Stranger in Town

CHAPTER 37





Although Detective McCoy wanted us to stay focused on the girls, I knew Cade wasn’t up to it, no matter what he said to the contrary. We finished talking to Detective McCoy, and Cade walked me to my car. He said he’d been sent over a list of names of inmates who had been released within the past five years, all with the same tattoo. He even had photos. Excellent. I convinced him to give me the list. He was reluctant, but he wasn’t ready to leave his father.

I sat at the small table in my hotel room looking over the list of names in front of me. It was long. I had no idea the clock tattoo was so popular, but with two million inmates in prison across the United States, it was no wonder there were so many.

I’d taken a class once on prison methods and had learned a few things about prison tattoos. For one, it was illegal, but that didn’t stop inmates from doing it anyway. Men who entered prison having prior tattoos were much more likely to get another one while incarcerated than their non-tattooed counterparts, even though there were risks involved. Non-sterile methods were used, such as using paper clips as applicators and soot mixed with shampoo for the ink. This often caused deadly diseases such as hepatitis and HIV/AIDS.

I looked over my stacked sheets of hay, feeling less than confident that I’d be able to find the needle among them. People in the business of stealing children weren’t easily traced due to the fact they rarely owned anything. They lived like transients, driving from place to place, staying in hotel rooms under assumed names, paying cash for whatever they needed. And only one thing mattered to a person like that: his next payday.

I stood up, leaving the list of names on the table. I wanted to grab the papers and hurl them across the room. I hated to admit it, but I actually hoped the feds would find something Cade and I had missed when they searched the house—anything to bring Olivia and Savannah home.

Think, Sloane, think.

I returned to the table, remembering I had a connection to the kidnapper. Now I just needed to use it.



“Jenny, I need a favor,” I said.

She yawned into the phone. “What, umm, time is it?”

“It’s late. Please, I don’t have much time.”

“Sure, yeah. What do you need?”

“I need you to talk to Todd.”

“What—why? I haven’t spoken to him in—”

“I know,” I said, “but this is important.”

“What is it?”

“I am sending several photos to your phone. I need you to show them to Todd. Ask him if he recognizes any of the men from the night Olivia was abducted.”

“Why don’t you just call him yourself?” she said. “I have his number.”

“After what I put him through, I’m not sure he’ll agree to speak to me, but I’m willing to bet he’ll talk to you.”

“Got it. I’m on my way.”

I paced the floor for the next hour, going over all the photos I’d sent Jenny, cross-checking them with the photos I hadn’t sent. I wanted to be sure I hadn’t missed any possibilities. Narrowing the list by age and height alone left a couple dozen possibilities. I then cut it down even more by the crimes they’d committed to put them in prison in the first place. I just hoped one of them was our man.

I was about to try Jenny’s phone when my own rang.

“Jenny?” I said.

“It’s Todd.”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested in talking to me or I would have called you myself.”

“I’m not.”

“Did you look at the pictures I sent?” I said.

“Yep.”

“Did you recognize anyone?”

“Yep.”

A wave of excitement rushed through me. I just hoped he was right.

“Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yep.”

“How do you know?”

“The guy was wearing glasses, so I covered the top half of their faces. His chin—there was something about it. I tried explaining it to the sketch artist, and I couldn’t get it right.”

“But you saw it in one of the photos?” I said.

“The third one—it’s him.”