Twisted Fate(43)

“Ally,” she said. “He didn’t make one of those movies of you, did he?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I whispered, exasperated at her questions. “It doesn’t matter if he did. They’re just movies. They’re art. They’re documenting our lives. Everybody with a Twitter account does the same thing.”

I looked up at her and saw her concerned face. Neither of us had the energy for another fight. She was quiet, lost in thought. But when she spoke again she only said, “I’m sorry I threw Sparkle Pig.”

I said, “That’s okay. It’s better than when you stabbed him with the sewing scissors.”

“He needed surgery,” she said, starting to laugh a little. “He needed weight-loss surgery.”

And then I don’t know why but I just threw my arms around her and squeezed her tight. I said, “I love you, Syd.”

“Oh God,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Hey, what’s this about? Why are you all sentimental? Are you getting your period?” Then she looked down into my face. “Oh . . . my . . . God,” she said slowly. “Did you and Graham . . . ? Did you?”

I nodded and she smiled a confused smile at me and shook her head and then she kissed me on top of my head. “I love you too, Ally, and I know you’re in love.” She was silent for a time, and then she said, “But please. Don’t let him come between us.”





He came in at about seven thirty in the morning, looking restless and unwashed, but dressed like some kind of movie star. Like he could buy the whole town. And he didn’t act like any kid his age. He was distant and confident. Someone used to telling people what to do—or at least getting what he asked for.

He had a laptop computer with him and he said he had something to show me. Something that might help people find Brian Phillips.

I knew about this kid. I got a buddy in Virginia sent me a juvenile file on him. And I know he had been in some serious trouble. I guess you’d call it serious trouble. It was either trouble or tragedy—so I was ready for something screwy the minute he opened his mouth.

I had him come into the interrogation room, fully expecting him to confess to something I did not want to hear. In a case like a missing child you have no time to spare. You get answers as fast as you can and you make sure you get the details. He wasn’t with his parents or a lawyer, so I was pretty sure we could get him talking. We’d had two days of dead ends and hell looking for Brian, and his mother’s worry was weighing on everyone. Heartbreaking.

He opened the little computer and then clicked on a file and a movie of Brian came up.

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

“I’m making a documentary about the town and I have footage of Brian talking. I posted this online and I think someone may have seen it and used it to kidnap him.”

The words were like a punch to the gut. I was infuriated with this rich little prick, and at the same time I knew this was the strongest lead we had on the case.

“Do you know who’s seen it?” I asked.

“A lot of people,” he said. “I have these names, but I don’t know if they’re the people’s real names or not.” He handed me a piece of paper with a list of names on them.

And I straightaway handed it to Evans. “Check these names against the sex offender registry,” I told him. And I could see the kid cringe even as I said it.

“I didn’t mean any harm,” he said. I looked at him. I don’t know if I believed him or not. I’d read his file and I knew what he’d said to the judge back in Virginia and I saw how his parents’ money and connections made that case just disappear quietly. But he was still a kid. He thought like a kid—no sense of any consequences.

I said, “Graham, I’m going to need to see the website where you’ve got this stuff posted.”

“Of course,” he said. He called it up on his computer and he also wrote down the web address.

Just as I was bending down to look at it, Evans yelled, “We got a hit!”

Everyone in the office stood as if they were shocked into motion.

I told Evans, “Get me a location on that right away.” And I told Graham, “You sit tight for a minute, you might be able to help us out. Was there a credit card used to buy the movie? Or a phone number? If there is, we can track him.”

“Not that I could see,” he said. “He got the movie in exchange for buying me something on my Amazon wish list as a gift—so I couldn’t see any of his information except the name. He wrote his name and then just the word thanks. Once the Amazon sale is shipped the movie uploads. I set it all up automatically and I almost never see a name or real information.”

I shook my head, disgusted at the way kids lived today. What ever happened to playing ball in the park or getting a job after school?

“What did he buy you?” I asked, assuming it would be some books or music.

When he told me, my jaw dropped. It was a six-hundred-dollar camera with an optical zoom lens. I don’t need to tell you how much trouble a kid could be in for selling a movie to a registered pedophile, who in turn bought him a sophisticated surveillance camera.

“Graham,” I said. “I think you should wait right here and we’ll call your parents.” As I was picking up the phone to call them, Evans shouted, “We got a location!”