James Swain - The Program

“How do I turn on the special chips inside the phones?” he asked.

“You don’t have to. The chips will come on when the phones are powered up. The technology is brand new. It’s really amazing.”

Linderman took a slave phone from the bag and pulled off the back cover. The inner workings looked normal. That was good, because he had a feeling that Crutch might get curious and check out the new phone when it was given to him.

“Thanks for the quick turnaround,” Linderman said. “Please call me when the reception issues have been worked out.”

“I will. Have a terrific day.”

He stood in the open door way and watched Clare walk to her car. She stared at different birds and stopped once to watch a pair of squirrels race playfully across a tree limb. She appeared utterly happy and without a care in the world, and he wondered if he’d ever been like that. If he had, he couldn’t remember it.

He returned to the dining room. Opening the canvas bag, he placed each of the slave phones on the table. Drake stared at them with a dull look on his face.

“Those the new phones I’m going to deliver?” he asked.

“That’s right, Eric.”

“What was she saying about the satellite?”

“There’s a problem with the reception that’s being fixed.”

“I sure hope this works.”

Linderman’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he took it out. It was Rachel. They hadn’t spoken all day, and he walked outside the house for some privacy.

“Good morning. How’s it going?” Linderman greeted her.

“I’m going to kill the son-of-a-bitch,” Vick replied.

Vick sat in her Audi with the windows rolled up. Her dumb-ass police sidekick leaned on the hood, blowing smoke rings like a circus clown. His hand had brushed her thigh during the ride over, and she’d nearly punched his lights out.

“You mean DuCharme?” Linderman asked over the phone.

“Yes, DuCharme,” Vick said.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I thought we’d caught Mr. Clean on the web site,” Vick explained. “DuCharme called in the cavalry without telling me. His call went out to every cruiser in the county. He referred to Mr. Clean by name, and called him a serial killer. I’m going to have to shut the site down.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Linderman said. “I thought the web site was a good idea.”

There was a conciliatory tone in Linderman’s voice. He cares how I feel, she thought. It softened the blow, and she felt herself calm down.

“Are you with DuCharme right now?” Linderman asked.

“Yes, but he can’t hear me. How are things in Jax?”

“I’ve had a productive day. Mr. Clean’s contact at the prison is a serial killer named Crutch. I’m setting up a sting that should put a slave phone in Crutch’s hands tonight. There are some reception issues that need to be cleared up. Once they are, I’ll call you.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Vick said.

“How’s the rest of your investigation going?”

“It’s hit a wall.”

“Don’t give up. Run down every lead, no matter where it takes you. We still don’t know what Mr. Clean’s motive is for abducting these boys.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I also want to make a suggestion. Get rid of DuCharme. I heard a bad story about him before I left.”

“What did he do?”

“DuCharme was part of a bust with two vice cops. They were in the suspect’s house making the arrest when the suspect pulled a gun. One of the vice cops shot the suspect, and he died. The Broward cops conducted an internal investigation to make sure everyone’s story matched up. DuCharme and the vice cops were required to turn over their guns to have ballistic tests run on them. Guess what the tests revealed?”

“I have no idea.”

“DuCharme’s gun didn’t have a bullet in the chamber when the bust went down.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wouldn’t kid you, Vick. He’s a menace. Get rid of him.”

DuCharme hopped off the hood and came up to her door. Vick was afraid he knew they were talking about him, and put on a fake smile.

“Yes, sir. I’ll talk to you soon.”

She folded her phone and got out of the car.

“Still angry at me?” DuCharme asked.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Vick said.

Run down every lead, no matter where it takes you.

Vick walked up the path with DuCharme on her heels. The single-story house was owned by Wayne Ladd’s mother, Jewel, and had mustard colored walls and old-fashioned jalousie windows. The roof was missing several shingles, and resembled a patchwork quilt. Parked in the car port was an aging Saturn and a bicycle with two flats.

“I don’t understand why we came here,” DuCharme said.

“I want to talk to Mrs. Ladd,” Vick replied.

“But she’s a drunk. I spoke with her yesterday. It was a waste of time.”

“Please lower your voice.” Vick pressed the front buzzer. Hearing nothing inside, she pulled back the rusty screen door, and rapped on the front door. “Anybody home?”

“Hold on,” a woman’s voice called from within.

“I’ll wait,” Vick called back.

“Probably just crawled out of bed,” DuCharme said.

“Please stop.”

“I just don’t get why we’re here, that’s all.”

“Then I’ll explain. We think Mr. Clean abducted Wayne Ladd because he killed his mother’s boyfriend. Only Wayne’s girlfriend swears that Wayne isn’t the killer, and only confessed to the crime to protect his mother. That’s why we’re here.”

“So what are we looking for?” DuCharme asked.

“The truth.”

The door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman reeking of booze. Hopelessly frail, she had a weather-beaten face and bloodshot eyes, and could barely stand up. A tabby cat slipped between her legs, escaping outside.

“Who are you?” she slurred, clearly drunk.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ladd,” DuCharme said, turning on the charm. “This is Special Agent Vick with the FBI. We’d like to speak with you. May we come in?”

“You were here yesterday,” she said to DuCharme.

“That’s correct,” the detective replied.

“Is this about my baby?”

“Yes, it is,” DuCharme said.

Her voice rose. “You found him, didn’t you? Wayne’s dead, isn’t he?”

“No, ma’am…”

Jewel Ladd’s face cracked, and she began to sob. DuCharme looked at Vick as if to say Now what? Vick felt like she’d been set up, and that DuCharme had known how this would play out well before she’d knocked on the door.

“Deal with her,” Vick said.

Being small had its advantages. Vick glided around Jewel Ladd and went inside. She entered the living room and took stock of the interior. Jewel had done a good job of blocking out the sunlight, and a TV flickered in the corner like a campfire. Vick found a hallway leading to the back of the house, and headed down it.

Vick wasn’t sure what she was looking for. She knew little about Wayne Ladd except for his crimes. That had jaded her into thinking he was simply another adolescent monster. Her talk with Amber had changed that perception. Amber had said Wayne was gentle and kind, qualities that violent boys rarely exhibited. It had made Vick wonder if really she knew anything about him.

She came to a pair of doors at the hallway’s end. Taped to one was a photograph of a blond-haired, dimple-faced young man wearing an Army uniform. Vick guessed this was the bedroom of the older brother, Adam, who’d died in Iraq.

The second doorway had a splashy poster from the movie Wayne’s World. She didn’t have to guess whose room this was.