Tracking a Kidnapper
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Valerie Hansen
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Traces of fog lingered along the East River despite the rapid warming of the August morning. Off-duty police officer Vivienne Armstrong paused at the fence bordering the Brooklyn Heights Promenade to gaze across the river at the majestic Manhattan skyline. Her city. Her home.
Slight pressure against her calf reminded her why she was there, and she smiled down at her K-9 partner. âYes, Hank, I know. You want to run and burn off energy. What a good boy.â
The soft brown eyes of the black-and-white border collie made it seem as though he understood every word, and given the extraordinary reputation of his breed, she imagined he might. She was wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt for jogging, and her K-9 was also out of uniform. Put a regular collar and leash on him, and he behaved like any other dog. Show him his tracking harness, and he was more than eager to work instead of play. It was uncanny.
Vivienne adjusted the band of her sun visor to lift her short dark hair off her forehead, pivoted to check her surroundings and commanded, âHeel,â as she started out. Hank kept perfect pace at her side. âGood boy. You know I love you, right?â
His tongue lolling, the canine met her gaze with the equivalent of a doggy smile.
Under working conditions, she wouldnât have distracted her dog with chatter, but their time off was different. Besides, she reasoned, Hank was family, her furry baby, particularly since she was beginning to despair of ever finding a good man and raising human children.
That was one of the drawbacks to exercising on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. It was almost always crowded with other peopleâs children, mothers and nannies enjoying an outing with their chargesâdarling little people who had their whole lives ahead of them and the wonders of the world yet to discover.
A piercing scream jarred her back to reality. Hank barked, circling at the end of the leash. Vivienne skidded to a halt and listened, looking for the source.
âJake! My baby! Whereâs my baby?â a woman screeched.
Other passersby froze, making it easy for Vivienne to pick out the frantic young woman darting from person to person. âHe has blond hair. Bright green pants. Have you seen him? Please!â
There was no need for Vivienne to give Hank orders. The dog followed her rapid response perfectly.
âIâm a police officer,â Vivienne told the hysterical woman. âCalm down and tell me what happened. Whatâs your name?â
The fair-haired mother was gasping for breath, her eyes wide and filling with tears. âMy little boy was right here. Next to me. I just... I just stopped to look at the boats and when I turned to pick him up and show him, he was gone!â
âOkay, Mrs....â
âPotter. Susanna Potter.â
âWhere were you when you last saw your son?â
She pointed with a shaky hand. âOver there. By the fence. Jakeâs always been a good boy. Heâs never wandered away like this before. I didnât dream...â
Vivienne could tell the mother was about to lose control again, so she led her to a bench while she called in the report on her cell phone. âSit here, Susanna.â
âNo! No, we have to go find Jake.â
âIâm on the phone with the police,â Vivienne explained, adding a description to her verbal report. âJake Potter. Blond hair.â She looked to the mother. âIs that right?â
Susanna nodded. âAnd bright green pants. Thereâs a picture of a duck on his yellow T-shirt.â
âAge?â
âTwoâalmost three. Heâs very precocious. Smart. Sweet. Wait! I have a picture on my phone.â She was unable to hold her hands still so she handed the cell to Vivienne, then covered her face and began sobbing.
She repeated the description of the childâs clothing. âTwo years old, almost three. Iâm with the missing childâs mother at the promenade, close to Pierrepont Street. Iâm sending you a photo from Mrs. Potterâs cell phone.â
She paused to listen, then said, âCopy. Hank is with me on scene. Iâll see what we can do until backup arrives.â
Seating herself next to the distraught mother, Vivienne gently touched her shoulder. âIâm a K-9 officer and my dog is trained for search and rescue. Do you have any item of your sonâs clothing that I can use for scent?â
âNo. It was too warm for a jacket.â Tears streaked Susannaâs pale cheeks and she was choking back sobs.
âAnything. A hat, a toy, anything Jake touched.â
The woman blinked rapidly. âYes! In my bag.â
Vivienne watched as Susanna pulled out a well-loved, yellow, stuffed toy rabbit. âPerfect.â
When she stood, so did the frantic mother. Vivienne blocked her with an outstretched arm. âNo, please, maâam. You need to wait here in case Jake comes back looking for you. Other police officers will be here in a few minutes, too.â Vivienne wanted to know where to find Susanna when she needed her again. If she did. The sooner she and Hank got moving, the better their chances of finding the lost child.
Assuming heâs merely lost, she mused, feeling her stomach knot. New York was a big city, and Jake was a tiny little boy. Without Hankâs training, the chances of locating him were very slim. Even with the skilled K-9 there were no guarantees. Children were kidnapped all the time, many never seen again.
Except in this instance a rapid rescue was a possibility. She bent to present the stuffed rabbit and watched her K-9 sniff it, clearly ready to go to work.
In full professional mode, she straightened, loosened her hold on the dogâs leash to give him leeway and commanded, âSeek.â
Hank circled, returned to the place at the river fence that Susanna had indicated earlier, then sniffed the air before making up his mind and beginning to run.
The leash tightened. Vivienne followed as hope leaped, then sank. The dog was following air scent. Therefore, the missing child had not left footprints when heâd parted from his mother. Someone had lifted and carried him away. There was only one conclusion that made sense.
The little boy had been kidnapped!
FBI agent and profiler Caleb Black was in conversation with Sergeant Gavin Sutherland, head of the Brooklyn K-9 Unit, which had been formed just months ago, and the deputy police commissioner. They were inside a meeting room in the appellate courthouse in Brooklyn Heights to easily accommodate the commissioner, whoâd had a press conference there earlier. The sergeant wrapped up what he knew about the departmentâs ongoing efforts to locate a recently identified murder suspect, Randall Gage. A twenty-year-old investigation into the shooting deaths of the McGregors, a married couple with two children, had been revived after a very similar double homicide. The MO in the current case involving another couple, the Emerys, was almost identical, down to the killer sparing the life of the victimsâ young daughter, Lucy, just as he had left Penelope McGregor unharmed many years before. It was going to be up to Caleb Black to compare clues, a clown mask and a stuffed monkey toy, and decide if the same murderer was truly back in action, or if they had a copycat on their hands.
Gavin stood and offered his hand to each man in turn, concluding their meeting. âThank you for joining us, Commissioner. We appreciate your assistance, Agent Black.â
âAnything I can do, Sergeant,â Caleb replied, shaking hands with him. âBefore I write up a formal profile, Iâd like to speak with the survivor you mentioned. Penelope McGregor?â The McGregors had a son, too, ten years older than Penelope, but he hadnât been home during the murders; in fact, for a while Bradley McGregor had been considered a suspect. Fully cleared, he was now a detective with the K-9 unit. âI know itâs been twenty years since her parents were murdered but sometimes the smallest detail will give me a lead.â
âFine. Pennyâs our front-desk clerk. We can head over to the K-9 unit building now and you can also meet the team. Iâm very proud of them.â
âIâve heard great things,â Caleb said. âI hope they wonât mind outside help on the case.â
âWeâre all looking for the same resultâjustice for the McGregors and Emerys. So I think youâll find the K-9 unit accommodating. I take it thatâs not always the case?â
Caleb chuckled and raked his fingers through his short, dark blond hair. âUnfortunately, no, it isnât. I donât go out of my way to step on anybodyâs toes, but it can happen. Please keep that in mind as we work together.â
âNoted.â Gavin gestured toward the door of the conference room. âAfter you.â
Caleb exited. Heâd meant the compliment about this unit. It had been formed by bringing in K-9 officers from all around the city and seemed to be functioning cohesively despite its short history. That said a lot about its leadership.
As they were walking down the hallway, Caleb heard the sergeantâs cell phone ping. Gavin paused to read the text, then hurried to Dispatch.
When Caleb caught up to him, he was being briefed. The news didnât sound good. An off-duty K-9 officer was reporting suspicions of a child kidnapping. Before he had a chance to volunteer his services, Gavin drafted him.
âYou can ride with me,â the sergeant said. âWeâre very close to the promenade and hopefully weâll meet up with my tracker there. She and her K-9 were already on scene and have picked up the boyâs trail.â
âGot it.â Much of Calebâs work was done in an office or on a computer, so a chance to work in the field was a welcome change. That, and he was looking forward to assisting a special unit like this one. Their success was his success.
Besides, he reasoned as he climbed into the passenger seat of a patrol car while the sergeant slid behind the wheel and prepared to drive, anything that helped find an innocent child was always his first priority.
Sobering, he fought against the memories of losing his own family. No matter how many days, months and years passed, the acheâthe emptinessâremained. So did the weight of guilt. He should have done more, should have protected his wife and baby. But he hadnât been vigilant enough. Heâd been so focused on doing his job heâd lost sight of the danger to his loved ones.
Calebâs jaw clenched. His beloved wife was gone and so was his only son. That couldnât be changed. But he could do his best to protect other peopleâs children. And he would. For the rest of his life. Regardless of personal cost.
Panting, Vivienne trailed her dog. Hank was straining so much that his collar was making him cough, but there was no time to go home for his tracking harness. Keeping him out of trouble during his reckless dash along the promenade was the best she could do.
A flash of bright green and yellow in the crowd caught her eye. Then it was gone. Could she have imagined seeing the colors? Any error was possible for human senses. Hank, on the other hand, was positive they were on the right track. Vivienne trusted the intelligent, dedicated K-9 beyond her own eyes. If he believed Jake was ahead, then he was. The only question was how far.
They dodged a woman pushing a double stroller with twins then barely missed an oblivious jogger wearing earbuds. âExcuse me. Pardon me,â Vivienne shouted. âPolice officer in pursuit!â
Up ahead, someone in a dark gray hoodie pivoted and glanced back at her. That was all the confirmation it took. A little blond boy wearing bright green pants and a yellow T-shirt was crying and pushing at the tall, middle-aged woman carrying him off in her arms.
âStop! Police,â Vivienne shouted. She had to catch up. Once their quarry left the promenade it would be harder for Hank to track. Plus, the kidnapper might have a car waiting. Her K-9 partner was good, but no dog could follow a closed vehicle in Brooklyn traffic.
Sides heaving, laboring to breathe, Vivienne pressed on. Her legs ached. She had a stitch in her ribs. Adrenaline kept her going while her exhausted body screamed for her to stop. To give up.
âNo way,â she muttered, positive she was close enough to hear the wailing little boy in spite of the noisy chaos around her. Whoever the woman was, she was carrying the extra weight of the child. Surely a physically fit officer and her K-9 could overtake them in time.
Dear Lord, give me the strength to do this! she prayed silently.
Gathering herself, she shouted again. âPolice officer. Stop! Let the boy go.â
Did the abductor falter? It looked like it. âI said, freeze. Put down the child.â
Over the cries of the boy, the shouts of passersby and Hankâs barking, Vivienne thought she heard a siren. Hurry, hurry, hurry, she thought. Block the street exit.
Suddenly, the woman in the hoodie staggered. Almost fell. She regained her footing only to trip again. The strain of the foot pursuit was showing, and she had apparently realized she was not going to escape as long as she was weighed down by her victim.
Little Jake looked surprised when the kidnapper set him down none too gently. He plopped onto his bottom and raised a renewed cry.
Hank closed in. Vivienne was right behind him. She watched the hoodie disappear into the crowd as she approached Jake Potter in all his weepy, sweaty, red-faced glory. She quickly called 911 and identified herself, then relayed the description of the kidnapper. A BOLO would be sent out immediately.
Fighting to catch her breath, she pocketed her phone and bent over, hands resting on her knees, and grinned at the child. Sheâd never seen a lovelier sight.
âHey, Jake, itâs okay. Youâre safe now.â Still panting, she reached for him. âIâm going to take you back to your mommy.â
The child was too frightened to respond to her kindness and attempted to scramble away. Vivienne plunked down on the ground beside him, offered him his stuffed bunny to keep him close and used her cell phone to relay a full description of the abductor and news of Hankâs success. Then she lavished the K-9 with praise instead of paying undue attention to the child. In moments she was able to ease Jake into her lap. The border collie provided comic relief by trying to lick her face. And Jakeâs.
This was why she was a cop. This was why sheâd put off marriage and starting a family of her own. This kind of triumph made all those personal sacrifices worthwhile even though they had cut her off from normal opportunities to date. Circumstances had even driven her to explore online dating apps, which was more than a little embarrassing.
A yammering crowd was gathering. People were aiming cell phones and taking photos of the aftermath as Vivienne embraced the toddler and rejoiced. Uniformed officers soon got between them and the throng, insisting they be given breathing room.
âThanks, guys. One of you loan me a radio, and Iâll report.â
âThat wonât be necessary,â a voice from behind the closest officer announced. âDispatch relayed your calls. We have a good description of the perp.â
She recognized her commanding officer, Sgt. Gavin Sutherland, greeted him with a broad grin and got to her feet with the boy in her arms. âHey, Sarge. Can you send one of the uniforms to go get Susanna Potter? A frantic blonde woman. Waiting on the promenade. Straight up that way. At least I hope she followed my orders because I promised this little man Iâd reunite him with his mommy.â
Sniffling, the child wrapped his chubby arms around her neck. Her heart swelled. She reached into her pocket, searching for a tissue as she gently patted the boyâs back.
A tall man with a crew cut and wearing a dark suit and tie stepped forward to offer her his folded pocket square. Reluctant to accept anything from a stranger, particularly something silk and so elegant, Vivienne hesitated.
Gavin said, âThis is Caleb Black, FBI.â
The profiler. What was he doing out here? âSarge mentioned youâd be coming to the station today.â She noticed a woman pushing a stroller nearby and asked for a baby wipe, then concentrated on cleaning the boyâs face. âIf Iâd been expecting to babysit this morning, Iâd have come better prepared.â
Caleb tucked the square back into his chest pocket. âNo problem.â
The rumble of his deep voice skittered along her nerves and nearly made her shiver despite the heat. His gaze was fascinating, and perhaps a little too intense. There was something about the green of his expressive eyes that reminded her of parks and trees...during a summer storm. His military-cut, light hair was on the blond side of brown, making it seem tipped with gold.
He glanced at her briefly before beginning to focus past her into the crowd. Vivienne realized what he was doing and appreciated the effort even if it did increase her nervousness. The FBI profiler was assessing the gaggle of observers, one by one, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Looking for threats.
She shivered. He was right. There was a strong possibility that Jakeâs kidnapper wasnât working alone, particularly if the attempted abduction was part of a child-trafficking ring like the one the NYC K-9 Command Unit had taken down in Brighton Beach last year.
Pulling Jake closer, she cupped the back of his curly blond head with her free hand and assumed a guarded posture.
Caleb Black gave a barely perceptible nod, clearly approving. He had only spoken two words to her, yet she felt as if they were already operating in sync. It was uncanny. And welcome.
