A/N: I know, it's my constant cry: Apologies for not updating sooner. Ok, with that out of the way, please enjoy this chapter. Thanks to all my readers for your patience. Special thanks to those who were pleased I re-introduced Rosie; it was fun for me to bring him back, too.
Rosie's revelation stunned the Hardys. In a way, it was also a relief. If it was only the baby's clothes that were being planted, the brothers conferred that it could only mean Andy was still alive:
"I think our investigation just got a whole lot bigger than we thought, bro," Frank said. "I think it's gone way past Cal and Sandy's murder. I think Andy has been abducted, and I don't think the perpetrators wanted anyone to know. Why else would the bodies have been buried in such a secluded spot?"
"Because they didn't want anyone to ever find the bodies," Joe mused. "They wanted us to think they all went 'missing'."
"Right," Frank replied. "And they might have gotten away with it, until that hunter and his dog came along...So then they went through the trouble of planting evidence...Why?"
"Someone was probably hoping we'd think the entire Hunter family unit died – including the baby."
"That's what I've been thinking," Frank said. "But we're not buying it. And we're certainly not quitting until we find out exactly who's behind this, and why they targeted Cal, Sandra, and baby Andy."
Rosie stood silently throughout this exchange, keeping a watchful eye on the still unconscious, but living member of the duo that had followed Frank and Joe.
"We'd better do something about that guy before he comes to and tries to make an escape," Frank said, motioning towards the still, snow-covered man.
"I say we tie him up and haul him to the Meritsville cops," Joe declared. "Rosie knows this thug is deep in this whole mess. He's a murderer and a kidnapper. He nearly killed us, too. Rosie saw the whole thing."
"No cops," Rosie grunted. "You know Rosie don't like cops!"
Joe exhaled sharply. He'd almost forgotten Rosie's past experiences with the law.
"It's different now, Rosie," Frank started to say. "We're not dealing with the same department out here. Chief De Groot's a good guy."
A wordless sound of contempt issued forth from the giant of a man.
"There's a baby out there – kidnapped from his family – and you know what happened the night it all went down, Rosie," Joe said heatedly. "Telling the cops what you know is gonna help us put this scum-bag away, and will also help us find the baby before something worse happens to him."
Under his heavy, wild eyebrows, the brothers could see Rosie's eyes take on a reflective look.
Then he grinned. "Sure. Rosie will help you boys again. Rosie's woods won't be safe again unless Rosie does this."
Frank and Joe tried not to let their relief seem obvious.
"One question, though," Joe said, "what do we do with the dead guy? I mean, we'll testify to the fact that Rosie killed him defending us, but..."
"We can't just leave his body out here," Frank said.
"He's not coming in our car!" Joe protested. "We can't stuff him in the trunk! That'd look really good for us if we get pulled over by highway patrol and they pop the trunk and find a stiff in there."
"If we get our car going again, one of us can drive it and the unconscious guy. We'll put the dead guy in the van and drive out to Meritsville together," Frank said.
"If we can get our car going," Joe said, "then I'd say we have a plan."
After popping the hood as well as checking the gas tank for tampering, Joe finally decided to climb into the driver's side to check for any other signs of sabotage.
"Here's the problem," he grumbled as he sat behind the wheel of their disabled car. "Those goons wired an electronic timer onto the ignition switch." He had just unscrewed the underside of the steering column cover. "One of those guys must be carrying a remote of some kind. Once they were in range, all they had to do was send the signal to kill the ignition."
Frank let out a breath in disgust. "They probably did it when we left the car unattended to join in the search party."
"They've been watching us the whole time?" Joe was incredulous. "Quite apart from these thugs threatening to kill us, we must be getting too close for comfort to their operation, whatever it is."
"We can't be sure right now, but if it involves murder and kidnapping a baby...I've been giving it some thought. Since we're pretty sure the baby's clothes were meant to throw us off the scent... my gut is telling me we're dealing with a baby-selling ring; a very deadly baby-selling ring."
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Leah McCaskill snapped off the radio she had tuned to an 'easy listening station' and checked the baby monitor on the dresser beside the crib. Satisfied that it was on, she crept silently out of the room after throwing one last, affectionate glance at her son. She left the door open a crack, just in case.
Leah looked at her watch. It was just past eleven o'clock in the morning. The baby, Douglas, had been up at nine; his infant metabolism demanding immediate attention. Now that he was finally fed and down again, Leah wondered if she should follow suit.
Just when she'd made up her mind to tackle the load of laundry neither she nor her husband, Glenn, had been able to get to, there was a sharp rap on the front door.
Hurriedly, Leah made her way down the hall to the front entrance. The last thing she wanted was for her visitor to become impatient and knock more loudly, or worse; ring the doorbell. That would surely wake Dougie.
As a precaution, Leah checked the peephole before opening the door. She saw two well-dressed gents. They were both wearing shades, which was slightly off-putting. They didn't look like salesmen or door-to-door evangelists like Mormons or Jehova's Witnesses.
"Who is it?" Leah tentatively called out.
"Police, ma'am," came the muffled reply through the door. "May we come in?"
Leah was immediately troubled. Why were the police here?
"I want to see some identification first," she called back.
The men fished in their pockets and held up their wallets to the peephole.
She looked at the pictures and the names on the IDs, showing they belonged to a Detective Charles Butler and a Detective Jason Smith.
Still uneasy, Leah nevertheless unbolted the door and turned the knob. She swung the door open to face them.
"Leah McCaskill?" the one named Butler pulled off his sunglasses. His steady gaze took in her petite frame and chestnut brown hair.
"Yes," Leah responded. "What's this about, Detective?"
"I'm afraid we have some bad news," Smith said, also removing his shades and locking his dark brown eyes with her wide green ones.
"What is it? What's happened?" Leah asked, keeping control of her emotions as she started imagining terrible scenarios. She surmised these men could only be here about Glenn.
"There was...an accident on the I-279. A car collided with your husband, Glenn, as he was driving to work this morning."
An accident on the I-279? Her thoughts echoed...I was listening to the radio the whole morning. None of the hourly news reports said anything about an accident. She frowned at the two men. Deep inside, her gut registered an alarm.
"Is he okay?" Leah managed to ask, her throat tight. She was still puzzled by her own immediate reaction. Shouldn't I be breaking down?
"He was pronounced dead at the scene, Mrs. McCaskill. I am sorry," Smith said.
"Why are two police detectives telling me this?" Leah asked, surprised it should even occur to her that this role normally fell to patrol officers. For the moment, she realized she was much too shocked for the tragic news to fully register on her consciousness.
"We're treating it as a homicide, Mrs. McCaskill. Vehicular manslaughter. We believe speed to be a factor in the collision." Smith said.
"Yes," Butler added, "and the driver of the second car fled the scene. He's still at large at this time."
Something about their reply seemed hurried to Leah, yet at the same time, rehearsed.
"We'd like you to come with us, please, Mrs. McCaskill," Smith slipped his shades back on. "There's still the matter of making a positive identification."
"Oh...Oh, of course," Leah stammered. "Where did they take him?"
"Allegheny General," Butler responded.
"Let me just get the baby," Leah said, turning to retreat to the nursery. "My son...I just put him down for a nap. I can't leave him."
"Of course, Mrs. McCaskill," Butler said. "We'll wait."
Why aren't I feeling anything? Leah wondered silently. Glenn is dead. My husband is dead. The father of my child is dead. Douglas will never know his daddy...
She entered the baby's room and gently swept the sleeping child into her arms and cradled him against her shoulder. She drank in his fresh, clean baby scent. His head of dark hair was already so much like Glenn's with the pronounced widow's peak.
You're going to look just like your daddy. Leah's projected thoughts of the future were like a dagger to her heart as she contemplated the years ahead; years that suddenly would not include her spouse. Tears finally came, but she blinked them back as she placed Douglas in his baby carrier and prepared a bag with baby supplies and wipes. She returned to the waiting men.
"Okay," she said shakily. "I'm ready."
"Are you sure you're okay, Mrs. McCaskill?" Smith inquired. "Is there anybody we can call for you?"
Leah shook her head. "No...I mean, not now. I can call Glenn's family."
"Fair enough," Smith said. "Come with me to the car, please. Do you need any help carrying anything?"
"No," Leah answered, more forcefully than she intended. She maintained an iron grip on the baby carrier. Her precious cargo was remaining with her, as far as she was concerned.
She climbed into the backseat and buckled the baby carrier securely with the middle belt.
Smith sat to the left. "I don't want you to think you have to ride alone back here," he said smoothly.
Leah would have rather she did sit alone with her son, but she wasn't in the mood to argue with the man.
Butler started the car, and they pulled away from the curb.
In her mind's eye, Leah traced the route from her home to Allegheny General. It's where Douglas had been born. Her hand was now wrapped around one of his. She was acutely aware of her need to stay connected to him. He's all I have left now of Glenn. I'm not ever letting him go.
Suddenly Leah realized that they were not following a familiar route to the hospital.
"This isn't the way to Allegheny General..." her voice trailed off as she turned to face Smith.
"I know," he said. He slipped his hand into his suit jacket and pulled out a pistol. He leveled it across the baby carrier in her direction.
"Who are you people?" Leah's voice registered her shock.
"Who we are doesn't matter. What does matter is that you need to keep that pretty mouth of yours shut. Don't try anything stupid, like trying to alert other drivers, or jumping out of the car."
I knew something was wrong about them, Leah thought desperately. There was no accident. They aren't the police!
"Glenn's not really dead, is he?"
Smith smirked, but remained silent.
"What do you people want? Why have you kidnapped me? Please...I'll do anything you want – just don't hurt my baby. Please...stop the car and let him go. Somewhere safe. I promise to do whatever you want me to do."
Silence again from her captors.
"Damn you! What do you want from me?!"
The baby stirred. His little face scrunched up at his mother's outburst. In short order he began to fuss. Instantly Leah regretted her words. Hot tears fell down her cheeks. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Mommy didn't mean to frighten you. I'm sorry! She smoothed his hair and gently rubbed his little chest in a comforting manner. Please, don't cry, baby. Mommy's sorry she scared you...
"I want you to do two things," Smith said. "I want you to get the kid to be silent, and then I want you to be silent, too. Understood?"
Leah nodded and began to shush the baby as best she could. She took a deep breath and faced Smith. "Look, just please tell me why you want me, and I promise I won't breathe another word."
This time Smith grinned, broadly and full of malice.
"Who said it was you we wanted?"
Nancy left her appointment with Dr. Kirkpatrick and headed in the direction of the home of the Chicago Tribune, the towering Neo-Gothic structure on North Michigan Avenue.
Hannah would probably have a fit if she knew I was going to talk to Ann Granger about the piece she wrote about the fire that killed that family, Nancy thought with a wry smile. In the week since the investigative piece had been published, Nancy was still curious about the details. There had been no follow-up article from Ann. Had the story been buried, or was there really nothing else to it? Nancy was determined to meet with her old friend in order to see if her suspicions were unfounded.
After wasting a considerable amount of time trying to find a parking spot, Nancy finally managed to squeeze her Miata between two SUVs three blocks from the Tribune Tower.
They were going to be meeting for lunch at the famed Billy Goat Tavern, a popular hangout for Trib and Chicago Sun-Times reporters alike. Nancy briskly walked the distance down Michigan Avenue to the staircase just in front of the Tribune Tower that allowed access to the subterranean bar and grille.
She chuckled at the sign proclaiming "Enter at your own risk!".
Inside, yells from the short order cook prompting patrons to order quickly reminded Nancy she was actually pretty hungry. She knew from the Billy Goat's reputation that you never really told the cook what they wanted, the cook told you. With a grin, Nancy played the game and ordered a 'doublecheezborger' served with pickles on a Kaiser bun, and a Coca-Cola. She grabbed her order and managed to find an empty table in the 'Wall of Fame' section. On these hallowed walls were photos of local Chicago celebrities, including those in the newspaper industry.
"So, Detective Drew, when do I get that exclusive interview?"
Nancy looked up and saw a tall, strikingly pretty black woman, her own 'doublecheez' and Coke in hand, as well as an order of fries.
"Ann!" Nancy stood to greet her old friend. A smiling Ann Granger set her meal on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth and they shook hands, then pulled each other closer for an embrace.
"It's good to see you, Nancy," Ann said, after they sat down opposite each other. "I hope you weren't waiting long."
"Just got here myself. I was afraid I was going to be the late one. Parking's a nightmare, of course."
Ann took a sip of her drink and nodded. "How's Carson?"
"He's good. Busy, as usual. Happy to have me home."
"And how are you?" Ann asked, her dark brown eyes serious, demanding an honest response.
"Me? I'm happy to be home, too."
"You're hedging," Ann said. "You're talking to an investigative reporter, remember?"
"One of the best," Nancy remarked with admiration. "Actually, I'm officially on leave."
Ann narrowed her eyes. "What for? What happened? They didn't suspend you for some bogus reason, did they?"
"No. It's voluntary. I'm talking to one of the Department shrinks. Just came from the latest session."
Ann nodded and decided not to probe any further. She took another sip from her cola.
"You know, ever since your return from the dead, everyone in this business has been itching to get your full story in print."
"Don't I know it," Nancy said, swallowing a bite of her burger. "When I'm ready to tell all, I promise you'll be the one I call, Ann."
"No pressure!" Ann said, flashing a grin.
There was a lull in the conversation as they both ate their meals.
"Ann," Nancy started tentatively, "about that fire you wrote about last week..."
"Nope. Can't talk about that one." Ann shook her head.
"Why not?"
Ann tilted her head and made no reply.
"Confidential source inside leaking you details?"
Ann gave a smile and winked.
"That's all you're going to say about it?"
"Yup."
"Come on, Ann..."
"You're really stuck on this, aren't you?"
"Well, yes. I can tell when things don't add up...and in this case...things don't add up!"
Ann picked at one of the fries and was silent.
"Ann..." Nancy prodded. "Come on. Something's fishy about it all. What that father said about his son; how he was terrified of fire...it doesn't make any sense that someone who ran family fire drills as a kid would own smoke alarms that didn't have batteries."
"You're right, Nancy. It is fishy." She leaned in closer. "I cannot reveal my source. But after all we've been through over the years, I know I can trust you. What I reported last week...I was asked to...leave out certain pertinent details."
"Why?" Nancy asked, aware they were now speaking in hushed tones.
"Because...that fire wasn't an accident. It was arson. That family was murdered. The question now becomes 'why?'..."
New York University Medical Center.
Dr. Genevieve Moreau sidled up to Dr. Jeff Hagen in the cafeteria line during their lunch break. As they grabbed items and loaded their trays, Gen spoke softly after ensuring no one else was in ear-shot.
"Have they contacted you yet?"
"Yes," Jeff replied, not making eye-contact.
"And?"
"And...I'm not sure I understand exactly what they want. I'm a little bothered they don't want to meet me face-to-face."
"Why?"
"Well, I guess I'm a little surprised they're putting this much faith in me based on your recommendation."
Genevieve feigned a hurt look. "It's not just my word," she insisted. "Your record speaks for itself. You were always in the top five of the class in med school...all the other residents here take their cues from you..."
"It's more than that. I don't know these people."
"Don't you trust me?" Gen sounded genuinely hurt this time.
"Of course I do!" Jeff protested.
"Look, it's just research," Gen whispered huffily. "You and me; we're in a unique position to get them the information they need. You have debts. They have the means of helping you get rid of those debts. I don't see the problem."
"Okay, you don't have to get defensive," Jeff said, moving to the register to pay for his food.
"Fine," Gen said, curbing her frustration. "So...what is your decision?"
Jeff didn't respond for a beat. He was trying to ignore the growing suspicions in his mind. "If they're as charitable to me as they've been to you...I guess I could really use the financial assistance."
"Then you'll say yes?"
"Yes. I'm in," Jeff replied.
"Great!"
"So...how does this work, exactly?" Jeff asked as they sat in a corner table.
"They contact you when they're ready for you," Gen said.
"Okay, but what is all this 'research' really about?"
Gen shrugged. "They don't tell us. My guess is that it's statistical stuff. I know I was asked to look for couples and their babies with specific physical traits, and to methodically document how often I came across them on the job. I submitted my findings to them on a regular basis. They made contributions to my loan shortly after each submission. And like I told you last week, I'm all paid up now."
"That's it?" Jeff asked.
"You sound disappointed, Dr. Hagen. You were expecting some kind of ground-breaking, Nobel-worthy project?"
"No...It just sounds so ridiculously simple..." he mused. Doubt was starting to gnaw at him again. There didn't seem to be any strings attached. Gen had obviously benefited handsomely with this project, so why was he so uneasy? If it sounds like it's too good to be true, it probably is, an inner voice warned.
But I need the money, Jeff answered back to the voice.
And love of money is the root of all evil, the flip side rebutted.
Jeff stared at his now-cold meal. But I won't be doing anything illegal. I'm just collecting and passing along statistical information.
"Everything okay?" Gen asked.
"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "But I think I just lost my appetite."
Gen's mouth curled up into a smile. She reached over and held his hand. "Don't worry, Jeff. Everything's going to be just fine."
Her words should have relaxed him, but her smile made him shudder inside.