In the parking lot, Vail opened the trunk, hoping that Kate’s Bureau car might have been equipped with a shotgun. It wasn’t. He got in, started the engine, and pulled out into the light traffic.

There was an advantage to not involving Kate or any of the Reston PD. As long as he acted on his own, as a non-law-enforcement citizen, he had greater latitude for gathering evidence without a search warrant than sworn officers did, especially if the police didn’t know what he was doing. If they did, then he could be legally considered an agent of the department. In fact, under these circumstances his room to maneuver was almost limitless. While the exigent circumstances of a young boy’s life could mitigate violations of the Fourth Amendment, Vail was still worried that a pedophile might escape justice because the drafters of the Constitution hadn’t foreseen the downward-spiraling depravity at the fringes of the American male population. At least that would have been his explanation if it weren’t for Kate. She’d heard all his rhetoric for working alone before. In fact, it had created an almost irreparable rift between them the only other time they’d worked together. But at the moment it looked like she was, at best, his ride to the airport, so why not?

Glancing at the map again, he turned down a street and watched as the houses became more and more isolated. It then became an unpaved road that disappeared into the woods.

Vail came to a stop and lifted his foot from the brake, allowing the vehicle to advance at idle speed. It was another fifty yards before he saw any lights. He stopped again and switched off the engine. The car was still hidden by the thick evergreen woods. He got out and walked quietly toward the house. It was a single-level dwelling and bigger than Vail thought would be built in such a remote location.

He walked around the tree line at the edge of the clearing, trying to determine the exact size and layout of the structure. There were no outbuildings on the property, so if Hillstrand did have the boy, he had to be inside the house. As quietly as possible, Vail hurried back to the car, started it, and drove up to the house. The older paneled van from the photo was parked in front. Enough lights were on inside to indicate that someone was home.

Vail got out, walked directly to the front door, and knocked. The exterior of the house needed paint, but the property immediately around it seemed fairly well maintained. A bright light overhead came on, and the man in the race photo opened the door. His eyes were dark like his hair—possibly Mediterranean, Vail thought. His stare never left Vail’s as the two men sized each other up. Finally Hillstrand said, “Can I help you?”

Vail pulled the detective badge from his belt and held it up. “I’m with the Reston Police. Detective Vail. We’re investigating a missing child. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” he answered, and stepped back, inviting Vail in. Once he was inside, Hillstrand shut the door. “That’s an awfully nice suit for a detective.” His voice had a trace of suspicion in it. “Do you mind if I ask to see your photo ID?”

Vail patted his chest pockets as if looking for his identification. He then reached under his coat and searched his pants pockets. “Sorry, I don’t have it with me. I’m afraid you caught me, Mr. Hillstrand. I was on my way to a party when I got the call. Didn’t even get to go into the station. They just gave me some people to go and interview. The people who were at the race tonight where the boy disappeared. I don’t know if you heard about it. We’re hoping someone saw something.”

“You must have been caught short. I can see you’re not carrying a gun either.”

“That’s why they gave me just the people who were in the race, I guess. The friendlies. Any chance you saw anything?” Vail could hear the television on in another room. “I’m assuming you’ve seen it on TV.”

Hillstrand didn’t answer right away but instead stared at Vail as though contemplating something he’d said. “Yes, it’s hard not to have. If I had any photographs, I would have sent them. And I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Not that I can remember.”

“How’d you do on the run? Three miles is a fair distance.”

Hillstrand smiled uneasily. “I finished. I’m not an avid runner, so my goals are modest.”

“I don’t know how modest three miles is. I don’t think I could make it. Did you get over to see the children’s run?”

Hillstrand hesitated, and Vail suspected that he remembered looking into the camera that had taken his photo. “It was on the way to where my van was parked, so I stopped and watched the winner finish.”

The voice of a young boy came from another room. “Dad, who is it?”

“That your son?” Vail asked.

“Yes, it is.” Hillstrand led the way into the living room. A boy whose age Vail guessed at ten or eleven sat on the couch watching TV. He had medium-brown hair and was at least a foot taller than Joey Walton was reported to be.

“David, this is Detective Vail from the Reston Police Department. He’s investigating that missing boy from the race they keep talking about.”

The boy stood up and offered his hand. “How do you do, sir.”

Vail took it and looked into his pale blue eyes. “Your parents letting you stay up to bring in the New Year?”

“My dad is. My mom passed away when I was born, during childbirth.” Vail noted that he pronounced the words mechanically, without any sadness, his language a little too mature to be his own. The boy pointed to a nearby shelf. “That’s a picture of her with my dad.” Again the words seemed practiced.

Vail looked at the obviously pregnant woman in the photo standing next to George Hillstrand. Her coloring was even darker than her husband’s was, her eyes almost pitch-black. “I’m sorry, David. That’s really tough. I lost my mom early in my life, too. I know how hard that can be.” Vail reached up and tousled the boy’s hair.

He pulled his hand back carefully so as to not reveal what he had discovered. It is genetically improbable that couples with brown eyes will have a child with blue eyes, and David’s hair and skin were nowhere close to the darkness of his “parents’.” When Vail ruffled the boy’s hair, he felt the crescent-shaped scar on the crown of his head. Unbelievably, David had to be Edward Stanton, the child abducted four years earlier in Maryland. Which meant that, in all likelihood, Joey Walton was somewhere in the house. Talk about the luck pendulum swinging in the other direction.

The boy started to sit down in front of the TV again when Hillstrand said, “That’s enough for tonight, son. It’s time for bed.” Without any argument, the boy got up and said, “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, David,” Vail answered.

“Let me get him tucked in, Detective. I’ll be right back. Please make yourself comfortable.”

Vail went over to the photograph of Hillstrand and his wife and carefully examined it, trying to determine how old it was. By the clothing and the faded color of the picture, he guessed it was at least ten years old.

Suddenly Vail felt Hillstrand’s presence behind him. He turned around and found Hillstrand holding a .45 automatic on him. “Four years and you’re the first one to notice that his coloring didn’t fit. I guess I should put away that picture of my wife. I keep it there for my son. It took a while, but now he remembers her as his mother.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice me noticing.”

“It’s something I’ve always been afraid of. When you ran your hand through his hair, I knew.”

“And Joey?”

“He’s fine. Downstairs in a locked room. He’ll be restricted until he learns he’s better off here.”

“Than with his parents?”

“Since I’m the one with the gun, you don’t get to be judgmental,” Hillstrand said. “Besides, if they were good parents, they wouldn’t have left him alone in a crowd like that.”