Tick Tock (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #2)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  How can she possibly be here?

  “Do you have her password?”

  Antoinette shook her head. “Sorry, no. But she said she got an email giving her the details.”

  Shakespeare looked around the small apartment, a single common area including kitchenette, with one bathroom but two separate bedrooms. He found it interesting the drama student’s room was the neat one; the med student’s strewn with clothes and piled high with books and papers. He waved his hand at Alexa’s room. “Is this normal?”

  Antoinette giggled. “This is actually pretty good.”

  Shakespeare’s eyebrows shot up. “And she’s going to be a surgeon?”

  Antoinette giggled again. “I know, crazy, huh? I keep telling her if she can’t keep her bedroom tidy there’s no way I’m ever going to let her operate on me.

  Shakespeare nodded. She’s liable to leave the scalpel inside. Or worse.

  “And she told you nothing about where she was going?”

  “No, just that she’d be picked up somewhere and taken to the location.”

  “Picked up?”

  “I think that’s what she said, but I might be confused. I’m really not thinking straight.”

  “So then even if we get the email, it may only tell us where she was picked up, not where she was going.”

  Antoinette’s face sank. “I never thought of that.”

  “Does she have a cellphone?”

  Antoinette nodded and gave the number to Shakespeare who jotted it down in his notebook. He flipped it closed and headed for the door. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to have somebody come by in the next little while to take her computer. We’ll see what we can find off of it. You go about your normal daily routine, and if you hear anything, you call me right away at the number I gave you.”

  She nodded. “Shouldn’t I stay here?”

  Shakespeare shook his head. “No, just get some sleep now, and in the morning if she’s not back, leave her a note, telling her to call you right away, and leave my number. Make sure you tell her the police are involved, or she might not take you seriously and just go to bed first.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll do everything we can to find her, okay?”

  She gave a weak smile then leaned in and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks, Detective.” Shakespeare patted her back and she pulled away.

  He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “You try to get some sleep now. And don’t forget, someone will be by to get the computer within the next few hours.”

  “Okay, good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Shakespeare headed for his car, his stomach rumbling. He felt a little woozy and could sense that telltale sign his blood sugar was dropping. Better get some food. He climbed in the car, phoned in the computer pickup, then headed off campus, quickly finding an all-night diner. He opted for the three-egg breakfast special since it was so close to morning, then began sending text messages. It had taken him years to embrace the technology, but once he had, he realized how convenient it was. He had tried one of those fancy iPhones but his thumbs just couldn’t type on it, so he had remained with the full keyboard of the Blackberry. He sent instructions for Vinny to pick up Alexa’s computer, Trace to go to sleep if she wasn’t already, and a message to Louise to tell her he was alright, and to apologize for worrying her. And for probably waking her with his text.

  He polished his plate and returned to his car, then drove to the NYU Medical campus parking lot. Parking as far from the entrance as he could, he set the alarm on his watch, put the seat back, and within minutes was sound asleep.

  Trace pulled her car to a stop, looking at the deserted street. I definitely should be calling for backup. She debated for a moment, then grabbed her phone and requested silent backup—the last thing she needed were lights and sirens here, she just wanted a couple of uniforms to watch her back.

  She looked at the warehouse. Could this be it? She hadn’t waited for the warrant. She had some good connections with the cab companies, one of whom happened to be working the night shift, and they were generally cooperative as long as they knew the warrant was going to be arriving shortly. It didn’t take long to find the cab that had picked up Frank, it the only pickup in front of the studio within half an hour of when he left. The drop off was on Seventh. The cabby was still on duty and she had had a chance to talk to him, confirming as she had suspected that Frank had said nothing beyond his destination, and had paid in cash. The key tidbit was mentioned as an afterthought by the cabby that just may be the break they needed. When he had left Frank on the curb, he had carried on down Seventh, picked up a fare, and in his rear view mirror had seen Frank hail another cab. He had thought it odd at the time, which was why he had remembered it. This cab too was traced, and this time Frank had used his credit card. Several more pickups were traced to the same credit card, and half an hour later they had a final destination.

  And now she waited.

  She knew Shakes had told her to get some sleep while waiting for the warrant, but she had so much coffee and adrenaline flowing through her system, there was no way she was going to sleep. She eyed the coffee sitting in the cup holder and shook her head. She needed to lay off for an hour or two, then she’d crash hard and get the rack time she needed. Unless I find the kid’s body in there. She said a silent prayer, then opened her door as she saw a blue and white turn the corner behind her.

  The patrol car turned off its headlights as it approached and pulled in behind her. The two officers climbed out, quietly closing their doors, and approached Trace. She flashed her badge. “Detective Trace, Homicide.”

  The driver nodded. “Richards and Scaramell.”

  “Thanks for coming. We think one of our techs might be in trouble, and we’ve traced his last location to this building”—she tossed a thumb over her shoulder at the warehouse—“almost two hours ago.”

  “Who’s the tech?” asked Scaramell.

  “Frank Brata.”

  “Really! I drove him to the lab yesterday, or Saturday I guess.” Scaramell looked at his watch. “Christ, I hate third watch.”

  Trace nodded. “I’ve been up almost twenty-four hours. Let’s go before I fall asleep.” They fell silent as they approached the door. Trace looked through the window but could see nothing, it apparently blacked out from inside. She put her hand on the knob, and made eye contact with each of the officers. They both nodded, their guns drawn. One stood directly behind her, the other next to her at the door.

  She turned the knob and yanked the door open, bursting into a jet black, empty space, yelling, “NYPD, nobody move!”

  Her voice echoed into the darkness. Two beams of light cut through the black as the two officers turned on their flashlights. She turned to the officer on her left. “Can I borrow that?”

  He flipped the flashlight over and handed it to her. She played it across the wall, and quickly found a panel of switches. She walked over and began flipping them, the sound of halogen lights firing up, and with a flicker, the entrance was flooded with light. She flipped the remaining switches as fast as she could, now that anyone in the warehouse had a clear shot at them.

  In seconds the warehouse was flooded with light. And empty.

  “Well, this was a bust.”

  “Look!”

  Trace looked to where Richards was pointing. She stepped over to a broken cell phone lying near the entrance. She pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and carefully picked up the phone. The display was cracked, and when she tried to activate it, nothing happened.

  “This was a real bust. Wait.” She pointed to the floor near where they had found the phone. “Looks like some foot prints.” She pointed at another set of drag marks, leading from the door and further down toward one of the large doors. “Looks like someone was dragged here.”

  Richards walked over to the door and knelt down. “Tire treads. A car was here recently.”

  Trace followed the trail ending near the rear
most tire marks. “Looks like he was loaded into the trunk.” She snapped a photo of the tread marks and emailed them to Vinny. He might be able to figure out what type of vehicle left them. Within moments her phone vibrated with a reply from Vinny. Get me a measurement of how far apart the treads are. She turned to Richards. “Can you get me a measurement from tread to tread?”

  “I’ve got a tape in the car I think. I’ll check.”

  Within minutes they had a measurement and she sent it to Vinny. His reply indicated he was on his way to the lab.

  She turned to Richards. “Okay, secure the scene, I’ll have the crime scene guys come over and see if they can find anything else.”

  She headed for the door, now even more worried about Frank.

  I hope the kid is okay.

  She made a quick call to the Bureau and was pleased when Harold Nonkoh, a new and eager detective, answered. His determination to prove himself, and get off the nightshift, meant he would most likely track down any information she needed far faster than anyone else that may have picked up. In fact, he probably leapt for the phone while the others stared at the case board to see who was next in the rotation.

  “Hey, Harold, this is Trace, I need a favor.”

  “Sure, what can I do ya for?”

  “I need you to run an address for me. Get me the usual, who owns it, who rents it, any history. You know the drill.”

  “No problem. What’s the address?”

  She read the address off her pad. “Got it?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay, this is urgent. One of our techs is missing, last seen here.”

  “Holy shit! Okay, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks, Harold, you’re the best.”

  “Tell my wife that. She seems to think that the nightshift means I’m an idiot.”

  Trace chuckled. “She’ll say a lot worse if she hears it coming from me.”

  “Too true,” he laughed. “I’ll get back to you shortly.”

  Trace ended the call and sat in her car, waiting for the crime scene guys to arrive. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, the caffeine and adrenaline wearing off as she crashed into the oblivion of sleep.

  Aynslee moaned as Eldridge kissed her neck, his tongue flicking her gently, his hot breath sending surges of pleasure through her body. She had waited so long, and at last he was here, with her, in her bed, their bodies intertwined as they explored each other, their passion and intensity growing ever more fervent with each passing moment, with each new caress. He squeezed her breast and she moaned again. With a shove she pushed him on his back and stared at him playfully, a sly smile spreading on her face as she held his arms over his head, straddling him. She began to kiss down his neck, then his chest, his moans of anticipation becoming louder and louder.

  “Oh, Aynslee.”

  She smiled as she kissed his washboard abs, continuing to move lower.

  “Oooh, Aynslee!”

  She stopped. Something’s wrong. She looked up Eldridge’s chest and saw Reggie smiling back at her. “Oooh, Aynslee, wake up!”

  Suddenly reality roared into focus as she woke. She opened her eyes and saw Reggie looking down at her, a shit-eating grin spread across his pimply face. “What were you dreaming about?” he asked, his tone suggesting he knew damned well it wasn’t about sunshine and lollipops. Well, maybe lollipops. She smiled to herself, then remembered who she had been dreaming about, and a cloud replaced her good mood. She looked at Reggie who was still leaning over her, entirely too close. She waved him away as she sat up on the couch in her office.

  “What is it?”

  “Bryan found something big!” His emphasis on big shot her eyebrows up.

  “Big?”

  He waved to her. “Come on, you’ve gotta see this.”

  She stood up, straightened out her clothes and gave her hair a shake, then followed Reggie to the computer room. He opened the door and she found Bryan on the phone.

  “Yes, files going back ten years. They look like notes on experiments. Very detailed. They almost read like notes a shrink might make. I don’t know, this isn’t my area, but this is some weird shit.”

  He paused a moment as he listened to the other end of the line and nodded. “I’ve copied everything already and uploaded it to the lab’s secure storage. You should be able to look at it now. There’s a lot of stuff there including extensive video archives. I’ve just glanced at some of the stuff, but it looks like some sick shit. People imprisoned for extended periods. You have to look at this. It’s going to take weeks to go through, if not months. There’s years’ worth of stuff here.” Again he paused. “Four seem to still be active.” He nodded again. “Okay, I’ll head back to the lab now.” He hung up the phone and started packing up the gear Frank brought earlier.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m done here.”

  “Yes, but what did you find? Reggie said you found something big?”

  Bryan paused and stared at the floor, as if debating what to say. “Listen, I’ll tell you this much. I found files that looked like case studies, going back ten years, looks like about one a year. Four of those file sets are still active.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, there are four sets of files still being updated on a regular basis.”

  “You mean—”

  “That it looks like four people are still being held captive, including Sarah.”

  Aynslee stood for a moment as her mind processed this information. “Was there any clue on where they’re being held?”

  Bryan shook his head. “They all seemed to be in the same type of room as Sarah was in. Is in.”

  “What about in the case studies? Any addresses?”

  Bryan packed up the last of the equipment. “Look, I just quickly scanned a couple. My job was to pull the data while it was available, before they discovered the breach. We were never supposed to see these files, just the files for Sarah. They didn’t count on Frank. He’s brilliant. Nothing is going to keep him out of a system he wants to get into.” He hooked the straps for the equipment over his neck, balancing two large cases over each shoulder, then grabbed two more with his hands and stepped toward the door.

  “Do you want a hand with that?” asked Aynslee, trying to figure out a way to stall him.

  Bryan shook his head. “No, I’ll manage.” He headed out the door, then turned toward Reggie. “Oh, umm, just so you know, I noticed the key logger you guys are using.” He stared directly at Reggie for a moment, as if trying to telepathically send him a message. Aynslee looked at Reggie’s void expression, the brain waves apparently deflecting off the blank slate. Then his eyes shot open and his head bobbed excitedly, a smile spreading on his face.

  Bryan headed to the elevators as Aynslee looked at Reggie. “What was that all about?”

  Reggie beckoned her back into the office, closed the door then sat at the computer, furiously typing away. Within moments he had a file open and pointed. “We have key logger software on these machines for security purposes.”

  “And just what exactly is that?”

  “Every keystroke is recorded.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I have all the website addresses, user IDs and passwords that they were able to hack.”

  Aynslee plopped down into the chair, a smile on her face. She pulled the chair closer to the computer screen as Reggie began to work his magic.

  Thank you, Bryan!

  Trace woke, her phone demanding attention on the passenger seat. She grabbed it and pressed the keypad, holding it up to her ear. “Trace.”

  “It’s Vinny, did I wake you?”

  She stretched one arm out to her side and arched her back. “Yeah, I was just crashing here at the scene while I wait for your boys to arrive.” She looked out her windshield and noticed the Crime Scene truck parked in front of her. “Oh, looks like they’re here already.” She looked at her watch. “Christ, I’ve been asleep two h
ours!”

  “It’s been a long damned weekend, and it’s not over yet.” She heard him take a deep breath, ending in a yawn. “Okay, here’s what we’ve got. Your vehicle is a 2011 Cadillac Escalade. Which of the several thousand in the city is yours, I have no clue.”

  “Okay, at least it narrows it down. Hopefully we’ll come up with something else that will lead us to where it was going.”

  “Hopefully. If he or they have Frank, I—” Vinny stopped. And Trace knew why. Another death in the family was something none of them could take right now. And if they were to believe the last message, Sarah would die alongside Frank, making it three deaths in less than two weeks.

  A thought popped into Trace’s head. “Crazy question, Vinny, but is the Escalade lojacked?”

  She heard Vinny suck in a quick lungful of air. “I think they are!” She heard him type furiously at his keyboard. “Yes, it was an option. If we can find out which Escalade it is, and they have the option, we can track it!”

  Trace closed her eyes and let her head drop against the headrest. “So we might still have a chance.” Her phone beeped. She glanced at the call display and saw it was from Nonkoh. “Got another call coming in that I have to take.”

  “Okay, I’ll update Shakes on where we’re at.”

  “10-4.” She hit the button to take the other call. “Trace.”

  “Hey, there, it’s Harold, I’ve got some info for you.”

  Trace retrieved her notebook and paper. “Shoot.”

  “Okay, the warehouse you’re at is owned by some company called Abaddon Incorporated.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Me neither. I Googled it and found lots of video game references on the web, but no companies.”