Family Ties Mystery Series Box Set

by James Kipling

  Simpson interrupted. “It’s all a big conspiracy. Cops and politicians. Politicians and cops. They’re in it with the unions – and the lobbyists. Everyone out for themselves. Us little guys get the shaft every time.”

  Jimmy studied the wild eyes. He smelled something like sour milk.

  This guy’s not all here.

  Simpson reached between his knees and tapped a salesman’s valise. “Know what’s in here?” he asked.

  Jimmy shook his head.

  “The truth. The truth behind all of it – the cabal – the conspiracy – the plot to defraud the people.”

  “Who are you again?”

  “Simpson – I know you’ve heard about me. And not O.J. A lot of people make that mistake. We looked a lot alike when we were younger.”

  Except, you are thirty-five and white, Jimmy thought.

  “Here’s what’ll happen with the kidnapping. Either your girlfriend – did you say it was a girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, boyfriend – I don’t care, man – I don’t judge.”

  “Just a friend – a woman.”

  “Okay…thanks for the clarification. That makes a difference in the flow chart here.” Simpson made a note on a piece of paper in a thick file he’d extracted from his case. “Women last a little longer than men – for obvious reasons. The kidnappers want to … uh … how do I say this delicately? They want to rape female abductees before they kill them. Unless they’re into kinky stuff with DB’s – that’s police talk for ‘dead bodies.’”

  “Thanks for being delicate,” Jimmy said. How do I get away from this guy?

  “Anyway – the police and Feds will get her back in thirty-two and a half hours, or she’s dead. Ransom or not – that’s all the time she’s got.”

  “Who the hell are you, man?”

  “I told you, kid – seriously – if we’re going to work together, you need to pay better attention Simpson – Simpson Kyle – investigator, journalist, VIP.”

  “Very important person?”

  “Very informed, kid – very, very informed person.”

  -11-

  Clyde put down the file. “What a suckfest of a day,” he said to the wall. “Blockade running cyclists and idiot rookie officers.” Now, Simpson Kyle was back – he was always back. Always with another “very curious observation” or “keen insight under the covers of the Military-Industrial Complex.”

  “What a whack-o.”

  An officer stuck his head in the doorway. “Someone to see a detective, Detective.”

  He laughed at his own repetition. When he saw Clyde’s scowl, he backed out quickly.

  “Send him in,” Davis called. He turned his attention back to the file – the ATM case.

  “Officer?”

  “Detective,” Davis said without looking up. Something about that voice.

  He looked up. “You!”

  Jimmy’s face drained of color. “Ah … hi … I’m Jimmy Nolan. I’m here…

  “I know who the hell you are, Mister Nolan. Officer Adcock,” Davis was shouting. “Adcock – on the move!”

  A red-faced corporal ran into the office.

  “Arrest this kid – disorderly conduct – failure to obey an order from the police – running an authorized barricade …”

  “Hey, man!” Now Jimmy was shouting.

  A sly smile creased Davis’s face. “And, possible terrorist activity. Cuff him now!”

  The officer had the cuffs on Jimmy’s wrists in a matter of seconds.

  “I’m here to report a kidnapping,” Jimmy said.

  “No,” Clyde said. “You are here to sit your punk ass in jail for the night. Book him.”

  The officer led Jimmy away. He was too stunned to resist.

  ***

  Clyde’s head dropped to his chest. He was startled awake by a voice creepily close to his ear.

  “Having a good day, Detective?”

  Davis bolted from his chair. His hand went to his hip.

  “Whoa,” Simpson said, his arms in the air. “I’m unarmed.”

  “Dammit, Kyle,” Clyde said. “How did you get in here? Why are you sneaking around? And, how did you get in here?”

  “You’re repeating yourself, Clyde.”

  “That’s Detective Davis to you, Kyle.”

  Simpson looked hurt. “I thought we were friends – you know, partners in the fight against crime.”

  “If it were up to me, they’d lock you in a padded cell and lose the key.”

  “Harsh,” Kyle said. “Very harsh. Hey, let me ask you something?”

  Clyde knew it was better to play along – Kyle would leave quicker.

  “One question – one!”

  “How come you didn’t help that kid – the one you had arrested.”

  “Cause he’s a punk-ass who doesn’t know how to obey the police. If that’s any of your business.”

  Kyle sat – Clyde glared.

  “He was here to report a crime.”

  “You report crimes every week – most of them are in your head.”

  Kyle nodded. “True, but unlike me, he ain’t crazy.”

  “So, you think his story is legit.”

  “I do,” Kyle said.

  “Well,” Davis said, standing, “I’ll look into it. Thanks for coming by.”

  They shook hands. Davis took two hits from the hand sanitizer on his desk.

  “Always good to help a brother officer,” Kyle said. “Look into that kidnapping thing, okay?”

  “Sure,” Davis said.

  As soon as Kyle left, Davis grabbed his coat. 4:40 PM.

  Close enough, he thought. I need a drink.

  ***

  It had been a very long day. Hassan Radha walked into the suite and stretched out on the couch.

  “Too many damn fools,” he said. “Two nuclear powers and too many fools.”

  The arguing had taken its toll. His head hurt … his feet hurt … his hair hurt. But, what hurt most was his soul. His hope was battered … badly bruised … barely breathing.

  Mahmoud stood over him with a sparkling water. “Mr. Radha? Are you okay?”.

  “Tired,” he said. “Just bone weary.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes,” Hassan said. “Pray for my soul to the Prophet and bring me a scotch – two fingers – neat.”

  Mahmoud smiled. “As you wish.”

  The drink arrived a little too quickly.

  “Already had it ready, didn’t you?”

  Mahmoud was obviously pleased with himself. “We have worked together a long time.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What else, sir?”

  “Fetch Katrina and take the rest of the day off. We all need rest.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hassan was almost asleep. He vaguely heard Mahmood’s voice, but nothing registered.

  Half an hour later, Hassan stirred, ran a hand through his hair, and stood. He wandered toward Katrina’s room. He knocked.

  No answer.

  He tested the knob – unlocked.

  Tapping on the door, her cracked it. “Hello, Kitten,” he said. “Are you decent?”

  Silence.

  He opened the door completely and stepped inside. The room was neat as a pin. Typical, he thought. A place for everything and everything in its place. My daughter.

  It sat on the bed, propped on a pillow – a small video player. A note sat next to it.

  “Push PLAY.”

  Hassan punched the button. The screen went gray, then flickered to life.

  Katrina sat on a mattress, bound, gagged, and blindfolded. A voice off-camera spoke.

  “You got three days. Ten million or she dies. Call the po-po, she dies. Fuck with us, she dies. You feel me, man? Ten million. We’ll be in touch.”

  The screen went black.

  ***

  Syed was there thi
rty seconds after Hassan sent the text.

  “Someone has Katrina,” Radha said. He pushed the PLAY button.

  Syed studied the recording. He was a pro – twenty-five years as an investigator and protection specialist. Hassan could see the fury building in Syed’s eyes.

  “I’ll call our Embassy, then the FBI.”

  “No!” Hassan grabbed his oldest friend by the shoulders. “Didn’t you hear? They will kill her.”

  “They always say that,” Syed said. “These are amateurs. And, it’s not political. There are no demands except for money. They have her in an old warehouse or abandoned building. This was not planned very well – not slick enough. In our country, I would have this solved in thirty minutes. But, we do not know the lay of the land. We need the authorities.”

  They argued for a while. Hassan won – Hassan always won. Syed reluctantly assembled the team.

  Hassan immediately took charge. “Mahmoud, call our bankers and get the money ready. Syed, take your best investigators and see what you can find. We will stall for forty-eight hours. If we do not find Katrina by then, we pay. Clear?”

  Everyone nodded.

  On the way out, Syed slid close to Mahmoud. “Do not tell anyone,” he said, “But contact the NYPD. We are in way over our heads.”

  After everyone was gone, Hassan Radha, Champion of India, hope for the continuation of the world, put his head in his hands – and wept.

  -12-

  “You did what?” Hassan slammed his foot into the glass-topped table in the master bedroom. It shattered.

  “I told Mahmoud to notify the police,” Syed said. “I did not know they were required to notify the FBI.”

  “Well, you damn well know now,” Hassan said.

  Ten agents were in the suite. They’d come into the Waldorf at different times and in different disguises – one as telephone repair person – several as a couple on vacation – one even carried a trombone case – they did not want anyone watching the hotel to “make” them, but they were all in the living room awaiting Hassan’s appearance.

  The Feds assigned the grunt work to the NYPD. Four uniformed cops trudged up staircases and down halls, checking every last one of the 1400+ room in the luxury hotel. Most of the guests were considerably less than pleased.

  “Special Agent-in-charge Scott Ferguson.” The man stuck out his hand. Hassan took it.

  “What do I need to do, Mr. Ferguson?” Hassan asked.

  “Stay here. Answer the phone. Monitor your email. If someone contacts you, we’ll be all over it.”

  Hassan pursed his lips. “I am involved in a very important summit at the UN.”

  “Been briefed on that,” Ferguson said. “I’d like you to cancel everything, but I imagine you can’t without raising a lot of suspicion.”

  “You are correct.”

  “We have your numbers. Your man (he nodded to Syed) gave us the information. We got court orders to monitor your calls. The more you can limit your activity, the better, but we’ll do everything we can to help you keep up appearances. Once this gets into the public, it’ll be a shit show.” He stopped. “I’m sorry, sir. It will be a mess.”

  Hassan smiled a little. “That’s fine, Special Agent. I am familiar with the term. I am in politics, you know.”

  “Sir,” Ferguson said. “Any idea who might be behind this?”

  Hassan scratched his unshaven face. “Normally, I would say extremists – people who want to block the peace process. But, this has the markings of a cash grab. I think these are locals looking to make a fast buck – is that how you say it here?”

  “Yes sir,” Ferguson said. “Frankly, I’m impressed with your assessment. You have a background in security operations?”

  Again, despite himself, Hassan grinned. “If I tell you, I will have to kill you.”

  “10-4,” Ferguson said.

  I hope this guy is right, Ferguson thought. One wrong move and my upwardly-mobile ass will be in a sling.

  “Can you walk me through how you discovered the kidnapping?”

  Hassan recounted the events – everything – only he left out the scotch. No reason to disclose everything to “the infidel.”

  “Did you know your daughter was out of the suite?”

  Hassan shook his head. “Regrettably, no. She must have snuck out earlier in the day. She was unhappy with me.”

  “Because.”

  “She wanted to attend Fashion Week. I told her it was too dangerous. She has visions of becoming a model.”

  Ferguson nodded as he wrote in his notebook. “Recent picture – or we can have the guys in the lab do a screen capture from the video, but …” His voice trailed.”

  Hassan finished the thought. “But, it might be better to see her without the gag. I will have my people forward a picture to you.”

  Ferguson continued his background review while several other agents reviewed the video – again.

  Meanwhile, Detective Clyde Davis pulled up to the front of the hotel.

  ***

  “This will make you or break you, Detective.”

  That’s what Markovic had said when he handed Clyde the case file.

  Fabulous¸ Clyde thought. My entire career flushed because some teenager from India gets kidnapped in the middle of the city.

  “Penthouse,” he said to the elevator operator. As soon as he saw the kid open his mouth, He flashed his badge. “Save you breath and push the button, kid,” he said, “Or your day will be worse than mine.”

  The elevator door opened in the entrance hall. Clyde whistled quietly “This is how the other half of the other half lives,” he said to himself. “And these are the clowns who are going to ruin my career.”

  He saw the suits – all the same – all navy – the shoes – all the same – all close-toed and black. He saw the haircuts – all the same – conservative.

  Damn Feds – this is exactly what I need.

  A tall, blonde woman approached. He showed his badge. “Davis, NYPD.”

  “Right this way, Detective. We’ve been expecting you.”

  Ferguson stuck out a hand. Firm handshake – insincere eye contact. “Detective,” he said. “My guys will get you up to speed.”

  The “guy” was the blonde who’d met him. Davis listened half-heartedly. She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.

  “Katrina Radha … nineteen … kidnapped … Fashion Week … diplomat … multiple assassination attempts … threats … could be jihadists … peace … India … Pakistan … blah, blah.”

  “Thank you, Special Agent,” he said. “I need some time with the SIC.”

  “He’ll be right with you.”

  Ferguson, Special Agent with the elusive eye contact, came back.

  “You up to speed, Detective?”

  “I was when I came in,” Davis said. “Now, tell me something that’s not in the case file.”

  Ferguson stared at Clyde – a mixture of disdain and respect.

  “Don’t give me any Feebie bullshit, Ferguson,” Clyde said. “I know you are running the show. I know I’m here as a token NYPD cop. You guys from DC are hotshots, I get it. But, I’ve been busting my ass in the city for a long time – I know the lay of the land and I can help you guys.”

  Ferguson’s lips spread in a thin smile. “Okay, we understand each other. What do you need to know?”

  “The ransom – ten million, right?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Cash or bank transfer?”

  “Don’t know yet. There were not any instructions with the demand.”

  Davis bit his lip. “I’m guessing offshore account. Even the local drug guys use them now – lugging ten mil around’s no easy task.”

  “I think you’re probably right,” Ferguson said. “Good thinking.”

  “Can I get that in writing?” Davis asked.

  “No, and I’ll deny I ever said it.”

  Davi
s thumped Ferguson on the shoulder. “Okay,” he said.

  “Can I see the tape?”

  “Absolutely, but you can’t tell much.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Standard room – probably a warehouse. No distinguishing marks or sounds. My guess is the tape was scrubbed to take out background noise. Everybody watches C.S.I. now, so the crooks are getting smarter.”

  Davis shook his head. “Not smarter – just savvier. If they were smarter, you and I would be out of a job.”

  “Good point.”

  “Anything else I should know?” Davis asked.

  “We’ve already had a few agents on the scene. Located one or two witnesses. Both of them said there was a kid on a bike. One of them said they thought they heard the girl call him Jimmy.”

  Davis felt a tightening in his throat and headed for the door.

  “Where you going, Detective?”

  “I just remembered something I need to take care of at the Station,” Davis said. “Be back in ninety minutes.”

  -13-

  When the door of the holding cell swung open, Jimmy opened his eyes. Clyde Davis was standing in the opening.

  “This way,” Davis said.

  Jimmy followed the detective up to the squad room and into his office.

  “Sit,” Davis said.

  Jimmy sat.

  “Speak,” Davis said.

  “About what?”

  “Everything you know about Katrina Radha.”

  Jimmy slumped in the chair. “Why should I help you now,” he said like a child who’d been put in time out.

  “Two reasons,” Davis said. “First, you came in here all fired up yesterday about someone being kidnapped. I assume it was Ms. Rahda.”

  “And the second reason?”

  Davis sucked on a toothpick he’d pulled from his drawer. He knew the habit irritated suspects and witnesses. That’s why he did it.

  “The second reason, Detective.”

  “Because you are an eyewitness and a good citizen. And I would look like an idiot if you didn’t cooperate.”

  “Yes, you would.” Jimmy sat back with a smug smile.

  “But I would also have to let her father and his private security people know that you are a person of interest. I imagine they would want to talk to you – and I know for a fact that since they have diplomatic immunity – being from a foreign country and all – they would not let little things like the US Constitution and the fact you would like to keep all your fingers and toes.”