Gone

CHAPTER 25

Tuesday, 8:33 p.m. PST

KIMBERLY HAD ONE LAST STOP to make before she headed back to the command center. Luke did her the kindness of looking up the name and address. She took it from there.

Bakersville didn’t have a lot of apartment complexes, and those that existed weren’t in the best state of repair. This building in particular appeared to sag on its foundation, the second story tilting dangerously over the first. The establishment looked like it might have been a cheap motel once-the cracked asphalt parking lot, the dismal attempt at a playground where a swing set still remained, though devoid of swings, a pool that had been hastily filled with dirt. As Kimberly pulled in, her headlights picked up peeling white paint and cockeyed red shutters. There was very little about the property to call home.

She checked the numbers on the doors until she found 16. Light knock. The curtain over the window next to the door was drawn back, and a young woman peered out at her.

Kimberly flashed her creds. “My name is Kimberly Quincy, FBI. I have some questions about Dougie Jones.”

That did the trick. The curtain fell back into place. The door swung open.

Peggy A

“I’m sorry to bother you after hours,” Kimberly said as she entered the apartment. The one-room studio confirmed her earlier assumption of a motel that had been converted into rental units. Same drab brown carpet and gold floral drapes. A back wall that boasted a one-counter kitchenette, adjacent to the bathroom. Kimberly couldn’t help thinking that if anyone could benefit from ten grand, it would be Peggy A

“What did Dougie do this time?” the social worker asked tiredly.

“It’s not what he’s done. It’s where he may be.”

“He’s run off?”

“He’s missing.”

Peggy A

“At least he didn’t burn anything down this time,” Peggy A

“How well do you know Dougie?”

Peggy A

“I understand that he’s been through four different homes already, even had a stay in juvie. I’ll confess, given his history of theft and arson, I’m surprised you were able to place him again. I’m surprised you tried.”

Peggy A

“Yes.”

“Some are just the job, I’m sure. You do what you’re supposed to do, go through the paces.”

“Sure.”

“Dougie wasn’t just the job for me. He wasn’t just a case file. I wanted… I still want, to get this case right. Yes, he has problems. Yes, he has issues. But… But you had to see Dougie Jones four years ago. Dougie Jones four years ago was a truly great, very well loved, little boy.”

Kimberly frowned, now confused. She hadn’t seen Dougie’s official case file; she’d have to wait until morning to subpoena those records. But according to what she’d been able to piece together, Dougie hadn’t even entered the system until three years ago.

“How did you first meet Dougie?” she asked carefully.

“I’ve known Dougie since the day he was born.”

Kimberly’s eyes widened. “You’re not… That wouldn’t be appropriate-”

Peggy A

“You knew his parents?”

“Yes and no.” Peggy A

“She was young, unwed-mother material. Had fallen madly in love with Dougie’s father. Unfortunately, he hadn’t fallen madly in love with her. The usual story. Best I could tell, she didn’t have any family in the area. The state provided resources, and she had enrolled in a local program we have to help single moms earn their GEDs. It’s run through the Episcopal church. The women provide day care for the kids and tutoring for the moms. The state kicks in a small stipend for each day the girls attend. It’s not much, but the program has had success. Gaby-Dougie’s mom-looked like she might be one of the better stories.”

“No drugs, no alcohol, no other men?”

“No, no, from what I could tell, she lived a very quiet life. I’d stop by every now and then, never as part of my job, but as a neighbor. I grew up with a single mom, I know how hard it is. Sometimes I’d even watch Dougie for an hour or two while Gaby ran to the grocery store, that kind of thing. He was precocious. Apartment living isn’t easy for a toddler, especially in units this small. I won’t tell you he was magically an angel while his mother was alive. He was a master breakout artist from the time he was two. I think all of us discovered him out of the apartment at one time or another and returned him home.

“But he was loved, well cared for. Clean clothes, well fed. She’d pick him up all kinds of toys at garage sales. Even found him a tricycle for when he turned three. Gaby really went all out for her son. She wanted to make a better life for both of them.”

“So what happened?”

“She died. Hit and run, one night when she was walking back from the convenience store. Dougie had gone to bed and she’d gone out for milk. No family ever stepped forward to claim him. He became a ward of the state and I got his file.”

“Did you ever think of adopting him?”

“Me?” Peggy A

“The first set of foster parents.”

“The Donaldsons are good people. In social-services-speak, we consider them the Mercedes-Benz of foster parents. Good marriage, nice home, comfortable middle-class lifestyle. I told them Dougie’s story, and Mrs. Donaldson couldn’t file the paperwork fast enough to get him into her house. Here was a kid who had a good start. He was loved, he had bonded, he had more potential than ninety percent of the kids who cross my desk. And here were people ready to take up where his mother left off. This should have been a happy ending, Ms.-”

“Kimberly, call me Kimberly.”

“Well, it should’ve been a happy ending. To this day, I can’t tell you why it wasn’t.”

“He burned down their garage.”

“Only after breaking apart most of their furniture, shredding his bedding, and punching holes the size of basketballs in his room. The garage was the final straw. They didn’t feel they could handle him anymore. Mrs. Donaldson told me that she was honestly afraid.”

“Of Dougie?”

“Of Dougie.”

“But you found him another home.”

Peggy A

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Not as good a situation, with predictable results. For the record, I pulled some strings to get mental health resources available to Dougie after he burned down his second home. The state ponied up the money and I lined up a local psychologist who specializes in children. Unfortunately, Dougie’s third foster mother never took him to the appointments. She had five kids to manage; thrice-weekly appointments were simply too much. And yes, Dougie imploded, and yes, she kicked him out, and yes, we started the cycle all over again. And again, and again.

“Dougie’s an angry little boy. I wish I could tell you why. I wish I could tell you how to fix him. All I know for sure is that Dougie is very, very mad. At the world, at the foster system, and even at me. And right now, according to the experts, he would rather be angry than be loved.”

“I met him this afternoon,” Kimberly said.

Peggy A

“He was playing with a beetle, out in the rain, enjoying the mud. I thought I could talk to him about Rainie Co

“Really? Last I’d heard, she was one of the only people he tolerated.”

Kimberly tilted her head to the side. “You don’t know?”

“What?”

“Rainie has been kidnapped.”

“Oh no.”

“We’re concerned that Dougie may know something about it.”

“A kidnapping ? He’s only seven. I mean, if he’d burned down her house, I’d understand. But kidnapping?”

“According to Laura Carpenter, he knew Rainie was missing before anyone told him.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Which is why I went to see him.”

“And did he give you an explanation?”

“No. But I got the impression… The way he said some things didn’t sound like a seven-year-old boy talking. It sounded like a boy repeating something an adult had told him.”

Peggy A

“I’m not sure yet. But I think he does know something. Can you think of other close friends he might have? Anyone in which he would confide?”

“I don’t get involved in the day-to-day. You’d have to ask Laura-”

“Nothing personal, but I don’t think Laura Carpenter is that close to Dougie.”

“Maybe Stanley?”

“I haven’t met him yet.” Kimberly was silent for a moment. “What about the abuse charges Dougie made?”