The Wolf Lake Murders (A Bo Boson Adventure Book 1)

by Henri Jenkins

  The Organization"

  The window slid down and I moved into the light. My face concealed in a stocking and head covered with a ski mask, Harold jumped. I imagined I appeared alien.

  "Do you accept?" I asked in an altered voice.

  "I do, I accept."

  My hand fell open and he pushed the invitation toward me. I handed him a 5"x7" photograph flipped upside down. He turned it over and his eyes grew wide, his mouth fell open. He pulled it close for a better view then looked at me.

  "They will be your reward for silence."

  Harold gawked at the photo again. "Not a word, I promise." His left hand rose as if making an oath. Offering the photo back, his eyes traced its path.

  "Keep it - as a reminder - bring it tonight and they will autograph it for you."

  I rolled the window up and pulled the coverings from my head. Lowering the partition I said, "The mall."

  As the car pulled away, Harold stood at the curb staring at the photo.

  I did some shopping. Before leaving the mall, I took the limo for a few spins around the parking lot. A benefit of being the owner's son, it was part of the worst-case scenario. The chauffer saw me driving the car in case they found my fingerprints. We headed home.

  The limo business was 24/7/365 so there were two storage yards, one each for day and night shift. After dinner, I borrowed the master keys from Mother's desk and left to see a movie. Surveillance cameras at the entrance and lobby would provide an alibi. The theater was only a few blocks from the day yard. I used an employee entrance to sneak out unnoticed.

  At the yard, I verified everyone had left for the day. I let myself in and pulled some tools from the mechanic's bay. Locating my limo in the yard, I took the license plate to switch it with one of the cars in the shop.

  Back at the car, I removed the fuse to the blackout partition so Harold would not be able to lower it. On the passenger door window, I taped a piece of paper with the initials, "HH" and the three symbols. I set off for the pickup, brimming with excitement.

  I got there early to park down the street to provide a good vantage point. He was on time and with the photo in hand. I waited for him to settle into the shadows then started the car and sped to him. The tires screeched more than I expected. Harold ran out and slipped into the back seat. My prey took the bait and was in the trap. We were away.

  The car headed south. In the backseat, he found a note and a cocktail. The note said he would find enlightenment within the secret elixir. He was to drink it all. Laced with a strong tranquilizer, it would surprise me if he finished it. Disabling the partition obstructed my ability to lower it as well. Uncertain he followed the instructions, I would have to stop somewhere and check.

  The parking lot of a closed business provided my opportunity. I pulled in and stopped. Making certain the coast was clear, the mask returned to my head. I climbed out and shuffled to the rear door. I stood there, taking a deep breath. My heart beat hard in my chest. My right hand squeezed into a fist and my left hand grabbed the door handle. I opened the door and peeked in.

  Harold was out cold, sitting straight up, head back as if he had dozed off. A hefty sigh escaped my mouth. He appeared so tender and calm. I reached in and pulled him toward me into a lying position.

  The car soon pulled onto the roadway. Twenty minutes later, I stopped behind an old building. I lifted Harold from the backseat. He was dead weight. Throwing him over my shoulder, I took him inside.

  In the room I had prepared, I laid him on a small mattress I had found in another part of the building. I stripped him naked and chained an ankle, cuffed his hands, inserted earplugs, duct taped the mouth, and slid a blinder hood over his head.

  Devices I had learned from Walter. They would contain him until I returned. When he became accustomed, I would remove some of his restraints. As the outer door latched, I let out a deep breath. It worked. I did it. I did it without Walter. In it, I found tremendous satisfaction and terrible melancholy.

  I cleared the backseat, including the pic of two naked girls Harold hoped to have autographed. I drove to Whiting, a small city a few miles east of Wolf Lake in Indiana. I stopped at a payphone and called Harold's house. I asked to speak to his father. Not home, Mrs. Haverly asked if I cared to leave a message.

  "Yes. Inform your husband that John, George, G-George Johnson has kidnapped your son. Instructions will follow. Do not contact the police."

  "Wh-what did you say? Oh my word!" She began to whimper into the phone.

  "We have your son. Do as the instructions state and you will see him again."

  "And what was your name?"

  "George Johnson."

  "Mr. Johnson, Harold is a tender child, my baby boy. Please don't hurt him, I beg of you, let him."

  I hung up - she understood my intent.

  If they contacted the police, as I expected they would, the police would trace the call to Indiana making them the lead investigators on the case. Part one of the plan accomplished, it was time for part two.

  I took the car back and sneaked into the theater. I drove home.

  Sometimes the simplest act takes the biggest balls.

  All I had to do was to put an envelope in the mailbox. Other people did it as if it was a normal, everyday thing. Mailmen did it as a matter of employment. A child who needed a boost had done it less than two minutes earlier. I watched him do it. It appeared simple enough: pull the blue handle, toss the envelope into the opening, and release the handle. Three steps - A then B then C.

  Frozen in fear, I thought taking Harold would be the hard part. Standing in the grocery store parking lot watching others come and go must have seemed weird. With people taking notice, the car provided a welcomed refuge. The ransom note required an Indiana postmark as a second link.

  The drive-up mailbox at the post office came to mind. I felt certain I could do that. At the post office in Whiting my gloved hands wiped the envelope and slid it into the box. A sigh escaped questioning my actions. Had everything been done the correct way? Were there fingerprints? A partial print? Another car honked me back to reality. I counted to twenty then pulled away. My middle finger waved in the air.

  Provided he had not overdosed and died, Harold would be awake. Not wanting the car seen, I parked several blocks away and walked. Using a commercial dumpster as a stepladder, it gave me access through a window with a broken latch. I jogged up littered steps to the third floor and worked my way into the interior of the building.

  At a set of wide double doors, keys opened a padlock on a heavy chain. I went through. Using the lock and chain I secured the doors from the inside. Lockers and doorways lined an interior hallway. At the far end, a singlewide door waited.

  From the last locker on the right, my black stocking and ski mask hid my identity. I walked to the door, turned my head and pushed my ear against the metal listening. There was nothing. I inspected the padlock, opened it and the door. Inside I turned the handle lock and slid two deadbolts into place. Threading the padlock through the upper dead bolt it clicked shut. I stood quiet and listened.

  The room was narrow and long. A row of file cabinets mustered along the left wall. On the right wall, a door provided access to an inner space. A large two-way mirror made for an invisible wall. A desk height laminated countertop ran the breadth of it like a fat, overbearing windowsill. Through the window, bright fluorescent lamps illuminated broad white floor tile.

  Subway tile climbed the height of the walls. In a two-foot-by-two-foot pattern, shackle hoops dotted the far wall. In the center of it, one hoop had a chain locked to it. At the end of the chain, Harold Haverly lay on the mattress. His left foot bounced.

  I stood watching him for a few minutes. The space provided an area to test chemicals on animals and monitor their effects. My keys found a hiding place within a coffee can among the trash strewn about the floor. The interior access door opened.

  Stepping inside, I walked to Harold. When my fingers touched his arm he jumped. Harold squealed a
muffled scream against the tape. I tapped his arm a couple of times. Lifting the hood to his nose, I caught a corner of the tape and peeled it away slow.

  Harold stretched his mouth and licked at his lips. "Hello? Where am I?"

  I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into a sitting position. My fingers worked the earplug from his left ear. I returned to the outer room. In the center of the countertop, a soundboard with a microphone sat alone. Moving an electric fan from the file cabinets to a position near the console, I plugged it in and turned it on. I flipped the switch labeled, "Rm Mic." and could hear Harold at a whisper.

  "Hello? Are you still here?"

  I adjusted the volume button beside the switch and his voice grew louder. I squeezed the button on the microphone and tapped it. Harold's head lifted toward the ceiling.

  "Hello?"

  I moved the fan in front of the microphone and spoke through it. "Harold," my voice chopped through the turbulence.

  "I'm Harold," he said to the ceiling, "Harold Haverly."

  "Harold, this is your initiation."

  "Who are you? What organization is this?"

  "You won't find answers until your time here is complete."

  "How long have I been here?"

  "Enough with the questions."

  "Mother worries so."

  "Don't be concerned, everything has been addressed."

  "Oh. Alright."

  "You may be here for some time."

  "How Long?"

  "What did I say about the questions?"

  "Sorry."

  There were three yellow legal pads and a pile of pens on the counter. They gave me an idea. I carried one of each into the room and sat them on the floor near Harold. I removed the other ear plug and the shackles from his hands. The hood remained.

  In the outer room, my voice again chopped through the fan, "Harold, you may remove the hood."

  He rolled the black cloth from his head and blinked at his bright surroundings. Harold appeared taken aback and self-conscious about being naked. The pillow jumped to his lap. He focused on the shackle around his ankle, inspecting the lock and tugging at it.

  I waved my arms in the air, trying to get Harold's attention. He didn't react. The mirror worked. "The chain is long enough to allow you a range of movement. The boxes on the wall to your right contain food, snacks and drinks. To your left is a shower area. Use it as a bathroom."

  "I'm happy to do everything you require for membership. I won't go anywhere if you unchain me."

  There was no reply.

  "If I could make one request, I would appreciate a pair of shorts or underwear at least. I have never been comfortable naked. I know the invitation said it is for men only but even in front of other boys, I don't like being naked."

  His pleas were so small and heartfelt I sympathized with him. Only a magician could put on underwear with a shackled ankle. "Nothing I can do about it now I'm afraid. You're among friends, so don't let it bother you."

  "What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked picking up the notepad.

  "Oh, I want you to write down ten secrets - not petty things like what girl you like or your favorite color. I want real secrets, things most other people have no clue about."

  "Ten? I'm not sure I know even one secret."

  "You have plenty of time to think about them."

  "I'll try."

  "I have to leave for now but know you are being watched so no funny business."

  "When will you be back?"

  "When I am. Work on your secrets."

  "Okay."

  I pressed the Record button and a four-deck bank of VHS recorders jumped to life. In SLP mode, the system could record a full twenty-four hours. Collecting my keys I worked my way to the car and headed for school.

  I passed the day dreaming of the secrets Harold might reveal.

  But one thing is capable of traveling faster than the speed of light - bad news.

  Word of Harold's kidnapping raced through every social circle in Chicago. And while not always their most prized possession, wealthy children had an inherent value. Harold was priceless to me.

  My plan had proven flawless in concept and execution. Far from superhuman, Leopold and Loeb were mental midgets. The kidnapping would bring the FBI. With Harold living in Chicago, he would not detract the Indiana State Police without cause. The phone call and postmarked ransom note would give them cause.

  After school, I drove to the museum, signed in and left. I switched my car for the delivery van hoping Walter would not notice it gone. After transferring a few supplies, I made my way to Whiting. I parked in front of the closed Hoosier Theatre. I noticed the decorative keystone displayed the year 1924. It was fortuitous.

  With Harold's clothes in a small travel bag I waited for the street to become quiet. When it resembled a ghost town, I climbed from the van and crossed the street. I sat the suitcase in front of the ticket window and pushed his wallet through the slot. The van headed south for ten minutes and pulled up to a payphone. I called the tip hotline established for information related to Harold's disappearance. "Hoosier Theatre in Whiting" I groveled and hung up.

  The van flew west to an abandoned building in Illinois - to Harold. I made my way in.

  “Did you list your secrets?” I asked holding out a hand for the tablet.

  “Yes, twelve,” Harold said.

  “Twelve? You are eager – I thought you said you wrote down twelve?”

  “I did.”

  “But there’s nothing here.”

  “I destroyed it.”

  “Why would you do that Harold?” I leaned close. “Don’t you want to be a member?”

  “I gave the ‘people’ watching every opportunity to stop me from doing it. No one did.” He stared at me as if trying to see through the disguise. “There isn’t anyone else here is there?”

  “Why, why sure there is. They are there.” I pointed. “Behind the mirror watching us, even now.”

  Harold’s head fell as if in shame. “How much?”

  “How much what?”

  “How much are you asking for me?”

  “Harold you have this all wrong.”

  “Do I?” He challenged, an inner strength peeking through his meager facade. “I’m beginning to think my initiation is into the Society of Kidnapped Children.”

  “Kidnapped? What would make you consider such a thing?”

  “There’s been no one other than you. No one stopped me from destroying my secrets. You keep me chained. There’s enough food and supplies to keep me for quite some time. I’ve studied secret societies and crimes. This reads more like a kidnapping than any initiation I’ve ever read about.”

  He was more smarter than I had imagined. “Why it’s pure rubbish. In fact, you have passed this part of the initiation,” I said. “Despite the secrets, I’m proud of you – we all are and it’s time for the next phase. We are going to get out of here for a bit.”

  Harold turned frightened and leaned away. “Please, please don’t kill me. I haven’t seen anything. I don’t know who you are or where this place is. I want to go home.” His eyes became glassy and a tear cried down his right cheek.

  “You will, you will go home - soon I promise. I told you, this part of the initiation is complete. For the next part we have to go somewhere. When we get back you won't have to be chained. Understand?”

  Harold sniffled. “I just want to go home.”

  "Harold don't give up. I’ll fix you a cocktail and we’ll be on our way.”

  “No! Please, not another one of those awful drinks. I’ll do whatever you ask. I awoke to a terrible nightmare with the last one and, and I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Afraid I won’t wake up ever again.”

  “Harold, you must stop this nonsense.”

  He sucked back more tears.

  “Fine, no drink - but I will, I will have to restrain and blindfold you.”

  “Anything but another drink.�
�

  Harold proved true to his word cooperating. I applied cuffs to this hands, ear plugged, duct taped and put the blinding hood over his head. I tossed a few snacks, the pen, and tablet in an empty food box. In the control room, I removed the tapes from the video deck and added them to the box.

  Ready to leave, I unshackled Harold. From his previous embarrassment, I held his underwear against his chest. He touched and took them. Using his hands, he realized what they were and stepped into them. Harold gave me a “thumbs up” signal. I led him to the van.

  With him secured in the back, I considered using the sleeping gas to subdue him but chose not to. I left the property as quick as possible while still appearing casual. We headed east.

  I had yet to decide Harold's ultimate fate. My intention was to take him to Wolf Lake and photograph him with a copy of the day's Tribune. The Polaroids would be left at the lake and tipped to the hotline. Along with the other clues, the stupid police would have to suspect he was being held in Indiana. The longer I kept Harold, the more staged clues I could provide. I could have those idiots chasing their tails for months, maybe even more.

  I took Harold to get the police away from Walter and the boys. If it did come to releasing Harold, he had not seen anything more than the limo. Under interrogation, he would likely describe it as a regular limo, long and black with a black interior and a blackout partition. He would speak of the non-existent secret society, the awful drink and a man in all black.

  As he was no longer in possession of it, I doubted he would include the nude photo in his details. I could leave him somewhere and then take another boy, maybe one from Indiana if there were any rich families there.

  If I did choose to murder Harold I would definitely want to dump his body in Indiana. If I involved Walter, I felt certain of Harold's fate. Walter would ignore the interest in the boys and bury Harold at the camp. I did it for him but in many ways, wanted it for me. I hoped it would bring me closer to Walter, for him to see me as an equal. I was unsure whether releasing Harold would prove successful to that end. I wanted Walter's respect.