The Soul Collectors

2

'That was the command post,' Trent shouted over the sirens. 'CP said the subject is threatening to start killing the hostages.'

Darby leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. 'How many?'

'Four. He's got them tied up in this bedroom right here.' He turned slightly to point to a whiteboard showing a layout of the house. 'He's drawn down the shades on all the top-floor windows, so there's no way we can get a clear shot.'

'You already got a sniper in position?'

Trent nodded. 'He's on the roof across the street. It's the only place offering a clear view of the bedroom. Spotter's using a thermal-imaging scope, so we can make out their heat signatures pretty clearly. One hostage appears to be tied to a chair; the other three are on the floor. At the moment, everyone's alive, but this guy's getting edgy, threatening to kill them. I'm hoping he'll hold off until you get in there and talk to him.'

'I'm not a hostage negotiator.'

Trent flapped a hand. 'I know that. But you know the family. Mark and Judith Rizzo.'

The name triggered a flood of memories and mental snapshots. There was one that stood out from the others: that overcast morning she'd spent in the couple's kitchen of their Brookline home, a place where the greatest threat to kids was getting hit by a car. The previous day, on a late October afternoon with the sky beginning to grow dark, their youngest child, their ten-year-old son, Charlie, told his mother he was going down the street to visit a neighbourhood friend. The mother told him to be careful and to ride his bike on the sidewalk, not on the main street, and returned to making dinner. Charlie hopped on his blue Huffy and vanished.

In her mind's eye Darby could see Mark Rizzo, a man with thick, bushy black hair and olive skin, sitting at the kitchen table next to his wife, Judith, a curvy, pale-skinned Irish Catholic eleven years his senior; could see the parents staring down at a mess of photographs sprawled across the blood-red tablecloth, both unwilling to touch them, terrified that by picking one to run on the TV and in the newspapers they'd seal their son behind it, imprison him someplace where they'd never see or hear from him again.

And they never did, Darby thought, returning her attention to Trent. The APC was driving fast now, the engine's low, deep rumbling vibrating through the metal bench and climbing through her limbs. The air, much warmer than before, reeked of gun oil.

Trent shouted, 'The kid disappeared over a decade ago, right?'

'Twelve years,' Darby shouted back. Charlie Rizzo's abduction had been her first field case.

'You ever find his body?'

Darby shook her head, a part of her still thinking back to that morning in the Rizzos' kitchen. Standing behind the parents were Charlie's older sisters, blue-eyed curly blonde twins named Abigail and Heather, tall for their age and wearing tight Abercrombie amp; Fitch T-shirts stretched over curvy frames still holding baby fat. Abigail, the one with the Cindy Crawford type of beauty mark near her lip, swiped a shaky hand over her wet and bloodshot eyes and then reached over her father's big shoulder.

This one, Abigail said, picking up a photo of a gap-toothed kid with dark black hair and olive skin, his rolls noticeable under the white Star Wars T-shirt with Darth Vader. This one's the most recent picture of Charlie.

Trent shouted, 'When was the last time you spoke to the parents?'

'Back when they were living in Massachusetts — in Brookline. Must've been… maybe two years or so after Charlie vanished. They came to ask me about some private investigator who offered to help them. The father was thinking of cashing in some of his retirement account to pay for it and wanted to know if I knew this guy, what I thought. I told them to save their money.'

'They hire him?'

Darby nodded. 'Nothing came of it. No new leads. I think they hired another guy who specialized in missing kids, but I don't know for sure. When did they move to New Hampshire?'

'When their girls got accepted to UNH. They're finishing up their final year. They're living at home, not at the college. After what happened to the boy, I guess the parents wanted the girls to stick close so they could keep an eye on 'em.'

'You need a hostage negotiator.'

'Already got one. Guy named Billy Lee. He's already made contact.'

'So why am I here?'

'Person holding the family hostage, he's demanding to speak to you — won't speak to anyone but you.'

'What's his name, do we know?'

Trent nodded. 'Guy's saying he's their kid — their son, Charlie Rizzo.'