figure out who was in charge, but when I found out that Agent Donnelly had been the team leader, I called him.”
“Why do you think that your Michael Rodriguez is the Michael in my case?”
“I have no reason other than the call I had this morning, and the common name. But I needed to follow up. It may be a coincidence—it may not be.”
He was obviously worried about the boy, and maybe his information could help Lucy track Michael.
“I don’t have information about him,” she said, “other than what a witness told me.”
Charlie was surprised. “A witness? The report didn’t say there was a witness.”
“A minor in the house saw the boy, attests to the fact that he was kept against his will. Confirmed his name was Michael, that he’d been locked up for about a month.”
“What about anyone else? Donnelly said there were arrests.”
“I really can’t share any information about the case without clearing it with Donnelly.”
DeSantos sighed heavily. “And that’s why I wanted to talk to him, not a junior agent.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Agent Kincaid. I’m sorry. It’s just I understand how information is disseminated, and I’m sure you dislike bureaucracy as much as the rest of us.”
She leaned forward. “Perhaps if you give me a reason to believe that your Michael and our Michael are the same boy, I can ask him to clear you.”
He slid a file over to her.
She opened it. On the left was a photo of Michael Rodriguez at age eleven. He’d turned thirteen last month. When he disappeared fourteen months ago, on the last day of January, he’d been five feet one inch tall and weighed in at one hundred pounds. He’d been in the foster care system for three years when he ran away, but had been placed in the same family for the last fifteen months before he bolted.
“He ran away?”
“That’s what we all thought, but I don’t know now. And at the time, the Popes were certain he hadn’t run away.”
“Runaways aren’t uncommon in foster care.”
“I know, unfortunately. His foster parents were going through the process of adopting him.”
Lucy turned the page. His mother was dead, his father was incarcerated, twenty-five-to-life for murder.
She looked up at DeSantos. His expression was unreadable, but his dark eyes scanned hers in the hope of answers.
“This was your case?”
He nodded. “Michael had been in and out of bad homes for nearly two years. It was just dumb luck that he landed with the Popes and they clicked. I need to talk to your witness, show her Michael’s picture, confirm what I already suspect. She might know more.”
Lucy thought that as well.
“I’ll talk to her, show her the picture.”
“I need to see her.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Then who can make it possible?” he demanded.
Lucy wasn’t going to let him bully her. “Mr. DeSantos,” she said firmly, “I doubt it’s the same boy. My Michael was locked in a basement for four weeks. Your Michael has been gone for fourteen months. But since the ages and basic descriptions match, I’ll talk to my witness. I’ll share with you what I learn. That’s going to have to be good enough.”
He wanted to argue with her, she could see it in his eyes; then he capitulated. “I understand,” he said. “But turn the page.”
She did. Behind Michael’s official records was a page torn from a paperback book. At the bottom was scrawled in faint pencil:
I’m sorry I had to leave. I want to come home more than anything, but I have to do something important and I might not be able to come back. Thank you for wanting me in the first place.
—M
Lucy’s heart twisted.
“Olive Pope found this through the mail slot in her front door and called me. I’ve known Donnelly for a while, so when I found out it was his case, I came here. Then Brad hands me off to you. I’m sorry I’m a little frustrated.”
“Brad referred you to me because he’s hunting
“Why do you think that your Michael Rodriguez is the Michael in my case?”
“I have no reason other than the call I had this morning, and the common name. But I needed to follow up. It may be a coincidence—it may not be.”
He was obviously worried about the boy, and maybe his information could help Lucy track Michael.
“I don’t have information about him,” she said, “other than what a witness told me.”
Charlie was surprised. “A witness? The report didn’t say there was a witness.”
“A minor in the house saw the boy, attests to the fact that he was kept against his will. Confirmed his name was Michael, that he’d been locked up for about a month.”
“What about anyone else? Donnelly said there were arrests.”
“I really can’t share any information about the case without clearing it with Donnelly.”
DeSantos sighed heavily. “And that’s why I wanted to talk to him, not a junior agent.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Agent Kincaid. I’m sorry. It’s just I understand how information is disseminated, and I’m sure you dislike bureaucracy as much as the rest of us.”
She leaned forward. “Perhaps if you give me a reason to believe that your Michael and our Michael are the same boy, I can ask him to clear you.”
He slid a file over to her.
She opened it. On the left was a photo of Michael Rodriguez at age eleven. He’d turned thirteen last month. When he disappeared fourteen months ago, on the last day of January, he’d been five feet one inch tall and weighed in at one hundred pounds. He’d been in the foster care system for three years when he ran away, but had been placed in the same family for the last fifteen months before he bolted.
“He ran away?”
“That’s what we all thought, but I don’t know now. And at the time, the Popes were certain he hadn’t run away.”
“Runaways aren’t uncommon in foster care.”
“I know, unfortunately. His foster parents were going through the process of adopting him.”
Lucy turned the page. His mother was dead, his father was incarcerated, twenty-five-to-life for murder.
She looked up at DeSantos. His expression was unreadable, but his dark eyes scanned hers in the hope of answers.
“This was your case?”
He nodded. “Michael had been in and out of bad homes for nearly two years. It was just dumb luck that he landed with the Popes and they clicked. I need to talk to your witness, show her Michael’s picture, confirm what I already suspect. She might know more.”
Lucy thought that as well.
“I’ll talk to her, show her the picture.”
“I need to see her.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Then who can make it possible?” he demanded.
Lucy wasn’t going to let him bully her. “Mr. DeSantos,” she said firmly, “I doubt it’s the same boy. My Michael was locked in a basement for four weeks. Your Michael has been gone for fourteen months. But since the ages and basic descriptions match, I’ll talk to my witness. I’ll share with you what I learn. That’s going to have to be good enough.”
He wanted to argue with her, she could see it in his eyes; then he capitulated. “I understand,” he said. “But turn the page.”
She did. Behind Michael’s official records was a page torn from a paperback book. At the bottom was scrawled in faint pencil:
I’m sorry I had to leave. I want to come home more than anything, but I have to do something important and I might not be able to come back. Thank you for wanting me in the first place.
—M
Lucy’s heart twisted.
“Olive Pope found this through the mail slot in her front door and called me. I’ve known Donnelly for a while, so when I found out it was his case, I came here. Then Brad hands me off to you. I’m sorry I’m a little frustrated.”
“Brad referred you to me because he’s hunting
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