"Right, it could be the one that hit the older woman in her vehicle," the lieutenant suggested. He looked in the direction of her distraught husband going in an ambulance to rush her to the hospital.
He turned back around and glared at her. "What is taking so long?" the lieutenant asked with a gruff.
"Look, do you want to help us? Perhaps you can use your magic to get us a helicopter to find the driver. Please, and thank you." The fire captain turned back to showing the skid marks to the rest of the team as well as some troopers who walked over to hear her. Stevens was one of them. He followed the woman's pointing and looked around.
"Hmm, I'm not too sure," he whispered to himself. But he listened anyway. He felt that something was missing. Ever since this missing person case, things were getting weirder and weirder. He heard about what Nina Westbrook and Lance Steele did to get Johnston shut down. Perhaps someone was after her about that? On a hunch, he pulled out his phone and dialed Nina Westbrook. It rang once and went to voicemail. He thought he heard a ringtone, but wasn't too sure.
He rang the phone, again and again, walking over across the road that was blocked off both ways except for the first responders to get through.
Jogging alongside the guardrail strip, he pulled out his flashlight. He stopped. Rang the phone again. He heard it. It was an Alanis Morissette ringtone. You Oughta Know. He knew the song very well.
"And I'm here, to remind you, Of the mess you left when you went away, It's not fair, to deny me, Of the cross I bear that you gave to me, You, you, you oughta know."
He did it several times more, hearing Alanis' voice on repeat.
"Hey, I found something!" Stevens turned and yelled out, waving everyone over.
The snow made it hard for everyone to find Nina. But thanks to Officer Stevens, she was located. Rushing over to him, someone took out a huge floodlight, shining it to where Stevens pointed. He dialed Nina's number again. Everyone moved quickly when they realized a person was indeed on the frozen bank. But how?
Stevens stepped back then powerwalked with the lieutenant.
"When the person is pulled up, whether dead or alive, find out if they knew Mrs. Lily Harris. Our bloodied victim we just took to the hospital. There are no coincidences in this job Stevens. For as long as I've been in this business, there's always some sort of connection with several parties involved when it comes to crime. Are you with me on this?"
"Yes, sir, I sure am," Stevens replied eagerly. He was feeling himself on the inside, proud that he had done something right to help with a case. Because he was less than a year in, Bly was always getting on him for the minor mistakes he made. Stevens didn't let it bother him though. In fact, he actually admired Bly for hanging in there as a sheriff for so long. He couldn't wait to tell him to his face that he was the one who found Nina Westbrook in a car accident and it more than likely had something to do with her nephew's disappearance.
The police were able to get the fire department and first responders in a helicopter to locate Nina. She had slid down onto the frozen bank but was holding on. Her cellphone was near her. Cautiously using a rope from the firetruck and a basket with two responders in it, they were able to reach Nina, place her on a stretcher, secure the rope and bring her up over on the other side. The waiting paramedics and two other firefighters along with the fire captain checked her vitals.
"She's alive, she is just severely under temperature. We need to move, NOW!" the fire captain ordered. The lieutenant turned and half-smiled. He liked her, but now was not the time for flirting.
Wrapping her neck in a brace, they took her to the hospital they took Ms. Lily to. As they were driving by, they spotted James on the road bleeding from the back.
Two of the first responders' personnel jumped out of the vehicle and moved toward him. Two troopers covered them with guns drawn just in case. They noticed James' vehicle off to the side of the road, door wide open.
One of the men leaned down and checked for a pulse. "He's alive, but hurry, he doesn't have much time, looks like he's been shot."
***
Lance arrived at the hospital and stayed by Nina's side. Two troopers stood outside of her room door for protection. He swallowed hard at the look of her face. It was bruised purplish around her forehead, and cheeks. Her hands were equally purplish from the cold and wrapped. She was unconscious but in stable condition. He glanced up at her neck and shoulder which were both wrapped in a brace. He pulled out his cellphone and called his boss.
"Yeah, I think I have something connected to the missing teen boy. Yeah, that story I've been working on. Well, it looks like his aunt and her friend were victims of a brutal hit and run. Yeah, it's pretty nasty, but they're both alive. Stable condition. Let me go talk to the lieutenant about more details and ask if I can run this story. Yeah, I know, I won't make any mistakes on this one, but I'm sure this is connected. Right. I'll be in touch shortly." He hung up, sighed and looked at Nina again. He wondered what happened to her marriage. She seemed to be a beautiful person, very tenacious. If he were her husband, he would never let her go.
Walking slowly out of the room, he went out into the waiting area and slumped down into a chair. Officer Stevens approached him, looking chipper.
"Coffee?" he asked, handing him a cup of Joe. Lance looked up at him and took the cup.
"Yeah, thanks. I appreciate it," Lance said, sighing a bit. He shook his head to the sugar and cream Stevens held in his hand. Stevens sat next to him.
"This case just gets weirder and weirder," Stevens said.
Lance took a sip from his cup. "Oh really? How so?" He gave Stevens a curious look.
"Well, there was a man that was brought into the hospital a short time ago. Gunshot wound to the back, exited out of his spleen. He's in critical condition. I truly hope he makes it. According to his ID and phone, he is Nina's brother. It's amazing that both of them were injured severely tonight," Stevens said distantly.
"Wait, what? Nina's brother. Is his name James Perkins?" Lance asked, sitting up straight.
Stevens tilted his head. "Yes, that's him. Why? How'd you know?"
Lance put two and two together and realized the man James is Rodney's father.
"We need to explain this to your superiors. This was no accident, this was all intentional. James Perkins is Rodney Perkins' father. He was supposed to be flying in to Oswego to help his sister Nina find his son. C'mon, take me to your lieutenant," Lance said, already hopping out of his chair and rushing two steps ahead of Stevens.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Numbers miraculously dodged the police and made it back to his house. It's a wonder seeing that all the police in Oswego were rushing to Nina's aid.
"I hope they didn't reach Perkins and he bled to death instead," he grumbled, pulling up with a deep skid on the driveway. He rushed to the door, still furious at Brennan.
Brennan was at the door waiting for him looking defeated for the first time in a while. Not speaking to him, Numbers brushed past Brennan, going to the lab ignoring the pain the bruises on his face gave him. James delivered a fair one right on his face and he hoped he did succumbed from the gunshot. Brennan sighed, closing and locking the door behind. He followed Numbers.
"Look man, I don't know what happened. She got smart. She is a cop and knows survival. Hopefully, she fell to her death, innit?" Brennan said, with a glimmer of hope. He didn't want to get on Warren's bad side.
"You were supposed to kill her and make sure she was dead!" Numbers screamed, knocking over their computers, papers and even a large monitor went crashing to the floor, the screen shattering.
"No, I think she's alive. When I left, I saw all sorts of policemen, fire trucks and ambulances speeding in the opposite direction toward your little crime scene," he said, making quotes with his fingers in the air when he said, "little crime scene".
Brennan shook his head. "Nah, can't be. I don't make mistakes like that. She got away from me, yes, but she stumbled her way to the other side and fel
l when I tried to knock her down with my bike. I missed, C'mon Warren, let's not get so ruffled."
Numbers let out a chortle. "Tried? No, you were supposed to do more than try. Fuck! What am I going to do now? And where's your motorcycle at?" Warren asked, giving off a look of disdain at Brennan. Brennan was his ace, but not at this moment.
Brennan ran a hand over his smooth head. "Don't worry, I hid it behind a thicket of trees away from the accident. I'll go get it when the heat clears up."
Numbers snickered. "Yeah right! How? Did you miss the memo where I said every cop in Oswego are at that crime scene? Huh? What the hell is wrong with you?" he growled. "And let's not forget the snowstorm. How will you get your bike in this weather?" He didn't wait for Brennan to answer. Instead, he knocked over more items onto the floor.
Brennan stared at Numbers in disbelief. He knew he messed up and didn't mean to anger him. "Oh yeah, and that witness who was going to help Nina? The one who works at the bar? She's also still alive. I hope James Perkins is dead though."
Numbers left Brennan standing there and went downstairs to the room where they kept Rodney hostage. As soon as he saw him, Numbers rushed over and went ballistic on Rodney plummeting him with his fists.
Rodney screamed, using his arms to protect himself from Warren's hands of steel. He scooted himself into a corner cowering, but that didn't stop Numbers.
"I should kill you right now, you piece of shit!" Numbers stomped on a shrunken up Rodney. Rodney was pale, shivering from the draft coming from the window Po pulled the piece from. He was hungry and tired and wanted someone to save him from this monster.
"Dude, please don't kill me! I told you I can help you with more money!" Rodney cried out defensively.
Numbers pulled out Bly's gun and pointed it at Rodney's head. "Nah, I don't want your help or your money. How many times am I going to tell you that? I should off you like I did his old man.
Rodney's ears perked up at the sound of his father's name. Dad? How in the world does this maniac know my father? Is my father in the hacking underworld, too? He began to shake.
Begging for his life, Rodney cried out to Warren, tears streaming from his eyes. "Please don't kill my dad! Whatever he did to mess up your hacks, I promise you I can fix it, I know I can!" The chains were an added reminder that Rodney could not escape.
Brennan came downstairs to witness the tirade from Numbers. "Numbers, no offense, but what does his father have to do with you? Is this really about the files this lad has or his father?" Brennan doesn't know what Warren's reaction will be, but he waits for an answer.
Numbers got up from Rodney and stood in the middle of the room. The lighting was still dim, but everyone could make out each other. Rodney squinted up at him, wanting to know the same thing so he stayed quiet.
Numbers put on an act as if he is on a stage in a play. "Gentlemen, let me tell you a story of long ago. The old me. How I got caught stealing classified information and using drugs in the Navy. When my commander, the infamous golden boy, Lieutenant James Perkins found out, he told the captain and they immediately sent me to the brig. When I came out after a year, it was James who told me the Navy was putting me out." He reached behind him and pulled out a newspaper clipping of him from the Washington Post and tossed it at Brennan who caught it. Brennan looked up at his friend, then back at the paper. He read the article, putting all the facts together. Warren Squires, Jr. was indeed indicted on two counts of federal theft. Because of his drug use, he was given a lighter sentence. It was swept under the rug since Warren pleaded guilty and received five years.
Numbers mimicked James, "You'll at least be able to get a job after this, just not here."
He looked directly at Rodney. "Yeah right. What damn job? I haven't had a steady income since getting kicked out of the Navy. Which is why I do what I do," he explained as if he had no choice. "Right when I was getting out of the pen was when I met you," Warren said, turning to Brennan. "My life was hell then and I couldn't wait to leave the halfway-house. Then I came home here and well you know the rest B."
Brennan's face was plastered with shock. "I thought you were in prison for robbery because of what you told me. Guess I never thought it was this kind of robbery. Damn, man. I'm sorry about this," Brennan said to Numbers, glaring at Rodney.
"Exactly, B. That was the robbery," Numbers said, standing next to Brennan. He gave Rodney a disapproving look. "I tried to go straight. I tried to do the right thing. But your father messed me up. I was his top cryptologist and he pegged me as a drug-addicted loser. Just like my father did."
"So you have to go and hopefully, he's already gone. I hate that bastard!"
Numbers pointed the gun back at Rodney who was wide-eyed at Numbers' incredulous story about his father. If what he was saying was true, then Rodney was screwed and he knew it.
Rodney held his hands up in surrender, his lips trembling as he shuts his eyes tight and prayed to the heavens above.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
THEN: Brennan
After the fire burned down Brennan's home along with his parents, Brennan went to go live with his affluent uncle William. William was his mother's older brother who couldn't understand why his baby sister got so caught up in a loser like her abusive husband Adney Hill.
"Mum and Dad did not like that scruffy Adney one bit, but she insisted," he explained to Brennan. Brennan was sitting out on his uncle's patio, looking at the sprawling estate. His uncle owned his own magazine. He wasn't used to such riches. He even had his own room, tailored clothing, and a driver to take him to school. He liked the driver part, but the school he didn't. He felt closed in. One of the headmasters reminded him of his father. Even in death, his father instilled fear in him. Whenever Brennan saw overpowering Mr. Shuttlesworth in the hallways, he would avoid eye contact with him.
Uncle William had a full housekeeping staff to take care of his home. Never married or had any children of his own, he was delighted to get to know his nephew. His niece was already placed with a loving family, but she did get to visit at times. Those were the days he was happy when he saw her. When she had to leave, she would always write poems for him.
"Cheer up dear brother, for tomorrow is another day. Cheer up dear brother, lay in the sun to play!" She would recite short corny poems, but he enjoyed it. They didn't get to have much of a childhood and this helped to connect them again.
One weekend she didn't show up.
"Where's my sister at Uncle William?" he asked him one day. He noticed his uncle was wearing shades although it was the usual London weather, overcast and chilly.
"Oh, dear nephew. Your sister couldn't bear to be on this good green earth anymore. The Hannigans found her in the worst possible way. She cut her wrists and bled to death. Why didn't you tell me that horrible father of yours was pimping her out?" his uncle asked, taking off his shades to reveal red-rimmed eyes. "Now she's gone!" He bawled like a baby and grabbed Brennan in a deep hug, both crying non-stop.
At his sister's funeral, Brennan recited all of the poems she wrote. He then broke down over her casket placing each one inside that he wrote down himself. "I'll always remember you dear sister. You didn't deserve this life." He looked at her for the last time and went back to sit down next to his grieving uncle.
About a month later, Brennan was in the basement of the house, sitting in the dark. He wanted to be by himself. He tried his hardest not to imagine his sister taking her own life. After the funeral, Brennan opened up and told his uncle everything that his parents were into including the forced prostitution on his sister. "She was just a baby who didn't deserve any of this," he told his uncle. His uncle simply nodded, wishing he had known. He would've killed his brother-in-law, taken his sister to rehab and taken in both children as his own.
Brennan was snatched out of his thoughts by one of the groundskeepers named Hugh. Hugh was in his forties, strong and tall. He didn't say much and when he did, it was always about work. Uncle William hired him ab
out two years ago and he did a good job. No one knew too much about him except that he lived with his wife and three sons on the other side of town. In fact, Uncle William always praised him for being such a loving family man and a hard worker. "They don't make them like you anymore," he would say to him jokingly. Hugh would give a small laugh, then he'd go back to work. Brennan thought he was strange himself.
That day in the basement, when Brennan was thinking about his sister, he contemplated killing himself, too. He knew if he did that, he would crush his uncle's heart. He missed his sister so badly though. He was talking out loud to himself when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Uncle William? Oh, you're back. I'm sorry, I wasn't going to do anything to hurt myself, I swear!" he cried out, dropping the piece of glass he was going to use to harm himself. He turned around but it wasn't Uncle William. It was Hugh. Holding a gun to his face.
His face held a sick grin and Brennan looked down at him. He had his pants down and before Brennan could say anything, Hugh twisted his arms behind him and thrust him to the ground, crushing his face into the cold cement ground. Hugh had his way with Brennan who was writhing underneath him. He thought about how he would one day kill Hugh and that day came mighty quick.
"If you tell anyone, I will blow your brains out," Hugh threatened.
For days, Brennan didn't come out of his room. His uncle was away on a business trip, so he didn't notice. That was another reason why Hugh was able to take advantage of him.
One evening, Brennan made some cookies. He was sure to put some away for Hugh and his family. Only thing, Hugh never got a chance to take any to his family. After a few bites of the poisoned cookies, standing in the kitchen, he convulsed, clutching his chest.
I Know What I Saw Page 17