The Last Move (Criminal Profiler 1)

They arrived at the football game to a dozen cop cars with lights flashing in the parking lot. Palmer was already on the scene, and she’d spoken to the principal, who had located Carrie and her mother, Kelly Scott. The girl and her mother were pale.

When they approached, Palmer introduced them.

Mazur extended his hand to Mrs. Scott. “I’m Alyssa’s father.”

Mrs. Scott’s frown deepened. “I just saw Alyssa with Carrie a half hour ago. Detective Palmer tells me she might have been kidnapped.”

Carrie’s red-rimmed eyes filled with fresh tears. “Mr. Mazur, I’m so sorry.” Understanding her through the sobs was a challenge. “I thought she was just going to the car to get her sweater.”

“Carrie, it’s okay.” Mazur laid his hand on the girl’s shoulder, and she quickly hugged him. He looked up at Mrs. Scott. “This is connected to a case that I’m working.”

The woman leaned toward him. “I told the girls to stay with the crowds.”

Mazur pulled the girl away from him. “Carrie, I need you to focus. Did you see anyone lingering around?”

“No. No one that looked weird,” she said.

Mrs. Scott drew in a breath. “There was a man by the concession stand.”

“Who?” Mazur asked.

“Midthirties, dark hair. I noticed him because he wasn’t old enough to be a parent and too old to be a student. He just didn’t fit here. And then he tossed out a perfectly good hot dog.” A sigh shuddered through her. “God, do you think it was him?”

Kate moved in front of Mazur, introduced herself, and showed Mrs. Scott a picture of Bauldry. “Is this him?”

The woman leaned in and studied the picture. “I can’t say for certain, but it does look like him.”

“Did he say anything?” Kate asked.

“No. He was extremely polite and put a twenty-dollar bill in the band-fund jar.”

Kate turned to the girl. “Carrie, you need to stop crying. I need to talk to you.”

The girl stopped sobbing and turned toward Kate. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve pulled down over her hand.

“You’re really FBI?”

“I am.” She looked at the girl’s mother and nodded.

“You come when there’s been a kidnapping or murder.”

“That’s right. You need to listen closely, because we don’t have a lot of time. Can you focus for me?”

The girl sniffed. “I-I’m so rattled.”

“I don’t care how rattled or upset you are,” Mrs. Scott said. “You need to focus and help the police.”

Carrie nibbled her lip. “Yes. Yes. I can do that.”

“Good. Did you see anyone lurking around you tonight?”

“No. We were just enjoying the game.”

Mazur’s phone rang. “Detective Mazur.” He cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear, pulled out a notebook, and scribbled down notes. “Great. Thank you.” He looked at Kate. “They’ve located the Scotts’ car.”

“Go,” Kate said. She held out little hope that whoever had taken Alyssa left some kind of evidence. “I want to talk to some of the people here. See if they know anything.”

“Right.”

Mazur and Palmer left, leaving Kate alone to talk to Carrie and her mother. She watched as his car drove off, so sorry she’d ever met him or Alyssa.

“How long have you known Alyssa?” Kate asked.

Carrie sniffed. “A couple of months. She’s new, and it’s hard to make new friends in this school. Most of us have been going here since kindergarten.”

“But you’re her friend.”

“She’s cool. And she’s nice. We have fun together.”

“Is Alyssa dating anyone? Would she have left with anyone?” Sometimes a missing child had not been taken but had left with a friend. Kate had experience with girls like Carrie. They wanted to protect their friend and at this stage feared the parents more than the police. In their naïveté, they didn’t believe monsters were real.

Carrie leaned in a little. “She does like a guy. His name is James. They’ve kissed a few times.”

“Where is James?”

“He’s one of the football players.” She pointed to a tall, dark-haired kid whose football uniform was covered in dirt and grass. “He’s really nice. And he couldn’t have left with her during the game.”

“Okay, honey.”

Needing to cover all her bases, Kate cut through the crowd and made her way up to the young football player who was headed to the locker room for halftime. He stood at least a foot taller than her. She held up her badge. “James, I need to talk to you.”

The boy’s face paled, and as the two cut away from the crowd, he asked, “What’s going on?”

She studied his face, suspecting almost immediately he had no relevant information. “You and Alyssa are dating?”

“Not exactly dating. But I want to. I like her.”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“In school yesterday. She decorated my locker.”

“You’ve not seen her since?”

“No.” He ran an unsteady hand over his short hair. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him Alyssa had been taken or that her chances grew slimmer by the moment. The truth was, girls who had been abducted were often dead within the first few hours. “I can’t say right now.” William was already several moves ahead of her, and time was running out. Drexler wouldn’t kill right away, but that was little solace for what she knew was in store for Alyssa.

She dialed Nevada.

He picked up on the third ring. “No sign of Drexler yet.”

“I think we have a bigger problem now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

All I want for Christmas is . . . revenge.

San Antonio, Texas

Friday, December 1, 8:00 p.m.

Mazur and Palmer arrived at the dimly lit box store parking lot ten minutes after William’s call. The car he’d stolen was parked in the darkest part of the lot nosed in at an angle toward a stand of small trees.

Both detectives were silent as they drew their weapons and approached the white Lexus. No one was in the front seat, and the trunk was ajar.

Mazur moved directly to the trunk while Palmer walked around the front to make sure it was secure. Normally Mazur would have waited, but he needed to see the inside of the trunk. He’d once bargained with God to bring back his son as he held the boy’s still body in his arms. But those pleas had gone unheeded. Still, he hoped, and struck a new bargain. I’ll do anything.

He lifted the trunk lid. It was empty. No Alyssa. He stepped back; the swell of fear and relief nearly made his knees buckle. “She’s not here!”

Palmer stepped forward and inventoried the trunk’s contents.

There was a spare tire, a trunk organizer with flares, and an open first-aid kit. But shoved in the very back was Alyssa’s blue sweater.

“What’s it doing crammed up there?” Palmer asked.

“She did it. She wants us to know she was here.”

With trembling hands he holstered his weapon and pulled on latex gloves. He picked up the sweater. Under the sweater lay her bracelet. She’d left it for him so he’d know she’d been here, just as Kate advised. His daughter believed he could save her.

When Caleb died, he thought he had shouldered all the anger and sorrow a man could. Now he realized there was so much more of both that could be waiting for him.

Palmer searched the front and back seats. “There’s nothing here.”

“Get Calhoun here now. I want this entire car dusted for prints. There’s a chance the kidnapper didn’t use gloves.”

“I’m on it.”

Kate had a uniformed officer drive her to her rental car, which had been checked and judged clear of tracking devices, and then she drove straight to Bauldry’s house, where three squad cars were now in position, lights flashing. The front door was open, and the housekeeper was talking to a

police officer.

Pulling her badge, she hurried up to the front door. “Where’s William?”

The housekeeper looked panicked and afraid. But a quick glance over her shoulder said she was more afraid of her employer. “He’s not here.”

“We’re not here to arrest him,” Kate lied. “We need to talk to him.”

“Please,” she whispered. “I can’t help you, Miss.”

Kate could play by the book until moments like this when doing it by the book stood between her and saving a life. She pushed past the housekeeper and screamed, “Bauldry!”

“Miss. Miss,” the woman said, hurrying after her. “You can’t come in the house. Mr. Bauldry doesn’t see people.”

“You said he wasn’t here.” Kate searched deeper into the house and scanned a dimly lit sitting room. It was clean, pristine, but there was no sign of William.

The housekeeper shook her head. “You have to leave.”

Kate bounded up the staircase, shouting, “Where are you, Bauldry?”

She opened the first door in the hallway as she heard the housekeeper on her phone calling someone. As the woman spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, Kate ran to the second room. Nothing.

Her phone rang. The number was blocked. She ran down the steps. “This is Kate Hayden.”

“You always sound so frantic,” William said.

She looked toward the housekeeper, who slid her phone back in her pocket. “William.”

“Katie.” He drew out the word as if she were a naughty child. “How are you today?”