The Never Game

He found Sophie, sitting up, groggy, eyes glazed. Her right arm, the broken one, was in a temporary cast. She’d be on the way to the hospital soon. Shaw was familiar with breaks; surgery would be involved. The medics had apparently used an emergency wash to clean off what chemicals they could.

She blinked in Shaw’s direction. “Is he really...” Her voice was harsh and she coughed. “Kyle?”

“He’s gone. I’m sorry.”

She lowered her head and cried, covering her eyes. Catching her breath, she asked, “Did they... Have they found him?”

“No.”

“Jesus.” She tugged a tissue from a box and used that to wipe her eyes and nose.

“Why Kyle?”

“He saw the kidnapper’s car. He could identify it.”

“Did he come with you?”

“No. I told him to go to your house, to see your father. But he was worried about you. He wanted to help me search.”

More sobbing. “He just... He was so sweet. Oh, his mom. Somebody’ll have to tell her. And his brother.” Eyes easing into and out of focus. “How did you... How did you find me?”

“Checked places near San Miguel Park you might’ve been.”

“That’s where this is?” She looked up at the towering building.

“Did you get a look at him, recognize him?” Shaw asked.

“No. He had a mask on, like a ski mask, and sunglasses.”

“Gray? The mask?”

“I think. Yes.”

The stocking cap.

Shaw’s phone hummed. He looked at the screen. He hit ANSWER and handed the unit to her.

“Your father.”

“Daddy!... No, I’m okay. My arm. I broke my arm... Kyle’s gone. Daddy, he killed Kyle. He shot him... I don’t know... That man... Mr. ...”

She looked his way.

“Shaw.”

“Mr. Shaw. Daddy, he found me. He saved me... Okay... Where are you?... I love you too. Call Mom. Can you call her?... Love you.”

She disconnected and handed the phone back. “He’s on his way.”

Her eyes looked past Shaw to the building where she’d been held captive. She whispered, “He just left me there.” Her voice revealed bewilderment. “I woke up in this dark room. Alone. That was almost scarier than if he’d tried to rape me. I would’ve fought him. I would’ve fucking killed him. But he just left me there. Two days. I had to drink rainwater. Disgusting.”

“You found that glass and cut your way out with it?”

“There was a bottle inside. I broke it and made a knife.”

Another voice, from behind him: “Mr. Shaw?”

He turned to the blond officer who’d been dressed down by the detective earlier.

“Detective Wiley asked me to bring you to see him.”

Sophie reached out with her good arm and gripped Shaw’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. And her eyes began to well with tears.

The officer said, “Please, Mr. Shaw. Detective Wiley said now.”

18

Shaw followed the officer to where Wiley stood, by the loading dock, lording over the crime scene, snapping at yet another young deputy.

Shaw wished Detective Standish had drawn the case. However obnoxious, he couldn’t be as insufferable as his partner.

As they approached, Wiley gave a nod and said to the officer who’d brought Shaw to him, “Kathy, dear, do me a solid. I sent Suzie out front. See if she’s got anything for me. Hop hop.”

“Suzie? Oh, you mean Deputy Harrison.”

Wiley was oblivious to the snap of the correction whip. He simply added, ominously, “And don’t talk to a single reporter. Am I clear on that?”

The blond officer’s face grew dark as she too reined in her anger. She disappeared down the broad driveway between the manufacturing building and the warehouses.

The detective turned to him now and patted one of the stairs on the loading dock. “Take a pew, Chief.”

Remaining standing, Shaw crossed his arms — Wiley lifted an eyebrow, as if to say, Whatever — and Shaw asked, “Did they find any CCTV at that intersection, Tamyen and Forty-two?”

“It’s being looked into.” Wiley pulled out a pen and pad. “Now, whole ball of wax. Tell me from when you left my office.”

“I went back to the Quick Byte. Somebody’d taken the Missing poster Sophie’s father’d put up.”

“Why’d they do that?”

“And replaced it with this.” He patted his pocket.

“Whatcha got there, Chief? Tobacco chaw? A fidget stick?”

“You have a latex glove?”

Wiley hesitated, as Shaw knew he would. But — also as Shaw anticipated — handed him one. Shaw pulled it on and fished in his pocket. He extracted the sheet of paper from the Quick Byte. The eerie stenciled image of the man’s face. He displayed it.

“So?” Wiley asked.

“This image?”

“I see it.” A frown.

“In the room where he put Sophie? The same thing — or close to it — was graffitied on the wall.”

Wiley pulled on his own gloves. He took the sheet and gestured a crime scene tech over. He gave her the paper and asked her to run an analysis. “And check in the databases if it means anything.”

“Sure, Detective.”

Bullying and talent, Shaw reminded himself, are not mutually exclusive.

“You were in the café. And after that?”

“I went back to San Miguel Park. I thought you were going to send a team there.”