He felt a stab of empathy. When he became irritated, he just thought of Nicky, and how he’d feel if he were in the parents’ place. The investigators would be ready to shoot him by now. Maybe that’s why he was better suited than Craw to deal with the families. Thrice-divorced, Ben had never had kids. He was still a hell of an agent but had a harder time having his decisions constantly questioned by the victims’ families.
“I can’t think of anything more difficult than what the two of you are going through now. But we’re making progress.” He sat on the edge of the ottoman in front of the couch. “The reason I asked again about boyfriends is that our warrants went through. We’ve gotten the cell phone data back for Whitney’s cell, as well as preliminary forensic information from her social media sites. We’ve focused on speaking to everyone she was friends with online that we haven’t already interviewed. We found an irregularity in one of the Facebook accounts.”
“An irregularity?” Brian leaned forward, his dark gaze intense. “What does that mean?”
Mark kept his voice conversational. “There was a boy from Blackston that she was friends with online. She was communicating with him regularly, at first using Facebook chats before they started text messaging.”
Shannon looked at her husband helplessly. “I don’t understand. The only time Whitney is in Blackston is when we’re at my mom’s.”
Her husband didn’t spare her a glance. “So, who’s the boy?”
“His name is Patrick Allen.” Mark watched the two carefully. “Does that ring a bell?”
Shannon shook her head. She was a petite blonde woman, nearly dwarfed by the oversize sofa. “I grew up in Blackston, but I don’t recognize the name. Do you think he had something to do with Whitney’s kidnapping?”
“We’re not sure yet.” Mark shifted his gaze to Brian. “We’ve interviewed the boy, and he denies knowing your daughter. Said he’s been locked out of his Facebook account for months and hasn’t been able to resolve the issue. He finally gave up and established a new one, and Whitney isn’t a contact on it.”
“And you believe him?”
Ignoring the belligerence in the other man’s tone, Mark replied, “We have no reason not to at this point. His father agreed to surrender the boy’s cell and the family electronics. We also have Patrick’s school-issued laptop. But the Allens were in Columbus visiting relatives the weekend Whitney went missing. Their alibi will be easy to verify.” In fact, the team was in the process of doing that right now.
“Relatives could cover up for him. Did he have access to a vehicle? Maybe he was luring Whitney on behalf of someone else. I wouldn’t be so quick to write off this kid’s involvement.” Brian’s words came in short, staccato bursts.
“We aren’t.” Mark’s look encompassed both parents. “We won’t.”
“What . . .” Shannon’s voice broke on the word, and she paused as if to steady herself before going on. “What did the messages say?”
“The chats were pretty innocuous. We’re unable to get the content of the text messages, just the dates and times when they occurred. There were no phone calls, and although kids seem to favor Snapchat and Instagram over Facebook these days, there’s no indication that they were communicating through those sites.” Mark could tell from Brian’s expression that the import of those facts wasn’t lost on the man. But Shannon’s brow furrowed.
“I know Whitney has Snapchat because once in a while she shows me a picture she . . .” Comprehension dawned, and she looked stricken. “That’s why, isn’t it? He never called . . . he avoided sites that regularly used pictures because . . . he isn’t Patrick Allen at all.” Her words ended on a sob, and she buried her face in her hands.
“We’re investigating that possibility.” Mark noted how long it took Brian DeVries to move from his chair, go to his wife, and put his arm around her. Something about the act seemed awkward. Not for the first time, Mark wondered what they’d discover down the road about the couple’s marriage.
He didn’t like this aspect of the investigation. The most delicate balancing act of his job was to show empathy for the hell they were going through even before he could discount them as suspects. But statistics didn’t lie, and a significant percentage of crimes against juveniles were committed by the parents. So one of the things he wasn’t telling the DeVrieses was the number of hours he and Craw were spending corroborating their statements. Looking into their backgrounds. Their financials. Their relationship.
Inwardly, he squirmed at the thought. Scratch the surface, and many marriages would show flaws and weaknesses. Even his own.
Especially his own.
Pushing aside the thought, he continued. “That’s why I asked again about a boyfriend. Do you recall Whitney ever mentioning a new friend? Hinting that she was communicating with someone different?”
“She wouldn’t do that. Tell us, I mean.” Brian’s voice was flat. “She’s fourteen. She isn’t allowed to date for another two years. She knows that’s nonnegotiable with us. And if I had heard there was a boy she was talking to, she would have had to answer a lot of questions. Part of having a cop for a father.”
“Maybe she mentioned something to your son.”
“Ryan?” Shannon raised her head, wiping away tears. “Doubtful. He’s a thorn in her side most of the time . . . totally normal sibling dynamics,” she hastened to add. “If he suspected anything, he’d have taunted her, probably at the top of his lungs. Believe me, I’d have heard about it.”
“I’d still like to talk to him.”
“He’s napping.” And from the tone of Brian’s voice, the kid would be undisturbed this evening. “Ryan is still a bit under the weather, and as you can imagine, he’s pretty worked up about his sister. He isn’t sleeping well at night.”
Mark nodded. “Another time, then. When he’s feeling better.”
“Have you traced the devices that the communications to Whitney were coming from?” Brian asked.
“He knew how to hide his tracks online. There are a number of ways he could have hacked the boy’s Facebook account. A phishing scam. Sending him a link to click on. He probably used a VPN so his IP address couldn’t be traced.” All this was supposition. It all boiled down to the fact that there’d be no leads from the offender’s computer. “His phone was a burner.”
DeVries uttered an ugly oath and looked away, his throat working. He obviously grasped the significance of that detail. Disposable phones came without contracts. Without identified users. There were legitimate reasons to buy them. But they were difficult to trace, and that fact would appeal to someone with something to hide.
Mark continued. “We got the phone number for the burner from your daughter’s cell records. We’ve discovered the network provider of the offender’s phone, and obtained a dump of all the transmissions to and from that number. It was used only to communicate with Whitney. We’ve installed a trap in the system. If he uses the phone again, we’ll get the time and tower location.” Mark looked at Shannon. “Your neighbor called the tip line yesterday. The lady who lives to the left of you?”