Mary Ellen Porter - Into Thin Air

“The local police have him. I was told he was being brought back to the kennel.”

“Told by whom?” she asked. Agent DeMarco was saying all the right things, but she didn’t know him, hadn’t seen any identification, still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced he was who he said he was.

“Chief Kent Andrews. He’ll probably be here shortly. He’s still overseeing the scene.”

“I’d like to speak with him.” She and Kent went back a couple of years. She often worked with the Maryland State Police K-9 team, correcting training issues with both the dogs and their handlers in an unofficial capacity.

“You will, but I need to ask you a few questions first.”

“How about you show me some ID? Then you can ask your questions.”

* * *

The request didn’t surprise Grayson. He’d been told that Laney knew her way around law enforcement and that she wasn’t someone who’d blindly follow orders. While working with the state K-9 team as a dog trainer, her skills with animals and the trainees alike had garnered the respect of the police chief and his men. More than that, Grayson got the distinct impression that Kent Andrews really liked Laney as a person and wasn’t surprised at all that she would put herself in danger to help another.

“Sure.” Grayson fished his ID out of his pocket, handed it to her.

She studied it, her wavy hair sliding across her cheeks and hiding her expression. She didn’t trust him. That much was obvious, but she finally handed the ID back. “What do you want to know?” she asked.

“Everything,” he responded, taking a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. “All the details of what happened tonight. What you saw. Who you saw. Don’t leave anything out. Even the smallest detail could be important.”

“I was on my way back from Davidsonville Park with Murphy when I saw her.”

“Was she alone?”

“Yes. She was walking by herself. I always hate seeing that. I can’t even count the number of kids my team and I have searched for who were out by themselves when they disappeared.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and frowned. “Sorry, I’m getting off track. This headache...” She shook her head slightly and winced.

“Want me to call the nurse and get you something for the pain?” He would, but he didn’t want to. He needed her as clear-headed as she could be.

She must have sensed that. She rested her head on the pillow. “That would be nice, but I’m not sure I’ll be any good to anyone filled with a bunch of painkillers.”

“Don’t suffer for your cause, Laney. If you need pain medication, take it.”

She smiled at that, a real smile that brightened her eyes and somehow made the smattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose more noticeable. She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. He tried to imagine her taking on a guy with a gun. Couldn’t quite do it. “I hate taking narcotics,” she muttered. “I’ll ask for Tylenol later.”

He wasn’t going to argue with her. “You saw the girl walking alone,” he prompted her.

“Yes. I was headed home. A van was coming toward me in the opposite direction. We passed the girl at nearly the same time.”

“Passed her?” He’d assumed she’d driven up as the girl was being abducted.

“Yes. The van made me think of the news reports of other abductions in the area. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the van U-turn. I did the same.” Laney looked away as if unable to meet his gaze. “Unfortunately, it reached her first. She was texting and didn’t even see them coming.”

“Could you see the color of the van?”

“Not initially, but I got a good look at it when I rammed it with my jeep. It was a dark charcoal gray. My front fender probably scraped off some of the paint. It will have a fresh dent on the front passenger side...” Laney’s voice faltered.

“Did you see the person who grabbed her? Can you describe him?” he asked, every cell in his body waiting for the answer. If she saw the guy, if she had a description, if there was DNA on the gun, they’d finally have something to go on.

“I had a pretty clear view. There were streetlights and the headlights from my Jeep.”

“Tell me what you remember. Don’t hold anything back.” Grayson urged.

“He was about six-foot-one with the build of an ex–football player—beefy but not in great shape anymore. His hair was dark brown and cropped close, like a military cut. He was wearing jeans with a black hooded sweatshirt and black work boots. He had brown eyes and an olive complexion. I saw part of a tattoo on the back of his neck, sticking out from the collar of his sweatshirt, but I didn’t get a good look at it.” She paused, frowned. “He wasn’t alone. There was another guy in the van. He came out to help. He was shorter—I’d guess about five-foot-ten. Thin—like a runner’s build. His hair was light brown, nose slightly crooked. He was the one with the gun.”

Grayson scribbled notes furiously. “What about their ages?”

“Early to mid-thirties. Both of them.”

“Did either speak?”

“Both did, but they didn’t call each other by name.”

Too bad. That would have been another lead to follow.

“What about accents?”

“None that I could distinguish.”

“Did the girl seem to know her kidnappers?”

“If she knew them, it didn’t show. As far as I could tell, she was an arbitrary target, but the way the van was parked would have made it nearly impossible for anyone on the street to see the kidnappers. It seemed random...but not.”

“How so?”

“Like they were trolling the streets looking for someone, but once they picked a target their actions were deliberate—no hesitation—like they’d done the same thing before. If I hadn’t been there, the girl—”

“Olivia Henley. She’s thirteen. She was on her way home from her weekly music lesson. Her parents reported her missing shortly after the joggers found you.” He wanted Laney to have a name to go with the face. He wanted her to know that there was a family who was missing a child. Not because he wanted her to feel guilty or obligated, but because he wanted her to understand how serious things were, how imperative it was that she cooperate.

“Olivia,” she repeated quietly. “If I hadn’t been there, she would have disappeared, and no one would have known what happened.” She paused, her face so pale, he thought she might lose consciousness again. “If only I had done something differently, maybe she wouldn’t have been taken.”

“You did what you could, which is more than most would.”

“But it wasn’t enough, was it?” She leveled her gaze at him, surprising him with the depth of anger he saw reflected in her eyes. “That little girl is gone, Agent DeMarco. Her bed will be empty tonight.”

Grayson recognized and understood her frustration. So many children went missing every day, and not all of them would make it home. He knew that better than most. “Not because of you, Laney. Because of the kidnappers.”

“That’s no consolation to her parents.” Laney closed her eyes. “I wish I could have saved her.”

“You still might be able to. If you’re up to it, I’d like you to meet with a sketch arti—”

“I’m up to it. Let’s go.” Before the words were out of her mouth, she was up from bed, the white cotton sheet draped around her shoulders like a cape as she wobbled toward the door, the IV pole trailing along behind her.

“I didn’t mean now,” he said, taking three long strides to beat her to the door and slapping his palm against it so that she couldn’t open it. “And I didn’t mean you should walk out of here with an IV line attached to your arm, either.”