Taken

  She walked back to the whiteboard and put a roughly drawn anchor beside three photos. “These three are very rarely on dry land, so they’re going to be an interesting chase. One prefers a sloop and the East Coast, the other two fishing trawlers and the West. They get a hint you are coming, you won’t catch them in U.S. waters.”

  Theo carried printouts to pin on the adjacent board as he found matching police records for some of the individuals.

  Matthew wasn’t entirely surprised by the fact Flynn was on the board as a blank square with no photo and no description. “Shannon, nothing on Flynn?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “If the investigation finds him, you find him. I owe him . . . something. For now, I’ve decided silence is appropriate.”

  Paul, watching the exchange, nodded that he’d accept that.

  Shannon erased one of her notes and redid it in smaller lettering to make more whiteboard space available. “The boat names change more frequently than you can say ‘false papers.’ What I have will likely already be dated.” She wrote out fourteen of them. “There were probably a few name changes I didn’t hear about.”

  “The first year, the trawler was named Sea Sprite?” Ann asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s showing up in the Coast Guard records.” Ann sent the screen of data she was studying to the printer. “Did the captain have a routine, visit the same ports?”

  Shannon thought about the question. “More so than the others did. The same refueling points, favorite mooring spots.” She came back to the maps Matthew had unfurled, thumbed through them for the states of California and Washington. “I marked the places I remember in red, those I heard mentioned I put in blue.”

  Ann leaned over the maps with her. “These are the travel routes they took?” Ann asked, referencing the lines that flowed into California.

  “Yes, they were professionals at it and would use interstate highways and back roads with equal ease. Their geography is somewhat predictable by season. They travel in pairs or as a group of three, but rarely more than that. They might be in two or three vehicles through the same general area, but they’re acting independently of each other. They never stay near where they’ve stayed in the past. Oddly, that’s one thing you can depend on. I’ve never seen an overlap in eleven years.” She referenced the California map. “Hence this spider-web effect when you look at travels through the state over the last decade. They didn’t want to be remembered. They used to argue when they approached a favorite restaurant if anyone in the group was unknown there and could go get a carryout order.” Matthew heard her voice break and trail off, and for a moment Shannon wasn’t in this room but somewhere in the past. He reached for her hand, gripped it hard, brought her back to the present.

  She was still disturbingly pale but took a breath and finished her thought. “Everyone I put on that board is on the road most of the year. They aren’t gypsies, but they consider their safety best maintained by being in motion. If they picked up something stolen, they would be at least a hundred miles away before stopping for gas, two hundred miles before thinking of stopping for the night. Never in a place they’d stayed previously.” She reached for the water bottle and took a long drink of water.

  “It never stopped. The top echelon on that board has an incredible thirst for money and things, and it’s both an addiction and an adrenaline rush. Could they get away with something, how much profit could they make on deals, when and where should they sell what they had in storage? Those in the family willing to smuggle children were opportunistic—they’d accept work that fit where they planned to go. This time of year most of the people on the board should be in the northern leg of the circuit. If I had to choose the most likely states going into the Fourth of July weekend, I’d be looking at Colorado, Montana, maybe as far south as Iowa.”

  “What’s the earliest they ever travel down the West Coast?” Paul asked.

  “August.”

  “Did they stay at hotels? Private homes?”

  “Mostly they traded off driving—one would sleep while another drove. Knocking on the door of an acquaintance late at night, being on the road again at dawn, was fairly common. Two- or three-day stops at a motel were also common. When they would stay put for a period of time—ten days, two weeks—they’d be mostly in out-of-the-way rentals.” She finished the water, and Ann brought her another bottle. “They never call ahead for reservations. That you can depend on. They travel mostly on prepaid credit cards rather than cash. Part of their safety is the fact nothing’s planned in advance, decisions are made on the fly. Even buying and selling is free-form. Arrive in an area, make a call, make the buy or sale within the hour, and then be traveling again.”

  Her hand trembled as she tried to set the bottle of water down. Matthew’s eyes narrowed with sudden understanding. She was afraid. Whether God put the thought in his mind or he finally figured out what he was seeing, the answer settled in his mind with certainty. Shannon was afraid right now. It wouldn’t be for her physical safety while in a building full of armed cops. It was the implications of what she was saying that was causing it. She feared how this was going to unfold. Eleven years living with the knowledge that her conduct determined someone else’s safety—maybe someone else’s life—and she was blowing that wide open. He needed to get her out of here, get her some breathing room. The realization was so intense he was pushing back his chair before what he should do was clear to him. “I’ll be outside in the hall for a moment, Shannon,” he said. “I need to make a call.”

  She gave him a surprised look, nodded.

  When he returned, she was studying a map of Illinois with Paul. “They reassemble as a group twice a year, typically in March and November. There’s a farm about half a day’s drive from here. A sort of home base for the group. It’s about here.” She put her finger down between two towns. “I’ll need to show it to you—I can find it once we’re there, but I never saw the approach, just worked out over time where it must be. The other place they considered a home base is on the East Coast. Again, easier to show you than to try to put my finger down on a map.”

  “Will anyone be there this time of year?”

  “It’s possible one person was left behind on the property as a caretaker, but in the past everyone has traveled. They might lease out the farmland for someone else to plant, but they’d simply winterize the buildings and leave. And if those places weren’t abandoned in a rush, they’ll be pretty innocuous on the surface. They didn’t trust that law enforcement would not stroll through the property when they weren’t around.”

  “That’s useful to know.” Paul looked over at Ann. “Do you know the sheriff in that county?”

  “Sam Dellherd. He’ll be cordial to work with.”

  “When we’re ready to make the trip, we’ll want to give him an early call. We’ll make that drive when you feel up to it, Shannon.”

  “The next few days, I think, as it’s something I want off my list.”

  Matthew interrupted them by holding out his phone. “Paul, sorry to interrupt. John needs a word.”

  Paul accepted the phone with a nod and stepped away to have the conversation. Matthew didn’t bother to look over—John would now be telling Paul to nod and say yes occasionally, that the only thing real about the call was the diversion it created.

  Shannon was sorting through maps of the East Coast. Matthew leaned against the table beside her. “You need a break, Shannon,” he said quietly. “Now would be a good time. The gym down the block has a pool. A couple of hours, we’ll come back and continue this conversation, or leave the rest of it for another day. They’ve got a lot on their plate with what you’ve already given them. Let them work on finding database names and photos you can confirm.”

  “I have to get this done today.”

  He laid a hand on her arm. “Then let me help you. Let’s take a break. Catch your breath. Otherwise you may not get to the end.”

  She closed her eyes, and her hand on the
table trembled. “One more thing first.” She looked over at Paul, who had lowered the phone and was now refilling his coffee. “How big a favor can I ask of you?”

  “Ask. You’ve earned yourself a great deal of goodwill,” Paul replied.

  “I know you’re going to dig into anyone and everyone with the Jacoby name or a relation, but I’d ask you to trust that after eleven years of learning this family, I understand some of the history. These eighteen are the only ones who were involved or conspired with those who acted in the crimes I saw occur. I’m going to write a second list of names you could consider helpful material witnesses but not pursue on charges. I’m not putting a name on this second list lightly. If I don’t know enough about them, I’m leaving their names off both lists. These are the ones I know were not involved.”

  Paul considered what she said. “Write your list. I’ll talk with you about the individuals and what we’ve discovered about them before I do anything.”

  Shannon nodded and started writing out names. Three were Jacobys, another six were various surnames that Matthew assumed would turn out to be Jacoby women now married. When she finished, she placed the marker in the tray, stepped back from the board, studied it, nodded to herself.

  “Were there others besides this family involved in what was going on?” Paul asked.

  “They did business with a lot of people whose names I can give you, but the family trusted only blood, and even then it was ‘trust but verify.’ They were a law unto themselves. What the head of the family decided would be done was the final word and complied with or you were kicked out of the family, and your freedom didn’t last long—you were in jail or dead within months.”

  “Thanks for all this, Shannon. And it’s a good place for a break. Let’s have a late lunch around two o’clock, then talk about the other names on your list,” Paul suggested. “Possibly call it a day at that point. I’ll order in. Chinese sound okay? Or would you prefer Mexican?”

  “Chinese is fine.”

  18

  Matthew waited until they stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed before he asked what he had to know. “What went through your mind when we reached the FBI? What brought the fear rushing in?”

  Shannon leaned her head back against the elevator wall, her face the picture of distress. “The Jacobys will clean house. The guys at the top of that family will simply kill the others. As soon as they realize their world is coming down around them, they will silence those who could speak against them, then disappear.”

  It was a fear with a solid basis behind it, an all-too-possible outcome. The realization of it was overwhelming her. “I’ll take you for a swim so you can turn this off for an hour, Shannon. Ellie has brought over a swimsuit for you. She’ll meet us at the gym.”

  “Should I be doing something different than what I am, Matthew? Not tell Paul any more? Or should I have told him a week ago?”

  “Don’t revisit your decisions so far. Waiting to hear if someone else had been able to get free was a calculated choice, and your silence gave her the best chance. That’s a good decision. Hopefully people are dispersed enough in their travels, can be located quickly enough that it’s not possible for what you are fearing to happen. But this ends this summer. That’s a good thing.”

  She physically shivered, lifted her hands to rub her arms. “I should have gotten out years ago, at least risked trying. I didn’t because I could name the person who would die if I made the attempt, was able to make it. I just couldn’t take that step. Maybe I should have made that sacrifice, one for the many. Maybe the family wouldn’t have been as cohesive then, had a few less members.”

  He took her hand and interlaced their fingers. “Enough,” he said huskily. “One thing I learned from Becky—when you’re in survival mode you make the best choice given what you know, and move on. Trust those choices and don’t look back.”

  “I feel nauseous.”

  “It’s nerves. We swim. Eat lunch. Spend another couple of hours talking with Paul. Then I’ll get you free of this. Let me handle those future hours, just stay in the moment. Don’t think beyond the present.”

  She gave a jerky nod. “This is why I came and found you, Matthew. I couldn’t handle walking alone into an FBI office and telling what I know. I couldn’t do it.”

  “You’re stronger than you realize. You’re doing it now. And you’re doing it with a clear, concise focus that is helpful to Paul. To everyone.”

  “I’ve got more names to give. Facts. But don’t let Paul get to questions about what happened with me. Not today.”

  “He won’t go there, but if someone does, I’ll step in,” Matthew promised.

  Matthew held the door for Shannon as they returned to the conference room shortly before two p.m., gave a nod of thanks to the escorting agent. He thought the swim had helped. She was quieter now, that calm control she’d shown him before back in place, strong enough to handle the last few hours. Better to be done in a day than to let it stretch out for her to face another day.

  Lunch was spread out on the table, open cartons of various Chinese choices. Ann and Theo were eating while they worked. Two more whiteboards had been brought up to the room. Printouts were clipped beside a few of the photos. “You’ve been busy,” Matthew remarked, holding a chair out for Shannon.

  “The last name for the family, enough first names to give confirmations, revealed the historical center of the family as the small town of London, New York,” Theo replied.

  Shannon shook her head. “They never visited there.”

  “Wise on their part. The men at the top of the family tree went to high school there. We’ll be able to dig through layers now that we’ve got the family group located,” Theo said. “Paul’s on his way back. When my boss called, I elected to hand Paul the phone and let them sort out the particulars. Bottom line, this case stays in this room for now, as do I.”

  Matthew nodded, pleased to hear that news. Shannon selected an open carton of white rice, then went to the sweet-and-sour pork and the cashew chicken, not taking much on her plate but enough to be an attempt at lunch.

  “Shannon, I have some questions about the road trips,” Ann said—a softball topic, Matthew thought, glad to hear that approach.

  “Sure.”

  “Travelers come in different types. Did they stop at the Grand Canyon when they were in the area? Did they regularly visit flea markets or antique shops? Were they food buffs, wanting to try out places in the best-of restaurant category lists? What kind of vehicles did they favor, and how often did they change them? Did they make a habit of speeding? Any particulars along those lines could be helpful.”

  Shannon half smiled at the list of questions. “I think that’s why they separated and traveled in smaller groups. They could all indulge their own styles and interests. There were . . . assignments, for want of a better word. You’ll deal with this, you’ll handle that, kinds of decisions. The direction of travel and a time frame for arriving somewhere would be loosely agreed upon. The family liked to arrange itself as a patrol string, so if one group got into trouble there was always someone else in the family within one to two hours available to assist. But within that loose agreement, it was up to the driver. Some groups stopped at every antique store—probably scoping out an overlooked prize that wouldn’t have to be stolen—others favored an evening at some local stock-car race, while others drove straight through, getting business done, then spent a few days being tourists while they waited for the rest to reach the area. Flynn and I were more the kind of travelers to take the back roads and enjoy the scenery.”

  Paul joined them and fixed himself a lunch plate.

  “It was a cardinal rule that you didn’t speed,” Shannon continued. “The cars were traded in when the mileage got to a certain point. Never a new car, nor a particularly old one—something dependable in a color that wouldn’t stand out. There was only one van in the mix. Most were midsize sedans.”

  “That’s useful,” Ann commented.
/>
  Shannon took her plate over to the trash can, stopped to consider the beverage choices, came back with a Cherry Coke. She resumed her place at the table, looked over at Paul, who appeared relaxed in the facing chair.

  “Give me a semihard question,” she suggested.

  He considered for a moment. “The graves. Thank you for what you gave Matthew. There are cops in California looking for Lindsey Bell now. About an hour ago officers in Colorado found Emily Lynn.”

  She briefly closed her eyes.

  “On behalf of the families, thank you,” he said.

  She slowly nodded. “And the question?”

  “Are you dealing okay with the fact there was nothing you could do to stop what happened to them?”

  She flinched and rubbed both hands down her face, blew out a breath before placing her hands flat on the table. “Yes. Mostly. Those first years there was no way I could help. They stopped abducting children after the second death, took a break, and I hoped they wouldn’t go back to it. They did. The best I could do was figure out how to get packages out about the kids they were abducting. Stopping the family, getting myself out without causing someone else to die, wasn’t . . . easy to figure out. In the end, it was still more chance than plan that got me here.” She sighed. “I’m resigned, Paul, that I couldn’t stop what the kidnapping side of the family was doing over the years. And I’ll have to live with the fact that the explosion within the family leading to their deaths was probably in part my doing.”

  Matthew looked over at her sharply. Paul took that comment without showing a reaction. Then he moved on.

  “Let’s talk about something easier,” Paul said. “They smuggled stolen items. Who did they do business with? How did that work?”

  Shannon pushed back from the table, picked up a marker for a new whiteboard. She began writing names. “These are people I know the family dealt with on more than one occasion.”