by James Hunt
“I can take you back if you don’t—”
“It’s fine,” Mocks said.
Grant tossed her a glance. “You sure?”
Mocks finally turned from the window, grinning. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
The rain had stopped by the time they arrived at New Faith Church, and the place looked more like a compound than a building for worship, and it was the ugliest color purple Grant had ever seen. Mocks informed him that it was one of those megachurches where people who don’t really identify with any specific sector of the Christian church get together. The sermons had roots in the Bible, but it was more feel good than it was factual Scripture.
A van was parked near one of the side entrances close to an unloading dock, and Grant spotted a young man stacking pallets of drinks onto a dolly. He gave a friendly wave when he saw Grant pull up and walked over as they parked and stepped out of the vehicle.
“Afternoon! Can I help you folks with something?”
Grant and Mocks flashed their badges, and the handsome face in front of them immediately expressed concern.
“Is everything all right?”
“I’m Detective Grant, and this is my partner, Detective Mullocks,” Grant said. “We were hoping to speak with a Mr. Glenn Paley. Is he around?”
The young man straightened up a little bit, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I’m Glenn. What’s this about?” His voice cracked on the last word, and a few beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Do you know a Mallory Givens?” Mocks asked, taking a sidestep toward the van.
“Y-yeah, she comes to my youth group on Wednesday nights. Sweet girl. Is she all right?”
Mocks spun around after checking the inside of the vehicle, Grant making a mental note that the vehicle had no decals on it that signified it was a church van.
“Is this your vehicle, sir?” Grant asked.
Glenn spun around, his right arm twitched, and his lips quivered as he spat his anxiety-riddled answers. “N-no, it belongs to the church. I checked it out today to run up to Costco and grab some supplies for our event this week. Can you tell me what’s going on, please?”
A woman appeared from the entrance to the loading dock. She looked the same age as Glenn, and when she sidled up next to Mr. Paley, it was like looking at the real-life versions of Ken and Barbie. The woman lowered the scarf wrapped high on her chin to protect herself from the spurts of icy wind blown in from the coast, and offered a polite but confused smile.
“Sweetheart, what’s going on?” she asked.
“I’m trying to figure that out,” Glenn answered.
It could have been the arrival of his lady, but Glenn’s demeanor shifted to more of a defensive tone as he embraced the girl with both arms, which she reciprocated. Their stance reminded Grant of a pair of lovers that had been caught in the act, fearful of the repercussions of their affair.
“What’s your name, miss?” Grant asked.
“Stacy. Stacy West.”
“And how do you know Mr. Paley?” Mocks asked.
The girl frowned at Mocks. Stacy was half a foot taller than Grant’s partner and looked down on Mocks with a holier-than-thou attitude. If the pair were back in high school, Grant didn’t think Mocks and Stacy would have run in the same circles.
“I’m his fiancée.” And as if to prove the point Stacy removed her glove and, even in the gloomy skies of Seattle, Grant saw the shine of the ring. Hell, he was confident the astronauts on the International Space Station could see that bling.
Mocks circled behind the pair like a shark, which only worsened their anxiety. “Congratulations.”
Finally, Mr. Paley stepped forward, hands clenched into fists as his spine stiffened. “I have a right to know what is happening, and if not, then I demand to see a warrant.”
“Mallory Givens, that girl who attends your youth events on Wednesday nights, has gone missing,” Grant answered.
Stacy gasped and quickly covered her mouth with the hand that sported her rock, and Glenn’s face quickly drained of color, his shoulders and back slowly rounding.
“Oh, my God,” Glenn said, his words soft.
“When was the last time you were in contact with Mallory?” Mocks asked, jumping in sync with Grant. When the two got on the same wavelength, they could put a lot of suspects off-balance. Grant had never had that with any partner on the force before.
Glenn pressed his palm into his forehead, shuffling his feet from side to side as he gave his head a light shake. “Um, last Wednesday? When she attended youth group.” His eyes misted. “She walked in with a few of the friends she’d made over the past school year and left with them. I haven’t seen her since.”
“When did she go missing?” Stacy asked, gripping the removed glove tightly with both hands.
“Early this morning,” Mocks answered. “We’d like the two of you to come down to the station, answer a few questions.”
Both Glenn and Stacy nodded aggressively. “Yes, of course. Whatever we can do to help.” Glenn gestured back to the van and the drinks still inside. “If you can just let me finish up here, we can meet you in less than an hour.”
Grant reached inside his jacket and removed his card. “The station’s address and both our cell numbers. If you get lost or something comes up, please, let us know.”
“We will,” Glenn said, a nervous grin appearing on his face. “This won’t take long at all.”
“Thank you, and God bless,” Stacy said, walking back to the van as both Grant and Mocks returned to their vehicle.
Once the doors were shut and they were out of earshot, Mocks fidgeted in her seat. “I didn’t like how that smelled.”
“We’ll get a warrant for his phone records, see if he made any calls to the Givens household,” Grant said.
“A young girl, outcast by society, warmed by the good Lord and a handsome man,” Mocks said. “If she’s been coming here without her mother knowing for the past year, then that’s been plenty of time for Mr. Paley to lay down his groundwork.” She grimaced. “That one’s good at pretending.”
“We’ll know more soon enough,” Grant said, shifting into drive as their radio demanded attention.
“Unit thirty-five, this is dispatch, over.”
Mocks picked up the receiver. “Go for unit thirty-five.” She let her thumb off the receiver and then looked at Grant. “When did you put both our cell numbers on your card?”
Grant shrugged. “Can’t remember. It was whenever I had my last office supply order. Is that all right?”
Mocks grinned. “Am I listed as your emergency contact too?”
Grant scoffed. “I’m not that stupid.”
The radio blew static, and dispatch’s voice came in garbled and unintelligible.
“Say again, dispatch,” Mocks said.
“We have a hit on your missing girl. Multiple witnesses have her heading northbound on Interstate 5. Suspect is male, balding, late forties, and the vehicle is a gray 2002 Buick Regal. We have units in pursuit.”
Grant flipped on the lights and slammed on the accelerator. The tires spun out on the church parking lot asphalt, and Grant swerved back onto the main road toward the nearest I-5 on-ramp.
Traffic diverted left and right, and Grant weaved around the few cars that either refused to move or were too oblivious to the speeding, flashing, siren-blaring bullet rocketing past.
“See if the chopper is up?” Grant asked.
Mocks reached for the radio, turning the knob to another channel. “This is unit thirty-five heading northbound on I-5 in pursuit of Amber Alert suspect. Do we have air support?”
“Negative, unit thirty-five, bird has not taken off yet.”
Mocks tossed the radio on the floorboard. “Shit!”
The sedan’s V8 hummed, and Grant glanced down at the speedometer, which tipped over one hundred miles per hour. Thankfully, traffic was sparse, which let Grant keep the dangerous pace to catch up. The adrenaline brought with it the
twisting feeling in his gut. Chases never ended well. For anyone involved.
The radio continued to blare sporadic updates, including a notification of a roadblock that shut down the entire northbound side of the interstate. A million thoughts raced through Grant’s mind during the chase, many of which included the safety and well-being of those still on the road, but at the very top of his list was Mallory Givens. A little girl who had no idea what was happening.
Whenever Grant spoke to the victims afterwards they all said the same thing, nearly word for word, the moment they were free: I thought he was going to kill me.
The suspect’s motives varied from case to case. Some wanted to kill the victims they abducted, but others, much like the man who’d taken the ambassador’s daughter, had darker intentions. Acts that if spoken in the light of day in a public place would get them beaten to death. Grant just prayed that whatever intentions were meant for Mallory Givens had not yet been practiced.
Grant finally caught up to the growing caravan of police cars in pursuit of the Buick. Dozens of blue and red lights flashed, taking up all four lanes of traffic. The roadblock was set up four miles down the road. But the Buick quickly swerved off on the nearest exit ramp, and the horde of police vehicles bottlenecked while trying to keep pursuit.
When Grant passed the exit and the police vehicles keeping pursuit, Mocks whipped her head around so fast and hard that it sounded like she snapped her neck.
Grant pointed toward the sky before she could utter anything, and that was when she saw the chopper overhead, which could track the Buick from anywhere now. “We’ll take the next exit and cut him off on one of the crossroads. Follow the updates from the air.”
Mocks shook her head and changed the channel to the air cavalry circling overhead. “I swear sometimes I think you’re telepathic.”
“I just pay attention.”
The chase continued for another twelve miles, passing through a no-name town in the middle of nowhere before the driver cornered himself. Either out of desperation or planned efficiency, he veered into the dirt lot just outside an abandoned canning factory. Grant and Mocks were the sixth car on scene, and when they stepped out another five police cars pulled up behind them.
A perimeter was quickly established as Grant and Mocks hopped out of the car and jogged over to one of the officers yelling into his radio over the hum of the chopper overhead. The Buick was parked in the center of the lot with the driver side door and trunk still open.
“He went inside?” Grant asked, his badge dangling in the open space of his jacket.
“Yeah, we’re calling S.W.A.T. now to handle extraction,” the officer said.
Grant shook his head. “This guy is desperate.” He pointed to the trunk. “If he had the girl in the trunk, then he doesn’t give a shit what happens with her life.” Grant removed his pistol from his holster, and Mocks did the same. “I need two officers with me and Detective Mocks.”
The officers froze, and Mocks stepped forward, her presence much larger than her tiny frame suggested. “Now, gentlemen.”
“Yes, ma’am!” A pair of officers at the lead car separated immediately, and the four of them started their path toward the rundown structure.
Grant kept his feet as light as possible, and while the normal steel-winged butterflies still fluttered, the continued adrenaline had also given him a light tremor in his right hand. Between the events of the morning and now, the day had provided more excitement than Grant had intended.
The foursome paused at the broken door that the suspect had entered, and Grant and Mocks were the first inside. It was dark, the overcast sky and dirty windows providing poor visibility. Grant reached for his light, and when he flicked it on, the beam highlighted rusty equipment and floors covered in thick layers of dust and animal droppings, sprinkled with mildew caused from leaks through multiple holes in the roof.
Everyone was quiet, and Grant hand-signaled for each officer to check a quadrant. They moved slowly, steadily, and surely, their sweeps methodical. They had to squeeze the suspect out of hiding without spooking him enough to hurt the girl.
“Stop!” The panicked voice rang out just as Grant’s flashlight found the tip of his shoe sticking out from behind one of the office walls meant for the foreman on the job when the old factory was still operational. “Don’t move any closer or I’ll shoot her.”
The suspect quickly thrust the girl around the corner and revealed the barrel of the .38 special revolver pressed against the girl’s head. The man’s arm covered her face, and Grant couldn’t confirm if the girl was Mallory Givens.
“It’s all right,” Grant said, raising his voice an octave higher. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt. Not even you.”
“Bullshit!” The outburst rang high in the vaulted ceilings. The violent outcry was filled with a desperation that accompanied the knowledge of one’s own finality. “You’ll put a bullet in my head the moment I hand over the girl.”
“No,” Grant said. “As long as the girl isn’t harmed, you still have a way out.” Grant crept closer, inching forward slowly. “You never really wanted to hurt her, did you?”
The man swayed back and forth, the gun’s barrel still pressed against the girl’s head. Grant glanced back at the officers and motioned for them to hold back. He didn’t need to add to the man’s growing anxiety. But when he squinted in the darkness, he couldn’t find Mocks.
“I just want to get out of here,” the man said, his voice still wavering.
“And I just want the girl,” Grant said. He took a step forward. “You give her to me and we can work that out.”
Movement to Grant’s left out of his peripheral caused him to dart his eyes in that direction, and it was there he saw Mocks creeping around to the back side of the office. He quickly returned his gaze to the suspect, praying he didn’t give her away. He just had to keep talking. Keep the man focused on him.
“Listen, I’ll tell you what,” Grant said, again taking a few steps before stopping. “You don’t want to give up the girl because you need a bargaining chip, right?”
A pause. “Yeah.”
“So why don’t we do this,” Grant said. “You send out the girl, and then you can take me instead?”
“No, you have a gun.”
“I’ll leave the gun behind, see?” Grant extended the pistol and placed it on the floor where the suspect could see it, then Grant kicked it with his foot, and the weapon skidded across the concrete. He extended both hands, palms out. “No more gun. No more weapons.” He reached around for the handcuffs as he caught the last view of Mocks just before she ducked around the backside of the office. “I’ll even let you cuff me so you know I won’t give you any trouble.”
As Grant drew closer he had a better view of the man and girl, but her face was pressed into the gunman’s stomach. She was about the same size as Mallory Givens, same hair color.
“I-I don’t know,” the man said. “What about the rest of the cops. What’ll they do?”
“They’ll do exactly what I tell them,” Grant answered. “I’m the one in charge. And if you control me, that means you’re the one in charge.”
From the silence that followed, Grant knew the man was mulling it over. His panic-stricken mind grasped at any hope of getting out of this situation alive, and it was exactly what Grant wanted the man to think.
Mocks was out of view now, the building blocking Grant’s line of sight. His heart rate was jacked, and he had no idea when she would make her move. The tremor in his right hand had worsened, and his mouth had gone completely dry. He kept his eyes locked on the lunatic still pressing the revolver to the girl’s head.
“It’s a good deal, buddy,” Grant said.
“Don’t rush me!”
Grant inched closer, wanting to draw the man’s rage and focus on him and off the little girl. “Tick-tock. What’s it gonna be?”
“Stop yelling at me!”
Grant took another step. “Take me. It’s the best way o
ut.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” The man trembled, but the pistol was off the girl’s head and now pointed at Grant.
“Last chance,” Grant said.
The man pulled the hammer back on the revolver, and his face flushed red. “Fuck you!”
Grant shuddered from the gunshot but dove forward in the same instant, ripping the girl from the man’s clutches while simultaneously knocking him to the floor. Something warm grazed Grant’s cheek, and he felt nails dig into the sleeve on his arm, and as he lay on the floor with his eyes shut, he was afraid to open them to survey the aftermath. It was a split-second decision, a coin toss. He just hoped the girl was on the winning side.
Chapter 6
“Detective Grant!”
The words sounded muffled after the ring of the gunshot, and Grant wondered how much more abuse his eardrums could take.
“Detective Grant!”
He opened his eyes and saw one of the officers hovering above. He then looked down to his arm and saw the young girl kicking and punching him, screaming to be let go. When he released her he finally got a good look at her face. It wasn’t Mallory Givens.
One of the officers led the girl away, and Grant turned around to see Mocks handcuffing the kidnapper with his belly on the concrete and a bloodied wound covering his shoulder.
“We need a medic,” Mocks said, slightly out of breath, then looked to Grant. “You all right, partner?”
A stab of pain radiated from Grant’s left hip down the side of his leg as he pushed himself off the floor. When he stood and put pressure on it, the pain worsened, and he leaned against the wall for support before he collapsed. “I think I tweaked something.”