Chapter 4 - THE LIST IN THE VAN
By noon, Graham had nearly convinced himself to keep riding south and let the police handle the rest. He had done what any decent person should have done. He had stopped a van, held a suspect, given a statement, and gone on his way. The law had professionals. Detectives. Analysts. Prosecutors. People whose job it was to follow names in notebooks.
Then his phone rang. He almost ignored it because the number was unfamiliar. But something in him already knew. “Callahan.” A pause. Then Melissa Morgan’s voice. “Mr. Callahan?” “Graham is fine.” “I hope I’m not bothering you.” “You’re not.”
“She’s okay. The doctors say she’s physically okay.” Graham closed his eyes briefly. “Good.” Melissa exhaled. “They found something else.” He looked out the diner window. “What?” “Detectives came to the hospital. They asked Lacey questions about what he said in the van. She remembered him talking on the phone. He used a name. ‘Mia.’”
Graham sat straighter. Melissa continued. “They think Mia might be another child on his list.” “How old?” “I don’t know.” “Where?” “They wouldn’t tell me.” “Good.” Silence. Then Melissa said, “Lacey asked if you were still there.” Graham looked at the empty plate in front of him.
“No. I left.” “She wants to talk to you.” A small voice came on the line. “Graham?” He had not realized how quickly she had decided to use his name. “Hey, Lacey.” “I remembered something.” “Tell me.” “He had pictures.”
“What kind?” “Kids. In a folder.” Graham’s jaw tightened. “Did you tell the police?” “Yes.” “Good.” “There was a picture of a girl with red glasses. He called her Mia.” “Anything else?” Lacey hesitated. “He said I was supposed to be first.”
The words went through Graham like ice. “First?” “He said after me it would be easier.” Melissa’s voice returned to the phone. “They took it seriously.” “They should.” “Graham… I know this isn’t your responsibility.” He said nothing.
“But if you hear anything on the news, if they call you, please don’t disappear.” He looked at the bracelet hanging from the motorcycle mirror. “I won’t.” The call ended. Graham paid for breakfast and stepped outside. The day had warmed only slightly. Trucks moved along the highway now, the world fully awake and unaware that somewhere a detective might be racing against another plan already in motion.
His phone rang again before he reached the bike. This time it was the county sheriff’s office. Detective Elena Ruiz introduced herself and asked whether Graham would be willing to return for a more detailed interview. “We found your contact information in the initial report,” she said. “There are some things about the suspect’s behavior we want to clarify.”
“How far back?” “Forty miles.” “I can be there in forty-five minutes.” “Thank you.” Graham turned north. The sheriff’s office was a low brick building behind the courthouse. Ruiz met him at the side entrance. She was in her early forties, dark hair pulled back, expression sharp and tired. She looked at the bruise forming along his jaw.
“Paramedics saw that?” “They complained about it.” “That wasn’t my question.” “Yes.” She led him into an interview room and set a recorder on the table. For the next hour Graham described everything again. The van’s angle. The suspect’s posture. The timing of the girl’s approach. The way Voss’s face changed when Lacey entered the store. The direction he ran. Every detail.
Ruiz listened without interrupting. Finally she slid a photograph across the table. It showed the inside of Voss’s van. A notebook lay open beside maps and printed photographs. “You saw any of this before he ran?” “No.” She placed another image down.
A page covered with handwritten notes. Graham read the lines. Lacey M. — mother distracted at grocery loading zone. Mia T. — Thursday piano, 5:30, south entrance. Connor B. — father works nights. Three more names followed. Graham looked at Ruiz.
“Have you found them?” “We’ve located four families. They’re safe.” “Four?” Ruiz’s jaw tightened. “There are six names.” “So two are missing?” “One child is confirmed safe but traveling with family. The last name is incomplete.” She pointed to the bottom of the page.
Ava — St. Matthew’s? blue backpack, grandmother pickup. No last name. No city. “How many St. Matthew’s are there around here?” Graham asked. “In three states? Hundreds.” “You think she’s next.” Ruiz did not answer directly. “We think Voss planned ahead. Maybe weeks.”
“Then why take Lacey first?” “We’re trying to understand that.” Graham studied the photograph. A memory surfaced. At the gas station, before Lacey approached, Voss had not seemed rushed. Not even nervous. He had looked patient. Comfortable. “He wasn’t improvising,” Graham said.
Ruiz leaned forward. “What makes you say that?” “He expected her to cooperate.” “We know.” “No. More than that. He expected everyone else to ignore her.” Ruiz held his gaze. Graham continued. “He parked where the security camera probably had a weak angle. Left the engine running. Picked a station before sunrise. He watched me, but he didn’t leave when I arrived. Why?”
“Because you didn’t look like a threat?” “Because I looked like exactly the kind of person a child would avoid.” Ruiz sat back slowly. Graham tapped the photograph of the notebook. “That line from the news. About safe-looking men. It wasn’t just an observation. It was part of his method.”
May you like
Ruiz nodded. “We think so.” “Then Ava isn’t looking for a stranger who looks dangerous. She’s being trained to trust one who doesn’t.” Ruiz’s eyes sharpened. Graham slid the photograph back. “If you want to find her, stop looking only for what Voss did. Look for what he taught himself to look like.”
For the first time since the interview began, Ruiz seemed unsettled. Then she reached for another file. “There’s something else you should see.” Inside was a photograph of Voss from fifteen years earlier, clean-shaven, wearing a suit, seated behind a courtroom witness stand. Beside the photograph was a list of cases. One name jumped out at Graham. Callahan, Erin. His sister. The room suddenly became very small.
