by Al Boudreau
The cruiser slowed to a crawl and the headlights went out. “This is the place, fellas,” the officer said. “We’ll hoof it the rest of the way. The gate’s about a quarter mile from here.”
James let me out and the three of us paused around the front of the car. “Carter Peterson, say hello to Officer Kent, one of Troy PD’s best and brightest. Kent’s the one I was coordinating with all afternoon.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, “and thank you for the assist.”
“No problem,” Kent replied. “Let’s get moving. The boys are waiting for us.”
I stayed behind Kent and James out of respect, letting them set the pace, my blood really flowing now. The city of Troy, NY was no Boston in terms of its size or crime rate, but was nearly three times bigger than Bridgeport, NH, a city I’d gotten quite used to.
As we made our way toward the gate, I could hear sirens wailing in the distance, along with horns, construction noise, and aircraft overhead. The sights, sounds, and overall feel of the nighttime raid brought the reality of my old life rushing back. Part of me missed it. But a bigger part of me did not. I was nervous.
Kent radioed ahead that we were nearly there so we wouldn’t surprise his men and create a dangerous situation. I saw James draw his service revolver from its holster. “Carter, I assume you’re carrying. If not I’ve got a pistol on my ankle that you can use.”
I reached back and gripped my Ruger. “Thanks. I’m good.”
We were roughly 20 yards from the gate now. I counted six officers waiting on us, each decked out in full-body armor and night vision hardware, toting automatic weapons. Officer Kent spoke as we reached the group. “Boys, this is Detective James out of Bridgeport, NH. And Carter Peterson, former officer from the great city of Boston, Mass. Peterson here is a private investigator these days. Sarah Woods, the woman we’re looking for, is Carter’s partner. What do you say we go try to find her?”
Without another word, one of the waiting officers cut the chain securing the 10-foot chain-link gate and swung it open.
We were off.
The group of three massive dilapidated structures sat toward the back of a flat parcel of land, which I estimated to be about twenty acres in size. The roadway leading to the buildings was broken and uneven, like clay chunks from a parched, empty lake bed. I stayed in the back of the pack with one of the half-dozen riot-ready cops watching our collective six.
A large black sedan – likely Creitz’s Mercedes – and a dark-colored SUV were parked about fifteen yards from the building closest to us. No lights could be seen in any of the structures from our present position.
The lead officer held his fist up and we paused. He indicated that he and the second officer in line would break off and follow the perimeter to the west. The second two would head around to the east, while James, Kent, and I would continue straight ahead with the remaining two officers. We proceeded toward the two vehicles, weapons high and hot, and soon confirmed that both vehicles were empty.
We made our way toward the towering building’s main entrance, the decay from many years of neglect becoming more apparent the closer we got. The lead officer in our group stopped us off to the side of the entry door and checked in with the remainder of his team. After about ten seconds he said, “Lights on, east side, building two.” He motioned for his team member to remain in his present position. The remaining four of us proceeded around the far corner of the first building and rendezvoused with the pair who had circled around before us. Our lead motioned for us to remain stationary.
After what seemed like an eternity – in reality no more than fifteen seconds – our lead officer received a radio call and indicated we should follow him. A few seconds later I heard commands screamed from somewhere within the skeletal steel depths, the words bouncing and echoing like some archaic monster come to life.
I felt as though the same imaginary beast was sapping my energy to supplement its own. We were really moving now, the excitement and fear causing my lungs to burn. I could barely see, relying heavily on the men ahead and behind to keep me out of harm’s way. It was at that point I realized I really had no business here.
The leader flipped up his night vision hardware as we were about to round a blind corner.
In the next instant my heart felt as though someone had tightly wrapped a tourniquet around it. Three of the officers who’d entered before us had three suspects pinned down on the concrete floor, weapons trained on them. A fourth officer stood beside a chair to which a woman was tied. Her long brown hair peeked out from a dirty white sack that was covering her head. She was motionless.
I stopped dead in my tracks and searched the officer’s face for any sign … any indication of who she was and what condition she was in.
He looked away from me and toward our leader. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.
I heard myself scream “No!” as I lurched toward the chair. James grabbed me and threw both arms around my torso, breaking my stride. I struggled and growled at him, fighting to break free like a gazelle pinned down by a lion. “Let me go, James. Let me go!”
One of the officers slowly, respectfully lifted the filthy veil off from her lifeless body. I heard James mutter, “Oh for the love … thank you.”
I fell to the floor and wiped the tears away from my face.
It wasn’t Sarah.
Chapter 7
Detective James crouched down next to me. “C’mon Carter, let’s go outside and get some air. Troy’s force has got this well under control.”
It was all I could do just to nod. James helped me to my feet and we traced our steps back to where we entered the building. I began to hyperventilate.
“You’re okay, Carter. Slow, even breaths.”
I put my hands on my knees and bent over until I calmed down. “I really thought it was her.”
“I think we all did.”
I stood up, feeling the heartache that came with knowing someone would soon hear devastating news about their loved one. “Sorry. What’s our next move?”
James was about to speak when Officer Kent approached from the crime scene. “The medical examiner is on his way down here. We’ll do our best to get an ID on the vic before you boys head back.” Three officers emerged with the three suspects they’d taken down. Several Troy patrol units sped toward our position filling the sky with a strobe-show of blue light. “We pressed these guys pretty hard to tell us who she was. Only information we got was that she worked for some firm in Albany. Said she was an accountant.”
I looked at James. “Rachel Webber was an accountant for the company she embezzled funds from.”
James nodded. “We need to dig further into – what is it – Hy-Tek Solutions?”
“Yep. Both women being accountants … some sort of coincidence?”
“Highly unlikely,” James replied. “Kent, did any of those guys have identification on them?”
“They all did. Nothing but lousy fakes.”
James pulled out a photo, held it up in front of Kent, and shined his flashlight on it. “I don’t suppose one of them was Creitz?”
“Nope.”
James turned his head my way. “Guess that would be asking too much.”
I reached inside my jacket for my phone. “I’m going to give Sarah’s son a call. Told her family I’d keep them in the loop.” As I turned the phone back on I noticed someone had left me a voice message, the time stamp indicating it had been received 10 minutes prior. I called voicemail. The voice I heard took my breath away.
It was Sarah.
The shock of hearing her voice took me so off guard I had to listen a second time in order to absorb her words. Carter, it’s me. Two men grabbed me at Webber’s. Hooded me and drove for 15 minutes. I’m still ...
James looked at me. “What have we got?”
“It’s Sarah!” I cried, stunned. I hit speaker and played the message for James. “Ten minutes ago,” I said.
James was on his phone to the chief
, alerting him to the new development. “It sounded as though her last sentence was deliberately cut off. Could mean she’s still local.” James remained silent for about ten seconds then said, “Right,” and ended the call. “Kent, we need to contact Carter’s cell provider to get tower tracking of the call he received from Sarah. Can you get us over to your station ASAP?”
“Absolutely. Let’s go. I’ll run back and grab the car. Pick you up at the gate.”
“That message is encouraging,” James said as we headed toward the gate. “Sarah sounded strong and determined, don’t you think?”
I wasn’t sure if James really believed what he said or was just trying to give me hope. “She’s alive. That’s all I ask in the end. That we get her back alive.”
“The chief gave me an update,” James said. “Our boys interviewed the neighbors surrounding Webber’s property. One guy was walking his dog and described a vehicle that he watched leave the scene in a big hurry after shots were fired. He didn’t get a plate number, but indicated Maine tags on a late model, dark green Chevy Tahoe. We’ve got a BOLO out.”
Kent pulled up and we jumped in. “My department is going to wait before questioning the three suspects we nabbed. I thought you two should be there.”
“Thank you,” James said. “We need to locate Creitz and see what he has to say.”
“That guy will be so lawyered-up by the time we find him, I’m afraid the likelihood of us getting information out of him is zero,” I said, having been stymied many times in the past by similar circumstances.
“You’re probably right, Carter, but we have the opportunity to lean on these three men hard while we scour those factory buildings for clues,” Kent said. “For all we know Creitz may be holed-up in one of those relics as we speak. His fancy car is there, right?”
“That’s true,” James said. “It would be nice to grab him at the scene of the crime. That kind of association has real weight in a court of law.”
Officer Kent said, “I heard base dispatch our K-9 unit to the scene right before you guys got in the car. If this Creitz character is there, he’s going to wish he wasn’t. Our dogs will find him.”
I was torn. My desire to get back and help look for Sarah in and around New Hampshire was overwhelming, but the sooner we analyzed the cell tower records the sooner we could narrow the search area. And I wanted some face-time with the three reprobates we’d captured with the deceased. If there was ever a time I wished I could be in two places at once it was now. The ringing of James’s cell interrupted my thoughts.
“Yeah.” James was silent for an uncomfortable amount of time until I heard, “That’s all we’ve got?” Another long pause. “Right. Hit me when you know more.”
I braced for the worst as James said, “That was the chief. Rachel Webber is dead.”
Chapter 8
Each hour that passed delivered more news, but the information provided me with nothing but a mounting headache. I was caught in an expanding puzzle and none of the pieces fit. I’d never felt so lost, convinced I was headed for a nervous breakdown.
Sarah had indirectly hijacked my ability to reason. If I didn’t wrest back my logic soon I’d be of no use to her or to those trying to help locate her.
We came to a stop in front of Troy Municipal Complex, a new-looking structure. According to the signage, it housed the police department, the west side firehouse, and Troy’s city hall.
Officer Kent and Detective James climbed out and Kent opened the back door for me. “Carter, do you want to monitor the interrogations?” Kent asked.
I stopped at the bottom of the steps. “I need to sit in a quiet room with pen and paper. Got to get some facts down.”
James slapped me on the back and smiled as we climbed the granite steps and entered the modern facility.
Kent said, “Detective, you’ll find the interrogation area down at the end of the hall to the right. Our three suspects are in separate rooms waiting to be questioned. Carter, follow me.” Kent opened the door to a small conference room and ushered me in. “If you’d like I’ll take your phone over to our guy in tech. He can contact your cell provider while you work.”
I handed him my cell. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be involved with the interrogations. Come grab me if there’s anything more you need.”
Kent walked out and closed the door behind him, leaving me to pull it together. I pulled my notebook out of the back pocket of my jeans and took a seat at the conference table. I jotted down Rachel Webber and Hy-Tek Solutions, the company Rachel had worked for. Hy-Tek was based in Bridgeport and provided nearly 400 jobs in the IT field. I knew from the research Sarah had done that the firm specialized in designing and supporting data link security systems for the United States Government, but didn’t know exactly what that meant. I also wrote down Agent Dominic Caldwell, with Homeland Security next to it. I wrote down the name Roland Creitz. Below all of my chicken-scratch, I wrote the word accountants and underlined it several times.
I’d likely have the name of our vic soon. I needed to know where she worked in order to move forward. Maybe there’d be some kind of connection between the two women aside from their job descriptions. Were the businesses they worked for related? Were either of them tied to Creitz in any way?
But the nagging, infuriating mystery was Mike Webber’s role. Why did he take Sarah? Was he working for Creitz? Did he intend to harm Sarah in retaliation for helping to put his wife behind bars? Who killed Mike? Why?
I slid my forearms over the notebook and rested my forehead on it. I had to remind myself it was too soon to expect a breakthrough. If it were any other case I’d be so much more relaxed and in control. My head would be clear. It wouldn’t seem like an eternity since the ordeal had begun. I’d seen Sarah mere hours ago but it felt like weeks. She was counting on me, and I was here in East Overshoe sitting with my head on a conference room table doing nothing.
I lifted my head and hit the table with my fist several times, just as Officer Kent entered the room. He slid out the chair across from me and took a seat, ignoring my episode. I was grateful for his sensitivity.
“We just heard from the medical examiner. I’ve got the name of our victim for you. Rose Stanton. She lived in Albany. She worked for a company called Biofile, also in Albany. Are you familiar with the firm?”
“Can’t say that I am,” I replied while rubbing my sore fist.
“Biofile is a big deal in the eastern section of our state. They just moved to the area a few years ago and built this huge facility off the interstate. They employ about 2,500 people and specialize in filing, storing, updating, and protecting medical records. I know a few people who work there. They seem really happy.”
I jotted down the information. “Would you consider the company to be an IT firm?”
“Definitely,” Kent replied. “They’re always getting write-ups in the local newspapers. The articles usually refer to Biofile as Albany’s most successful IT firm.”
“Do we have any confirmation that Rose Stanton was an accountant over there?”
“Not just an accountant. She was the head of Biofile’s entire accounting department.”
“What about Creitz? Any sign of him over at the mill?”
“We got the Mercedes opened up so our K-9 unit could key in on Creitz’s scent. The dog tracked the guy for 30 yards. The handler said the trail was tight and straight in a direction leading away from the building. Then the trail went cold. It’s like Creitz got out of his vehicle, began walking, and disappeared into thin air. I mean, he could have climbed into another vehicle and driven away, but why would there have been so much distance between his Mercedes and a second vehicle?”
“Hmm.” I pondered Kent’s thin air comment for a few seconds. “James told me Creitz is well-off and owns commercial properties all over the northeast. Is it possible he could have driven to the site and left by chopper?”
Kent smirked. “I’ll check into that right now.”
“Is
there a computer available with access to the internet?”
Kent pointed across the hall. “Right through that door.” He turned to leave then stopped. “By the way, those three goons aren’t saying a word. Every one of them has a lawyer now. It’s odd, though. Nobody called those attorneys from here. They just appeared out of nowhere. And they’re all from the same firm.”
Chapter 9
There was little chance the suspects from the mill were going to give us any solid leads now that a legal team had arrived. I wouldn’t know where to start looking for Sarah until the information from my cell provider came through. I decided to do some research and dig up all I could on Rose Stanton’s employer, Biofile.
The internet is a source of information I use every day in my investigative work, yet I’m constantly in awe of its power. With the exception of DNA testing, I can’t name another tool as powerful and effective in tracking down deadbeats, reprobates, and potential kidnapping, murdering businessmen. It’s not exactly a neon sign that flashes Here’s the bad guy you’re looking for. But find enough clues and cobble them together using good old-fashioned sleuthing skills and common sense, and with any luck a pattern emerges. Sometimes the path is direct. Other times you move around in circles and manage to stumble upon a hint by chance.
Tonight my efforts proved to be the latter. I’d spent the last hour looking at any links I could dig up on both Biofile and Hy-Tek Solutions. There were more articles, interviews, and advertisements online concerning both businesses than I could read in a year. Four different search engines had roughly the same content listed on the first two pages of their respective outputs. But I’d learned over the years – through trial and error – that the gems were located deeper. Page 10. Page 19. Sometimes 30 or more pages into a search engine’s results.