B Larson - Spyware

“I think you people have gotten your statement from Dr. Vance. His wife is on the phone and she is very upset-”

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Agent Vasquez. “But we are conducting a very serious criminal investigation and we -”

“Look,” said Brenda, taking a half-step into the room. “I know what you’re doing is important, even though I think you’re barking up the wrong tree entirely. In fact, I think you’re in the wrong forest. But this is an emergency. Sarah says there was an emergency 9-1-1 call from their house about an hour ago, and that Justin is nowhere to be found.”

Ray stood up. “What?”

Brenda nodded to him. “She hasn’t found him yet.”

“Where’s your phone, Brenda? Mine’s locked in the car. Have you got your cell in the building?”

Brenda stepped forward, holding up the phone. “It’s right here, and Sarah’s on it.”

Johansen moved to block her, but Agent Vasquez spoke up. “It’s all right. The testimony hasn’t changed remotely in the last ten passes.”

Ray couldn’t help but feel a flash of pleasure at the tone in her voice, but it was immediately washed away again as he took up the phone. “Sarah?”

“Ray? Ray, do you know where Justin is?”

“No, Sarah I -”

“Why didn’t you pick him up? Why didn’t you call if you couldn’t make it?” demanded Sarah, her voice cracking. It was the tone more than her words that scared Ray. Sarah was always level-headed, she almost never became unglued over anything. Anything except for Justin, that was.

“Sarah, I’m sorry, never mind about that now. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Justin is gone, Ray. I think he’s really gone,” she paused here to sob. Remotely, distantly, Ray felt a piece of his world crumble and fall away. He felt one step closer to the abyss.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice flat.

“He left school at two-thirty, no one was home so he should have gone to the Trumble’s house, but he didn’t.”

Ray felt a glimmer of relief. “Well, Babe, what if he just went off home with some other friend?”

“But that’s not all, Ray. There was an emergency call from our house. A 9-1-1 call, right about when he would have made it home. The police responded but found no one there, nothing wrong, except that a back window was open and the screen was off.”

“The one he likes to climb into?”

“Right.”

“Who made the call?”

“They don’t know, the caller said nothing. They got the address from the computer and checked it out and called me.”

Ray looked up from the phone to the others in the room, who were all watching him.

“I’ve got to go home,” he said.

“What did she say, Ray?” asked Brenda. “Is there any word about Justin?”

Ray shook his head. He sank down into his chair. An overwhelming rush of emotions flooded over him. Moments ago, he had just been tired and beleaguered, faced with at worst a threat to his career. Now his son was gone. Perhaps forever. He thought of his boy’s mischievous smile. Was he dead right now? Was he somewhere screaming for his daddy?

“…Dr. Vance. Dr. Vance?” repeated Vasquez.

Ray looked up vaguely. He shook his head and blinked rapidly. He had to think, to act. If his son was in trouble, he had to move fast if he was to help. He had to search while the trail was hot. Somehow he never really tried to deny that his son was gone. He simply skipped over denial entirely and went right on into shock, fear and anger. Today had been so bad already that he was more than ready to believe anything.

“You must allow me to leave. Am I under arrest? Are you charging me with anything?”

“No,” said Vasquez. “Not yet. But we have the right to conduct an investigation-”

“Fuck your investigation,” said Ray calmly. “If you want me to confess right now to anything, I will, if you will let me go after my son.”

This was the first statement that seemed to surprise them. Vasquez’s eyebrows shot up, and even Johansen looked quizzical. She motioned Johansen into the hall. The door swung shut behind them. “Give us one minute, Dr. Vance.”

Ray stood up and paced. He could see them through the glass and the mini-blinds. The conversation seemed intense. They were arguing quietly.

“They have to let you go, don’t they?” asked Brenda. “The bastards.”

Ray shushed her with a gesture and moved to the door. It wasn’t quite latched. He strained to hear them.

He heard Johansen’s rumbling voice. “…bullshit. It’s all part of the scheme…”

“No…” responded Vasquez. “…doesn’t feel right…” she said. He couldn’t make out the rest.

Johansen had his back to him. He had a wild thought about slamming into the stocky agent and making a break for it. Vasquez gave him pause, though. He felt sure that she had a gun on her and that she would not hesitate to shoot him. In the leg, maybe. Then what good would he be to Justin?

Instead, he pulled the door open and leaned out. “Well?”

They looked at him. It was good to see them look a bit ruffled.

Vasquez pulled out her cell phone. Her finger moved on the keypad and the phone beeped in response. She turned away and seemed to speak to several people in rapid succession. Ray fidgeted with impatience. His fingers rubbed against each other nervously and his burning eyes blinked rapidly. He noticed that Johansen was watching him closely. The man looked pissed-off, but Ray was too distracted now to care.

Vasquez turned around. “I checked out your story. There was a 9-1-1 call and your son has been reported missing. Under the circumstances, I’ve decided not to formally charge you at this time. You are a suspect, however, in a federal felony-Dr. Vance?”

But she was talking to his back. Ray and Brenda were headed out into the main hall at a trot. When he got out into the open hall, Ray began to run for side doors that let out onto the parking lot.

Behind him Vasquez was shouting. “Don’t leave the area, Dr. Vance. We will be in touch with you soon.”

“What’s wrong Dr. Vance?” asked a thin female student as he rounded a corner, grabbing the walls for support as he went. He recalled vaguely that her name was Valerie-something. He ignored her and charged the doors. He straight-armed the panic bar and burst out into the sunlight.

Ray reached his car and for an awful moment he thought that he had left his keys behind, or worse, that he had lost them. Then the bulge in his back pocket that his fumbling hands had missed the first time was out and a bright key flashed in the sun. He shoved the key into the lock and all but twisted it off getting the door open.

“Good luck, Ray!” shouted Brenda from the steps. Ray realized that she must have run after him. She said something else, but the engine of his Ford Taurus was roaring now as he backed out and threw the transmission into drive. She waved and he raised a hand back to her.

As he headed out of the parking lot, skirting a slow car and jumping a curb in the process, he realized that Brenda had shining tears on her cheeks again. Crying and running again. Twice in one day, and he had never seen her do either before.

The trip home was hellish. Traffic had never been more frustrating. He wanted to break all the rules and he did break most of them. He drove around cars that were stopped at lights in order to run a red. Twice he jumped the curb so that two wheels were on the sidewalk briefly. His tires squealed at every corner. Fortunately, he had never wanted a long commute and the way home was not heavily-traveled at this time of day. Still, even the slightest delay all but drove him mad. He sat hunched over the wheel, sweating, shouting and beating at the wheel. His thumb was sore from pressing relentlessly on the horn button, using far more pressure than was required.