“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
Mindy’s brain began to function. This was too heavy a burden for Evan, or any kid. His life was about to come tumbling down, and his father was going to jail. He would lose his home. Everybody at school would know, his teammates, his friends, his teachers. “Did you call him? Or text him?”
“No.”
“Nice. Perfect. Great.” Mindy reached for her phone and read the home screen. She’d gotten some texts from some moms but the text that jumped out at her was from Evan. She hadn’t even heard it come in, maybe it came in when she was on the phone with Gloria Caselli. She swiped to read the text, which said:
mom, don’t worry im fine. call u asap. love u
“Min, did he text you?”
“Yes, he texted me, but he doesn’t say where he is or when he’s coming home.” Mindy took no comfort from the text. In fact, it worried her more. She called Evan again, but the call rang and rang then went to voicemail. She texted him.
call me asap please im worried about u
“If he texted, he’s fine. He’ll be home when he cools down.”
“I wonder if he’s with that girl, Amanda.” Mindy went into her phone, scrolled to the photo she’d taken of Amanda’s phone number, and called. The call rang and rang, then went to voicemail, a recorded message with a mechanical voice. She waited for it to end, then said: “Amanda, this is Evan’s mother. Is Evan with you? Please have him call me right away. If he isn’t with you, I want you to call me back right away. Right away!”
Paul called from the couch. “Min, who’s Amanda?”
Mindy didn’t bother answering, reflexively going to the window. Evan’s BMW was gone, of course. He could be with Amanda or sitting alone in a car somewhere, distraught. She scanned the street, but there was no BMW. The moon shone on McMansions, manicured hedges, and mulched beds of daffodils. Everybody had a new car and a basketball hoop, and they all recycled. Mindy mentally kissed it good-bye. She only wanted her son back.
Her mind raced. She prayed that Evan wasn’t running away. She looked down at the other texts and started opening them. Somebody had to know where he was.
Evan, where are you?
Chapter Forty-five
Chris worked in his home office, multitasking in high gear. He’d isolated the videotapes of the four suspects—Raz, Evan, Trevor, and Dylan—and was playing them. Their recorded voices echoed through the room while he reviewed the photos he’d taken of Dylan’s house. It was the way he always worked a case, immersing himself in the investigation, reviewing all the facts and studying each detail. Every time, something popped out at him that he hadn’t noticed before. He’d never been under such time pressure, but he performed better under the gun.
He shifted to the photos that he’d gotten from Abe’s cottage and scanned each one. They showed scenes of white-capped mountains, a wildlife museum, Abe’s older parents sitting in a porch swing, and Jamie, Abe, and the other teachers and their spouses at a pool in their bathing suits, smiling with their arms around each other. Abe stood happily at the center, and Chris felt a pang at Abe’s loss, a sign of how deeply this operation had sunk into his bones. He couldn’t let Abe’s killers get away with murder and he had to stop them from killing anybody else. There had to be a connection.
Chris heard voices and a knocking at the door downstairs, but he ignored it. He wasn’t expecting anyone. They must have the wrong building. It happened because the townhouses in the development looked alike.
A woman called out, “Chris, are you home?”
Chris recognized the voice. It was Heather’s. As much as he liked her, he didn’t have time to deal. He waited, hoping she would go away.
“Chris, it’s Heather and Jordan! Are you home? Your car is here!”
Chris would see what they wanted and get rid of them fast. He closed the file, hurried from his office, and hustled to the front door, buzzing them in. He stepped outside his apartment door to greet them on the landing, as they came upstairs. Heather looked stressed, her hair loose and her hands shoved into her jacket pockets, and Jordan lumbered behind her as if they weren’t even together.
“Oh hello, guys,” Chris said quickly. “Sorry, you caught me at a bad moment.”
“Chris, hi.” Heather flashed a tight smile, reaching the landing. “We’re really sorry to bother you.”
Jordan interjected, “Hey Coach. My mom wanted to come, not me.”
“Thanks. Jordan.” Heather shot him a tense look, then turned back to Chris. “Chris, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important. Something came up that you need to know about, as coach. I didn’t want to go to Coach Hardwick because, well, I don’t know him, and I didn’t want to call the principal if we could keep it to the team. In-house, as it were.”
“Okay, how I can help you?” Chris resigned himself to dealing with it, then getting them out of here.
“Well, can we come in?” Heather blinked. “I don’t want to talk about it out here.”
“Oh, sure, right. Excuse my bad manners.” Chris ushered them inside, but left the door open.
“Well, this is awkward to talk about, but here goes.” Heather frowned, barely glancing around the apartment. “Jordan got an inappropriate picture in a text from Evan today. It’s of a girl that Evan’s dating, a sext. Jordan thinks they call her Miss Booty Call, but whatever. Evan sent it to the entire varsity team and apparently he has done this before. I don’t know what to do, but we have to do something.”
“I understand.” Chris had no time for a high-school sexting drama. “I’ll deal with this first thing tomorrow morning when—”
“I just want to say, it’s the first time that Jordan ever got one of these pictures from Evan. Jordan wasn’t on varsity before. I don’t want my son to get in trouble for something that Evan is doing. Jordan needs a baseball scholarship and if this goes on his record—”
Jordan interjected, “But I don’t want to get Evan in trouble. I called him but he didn’t call me back.”
“Jordan, really?” Heather shot Jordan another look, then returned her attention to Chris. “I called Mindy, Evan’s mother, but this is the least of her worries right now. She’s beside herself. She just found out that her husband’s going to jail for tax evasion.”
“Really,” Chris said, surprised.
“Yes, and they had a big family fight. She doesn’t even know where Evan is.”
“Evan is missing?” Chris’s ears pricked up.
“Well, not missing, just not home.” Heather pursed her lips. “But Evan isn’t my problem. That family can afford to write a check for college, but we can’t, and I’m not going to let Evan hurt Jordan’s chances to be recruited.”
“I agree, Jordan shouldn’t get in trouble. But it’s Sunday night, so I can’t contact Coach Hardwick, Dr. McElroy, or anybody in the office.” Chris walked to the door. He sensed that something was going on with Evan and he had to get back to his desk. “Guys, I really appreciate your bringing this to my attention, but I’m in the middle of something. I will discuss this with them first thing in the morning—”
“Chris, I must not be making myself clear, this is so awkward.” Heather took a phone from her pocket and scrolled through it as she talked. “Maybe you need to see what I’m talking about to understand. It’s a very inappropriate picture. Look!”
“I assumed it was—” Chris started to say, but stopped when Heather held up her phone. Its screen showed the naked body of a woman whose face wasn’t shown but whose legs were parted, leaving nothing to the imagination. She had a tattoo on her side, a dream catcher.
“Heather, let me see that.” Chris felt something nagging at him.
“The sext?” Heather handed him the phone. “Kinda weird of you, but okay.”
“Excuse me for one minute.” Chris eyed the photo, handed her back the phone, and edged backwards toward his office. “Just wait here.”
Chapter Forty-six
Chris hustled into his office, closed the
door behind him, and hurried to his desk for the pictures from Wyoming. He found the one he was looking for, the photo of Jamie, Abe, and the other teachers and their spouses in bathing suits. His gaze went straight to Courtney, who was wearing a black two-piece suit. She had a tattoo on her side, and he looked at it closely but couldn’t tell what it was. If it had been a digital photo, he would simply enlarge it, but he didn’t have a scanner.
Chris tore open his desk drawer, found an old-school magnifying glass, and held it up to the photo. He moved it over Courtney’s waist, and the ink came into focus. Courtney’s tattoo was a dream catcher, and it was on her right side, in the same position on her body as in the nude selfie. He compared it with the phone, and it was a match.
Chris blinked. So Courtney was the woman in the sext, and she and Evan must’ve been having an affair. But something else was far more concerning. Heather had said that Evan’s father was about to go to jail for tax evasion, a federal crime. Evan was so upset that he’d left the house. That could give Evan a motivation for a grudge against the government. But where was Evan? Could he be with Courtney?
Chris felt adrenaline surge into his system. He turned to his computer and plugged in Courtney’s name and Central Valley PA, and the first address was hers:
Courtney Wheeler, 297 Mole Drive, Central Valley, PA
Then Chris’s gaze fell on the third address, under previous addresses of Courtney Wheeler, and the entry read:
Courtney Shank Wheeler, 938 Evergreen Circle, Headley, PA
Chris’s thoughts raced. Headley, PA. Where had he heard that name before? The Rabbi had said it. It was up north in Marcellus Shale. Courtney and her family were from the Marcellus Shale area. She could have been the connection to the baseball team—and if so, that meant Evan was the boy in the Musketeers Varsity T-shirt, stealing the bags of ammonium nitrate fertilizer from Herb Vrasaya’s farm.
Chris felt the revelation electrify his system. If Evan was missing, it could be going down tonight. Or Evan could be in mortal jeopardy.
Chris reached for his phone and was pressing in the Rabbi’s number when he heard the door opening.
“Chris?” Heather stood in the threshold with Jordan, her bewilderment plain.
Chapter Forty-seven
“Chris, what are you doing?” Heather asked, aghast.
“Excuse me.” Chris hustled out of the office and closed the door behind him. “I’m sorry, but you both have to go, and so do I.”
“What do you mean?” Heather recoiled, frowning. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t explain more. You both have to go. Please.”
“But aren’t you going to deal with this situation?” Heather folded her arms. “I’m not just going to let my son—”
“Heather, please. Evan could be in grave trouble.” Chris grabbed his windbreaker from the hook and his keys from the side table.
“But what about Jordan? Jordan matters, too. I’m surprised you would treat him like he doesn’t. I thought you cared about him. About us.”
“Heather.” Chris felt pained. He wanted to touch her but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Of course I care about you both. But please, for now, go.”
“Why?” Heather asked, wounded.
“Coach, what’s up? Why are you acting so random?” Jordan’s lips parted, and Chris could see how hurt they were, which made him feel terrible. He had deceived her and Jordan, who had trusted him. They had been his unwitting, and he’d never felt bad about it before. He owed them an explanation.
“Heather, Jordan, there’s something I have to tell you. I’m a Special Agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, and I’m working undercover.”
“Chris? You’re a what?” Heather asked, astonished. “You mean, you’re not really a coach?”
“Correct, I’m not a coach. That was a cover story. I have to go now. We all do.” Chris had no more time to lose. He crossed the room and removed the false front from a shelf in the entertainment center, which concealed a small safe that he’d built into the wall himself.
“Whoa, Coach, I mean, for real?” Jordan gasped. “Are you kidding right now?”
“Jordan, I’m sorry I lied to you, but I had to.” Chris dialed the safe’s combination, opened the door, and took out his wallet and shoulder holster with his Glock. He closed the safe, walked back to Heather and Jordan, and showed them his ID and badge. “Here’s my ID, so you know.”
“It says Curt Abbott,” Heather said, shocked. “Chris isn’t your real name?”
“No, now that’s all I can tell you and I shouldn’t even be telling you that. I’m asking you to keep this completely confidential. Tell no one outside of this room. This is a federal matter, and we are handling it.” Chris felt a wrench in his chest to see Heather edge backwards, her eyes showing the sting of betrayal.
“Chris, is this really true?” she asked, her tone newly hushed. “You lied to us to help Evan?”
“No but I can’t explain more,” Chris rushed to say, slipping on his shoulder holster and checking the snap on the thumb break, which held his Glock securely in place. “You’ll be contacted by an ATF agent within the hour. They’ll confirm what I’m saying. Now let’s go, hurry.”
Chris hustled them downstairs, then ran for his car, pulling out ahead of them.
It was go-time.
Chapter Forty-eight
Chris tore out of his development, heading toward Courtney’s. Mole Street was in the Murray Hills development, and he knew the way. He reached for his phone and called the Rabbi, who answered immediately.
“Curt, hi. I’m at the burn site, and we got nothing. Tell me something good. Improve my mood.”
“Can do. I think the kid who stole the fertilizer is Evan Kostis, from my baseball team.” Chris steered right, then left through the deserted streets. “He was having an affair with a female teacher at the high school, Courtney Wheeler, and she’s originally from Headley. Her maiden name is Shank, and she used to live on Evergreen Circle. I’m going to her house in Central Valley right now.”
“So they were connected. Nice work! You need backup? I’ll get the locals over there.”
“Yes, but I don’t want them to tip her off if she’s there.”
“Think she will be?”
“No. She could be up there with Evan. You need to send people over to her family home in Headley.” Chris told him the address.
“So you think the kid’s in the conspiracy with the teacher?”
“Yes.” Chris whizzed past the outlet malls, their stores darkened and closed. “His father is about to be indicted for tax evasion, a doctor at Blakemore Medical Center in Central Valley. Ask your AUSA and IRS pals what the deal is. That might be the source of Evan’s gripe against the government.”
“Okay. How are they traveling? You got a vehicle or a tag?”
“Not for Courtney, but Evan is driving a new black BMW. I’ll text you photos of the tag, the car, and him.” Chris had a photo of the BMW in his phone from that day in the parking lot, at school.
“What does this have to do with the dead teacher, Abe Yomes?”
“Not sure yet, but Abe was close friends with Courtney. You got anybody to call my unwitting, Jordan and Heather Larkin? I had to blow my cover, it couldn’t be avoided. They need handholding.”
“Text me the information, and I’ll get somebody over there.”
“Thanks. We have to assume any bomb plot is now in progress. If it was an anniversary bombing, they’re not waiting anymore.” Chris would fill him in about the sexting later, which would have accelerated the plot.
“Agree, they have to know we’re onto them by now. Meantime we’ll liaise with Homeland Security, the Joint Terrorism Task Force, and the FBI. They’re all here. You need to get up here after you assess the situation at the Wheeler house.”
“Okay. You going to send a helo for me?” Chris knew that getting a helo wasn’t always easy for ATF, which no longer had an aviation fleet. It recei
ved air support from DEA and U.S. Customs & Border Protection, through a Memorandum of Understanding, or MOU.
“Yes, we got all the toys up here.”
“Good. Let me let you go. Call the locals and I’ll meet them there.”
“Stay safe.”
“That’s no fun,” Chris said, hearing the bravado in his own voice. He used to say things like that all the time, but the words didn’t fit so easily in his mouth anymore. He’d liked risk before, when he had nothing to lose. Now, it was different. Or it could have been.
Chris turned right, then left. At the first red light, he texted the Rabbi the photos from his phone. When the light turned green, he headed through the quiet suburbs late on a Sunday night, when everybody thought their biggest worry was work or school the next morning.
He had to make sure they were right.
Chapter Forty-nine
Chris turned into Murray Hills, and the development was quiet, the houses still and darkened. He turned onto Mole Road, found the house, parked in front, and hustled out of the Jeep. He had beat the local police.
The Wheeler’s house was quiet, still, and dark, but a black BMW sat parked in the driveway behind a white Acura. It had to be Evan’s. Chris hustled to the BMW, pulling out his phone and switching to the flashlight function. He reached the car, scanning inside, but saw nothing.
“Evan?” he called out, but there was no response, and Chris prayed the boy wasn’t in the trunk, alive or dead. He would’ve popped it but he had to get inside the house. He jogged across the patch of front lawn, and when he reached the concrete steps in front of the door, he noticed that the front door stood partway open behind the screen door. The house was darkened inside.
Chris slipped his phone in his back pocket and pulled his gun from his shoulder holster, entering as quietly as possible. He found himself in a small living room and though the lights were off, he could see a dark figure lying motionless on the floor.