Forgotten by Mariah Stewart Read Free Book Online Page A

was through this door that Portia was directed.
    “Agent Cahill is here to see you,” the woman announced as she entered the spacious office.
    Portia wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t James Cannon. He was leaning against the front of his desk, his arms folded across his chest, as if he’d been waiting for her. He was tall and broad-shouldered and had the look of a former athlete, one who refused to let himself get out of shape. His eyes were dark blue and his sandy brown hair fell across his forehead in the front, and in the back, just brushed the top of his collar. He held out one hand, and his assistant passed him the small folder holding Portia’s ID. He looked it over, then handed it directly to Portia.
    “What can I do for you, Agent Cahill?” he asked.
    “I understand you represented Sheldon Woods.” She had crossed the room to take back her ID, and remained standing several feet from Cannon.
    “Represented—past tense—being the important word there,” he said.
    “Excuse me, is there anything else you need from me?” the assistant asked from the doorway.
    “I don’t think so, Danielle.” He smiled at his assistant. “I know you like to leave on time on Fridays, so go ahead and wrap it up for today.”
    She cast an uncertain glance at Portia.
    “I think I can take it from here,” he told her.
    “Okay. I’ll see you later.” Danielle started out of the room, then turned to Portia. “Agent Cahill.”
    Portia nodded as the woman left.
    “Have a seat.” Cannon gestured to one of the wing chairs near his desk.
    “Thank you.” Portia sat on it and crossed her legs.
    “Now, what’s brought Sheldon Woods back onto the FBI’s radar?” Cannon asked.
    “Long version or short?”
    “Short. It’s been a very long day.”
    “The mother of one of Woods’s suspected victims is terminally ill. She’d like to bury her son before she dies. We’d like to help her do just that.”
    “Since when has the FBI cared so much for the little guy?”
    “Since the man who runs the unit I work for was the agent who brought Woods in twelve years ago.”
    “John Mancini?” Cannon raised an eyebrow. “He’s still around?”
    Portia nodded. “You sound surprised.”
    “I’d heard he’d…” Cannon hesitated. “…had a hard time after the thing with Woods. Took a leave for a while, or something.”
    “He took some time off, yes.” Portia wasn’t willing to concede more than that. Few people knew just how bad things had gotten for John after Woods’s trial. “But he never left the Bureau.”
    “I’m glad to hear it. So—we have a woman dying who wants to bury her son.” Cannon turned one of the other wing chairs to face Portia, and sat. “Since all of the ‘Baker’s Dozen’ victims were recovered, we’re talking about someone Woods hasn’t previously given up?”
    Portia nodded. “Yes.”
    “Is there any proof that Woods was the killer?”
    “The boy—Christopher Williams was his name—was eight years old, disappeared on his way home from soccer practice, no ransom note. This was in nineteen ninety-seven, northern Maryland…”
    “In short, he fit Woods’s MO and victim profile.”
    “To a tee.”
    Cannon’s forehead creased as he seemed to think back.
    “There was a woman who came to court every day…I think her name was Williams. She spoke with Woods on the last day, at sentencing. She had a picture of a boy…”
    “That was Madeline Williams.” Portia nodded. “I wasn’t there, of course, but John told me how she’d approached Woods, begged him to tell her where her son was buried. She was convinced that Woods had killed him. As was the FBI, by the way. They just couldn’t prove it at the time.”
    “So how do you propose to go about proving it now? And what does it have to do with me?”
    “I’ve been to see Woods….”
    He arched an eyebrow but did not interrupt her.
    “And he’s pretty much agreed to tell us where the boy is, but he did have