“Colonel, I would never fail to clear a lead like that. We e-mailed Gracie’s photo and the blow-ups from the game to our office in Boise. I got an agent out of bed at five his time to fly over to Idaho Falls to interview Mr. Tucker this morning.” He put his reading glasses on and flipped open a file on the desk. “Agent Dan Curry just faxed in his 302… his report. Mr. Tucker could not ID Gracie or the men or the-” He was about to say “tattoo,” but he remembered his promise to the colonel. And the tattoo meant nothing now anyway. “Or anything about them.”
A puzzled look came over the colonel’s face.
“Colonel, Agent Curry’s report also states that Mr. Tucker wanted to discuss the government’s monitoring of UFOs in Idaho, said he sees them all the time. And the report states that Mr. Tucker admitted he drinks heavily since his wife’s death.” He shook his head. “That’s the problem with big rewards, they bring out the nutcases.”
“Why’d he say something different to me on the phone?”
“Happens all the time. An agent shows up, flashes the badge, all of a sudden they decide to tell the truth instead of some story to get a piece of the reward.”
The colonel seemed unconvinced, so Devereaux held Agent Curry’s report out to him. He took it; his eyes ran down the page. He shook his head slowly.
“Colonel, sexual predators don’t travel halfway across the country to abduct a child. And they don’t abduct a child then take her halfway across the country. Child abductions are local crimes by local predators against local children. Gracie’s body is within a few miles of the park, I guarantee it.”
The colonel tossed Curry’s report on the desk.
“I’m sorry, Colonel, but there’s no mystery-Jennings did it. That’s the only plausible answer for the jersey, the photo, the phone calls, his description, the coach’s ID, and most of all, the blood-that DNA puts Gracie in his truck.”
“Maybe it’s someone else’s blood.”
“Colonel, the odds that that blood is not Gracie’s is-and I’ve checked this-is one in twenty-five quadrillion, and I don’t even know what a quadrillion is.”
The father: “A million billion.”
“Look, sir, I know this is tough to accept, but sexual predators don’t plot out their crimes and they don’t frame someone else to avoid apprehension… and innocent people arrested for a crime they didn’t commit don’t hang themselves. They hire a lawyer.”
“He didn’t fit your profile.”
“No, sir, he didn’t. Not even close.” He shrugged. “An aberration. Or those guys in Behavioral don’t have a clue. Either way, it doesn’t matter.”
The mother gestured around the room. The agents were packing up the equipment.
“So you’re giving up?”
“Mrs. Brice, we never quit until the body is found. We will always respond immediately to any new evidence or information, I promise you. But we can’t operate out of your house indefinitely, I told you that when I agreed to establish the command post here. We’re moving the command to the Dallas field office. Agent Jorgenson will be able to reach me in Des Moines-”
“ Des Moines? ”
“A five-year-old boy was abducted-”
“You’re leaving? ”
“Yes, ma’am. We have a known sex offender at large up there, and a child is missing. That’s where I’m needed now.” God, this was hard. “Look, I know this isn’t the ending you were praying for. I know every piece of the puzzle doesn’t fit together, it never does. Some things just can’t be explained. We never get every question answered. That’s just the way it is.” He stood. “I’m sorry for your loss. Gracie must have been a wonderful child. But it’s over.”
Devereaux’s eyes went from family member to family member, all of whose eyes dropped when they met his, until he came to Colonel Brice. His eyes did not drop.
“No, Agent Devereaux-it’s just begun.”
After the family had departed the command post, FBI Special Agent Jan Jorgenson got up from her station and went over to her superior. Agent Devereaux’s eyes were sad and tired. He slumped down in his chair. He exhaled audibly.
“If I ever get a child back alive,” he said, “I’m through. I’m giving up the chase.”
She nodded. “I made some contacts, about the mother, at Justice.”
“Proceed.” Then he added, “Not that it matters anymore.”
Jan checked her notes. “Her unit chief was an Assistant Attorney General named Raul Garcia-”
Agent Devereaux was rubbing his face.
“And what did Mr. Garcia have to say about Mrs. Brice?”
“Nothing. He’s dead, too.”
Devereaux stopped rubbing his face.
“ Both of Mrs. Brice’s superiors at Justice are dead?”
“Yes, sir. Garcia died two years ago, in Denver, shot in a carjacking.”
“Jesus.” Devereaux stood. “High mortality rate over at the Justice Department these days.”
“And I called the Army about getting the names of those SOG soldiers. All SOG records were destroyed in ’72.”
“Figures.” Agent Devereaux picked up his briefcase. “Jorgenson, it’s your case now. I’m catching a flight to Des Moines.”
Devereaux thought about Gracie Ann Brice all the way to the airport. Another life ended before it had begun. Another family destroyed by a sexual predator. Another failure for FBI Special Agent Eugene Devereaux. What good had he done here?
He was fifty-six years old. He had handled abduction cases exclusively for ten years now. It was getting to him. His wife had begged him to transfer to the public corruption unit: “What could be more fun than investigating crooked politicians?” she had said. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to give up the chase, one hundred twenty-eight dead children. Good God, one hundred twenty-eight dead children! And he wouldn’t have to travel as much; there were plenty of crooked politicians in Texas. He’d have more time with the family. And maybe in time he wouldn’t see the faces of dead children when he lay down in bed each night and closed his eyes.
Jorgenson pulled the sedan over in front of the American terminal and turned to him. “Agent Devereaux…”
“You can call me Eugene now.”
“Eugene… You taught me a lot. Thanks.”
He nodded. “You did good, Jan.”
“You know, most of the agents I work with in the Dallas office, they’re pretty cocky, like carrying the federal badge makes them special. You’re not like them. You’re different.”
“Difference is, Jan, I’ve seen dead children, up close. That’ll take the cocky right out of you.”
Devereaux exited the vehicle, shut the front door, retrieved his bag and briefcase from the back seat, then leaned in the front window and said to Jan, “Collect the outstanding evidence, write up a final report. I’ll review it when I’m through in Des Moines. You’ve got my cell phone number, call me if you need me.”
He was about to turn away when Jan said, “You really think Jennings took Gracie?”
“I don’t know… but I know she’s dead.”
“If we had jurisdiction, would you have closed the case?”
FBI Special Agent Eugene Devereaux stood straight, stared into the blue sky a minute, and then leaned back down to the window.
“No.”
Life is not a fairy tale.
But Katherine McCullough had not known that in 1968. She had married the man of her dreams only to lose him to the nightmare of war. Ben Brice had given his heart and soul to the Army and that damned war, only to have his heart broken, his soul blackened, and the war lost. When he had returned from Vietnam, he tried to find peace in a bottle. And he had never stopped looking.
The Army tried to put the war and its warriors in the past and move on to a peacetime military. The Army brass couldn’t very well demote the most decorated soldier of the war, but it didn’t have to give him a command. Ben said you don’t get a parade when you lose a football game or a war.
After his retirement, Kate had gone with Ben to the cabin he had built. She had hoped retirement would set Ben free; but he took the war with him to Taos. After a few years, she had woken one morning and accepted the truth: the war would never be over for Ben Brice. He would never find his peace, not until the day he died. And the way he was drinking, that day was not far off.