by David Archer
Hours later, they were still trying to come up with another approach to the case. Nothing they thought of was helping, and they were all becoming exhausted with the efforts.
Not long after lunch, Jake folded his arms on the table and laid his head down with a groan. He had a killer headache. The entire day had been futile and heartbreaking. Despite their best efforts, no new leads were available to be found, and it was weighing on him.
"Are you okay?" Tina asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.
"I'm fine." It came out rather muffled, as he hadn't bothered to lift his head.
"Come on, the Commander wants to see us."
Jake reluctantly stood and they walked over to where the rest of the PDI team, Roberts and Commander Motley were waiting.
It turned out the day hadn't been much better at the command center either. Four new suspects had been brought in and questioned, but without any luck. Roberts' people had done background checks on dozens of people, including the employees of dozens of private companies that dealt with drugs, without finding anything.
It was eight p.m. and they were running out of time, with less than thirty hours to go before it would be too late for Angela. Motley had sent most of his people home, but the PDI team had no intention of calling it a night. All of them were there, desperately trying to find something that might help them save the girl before it was too late. Pete, Chance and Roberts were hunched in a corner, trying to come up with a different angle that might show them anything they had missed. Tina and Carol were combing through all of the reports from witness and suspect interviews, and Gabriella was keeping notes on everything that any of them said or did. She got up to get another coffee, and her stomach grolwed audibly as she walked past toward the coffee makers.
"Let's get some food and go over everything again," Pete suggested.
“I second that,” Carol called out.
"You okay with burgers?" Motley asked. "There's a decent place not far from here, we get stuff from them all the time."
No one objected, so the Commander placed the call. "Hi, Bernie, it's Rex Motley. Yeah, another long night, had a lot of those lately. How about you?... uh-huh… so, do you think you can put together enough for a dozen of us?" he said, including the shift at the tip line. "Okay, that’ll be fine, I'll send someone down to get it. Just add it to my tab. Yeah, sure… twenty minutes, okay."
He ended the call. "Their delivery van has broken down, so I said someone would go down and fetch the food."
"Don't worry about it," Chance said. "We’ll send the whiz kid."
It took Jake a couple of seconds to recognize that Chance was referring to him. "What, me?"
"Yes, you, bright boy." Chance tossed the keys to his car to him, and that made him grin. The Charger was a car that he found awesome and exciting, and he’d never dreamed he’d get a chance to drive it.
"Well, technically," Jake said, grinning, "I wasn't the last person hired, but I guess seniority doesn’t matter."
"Don't kid yourself," Pete said. "No matter how many new people we get, you'll always be junior, whiz kid."
Jake looked at them and saw that everyone was grinning at him.
"Fine." He stood up. Feigning a hurt expression, he said with his best martyr voice, "It seems like such a waste of my talents, though."
Chance rolled his eyes. "Right, okay… just hurry back, we’re starving."
"The restaurant is called Bernie’s and it's…"
Jake nodded. "I know where it is, we drive past it every day."
Jake walked into the restaurant a few minutes later, finding it almost empty. There was only one other customer in the place, but Jake didn’t even notice as he walked up to the counter.
"Can I help you?" A pleasant-looking elder man came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on his apron.
"Yes, Commander Motley called in an order."
"Oh, yeah, no problem. It's going to be a few minutes yet."
Just then, Jake's stomach growled loudly. The man, who turned out to be Bernie, laughed. "A few minutes too many, huh?" he said, pushing a basket of crackers in Jake's direction.
"I kind of forgot about lunch today," he admitted, taking a cracker.
"You are one of those new guys, right? The private eyes?" Bernie asked.
"Yeah, that's us," Jake admitted.
"Are you getting any closer to catching this monster?"
Jake grimaced. "I can't really talk about it."
"I understand," Bernie said. "I hope you do, though. My daughter has already lost one of her friends; I would hate for there to be more."
Jake agreed with him whole-heartedly. "It's almost empty in here,” he said. “I guess it’s a slow night?"
"Slow couple of weeks," Bernie said dejectedly. "The mood in this city has taken a real beating, what with these murders. Wasn’t for the police and the reporters, I might as well close down. Hey, here comes the food now."
A younger man came out of the kitchen, carrying three paper bags filled with food containers. "You need any help getting it out to the car?"
"No, I'll manage," Jake said, hefting the bags in his arms. "Thank you."
"Drive safely, and good luck with the case!" Bernie called after him.
Jake left the restaurant just as the other customer walked up to the register. A half minute later, Jake heard the door slam behind him while he was walking towards the Charger. He also heard the steps behind him, but didn't really listen to them. Juggling the bags, he got the car keys out of his pocket and hit the button on the remote to unlock the car. He was just reaching for the back door handle when someone slammed into him from behind. Slightly stunned, he dropped the bags of food and reached for his gun, but someone else's hand was already there. The assailant's foot swept his leg out from under him and he ended up on the ground beside the car, landing on one of the food bags. He felt the cold metal of a gun barrel press into his neck, and a hand closed over his mouth.
"Not a peep, you understand?"
Jake nodded. The barrel of the gun shifted and a second later, Jake could feel the hand pawing for the handcuffs at his belt. Knowing that the gun wasn't pointing at him at the moment, Jake put his hands on the ground and pushed upwards. This dislodged the hand over his mouth, and Jake tried to aim a punch at his attacker's face. His arm was stopped, though, as the other man's reflexes kicked in. He grabbed Jake's arm by the wrist, and with his other hand he brought the gun butt down full force on Jake’s head. Jake cried out as he felt the skin split open just above his eye, and for a moment he saw only black spots. His arm was twisted behind his back as his legs were once again kicked out from underneath him.
Jake found himself looking into the face of Alan Batts.
"Bad move, partner," Alan growled. This time, he kept the arm twisted and planted a foot on Jake's neck while he fished for the handcuffs. Jake twisted and turned as best as he could, but to no avail. His wrists were cuffed securely together behind his back. Alan pulled him up and pushed him up against the car as he raided his pockets.
"Stop this," Jake said. "I'm a private investigator, let me go."
"I know who you are," Alan said. "You’re Jake Claridge, you work for Dixon. You and me need to have a little talk, Jake."
He went through Jake’s pockets, tossing out his wallet, cell phone and other things, keeping only the keys to the handcuffs and to the car. He opened the back door and kept a steady pressure with the gun against Jake's neck as he forced him into the car. He wrapped the seat belt around him, leaving Jake immobilized in the back seat. He closed the door, then climbed in the driver’s door.
"What about your car?" Jake asked when he started the car and eased it out of the parking lot.
"Oh, it's back at work. I'll just ride the bus in tomorrow morning. No one will notice. I'm always the first one in anyway."
Jake leaned back in his seat. There was blood running down his face from the gash on his forehead, and it was sticky and itched where it was running down the side of his
neck. He kept his eyes on the window, trying to get some idea of where he was being taken, and tried to look inconspicuous while his hands were moving behind his back, trying to find something that would help him.
* * *
Pete looked at his watch. "How far away is this restaurant? Shouldn't Jake be back by now?"
Commander Motley looked at the watch as well. "Yes, he should, it's only a few minutes away."
"Maybe the food took a little extra time," Chance said, but he was already punching a speed dial on his cell phone. Jake's phone rang six times before going to voicemail. Chance left a message, but he would regret it before long.
"Hey Jake, where'd you go? You get kidnapped or something? Get your ass back here, Tina’s chewing on her thumb."
* * *
The car had left the center of the town and was driving north. Alan was slowing down, and the left turning signal was blinking.
It’s now or never, Jake thought. He had managed to lean forward and twist his spine so that his hands could actually reach the release button for the seatbelt. As soon as it popped loose, he turned and scrabbled behind him for the door handle, popping the door open. He pulled it off perfectly, and a second later he had thrown himself out of the car. He rolled a couple of times, then managed to get to his feet. Behind him he heard the brakes squeal and his kidnapper screaming curses at him.
He took off running, even as he heard the gun and a shot flew over his head. He bent down to make himself a smaller target and continued running in a zigzag pattern. It’s dark, he thought. He can’t see me. If I can get off the road, I have the chance to get away…
He was tackled even before he could complete the thought. The two of them crashed and slid on the asphalt. Jake had fallen head first and could feel gravel digging into the side of his face, ripping into his skin as he slid along the road.
For a moment they just lay there, panting. Then the kidnapper twisted around until he was sitting on Jake's back, keeping his hands on Jake's shoulders. "Why in the world did you try that?"
Alan didn’t wait for an answer, but pulled Jake back up in his feet and pushed him back to the car. Once again, he secured him with the seatbelt. This time, however, he also locked the door.
* * *
"He's been gone for more than an hour," Tina said.
"He's still not answering his phone," Chance replied, and the look on his face indicated that he was getting worried.
"I'll call Bernie, see if he's left the restaurant." Commander Motley picked up the phone again.
"Hey Bernie, it's Rex again. That kid who came for the food, is he still there? No, when? Okay, I'll hold on." He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Bernie says Jake left at least forty minutes ago. He's going out to the parking lot to check if he's having car trouble or something.”
They waited for a minute or so, not actually expecting Bernie to find anything. When he came back on the phone though, they could all hear him; he was talking fast and excitedly. Commander Motley listened intently, and then said, "All right, Bernie, don't touch anything, we'll be there in ten minutes."
Hanging up, he turned to the PDI team, talking as he gathered his jacket and double-checked his service revolver. "Bernie found the food on the ground, together with a wallet and a cell phone. The car is gone, and…" He sighed, a look of anger crossing his eyes. "He says there's blood on the ground."
It took them only minutes to arrive. Pete and the rest stood looking at the evidence, which told them that Jake had once been here. They had immediately identified all his belongings, but did not touch anything. The forensic team was on the way.
"At least there isn't a lot of blood," Tina said, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Yeah," said Chance. "And we can't even be sure it's his. Maybe he clobbered the other guy."
Tina looked at her teammates. "Pete? You think there’s any chance that this is unrelated to Angela’s kidnapping?"
* * *
The Charger rolled slowly up the driveway of a small ranch. Alan drove into a garage adjacent to the main house and turned off the engine. He carefully closed the garage doors before turning on the lights and opening the back door. The gun was once again pressed up against Jake's neck as Alan leaned over him to release the seatbelt, and then Jake was pulled out of the car and walked through a door and into the living room. He heard his captor put the car keys on a small table by the door. Across the room was a bathroom. Alan took him straight to it, and then unlocked one of his cuffs.
"Clean yourself up," he said as he went out and closed the door behind him.
Jake quickly looked around for something he could use as a weapon, but there was nothing. The only contents of the room were soap, towels and toilet paper. No razor or nail clippers, not even a shower curtain. He briefly entertained the idea of breaking the mirror, but that would make noise that would undoubtedly get him shot.
"Three minutes."
Jake hastily used the toilet, and then he took a good look at his face in the mirror. Both sides were bloodied now, one from the cut on the forehead, and the other from his encounter with the surface of the road. The left side of his face he could wash clean, as the cut had basically stopped bleeding. After that, he did his best to get all the dirt and grime out of the abrasions on his right cheek. When the bathroom door was wrenched open, he quickly washed his hands, then put them behind his back and let Alan cuff them together again. Alan let him out into the living room and sat him on the sofa, then took a kitchen chair and turned it so he could sit cowboy style, his arms crossed on the back. He was still holding Jake’s gun, but loosely.
"So," he said, taking in Jake's bloodied face. "What have you guys figured out about me?"
"About you? Nothing really," Jake said, trying to look confused.
"Come on, now," Alan said. "You guys are supposed to be so good, you must have figured a few things out. Go ahead and tell me."
Jake swallowed. He figured he had to stall for time. "Well, your name is Alan Batts. You work at a coffee shop, and you like to get to work early."
Alan glared at him. "Don’t try to be funny, Jake. You guys must have figured out who I am by now. So, how soon will they be ready to arrest me?"
Jake took a deep breath and tried to figure out how they could have missed the signs. Alan Batts had been on Pete’s radar early, but he had seemed completely clean. He was about as average a guy as they had ever seen, and except for having problems with his mother as a teenager, the guy didn’t even have a black mark on his record.
"To be honest, we didn’t even suspect you," he said at last. "I mean, we took a look at you, but we didn’t find any flags that made us think you might be the killer."
Alan looked him in the eye. "Are you telling me the truth?"
"Yes" Jake said. "Look, we’re private investigators, that’s all. If I wasn’t looking straight at you right now, I still wouldn’t think of you as a suspect."
Alan grinned at him. "Well, tell me this, then. Are they more likely to keep looking for me, or will they start concentrating on you?"
Jake hesitated, but then he said, "They will keep working on the case. They’ll figure that’s the best way to find me."
Alan nodded slowly, his expressions calculating. "We'll have to see what I can do about that."
"Where is Angela?" Jake suddenly asked, turning the conversation around.
A strange transformation came over Alan's face, as it softened and he smiled. "She’s nearby. Do you want to see her?"
"Yes, please. Is she okay?"
"Of course she's okay. Come on, it’s this way." Alan got to his feet and pointed toward a door that was visible in the kitchen.
Alan opened the door and revealed a stairway leading down into the basement. Jake carefully walked down the steep stairs, which was a little tricky without the use of his arms, but Alan held onto his arm to help him keep his balance as they descended.
The basement was lit up by a single light bulb, covered by a dirty globe. In the m
iddle of the floor was a chair, and it held a small, naked Angela. Her head was hanging down, and she did not seem aware of their entrance.
Jake's heart skipped a beat. She couldn't be dead, not yet! They should still have at least twenty-four hours left, but there was no sign that she was alive.
"Angie," Alan called. "Angie, I’m back. I brought you some company, take a look."
Angela slowly raised her head, and Jake was instantly shocked. She looked directly at him, but there was no recognition in her eyes.
"Angie, this is Jake," Alan said, trying to introduce them. "He's gonna be staying with us for a while, but don't worry, he isn’t gonna bother you. I’m gonna put him over here, so he can’t get too close to you."
Jake was pulled over to where a pipe stuck out of the wall a few feet away from the chair. Alan unlocked the handcuff on his right arm, and then fastened it around the pipe. He looked over at Angela.
"Isn't she beautiful?" he asked. "I’ve been in love with her for years, and we’re finally together."
The change that had come over Alan in the basement was unbelievable. Everything had changed, including his body language and even the pitch of his voice. It was like he was an entirely different person from the man who had brutally attacked Jake in the parking lot and used Jake's own gun to take him hostage. Now he spoke gently and seemed far less threatening, but Jake knew that he was still highly unpredictable. He realized Alan was suffering from borderline personality disorder, and could switch again in a split second.
Alan went back to Angela and stood beside the chair. He gently laid a hand on her head, stroking her hair. "Are you feeling better, baby? Do you have a kiss for me tonight? Come on, Angie. Let me have another kiss, please?"
There was no response from the girl, and Jake's stomach felt like it was going to do flip-flops. Kind, gentle words, which would have sounded wonderful from a genuine lover, were ringing in his ears like the sounds of insanity. He couldn't imagine being in Angela's position, having this insane love declared by the man who had stolen her from her life and was keeping her chained to a chair in a dank, smelly basement.
Alan sighed. "Never mind, baby. You go ahead and rest for a while, and I'll come back down soon with your dinner. I love you." He kissed the girl on the forehead and left the basement, closing the door behind him.