Grant spotted an empty gallon water bottle that had probably been bought at one of the local grocery stores. He picked up a bag with wrappers from protein bars. “It means that the kidnapper didn’t mean for him to die right away. He put a little water and some food in there with him before he closed him in. The asshole wanted him to suffer.”
“He left food and water? Are you sure he wasn’t going to come back?” Red shivered, and Grant knew this was getting to him as much as it made Grant feel cold from the inside out. But he refused to let it get the better of him.
“We had to break in. There wasn’t a door. This guy wanted to prolong Cameron’s agony.” He sighed and set down the bag, clenching his fists. “This guy is one sick fuck, and so help me god, I am going to nail his ass.” He was also aware of how lucky they had been in finding him. Cameron had been gone over two weeks… and had been found alive. So no matter how sick this guy was, his little act of either punishment or mercy had let Cameron hang on just long enough for them to find him.
“Your friend was certainly helpful. Maybe he and Dexter are related, because that guy was able to read this place like a book,”Carter said as he joined them. “He read a smudge on the wall where one of the kid’s shoes touched it, and damned if he wasn’t right.”
“I need to go up to the hospital.”
“Go,” Red told him. “We’ll get everything here into evidence and file our reports so you can review them in the morning.”
“Thanks,” Grant said and hurried out of the basement to his SUV. He put Dexter in the back.
The hospital was just outside of town, and it took maybe five minutes to get there through light evening traffic, using back streets to avoid the congestion lights caused on the main road through town. He parked and unloaded Dexter, who walked alongside him. He kept the dog on a leash, but it was hardly necessary. Dexter was as well trained as any animal could be, but the woman at the desk about swallowed her teeth when they approached.
“You can’t have that animal in here,” she said. Grant showed her his badge, and she nodded, backing her chair away.
“Is Marty Waters here? He came in with a little boy in an ambulance.”
“Yes. He’s in back with the boy.” She tittered nervously. “The head nurse gave him grief because he wasn’t the boy’s family, and that man went down her throat. I swear he was going to rip out her tonsils and feed them to her. She even threatened to have him removed, but he crossed his arms over his chest and told her to call the police. He even told her who to ask for.” Apparently the head nurse was not particularly well-liked. “I’ll buzz you in, but be sure to keep the dog close to you. The little boy you want is in number eight.”
“Thanks.” He guided Dexter back, where they found Marty in the room, sitting next to the bed. “How is he?” Grant asked, and Marty looked up, his face one of misery.
“Resting. He hasn’t woken up yet, but the doctor says that his heart rate and breathing are better. They’re giving him fluids, and they put an antibiotic in it because they think he had some kind of infection too.” Marty shook his head slowly. “What about his family?”
“Cameron is in foster care, that I know. But I’m not sure of the situation.” He stepped out of the room and made a phone call to the Child Services emergency line.
“Donald Ickle,” a man answered.
“This is Officer Grant Webster, Carlisle PD. A boy about seven was reported missing two weeks ago by his foster parents, and we recovered him this evening. It’s not a pretty situation. I need to know his current housing situation. He’s in the ER, and it’s fair to say that he’s been through a lot.”
“Give me a minute,” he said. “Do you have a name?”
“Cameron Harper,” Grant supplied from the files he’d read. He waited while Donald found what he was looking for.
“I have it. His current placement is in a temporary group home. One of my social workers has been actively trying to find him a more permanent placement. Do you want me to notify the foster parents that he has been found?”
“Yes.” He peered into the room and found Marty holding Cameron’s hand. Marty looked up for a second and gave him a little smile that sent Grant’s heart racing. Even at a time like this, there was something about Marty that made his pulse rate skyrocketed. “I’m at the hospital, and so is the man who assisted us in finding him. Please send someone up to talk to us. This is a little boy who has literally been through hell.”
The phone went quiet, other than some whispers. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you. He’s in the ER, room eight.” The call ended, and he leaned against the door frame as Dexter paced a little.“Go lie down,’ he said gently and pointed. Dexter lay where he indicated, and Grant approached the bed.
“Child Services is sending someone. Apparently he was living in a group home of some sort while they were looking for a more permanent placement.” Marty lifted his gaze once again, this time with determination.
“How could someone just…?” he began and then his voice trailed off.
Grant understood exactly what he was saying, but he didn’t have any answers either. He got out of the way when a nurse came in to check on Cameron. “How is he?”
“This little one is strong, and he’s doing better than expected. He was severely dehydrated and malnourished,” she said. “Like he was not fed properly over a long period of time. He’s sleeping now. That’s what his little body needs most now that we’re getting him fluids and nourishment.”
“Thank you,” Marty said to her. Indicating Grant, he added, “He’s a police officer, and I’m just his friend. We found him together, and someone from Social Services should be coming to explain what the next steps are for Cameron.”
“I’ll let them know out front,” she said and left the room. Marty grew quiet, just watching the boy. After maybe half an hour, well after ten o’clock, Donald Ickle came into the room. Grant had met him once at the station. He was Carter’s husband, so he mostly knew him by reputation. The man was a fierce advocate for children and well respected across the county. He had a bag with him and set it beside the bed.
“I brought him a few things,” Donald said softly. “How is he doing?”
“Getting fluids and nourishment,” Marty said. “The nurse said he was malnourished over a long period of time. So I have to question this foster home he was in. Were they not feeding him?”
