Reaper (12 page)

Reaper saw it was the one where Wrath had given the man red hair.

“Mustache is wrong, though,” Missy told him. “The dude had a bigger one, you know.” She ran her fingers over her upper lip to show how big.

“Okay.” Reaper put his hand over the lower part of the man’s face in the photo. “Now what about the eyes and forehead? As much as you can remember, are they the same?”

“Yeah and no.” She closed her eyes then opened them and looked again. “The guy had lines here, like he frowned a lot. And crow’s feet.”

“You actually remember all that in the brief time you saw him?”

“Uh-huh. Because I thought it didn’t fit with his muscles and the sweatshirt. Like he was trying to look younger than he was. And I was trying to remember, in case it was the guy Colly said was grabbing girls like me.” She glanced guiltily at Reaper. “I should have told you that the first time, but it wasn’t ‘til you showed me these that I really remembered, if you know what I mean.”

“I do, and it’s okay.”

“Could the man you saw be this man’s older brother?” Wrath asked her.

“Yeah, maybe.” She shrugged. “Or these are old pictures.”

Wrath chuckled. “There is that.”

“Anything else you remember, now that you’ve seen the photos?” Reaper asked her. “Anything at all.”

Missy shook her head. “I wish there was, but that’s it.”

“Well, it’s better than we had before.”

Zip asked the obvious question, that Missy hadn’t. “You know who he is?”

“We think we do, thanks to Colly getting the plate number of the car. And now, with Missy saying the man she saw could be him…” Reaper replied.

“So you’re going after him?” Colly asked, sounding excited.

“Possibly. First we need to make certain he
is
the man and that it’s not, like Wrath suggested, an older brother or perhaps a relative.”

“Just like in the movies.”

Reaper chuckled. “Well, sort of, Colly. A bad B-movie.”

“Cool.”

“Can we get back to our game now?” Vince asked.

“Have at it,” Reaper told him. “And by the way, you know the warehouse on Third? Check behind it. I think I saw an air pump that they use for the trucks.”

“Thanks, man. I will.” Vince tossed the deflated ball up and caught it. “Yeah, this only works for shooting baskets.”

The boys went back to their game, with the girls leaning on the fence to watch, as Reaper and Wrath walked out of the playground.

“So,” Wrath said, “was it Kinsley or someone else?”

“Right now I’d say it’s fifty-fifty. I think I’ll see if I can make an appointment to talk to him about getting rid of my frown lines.”

Wrath studied him, shaking his head. “I’m not sure he’ll buy that. They’re barely noticeable.”

“I’m egotistical. I want Botox injections. Even if he says I don’t need them, it will give me a chance to meet him up close and get a feel for what he’s like.”

“I guess that would work.” Wrath stopped talking, his gaze going to two men walking half a block ahead of them. One man paused at the entrance to an alley, shook his head a moment later, saying something to his companion before they moved on. “Looking for trouble?” Wrath said quietly.

“Perhaps. So we’ll keep an eye on them.”

Chapter Thirteen

Zack did call Dr. Kinsley’s office on Monday and managed to get an appointment for Wednesday, thanks to a cancellation. After arriving at the doctor’s office, the receptionist handed him forms to fill out.

“I’m only here to talk to him,” Zack pointed out.

“I’m sorry, but it’s procedure,” she told him.

He did as she’d requested, then he waited, as was the norm when dealing with doctors, using his time to call a client to discuss one of the woman’s holdings.

He was so involved that he wasn’t aware the doctor was there until he heard him say, “I’ll have to remember that for my own stocks.”

Looking up, Zack saw the man he thought might be the predator standing in front of him.

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Kinsley,” he said, holding out his hand.

Zack shook it, replying, “I’m Zack Ward.”

“Let’s go into my office to talk,” Kinsley suggested, as he took the forms the receptionist handed to him.

Once seated across from each other at the large, modern desk, Kinsley studied Zack. Zack returned the favor for a moment before looking at the pictures at one side of the desk. There were two in silver frames. One was obviously of Kinsley and his family, a lovely blonde woman and two children who Zack estimated were ten and twelve. The other showed an older couple, seated, with three men standing behind them. One was Kinsley. The other two were virtual carbon copies of him except for hair coloring. The oldest one, probably mid-forties Zack guessed, had dark brown hair. The middle brother—or at least Zack presumed that the men were brothers—had hair that was much more auburn, verging on red. Kinsley, the youngest of the three, had light brown hair.

“Nice looking family,” Zack said. “Where did the red hair come from?” He tapped the picture of the brothers.

“My grandfather on my father’s side.” Kinsley chuckled. “My father used to tease Mother that she must have had an affair with the milkman. When Peter was a kid, it was really red. But enough of family. Exactly what are you looking for, Mr. Ward, in terms of plastic surgery?”

“Please, call me Zack.” He leaned back then, as if embarrassed to be talking about it. “Botox. Maybe. To take care of these.” He brushed one finger over what he knew were barely visible frown lines above his nose.

“Trying to get a jump on aging?” Kinsley asked with a smile. He glanced at the forms Zack had filled out. “As an investment counselor, I would think age would be a recommendation, not a draw back. It shows you have experience.”

“Trying to talk yourself out of a patient?” Zack asked with a grin.

“Not really. But I do believe in honesty. Only someone looking closely would be aware of them. There are doctors who advocate getting Botox injections at an early age, to prevent the wrinkles from ever forming.” He pressed his fingers together. “I’m not of that school. The shots are expensive and need to be given every three to four months before the muscles reawaken.”

Zack whistled softly. “I should have done my research.”

Kinsley smiled in agreement. “Most people don’t, I’m afraid.”

“I guess I’ll have to think more about this before coming to a decision. Thank you for being frank with me.”

“No, Frank would be my oldest brother. I’m Jeffery,” Kinsley replied with a laugh. “Bad joke, I know.” He stood, offering his hand. “Please call if you do decide Botox injections are what you want.”

After shaking Kinsley’s hand, Zack said, “I’ll definitely think about what you said, before deciding one way or the other,” and left the office. When he stopped at the front desk to ask how much he owed, he was told that the initial consultation was free. He thanked the woman and took off to go back to work.

* * * *

“Dr. Kinsley seems like a nice man,” Zack told Dallas that evening. “He does, however, have a brother with auburn hair, and they look alike. In fact, all three brothers do.”

“Did you get names?” Dallas asked, lifting the cover of the crockpot to see what Mrs. Cook had fixed them for supper.

“Yep. Peter and Frank. Peter’s the redhead.”

“Okay. Let’s eat then run an online search on him.”

“How was your day?” Zack asked him, getting the plates from the table to dish out the chicken and dumpling for each of them.

“We handled a bad crash on the highway. The two cars… If they hadn’t been different colors you’d have thought it was one car, they were so damned crushed together.” Dallas got beers from the fridge. “Thank God the ambulance arrived at the same time we did. One driver was still alive, although barely. The other one…” He shook his head. “He didn’t make it, and they had to cut his passenger out of the car. She’s in intensive care, as is the other driver.”

“Any idea what caused the accident?”

“Yeah. Stupidity. A witness said the dead driver was on his cell phone. When the hell will people learn?”

“When they ban driving and texting, I suppose.”

“We had to tell the widow.” Dallas sighed dismally. “That never gets easier. Never.”

Zack gave him a tight hug. “I know. I know.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

Dallas told him with a small smile, “We did get a cat out of a tree.”

“I thought that was the fire department’s job.”

“Usually is, but the poor kid responsible for it being there flagged us down. He was beside himself. He said his dog chased it up the tree and his mother would be pissed. Luckily, it was a small tree and Mike’s good with cats. He managed to cajole it within reach then grabbed it. Turns out it belonged to the lady in the house next door and somehow it was able to get out. She gave us all cookies as a reward—even the kid.”

“Waistline, Dallas,” Zack said with a grin.

“Worked them off chasing down a couple of punks who tried to tag a storefront.”

“As the joys of the life of a cop.”

“Tell me about it.”

With supper finished and the dishes in the washer, they got fresh beers and went to do an online search for Peter Kinsley. Dallas found several men with that name, but only one who fit the age parameters.

“He’s a city bus driver. A bit of a comedown from what his brother does.” Going onto Facebook, Dallas typed in the name. Again, there were several men using that name. All but two had profile pictures showing either twentysomethings or businessmen. Of the two who didn’t, one picture was of a dog. The other Peter Kinsley had a naked shot of a back from the waist up, well muscled and tattooed. The man’s hair was red.

Dallas checked the one with the dog and quickly eliminated him. He was eighteen, if his information was to be believed, but looked all of sixteen. Then he went to the page of the tattooed man. He didn’t have many friends, and the majority of them were male. The pictures posted on his page were of scantily dressed, well-endowed, females. Below each picture were comments by Kingsley and his friends that were very sexually demeaning.

“This guy has a problem,” Zack muttered. “I wish there was a front view of him so we could be certain he’s our Peter Kinsley.”

“He has several albums. Let’s see what we come up with.”

“But not right now. We have to get to bed. It’s already almost seven.”

Dallas held up a finger and signed out. Then he signed in again, which took him a couple of minutes and a few keystrokes. Once he was successful, he went back to Kinsley’s page, opening the photos section. He clicked on an album that, from the cover picture of a pipe wrench, should have held photos of plumbing equipment, not barely dressed women. “This it tagged ‘Tools I use on the job’, and it’s available only to his friends,” he said. “So maybe there’s a picture of him working.” He was wrong. Opening it, he found shots of girls, none of them over the age of consent. They were posed provocatively, wearing only thongs, if that.

“They are not doing that willingly, despite the smiles,” Zack said angrily. “Look at the despair in their eyes.”

“Our missing girls?” Dallas asked.

“You had better believe it,” Zack growled in reply. “How the hell does he get away with posting them here?”

“Like I said, it’s tagged so that only he and his friends can see it.”

“Then how did you get into it?”

“I’m clever,” Dallas replied with a grin. He pointed to the name he’d signed in with. It belonged to one of Kinsley’s friends. “A trick one of our computer experts in the department taught me. It doesn’t always work, but when it does, you can find out a lot of interesting things about suspects.”

“Makes me glad I’m not on Facebook,” Zack replied dryly. “Now, shall we get some sleep then go looking for Mr. Peter Kinsley?”

“Yep.” Dallas got off the Internet and closed down the computer. “The question is,” he said as they walked upstairs, “how did he get hold of his brother’s car?”

“Borrowed it, or he has the use of it, even though it’s in Jeffery’s name. Unfortunately, that’s not something I could have asked the good doctor, even if I’d known what was going on with his brother.”

“Too true, I’m afraid. Well once we get our hands on the scumbag—Peter, I mean—we can ask him.”

“And we will. Along with where he’s keeping the girls, if they’re still alive.”

“Not a thought I like.”

“Me neither.”

Chapter Fourteen

Reaper parked the car a block from the address they had for Peter Kinsley. It was a small, one-story house, approximately twenty blocks from Off-the-Street, in a marginally better area containing lower-middle class homes and occasional shops. Reaper and Wrath were dressed in jeans, blue work shirts and dark jackets—which was a step up from the homeless men they’d been portraying for the last few days.

They strolled casually down the street. Just two men returning from a visit to the local bar three blocks behind them.

As they passed Kinsley’s house, Wrath nodded toward the carport. “Looks like he’s not home.”

“Presumption, but logical,” Reaper replied.

They continued down the block to the corner then took a right, walking until they reached the alley that ran behind the house. The streetlight cut the darkness for a few yards, then they were in deep shadows as they made their way to the back of Kinsley’s place. They saw a small yard, surrounded by a chest-high slatted wooden fence with no gate. Not that it stopped them from entering the yard, once they ascertained that no one was watching.

“Do we want to check out the house?” Wrath asked.

“As long as we’re in the neighborhood,” Reaper replied with a small smile.

The windows had either curtains or Venetian blinds on them. The curtains were tightly drawn, but the blinds had seen better days and a few of the slats were bent enough that they could peer into the two rooms behind them. One was a kitchen, which didn’t surprise Reaper. The second room appeared to be a bedroom from the dresser he could barely make out at the wall opposite the window. If there was a bed, it was positioned where it wasn’t visible. From their locations at the side and front of the house, he figured the curtained windows were for the living and dining rooms.