The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series: Books 1-3: The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Boxset Book 1

by Gary Winston Brown

  “I don’t think so,” Anton replied.

  “Then why worry about it? Don’t borrow trouble, Anton. We have enough to deal with as it is.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I’m always right. So where to?”

  “That’s the problem. I’m not sure. We can’t just drive around the city without a plan.”

  “You’re a personal security specialist,” Degario said. “What would you do if Lacey was your client, and you thought her life was in peril?”

  “Leave the city. I would want to put as much distance between us and the danger as possible. I’d go somewhere no one knew us, assess the situation with a clear head, figure things out.”

  “How would you get to where you wanted to go the fastest?”

  “I’d take the Interstate. Head east.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d want to go to the countryside. There are fewer people there, less likelihood they’d pay attention to us. We would be just another couple of tourists to them. Then maybe find a summer home we could break in to where we could hold up for a while.”

  “Sounds like a sound plan,” Mike said.

  “Yeah, except it’s all speculation. We can’t count on any of it.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Mike argued. “If I’m wanted by the cops and I’ve got a bullet in my shoulder and I’m in the company of someone I’ve kidnapped that sounds exactly like something I’d do.”

  “I’d try to keep the route short,” Anton added. “And I’d want to get off the highway as quickly as possible.”

  “Long Island, maybe?”

  “Yeah,” Anton agreed. “That would be a logical destination. I’d head for the Hampton’s.”

  “You’re talking money-country now. You’d need to blend in.”

  “With Lacey on my arm that wouldn’t be hard.”

  “True. Car?”

  “Something high-end. Lexus. Audi maybe.”

  “You think that sounds like the Scroll Killer’s style?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Anton said. “The guy’s smart and organized. Not only did he know exactly where to find Lacey, he’s been able to avoid capture by the cops for months, maybe even years. That takes resources. I’m guessing he’s independently wealthy. Which also means he’s got time on his hands and the freedom to come and go whenever and wherever he pleases.”

  “That gives him quite a few travel options. Even a private jet. But a boat would make more sense. What better place to disappear than at sea? Lacey would have no chance of escaping from a boat.”

  “If I know Lacey like I think I do,” Anton said, “she’d throw herself overboard and drown before she’d let him keep her as his captive.”

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Anton nodded. “I know where I’d go.”

  “Montauk,” they said, in unison.

  Degario entered the Interstate ramp and stepped on the accelerator. In seconds, the men were cruising along the highway. He checked his rearview mirror. “Check it out,” he said. “Behind us. Six car lengths back.”

  Anton turned in his seat, looked over his shoulder.

  Even from a distance they could hear the thunderous roar of the Harley Davidson motorcycles. The six bikers rode side by side in groups of two.

  “You think they’re with us?” Anton asked. “Think they’re looking for Lacey?”

  Degario recognized the vest the men wore. Hells Angels.

  “Count on it,” he said. He tapped his brake lights: three times short, three times long, three times short. Morse code for S-O-S.

  The lead bikes flashed their high beams and closed the distance to the car.

  “Calvary’s arrived,” Degario said. “Now let’s go find Lacey.”

  164

  JORDAN PRESENTED HER credentials to the coroner. “I’d like to see the driver’s body,” she said.

  The doctor stood beside the black hearse which contained the body of the decedent, Manny Manchescu. He nodded to his assistant. The man released the lock, swung open the back door, pulled out the loading platform on which Manny’s body lay and unzipped the body bag.

  The images came to Jordan fast and furious. Manny accompanying the woman in the wheelchair to the back of the apartment building... opening the door… lifting the chair into the tight vestibule... the violent assault with the wheelchair... blind panic as he fell, unable to grab hold of the stairwell handrail… his body falling, arms flailing… striking first his head, rendering him unconscious… tumbling down, down, down… the crack of his cervical vertebrae as he met the edge of each unforgiving step until finally slamming hard into the wall at the bottom of the stairs... the out-of-body experience when he realized death had come to carry him away... the white light... the terrifying presence of the dark profile that stood in front of it. Manny wanted to continue his journey to the other side, but the darkness was not finished with him. He felt the plunge of the knife into his dying body, the thrust of the steel blade inside him, twisting and tearing at his organs, pulled out of him, then driven in again and again. Soon the darkness faded, and the white light returned. For a second, he saw his wife and child, then traveled on. Serenity and peace came next, yet part of his energy remained, anchored to the foot of the stairs in the unfamiliar apartment building, realizing he was dead but unable to fathom why he was incapable of moving on. The spirit of Manny Manchescu was caught between the animated world of the living and the otherworld of the dead.

  Jordan placed her hand on the corpse’s body. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “About what?” the coroner’s assistant asked curiously.

  Jordan realized she had spoken her condolences aloud to the dead man. “Nothing,” she replied. “Such a tragedy, that’s all.”

  “Happens every day,” the coroner replied nonchalantly. His associate zipped up the black bag, returned the corpse to darkness.

  “Not three stab wounds and a broken neck,” Jordan replied. “That’s overkill. What else can you tell me about cause of death?”

  “His shins are battered,” the doctor said. “Causation is unknown at this time. But at first glance I don’t think it was caused by the fall or by contact with the stairs. The injuries are in the same location on both legs. Which suggest to me that an implement of some kind was used. A stick or a bat, perhaps.”

  “Or the foldout footrests of a wheelchair?” Jordan offered.

  The coroner considered her suggestion. “As a matter of fact, yes. Judging by the location of the wounds and approximating for height, impact from the footrests of a wheelchair could have caused the injuries to the victim’s legs. That is plausible.” The coroner looked perplexed. “What would lead you to believe a wheelchair was used in the attack?”

  “We have an eyewitness that puts the victim in the company of another man and a woman in a wheelchair entering the building together through the rear entrance,” Jordan explained. “The same location where the body was found.”

  Agent Penner joined the psychic and the coroner. To Jordan he said, “Your partner wants to see you. Says it’s important.”

  Jordan nodded. She turned to the coroner, shook his hand. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome, Agent Quest,” the doctor replied. “Contact me if you have any further questions.”

  “I will.”

  Jordan walked with Penner. “Agent Hanover found something beside the rear tire of the taxicab,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “A wedding band. There’s an inscription.”

  “What does it say?”

  “TDUDP. O.”

  “I think I know what that means,” Jordan said.

  “Me too,” Agent Penner replied. “Till Death Us Do Part. But the ‘O’?”

  “If I had to guess,” Jordan said, “I’d say it stands for ‘Otto.’”

  “Otto… as in the Scroll Killer?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Jesus,” Penner said. “He doesn’t want to kill her, doe
s he?”

  “No,” Jordan said. “I think he wants to marry her.”

  165

  LYING IN THE back seat of the Range Rover, Lacey tried to lift herself up, to look out the car window as they hurtled along the Interstate. Otto told her their destination was Montauk. She wanted to get her bearings, see where she was right now. The seat belts which bound her upper torso and legs were unforgiving. Hard as she tried, she could not see out the window. Straining to lift her body only resulted in the plastic zip ties cutting deeper into her skin. She examined her wrists. Blood. The constant chafing had broken the skin. Dark smears stained the gray leather upholstery. Good, she thought. If she didn’t come out of this ordeal alive, the authorities would find blood in the vehicle. DNA testing would confirm it was hers and provide the evidence they would need to charge the sonofabitch behind the steering wheel with her abduction and murder. Murder? The word sent a chill down her spine. Oh hell, no. She would never let the situation get that far. She was Lacey Fucking Chastain, dammit. She was in control of her life, not this sick psychopath. You have him, she told herself. Keep playing him until he sets you free. Use everything you’ve got. Because it’s now or never.

  “Otto, please pull over.”

  “Not yet.”

  “It’s urgent.”

  “Nothing is urgent, Lacey. We have all the time in the world.”

  “I have to pee,” she lied.

  Otto looked in his mirror. The woman looked uncomfortable. This was no way to treat his future wife. “All right,” he said. “I’ll take the next exit.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And sweetheart…”

  “Yes?” Lacey replied.

  “If you try to run, I’ll kill you.”

  Otto exited the Interstate at Old Westbury and followed the road to the nearest gas station, Speedy’s. There he found a parking space far from the entrance to the combination gas station, convenience store, restaurant and truck stop which offered him the privacy he needed to deal with Lacey without being seen by the patrons of the small but busy establishment. An eighteen-wheeler chugged past the Range Rover as Otto backed in. He made eye contact with the trucker, smiled, flashed him a thumbs up. The driver nodded, waved, and replied with two shorts bursts of his air horn. Satisfied he was not being observed, Otto turned to Lacey. He removed his knife from its leg sheath and showed it to her. “I’m going to open the back door, release the seat belts and cut you loose,” he said. “If you scream, you die. If you try to put up a fight or resist me, you die. Have I made myself clear?”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Good, because you won’t get a second chance. I love you, Lacey. But I won’t hesitate to kill you if I have to.”

  “I understand.”

  “All right. Now sit still and don’t move.”

  Otto exited the car and surveyed the lot. All quiet. He opened the back door, leaned over Lacey, unbuckled the seat restraints that held her in place and cut loose the plastic ties which bound her wrists.

  Lacey let out a sigh of relief. She massaged her wrists and hands. “God, they’re sore.”

  “I’m sorry,” Otto said. “It was necessary.”

  Lacey smiled. “I understand. You didn’t know how I would react. I’d probably have handled the situation the same way if I were you.”

  “I’m glad you’re not mad.”

  “Mad? No. Tired and hungry? Yes. Now, may I please use the bathroom?”

  “Of course.”

  Keeping the knife to her back, Otto helped Lacey up and out of the car, then folded the weapon and placed it in his pocket. He held her by the arm, then pulled her to him, looked into her eyes. “Just another loving couple on a road trip to Montauk. That’s the story if anyone asks. Got it?”

  Lacey nodded.

  “Good.”

  “Can we eat while we’re here?” Lacey asked. “I’m starving.”

  Otto’s voice was cold. “You’re asking a lot.”

  “Only for food. You wouldn’t let the woman you love go hungry, would you?”

  Otto looked down. Lacey sensed his shame at the accusation. “Of course not.”

  “We could have something fast. Would a burger and fries be okay?”

  Otto nodded. “All right.”

  “You order. I’ll use the washroom. Then we’ll eat.”

  Otto corrected her. “You’ll use the washroom while I wait for you. Then we’ll order and eat.”

  Lacey smiled. “Whatever you say.”

  “Good,” Otto replied. He took her by the arm, held her tightly by his side. “Now move.”

  166

  THE BIKE GANG sped up the Interstate, closed the distance, boxed in Mike and Anton. The gang leader motioned for him to lower his window. Degario complied.

  “Everything all right?” the biker asked.

  “Yeah, we’re good,” Mike replied. “You with the Long Beach chapter?” he asked.

  The biker glanced apprehensively at the two men in the car. “Who are you guys? Feds?”

  “Not too damn likely,” Mike said. “We’re on the same team. We’re working with your boss, Blade. Or should I say he’s working with us. We’re looking for Lacey Chastain.”

  “The missing chick from the Odyssey. So are we.”

  Anton leaned forward, addressed the biker. “Where are you guys headed?”

  “Blade told us to check out the truck stops along the Interstate. Just left Bayside. Next stop is Old Westbury.”

  Mike nodded in Anton’s direction. “This is Anton Moore. He reported her missing. We should sit down when we hit Old Westbury. There’s a gas bar and restaurant there named Speedy’s. We’ll buy your guys a round. Anton can describe the asshole who took her to your men. Give you a better chance of finding the sonofabitch.”

  “Works for me,” the biker said. He raised his hand in the air and pointed ahead. The Hells Angels raced ahead of Mike and Anton.

  Anton stared out the window as the bikers whizzed past. “This is like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack,” he said. “Lacey could be a hundred miles from us, headed in the opposite direction.”

  “That’s true,” Degario replied. “She could be. She could also be north of us. Or south. But she could also be in the very next car we see traveling beside us. You need to keep your head in the game, man. You said this girl means everything to you, right?”

  “And then some.”

  “Then buck the fuck up and concentrate on finding her.”

  Anton chuckled. “You have such a way with words, Degario. You really know how to make a guy feel better.”

  “Screw feeling better,” Mike said. “I want Lacey back as much as you do. Quit your whining and keep looking.”

  Anton reflected. “You know, the first forty-eight hours in a missing persons case are the most critical. After that, the chances of a positive outcome drop off exponentially. It’s been almost forty-eight hours, Mike. We’re gonna hit that cliff soon. And when we do, I don’t know what I’ll do if I find her at the bottom of it.”

  “If it makes you feel any better my gut says we’re on the right track,” Mike replied. “Besides, we still have a lot of climbing to do before we hit that cliff. I’m up for it. But the bigger question is, are you?”

  Anton nodded. “Yeah, I am. All the way to the top.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  The bikers were well ahead of them now, far down the highway, headed for Old Westbury.

  Anton asked, “Can this thing go any faster, old man? Maybe I should drive.”

  “Very funny,” Degario replied.

  He hit the gas.

  167

  “UNIFORMS CANVASSING THE area around Kessel’s Bookbinding just got a name for our guy in the hospital cam pic,” Penner announced as he walked towards Jordan and Chris and returned his cellphone to its case. “Otto Schreiber. His late mother owned the company. Local business owners had seen him coming and going from the establishment. Told them he was ma
king a few changes to the place and that it would be re-opening in a few months.”

  “I suppose he neglected to tell them his reno included constructing a full-blown dungeon in the basement,” Chris said.

  “Apparently,” Penner agreed. “But get this. The guy drives two cars. One is a Bentley, the other a silver Range Rover with a personalized license plate: MRGRIMM.”

  “Mrs. Sheen told us she’d caught part of the plate: MRG. She was right. The lady’s a lot sharper than we gave her credit for.”

  “That’s him,” Jordan said. “Otto Schreiber is the Scroll Killer. The vanity plate is a sobriquet, a nickname. It all fits now. Like I said before, there is a strong correlation between the murders and the old stories penned by the brothers Grimm. Schreiber has a fascination with those tales. Probably sees himself in them. Except he’s playing out the stories in real life.”

  “I’ll get the license plate over the air,” Chris said. “We need to use every resource we can to find that car: DMV, local and Interstate traffic cams, air support, state troopers and local law enforcement, BOLO’s, the works.”

  “And pray to God Lacey’s still alive when we do,” Penner replied. “Jordan, you said you saw the word Montauk?”

  “Yes,” Jordan said.

  “Montauk is the easternmost point of Long Island. There’s nothing but Atlantic Ocean after that. If that is where he is headed, he just bought himself a one-way ticket to the end of the line. He’ll have trapped himself. His ass is ours.”

  “We need a chopper,” Chris said. “Who knows how much of a head start he has on us already.”

  “Consider it done,” Penner said. He took out his phone, walked away, placed a call.

  Chris handed Jordan the wedding ring. “I found this by the back tire of the cab. Think you could get a vibe from it that would help us find this guy?”

  “I’ll try,” Jordan said. She took the ring, held it in her hand and closed her eyes. Images of Otto and his victims came into view. Lacey, Melinda, and Victoria imprisoned in the dungeon... the horrific murder and dismemberment of Courtney Valentine… the disemboweling of Rosalita Sanchez… Bonnie Cole laying drugged and unconscious on the surgical table, sections of her skin excised from her body… Manny Manchescu being pushed down the stairs, breaking his neck, dying where he lay… and Lacey, laying in the back seat of the Range Rover, precariously safe for the time being in the company of the serial killer. The vision suddenly changed. A beautiful young woman held an infant in her arms, crying from happiness, emotionally overwrought at the thought of being blessed with such a perfect gift. Jordan sensed the child was Otto, the woman his mother. The ring had been her wedding ring, now his to place on the finger of his future bride. The woman looked down at the baby. Through tears of joy, she whispered the words, ‘Make it real, Otto… Make it real.’ Suddenly Jordan felt uneasy, sick to her stomach. She opened her hand. The gold ring oozed blood. Maggots squeezed out from between the letters of the inscription, fell and wriggled on her palm.