"He got the boy a passport?"
Captain Ross had stepped into our conference room that evening to ask for an update on the Whitlock case. He looked as though he only meant to stay a few minutes on his way home, but when we told him we'd discovered that Paul Whitlock had requested a passport in Adam's name, he came all the way inside and sat on the edge of the table.
"Assuming you're not joking," Ross said, "this guy Whitlock is looking worse and worse. What else have you got on him – does he have a gun?"
I tucked my hair behind my ear and gestured at the cluttered table. "No weapons registered to him, but other than that… take your pick – he's been busy, and not too careful about covering his tracks. He's using personal and sick days to go to Rochester – never on his allowed visitation days. It matches with EZ Pass, credit card charges…."
After our morning trip to Philadelphia, Bobby and I returned to One PP and immediately pulled all the records of Paul Whitlock we could get our hands on. Nearly every place we looked produced evidence that Paul was planning a lot more than enrolling Adam in a private school. Some of what we found was alarming.
"You're sure about the passport?" Ross asked.
Bobby picked up a folder and laid it open in front of the captain. "His credit card shows a charge for an online passport expediting service last month."
"Couldn't it be for himself or the wife?"
"No," Bobby said, reaching for a set of stapled sheets, which he held up in front of Ross. "Both of them got passports three years ago."
I added, "Allison's was for the first time, and Paul's had expired from his college days. They went to London for their honeymoon: very romantic in November."
"So they have seven years until they need to renew," Ross said, nodding. "It's got to be for the son."
Bobby slid another paper toward the captain. "Six weeks ago, Staten Island University Hospital processed a request for a copy of Adam's birth certificate. That's where Adam was born."
"And they gave it to him even though he's not the boy's legal guardian?" Ross looked back and forth between Bobby and me as though we were to blame. "I can't believe it didn't set off any red flags. Did he get the passport?"
"We're not sure," I replied. "The State Department regs say that a child must appear in person with the legal guardian to be issued a passport…"
Bobby picked up my thought. "…but the web site Paul used claims they can expedite a passport for anyone as long as you provide the right documents. We, uh, we haven't gotten a response from State yet whether the passport was issued."
"Judge Thomas should be able to get us that information," Ross said. He looked at his watch. "I'll make the call to him. So, he's got the boy's birth certificate, possibly his passport. I take it Whitlock didn't actually mean to enroll the boy in that private school?"
"York Valley Academy has no record of an application," I said, "or even an inquiry. It was just a pretext to get Adam away from his grandmother. And we have Allison's comment about planning 'time away' together."
"Captain," Bobby said, "he'll move quickly now that he knows we're aware of his actions. The restraining order won't make a difference to him."
"Have you notified the Rochester police?" Ross asked.
"Yes," I said. "They've been involved since our visit a couple weeks ago, and now they're adding a patrol car to the neighborhood. The school's also been warned about Paul."
"Good," Ross said, standing up. "What else do you need from me?"
I looked up at him and spread my hands to the stacks of papers. "It's time to bring him in."
"I agree," Ross replied, nodding his head. "Get the warrants typed up and I'm sure Judge Thomas will sign off. Keep the Philly police in the loop."
"And," Bobby said, "we need to go to Rochester again tomorrow. That's where Paul will be headed. Even if he doesn't have Adam's passport yet, it's only an hour to the Canadian border."
Captain Ross stared at him for a few seconds, and I thought he'd say no. What was it about Bobby that brought out his spiteful streak? Ross had asked us what we needed, so why balk at Bobby's request? I pushed my chair back noisily to draw his attention.
"What about the Reynolds paperwork?" Ross asked, obviously fishing for an excuse.
"We're good," I replied. "It's done."
There was another tense pause, but he finally said, "Okay, go. Keep in touch, and let the locals make the arrest if Whitlock shows up." He left without waiting for a reply.
"I don't believe him," I said. "What was that all about?" I'd been feeling hopeful that we were on good terms with Ross – at least for the moment – but his instant attitude change left me irritated.
Bobby shrugged, and began selecting papers. "Forget it." He looked disgusted.
We had to work with our captain, so it would be stupid to stir up more bad feelings. But I needed to be sure Bobby and I were in sync. I gave us a few minutes to settle down as we arranged the information for our warrant request. By the time I opened the form on my laptop he seemed better, though I was still ticked off.
"It wasn't you," I said without looking at him. My fingers were pounding harder than usual on the keyboard. "I have no idea what set him off, but it wasn't anything you did."
Out of the corner of my eye I could see him massaging the back of his neck. "It's... he, uh, I think he needs to remind me he's the captain."
"Yeah," I said, "well, I need to remind him he gave his okay for us to go to Rochester. I don't feel like spending another ten hours with my butt in that car seat." I opened a web browser to the NYPD site for booking travel, then turned the laptop so Bobby could see the screen. "Here we go: JFK to Rochester…" A few clicks brought up the available flights to Rochester for tomorrow morning.
I finally saw a smile on his face as he leaned over my shoulder and pointed to a line on the screen. "Let's take the one at eight forty."
-*- -*- -*-
Our first stop in Rochester the next day was the police station, where we met with Sergeant Brower and his captain. All patrol cars in the area were put on alert for the Whitlocks' vehicles. They also checked flights from Philadelphia since the previous day, but nothing turned up in Paul's name.
Captain Ross called while we were there. He told me Philadelphia cops had gone to the Whitlock house, but found it empty. Paul had called in sick to work. Only the Camry was in the driveway, so they were in the Ford SUV, and had probably made it to the Rochester area by now.
It was still before noon when we left the police station for Mrs. Colson's house - with a quick detour to a local farm stand. We'd called from the terminal at JFK to let her know we were on the way. She'd told us Adam had no school that day. We asked her to keep him at home.
"This isn't a holiday," Bobby said as we pulled out of the farmer's dirt lot in our rental car. "Why is school closed?"
"Teacher conferences," I replied, "which is as good as a national holiday when you're a kid. Unfortunately, it also works for Paul. Adam might not have been missed right away."
"But Paul didn't originally plan to take him this soon," he said. "He'd aim for Thanksgiving, so Adam would think they were going on a vacation. That's what Allison believes."
"So will he try today? We were only in Philadelphia yesterday - he hasn't had time to arrange anything, or contact Adam." I tapped the steering wheel. "He probably has some sort of contingency plan."
"I think it involves that post office box," Bobby said. In our whirlwind of research the previous day we'd found out Paul had rented a mailbox at the store along Adam's school route, just before Adam's eleventh birthday. "We need to talk to Adam about it."
Our arrival at Mrs. Colson's house was similar to our first visit: she greeted us with kisses and we handed her a bag of apples (Winesap, of course). Adam waited at the door, and seemed pleased when I hugged him. He offered his hand to Bobby, who shook it and then pulled him into a hug as well.
It felt like we were visiting relatives, though it occurred to me that this might not be familiar to Bobby, since he didn't have a lot of happy family experiences. I saw a fond smile on Mrs. Colson's face as she watched Adam choose to sit between Bobby and me on the sofa.
The warm fuzzy feeling faded quickly as we explained why we'd come. We began with the custody settlement, making sure Adam understood what was permitted for his father and what wasn't.
I patted Adam's arm as I said, "When the judge found out that your dad was coming here secretly – not on the days when your grandma was expecting him – he signed a special paper called a Restraining Order."
Adam looked back and forth between Bobby and me. "What does that mean?"
"It means he has to stop calling and coming until he talks to the judge," Bobby replied. "Right now the judge doesn't trust him, because he hasn't been following the rules."
"What…" Adam's voice wasn't steady. "What if he comes anyway?"
"Actually, we think he did," I said. "Today. And we think he wants to take you away with him – maybe out of the country."
Mrs. Colson gasped. Adam's eyes opened wide – clearly his father hadn't revealed that part of his plans.
Bobby laid his arm across the back of the sofa. His eyes met mine for a second and then he looked at the boy. "Adam, will you tell us about the post office box?"
It was almost funny to see Adam's reaction: he pushed himself back against the cushions, pulled his knees tightly against his chest, and leaned his forehead on his knees. This was what he'd been concealing.
Mrs. Colson asked, "What are you talking about? What post office box?"
Bobby put his hand comfortingly on Adam's neck. "Paul rented one at a store nearby. He's been using it to communicate with Adam since… um, since your birthday – is that right?"
Adam's head bobbed in a Yes, though he didn't look up. Mrs. Colson looked stunned; I signaled with a finger on my lips to remain quiet.
Bobby's voice was gentle as he repeated his question, "Will you tell us about it?"
Adam nodded again, and we heard his muffled voice. "My father's in a lot of trouble, isn't he?"
"Not because of you," I said. "Adam, you're not to blame for any of this."
Bobby leaned closer and spoke softly to Adam, "Alex is right. You're not in trouble, but we need you to tell us the whole truth."
Adam slowly uncurled himself. When he finally looked up he said, "I'll take you there." He looked hesitantly at Mrs. Colson. "Grandma, can you… Is it all right if I just…?"
"You want to go with the detectives?" she asked. To her credit, she didn't look hurt at his reluctance to reveal his secret in front of her.
"Is it okay?"
"Of course it is, sweetheart, but I need you to promise you'll stay with them." Mrs. Colson stood up and reached her hand toward Adam. She hugged him, then led us to the door. As we put on our coats, she said, "I'll have lunch ready when you come back. Please, please be careful. I love you, Adam."
Once we were outside Bobby ruffled Adam's hair as he said, "How about if we walk? It's not far."
I grinned at him over Adam's head. Walking would give us more time to talk with him, and in a less stressful environment. The weather was decent: cold but not windy.
"So," I said as we started down the sidewalk, "does your friend Jeff live around here?"
Adam pointed. "Yeah, on Paulson Street, a couple of blocks over."
I asked, "Does he know anything about what's been happening with your dad?"
Adam shook his head. "No, my dad said not to tell anybody."
"It must have been hard for you," Bobby said, "keeping secrets from your grandmother and friends." He rested his hand on Adam's shoulder. "Especially since it went against what you learned in Boy Scouts."
"I wanted to tell Grandma, but he said she'd get in trouble."
My resentment against Paul grew with each thing I learned about him. Only a selfish low-life would treat his own son this way.
"But you knew," Bobby said. "You knew the right thing to do, didn't you?" He had a soft spot for the boy, but he wanted him to act responsibly. Bobby was always honest, and he expected the same from those he cared about.
"Yes," Adam replied. "I was going to ask Father Michael when I went to Boy Scouts. He's not a Scoutmaster, but he comes to our meetings. But before we had a meeting, my dad told Grandma about that school – York Valley – and then she knew."
"And then we came to visit," I added. "Did that worry you?"
"Sort of," he said. "Well, yeah, pretty much. But I wanted to see you." He looked over at me shyly.
I held out my hand and was pleasantly surprised when he took it; I let our gloved hands swing as we walked. "We wanted to see you, too," I said. "We were concerned about you and your grandma. So… you got letters from your dad at the mailbox?"
"A couple," he said.
"What is it you didn't want to tell us in front of your grandma?" Bobby asked.
"I, um," Adam said. He took a deep breath. "Dad gave me a cell phone, and I keep it in the mailbox." His head hung down, and I could feel his tension - but at least he kept a grip on my hand.
A cell phone! Bobby and I looked at each other over his head. That certainly explained the mystery of communication between Paul and Adam. That's why Paul hadn't showed up the day we waited at the Quick-Stop – he knew we were coming.
Bobby said, "You'd call him on your way to or from school, right? And I guess he left you voice messages to let you know when he'd be coming to Rochester."
"Yes," he said, "but ever since you were here, I only turned it on one time." Adam looked up at Bobby earnestly. He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a key-ring. It had a single small key on it – exactly the size of a PO box key – and a paper tag. He handed it over to Bobby. "The number there is for voicemail."
"Thanks. So… you talked to him on Saturday, before your soccer game," Bobby said, tucking the key into his coat pocket.
He nodded. "I said I couldn't use the cell phone any more – it wasn't honest to hide it from Grandma. He was pretty mad about it."
Once again Bobby patted his shoulder. "You're in a tough situation, Adam, but you tried to do the honorable thing. Alex and I are both proud of you."
"Very proud," I said.
"Thanks. Are you, um…" Adam looked from Bobby to me. "Are you guys, like… going together or something?"
I shouldn't have been surprised at the question, but it caught me off guard. I hoped Bobby would have a good answer, but my clever partner was unprepared, too – he cleared his throat, and when I peeked over at him he was like a deer in the headlights. I'd have to handle this one.
I gave Adam's hand a squeeze and said, "We're partners, so we spend a lot of time together for our work, and we care about each other – but we're not dating."
This was a subject we avoided. I tried to avoid even thinking about it, mainly because I could never imagine a happy ending. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what Bobby thought. There were too many possibilities that led to catastrophe.
"But you're friends, right?" Adam persisted. "Best friends?"
"Yes." Bobby's voice was very soft. "Best friends." I didn't dare look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me, gently drawing me. He wanted me to acknowledge his words. That was fair - so why did I feel nervous?
I finally turned toward him and simply raised my eyebrows. What a relief that he looked calm, and even amused. But he didn't look away - of course he wanted to know if I agreed we were best friends. I did, but I wasn't ready to explore that thought, at least not in front of Adam.
"Here's the place," Adam said as he pulled me forward at a run. Lucky me: I got to avoid the uncomfortable topic. He yanked the door open and started to rush in, but paused and stepped back to hold it open for me. Bobby was yards behind us.
I touched Adam's cheek as I entered, but my smile faded the next second as I saw who was standing at the wall of PO boxes: Paul and Allison Whitlock.
