Barn Burner (Jubilant Falls series Book 1)

by Debra Gaskill

  It was forty-five minutes before the slated meeting with the kidnappers. Jaylynn and Addison were standing in the assistant chief’s office in the police department’s basement headquarters. Across the hall, Seaford was getting wired up by chief Marvin McGinnis and Agent John Seevers was counting the $250,000 in ransom money into a brown leather briefcase. Tension was high and more than once Addison had to lay a cautionary hand on Jaylynn’s arm to keep her from spewing accusations at Seaford.

  Gary, wearing dark fatigues and combat boots, strapped a bulletproof vest around his chest and then put on his gun belt.

  “That’s the only reason we let you do this, but we’re keeping you here to make sure you don’t in any way interfere with the drop,” he said. “That means you, too Penny. You don’t go running out of here if something goes wrong. You wait here until we tell you what happened. Do you understand?”

  “You aren’t letting him take off with my baby, are you?” Jaylynn asked.

  “Dr. Thorn will be driven back to the police station when this is over,” Gary said cautiously.

  “You mean when I get my baby girl back.”

  “Mrs. Thorn, you know there are no guarantees. We’ve said that before. That’s the optimum outcome and certainly the one we want to happen, but we can make no promises.”

  Jaylynn’s bravado suddenly disappeared and she sank into a chair in front of the desk. She covered her face with her hands and her shoulders shook as she tried to reclaim control of herself. Her cheeks streaked with mascara, Jaylynn raised her head to meet Gary McGinnis’s hard gaze.

  “You have to understand,” she pleaded hoarsely. “I have to believe that God is watching over my little girl. I have to believe that Lyndzee is still out there and that she’s coming home.”

  Addison patted her on the shoulder. “We’ll get through this, Jaylynn. One way or the other.” She turned to Gary. “Can we have a radio to monitor communications? If we can’t be there, it would be nice to have an ear on what’s going on.”

  “You’ll know when we tell you what’s going on.”

  “Oh, come on, Gary. If I promise to stay here, can we at least have radio on the same frequency you guys are on, so we can listen in?”

  “Will it end up in the paper?”

  “If you anticipate success, what are you worried about?”

  Gary pulled a large brick-shaped walkie-talkie from his top desk drawer and set it on the restricted channel that law enforcement—and Seaford—would be using. He turned it on and sat it on the desk. Without a word, he opened the office door and gestured to a young blonde cop to come into his office. “This is Officer Finn,” Gary said. “He will be right here or right outside the door to make sure that you stay right where you’re supposed to. You understand?”

  Addison and Jaylynn nodded somberly.

  “And you—” Gary turned to the young cop, pointing at Addison as he walked. “Don’t let her con you about anything. These women are supposed to stay right here until we get back from this operation, but she is the newspaper editor. She’s not supposed to do anything until this operation is over. Am I clear?”

  “Yes sir.” Officer Finn nodded curtly.

  There was a knock on the door. Agent Seevers poked his head in the door. “Ready to roll?”

  Gary nodded. “Ready.”

  In an instant, he was gone. The sound of a heavy door closing echoed in the concrete hallways as Gary, his brother Harold, the two FBI agents and Seaford left. Jaylynn looked at Addison, fear filling her eyes as she reached out for the editor’s hand.

  “We have to believe, Addie, we have to believe,” she whispered hoarsely. “Pray with me, Addie. Please, pray with me.”

  Addison cast her own panicked glance at Finn, who shrugged in confused response.

  “I-I-I’m not the praying kind, Jaylynn, you know that,” she stammered.

  “Even through this awful stuff with Lyndzee and your daughter’s own hospitalization, you’ve never turned it over to God?”

  Addison suddenly wanted a cigarette. She’d lived all her life in close proximity to Golgotha College, but her own life had always lacked in religious instruction and the frequent displays of religious fervor always seemed a little more like a holy show than a real belief in some unseen Greater Being. Maybe if she had turned to God earlier in her life she might have made other decisions, but would it have made up for her lack of a mother, like Rachel Wiseman? God certainly didn’t help the woman who obviously traded in her emotionally neglectful parents for a wholly caring Heavenly Father and a series of married lovers. Would knowing God have made her give up her obsession with her work? Helped her make better choices with Isabella and help her avoid a suicide attempt? Would knowing God mean that they would have picked up on Isabella’s illness sooner?

  “I can’t, Jaylynn. I just can’t.”

  Jaylynn released her grip on Addison’s hand and nodded mutely. “You’ll have to excuse me then.” She said. Seating herself in one of the overstuffed chairs across from the desk, she bowed her head and folded her hands, her lips moving silently.

  Addison pulled her cigarettes from her purse and looked at Officer Finn. “I need a cigarette.”

  “This is a non-smoking building, ma’am.”

  “Can I go outside and smoke?”

  “My orders are to keep you here until the operation is complete.”

  “Shit.”

  Addison paced the small office, staring at the silent walkie-talkie as Jaylynn prayed. Seven steps from the door to the window, five from the window to the bookshelf behind Gary’s desk. Once, twice, five times before a crackling sound shot from the walkie-talkie. Jaylynn’s head snapped up from her prayer and Addison pulled a chair up in front of the desk.

  “Perimeter check. All units in place?” It sounded like Seevers.

  “Seven-oh in position.”

  “Seven-two in position.”

  “Seven-one in position.”

  “Alpha six in position.” Addison recognized Gary’s voice.

  “Dr. Thorn?” Severs asked.

  “Ready.”

  “Remember, we can hear everything you say and see everything that happens. If something goes wrong, we’ll be right there.”

  “OK.”

  “Let’s do this, folks.”

  The radio clicked again and was silent. In a moment or two, what sounded like footprints came across the radio.

  “I can’t see where I’m supposed to go,” Seaford said softly.

  “Turn left at the end of the barn. They’re supposed to meet you there,” Seevers answered.

  The sound of footsteps stopped and silence again filled the office.

  “Please, Jesus, just bring my baby back, just bring my baby back,” Jaylynn whispered, as she rocked back and forth.

  Interminable silence hung in the room’s atmosphere. Addison’s fingers caressed her cigarette, tapping the tobacco down on the desktop, holding it between her index and middle finger and nervously putting it in and out of her mouth.

  “Alpha six, I’m showing some movement in the cornfield,” a male voice finally said. “These may be our suspects.”

  “I’m assuming they’ve all got night vision goggles in this?” Addison asked Finn, who nodded.

  “I see them,” Gary answered. “Looks like we’ve got two white males, about mid-twenties. Dark hair on both—one is tall and thin, the other is a little shorter but heavy. Jeans, hooded sweatshirts on both of them. They’re stopping. The tall one is making a cell phone call.”

  “Is the girl with them?” Seevers asked.

  “No.” The radio crackled again.

  “Oh God! My baby! My baby!” Jaylynn cried out.

  “Stop it! Stop it right now!” Addison grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “We don’t know if anything’s wrong. We don’t know if they are keeping her hidden until they get the money or if something else is going on. Screaming isn’t going to help you or Lyndzee.”

  Jaylynn sank back into her chair and th
rew her head back against the plastic upholstery. Her face contorted in silent agony as tears coursed down the side of her face.

  Addison turned her attention back to the radio. There was the sound of a cell phone ringing and Seaford’s voice. “Hello? Yes. I’m alone. I have your money.” There was silence. “I want my daughter. Yes. Yes. I’ll do whatever you want. OK. I’m setting the suitcase down. I’m walking away. I’m walking…”

  “Hold your positions,” Seevers whispered.

  “They’re near the barn,” Gary answered. “They’ve got the suitcase… they’re at the edge of the cornfield…” Suddenly he began to yell. “He’s got a gun! Move! Move! Move!”

  There was the sound of a scuffle, a gunshot and a moan as someone fell.

  “Where’s the girl? Where’s the girl?” someone bellowed.

  “Police! Halt!” someone else yelled. The sound of heavy footfalls came from the radio as a cop pursued a suspect through the corn. “Halt!” he called again. Suddenly there was a gunshot and a scream.

  “Where’s the girl?” the same voice bellowed again.

  “We don’t know. We don’t have her,” a young male voice whimpered.

  “Whaddaya mean you don’t have her?”

  “We don’t have her. We don’t have nothing to do with that little girl. We told that guy not to call the police! We saw the story on the TV and figured we’d just get the money and disappear.”

  Addison stared at Finn, then at Jaylynn, whose horror-filled face was drained of color, her jaw hanging slack and open.

  ***

  “So what were these suspects allegedly thinking when they thought they could get a quarter mil out of the victim’s family?” Luke Brockmore stood to ask the question, as if he would be lost in the crush of five other television crews and four newspaper reporters, including Addison, assembled in the police conference room.

  The sun was just barely coming up over the horizon Sunday morning when police brought the local media together to announce their failure to retrieve the missing girl. College spokesman David Horatio, looking sleepy-eyed but impeccably dressed, stood just behind him.

  “I am not aware of any thought processes that may or may not have occurred when our suspects decided to attempt extortion, Mr. Brockmore,” answered Gary McGinnis, still dressed in his fatigues. “Both men are currently housed in the Plummer County Jail awaiting arraignment.”

  Addison met the ambulance carrying the suspects, Pete Brooks and Bryan Kerry, when it arrived at Plummer County Community Hospital late that night. Kerry suffered facial contusions and bruises when a Plummer County Sheriff’s Deputy tackled him as he attempted to flee through the cornfield; Brooks had a bullet dug out of his left leg before he was released to police custody.

  They were minor thugs who’d come up from Cincinnati to see if they could cash in on a family crisis. Their unfamiliarity to police was part of the reason law enforcement had played along with them for so long. Brooks had a long record for burglary and assault—it had been he who pulled the gun when he suspected that police had circled the barn. Kerry, the younger of the two, was one of Brooks’ hangers-on. They were too smart to take drugs themselves, but Kerry and Brooks were opportunistic enough to see the income potential of such an endeavor—and the income potential of a distraught father.

  McGinnis had gotten their story in between Brooks’ screams as doctors dug the bullet out of his leg.

  “These men had no real connection to the disappearance of Lyndzee Thorn,” McGinnis told the assembled media. “They were simply out to take advantage of one family’s agony to make some easy money.”

  “What charges will these men face?” Addison called out.

  “Extortion, obstruction of justice and interference with a federal investigation,” McGinnis shot back. “And rest assured that if there’s any other local charges we can file, we certainly will.”

  “So what happens now?” a Cincinnati Enquirer reporter called out.

  McGinnis sighed. “We will continue to work this case as hard as we possibly can; however, leads are dwindling.”

  “Has the operation changed from a rescue to a recovery mission now?” someone else called out.

  McGinnis was silent. Addison knew the real question the reporter was asking was if police thought Lyndzee was alive or dead and would they now concentrate more on looking for a body than a live little girl?

  “While we certainly want to find Lyndzee alive and well, the length of time she has been missing is problematic,” McGinnis said slowly.

  “So you think she’s dead?” Brockmore called out. Addison flinched at his insensitivity.

  McGinnis turned to look at Horatio. “I’m sorry to say this, but I think it’s highly likely that Lyndzee Thorn is probably not going to come back to us alive.”

  Chapter 23

  “God, I hope he’d told the family that before he announced it to the world.”

  It was Monday and Dennis Herrick was editing Addison’s story on the failed recovery operation. Late Friday, Watt had quashed the idea of a special Sunday edition on the failed attempt on the grounds that there were no advertising dollars to support it. Also, it made the local police look bad.

  “He did. I was there.” Addison sat at the other copy desk across from him, making her way through Marcus’s first story in the series on the automotive parts manufacturer. “It wasn’t pretty.”

  “I’m sure. So are the feds still hanging around?”

  “I don’t know. They probably are. I do know that the investigation is going to be very behind-the-scenes from now on.” Her fingers tapped swiftly across the keyboard as she made minor adjustments to the story and fit the main headline on it: NEW PLANT BRINGS NEW QUESTIONS. Then, in a subhead: Former union officials voice concerns.

  She pushed a function key and the story appeared on Dennis’s screen, ready for him to place it on the front page. The failure to get Lyndzee back would be the lead story, even though it was damned near two days old. The television stations had broken in on all the Sunday morning political shows with the news. Publisher J. Waterman Whitelaw had been watching and called Addison at home just as she’d returned from the Thorn’s home.

  Marcus’s first article in his series on the new auto parts manufacturer would run in the second spot. Elizabeth had a short Monday feature on how the local middle school principal spent his summers leading the enrichment program at Canal Lock State Park.

  “Well, if things are slowing down some, you think you can get an ad in to get Porter’s job filled now?” Dennis cast her a furtive glance, but kept editing.

  “I’ll get it written by the time I leave. Isabella is coming home from the hospital today, so I’ve got to take off after deadline.”

  She was silent for a moment, but it wasn’t because she was concentrating on her job.

  “You really don’t want to write that ad, do you?” Dennis finally asked.

  “No. I really don’t. With all the other stuff that’s going on, I haven’t been back to talk to Suzanne to see how she’s doing.”

  “You’re not thinking of hiring Porter back, are you?”

  “Did I say I was?”

  “Addison, he was god-awful those last six months—maybe even over the last year. You know that, I know that.”

  “Oh, hush. I’ve got better sense than to hire that idiot again.” Addison’s tone was sharp. “I just hate the fact that asshole left her with five kids and very little income. I also hate the fact that I haven’t been back to see her.”

  “What if Porter showed up here tomorrow?”

  Addison’s brow wrinkled briefly. “I think I’d shake his hand, tell him that it was good he was back, but he wasn’t going to get the cops’ beat back…and he was still a jerk for leaving his wife.”

  “Good. You had me worried for a little bit.”

  After deadline, she composed the ad that would run that week in the Journal-Gazette classified ads. It was always pretty much the same: WANTED: General assignment repor
ter: primary responsibility covering courts and police beat. Must be self-starter, willing to work long hours. Experience preferred, but will consider recent graduate with exceptional clips.” Another version of the advertisement would go to the Cincinnati Enquirer and to the trade publication Editor and Publisher.

  She wondered if she’d get a better response if she told the truth: “Wanted, general assignment reporter who can watch EMS scrape a body off the highway before dawn, cover a rape trial all afternoon and then crank out a light hearted feature about a kid and his grand champion steer, all in one 14-hour day for wages that will qualify you and your family for food stamps. Must have a basic knowledge of AP style, page layout and photography. Barring those, an ability to simultaneously walk and chew gum a real plus. Our writers have gone on to win state and national AP awards while running their marriages and family lives into the ground through alcoholism, infidelity or not knowing when to stop covering a story and go home. If this sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime for you, please contact…”

  Duncan hadn’t been happy she’d stayed out all night on the botched drop. The only thing keeping him from reaming her when she got in was the phone call from Whitelaw to see if she’d gotten that story. It was always the same dichotomy and would probably always would be.

  Today, she’d told Duncan she’d be home by 1 p.m. to ride with him to the hospital to pick up Isabella, who was being discharged at 2 p.m.

  “We need to make sure we’re all on the same page about how we’re going to handle this before we go get her,” he’d said sternly. At least he was man enough to say out loud he was unsure of how things would change once they brought their daughter home.

  Addison knew she couldn’t admit the same thing to him. Instead, she would go see how Suzanne was doing or wander over to police headquarters to see where Gary McGinnis would take the Thorn kidnapping now. If she was lucky, something would break—a robbery, an accident out on the highway or a fire—and she wouldn’t have to show up at home until just a few minutes before they had to leave.

  Addison was scared to bring Isabella home. She could say it to herself, but no one else. The thoughts came hard and fast: How would our lives change now? What about this Lithium Isabella is on? What if she tries to commit suicide again? What if she’s successful? What if Duncan’s not there if Isabella tries? And what if I was there when it happened? Addison knew she was frightened. She also knew, down deep, she was so much a coward.