“How effective is this approach?” King said.
“Assuming they’re not on the move, it can be accurate to the city, street, or even the block they are on.” Lingle rubbed his mustache, then his eyes.
“We are assuming a lot of things here, Detective,” King said, his eyes narrowing. “And when it comes to my daughter’s wellbeing, mere supposition will not do.” He reached for the door handle.
“We will do what we can,” the officer said wearily. “I have men looking at the surveillance video of the parking garage and talking to anyone who may have a motive.”
King gave a curt nod. “I’ll be at my office should you need to contact me,” he said as he exited, his mind already leaving the building and heading towards his office, to the handheld device he’d long ago commissioned but hoped never have a reason to use.
15 | MODERN DAY HEROES
Olivia leaned back in the computer chair, desperately staving off the claustrophobia that came with the imposed darkness. After the phone call to her father, John had left the room, leaving her slowly going mad with anxiety from the seemingly endless stretch of silence.
The long period of time alone, which could have been as short as five minutes but nonetheless felt like an hour, was spent thinking of ways to escape. She wrung and twisted her wrists but the tape, infamous for its indestructibility, held steady.
Olivia froze when she heard heavy footsteps approaching on the carpet, and a moment later, a deep voice said, “Your father has thirty minutes left to wire my money.”
Deciding that her only course of action was to take advantage of the kidnapper’s kindness, she feigned curiosity. “What will you do with the money?” she said in a genial way.
A few silent moments went by before he finally decided it safe to speak. “My plan is to get the money and start a business of my own.” He cleared his throat. “And I was also going to use it towards an engagement ring and wedding.”
Olivia remembered the tall, striking woman at his arm. “The one you were with at the ballet?”
The man gasped. “Did you see her face?”
“No. Only yours.”
He exhaled. “My face is… doomed. But she, she has nothing to do with this.” The protectiveness in his voice was subtle but did not go unnoticed. She was relieved to hear that this man, this criminal, had a vulnerability that she could exploit.
“So tell me about her.”
The answer came so quickly as to surprise Olivia. “Well, she’s gorgeous and always smiling. She volunteers every chance she gets and she’s just so kind. Basically, she’s the best person I know. She fills up every missing piece of me that’s been taken away.”
Olivia let out an inadvertent sigh and a thought flitted through her mind without warning: Does Daniel think of me that way?
“How long have you two been together?”
“Almost three years,” he said, a creak announcing that he’d sat down again. “She’s been hinting at getting engaged since she came back from her sister’s wedding. But what she doesn’t know is that I’d already planned on proposing a long time ago. Your father not giving me the money… well, that was just a setback. I have always known that she’d be my wife.”
“Does she know about this kidnapping?”
“No!” he said forcefully. “She’s not involved in this at all. You have to believe me.”
“I believe you.”
“I purposely left her in the dark,” he said in a softer voice. “She doesn’t need to see the monster that I have to be. And neither do you.”
Olivia held her breath, and found herself nodding along. “Do you think she’ll forgive you then? After…” She swallowed. “After all is said and done?”
He remained silent for so long that Olivia thought he had stolen out of the room. Finally, he said, “God, I hope so. Because I’m doing this for us. If she left me, I’d… She’s the only thing keeping me sane.
* * * * *
As soon as the Bluetooth in his phone paired with the car’s system, Alex began to dial the first number on the long list of people he intended on calling that night. Basically, he planned on calling everyone and anyone who knew Olivia.
“Andy,” he said as he drove through lower Manhattan. “Have you heard from Olivia tonight? No, she’s not at the ballet. She was kidnapped. Can you do me a favor and call around? Thanks, man.”
He tried the next number on his list, then the next, but nobody, it seemed, knew of anyone who would have any grievance with Olivia.
“Maybe her understudy did it?” was one flippant comment, which gave Alex reason to pause. Of everyone he could imagine, Olivia’s understudy would have the most to gain from her disappearance, but he found it hard to imagine the world of ballet being so dark and desperate.
Still, he needed to follow any and all leads, so he flipped on his blinkers and turned his car around towards the Lincoln Center for the second time that night. Once he’d parked, he hurried towards the dressing rooms, asking anyone he encountered if they could point him to Olivia’s understudy.
He found her in the same hallway he’d met with Olivia the night before, a reminder that, somehow, helped to buoy his spirit. He held onto the belief that it was nothing but a good omen.
“Alex!” said a cute blonde woman, already in her white costume and makeup, looking like someone from the past. “I didn’t know you were back from Sweden!”
He swallowed, unable to remember the woman’s name. He knew she was Olivia’s friend and that he had slept with her at least once, but her identity completely eluded him at that moment. In any event, he had to focus on the task at hand. “Have you seen Olivia?”
She blinked a few times. “No. Nobody’s heard from her.”
“Do you know anything about her disappearance?”
“No!” she cried, one delicate hand flying to her chest, touching the spot above her heart. “Why would you even–”
“Don’t even pretend you don’t know where she is,” he said, wearing the gruff cop exterior he’d seen many times in movies. “I’m on to you.”
The woman’s thin eyebrows furrowed and her chin trembled. “You think I had something to do with her kidnapping?”
“I know you wanted the lead,” Alex said, jabbing the air with his finger. “I know you wanted it bad.” He crossed his arms across his chest and tried to look menacing, though inside he had already begun to lose hope.
A tear slid down her cheek, a dark lightning path through her white makeup. “I did, but I would never, never hurt Olivia. She’s one of my best friends,” she said with a trembling voice.
Alex’s arms dropped to his sides as he exhaled. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning against the wall, feeling his entire body slump forward. “I’m sorry for upsetting you. I just want to find her.”
The woman, who had no cause to be empathetic after his performance, touched his arm. “I do, too. I would willingly go back to understudy if it means she’s safe.”
He looked up and met her sincere blue eyes, wishing he could at least acknowledge their acquaintance. “I’ll find her,” he said with as much conviction as he could muster. “She’ll be alright.”
* * * * *
“It’s about goddamn time, Smith!” Richard King bellowed as soon as his massive office door creaked open and his most trusted, and deadly, employee sidled in.
“I came as soon as I could,” Smith said through pursed lips. “Considering I was naked and drunk in a hot tub, I think I got here pretty freaking fast, don’t you think?”
King breathed heavily as he laid his palms on the desk, staring at a small device on the table between them. “Yes. I appreciate your promptness,” he said tightly, his eyes fixed on the small blinking light on the screen. “And it is this promptness that I urgently need at this moment.”
“Tell me what you need me to do.”
“My daughter has been kidnapped for ransom. I need you to take this and retrieve her.”
Smith moved closer to the c
arved wooden desk and peered at the blinking, beeping white gadget that King was holding out. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is?”
“It is.”
“Does she know?”
“No.”
Smith let out a judgmental gust of breath.
King glared, leaning over the table. “You would have done the same to your only daughter.”
Smith shook his head. “Nuh-uh, mate. I don’t think so. Not without her consent.”
King looked back down at the device in Smith’s hand, at that tiny blinking light, his indignation watered down slightly by the guilt. Sure, he hadn’t asked his daughter outright, but she belonged to him. And he would do whatever it took, whatever at all, to ensure her safety. Surely she would understand that.
“In any case, this is the thing that will save her,” he said with a warning in his tone. “So her approval is not my highest priority at this moment.”
Smith raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“I’m assuming you know how to use it?”
Smith nodded and looked down at the object that was no larger than a cell phone, his obvious disdain for the device so pungent, King could almost smell it. Still, the man was nothing if not a professional and would get the job done regardless. Of this, King could count on.
“Get a move on, Smith,” King said, pointing towards the door as he held the landline phone up to his ear. “Put your moral distaste aside and find my daughter. ASAP.”
* * * * *
“Yes, he was… different,” Coral said into the phone, rolling her eyes at her dinner companion. “I only know his first name. Can we talk about this later? My food is about to arrive.”
After promising to call later for a detailed report, Coral hung up and turned her attention back to her friend and fellow abuse survivor. “I’m sorry, Lisa. My boss doesn’t get the concept of after work hours.”
One side of Lisa’s mouth quirked up. “What exactly is it that you do?”
“I used to be a clerical assistant but I’ve recently been promoted to acquisitions agent,” she said casually and turned her head in time to watch the waitress arriving with their food. Thankfully, Lisa took the cue and allowed the waitress to distract her from the question that had popped up in her thoughts. The subject of her new line of work was just not on the menu that night.
Coral was drinking her beer and contemplating the benefits of her recently developed telepathy, when she detected an odd tingling down her neck.
Well, this is new, she thought, looking off into space and allowing the invisible hands to pull at her spine, as if the universe was telling her to ditch her cheese enchilada platter at Chavella’s and head in to the city, to a store on 14th Street.
She took one last swig of her Corona and stood up. A vision this compelling, this urgent, simply could not be ignored. “I’m sorry, Lisa, but I have to go.”
“What’s wrong? Have I done something?”
“No, no! It’s nothing you did. I just… I just have an emergency.” Coral regarded her friend, who had called her during a suicide attempt only two weeks prior, wondering if leaving her now would prove detrimental to the frail woman’s recovery. “Do you want to come with?”
Lisa eyed their steaming plates of untouched Mexican food. “What about dinner?”
“We’ll get dinner later.”
After a tense second, Lisa finally stood up and began to gather her things. Coral threw down two twenty-dollar bills on the table, wishing Lisa could move with a tad more urgency. She had never experienced a conscious premonition before – everything prior had all appeared to her in a dream – and wasn’t sure if there was a window of time in which she had to work. As it was, they had to take the subway into the city, which would cost her even more time.
As they hurried out of the crowded restaurant, Coral hoped that she would not be too late to bear witness to whatever destiny was about to unfold.
* * * * *
Olivia’s captor exhaled through his teeth as she listened to him pacing around the room. “King, you bastard,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked, alarmed. “What happened?”
“Your father’s time is up and there is still no money in the account.” She heard a frightening metallic click before he spoke again. “Which is surprising, even for a man of his moral integrity.”
Overcome with renewed anxiety, she said, “Maybe it was just held up by technical problems. Maybe the bank server went down?”
“The bank server did not go down!” His voice exploded in the room, causing Olivia to cower despite herself. He was a massive mountain of a man; he could hurt her without even straining a muscle, a fact that hadn’t escaped her mind. “It wasn’t the bank’s fault and it sure as hell wasn’t the server’s. Your father just didn’t send the payment. Plain and simple.”
The gravity of the situation suddenly bore down on Olivia and her eyes began to water as she fought for breath.
My dad didn’t come through for me. I’m his only remaining family and I’m not even worth five million dollars to him.
She bowed her head so that her captor could not see the war raging inside. She could not, would not, cry in the face of adversity. And despite the irrefutable proof that her father had abandoned her in her time of need, she would not show one ounce of emotion lest it be used against her.
She had to remain calm. Her life depended on it.
“What’s going to happen to me now?” she said in a near-whisper.
16 | THE STARS ARE WATCHING
Three months before Olivia King walked into his life, long before he was shot and thrown into a river, and certainly before his life had completely spun out of control, Daniel Johnson was living in a modest fourplex with a balcony in a quiet Chicago suburb. Every day he commuted to the city in his car, working as a bouncer for Vain Nightclub, a job he enjoyed for not only could he ogle beautiful women at a safe distance, he could also put his strength to good use without repercussions. Nobody ever questioned why the scowling bouncer was incredibly fast or strong, nobody cared so long as the human trash was taken out night after night.
During his time at Vain, he bore witness – and quickly put an end, if he was able – to the multitude of sins the Chicago nightlife had to offer. From the girl who had been drugged with roofies who was about to be taken home by a would-be rapist, to the greasy drug dealer who sold LSD from his jacket pocket, Daniel had seen them all.
Chicago was an immense city, and in the anonymity of its two million plus inhabitants, he had finally found a place to assimilate and hide while also performing a bit of public service.
One very early Sunday morning, after Vain had spit out all of its remaining patrons, Daniel was driving home in his ’83 Subaru GL (the Chevette had died a fiery death on the drive up from Kansas) when he heard his neighborhood mentioned on the radio.
“Inside his Palos Hills home, neighbors found 73-year-old Clay Wilkinson’s body on the floor, a bullet wound on his temple. His wife, Diane, was in the other room, also dead from a gunshot wound. A massive manhunt for Sam Wilkinson, the couple’s 45-year-old son, who suffers from an acute case of schizophrenia, is underway. Neighbors are being warned to remain vigilant as the younger Wilkinson is considered armed and extremely dangerous…”
A buzzing filled Daniel’s ears as he recalled seeing a man of medium build who jogged around the neighborhood at around three o’clock every day. Daniel had had a brief exchange with him once, something inane about the weather or the Cubs, but could not recall anything out of the ordinary about the man. For all anyone could see, Sam was a perfectly normal forty-something guy who still lived with his parents.
Daniel drove around the neighborhood for a time, and several streets away from his own, he found the Wilkinson’s brick house, easily identifiable from the yellow crime tape stretched across the lawn. He parked at the end of the street, contemplating his next move. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d find inside the house, or if he could even
be of any help, but at the very least, he was compelled to look at the crime scene to satisfy his curiosity.
He twisted around and reached into the backseat, rummaging through the various articles of winter clothing piled haphazardly in the backseat until he found a pair of wool gloves. He was no genius, but knew better than to leave fingerprints at a crime scene, lest he become a suspect himself and spoil the comfortable life he’d established in Chicago. He would rather have a vasectomy than uproot again. Even for someone like him, moving was a bitch.
Traveling fast so as not to be seen by the naked eye, he raced down the street, leapt over the plastic tape, and crept into the relative darkness of the Wilkinson backyard. He tried the doors and the windows but was not surprised to find them all locked, and even though he could have easily forced them open, he didn’t think it smart to tamper with evidence.
Moving as close to the perimeter of the house as possible, he ran around to the front, crouched behind the box bushes, and tried to peer into the large windows. After his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw nothing in the dark living room but silhouettes of furniture and crime scene tapes draped across doorways.
All of a sudden, he heard something that sounded very much like a muffled gunshot. His head snapped around to the noise, to the yellow house next door. With a pounding heart, Daniel crept to the neighbor’s house, berating himself for not wearing a mask or a stocking over his face, something that would distort his features enough that he wouldn’t be recognized as that bachelor on 103rd St. Apartments.
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