Stop Me (40 page)

“Aren’t we after the same man?”

“Yes, but there was no need for both of us to be here.”

“Did you tell her about the blanket?”

238

“She knows.” Romain pointed to a paper sack in the seat next to Huff. “Is that it?”

Pulling out part of a fuzzy red blanket stained with mildew, Huff nodded. “I’m going to have it tested for genetic material, but that’ll take a while. The fiber evidence was easier. It required only a microscope.”

“You’re sure it’s a match?”

“Positive.”

Romain sank lower and stared at it. His child had touched the blanket, maybe even comforted herself with it. “How could Adele’s blood have gotten on Moreau’s pants, her barrettes in his cellar?”

“He was living alone, but I’m sure his family came to visit him on occasion, so they would’ve been familiar with the place. Any one of them could’ve put those things in the cellar.”

“Dustin’s been bedridden for years. And Beverly is an unlikely candidate.”

“What about Phillip?”

“He doesn’t seem the type. Besides, it was Francis who was spotted at the school, Francis who carried in something heavy the day Adele went missing.” Huff stirred more cream into his coffee.

“He bought a new rug that day, remember? The defense brought it up in court.”

“That’s a convenient coincidence. I believed Francis was the murderer then.

And I still believe it now.”

“Me, too. I’m guessing they were in it together. But that’s very rare, isn’t it?

For collusion on this kind of sex crime?”

Huff shrugged. “It’s happened before. Some women have even helped their husbands or lovers imprison and torture sex slaves.”

“We’re talking about crimes against children here. It’d be a lot harder to get someone to go along with that.”

“Harder, maybe. But it’s conceivable.”

The waitress approached and Romain ordered a cup of coffee and some scrambled eggs. “What about Black?” he asked.

“What about him?”

“He was at Francis’s house the night you performed the search. He could easily have tossed that stuff into the cellar for you to find.”

“But he’s the one who claimed it had been planted, who tried to get Francis off, remember?”

“Are you sure it was Black?”

“Positive. I trust all the others who were there during the search.” Romain toyed with the salt and pepper shakers. “Have you ever heard of Better Life Adoption Agency?”

239

A strange expression appeared on Huff’s sallow face. “Where’d you come up with that name?”

“It’s where Mrs. Moreau works.”

“She doesn’t work. She lives on SSI.”

“According to her son Dustin, she works nights at this adoption agency.” Frown lines etched deep grooves in Huff’s forehead. “When did you talk to Dustin?”

“I paid him a visit the other night.”

“Was he lucid?” he asked, turning his cup around and around in its saucer.

“More lucid than he wanted to be. I think he was in a great deal of pain.”

“He must not’ve known what he was talking about. What he said can’t be right.”

The waitress brought Romain’s coffee, and he stirred a spoonful of sugar into it. “Why not?”

“Because that orphanage doesn’t exist. Years ago, a pregnant woman came into the station and filed a complaint saying a man offered her a large sum of money for her baby. She claimed he represented a place called Better Life Adoption Agency and promised that her child would go to a very wealthy couple.” Huff took a sip of his own coffee. “So we looked into it,” he went on after swallowing. “But we couldn’t find any proof of such a place. And because she was a prostitute and a drug addict, and her claims were uncorroborated, we finally figured she was hallucinating or out to get someone who’d wronged her.”

“Did she give the man’s name?” Romain asked.

Huff’s whiskers rasped as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. “It seems like she had a name, but I can’t remember it. It was unusual—I recall that much.” The waitress delivered Romain’s eggs, but he pushed them aside, too interested in the conversation to be bothered with breakfast. “Was it Peccavi?” The frown lines disappeared as Huff’s eyes widened. “That’s it! She said a man by the name of Peccavi approached her and offered to buy her baby. She was adamant. But she was also shaking from withdrawal.”

“So let’s say it’s true,” Romain said. “Let’s say the Moreaus, at least Beverly and Phillip, and maybe Francis when he was alive, are involved in a black market adoption ring. And let’s say Peccavi is the leader.” It made sense, based on what Dustin had told him. It also stood to reason that the Moreaus wouldn’t want Jasmine nosing around, and that they might kill someone in order to keep their secret, which could account for the body she’d found in the cellar. “Maybe Francis got out of line and started taking physical advantage of some of the children they kidnapped.”

“But we now know Francis didn’t kill Adele,” Huff argued.

240

“The ring could include other people. It’s possible Francis kidnapped Adele, planning to turn her over to Peccavi, but another member of the group, someone even more twisted than Francis, got hold of her.”

“Twisted is right,” Huff muttered into his cup, and Romain knew he was remembering what he’d seen on that tape.

Romain returned to the puzzle coming together in his head. “Say this twisted person got so carried away he killed her. Then he had to dispose of her body. He dumps her in the park restroom, she’s discovered, and the hunt is on.”

“At this point, the pressure’s mounting and he’s in a panic,” Huff chimed in.

“You’re on television begging for clues, offering rewards. I’m doing all I can to ferret out suspects. Maybe I even question him.”

“Then the neighbor calls to report that she saw Moreau carry something into the house the day Adele went missing.”

Huff pushed his coffee away, too. “He’s a loner, has a history of sex crimes, and he’s been seen at the school. So he becomes our focus.” Something that might be problematic to their developing scenario suddenly occurred to Romain. “Wait. The members of this ring can’t take the children to their own homes. It’d be too risky. There’s a place off-site where the transfer happens.

That’s where Beverly goes each night.”

“But Moreau brings Adele home this time. He doesn’t tell any of the others because it’ll get him in trouble with the ringleader—Peccavi—but he plans to have some fun before he turns her over.”

Romain winced but continued to work out their scenario. “And he lives alone, so he thinks he can get away with it. But, somehow, this other guy, the guy who’s even more twisted than Moreau, takes her from Francis and the situation goes from bad to worse.”

“That could be it,” Huff said with a decisive nod. “Once he’s killed Adele, he has to make sure no one finds out it was him, especially Peccavi, because he’s now endangered the whole bunch of scumbags.”

Romain leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “He knows if Peccavi catches him he’ll be as dead as Jack Lewis, the man Jasmine found in that cellar.”

“So he frames Francis,” Huff went on, “who’s already the prime suspect. And Francis performed the actual abduction, so he was seen hanging around Adele’s school. It’s perfect.”

“All he has to do is plant the evidence. The bloody chinos were close enough to Moreau’s size and standard enough to be found in almost any male closet. The video and the barrettes make it even better.”

Some color was finally entering Huff’s cheeks. “But he throws it all in the cellar because they’ll be discovered by the Moreaus if he puts them inside the house.”

241

“Which is why the cellar door was broken before you ever got there.” Romain stared at Huff, his chest rising and falling with excitement.

The waitress came by for the third time, probably to ask about the meal growing cold on the table, but Huff waved her away. “Why couldn’t the man who killed Adele be Peccavi?” he asked. “Maybe Peccavi framed Moreau.”

“No. Jasmine specifically said that there are two distinct personality types at work here.”

“The Stratford woman?”

“She’s a profiler.”

“I know, but profiling isn’t an exact science.”

“There’re two men involved.” Romain had too much faith in Jasmine to disbelieve her on that point.

“Then who’s Peccavi, and how do we catch him?”

“Pearson Black!” they both said at once.

“That’s why he followed the case so closely, why he got involved and caused it to unravel,” Huff added.

“I’m guessing he promised Francis he’d get him off—if Francis kept his mouth shut about the adoption business. Francis did as he was told. So Black went to work.”

“And in my eagerness to solve the case and see a dangerous man behind bars, I made it easy for him because of the way I handled the search.” At the time, Romain had believed they should do whatever was necessary to obtain the evidence they needed. That made it impossible for him to fault Huff, even though Huff was a police officer and should’ve curbed the tendency. “A cop would be above suspicion,” Romain said. “Black’s job would make him privy to the case while giving him the perfect cover.”

Jumping to his feet, Romain tossed some money on the table.

“Where are you going?” Huff demanded.

“We have to stop Black and whoever’s working for him before someone else gets hurt.”

“And how do you propose to do that? We can’t confront Black. All we have is a theory, which is worthless until we can prove it.” Romain’s need to act, to fight back, nearly overwhelmed him. They’d identified the enemy. “Beverly Moreau is the key. Can we offer her immunity if she turns state’s evidence?”

“I can’t offer her a thing. I’m not even on the force anymore!”

“Then we have to go to the chief, get him involved. He doesn’t like Black. He might listen to us.”

“He doesn’t like me, either,” Huff pointed out.

242

And Romain knew Chief Ryder wouldn’t look any more kindly on him. By taking the law into his own hands, Romain had contributed to the department’s bad publicity, since he wouldn’t have shot Moreau if Huff hadn’t screwed up the search.

“It’d be smarter to set Black up,” Huff proposed. “Once we have him, we should be able to get the man who killed Adele. Black will give him up if he knows it’s over.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“We can have someone, maybe Cathy, a female officer who left the NOPD

before Black was ever hired, call him up and pretend to be a potential client, a rich woman who’s dying to adopt a baby. Cathy could record the call and arrange a meeting. She’d wear a wire, and once we have him on tape making the deal, he’s done for.”

Romain checked his watch. He’d already been at the coffee shop longer than he’d wanted to be. He hated the thought of Jasmine out there alone, asking questions that could draw the attention of someone as dangerous as the man who’d murdered Adele. But they were finally onto something that might bring an end to it all.

“What’s the matter?” Huff asked.

“I’m worried about Jasmine,” he said.

“Call her.” Huff handed him a cell phone. “Have her meet us, and we’ll bait the trap.”

243

“What’s wrong?”

Beverly pulled herself out of her thoughts and focused on the card game she was playing with Dustin. “Nothing, why?”

“It’s your turn.” He rested his head on his pillow while waiting for her to play.

Beverly drew two cards, made a pair with one and tossed the other into the center. She was losing; she hadn’t been able to concentrate. She generally enjoyed playing canasta, but today she was doing it strictly to entertain Dusty.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said.

He studied what she’d thrown him, laid down a pair of aces and scooped the stack of discards toward him. “I’m taking the pile.” That certainly wouldn’t help her comeback, she thought, but winning a card game was nothing that really concerned her.

“When do you think Phillip will be home?” Dustin asked as he played what he could and put the extras in his hand.

Beverly didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. Hiding behind her cards, she said, “Who knows? With Phillip, you see him when you see him, right?” She glanced up in time to see an odd expression flit across Dustin’s face. He’d been sick so long his eyes sat deep in their sockets and his skin had taken on a waxy sheen. The changes in him testified to the fact that he was sliding further and further downhill, but worrying about Dustin was an everyday occurrence. Today, Bev had something new to agonize over. Peccavi hadn’t reacted the way she’d expected when he’d called for Phillip and she’d had to tell him she didn’t know where he was or when he’d be back. There’d been no bitter recriminations. Peccavi had accepted the news with a cool resolve she’d found more chilling than any amount of cursing would’ve been—the kind of resolve he’d exhibited before he’d shot Jack in her living room.

Help Phil disappear, she prayed. Help him get away for good….

Painfully aware that she didn’t deserve the blessings of heaven, she rarely appealed to God. She considered Him mostly deaf, anyway. But guilt didn’t stop her from pleading for her children. She figured that was a mother’s prerogative, no matter how bad a person that mother was.

“Mom?”

244

It was her turn. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

He watched her play. “Phil’s always been here when we’ve exchanged Christmas gifts before. That’s why we waited this year, so we could all be together.” The painting Dustin had created for Phil was still standing in the corner, wrapped. She couldn’t help glancing toward it. Dustin didn’t have a lot of talent, but it was the best he could do, all he had to give, so his efforts meant a great deal to her.

His brother liked his work even better than she did. If life hadn’t been so crazy, Phillip would’ve remembered to take it with him.

On second thought, Bev knew he’d left it behind on purpose. Birds, flying free in the sky, were the subject of almost every one of Dustin’s paintings. Keeping one would only make Phil’s new life more difficult, because he’d broken away while Dustin never could. Dustin would remain trapped in a feeble body until he died.

“He’s got a girlfriend,” she lied. “He’ll come when he’s ready.” In another day or two, she’d get rid of the painting and say she’d shipped it to him. “How do you like the books I brought you?”