"I have to admit, Carol, when you told me you had plans for today, this never crossed my mind." He rocked from foot to foot to relieve the dull ache through his legs from standing on the damp grass. From their vantage point they could look right across the field; a vibrant chows of children running about, kicking balls and shrieking with laughter. Their parents, together with a smattering of other spectators, haphazardly ringed the pitch. Today half the children wore Bradfields Knights' navy blue, their opponents, the vivid red of the Easton Red Devils.

"Just what we need," Tony remarked, a team that not only conjures up images of Manchester United, but labels the children as little spawns of Satan." This got a choke of laughter out of her, but whether or not it was because of his comment or the look from a parent a couple of yards away, he wasn't sure.

"We're here to keep our eye out for the children, not analyze them," Carol reminded him.

"Right."

Somehow, amidst the apparent bedlam, order was restored and two teams of six obediently trotted out onto the pitch. Two referees, clad in their black shirts and shorts spoke briefly with the children, then blew their whistles to signal the start of the game. Though their eyes were on the action on the field, Carol and Tony's focus was on the people around them.

"I'm not even sure what I should be looking for," Carol whispered.

Leaning into her shoulder, he answered, "Look for someone standing off by himself. He won't want to be engaged in a conversation that might lead to questions about his child. Perhaps someone who is watching the game, but isn't as animated about it as most people."

"Go and get the ball, Jeremy! Don't just stand there!" bellowed a man who was running up and down the touchline to shout commands to his son.

"So we'll rule him out," Carol muttered under her breath.

"Kick the ball!" the same man yelled.

"You know," Tony said to her, "I don't discount the positive aspects of organized sports for children. It instills a sense of order and immediate reciprocation when that order is broken. It allows children to grow socially within their peer group. However," he looked down at the overbearing parent, "it's a rather vicarious exercise for a parent like that, isn't it? Maybe he tore a ligament in school and could never play again. Or perhaps he was never as good on the pitch as he was in his mind. In either case, he's now hoisted his dreams of athletic prowess onto the tiny shoulders of a six year-old boy. I should be handing out business cards."

Now Carol laughed out loud.

"Offside!" Tony shouted.

Four heads turned and looked at him. One mother spoke up. "They don't call offside in this league. The kids have a hard enough time remembering not to touch the ball with their hands." Her response was tempered by a smile that Tony returned.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"Your first game?" she asked.

"Yes."

She squinted her eyes. "I don't recognize you two. Who's your boy?"

"Oh," Tony stumbled, "we don't… we're not…"

"We're researching a book," Carol supplied helpfully.

The woman's eyes widened, and several other heads turned to listen.

"Come on, Jeremy, pay attention!" ordered the now-familiar voice.

"Yes," Tony told her. "It's about the long-term psychological damage that a child can incur in a child with parents who try and live their failed sporting dreams vicariously through them. I think we're going to call it, 'Damned if you do, damned if you don't'."

The small audience knew exactly where that comment was directed, and apparently, so did the father, as he glared over at Tony but fell silent.

"Are you really writing a book?" a man to Tony's left asked.

"Not writing, just researching," he answered and held out his hand. "Dr. Tony Hill."

"William Hinds."

Tony took a step back and made the introductions. "This is Carol Jordan."

William shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Carol. Are you a doctor, too?"

She smiled. "No. Just a student."

"So is it just parents and psychologists who come to these games?" Tony asked.

"For the most part, yeah," Hinds answered. He turned his attention momentarily to the game. "Good shot, Ethan! Keep it up!" He quickly looked at Tony. "That's okay, isn't it? To yell out encouragement?"

Tony smiled. "That's fine, Mr. Hinds. Positive reinforcement is good."

Carol worded the next question carefully. "Any other kind of person show up? Someone who isn't a parent or family member?"

Frowning as he gave it some thought, he replied, "Sure. Some of the neighbours like to support the team. You get the odd face here and there, but most of us all know each other. That's why Margaret asked you who your son was- new faces."

"Any other new faces in the last couple of weeks?"

"None that we haven't ended up chatting up. There is one, though…" he looked around. "Yeah. The man with the gray jacket and binoculars, watching the game from his car. Can you see him?"

Carol and Tony followed Hinds' gaze and saw the gray jacketed man leaning back against the bonnet of his car, observing the game through a pair of lens.

"I think Margaret spoke with him." He leaned forward. "Margaret!" When she turned to his call, he asked, "You talked to that bloke in the parking lot, didn't you?"

She nodded. "Last week. Duncan Amerson. Said he was from Newcastle scouting players. Imagine, scouting six year-olds." Her tone spoke volumes. "He didn't say much else so I finally gave up."

Carol's ears perked up and Tony picked up on it immediately. He looked at her and remarked innocently, "Might be an interesting angle to research- the pressures of succeeding, by people outside the family unit. What do you think? Should we have a word?"

She nodded thoughtfully, though her head was already racing ahead. "I think that might be an angle we should explore."

They shook hands with Margaret and William, and thanked them both before making their way over to the car park.

"What do you think?" Carol queried.

Tony shrugged. "Hard to say." He looked back at the pitch, nothing whistling past his antennae. "But I suspect it's the best lead we'll have today."

The man's attention was so focused on the view through his binoculars that he was oblivious to the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel parking lot.

He jumped, obviously startled, when Carol spoke. "Enjoying the game, Mr. Amerson?"

He lowered the binoculars and squinted at her. "What? Who… who are you?"

She reached into her pocket and flashed her warrant card. "Carol Jordan, Bradfield CID. Enjoying the game?"

"I… what…" he stammered.

"Because when we arrived, it didn't look like your binoculars were on the pitch, Mr. Amerson."

"I… there was a lull in the game. I was just… bored."

"Bored? Well why don't you come down to the station, then? That will give you something to do."

He narrowed his eyes. "On what charge?"

"Oh, no charge," Carol replied sweetly. "Would you like me to come up with one?" She took out a piece of paper and wrote down his license plate number.

"Trust me, you don't want that," Tony warned with a shake of his head.

"Fine. I'll… I'll meet you there in about fifteen minutes."

"Make it ten, Mr. Amerson, and consider it a courtesy of the Bradfield police. But don't make me come after you, because you definitely do not want that."

They watched him get into his car and turn the ignition. As he pulled away, Carol looked at Tony. "Anything?"

Folding his arms, he said, "I don't know. I didn't see anything in the car that was child-oriented. Nothing that would coerce a child into the vehicle. And Hinds himself said that Amerson was relatively new to the area. Not much time to get to know the children enough to generate the kind of trust he would need to lure them away. Besides, both the Young and the Fisher boys went missing before Amerson showed up."

"He could have frequented the playing fields of the other teams the Knights visited."

"True."

"Well, let's see where this gets us and worry about the rest as it presents itself."

A loud cheer drifted across from the pitch and Carol and Tony turned to see a group of boys decked out in Bradfield blue embracing and high-fiving each other in celebration of their goal.

--

"Paula, I didn't think you'd be here," Carol said as she and Tony walked into the office.

The young woman shrugged. "I figured someone needed to hold down the fort just in case anyone managed to find anything. And it looks like you did- he's in interrogation room one."

"Oh, very prompt, is he? Good." She handed Paula a slip of paper with Amerson's name and registration. "See if that pulls up anything on file."

"Sure thing."

Outside the interrogation room, Carol set the ear piece in place so that she would be able to hear any comments or questions Tony might give her from the other side of the mirror.

"Suggestions?" she asked him.

He tilted his chin up in thought. "Try to trip him us as soon as you can. The story about being a scout is an obvious lie. I don't think he has the wherewithal to plan a lie past the first few layers. Once you've got him, you'll see where it leads."

She nodded. "Okay," and stepped into the room.

Tony's destination was the room directly beside it. The tinny speakers picked up the sound from the microphones next door, and he heard Carol's chair scrape against the floor as she settled in.

"Thank you for coming in, Mr. Amerson," she said by way of introduction.

The man all but pouted. "Didn't think I had much choice."

Ignoring his comment, Carol asked, "How long have you been in Bradfield?" Her gaze dared him to lie.

He didn't. "I'm, I'm from Newcastle, actually. I'm a scout."

"Scout?"

"Yeah, you know, I go to games and see who has the potential to turn professional."

"At six years old?"

Holding out his hands, he explained, "It's a competitive business. You need to get them when they're young."

"I bet," she muttered. More clearly, she asked, "Why come all this way? No football clubs in Newcastle?"

"No sense living in Newcastle and being a scout there; a hundred blokes are trying to find the next Alan Shearer there. I think there's a lot of untapped potential here in Bradfield."

"Ask him who Bradfield's leading scorer is," Tony spoke into the microphone that fed into Carol's ear piece.

"They've got some fairly good players on that team, yeah?"

Amerson nodded in agreement. "They do."

"Especially that one, oh, what's his name, the one who has the most goals this season. What's his name?"

Amerson's face went blank. "I… it's…" he snapped his fingers as if the gesture would conjure up the answer.

"Not much of a scout, is he?" Tony remarked.

"Right," Carol said, "let's start at the beginning again. You're from Newcastle. What are you doing in Bradfield?"

He paused, weighing his options. Impatient, Carol placed three photos across the surface of the table. They were copies of the same three photos that were pinned to her team's evidence board down the hall.

"Kieran Fisher. Thomas Young. David Cromwell. Do you know these boys?"

He glanced at them nervously. "No."

"They all played for the Bradfield Knights. They've all since gone missing."

Amerson's eyes widened in shock when he realized where Carol was going with her comments. "No! I had nothing to do with that! Nothing! I've never seen those boys in my life, I swear."

A short rap on the door punctuated his claim, and he jumped. Paula leaned around the door. "Sorry, but I thought you might want to take a look at this."

Carol looked at Amerson. "Excuse me for a moment, will you?"

Outside, she joined Paula and Tony.

"What have we got?" she asked Paula.

Handing her a file, Paula answered, "A probable reason why Mr. Amerson's been visiting Bradfield lately."

Tony looked over Carol's shoulder as she read. A cursory sweep of the papers was enough. In the file, along with two speeding tickets, a DWI charge and one for indecent exposure was a restraining order.

Carol looked up at Paula. "Eileen Ferris?"

"She works in the same office as Amerson. She commutes every day. From Bradfield."

"Let me guess," Tony said, "her son plays for the Knights."

Carol raced through her memory banks. "Kyle Ferris."

Paula nodded. "You got it."

"Shit," she said.

"Explains why he's been at the games these last few weeks," Tony remarked.

"And watches from his car," Carol added.

"He's a stalker," Paula finished.

"Shit," Carol swore again.

Tony thumbed in the direction of the evidence room. "I'll be in there when you're done."

Carol sighed as she watched him go down the hall.

"Sorry, guv," Paula said.

Turning to her, Carol shook her head. "Not your fault, is it? We can only hope the rest of them are having better luck than we are."

She returned to the interview room and began collecting the photos.

"What's going on?" Amerson asked.

"Besides the fact that you're in violation of a restraining order?"

"The limitations are fifty yards outside of work. The parking lot is fifty-eight yards away." Whatever else he was going to say froze in his throat when he saw Carol's look.

"You're free to go, Mr. Amerson," was all she said. As he stood up, she tried another approach. A little more softly, she asked, "Listen. I don't suppose you've noticed anyone out of the ordinary during your visits, have you?"

He understood the severity of the situation and shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. But I don't really…"

"Pay much attention to anyone other than Eileen Ferris?" Carol finished, the edge back in her voice.

His gaze didn't meet her eyes and he shuffled out of the room.

"Shit," Carol said for the third time that day.

--

He saw shallow graves and lifeless limbs and empty eyes. Pleas of mercy and cries for help rang in his ears. And, though there might have been similarities between the events in his mind and the fate of the three boys staring back at him from the evidence board, he would have had to admit it wasn't them he was thinking of at all. He was thinking of the one case that had fascinated and plagued him for over five years.

Maggie Thomas, now dead by her own hands, but not before being responsible for the death of others. Five, in fact. Five girls, lured by the gentle and welcoming façade of a killer. He had taken an interest in the case almost seven years ago, when the well of suspects had run dry. She was a counselor at one of the local teen centers; friendly, unassuming, well-liked by everyone who knew her. And deadly. As the disappearances increased, Tony's focus turned to her but, not surprisingly, he wasn't believed. And young girls continued to disappear. Runaways, some claimed. A shadowy figure from the outside, others said. But Tony knew better and a sitting that started as a standard questioning of a possible witness became a marathon of dueling minds until, at long last, Maggie slipped. Once the police got over their astonishment she was charged, and the disappearances stopped.

But for Tony, it was only the beginning of a five-year quest to find the bodies. The voices at the edge of sleep demanded it, and he did all he could to pacify them. At first he believed Maggie's inability to tell him was her way of maintaining the odd bond that had developed between them. It was only later that he realized it wasn't that she wouldn't tell him- she couldn't. In an attempt to keep her sane, her subconscious wouldn't allow her to remember the horrors she had committed. So for five long years, every Thursday, Tony would visit and try to coax the information out of her as carefully as possible. Then one day, through fate and mischance, he didn't show up and Maggie took her own life, thinking he had given up on her. He arrived the next day, too late, but not too late to discover she had at long last remembered where the children were buried. She had drawn a map on the wall in her own blood.

As he reflected on that case, he realized how much it shaped him. Up to the day he met Maggie, everything he had ever known about psychology was all theory. He'd rarely had an opportunity to put his education into practice. Of course, he had had the odd case here and there, a smattering of patients who genuinely needed his help. But nothing like this. Nothing that delved so deeply into the dark recesses of the human mind. Nothing that forced him to re-evaluate and re-examine the workings of his own subconscious. And he didn't like what he discovered. The things he saw staring back at him through Maggie's ebony eyes reflected his own dark path, and how easily it could overwhelm him as it had her. He had seen what an unchecked desire could do to a person; what kind of horrors it could trigger in an otherwise sane person.

He had learned to tamp it down, to push his desires aside, in an effort not to become the people he treated. Yet it had left his life empty. Every moment spent with Carol showed him that. So now he was trying to find some kind of middle ground between living and existing and he was just starting to get things to resemble something normal. The three boys gazed at him from the board. He wondered if the voices would ever go away. Letting out a ragged breath, he gave his head a slight shake.

"Welcome back," Carol greeted softly.

Turning his head sharply, he asked, "How long have you been standing there?"

She shrugged. "About five minutes. You looked deep in thought." She left her invitation unspoken.

"I was thinking about Maggie," he confessed. "And you."

An eyebrow rose. "I suppose I'll take the compliment where I can get it."

The lines around his eyes and mouth were softened by warmth. "I suppose I could learn how to word things better." Encouraged by her smile, he went on, "You and Maggie –opposite ends of my internal scale. Light and dark."

"I'm not perfect, Tony."

"I know, but unfortunately, you're my anchor, whether you like it or not." He smiled with her, then more serious, he said, "It's taken me a long time to admit that to myself; that I need… that anchor. I look at this case and for whatever reason, whatever the meaning, I'm reminded of Maggie. And I'm not sure I can go through that… go back to that again, Carol."

She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's the children."

"It's the uncertainty about the children," he told her. "What happened to them, why did it happen? We can always work those things out in our minds." He looked at her with pained eyes. "But where are they? Where?"

They stared at the photos for a long time. The photos held no answers.

--