After returning the borrowed golf cart to the helpful locals, Jack drove Danny back to the precinct and even confirmed their plans for a Sunday visit with Commissioner Reagan. He handed Danny two signed copies of his new novel before preparing to leave. But as Jack started the car, Danny, who had just stepped into the precinct, turned around and came back out, his expression troubled.
"What happened?" Jack asked.
"There's a missing child case in Queens. It's urgent. You free right now?" Danny clearly wanted an extra hand, and Jack motioned for him to get in.
Just as the Dodge Hellcat started up, Jack's phone rang; it was his supervisor, Dana Mohay. "Jack, are you with Detective Reagan right now?"
Jack felt a bit sheepish. Although he'd let Jubal know he'd be out for a bit and had even helped NYPD apprehend a suspect, Dana's call gave him the impression he was being caught out.
"Uh, yes, ma'am. I was just about to report—"
She cut him off. "I'm already aware. Your current assignment is to fully assist Detective Reagan. You may use the Operations Center if necessary. There's someone trying to make this incident a bigger deal than it should be. Make sure this is resolved quickly."
Her instructions left both Jack and Danny, who was eavesdropping from the passenger seat, a bit confused.
"This doesn't sound too optimistic," Danny muttered, frowning out of habit.
"Why would anyone try to make a big deal out of a missing child case? Targeting NYPD?" Jack guessed.
"I'm as puzzled as you," Danny said, just as unsure.
They quickly learned the meaning of Dana's warning as they arrived in the neighborhood where the girl was last seen. The area was packed with police cars, a crowd of onlookers, and reporters with cameras. Curious residents leaned out of apartment windows, watching the commotion.
"Cameras are rolling. Watch yourself, FBI star," Danny said with a sigh, opening his car door.
They pushed through the police barrier, and a sergeant, thumbs hooked in his belt, spotted Danny and came over. It seemed this hands-on-hips stance was popular among officers.
"Any updates?" Danny asked, giving him a pat on the shoulder.
"Theresa Campos, nine years old, Latina, didn't come home after school. Her family lives up the street on Santa Anita Avenue. That's her mother over there—she's been frantically searching for her daughter."
The sergeant pointed to a middle-aged Latino couple by the sidewalk. "The building manager told her he saw a few boys pull a pink backpack out of a nearby drain and then take off."
"Is the backpack confirmed to belong to the missing girl?" Danny asked.
The sergeant nodded. "I've already assigned officers to search the building. We haven't found her yet. A helicopter's overhead, checking the rooftop."
He led them to the drain where the backpack lay—an oddly clean, pink bag clearly discarded by the curious boys.
"Is this doll also hers?" Jack noticed a doll lying in the dry drain, which an officer was carefully placing into an evidence bag with gloved hands. When he pressed a button on it by mistake, the doll's electronic voice chirped, "Change my clothes, I wet myself."
"No, her mother said she'd never seen this doll before," the sergeant replied sympathetically. Communicating with distraught families was never easy.
"Bag both the backpack and the doll. Run a fingerprint and DNA check on them. Notify CSI that this is a missing child case and to rush the analysis," Danny ordered, glancing at Jack.
"Following your lead," Jack replied, signaling him to continue. Seeing the crowd of media reporters, Jack had a good idea of what Dana meant by "blowing it up." Someone clearly intended to put pressure on the NYPD.
The FBI could assist, but they couldn't take the spotlight—Danny's father, the Commissioner, would find that politically delicate. Even if the case was solved, the NYPD's reputation would suffer.
"Request an Amber Alert. Get officers canvassing the neighborhood, gather surveillance footage, and check all trash cans, mailboxes, and storm drains. If there's any discovery, avoid alarming the family unnecessarily."
The sergeant went off to carry out the instructions, and Danny took a deep breath before looking at Jack. "Ready?"
Jack knew what he meant. Facing distraught families was never easy, but it was a necessary step.
They approached the tearful couple. Danny introduced himself, "Mr. and Mrs. Campos, I'm Detective Reagan. This is my partner, Detective Tavola." He paused, intentionally omitting Jack's FBI affiliation to avoid any misconceptions.
Mrs. Campos immediately broke down, clutching her husband's arm as she sobbed. Mr. Campos, slightly calmer, stammered out, "She always comes home on time—right after school. She knows her mother would worry…"
"She's a good girl…" Mrs. Campos was on the verge of collapsing.
Jack wished they had another agent, like Jayjay or Hannah, who were naturally good at comforting victims' families. But he had no choice but to step in. "I believe everything you're saying, and I know this is painful. There are just a few routine questions I need to ask, and I know it's difficult. Is there any chance she might have run away? Or had an argument with someone? Or, could her father have taken her?"
Mrs. Campos shook her head fiercely. "Rigg is her biological father. We didn't argue. Please, you have to find her! She has congenital diabetes; she needs insulin every 24 hours…"
Jack and Danny exchanged looks, feeling their hearts sink. This was now beyond a matter of the golden hours.
Since Theresa needed insulin every 24 hours, she couldn't have gotten her dosage at school. She likely received it that morning before leaving, which meant a third of the time window had already passed. If they didn't find her by the next morning, even if they did locate her, it might be too late.
"Excuse me for a moment." The sergeant waved them over.
"Excuse us." Jack and Danny approached him.
"One of the neighbors saw a white van speeding away from the scene. She sensed something was wrong and tried to catch the license plate but couldn't see it in time."
"There are white vans all over New York. Not much of a lead," Danny sighed.
"True, but she mentioned the rear window on the van was broken. Maybe we can—"
Before the sergeant could finish, Danny nodded. "Issue an alert for the vehicle, especially at bridge and tunnel tolls. We might get lucky."
"Relay that information to the guys checking surveillance footage. There's a chance a camera caught the license plate," Jack suggested, though he didn't expect much. Whoever abducted the girl likely planned well for this. While the area was predominantly working-class Latino, the neighborhood was maintained—streets were relatively clean, without littered needles or homeless encampments, and most surveillance cameras were functional.
Danny, hands on his hips, looked grim. "I've got a bad feeling, Jack. This doesn't seem like a custody dispute, and it doesn't feel like a ransom case either. That family is just a regular household. What's your take?"
Jack agreed with his assessment. "I didn't pick up any suspicious micro-expressions from them. They're just victims, plain and simple."
At that moment, Mrs. Campos approached, visibly swaying. "My baby… please, you have to find her. I can't lose her…"
She clutched Danny's lapels, patting his chest as she cried, "Please, find her. I can't lose my baby."
Mr. Campos quickly steadied his wife as she nearly fainted. Danny, momentarily at a loss, murmured, "Don't worry, we'll…"
He almost made a promise he couldn't guarantee, barely stopping himself before he finished, lowering his voice to a barely audible, "...do our best."
Jack took a steadying breath, patting Danny on the shoulder. "Let's move. We need to make space at your precinct. I'll get the Operations Center set up there."
An hour later, in a large office on the second floor of NYPD headquarters at One Police Plaza, Jubal arrived with a team of analysts. The sound of furious typing quickly filled the room.
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