Taken in Death (In Death #37.5)(9)

“The car’s so clean you could eat off the floor.” Eve shook her head. “And it was stuck in the seat with just the edge sticking out. I think the kid planted it. How do we play this thing?”

“We’d need the toy—another of the same kind. I think there are a lot of them on the market.”

“A Jamboree!” Francis shouted it, and this time his face flushed red with excitement. “I’ve seen Henry with that a dozen times the last couple months. He got it for his birthday. It’s a Jamboree. My grandson has one. I got one upstairs. We play spy with them. I’ve got one.”

“If you’d go get—”

But he was already running.

“Some luck.” Peabody studied the disc. “If the boy really did plant it there, if he’s got the toy with him, it could be a break.”

“And she either doesn’t know what it is, or doesn’t know he has it. Get another team of sweepers on the garage and the vehicle, and let’s get a copy of the security feed from Francis. She didn’t take them far. She must have a place, a place she can keep two kids under wraps. Close by so she could case the house, get a sense of their routine maybe. That means she’s got money enough to buy or rent. Where’d she get it?”

She stopped when Francis, breath heaving, ran back. Panting, he pushed a colorful little PPC into Eve’s hand.

“You should sit down, Mr. Francis.” Peabody steered him back so he could at least lean against the trunk of a bright red Urban Mini. “Catch your breath.”

Eve fiddled with the toy a moment, searching for controls, power, then slid the disc in.

Giggling burst out, followed by singing—young voices, a boy and a girl. Eve felt her bubble of hope pop. It looked like Peabody had been right.

Then an adult voice cut through, laughing as well.

“Bedtime, you goofies! Henry, time to put that away.”

“That’s Darcia,” Francis murmured.

There was some negotiating, some protests, some begging for a story.

“You already had your story tonight. A new story begins tomorrow! Let’s go brush our teeth.”

There was a click, a beat of silence, then another click.

“I wish I had a story now.” The boy’s voice, Eve thought, in a whisper. “Darcia said I could dream one, so I will. Mommy and Daddy will be home soon. I’m going to dream a pirate story. Good night, everybody.”

Click. Pause. Click.

This time the boy’s voice came on, a bare whisper, slurry, groggy—and music played over it.

“I’m Henry. The evil witch has me and Gala. She killed Darcia. Tell Daddy to come get us. I don’t feel good. We had to drink it. It says second. Tell the good witch to come and bring Daddy. Please. We’re scared. Tell—”

And silence.

“There’s not much room on those little discs,” Peabody said quietly. “He probably ran out of space.”

“Smart kid. Smart little kid.” Eve glanced over, saw Francis still leaning against the trunk. He’d covered his face with his hands as he wept.

Eve jerked her head so Peabody would deal with him, and stepped out of the garage to play the recording again.

“Smart kid,” she repeated. “You stay smart. We’re going to find you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Eve handed Peabody the Jamboree Francis had lent them as she got into the car. “Limited range, right?”

“Yeah. I think probably a couple of blocks, maybe three or four tops.”

“Hmm.” Eve used the in-dash ’link to contact Feeney—her former partner, her trainer, and current captain of the Electronic Detectives Division.

He said, “Yo,” as his weathered, hangdog face came on screen.

“What do you know about a toy—what is it—jumbalaya?”

“Jamboree,” Peabody corrected.

“Yeah, that.”

“Nice little unit, some good features on it. Couple of the grandkids have them. I told them I could make them up something, but they had to have the store-bought.”

“I bet you could,” she murmured. “Can you boost the range on one of them?”

“Don’t see why not, if I had one to take apart and fool with. What’s this about? Is this about those kids who got taken?”

“Yeah. The boy’s got his toy with him, and he left us a message disc in the car the kidnapper used to transport them. I need you on this, and I’m going to set up a command post at the crime scene. I think the kids are being held in the general area. Central’s too far to make this idea workable.”

“Give me the address,” he told her. “I’ll clear the time, bring a couple of the boys along.”

“Appreciate it.” She relayed the location, clicked off. “Peabody, pull in Baxter and Trueheart, and have them bring down what we need to set up at the crime scene.”

“I bet if the boy got one of these for a gift, the girl’s got one. Twins,” Peabody pointed out. “It’s more fun to play if somebody’s got a second unit.”

“We’ll look for it.”

“Maybe there’s a way to find his frequency. We could try to contact Henry, use that to triangulate location.”

“And if we do that when his crazy aunt’s around, she hears it, takes the toy—maybe hurts the boy. He needs to try to contact us, and we need to be ready when he does.”