The door opened and a deputy nudged Eli Dunn from behind. He shuffled in, his ankles shackled and his wrists handcuffed in front of him. In the jumpsuit he looked smaller, thinner, reminding Maggie of a slump-shouldered weasel.
“Have a seat, Mr. Dunn,” she said.
The deputy’s hand on his shoulder made sure Dunn sat down. Then he fastened the shackles to the chair. It seemed unnecessary. Dunn almost looked frail, his skinny arms poking out of the oversized short sleeves. He hung his head so his bristled chin seemed attached to his chest. But Maggie wasn’t easily fooled. She knew there were enough episodes of prisoners lunging at their interrogators to justify the extra precaution. Her friend, Dr. Gwen Patterson had experienced an incident with a prisoner where a simple pencil had become a weapon in a matter of seconds.
“I’m Special Agent O’Dell and this is Detective Pakula.” She avoided first names. Sometimes interrogators used them to gain the suspect’s trust. She didn’t want Eli Dunn to trust her. She wanted him to fear her. “Do you remember us?”
He lifted his head and stared at her with hooded black eyes, watching as she sat in the chair across from him. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared back, waiting for his response.
Under the fluorescent lights his skin took on a sickly pallor. His receding hairline made his forehead protrude. His cheeks looked sunken in and the bright lights accentuated his thin lips as they pulled back and his mouth grew wide with a smile. It was that same smile he’d given her when Maggie accosted him. The full grin turned up both sides of his mouth and made his eyes squint. Like a Cheshire cat, Eli Dunn was smiling at her like he knew something that no one else knew. Either that, or he was mentally unstable and couldn’t help from showing it.
“Sure, I remember. I heard you couldn’t stop thinking about me.”
He didn’t acknowledge Pakula. His eyes stayed on Maggie, so focused, so intent, they felt like lasers that could pin her down in place. Maybe even sting her from across the table.
She uncrossed her arms and pulled out the Polaroid from her pocket. She didn’t want to waste any time and certainly wasn’t going to let him provoke her. She held the photo up in her fingertips, dangling it with the backside facing Dunn, like a Poker player teasing her opponent before revealing the last winning card. The gesture was enough to get his attention, and his eyes flicked back and forth from the photo to her and back to the photo. Finally, she laid the Polaroid on the table close enough for him to see it without having to pick it up.
She could ask where he got the photo or how it came to be in his possession. She could have eased him into a conversation about it. Instead, she kept to her strategy of hitting Eli Dunn directly and with a question he least expected.
“What happened to this little girl?”
To his credit, Dunn craned his neck to get a closer look. Whether he was really interested or not, at least, he was pretending to be. He tilted his head one way and then the other as if trying to trigger his memory. Then he sat back and looked up at her, again.
“Just that one?”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s the only one you care about?”
Maggie braced herself and fought to keep her face or any part of her body from showing the sick feeling that slid from her stomach to her knees. The image came to her of all the photos on the wall, so many photos that they overlapped in places. She hadn’t expected him to take responsibility for any of them.
Stick to your strategy, she told herself. Don’t fall for his shock and awe.
“What did you do with her?” She darted her eyes down to the photo and back up to his.
He shrugged, an over exaggerated gesture that practically touched his ear to his shoulder and left his head tilted as though he was prepared to shrug again.
But then his eyes locked on hers, and he asked, “What’s it worth to you?”
Pakula was wrong. Dunn might have the appearance of a low-life bullshitter, but he was quick and smart.
Maggie held his eyes, willing herself to not blink. She didn’t glance at Pakula but could feel him watching her. He would be worried that she had lost her edge in this interview, that Dunn had outwitted her.
She needed to keep her face from revealing to Pakula, as much as to Dunn, what her true intentions were. Because this response, this question, was exactly what Maggie had wanted.
Chapter 10
Instead of answering him, Maggie dug in her jacket pocket, and this time Dunn’s eyes followed her hand. She watched him as she pulled out the small notebook. He blinked twice, almost a flinch, before he caught himself.
The notebook was three inches by five inches with a spiral binding at the top and fit easily into a pocket. The black cover showed wear with a splatter of coffee stain—or at least, Maggie hoped it was coffee. The pages inside were filled with hand-drawn diagrams that could have been mistaken as doodles except that each had scribbles next to it. Possibly dates. Some of the pages had only letters and numbers, columns of them. All of it looked like an amateur’s code.
Something had been nagging at Maggie since their early morning raid. Eli Dunn’s farmhouse looked like it had been cleaned out, the bedrooms stripped down, even the bathrooms scrubbed. The computer and other electronic devices were gone. Someone had tipped him off. He was ready for them.
Pakula had told her the bottles of ammonia had been carefully placed with tripwires that ran the perimeter of the front yard. By Dunn’s own admission, he’d set up a trap to alert him by scent if anyone came close to the house unannounced. He even had his decoy drugged and ready on command to burst out the front door. But if Dunn knew they were coming, why hadn’t he taken down the photographs and photocopies from his trophy wall? Why would he let them see how many victims there were, let alone give them the chance to possibly identify them?
Why, indeed?
Unless he believed he might get caught.
Did Eli Dunn leave his trophy wall in place to use as a bargaining chip?
Maggie believed that could be the case, especially after the arresting officer found this little notebook tucked carefully away in Dunn’s shirt pocket. According to the officer, Dunn didn’t surrender it easily and seemed overly concerned about when he could get it back.
Now, watching his eyes spark, not so much with interest as with anger, Maggie realized the scribbles and childlike drawings might be their best bargaining chip.
“Interesting collection you have here,” she told him as she flicked the pages, purposely making them sound like she was riffling a deck of cards.
His eyes darted to Pakula then back to Maggie. It was the first time he acknowledged the detective leaning against the wall. Dunn was pretending the notebook was no big deal, but it was too late. Even his body language gave him away. The slumped shoulders were suddenly drawn back. He sat up straight with his chin held high, almost defiant.
“Is this your inventory?” she asked.
She wished she’d had more time to examine the contents. Agent Alonzo had found classified ads on the Darknet that he had traced back to Eli Dunn. But the entries in this notebook didn’t look like ads. There were none of the familiar phrases human traffickers used to advertise their young merchandise: “low mileage,” “fresh,” “barely used.”
At a glance, she couldn’t make sense of the notebook’s hieroglyphics. She was only guessing that the scribbles were related to Dunn’s illegal business dealings. Why else would he need to use a rudimentary code?
Somehow she needed to sound interested, but clueless. In Maggie’s experience, most criminals were proud of how sneaky and shrewd they were. Some were even anxious to share the details.
“I have to admit,” she told him, pretending to let a hint of admiration slip out, “this is one of the most elaborate accounting systems I’ve seen. And believe me, I’ve seen quite a few.”
She counted down the silence
in her head, forcing herself to go slowly. Some people couldn’t stand silence and attempted to fill it in. But after several minutes, all she got from Dunn was a slight shift of his mouth as if he were holding back his trademark smile.
“Do you know if she’s in here?” She gestured to the forgotten Polaroid.
“Depends,” he said and left it at that.
He was good at this. Too good, Maggie realized.
“What does it depend on?” she finally asked, suddenly frustrated and working too hard to keep from showing it. What she really wanted was to lunge across the table and grab him by his scrawny neck.
“What kind of deal you’ve got in mind.” He said it so calmly it almost sounded rehearsed.
She tapped the corner of the notebook against the table, and his eyes flitted from hers to the notebook and back, again.
“You need to give me something more than that, Eli.”
He looked directly at her at the mention of his name, and she could see he was pleased.
“How do I know that this is worth anything?” she asked.
This time she slapped the notebook against the tabletop and the whack made him blink as if she had slapped him across the face.
“Maybe you’re just a lackey for someone else, and this is just a bunch of mumbo-jumbo.”
“A lackey? Mumbo jumbo?” He said it like he was insulted.
Maggie had to restrain her smile. If this were a boxing match, she’d just landed an uppercut.
“How do I know there’s anything in here that’s worth a deal to me?” she asked again. “Are you saying this girl is in here?” She pointed at the Polaroid.
“Depends,” he said, again.
This time she rolled her eyes and sat back, exaggerating her impatience with him. Dunn just stared at her.
“I think we’re finished here,” she told Pakula. She dropped the notebook into her jacket pocket, and she pushed out of her chair.
“She might be in there,” Dunn said.
She stopped and waited then crossed her arms over her chest and gave him her best, I don’t have all day look.
He shrugged, but this one was slight, not the ear to the shoulder that he had given her earlier. She held his eyes, watching for a tell, a flicker to the right or left. Sometimes the brain triggered involuntary signals about a lie that even a manipulative criminal like Eli Dunn couldn’t always control.
“I just don’t remember,” he said.
“Then what does it depend on?” Maggie kept her voice bored as she sunk her hands into her jacket pockets so Dunn couldn’t see her fingers gripping into fists.
“It depends if she’s one of the ones that got sold or one of the ones that got buried.”
It took every ounce of energy for Maggie to remain standing when she felt as if she had just been sucker punched. She avoided stealing a glance at Pakula. In Dunn’s eyes she could see a seriousness that wasn’t there before, perhaps even a hint of desperation.
Before she had a chance to respond, he asked, “So what about that deal?”
Chapter 11
Florida Panhandle
“Black bear sightings are up seventy-five percent,” Dr. Avelyn was telling Hannah, Jason and Creed. “That’s just in the Florida Panhandle.”
Creed’s mind was racing. They were canvasing the property, concentrating on the area between the trail into the woods and the fenced yard around the kennel. Creed was concerned about his dogs but anxious to hear more from Maggie. At the same time, exhaustion from too little sleep was catching up with him.
There hadn’t been any new details about Brodie’s disappearance in over a decade. How could someone have that Polaroid and not have been involved in his sister’s abduction? Or did they simply find her book that she had with her? He remembered Brodie had been using that photo as a bookmark. Did the book just suddenly turn up in some used bookstore?
Hannah convinced him to wait until morning before deciding whether or not to take off for Nebraska. A dull thrum had started playing inside his head, and he fingered the cut on his forehead as if it were the source. He saw Dr. Avelyn notice and realized he had just reinforced her argument for taking a closer look at the wound. Creed tried to ignore her look of concern as he checked his cell phone for the hundredth time. He kept hoping for a call or a text from Maggie. In the meantime, he needed to focus on what they could add to bear-proof their property.
“I think it would be a good idea for all of you to get into the habit of carrying around UDAP pepper spray,” Dr. Avelyn said. “I’ll order extra canisters with hip holsters.”
“Is it safe to have them on us?” asked Hannah. “I’m always worried I’ll lean against the counter and the thing will go off.”
“They have security pins to keep them from misfiring.”
“What about Tasers?” Jason asked.
This time Creed answered. “From what I understand, even a direct hit will only aggravate a bear.”
“You could try singing,” Dr. Avelyn told Jason.
“Seriously?”
“They usually want to avoid humans. Loud, unfamiliar noises can scare them off.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure my singing would be a loud unfamiliar noise,” Jason said and they all laughed if only to relieve the tension.
“Most of the time, you won’t even see them,” Dr. Avelyn said. “They really would prefer to avoid you. But this time of year they’re looking for easy food before the weather turns cooler. Your best bet is probably the pepper spray.”
Creed had already made sure that the UDAP canisters were a part of their gear when they were out in the field. He never imagined they’d need them here. He’d always thought of their property as a sanctuary, not only for rescuing abandoned dogs, but also a secure area where nothing or no one could ever hurt these dogs, again.
In fact, he and Hannah had put a lot of thought and technology into the planning for their entire training campus. It wasn’t just the kennels. In the last several years they’d added an indoor Olympic-sized swimming pool for water training and a fully equipped medical clinic. He’d installed a state-of-the-art security system that included motion activated lights and cameras on all the buildings and motion sensor doors even for the dogs. But lights and cameras wouldn’t stop a bear from trespassing.
The fenced yard was constructed with extra gates so they could close off sections. Creed liked the dogs to have the entire acre to run and play and get exercise, but they closed the gates just before dusk until after dawn, restricting the dogs to the interior yard. It allowed the dogs to still go outside and relieve themselves, but the closed off section kept them close to the kennel and within the motion sensitive floodlights.
The building that housed the dogs was more like a modern warehouse condominium. In fact, there was a loft apartment for Creed on the second floor. The area for the dogs had wide-open spaces and a high ceiling. Windows started ten feet off the ground and supplied natural light. Though the facility was climate-controlled, those screened windows could be opened with a remote control to provide fresh air.
Inside along one wall were half a dozen traditional crates with beds inside for those few dogs that preferred their own caged-off space, but the crate doors were left open. For the others, various sized beds were scattered around the floor making the area look more like a campsite than a dog kennel.
A commercial kitchen took up one corner section with granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and wood cabinets. Creed remembered the first time Dr. Avelyn had seen the facility she thought it looked like something out of an interior design magazine. Creed and Hannah had spared no expense. Even the dog dishes that lined up along the counter were raised to different levels for the different sized dogs. Unlike most working dog training facilities that dealt with large dogs—shepherds and retrievers—Creed and Hannah’s took in a variety of dogs as small as a ten-pound
Maltese like Coz and Kramer to a seventy-pound Labrador like Hunter. In fact, Creed’s favorite scent dog was a sixteen-pound Jack Russell named Grace.
He looked around for Grace now and saw that she was racing to keep up with Hunter. Hannah had brought the big dog out to the yard to get some exercise. For a long time, Hunter would simply go to the far corner of the yard, sit down and stare out toward the driveway. It was the last place he’d watched his owner leave, and it was the place he expected to see her when she came back to get him. It tore Creed up to watch the big dog do this. Hunter was one of the few dogs here in their kennel that wasn’t abandoned by his owner, but there was no way to tell him what really happened.
But today, instead of going to the corner, Hunter let Grace distract him.
“You’ve been gone a few days,” Hannah said when she noticed where Creed’s eyes were focused. “He’s been playing with Grace and Winnie. Even Scout.”
He saw her swipe at her eyes before she turned back to Dr. Avelyn and Jason and changed the subject. “In seven years, we’ve never had a problem with bears. You said they’ll avoid humans, but what about dogs? Will they attack a dog?”
Dr. Avelyn took a long time to respond then she finally said, “I think it’s best we keep them on leashes so we won’t find out.”
Creed’s cell phone started vibrating in his hand and everyone looked at it as if it were a grenade.
“It’s Maggie,” he told them in a calm, casual tone while pretending that his stomach hadn’t just taken a nosedive.
Chapter 12
“Hey, Maggie,” Creed tried to continue the steady calm cadence in his voice when he really wanted to plead with her to tell him every single thing she knew.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know much more,” she said. “But I didn’t want to leave you hanging and wondering.”
He listened as she filled him in on the interview she had conducted with Eli Dunn. He understood there were details and information she wouldn’t be able to share with him.