Last Chance to Die, Noah Boyd [most read book in the world TXT] 📗

“Not so far. The photos are starting to come in, though.”

“Do you actually think we’d get that lucky?”

“I just thought it would be better to have them than not. You never know, something could come up later that a photo might help with,” Vail said. “And the pendulum is due to swing the other way.”

“What pendulum?”

“What most people call luck. To me it’s nothing more than a temporary statistical aberration. So far tonight I’ve had an unbelievable amount of bad luck, so maybe I’m due.”

“Sorry.” She stared at him for a moment before taking another sip of coffee. “Do you know what I find to be the most confounding thing about you, Steve?”

“That doesn’t sound like a question a judicious person would want to hear the answer to.”

“That you’re so good at this and refuse to do it for a living.”

“Don’t start.”

The chief knocked on the door and came in. “Sorry. We may have something. From the sex-offenders list, there’s one, a Frank Dillon, who kidnapped and molested a six-year-old boy twelve years ago. He was paroled in September, and he lives in Vienna, which is fairly close. We got ahold of his parole officer, who said Dillon recently changed his residence and stopped reporting. As far as the PO is concerned, he’s AWOL, and he’ll violate him if we want. We just made a call to his last employment, and he was at work until noon today, when he just up and quit. He did leave a cell-phone number so they could call him when his last check was ready. We’re going to try to put the grab on him. You guys want to come along?”

“Sure,” Kate said. She looked at Vail.

“You won’t need me, Chief. I’m a civilian. If something happened, my being there would just give some defense attorney a little more smoke to blind a jury with. Besides, somebody should stay here and keep checking on the tips in case this guy doesn’t work out.”

Kate turned to the chief. “Tim, I’m coming with you. I’ll be there in a minute.” Once Mallon left, she said, “I seem to remember something about you always keeping the best lead for yourself. That’s not what this is, is it?”

“Like the chief said before, we’re talking about a child’s life.”

“Sorry.” She took out her car keys. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Ah . . . breakfast.”

“Please go get something. Those tips won’t miss you for fifteen minutes. And I really do appreciate this, Steve,” she said. “Hopefully, this won’t take long. Hopefully, this is our guy.”

When Vail got back to the detective’s desk, there were four new tip sheets. He checked the e-mails and was surprised to see that the department had already received eleven messages with photos attached. The lists of runners for both races had also been forwarded. He opened the first set of pictures; they were all of the adult race. He scanned the faces, looking for the Walton boy. There was a subtle difference in quality between the phone pictures and those taken with cameras. As long as they didn’t have to be blown up to provide detail, it really didn’t matter.

Because of the cold weather, most of the runners were bundled up, especially the children. The kids’ race seemed more crowded, with all those parents waiting at the finish line. Vail went through them three times, trying to spot Joey Walton. According to the runners’ list, the sandy-haired seven-year-old was number 034. There were a couple of possibilities that looked like him physically, but the numbers pinned to their chests indicated otherwise.

An angry knot of frustration turned in Vail’s stomach, and he started to regret not going with Kate. The fugitive pedophile sounded like a decent lead. If it wasn’t him, Frank Dillon had certainly picked an odd time to stop reporting to his parole officer and disappear. By staying behind, Vail knew he was trying to make something happen, create some insightful discovery. Apparently he did miss the chase, but at the moment it seemed little more than useless self-indulgence. Or maybe he just wanted to impress Kate.

He started to get up to refill his coffee when the e-mail tone sounded again. There were three new messages, which had eight additional photographs attached. He took his time and looked through them twice. Then, realizing that he had no idea what he was looking for, he got to his feet and waved at the monitor in disgust. He was trying to look at the case from too many angles, a sure way to not find anything.

Outside the department’s front door, he stood without a coat, trying to use the cold to redirect his thoughts. He stayed there until he could feel the bite of the wind, letting the discomfort distract him from his failing approach to the investigation.

Then one of the latest photos flashed through his mind. But the image did not last long enough for him to figure out why it had risen out of his subconscious. He hurried back to the desk and pulled the picture up on the screen. After studying every little detail, he still couldn’t see anything. He closed his eyes and then slammed his fist on the desk.

The image was that of a boy, about eleven years old, breaking the tape at the children’s race. There were a number of adults standing on the sidelines looking back up the course, trying to find their children in the onrushing pack. It was crowded, and people were walking in all directions. Vail could see how easy it would be to lure a seven-year-old away without anyone’s noticing. By the race numbers pinned to their chests, Vail could see that some of the adults had competed in the 5K run, while the rest were apparently just observers. Then he saw what he had missed.

One of the adult runners seemed to be looking at the camera as if he were measuring its danger. His arm was in front of his number so it