Jason Pinter - The Stolen

"So we have three pieces to the puzzle, but the three pieces are blank right now."

"Yeah, pretty much. We need to find the Reeds. Petrovsky is dead and Benjamin will kill us before he talks." I heard a beeping sound on my phone. I looked at the display. It read "Curt cell."

"Amanda, Curt's on the other line. I need to take this."

"Call me right back."

"Will do." I hung up. My palms were sweating. This was all coming together. The bigger picture was still invisible, but it would come. Benjamin. Petrovsky. The

Reeds. What the hell were they all involved in?

"Hello?" I said, answering the call.

"Hey, man, I got a ton of info for you." It was Curt. He was talking fast. "We might have found your girl. Two weeks ago, Caroline Twomey, age nine, was taken from her parents' home in Tarrytown. She was reported missing the next day, but the Tarrytown PD haven't turned up any leads. I did a background check on Caroline's parents, a

Mr. and Mrs. Harold and Phyllis Twomey. Harold works construction but hasn't made more than thirty-five grand a year in his whole life. Phyllis is a part-time schoolteacher. And by part-time, I mean she hasn't worked in nearly five years."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Five years ago, Phyllis Twomey was arrested for shoplifting. The store decided to press charges, and

Phyllis was fined five hundred bucks and sentenced to fifty hours of community service. She hasn't worked a day since."

"What store did she rob?"

"A Healthwise pharmacy just three miles from their house. They caught her on the security camera, cops met her at her house fifteen minutes after it was called in."

"Curt," I said. "What did she steal?"

"Says here she tried to steal two dozen vials of insulin."

There it was. I knew the link. I knew why Benjamin had come to Petrovsky. I knew why Daniel Linwood, Michelle

Oliveira and Caroline Twomey had been chosen.

"Curt," I said. "Daniel Linwood is a diabetic. So is

Caroline Twomey. When I spoke to Michelle Oliveira's violin teacher, Delilah Lancaster, she mentioned noticing needle marks on the girl's skin. She thought it might have been drugs, but it was because Michelle is a diabetic.

They're all diabetic."

"So Dmitri Petrovsky was feeding Raymond Benjamin information about diabetic children that were born in his pediatric ward. For what purpose?"

"Diabetics are more susceptible to lower thiamine levels," I said. "If they don't get proper nutrition, it can result in both short-term and long-term brain damage. One of the side effects of short-term brain damage is Korsakoff syndrome, which prevents the brain from processing certain compounds, and prevents the brain from retaining long-term memory."

"That would explain why Michelle and Dan Linwood had no recollection of their years missing."

"Right," I said. "But whoever took Dan and Michelle, and now this Twomey girl, knew about their conditions.

And they were prepared for it. They didn't want to kill these children, they just needed to get them away from their families for a period of time."

"Why?" Curt asked.

"I don't know yet," I said. "But I'm sure the Reeds can answer that question for us."

"Well, that was my next piece of information. You owe me a steak dinner after all this, Henry."

"Come on, cough it up."

"You're lucky it's a slow day. I had a dozen cops calling every hotel and motel within a two-hundred-and-fiftymile radius of that house on Huntley Terrace. We got an affirmative for a Mr. Robert Reed at a Sheraton in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. About two hundred miles from

Hobbs County."

"Holy shit, Curt, you're a godsend." I checked my watch. It was six o'clock. With any luck I could be in Harrisburg by nine. "Listen, I need to call Amanda. I'm driving up there right now."

"Like hell you are," Curt said. "You have no idea what's up there. Hell, that's not even my jurisdiction."

"Lucky for me I don't have to worry about jurisdiction,"

I said. "News is interstate. Sorry about that, bro."

"You asshole," Curt said. "All right, screw it. I'm coming with you. You got a car, right?"

"Sure do."

"Then count me in. And I call shotgun."

"Bitch, please. You think there's any chance in hell you're riding shotgun over the girl I'm still in love with?"

Curt laughed. "No, guess not, but at least you finally admitted it."

"What do you want, a cookie? Meet me here in half an hour." I hung up. Called Amanda. Set the meeting time.

Wondered if somehow Robert and Elaine Reed expected some company.

"Hello, miss, are you still there?"

"Yes, Mr. Benjamin, I'm processing your information as we speak."

"Thanks a lot, dear. And just to be sure, you got that the car was loaned to a Mr. and Mrs. Robert Reed?"

"Yes, sir, I heard you the first three times. Now, can you give me Mr. Reed's date of birth and social security number?"

Raymond Benjamin repeated both numbers to the woman on the other line. He was standing at a pay phone at Eighty-First and Columbus in New York City. Vince was

Uptown. He'd called frantically ten minutes ago, saying

Parker, the girl and some black guy had gotten into the same car they'd been driving the other night and sped away. Vince said they looked like they were in a hurry. And that made Ray Benjamin nervous. He had a feeling somehow Parker had found the Reeds. And if he had,

Benjamin would be in a world of trouble.

No, there was still time. But it meant Ray had to get creative.

The Ford Windstar had been bought in his name. He'd never used that stupid Pioneer system, since the last time he trusted a computer for direction he ended up somewhere with cows and silos. Not exactly what he was looking for.

The one thing he did have to be thankful for was reading the damn machine's instruction book. Just in case. He remembered reading that, in case of an emergency, you could call a Pioneer technician and receive help in either starting or locating your car.

When he signed the papers, he'd made sure to authorize Robert and Elaine Reed, as well. They'd be the ones driving it, and he didn't need them to be pulled over and have to explain their relationship. Thankfully he knew everything about Robert and Elaine Reed, from social security numbers to their son Patrick's birthday.

"Mr. Benjamin, how did you say you lost the car again?"

"Lost it?" Ray said. "Actually, we think our son took it out for a spin last night, got drunk and got a ride home from a friend. When he sobered up he couldn't remember where he left it. I'd really rather not get the police involved unless we have to. All I want is my car back."

There was a moment, and then Raymond heard the woman say, "Mr. Benjamin, according to our tracking system your car has been located in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. On Lindle Road, right by the entrance to I-283

North. It looks like it's right off of exit 2. Sir, you're sure you don't want us to contact the police? Our caller ID shows you're phoning in from NewYork City. That's quite a drive."

"No worries," Raymond said. "I'm a fast driver."

The Harrisburg Sheraton was right off of the Interstate, about a hundred yards down Lindle Road and a few miles east of the Oberlin College campus. Though the night sky had descended on the city, I could see that the trees were full, the grass lush. The town had a wonderful, oldAmerica feel. And we were less than ten miles from

Hershey Park. Unfortunately, this wasn't the best time to check out the chocolatey goodness.

Some terrible techno music was playing on the radio, but I hadn't been paying attention for the past hour. Every minute that passed we were closer to finding the Reed family and getting to the bottom of this bizarre triangle.