Page 51 of Darling

“Murders his foster children when they get old enough to figure out what he is, or properly challenge his authority,” Detective Hook finished. “The first one happened in 2002, which is why we have the mug shot of your mother, Mary Moira, now Mary Darling, one of the original witnesses. We don’t think he had a track record from before that incident, but it definitely escalated after that point.”

Wendy stared at the images silently.

“Trevor found out a lot earlier than most of Peter’s victims do. He witnessed something and passed the information on to Brian. They sat on it for a while before coming down to the precinct, but I’m sure those boys were terrified. I’d already been picking at a different cold case for fifteen years when they dropped this into my lap. A lot of kids go missing without any connection to a serial killer, so it’s hard to make a case for these victims individually. You guys get upset, run away, things like that. And even if you all get murdered, who’s to say it was the same guy? But I knew I had something with this one.”

Wendy looked at Detective Hook as he bragged about catching on to Peter instead of being concerned about the lost and missing children, and learned to hate him.

“I’d seen Peter with my own two eyes, once when he was seventeen and again when he was probably in his mid-twenties, looking like barely a week had passed. He had the nerve to smile at me and wave, just like he did tonight, that son of a bitch.” He paused as if to wait for Wendy to say something, but she just stared at him blankly.

He straightened his collar and leaned close to her. “Look, kid. I know this has been a rough seven hours for you, but it’s been a rough fifteen years for me. Do you know what it’s like to know someone’s out there killing boys? To have everyone around you keep ignoring your warnings until he straight up smashes off your hand? I know this whole thing is ‘a lot for you,’ and I respect that, believe me I do, but, sweetie: You’re not actually the victim here.

“We’ve been trying to bust open this case and bring him home to roost for months now.” He shoved the pictures of the dead boys into their folder, then opened up another. “Curly and his friends are the first lead into this group that we’ve ever had. Peter was completely untouchable for fifteen years, then out of nowhere he starts acting out, getting sloppy. Maybe he could see the difference between his families that he creates and a real solid group of good kids, and it made him lose it a bit. I don’t really know; I’ll send you a copy when we write the book on this one. But something shifted, and all of a sudden it was easier.

“Those kids down there are putting themselves on the line every day with that murderous son of a bitch, because they get it. They know what needs to be done to make this stop, and they’re the only ones who can do it.”

He pushed the folder over to Wendy. It was a stack of printouts of digital records. She scanned them quickly. Tinkerbelle was only sixteen years old. Ominotago was seventeen, and her parents had signed for her permission to help the investigation. Fyodor’s file had notes in it about expediting his citizenship status in exchange for participation. Minsu’s had a request that he be protected from media investigation in both a positive and negative circumstance; his focus was mostly on discretion. Both of their cooperation agreements were unsigned by their parents—but they were also both eighteen. Curly and Nibs, sixteen and seventeen respectively, had both recently filed for emancipated minor status—probably to avoid the foster system after Peter’s eventual capture. Charles had paid in advance to have his record scrubbed in the likely event that he would be arrested in conjunction with this, and had requested witness protection if they were unable to catch Peter.

She hadn’t known him for long, but it was so like Charles to take those precautions that Wendy felt a spark of amusement. After she’d finished reading, Wendy gathered the printouts, stacked them, and slipped them back inside the folder. “If the others are directly involved in Peter’s capture, why did they get arrested earlier this evening?” she asked calmly.

Detective Hook rubbed his mustache, clearly trying to decide whether he wanted to share this information with Wendy. “Peter moves his home about twice a year. It’s difficult to keep track of his base, and Trevor hadn’t been able to come back to the precinct since before their move, so we had to use our own intel for locating Peter’s home. We had APBs out for unaccompanied male youths in the area, and at least two of the boys fit the basic description. They were cuffed and detained while the officers checked their IDs against police records. If Peter hadn’t disrupted that process, their identities would have been confirmed, and they would have been released. I had direct contact with Ominotago, and was monitoring their location via her, but officers can’t use burner numbers to contact the station. And the phone I provided her is a burner. They wouldn’t be able to use it as a reference to confirm her identity and wouldn’t be able to use her association with me as protection. They would have to look up police records and Ominotago doesn’t have a record. She’s clean.”

“You scared Minsu half to death!” Wendy spat.

“And the Chicago Police Department will offer an apology for that,” Detective Hook said, leaning back in his chair. “After we capture the perpetrator.”

“Did you call my parents yet?” Wendy asked.

Detective Hook looked Wendy up and down in a very “cop” way, then folded his burly arms on the desk. “I received a hysterical call from a girl named Eleanor Rodgers earlier this evening concerning you and—once I figured out who you were and just how special you are—I made the executive decision not to call your parents. Wendy Darling, I have a proposition for you.”

He opened another folder, plucked a single piece of paper out, and held it up in his prosthetic. “We think that Peter is in a vulnerable state. He’s beginning to behave erratically after years of discipline, and that disorganization has opened up a few weaknesses. For fifteen years he never approached women, and he’s since had contact with two: Genevieve and Ominotago. He doesn’t usually take in very young children, but we’ve heard that he has a seven-year-old boy. We think he used to be able to blend, psychologically, with his victims and relate directly to their shared experience. However, we think that he may be outgrowing his MO and starting to search for a more stabilizing environment that he can control.”

“What does that mean?” Wendy asked dubiously.

Detective Hook grimaced before laying the sheet of paper down in front of her. “We think he’s looking for a partner. Or something like that. Peter has been able to play brother to his victims successfully for almost twenty years, from the age of seventeen to the age of thirty-six. But the man is facing down forty; he’s probably not going to be able to pretend to be a teenager for much longer. We think he’s begun looking for a mother for them. Instead of a found family, he wants to create … a real family.” Detective Hook shrugged. “So to speak.”

Wendy squeezed her thighs hard in both hands as she tried, successfully, to keep from heaving.

Detective Hook waited for her to recover before continuing. “We do not think he’s interested in actual romantic relationships with any of these women. It’s more like Peter is looking for an accomplice to support his illusory family unit. Obviously Ominotago and Tinkerbelle were both unsuited for that role once they figured out his motives, and quickly broke Peter of the illusion that they would be interested in anything other than a normal relationship with a normal person—thank God.” Detective Hook muttered that last part half to himself.

“What do you want from me?” Wendy asked.

“I want you to give him what he wants,” Detective Hook said, quietly tapping the agreement he’d placed in front of her. “You’re a descendant of a witness to his first victim. A killer’s only anniversary. You’d be more than he’d be able to resist, if he knew who you really were. We need a full confession, and we think that you’ll be able to get it out of him. We ran four different stings tonight, and he’s managed to slip out of every one of them. Running is Peter’s greatest strength, but he’s a narcissist and he’ll incriminate himself if given the slightest chance to brag about his accomplishments. He hasn’t had enough time to regroup and process the events of the night, and he’s on edge and low on resources; if we take one more shot tonight, he might be weak enough to buckle. Now, will you help us close the pages on this?”

Wendy pushed herself away from the table and stood up. This was her decision, but first, she had something to do. Tinkerbelle and Ominotago had been given this choice and took it. The rest of the boys had just made it their business to do what was right for justice’s sake. Wendy wasn’t any less brave than they were, and she had much less to lose. She cared about people, even if Detective Hook didn’t seem to. She had burned through her reserves of terror for the night and now felt only disgust and anger. Wendy knew she could use that pain for something good.

“I need twenty minutes to talk to the group,” she said.

Detective Hook looked furious for a second, but managed to suppress it. “You have ten.” He barked at the door. “WILSON!”

The officer who had brought Wendy to this room immediately unlocked the door.

“Bring her back in ten minutes,” Hook said, waving his hand in dismissal.

Wendy walked toward the doorway on shaking legs.

“Stop.”

She paused.