take this the wrong way—I know you’re not a fragile little girl anymore—but you and I both know that your desire to go back to Seattle has more to do with your own issues than with actually helping to catch that madman.”
EIGHTEEN
Sea-Tac Airport, Washington
M ilo Bender arrives at the airport a bit early and finds a good spot in the parking structure. He checks his watch, then spends a few minutes reviewing the file.
An old photograph catches his attention. Regina Victoria LeClaire. Her thin face, her solemn expression. At the age of sixteen, she wore the haunted look of a refugee.
He remembers how brave she was at Daryl Wayne Flint’s trial, sitting on the stand and recounting what she’d endured. Every detail still pains him. He hates to think of what she suffered during those years in her kidnapper’s basement. And he hates himself for not having stopped it.
There must have been something that could have led him to Flint’s lair— the guy didn’t suddenly appear out of thin air; he must have made mistakes somewhere along the line—but what? Other victims always seemed probable. A predator like Flint would typically evolve over time. He would have practiced his appetites on others before Reeve, but either the girls disappeared or they suffered in silence. Sex crimes are notoriously underreported. But Milo Bender still believes there was something they’d missed.
He heaves out a sigh and puts the file away, then checks his watch. Still early.
Reeve’s call had taken him by surprise. “You want to come up here? Are you sure?” he’d asked.
His first suspicion was that Stuart Cox had been unhappy with his report and had then resorted to other means of prying information out of her.
“Honestly,” he asked, “is this your idea, or did someone from the bureau call you?”
But Reeve had insisted it was her idea. And then she’d surprised him further, saying, “I want to check out the mental hospital.”
That struck him as odd. “Olshaker? Really? Why?”
“Maybe if I look around, I can get a sense of what Flint was thinking. Maybe I’ll remember something important. Maybe I’ll have some kind of insight.”
He’d smiled and said, “Maybe you will,” without adding, “but I doubt it.”
It was gutsy of her to want to help, but he didn’t understand it. She’d suffered so much here. Why return to the scene of such dark events? He could scarcely imagine the emotional toll. Still, if Reeve had some deep reasons for coming, even if she just wanted to confront her personal demons, the poor kid would need an ally. So, he’d called Cox, who quickly warmed to the idea of having Flint’s former captive close at hand.
Bender insisted on handling the logistics on his own, without involving the case agent. No pressure, no expectations, no formal interviews. And no bloody protocols.
Then he’d called the hospital and arranged their visit, telling Dr. Blume that he was consulting with the FBI and that they were hoping that perhaps Reeve LeClaire—whose name Dr. Blume instantly recognized—could shed some light on Flint’s psyche.
She was skeptical at first, but he’d persuaded her, saying, “The investigation has stalled, so why not try unconventional methods?”
He checks the time, locks up his vehicle, and heads into Sea-Tac airport, wondering if he’ll have trouble recognizing Reeve as a young woman of twenty-three. He hopes she’s not covered with tattoos and studded with piercings, like so many young people these days.
He’d last seen Reeve when he’d flown down to San Francisco for her mother’s funeral. Her teeth had been fixed, her hair had filled in, and she was meticulously groomed. But she was still as thin as ever. And what he noticed most was her shell-shocked demeanor.
The death of a parent can do that to you. What was the term Dr. Lerner had used?
Secondary wounding?
He checks the board for arrivals and finds that her Alaska flight from SFO has arrived ahead
EIGHTEEN
Sea-Tac Airport, Washington
M ilo Bender arrives at the airport a bit early and finds a good spot in the parking structure. He checks his watch, then spends a few minutes reviewing the file.
An old photograph catches his attention. Regina Victoria LeClaire. Her thin face, her solemn expression. At the age of sixteen, she wore the haunted look of a refugee.
He remembers how brave she was at Daryl Wayne Flint’s trial, sitting on the stand and recounting what she’d endured. Every detail still pains him. He hates to think of what she suffered during those years in her kidnapper’s basement. And he hates himself for not having stopped it.
There must have been something that could have led him to Flint’s lair— the guy didn’t suddenly appear out of thin air; he must have made mistakes somewhere along the line—but what? Other victims always seemed probable. A predator like Flint would typically evolve over time. He would have practiced his appetites on others before Reeve, but either the girls disappeared or they suffered in silence. Sex crimes are notoriously underreported. But Milo Bender still believes there was something they’d missed.
He heaves out a sigh and puts the file away, then checks his watch. Still early.
Reeve’s call had taken him by surprise. “You want to come up here? Are you sure?” he’d asked.
His first suspicion was that Stuart Cox had been unhappy with his report and had then resorted to other means of prying information out of her.
“Honestly,” he asked, “is this your idea, or did someone from the bureau call you?”
But Reeve had insisted it was her idea. And then she’d surprised him further, saying, “I want to check out the mental hospital.”
That struck him as odd. “Olshaker? Really? Why?”
“Maybe if I look around, I can get a sense of what Flint was thinking. Maybe I’ll remember something important. Maybe I’ll have some kind of insight.”
He’d smiled and said, “Maybe you will,” without adding, “but I doubt it.”
It was gutsy of her to want to help, but he didn’t understand it. She’d suffered so much here. Why return to the scene of such dark events? He could scarcely imagine the emotional toll. Still, if Reeve had some deep reasons for coming, even if she just wanted to confront her personal demons, the poor kid would need an ally. So, he’d called Cox, who quickly warmed to the idea of having Flint’s former captive close at hand.
Bender insisted on handling the logistics on his own, without involving the case agent. No pressure, no expectations, no formal interviews. And no bloody protocols.
Then he’d called the hospital and arranged their visit, telling Dr. Blume that he was consulting with the FBI and that they were hoping that perhaps Reeve LeClaire—whose name Dr. Blume instantly recognized—could shed some light on Flint’s psyche.
She was skeptical at first, but he’d persuaded her, saying, “The investigation has stalled, so why not try unconventional methods?”
He checks the time, locks up his vehicle, and heads into Sea-Tac airport, wondering if he’ll have trouble recognizing Reeve as a young woman of twenty-three. He hopes she’s not covered with tattoos and studded with piercings, like so many young people these days.
He’d last seen Reeve when he’d flown down to San Francisco for her mother’s funeral. Her teeth had been fixed, her hair had filled in, and she was meticulously groomed. But she was still as thin as ever. And what he noticed most was her shell-shocked demeanor.
The death of a parent can do that to you. What was the term Dr. Lerner had used?
Secondary wounding?
He checks the board for arrivals and finds that her Alaska flight from SFO has arrived ahead
Similar Books
