A Shred of Evidence (19 page)

Bryce crouched next to Will, his walkie-talkie already in his hand. “Do not return fire! Repeat:
Do not
return fire! Out.” Bryce turned to Will. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Some safe house.”

“Idiots!” Bryce spoke again through the bullhorn. “This is Special Agent Moore of the FBI. You are surrounded. You cannot escape. We’re as concerned for the safety of the children as you are. Put down your weapons and come out with your hands in the air, and you will not be harmed.”

Bryce switched to the walkie-talkie. “Spiderman, this is Moore, do you read me, over? … I don’t care how you do it, find a way in—”

“Look!” Will said. “The front door’s opening.”

“Cancel, Spiderman, hold your position. Out.”

Will watched intently as what appeared to be a broomstick
with a white towel draped over the bristles was pushed out through the crack in the door.

“White flag!” Bryce said. “Hold your fire! Repeat: Hold your fire!”

In the next second the door opened wide, and a hand reached out and laid the broomstick on the porch. A young man emerged, both hands high in the air, his face filled with terror. “No shoot! No shoot!”

The man walked slowly down the steps and was apprehended by FBI agents and yanked out of the line of fire. In the next instant, three other men filed down the steps, hands in the air, and were pulled off to the side.

Bryce put the walkie-talkie to his lips. “Go!”

Instantly, the SWAT team stormed the house.

Will stood up, his heart racing faster than his mind.

The seconds seemed to drag by, and Will kept looking at his watch. What was the SWAT team doing? They’d been in there three minutes.

He turned his head just as Bryce put the walkie-talkie to his ear. “I read you, Spiderman, over … You’ve gotta be kidding … How many are in there …? Where …? Did they tell you that …? Figures. Okay, bring them out.”

Bryce stood motionless for a moment, then kicked the gravel so hard he nearly lost his footing. He walked away from the car, his hands turned to fists, and grumbled under his breath. A minute later he came back and put his palms flat against the car, hung his head, and let out a loud sigh.

“I take it we didn’t find Sarah Beth?” Will said.

“No, what we found was a band of illegals who’ve got enough marijuana in there to sink the Queen Mary. There are women and kids in the house. They hardly speak English.”

Will’s heart sank. “I was actually starting to believe we might find Sarah Beth alive.”

“Me, too. Come on, we don’t need to hang around for this part.”

Julie’s eyes flew open when the phone rang, and she realized she had dozed off with her head on Ross’s shoulder. She sat up straight on the edge of the couch and rubbed her eyes.

Special Agent Connor got up and turned his back to her and lowered his voice, and she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She put her hand on her husband’s arm and shook him. “Ross, wake up. Something’s going on.”

“I’m not asleep,” he said.

“Okay, sir. I’ll tell them.” Connor put his cell phone in his shirt pocket and sat in the chair facing the couch, his fingers forming a tent. “False alarm … it wasn’t a RISK safe house. We didn’t find Sarah Beth.”

“I can’t take any more of this!” Julie shouted.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hamilton,” Connor said. “I told you these things don’t always pan out. We went to the location given by the informant, but it turned out to be a house full of illegals involved in drug trafficking.”

“How can someone be that far off in their assessment?” Ross said.

“There were several families living in the house—half a dozen kids. Guess it looked suspicious.”

Julie got up and started pacing. “We might as well accept it. Sarah Beth’s never coming home!”

Ross rubbed his hands through his hair. “Aren’t there other RISK safe houses you can check out?”

“If there were, we’d have done it. We’re doing everything we possibly can to locate them.”

“Then go to the media,” Ross said. “Get the word out about this group. Maybe if people know what to look for, they’ll remember seeing something.”

“Sir, the bureau’s trying to pinpoint whoever’s orchestrating
the RISK movement. We don’t want them to know we’re on to them. That’s the whole point.”

“I thought the
point
was getting our daughter back!” Ross looked up at Julie. “We have a right to talk to the media, don’t we?”

Julie went over and sat on the couch next to Ross. “Look, Agent Connor, we’ve stayed silent as the FBI suggested. The past sixty hours have been a living hell, and it hasn’t gotten us anywhere.”

Connor glanced at Ross and then at Julie. “With all due respect, your going to the public will have little to no impact. That’s part of the reason we’ve steered you away from it.”

Ellen Jones sat at the breakfast bar, sipping a glass of lemonade and half listening to CNN Headline News. She heard Seaport’s name mentioned and turned up the volume.

“Authorities in this seaside community are still without clues in the mysterious disappearance of Sarah Beth Hamilton, two-year-old daughter of Ross Hamilton who is currently under investigation for child molestation and has been a key suspect in the child’s disappearance.

“FBI Special Agent Bryce Moore and Seaport’s Police Chief Will Seevers have consistently refused to comment on the open investigation.

“However, Chief Seevers did address a crowd of protestors outside the Hamilton home yesterday, and told them, quote: ‘No one wants justice any more than I do,’ and ‘All the talk about Ross Hamilton being a child molester is hearsay. There’s no evidence to support that he is—or ever was—a child molester.’ End quote.

“Chief Seevers’s comments seemed to fall on deaf ears as more than a hundred protestors continue to rally outside Ross Hamilton’s home.

“In Washington today, the Senate is preparing to vote on …”

Ellen sat for a moment, thinking back on her experiences as editor of the
Baxter Daily News
, and remembering how explosive public outrage over a missing child can be.

“Ellen?”

She looked up into Guy’s searching brown eyes and wondered how long he’d been standing there.

“What are you thinking about so intently?”

“Oh, I just saw a sound bite on CNN about the Hamilton case. It made me remember the anger and pain we all experienced when Sherry Kennsington was kidnapped and murdered.”

“Did they find Sarah Beth’s body?”

“Not yet. But there are scores of protesters outside the Hamiltons’ home who would like to see Ross’s head on a platter.”

“That should make you happy.”

Ellen winced. “I suppose I deserved that. But there’s still no proof, and people shouldn’t take things into their own hands.”

Guy sat on the stool next to her, his hands folded on the breakfast bar. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been pensive all day.”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been praying for Ross off and on since this morning. Suddenly, he seems like a real person, not just some monster.”

“You’ve changed your mind about him?”

“No, that’s the puzzling part. I still don’t trust him.”

“Then I’m not following you.”

Ellen locked her fingers together and stared at the curio shelf on the far wall. “I don’t know, Guy. Everybody is somebody’s baby. Ross was a little boy once—probably no different from Owen and Brandon. What happened in his life that caused him to end up like this?”

“Assuming he’s even guilty, I doubt that will matter.”

“But
he
matters.” Ellen sighed. “I guess that’s what’s bothering me. Suddenly, I’m asking myself how the Lord looks at people like Ross Hamilton.”

Will Seevers sat at his desk staring out the window, aware of a knock and a male voice and then Bryce Moore standing in front of his desk.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Bryce said.

“Oh … my eleven-year-old, Meagan.” Will held a pencil and bounced the eraser on his desk. “What happened to the world we grew up in—where kids could roam and play outside, walk to school or a friend’s house or baseball practice without fear that some pervert would snatch us?”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen so much on this job, I sometimes wish I’d chosen a different occupation.”

“Like what?”

Bryce sat in the chair next to Will’s desk, a boyish grin on his face. “When I was a kid I wanted to be an ice cream man. I always thought it’d be great fun driving one of those trucks around, ringing the bell, being every kid’s best friend.”

“Funny,” Will said, “I always thought being a policeman would be like that—riding around in a squad car with a cool siren and being every kid’s hero … but I never imagined how bad it would feel when I failed.”

“You didn’t fail Sarah Beth,” Bryce said. “Everybody did. And nobody did. Some things just aren’t in our power to control.”

Will studied Bryce’s face and thought the stress lines were more pronounced than they were when they’d first met. “I thought you were taking off early?”

“No, that’s why I’m here. The Hamiltons want to talk to the media and plead for their daughter’s life.”

“You comfortable with that?”

Bryce lifted his eyebrows. “This could give us a perfect opportunity to talk openly about RISK. An informed public is more likely to spot something suspicious.”

“I thought the bureau was keeping that information under wraps?”

“We were. But this case has forced us to rethink our position. Talking about the group’s existence won’t hurt our surveillance and might actually cause them to move some of the safe houses and possibly help us home in on the ringleaders.
If
RISK is responsible for the Hamilton girl’s disappearance, they may never tell us where she is. But the watchful eyes of John and Jane Q Public might.”

“Then you’re okay with it?”

“I better be. The field office just gave the green light.”

A
s the Friday afternoon traffic came to a crawl along Main Street, Police Chief Will Seevers stood on the steps outside city hall, his arms folded, his eyes focused on police officers, sheriff’s deputies, and FBI agents who were sectioning off the area and directing media people.