The Stolen - Jason Pinter [69]
"No, sir."
"So did you not hear me the other day, Parker? Did you
not understand me when I told you to work another story?"
I mumbled under my breath. Loud enough so that
everyone at the table could hear me.
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"I'm sorry, what was that, Henry?" Wallace said,
folding his ear forward mockingly.
"I said nobody else gives a shit. That's why I do."
"I must have missed something," Wallace said. "Where
do you get off saying nobody cares?"
"Look at this!" I yelled. "You want me off the story
because Gray Talbot sticks his manicured nails into things.
He wants the community to heal. And I'm getting the
runaround worse in Hobbs County than I did from my dad,
and that's saying something. These cops either don't give
a shit, or just want to sweep everything under the carpet.
And meanwhile, the parents of these poor kids have to deal
with the fact that there are five years missing from their
children's lives and everyone else is sitting around with
their thumbs up their asses like it's a source of protein."
Wallace sat back, stunned for a moment. I caught my
breath. Half expected him to fire me on the spot.
"You're wrong, Parker," he said. "We do care. But
what's done is done. Those kids are never getting those
years back. These kind of wounds need time to heal, and
the longer we leave them open, the more gangrene sets in,
both for the families and their communities. Hobbs County
won't win any 'best place to raise your family' awards, but
it's a long way from what it used to be. People in Meriden
regrouped after Michelle Oliveira came back. They banded
together. Made the town safer. A better place to live. I hate
to say this, but that girl disappearing was the best thing that
ever happened to that town. I think you can understand
why folks aren't keen to reopen old wounds."
"Maybe these wounds are deeper than anyone knows,"
I said.
"And why do you think that?"
I dug into my pocket. Took out the receipt I found on
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the floor in the room Amanda was kept in. Put it on the
table, where it sat like a rancid piece of meat.
"What is that?" Wallace asked.
"See for yourself."
He reached across the table, picked it up, unfolded it,
smoothed out the crinkles, read it. Then he dropped it
back on the table.
"It's a receipt from a toy store for dollhouse accessories. So what?"
"It's from the Toyz 4 Fun store in White Plains," I said.
"White Plains is about fifteen minutes from Hobbs County."
"So?"
"Look at the date," I said. Wallace picked the receipt
up again, read it. His eyes squinted. I could tell he was
starting to follow.
"This receipt was printed less than a week ago. Then it
turns up in the house where Amanda and I follow Dr. Petrovsky to, the same house where we're held and nearly killed.
This wasn't some ramshackle, broken-down tenement we're
talking about. This place was in good condition."
"And there was a large dollhouse in one room," Amanda
said. "A girl's room. Every toy you could ever want."
Wallace's eyes jerked to her. She locked him dead-on. He
turned away. Knew that whatever he thought of me,
Amanda wouldn't bullshit him.
"That house was being used as some sort of detainment
center," I said. "That brick wall, that gate, they weren't
used to keep people from getting in. They were to keep
people from getting out."
"Who?" Curt asked.
"Kids," I said. "The family that lived there was holding
a child captive. And recently, too. Which is why I think
there's been another kidnapping. Just like Daniel Linwood
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and Michelle Oliveira. Somebody just bought toys for a
child that was being held in that very house. And they
bought them recently."
"Jesus Christ," Wallace said. "You're sure you found
this in that house?"
"Sure as the day is twenty-four hours."
Amanda said, "You could just say yes, you know."
"Yes," I said. "I'm sure."
"And I saw Henry take it," she added. "And I can vouch
for what we saw there."
"We need to find out whose name that house is registered under," Wallace said. "We need