The Never Game

“Yes.”

“Colter Shaw.” He rose and extended his arm, forcing a handshake. “You got a call from Frank Mulliner about his daughter, Sophie. She disappeared on Wednesday. I’m helping him find her. I’ve found some things that make it clear she was kidnapped.”

Another pause. “‘Helping him find her.’ You’re a friend of the family?”

“Mulliner offered a reward. That’s why I’m here.”

“Reward?”

Wiley was going to be a problem.

“You’re a PI?” the detective asked.

“No.”

“BEA?”

“Not that either.” Bond enforcement agents are highly regulated. One reason not to go down that road. Also, Shaw had no desire to chase Failure to Appears in Piggly Wiggly parking lots, cuff them and haul their sweaty bodies to the grim receiving docks of sheriffs’ departments.

Shaw continued: “This is urgent, Detective.”

Another scan. Wiley waited a moment and said, “You’re not armed?”

“No.”

“Come on back to the office. We’ll just have a look in that bag first.”

Shaw opened it. Wiley prodded and then turned and walked through the security doorway. Shaw followed him along the functional corridors, past offices and cubicles populated with about fifteen men and women—slightly more of the former than latter. Uniforms—all gray—prevailed. There were suits too, as well as the scruffy casual garb of those working undercover.

Wiley directed him into a large, austere office. Minimal décor. On the open door were two signs: DET. D. WILEY and DET. L. STANDISH. The desks were in the corners of the rooms, facing each other.

Wiley sat behind his, the chair creaking under his weight, and looked at phone message slips. Shaw sat across from him, on a gray metal chair whose seat was not molded for buttocks. It was extremely uncomfortable. He supposed Wiley perched suspects there while he conducted blunt interrogations.

The detective continued to adeptly ignore Shaw and studied the message slips intently. He turned away and typed on his computer.

Shaw grew tired of the pissing game. He took Sophie’s cell phone, wrapped in Kleenex, from his pocket and set it on Wiley’s desk. It thunked, as he’d intended. Shaw opened the tissue to reveal the cell.

Wiley’s narrow eyes narrowed further.

“It’s Sophie’s mobile. I found it in San Miguel Park. Where she’d been cycling just before she disappeared.”

Wiley glanced at it, then back to Shaw, who explained about the video at the Quick Byte Café, the possibility of the kidnapper following her, the park, the car’s collision with the bike.

“A tracker?” That was his only response.

“Maybe. I’ve got a copy of the video and you can see the original at the Quick Byte.”

“You know Mulliner or his daughter before this reward thing?”

“No.”

The detective leaned back. Wood and metal creaked. “Just curious about your connection with all this. It’s Shaw, right?” He was typing on his computer.

“Detective, we can talk all about my livelihood at some point. But right now we need to start looking for Sophie.”

Wiley’s eyes were on the monitor. He’d probably found some articles in which Shaw was cited for helping police find a fugitive or locate a missing person. Or checking his record, more likely, and finding no warrants or convictions. Unless, of course, the powers that be at Cal had learned he was behind the theft of the four hundred pages yesterday from their hallowed academic halls, and he was now a wanted man.

No handcuffs were forthcoming. Wiley swung back. “Maybe she dropped it. Didn’t want to go home because Dad’d paid eight hundred bucks for it. She went to stay with a friend.”

“I found indications there’d been a scuffle. A rock that might have blood on it.”

“DNA is taking us twenty-four hours minimum.”

“It’s not about confirming it’s Sophie’s. It suggests that she was attacked and kidnapped.”

“Were you ever law enforcement?”

“No. But I’ve assisted in missing-person cases for ten years.”

“For profit?”

“I make a living trying to save people’s lives.”

Just like you.

“How much is the reward?”

“Ten thousand.”

“My. That’s some chunk of change.”

Shaw extracted a second bundle of tissue. This contained the small triangular shard of red reflector, which he believed had come from Sophie’s bike.

“I picked them both up with tissues, this and the phone. Though the odds of the perp’s prints being on them are low. I think after she fell down the hill she was trying to call for help. When the kidnapper came after her, she pitched the phone away.”

“Why?” Wiley’s eyes strayed to a file folder. He extracted a mechanical pencil and made a note.

“Hoping that when a friend or her father called, somebody’d find it and they could piece together that she’d been kidnapped.” He continued: “I marked where I found it. I can help your crime scene team. Do you know San Miguel Park? The Tamyen Road side?”

“I do not.”

“It’s near the Bay. There aren’t a lot of places a witness might’ve been but I spotted some businesses on the way to the park. Maybe one of them has a CCTV. And there’s a half dozen traffic cams on the route from the Quick Byte to San Miguel. You might be able to piece together a tag number.”

Wiley jotted another note. The case or a grocery list?

The detective asked, “When do you collect your money?”

Shaw rose and picked up the phone and the bit of plastic, put them back in his bag. Wiley’s face flashed with astonishment. “Hey there—”