the theory that Jack Leeper took the girl, killed her, and tossed her in the river. Leeper is nothing but a lying thug, and the cops allowed themselves to chase the wrong man. This will not be mentioned by the police.”

  “Who told you all this?” Theo asked, and immediately knew it was the wrong question because it would not be answered.

  Ike smiled, rubbed his red eyes, took a gulp of coffee, and said, “I have friends, Theo, and not the same friends I had years ago. My friends now are from a different part of town. They’re not in the big buildings and fine homes. They’re closer to the street.”

  Theo knew that Ike played a lot of poker, and his pals included some retired lawyers and policemen. Ike also liked to give the impression that he had a large circle of shady friends who watched everything from the shadows, and thus knew the street talk. There was some truth to this. The previous year, one of his clients was convicted for operating a small-time drug ring. Ike got his name in the paper when he was called to testify as the man’s bookkeeper.

  “I hear a lot of stuff, Theo,” he added.

  “Then who’s the guy they pulled from the river?”

  Another sip of coffee. “We’ll probably never know. They’ve gone two hundred miles upriver and found no record of a missing person in the past month. You ever hear of the Bates’s case?”

  “No.”

  “Probably forty years ago.”

  “I’m thirteen years old, Ike.”

  “Right. Anyway, it happened over in Rooseburg. A crook named Bates faked his own death one night. Somehow snatched an unknown person, knocked him out, put this person in his car, a nice Cadillac, then ran it into a ditch and set it on fire. The police and firemen show up and the car is nothing but flames. They find a pile of cremated ashes and figure it’s Mr. Bates. They have a funeral, a burial, the usual. Mrs. Bates collects the life insurance. Mr. Bates is forgotten until three years later when he’s arrested in Montana outside a bar. They haul him back to face the music here. He pleads guilty. The big question is—who was the guy who got fried in his car? Mr. Bates says he doesn’t know, never got the boy’s name, just picked him up one night as a hitchhiker. Three hours later, the boy was reduced to ashes. Guess he got in the wrong car. Bates gets life in prison.”

  “What’s the point here, Ike?”

  “The point, my dear nephew, is that we may never know who the cops pulled from the river. There’s a class of people out there, Theo—bums, drifters, hobos, homeless folk—who live in the underworld. They’re nameless, faceless; they move from town to town, hopping trains, hitchhiking, living in the woods and under the bridges. They’ve dropped out of society, and from time to time bad things happen to them. It’s a rough and violent world they inhabit, and we rarely see them, because they do not wish to be seen. My guess is that the corpse the cops are inspecting will never be identified. But that’s really not the point. The good news is that it’s not your friend.”

  “Thanks, Ike. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “I thought you might need some good news.”

  “It’s very good news, Ike. I’ve been worried sick.”

  “She your girlfriend?”

  “No, just a good friend. She has a weird family and I guess I’m one of the few kids she confides in.”

  “She’s lucky to have a friend like you, Theo.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  Ike relaxed and put his feet on his desk. Sandals again, with bright red