powers controlled the fate of children, that this night would be one of the latter.
As he’d watched, several of the cops gathered around a woman they’d let through the barricade. After a few minutes, one stepped away from the group, said a few words in his radio, looked around, then headed for Alec.
Alec pushed off the car, hoping they’d found something.
“Agent Donovan, you need to hear this,” said the young officer when he got closer.
“What is it?”
“That woman over there”—he nodded back toward the group he’d just left—“claims she saw the kidnapper.”
Alec frowned. As soon as Chelsea’s mother had reported her disappearance, the park had been blocked off. Everyone in the vicinity had been questioned. That had been five hours ago. “Where’s she been?”
“Said she just heard about the missing girl on the news.”
“But she saw something? And now she’s here?”
Most people with information about a crime were uncertain about what to do and used the “800” tip line. Those who showed up rather than called were usually of the crackpot variety.
“She insists on talking to someone, and Detective Smith is tied up with the search. He said to let you interview her.”
“Lucky me.” Well, Alec
had
offered to assist and could hardly blame them for taking him up on it.
“Her story’s a little out there,” said the cop, “but I figure we can’t afford to ignore any possible leads.”
Alec sensed the slight rebuke, and knew the other man was right. Becoming jaded was one of the dangers of too much time in law enforcement. Sometimes it took a rookie to put things in perspective. “You’re right. Let’s do it.”
They headed toward the knot of officers, and Alec sized up the woman as they approached. Medium height, thin and young, with short dark hair. She wore faded jeans and a lightweight sweater, and for a moment he thought she was a kid. Then her stillness gave her away. She wasn’t as young as she seemed, but a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, calm, and with an uncommon air of confidence. Good information or not, this was no nutcase.
She acknowledged him with a brief nod as he approached.
“I’m Special Agent Alec Donovan,” he said, flashing his badge. “I’m with the CACU, that is the—”
“I’m aware of the Crimes Against Children Unit, Agent Donovan.”
That surprised him. Few people in the general population had ever heard of the CACU. “And you are?”
“Erin Baker.”
“This officer”—he gestured toward the young man at his side—“tells me you have information about the missing girl.”
“I saw the man who took her.”
He’d expected her answer, but the way she said it took him aback. Calmly. Looking him straight in the eye. “I hope you’re right, Ms. Baker—”
“It’s Dr. Baker. Ph.D., not medical,” she added before he could ask. “I’m on the faculty at Georgetown.”
Was she trying to impress him? He’d be more impressed with solid information leading to Chelsea Madden. “All right,
Doctor
Baker.” He gestured toward a couple of picnic tables being used as temporary command post behind a screen of trees, away from reporters, onlookers, and the knot of gathered uniforms. “Let’s talk.”
To the cop beside him, he said, “Come on. I want you to hear this as well.”
The young man nodded, and the three of them made their way to the tables. Alec gestured toward one of the benches. “Have a seat, Dr. Baker.”
“No, thank you.”
“Okay.” Alec matched her no-nonsense attitude. “You say you saw the kidnapper.” He crossed his arms. “Convince me.”
She tilted her head slightly, as if taking his measure before speaking. “I was here in the park, this morning, between nine and ten.”
“Doing what?”
“Running.”
An interesting choice of words. Running. Not jogging. “Do you run often?”
“Every morning. Usually earlier, around six.”
“Go on.”
“When I finished, shortly after ten,
As he’d watched, several of the cops gathered around a woman they’d let through the barricade. After a few minutes, one stepped away from the group, said a few words in his radio, looked around, then headed for Alec.
Alec pushed off the car, hoping they’d found something.
“Agent Donovan, you need to hear this,” said the young officer when he got closer.
“What is it?”
“That woman over there”—he nodded back toward the group he’d just left—“claims she saw the kidnapper.”
Alec frowned. As soon as Chelsea’s mother had reported her disappearance, the park had been blocked off. Everyone in the vicinity had been questioned. That had been five hours ago. “Where’s she been?”
“Said she just heard about the missing girl on the news.”
“But she saw something? And now she’s here?”
Most people with information about a crime were uncertain about what to do and used the “800” tip line. Those who showed up rather than called were usually of the crackpot variety.
“She insists on talking to someone, and Detective Smith is tied up with the search. He said to let you interview her.”
“Lucky me.” Well, Alec
had
offered to assist and could hardly blame them for taking him up on it.
“Her story’s a little out there,” said the cop, “but I figure we can’t afford to ignore any possible leads.”
Alec sensed the slight rebuke, and knew the other man was right. Becoming jaded was one of the dangers of too much time in law enforcement. Sometimes it took a rookie to put things in perspective. “You’re right. Let’s do it.”
They headed toward the knot of officers, and Alec sized up the woman as they approached. Medium height, thin and young, with short dark hair. She wore faded jeans and a lightweight sweater, and for a moment he thought she was a kid. Then her stillness gave her away. She wasn’t as young as she seemed, but a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, calm, and with an uncommon air of confidence. Good information or not, this was no nutcase.
She acknowledged him with a brief nod as he approached.
“I’m Special Agent Alec Donovan,” he said, flashing his badge. “I’m with the CACU, that is the—”
“I’m aware of the Crimes Against Children Unit, Agent Donovan.”
That surprised him. Few people in the general population had ever heard of the CACU. “And you are?”
“Erin Baker.”
“This officer”—he gestured toward the young man at his side—“tells me you have information about the missing girl.”
“I saw the man who took her.”
He’d expected her answer, but the way she said it took him aback. Calmly. Looking him straight in the eye. “I hope you’re right, Ms. Baker—”
“It’s Dr. Baker. Ph.D., not medical,” she added before he could ask. “I’m on the faculty at Georgetown.”
Was she trying to impress him? He’d be more impressed with solid information leading to Chelsea Madden. “All right,
Doctor
Baker.” He gestured toward a couple of picnic tables being used as temporary command post behind a screen of trees, away from reporters, onlookers, and the knot of gathered uniforms. “Let’s talk.”
To the cop beside him, he said, “Come on. I want you to hear this as well.”
The young man nodded, and the three of them made their way to the tables. Alec gestured toward one of the benches. “Have a seat, Dr. Baker.”
“No, thank you.”
“Okay.” Alec matched her no-nonsense attitude. “You say you saw the kidnapper.” He crossed his arms. “Convince me.”
She tilted her head slightly, as if taking his measure before speaking. “I was here in the park, this morning, between nine and ten.”
“Doing what?”
“Running.”
An interesting choice of words. Running. Not jogging. “Do you run often?”
“Every morning. Usually earlier, around six.”
“Go on.”
“When I finished, shortly after ten,
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