The 13th Hour: A Marston Thriller (The Marston Series Book 4)

by Brigitta Moon

  The detective read Ethan his rights and slammed him into the chair.

  “Would you like a lawyer now, Doctor?”

  “Force is not necessary. You cannot bully me, Detective. I think I can handle anything you throw at me just as well as any lawyer. Are you running the video?”

  “You want to be in the movies? Is that it?”

  Amusement flickered in Ethan’s eyes.

  “No, not the movies. I just believe in documenting events. And there is no better way to prove what actually happened than hearing something and seeing it with your own ears and eyes.”

  Romero went over and tapped on the mirror. “Now the tape is running. Why don’t you look up and smile big for the camera.”

  Detective Romero Griesenbeck sat back down, across the table from Ethan.

  “On this twenty-fifth day of May Two-thousand-seventeen, you, Doctor King, have agreed to speak voluntarily with the police about the kidnapping of Gina Green. Is that correct?”

  “Absolutely not! I agreed to speak with you about something that concerned me. Something you never fingered until I arrived. Now, you’re telling me Gina is missing—possibly dead. I do not believe you. Gina was alive and well when I last spoke to her. As a matter-of-fact, we have plans to get together tomorrow. We are going to put the finishing touches on the final research findings.”

  Romero sighed.

  “She’s not coming, King. She’s probably dead.”

  “Gina is alive,” Ethan growled.

  The door to the interrogation room swung open. Cool air drifted in mixing with the hellish heat, making the temperature more like the tropics. A woman stood framed inside the doorway with a manila folder cradled in her arm. Each man paused to look the woman over. She was tall. Smooth, cinnamon skin, warm brown eyes, and although, she was slender, there was no doubt she owned a gym membership and made good use of it. Her hair was clipped back into a loose pony-tail. Tendrils twirled down her temples. She approached the detective and his handcuffed prisoner.

  “The chief said you were waiting on these.”

  She tossed the envelope onto the table, glanced at the prisoner.

  “Handcuffs? Did he get rambunctious?” she cooed.

  “Well, Cope, you know how it is, the man with the big brain and more letters behind his name than will fit on a sheet of paper, well...he knows it all.”

  “Anything I can do to help, Detective?” Copeland asked.

  Romero lifted the flap of the envelope and peered inside. He smiled.

  “Yeah, Cope.”

  He handed her the envelope.

  “Spread the contents on the table for me. Let’s document the facts for the good doctor.”

  Copeland said, “Sure, but let me get those handcuffs off him. We want him to be comfortable for the show, don’t we?”

  She removed the cuff and then the contents of the envelope. Slapped each photo on the table one at a time, giving the doctor time to focus on each one. Ethan shook his head. A slow, unbelieving rotation, side to side, eyes wide, mouth open.

  “She’s not dead. No. These are fakes. Gina is not dead!”

  Chapter 41

  The door to the interview room opened. Chief Randall poked his head in.

  “Detectives, can you step out?”

  Romero and Copeland were knocked for a loop to see the chief interrupting an interrogation of a suspect.

  “Sure,” Romero said acknowledging the chief. To Ethan he said, “You sit tight. Don’t try to disappear on me.”

  Ethan was calmer, composed. He snarled, “You do not scare me, Detective.

  Romero and Copeland stepped into the corridor, closed the door behind them. Mayor Harden was standing two feet from the lawyer. His tie hung loosely around his neck, askew. The top two buttons of his salmon colored shirt were undone. He pinned the detectives with a wild stare. Dots of sweat rested on his brow.

  “Has something happened since we last spoke, Mayor?”

  “That’s an understatement,” he said looking at his black, Hugo, patent leather, oxford shoes.

  “Fill us in,” said Romero.

  “It appears the kidnappers have stepped up their game,” Chief Randall said. “They want the mayor to deliver on their demands.”

  Romero put up a finger. “I thought there was one culprit.”

  ‘There’s—” Mayor Harden started to say, but was interrupted by the chief.

  “We need to play it safe. We will operate with the assumption that we are dealing with a group. We need to turn up the heat on the prison guard.”

  “I don’t think it will do any good,” Copeland said. “I think he lives in hell. He’s probably Satan himself.”

  “We don’t have a lot of time, Mayor,” Chief Randall sneered. “We need to know the demands, now. A woman’s life is at stake—your niece.”

  “I can’t.” Mayor Harden walked a tight circle and threw up his hands. “I’ll lose my position as mayor. I’ll lose my family.”

  “Mayor,” Romero’s patience had run out, “What in hell do they want from you! Are you willing to let your niece die for your selfish needs?”

  “Being mayor is all I know. What will I do if I lose it?”

  “Sir,” said Copeland, “what will you do if you lose your niece? How will you feel when a finger or her head shows up on your doorstep?”

  “My wife, my life...it will be ruined.”

  “What do these people want?” asked Jeffrey. He had been quiet. Now, he thought it was time to make some headway. “Gina was supposed to meet the man in the interrogation room.” He pointed at Ethan sitting behind the glass. “Do you know him?”

  Mayor Harden took a few steps toward the glass to get a closer look. He shook his head.

  “This man may be the key. He may be the last person to have seen Gina. Tell these detectives what you know.”

  “Gina will be fine. If I am forced to give them what they want, but it will be the end of me.”

  “Which is what, sir?” asked the chief. He checked his watch. “It’s ten a.m. We have twenty-six hours left to meet their demands and get Gina back safely.”

  “That’s where you are wrong,” Mayor Harden said. “These things never work out. The victim is never returned safely. These people make their demands, get what they want, and then they do away with the hostage anyway. I will lose either way.”

  “What are you talking about,” asked Romero. “How are you going to be on the losing end either way? If you help us, you will get your niece back. Pool, the reporter is doing a live piece on Gina today. We need you and your wife to be front and center, stand together, face the cameras, and beg for Gina’s safe return.”

  “Either way, I lose. The question is...how much am I willing to put on the line? My job? My family? The city?” Mayor Harden started for the hall leading to the exit. “You people don’t know what you’re dealing with. You haven’t a clue what is on the line.”

  Part VIII

  Chapter 42

  “Where is Georgina Green?” The reporter stood in front of a gas station in Federal Hill holding a microphone. “This is the last known documented stop before Georgina Green, known to her friends and family as Gina, disappeared. If you have any information, no matter how small, call the number at the bottom of your screen.”

  “You see, Gina, they are all looking for you. The noon news confirms it.”

  The man’s voice was lyrical, sounded young, maybe late twenties, possibly thirties, Gina thought. She was blindfolded. Her hands were tied behind her. She fidgeted with the rope, trying to loosen the strands.

  “Your uncle, our beloved mayor, has not come to beg for your release, even after your award-winning phone call. As a matter-of-fact, he has just fallen off the grid.” The man sighed. “Do you think he loves you, Gina? Do you think he will give in to my demands? At this moment the scales are only slightly tilted. The riots...I will bet your life that he had a hand in them.”

  Gina wanted to yell at the man, tell him he was wrong
. Her uncle loved her. He had come to her rescue when she needed him the most. After her mother’s death, she could have been carted off from foster home to foster home. He was there for her. She couldn’t scream at the man, couldn’t say anything. The rag stuffed in her mouth pushed back her cries and her words.

  The man on the television was talking again. “The police have tracked Gina’s movements on the day of her kidnapping. After she left work, she went to Coffee Haven at the Inner Harbor, where it has been confirmed that she stayed long enough to drink a Long Macchiato—alone. The Barista on duty made this statement, ‘She seemed to be nervous, like she was looking for someone.’ Coffee Haven is her last known stop. The police have not located her car. It’s a red, Mercedes 560 SL, nineteen-eighty-eight.”

  “Nice wheels,” the man said. “The reporter was nice enough to show all of us at home your self-indulgent automobile. It’s nice to have all the money you want, to blow on whatever you please, isn’t it?”

  Tears pricked the backs of Gina’s eyes. She was wondering, where was her uncle? Why wasn’t he on T.V. pleading for her safe return? Where was her aunt?

  “Save those tears. You’re gonna need them,” the man taunted.

  “Where is Gina?” the reporter asked again.

  The man checked his watch. “Twelve fifteen. Twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes to deliver on my demands.”

  Chapter 43

  Romero and Copeland were back in the interrogation room staring down Ethan King. Jeffrey hung outside, watching the show through the two-way mirror wondering if any of this would help his client.

  “Mr. king, you work with Georgina Green?” Romero asked.

  “Gina. Yes, we work together.”

  “What exactly do the two of you do for the prison system?”

  “We reform people, what else?”

  “How do you manage to do this?” asked Copeland.

  “There are ways. These people have made mistakes. They have made small infractions of the law.”

  “Really?” asked Romero. “All of them, including the murderers?”

  “Gina and I, we do not work with the offenders in the classification you have specified.”

  “What about your group?” Romero asked.

  “Group? Are you referring to the group that I have psychological counseling with on a one to one basis?”

  “I guess you didn’t hear me. I said group. You and Gina have a secret group.” Romero got down in Ethan’s face. “Is that why she’s missing? The secret group?”

  Ethan snorted. “I seriously doubt it since we do not run a secret group.”

  “Jesse Owens? Do you know him, Dr. King?”

  Ethan crossed his legs. “Oh, yes, he is a great specimen.”

  “Specimen? Is that what these men are to you? Specimens?”

  Ethan cut his eyes at Romero. “You sound disturbed. Would it bother you if I said they were nothing more than specimens for me?”

  “Tell me how Gina fits into this whole thing, and why you or someone else would want to hurt her?”

  “I cannot help you with your inquiry. There is no secret group. Gina’s only job for me was to organize my notes on each prisoner and file them.”

  Romero paced. “Alright, Dr. King, we’ll do it your way. She organized your notes; organized them how?”

  “Date, time, topic.” He waved the words away. “Nothing too special.”

  “She was supposed to meet you after work. Did she show?”

  Ethan hesitated.

  “Don’t lie. She has a tracker on her car. The last location was your address.”

  Ethan hunched his shoulder. “Well, maybe you could use the tracker to find her.”

  “Did you remove it and destroy it?” Romero snarled.

  “I have done nothing to Gina.” He narrowed his eyes. His nostrils flared. “Maybe you should ask your questions to Jesse Owens. He was the last one to see...” He stopped midsentence. He had said too much.

  Romero leaned on the back of the chair across from Ethan, so they were eye to eye. “How can Jesse Owens be the last to see her? The prisoners are not allowed to be alone with the staff.”

  Ethan scoffed. “You think you know so much. You, Detectives, know nothing. Do you think these riots are coincidence? Jesse Owens, have you checked his record? Clean, right? You cannot see what is truly happening because you only look at the surface. You people know nothing.” Ethan eyed each of them.

  “We know nothing, huh?”

  “Absolutely, Detective. 1972, do you remember what happened that year?”

  “Why don’t you enlighten us.”

  “Throughout history there has been nothing but noise and misdirection. Nineteen-seventy-two. Nixon was in office. Watergate. Remember? The war on drugs.”

  Ethan pinned each one of the detectives with an intense gaze. He wanted to be sure he had captured their attention with his tale. Romero stared back. He was interested in how this dissertation fit into the crime. Copeland looked at Romero and then back at Ethan. She was wondering how she could get the truth out of him. Gina’s time was running out like a fast burning fuse sizzling its way to the grenade.

  “Well, Detectives, it was not a war on drugs. It was nothing more than a misdirection, a distraction. He had two enemies. The president and his administration knew they could not make it illegal to be either against the war or black, but by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana, and blacks with heroin, and then criminalizing both heavily, they could disrupt those particular communities, arrest their leaders, raid their homes, break up their meetings, and vilify them night after night on the evening news. Did you think they knew or even cared that they were lying about the drugs? Of course, they knew." He sneered. “And, no, they did not care, just as Mayor Harden does not care about his city, only his own cause and covering his behind just as Nixon did.”

  Romero chewed on his toothpick, thinking. “While I appreciate the history lesson, the information has not moved us an inch closer to finding the mayor’s niece.”

  Ethan’s lips spiraled out. “I wonder if he cares if she is found.”

  Copeland saw a chance to enter the interrogation, she took it. “Dr. King, as you say, you barely know Gina. Her job with you is menial; she organizes your files. Correct? What do you know about her relationship with her uncle? Perhaps, you have engaged in a bit of pillow talk.”

  Ethan considered the accusation.

  Copeland leaned her palm on the table and eyed Ethan. “Of course, pillow talk is out of the question. That would be illegal, wouldn’t it? You would both lose your jobs.”

  Ethan waved her words away. “Yes, I know all about anti-fraternization.”

  For the second time, the door was opened and Romero was called away from the interrogation by Chief Randall. He indicated to Copeland that she should come also. In the corridor, standing in front of the two-way mirror, Romero, Copeland, Jeffery, and Mayor Harden formed a semicircle around the chief. He appeared to have aged a few years, deeper lines on his face, especially at the corners of his eyes and lips. His gaze appeared to look past the group who was waiting for his words.

  “There has been a new development.”

  He paused, gathering his thoughts. There was no easy way to relay the news. No sweetener could make this revelation go down any easier.

  “Mayor Harden, your wife has received a package.”

  Chapter 44

  Gloria and her son, Andre, were seated in the visitor’s room. Against the wall were three vending machines— two soda and one snack machine. Long, white tables and chairs lined the room like picnic tables at a park. Visitors sat across the tables from the inmates. Conversations were kept to a whisper; just loud enough for the intended listener to hear. At the top of the room, guards kept an eye on every move each person made. No one was trusted.

  Jesse appeared through the door into the visitor’s space. Gloria’s heart quickened. Trying to hold back her joy of seeing him was not working. A wide smi
le splashed across her face. Little Andre sprinted toward Jesse and hugged him.

  “We miss you, Daddy. When are you coming back?”

  Jesse took Andre by the hand and led him toward the table where Gloria was sitting. His thoughts went back to the previous meeting with Jeffery and Gloria. What had he gotten himself into? The boy had called him daddy as naturally as putting on his clothes for the day. He looked at Gloria. She was beaming. Such a pretty smile, he thought to himself, and a good heart. He let go of his frustrations with the Gloria situation and went to the table with Andre holding onto his hand like a father would hold on to his son’s. They sat across the table from Gloria.

  “How are you doing?” asked Gloria.

  “I’m getting three meals a day and I have a place to lay my head, although it’s made of stone.”

  Gloria frowned. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  “One hundred percent. There is no comfort in laying down for the night.” He sighed. “Last night I had a dream. I was camping, but instead of sleeping in a tent, I slept on the pavement in front of my house. Ridiculous, isn’t it.”

  Andre’s eyes brightened. “When you come home we can go camping.” He shook his head. “We won’t sleep on the ground. We can go shopping for sleeping bags.” He looked at his mother. “Wouldn’t that be cool?”

  All Gloria could do was attempt a warm smile. “Maybe.”

  “How are you doing?” Jesse asked Gloria.

  “No need to worry about me. You’re the one we need to focus our attention on now.”

  “I don’t get you. You have everything, a great personality, a warm heart, you’re intelligent, and you have one hell of a son; why are you wasting your time on me?” Jesse looked around the room at the three guards keeping a watchful eye on everyone. He turned back to Gloria. “With your smarts, I know you could figure a way out of the neighborhood. I look at you and I see a woman who should be living large.”

  Gloria studied the plain, white table. “It’s where I grew up. The neighborhood wasn’t always such a danger to the residents. I guess I got too comfortable to move out. Once Andre’s father was killed, I thought about moving a lot. Relocating is not easy.”