Crime Time

"He bracketed the time for several sessions and kept meticulous records. Then I caught on to what he was doing and forced him to stop. That's why he has so many precise numbers."

My stomach knotted with the knowledge this might be our last chance. I carefully explained again what Willard Humphries related of Grasso's conversations; that he had an isolated place where he brought his victims. I could sense Howie's abhorrence at visiting his past. Yes, he professed a desire to know what happened but actually seeing it was another matter.

"Howie," I said. He tried to look away but I turned him by the shoulders and until our faces were inches apart. "I know how you don't want to do this but put your feelings aside, for Betsy's and Molly's sake." He appeared to search for an excuse, anything not to be forced to go back. I wouldn't let go. "How could we live with their deaths if we hadn't done every single thing possible?" With a resigned sigh, he agreed to attempt this journey I was begging him to take.

"It will be a miracle if we even get there but if we do, you can turn away from the actual abduction," I said as I readied the equipment and turned on the recorder. "Don't even think about it. We can address the issue of your past later when things have calmed down. Right now, nothing matters but finding Betsy and Molly."

In Howie's exhausted state, inducing him to sleep was not difficult. I utilized Quinn's precise red-marked settings and on the third try, Howie announced in his quiet monotone that he recognized the house! In my excitement I dropped the composition book. I was certain he'd awake at the sound but his slumber was so deep he didn't move. Even the pre-dawn glow creeping into the room failed to disturb him.

After twenty minutes into the session, I became concerned we were nearing his maximum. While getting him back to the house was a monumental achievement, we had no idea if the time or even the date was correct.

I listened, as tight as a bow string as Howie narrated in a whispered voice as he was patrolling around the house. I wanted desperately for him to check the bedroom but he made no mention of going upstairs. Suddenly, I felt a vibration in my back pocket! It was my cell phone!

Cautiously, I stepped outside the motel room door, closing it behind me.

Detective Dick wasted no time with pleasantries. "We've located the place where Grasso is staying."

"From Betsy's cell phone?" I asked, thrilled that al last there was news.