from Illinois. Watson from Ohio. Mullaney from California. Clarke from Arizona. Royce from Missouri. Babbitt from Minnesota. Collins from Wisconsin. Delroy from Nevada. Haynes from Michigan. Asher from Kentucky. And now, Tyler Hart from Cincinnati.” Pete paused and stared at the pictures of the kids before continuing. “These kids were taken when they were between the ages of eleven and thirteen. Death occurred at least one year after their abduction, though three were killed two years after their abduction. Nelson, Clarke, and Haynes had some sort of brand on the inside of their left ankle. The same three had scaring on their backs. Best guess is whipped with a leather strap. None of these kids were found in the state where they were taken from.”
“Despite what Chet said, he did come up with some links,” Summer added. “The kids came from middle class or upper middle class, intact families. Most of the boys had at least one other sibling. All the kids were athletic. The type of sport doesn’t really match, but their families and friends considered the boys athletes. They were bright kids, each on the honor roll and they were considered leaders. All were considered to be good kids. All were Caucasian.”
Pete cleared his throat, and the group looked at him. He lowered his head and raised it, staring at Musgrave, then at the others.
“I’ve read these files over and over to the point where I can recite them word for word. This might sound a bit out there, but hear me out.” He paused, stared at Summer and Chet, and then said, “I’ve been thinking these kids were targeted.”
He had been thinking about this for quite a while and saying it out loud, solidified it in his mind. The group stared at him. Summer frowned at him, not in anger, but in thought.
Chet simply said, “Hmmm . . .” then chewed on the end of his pen.
“Look at these boys,” Pete said turning from the group towards the pictures. “Look at them closely.” He paused then asked, “What do you see?”
Chet got up from the chair and squeezed himself along the wall in order to get a closer look.
“Targeted?” Rawson asked.
“Look at the pictures and think about what Chet told us. Each boy was athletic . . . intelligent . . . on the honor roll . . . a leader . . .”
“Different hair color, but the boys are really cute, good-looking,” Chet said.
“But targeted?” Musgrave asked.
It’s just a gut feeling,” Pete said with a shrug. “I have nothing to base it on, but there’s some sort of connection these boys have . . . I just . . . can’t . . . get a hold of it.”
Chet turned from the board, frowning at Pete, not in disagreement, but more like he was trying to digest something distasteful. Pete recognized that look and knew Chet’s mind was racing. Pete had called it ‘high octane thinking’.
Exploring the theory further, Musgrave asked, “Chet, did you find any other . . . connection the boys might have had to one another or to the three perps?”
“We have nothing to connect them or their families with Ruiz or Szymanski.”
“All of the deaths were similar,” Rawson stated, surprising himself that he had spoken it aloud.
“Not similar,” Pete said shaking his head. “The same . Each boy was nude, handcuffed behind their back, shot twice in the back of the head with a .38. They were found in remote areas. We figure all of the kids were kneeling when they were shot. Angle of entry would indicate that, and the Hart killing confirmed the theory.”
“Did you look in the backgrounds of the individuals who found the boys?” Musgrave asked.
Chet nodded.
“Nothing there, especially with the last. That Indian kid . . .”
Chet looked at his notes.
“Tokay,” Summer said, helping him out.
“Yeah, George Tokay. He’s the same age or a year older than the boy he found.” Chet shook his head. “Nothing.”
“For the
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