Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(17)

“Bingo. Not cheap, either, like nearly a thousand bucks. So apparently it’s a really nice outdoors jacket, and Justin loves it. Wears it everywhere. Including, hopefully, out to dinner last night.”

“Scampo is a nice restaurant,” D.D. commented.

“Navy blue fabric with tan leather trim. He could wear it to Scampo. Hell, from what I’m told, this is a guy who wore his work boots everywhere. Why not a nice outdoors jacket?”

They fell silent, watching Tessa work the keyboard. “The jacket’s GPS device is built into the back liner,” she explained. “There’s a slot for removal, as the battery is good for only fifteen hours, then has to be recharged.”

“Do you have to activate it?” D.D. asked. “Or is it just always on?”

“This particular device must be activated. From what I’m reading here, that can happen two ways: The wearer manually activates it at the beginning of his hike or, say, day on the job site. Or it can be activated remotely using this software, which can also be installed on a cell phone. Kind of wild,” Tessa muttered to herself, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Turns any smart phone into a digital search dog. Find Justin Denbe.”

A map had just opened up on the computer screen. She eyed it carefully. Saw nothing.

“Is it activated?” D.D. again, voice impatient as she moved to stand behind Tessa, peering intently at the screen.

“In all of the US, we have nothing. So I’m guessing Justin hasn’t turned it on.”

Neil looked at her. “Then you do it. Ping it.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

She moved the mouse to a green button in the lower right-hand corner of the menu. “Activate,” it read. Like a bomb. Or a hand grenade. Or the key to saving a missing family’s life.

She clicked the icon. The colored map of the US shifted, zooming in, focusing left until it was no longer the entire US map on the computer screen but just the eastern seaboard. There, due north of them, a red dot suddenly pulsed to life.

“I’ll be damned.”

In front of her, she heard a small beep. She glanced up, to see Phil setting a timer on his watch. “Fifteen hours,” he said. “Battery life, remember?”

“Yep.”

“Zoom in, zoom in, zoom in.” D.D. hit Tessa on the shoulder to hurry her along. Since Tessa was sitting closer than D.D., and could already make the distinction the Boston crew hadn’t been able to see yet, she did just that.

The East Coast became New England. Massachusetts expanded in front of their eyes. Then, New Hampshire. Until right there, definitely over the border, definitely crossing state lines into central New Hampshire, the GPS device in Justin Denbe’s fancy outdoor jacket blinked back at them.

Tessa pushed back from the computer, turning around till she met D.D.’s eyes. “Assuming Justin Denbe has been abducted wearing that coat, he’s no longer in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts…”

“I was right at the start,” D.D. grumbled.

“Not your case,” Tessa agreed.

Neil put it more succinctly. “Damn feds.”


THE BOSTON DETECTIVES did not pack up their toys and go home.

Jurisdiction was a legal distinction. Basically, federal laws carried stiffer penalties than state laws, meaning the US Attorney’s Office packed a bigger punch than the Suffolk County DA when prosecuting suspected kidnappers.

Given that it was in everyone’s best interest for accused criminals to face the largest legal hammer possible, the Suffolk County DA would call the US Attorney’s Office, District of Massachusetts, and inform them of a crime that most likely crossed state lines. The US Attorney would then contact their investigative body of choice, the FBI. At which point, FBI agents from the Boston field office would promptly deploy to the Denbe residence, arriving in ten minutes if they chose to drive, or twenty if they chose to walk.

The local field agents wouldn’t expect the Boston detectives to simply disappear. Instead, the federal agents would politely but firmly redirect all evidence collected—the urine samples, the vomit, Taser confetti, scuff markings—from the Boston PD lab to the federal crime lab. Next, they would form a multi-jurisdictional task force, where conveniently enough, they would serve as the brains of the operation, while the Boston cops became the brawn.

Neil grumbled, D.D. and Phil sighed philosophically. Tessa remained indifferent. Her job was to locate the Denbe family. She would work with whichever playmates she was given, though she was already guessing the Boston cops were better at sharing their sandbox than the feds. And given D.D.’s notoriously cranky temperament, that was saying something.

Tessa pushed back from the computer. She made one last pass of the upstairs crime scene, while D.D. checked in with the efforts of the uniformed officers, Phil returned to working local contacts and Neil made a last series of calls. While they were distracted, it was possible that Tessa also reentered the kitchen, powered up all three family cell phones and jotted down the contacts that appeared in their various favorites lists. She could go through official channels, of course, but this was more expedient.

Then, the Boston squad reappeared and, gathered around the pile of family possessions, began the summarization process. To give the rookie lead detective credit, Neil’s investigative efforts thus far had been quick but thorough: