Revenge Code

by Paul Knox

  “I’m just grasping at straws, Landy.”

  The sheriff left, and Reece sunk into her desk chair, but it didn’t seem to fit her. She slid forward and then back. Sat up straight and then hunched. There was no getting comfortable.

  She stood up and stretched her back, peering across the room to Shanahan’s desk. His nose almost touched his computer screen, eyes glowing as he frantically crosschecked the smuggling files and searched for any connection to Jessie’s kidnapping.

  Don Rico’s trial was a few weeks away, and Shanahan was itching to testify, determined to finish the job. They would put Don Rico away. There was no doubt in Reece’s mind.

  Shanahan had been the one hidden, the one who had actually watched Don Rico sell the brick of cocaine. Reece had plenty of surveillance pictures of the cocaine—proof it existed—but hadn’t caught the buyer or recovered the brick after the sell. Fortunately, Shanahan witnessed the handoff with his own eyes.

  Reece, Shanahan, and a few other deputies had rushed in and caught Don Rico, but the buyer had somehow escaped. Regardless, Shanahan’s testimony would ensure Don Rico was put away.

  And maybe, just maybe, after Shanahan’s testimony sealed Rico’s conviction, he’d spill some info for a plea deal, in exchange for a lighter sentence.

  The ultimate goal was taking down the entire smuggling operation.

  With the trial looming a week away, it seemed probable the kidnapping was connected.

  In any case, they needed to find Jessie soon, because Shanahan wasn’t the type to give into demands.

  Reece briefly considered the possibility that Shanahan was looking for ways to scrape up fifty grand for the kidnapper, but quickly brushed that thought away. In Shanahan’s mind, paying ransom would be a last resort.

  Then, Chief Carlos Gomez walked in the room and went up to Shanahan’s desk. Reece overheard him say the words, “polygraph test.”

  Shanahan stood up with an angry look on his face. Testing him for any connection or collusion was standard procedure. Reece’s heart went out to him. ‘Standard’ didn’t make ‘procedure’ any easier.

  Chief Gomez looked uncomfortable, even visibly disturbed at his dutiful request. Shanahan followed him out with clenched fists.

  Reece slumped back down in her chair. She needed a lead. And she needed it now.

  A few minutes later, a well-muscled deputy strode over and tossed a manila folder on her desk with some papers inside. This deputy was a solid part of Reece’s team and assisted with many of her investigations. He had his unique quirks, to say the least, but she’d learned to count on him when it mattered most.

  Reece looked up. “Your uniform still looks tight, Ethan. Can’t you get a double XL or something?”

  “And hide these guns?” Ethan Wilson flexed his right bicep. “Intimidation factor, Reece. I’m all about the mind games.”

  “You’re all about something. The mind? I’m not so sure.”

  “Oh, c’mon. Why don’t you take a look in that envelope. And then apologize.”

  Reece picked it up and slid the papers out.

  Ethan explained the documents while Reece inspected. “We found some prints. And they match the dead guy at Shanahans.”

  “Where did you get these?”

  “Cocaine bust, a few days back. Everyone knows about your and Shanahan’s investigation. When I found out about this bust, I did a little comparison shopping. And bingo, the Columbian QVC is selling a special white powder delivered by a dead kidnapper.”

  “The cocaine from this bust originated from Columbia?”

  “Yup. You know, they have the best dish in Columbia called bandeja paisa. It’s served with rice, fried plantains, chicharron, avocado—”

  “That’s wonderful,” Reece interrupted. “Do you ever stop thinking about food?”

  “Um…I think so.”

  “Any other prints?”

  “A bunch. We don’t have identification on all of them, and a lot are smeared, but one set match the dead guy like white on rice.”

  “Can you do me a favor, Ethan?”

  “Of course, boss.”

  “Call around to a couple news agencies and get me a reporter to talk to. I want to get this on the air.”

  Six

  Do you know your wife’s kidnapper?

  Did you have anything to do with your wife’s disappearance?

  Do you love Jessie Shanahan?

  After the ridiculously personal and painful lie detector test, Lieutenant Tommy Shanahan returned to his desk that Sunday afternoon and continued digging through files, searching the databases, replaying events in his mind.

  The Pima County Sheriff’s Department had a hostage negotiator who had been brought in to consult Shanahan, and if possible, even talk to the kidnapper.

  Shanahan knew the hostage negotiator well, had even had lunch with him many times in the past. And Shanahan knew hostage negotiations well, too—probably even better than the negotiator.

  After counseling Shanahan the best he could, the negotiator set up a digital recorder for Shanahan to record any future calls.

  Shanahan waited for information. Waited for a call. Waited for anything.

  If he even considered paying the ransom, how would he get the money? A loan against his house combined with money from his 401k?

  Could this be about the cocaine smuggling investigation? Why didn’t they just kill me and leave her out of this?

  He glanced at his phone, making sure the ringer was still on—and all the way up. Then he opened his emails. Then he went back to his phone. He couldn’t focus.

  I’m not dealing with criminals.

  Jessie’s unconscious body dropping limp into the arms of the man with the strange hand kept flashing through Shanahan’s mind. He’d been seeing double. Yet, when he counted the fingers in his memory, each hand kept adding up to twelve.

  Shanahan had a photographic memory. He spoke multiple languages. And he perfectly remembered those aberrant hands, holding the gun and his wife, hitting the back of her head.

  The torturous image in his mind was loud and all-consuming. Sometimes his gift was a curse.

  He was sure of it. He saw twelve fingers in that doubled-vision haze, which meant the man with the strange hands had six. He had an extra finger on each hand.

  It didn’t make sense.

  Most everyone at the station avoided Shanahan. A few well-meaning deputies had offered their condolences and help, but Shanahan didn’t indulge, preferring to be alone in his already noisy and unpleasant thoughts.

  Shanahan didn’t need tears and well-wishes. He needed action and results.

  Was he going to pay the ransom? Well, if it absolutely came down to it, he’d do anything to get Jessie back. But that wasn’t his plan.

  I’ll find her before the week is done.

  Shanahan picked up his car keys. Maybe he’d drive around and look for her the old fashioned way.

  Maybe he’d bang on the doors of every house in town.

  Maybe he’d kick the doors in.

  He thought about getting up and going over to Reece’s desk. But something stopped him.

  He paused, looking at a little fuzzy teddy bear on his desk. Jessie had given him the bear last Valentine’s Day, along with a box of really delicious chocolates. He laughed, remembering that he only ate three of the chocolates. Jessie had eaten the rest.

  He imagined that when he found her, he would buy her boxes and boxes of chocolates. Milk chocolate was her favorite.

  “People need something to believe in,” he whispered to the teddy bear. “But what do you believe in when there’s nothing left? When she’s gone, and you’re bound within the cage of your own mind? When the person who trusted you with her life has been taken? And it’s my fault?”

  The teddy bear stared back with a cute smile and shiny black marble eyes.

  “Can I, at least, believe in myself?”

  The glass eyes didn’t move.

  Who am I?

&nb
sp; Shanahan stood up, grabbed his keys and headed for his pickup.

  If the law had nothing better to do than hook him up to electrodes, interrogating him with moronic, witless questions, then the law didn’t have answers.

  Everyone else can handle the law stuff.

  He’d find Jessie even if he had to search every home and building in Tucson with his own two hands.

  I’ll handle the kidnapper.

  ◆◆◆

  Reece noticed Shanahan leave, relieved he was getting out of the office. It pained her to see him hunched over his desk, chaotically flipping papers and cracking his computer keys.

  Some fresh air would do him good. She hoped he could find some semblance of comfort, somehow, no matter how small.

  She almost called after him, to tell him about Ethan’s lead, but didn’t. He needed some time off.

  After a few short minutes, Ethan came back.

  “Well, boss, that was easy. You ever hear of Kevin Kelvin—the BBD News ‘Heatmaker?’”

  “I’ve heard him on the radio before, but stay away from the news. I get enough of it in real life.”

  “Gotcha.” Ethan nodded. “I’ve seen him on TV, in between some cooking shows I watch.”

  “You watch cooking shows?”

  “How else does anybody learn delicious, mouth-watering recipes?”

  Reece’s stomach rumbled. She realized she hadn’t eaten yet today. “Anyway, what about the Heatmaker?”

  “He’ll be here in a couple hours to interview you. He’s jumping at the chance to cover this.”

  “Give me his number. I’ll have to meet him somewhere else.”

  “Boss?” Ethan inquired.

  “It’s a long story.” Reece took out her phone and punched in the number Ethan recited.

  ◆◆◆

  A couple hours later, Reece sat at a local Baja-style Mexican food restaurant. She was munching on some chips and spicy, green chili salsa when the Heatmaker arrived.

  “I’m Kevin Kelvin with BBD News—and thanks for granting me this exclusive story. Do you want a drink or anything? On me.”

  “This ice water’s perfect.” Reece eyed Kevin. He was much more handsome than she imagined, with his stylish salt and pepper hair and maroon necktie, tied in the complex and stylish Eldredge knot.

  “So, what’s the scoop, Detective Cannon?” he asked, sitting down and pressing the record button on his audio recorder.

  After Reece told him about Jessie’s abduction and the connection to the Columbian cocaine, she asked how soon he’d be able to air the program.

  “I’ll have this story on all media outlets by tomorrow. And if there’s anything else I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask.” Kevin displayed a very TV-worthy smile.

  “Sure.” Reece faltered for more words and grabbed a napkin, attempting to wipe the silly grin from her lips.

  A waiter came by. “Can I get you more chips? We have a special on our carnitas tacos right now.”

  “You sure you don’t want anything?” Kevin asked. “I wouldn’t mind a little…friendly company. Not to intrude, of course.”

  Reece had noticed that he didn’t wear a wedding ring. She’d also noticed that he’d inspected her fingers.

  I do have to eat something, sometime. Reece said, “I should get back to the sheriff’s department.”

  Kevin turned his attention to the waiter. “I’ll have those tacos, sure. Bring me two orders. I’m hungry.” Kevin unfolded his napkin and gently placed it on his knee, before taking a sip of his water. “I’ve been here before. The food will be out in no time.”

  “I should introduce you to someone at the station. You two would get along well, with an appetite like that.”

  “That’d be great. We could all go out and stop the bad guys of the world. A couple detectives and a news reporter. We’d make a great team, I’m sure.”

  Reece sat longer than she’d planned. She even found herself laughing along in friendly conversation, to which she immediately felt guilty about. When the tacos came, she ended up eating one of the plates. “This was your plan all along, Kevin, wasn’t it?”

  “My plan? Well, you are the detective. I guess I’m caught.”

  Reece’s stomach felt funny, and it wasn’t because of the food. “I really need to get going. Food was a good excuse to dawdle.”

  “Go, then. I’ll grab the bill. It’s the least I can do for such a good story. Plus, BBD will pay for it.” Kevin winked. “Can I call you?”

  Reece felt her face color. The Heatmaker, indeed. “I don’t know. Sure. You’ll air the story tomorrow, then? I can count on you?”

  “Absolutely. The whole state of Arizona will know about this by tomorrow night. If anyone comes forward, we’ll direct them to you.”

  As Reece drove off, she had mixed feelings about the encounter. How could she be intrigued by someone when Shanahan had just had his wife abducted? It didn’t seem fair.

  It isn’t fair, at all. Reece wondered if life was playing a cruel joke.

  But at the same time, she couldn’t help feeling a little better. In some ways, that made her feel worse.

  Looking at her reflection in the rearview mirror, she shook her head in disbelief.

  She didn’t even realize that she had felt—alone?—until now. Was there a connection there, between her and Kevin?

  “I hope not,” she whispered to her reflection.

  I hope so, her rearview mirror reflected.

  Seven

  Bright and early Monday morning, back at the sheriff’s department, Reece spoke to her most trusted investigative assistant, Penelope “Penny” Gray.

  Standing at Penny’s desk, Reece handed her the files from Ethan. “Will you dig into this bust from a few days back? Find out exactly where and who the cocaine came from.”

  Penny started thumbing through the papers. “It came from Columbia, did it not? From that man that Shanahan put six feet under?”

  “Yes to both questions, but the six-feet-under guy isn’t Columbian. He got it from someone else.”

  “Don Rico?”

  “Unlikely, since Don has been locked up for months. There’s someone else—maybe someone connecting them all. Since I have you, the all-knowing mystery sleuth, I was hoping you might piece together something for me.” Reece smiled at Penny with a much livelier expression than her typical quirked-eyebrow look.

  “You seem unusually cheery today, Reece. Your hair seems more radiant. Is it just the longer length…” Penny leaned forward. “Wait a minute, did you meet someone?”

  “What? Me? No, not at all. Let me know what you find out.” Reece spun around and zipped off before Penny had a chance to pry.

  “I’ll sort this out,” she called.

  ◆◆◆

  Jessie felt delirious. It had been almost three days since being abducted and she could barely sleep—forced to remain sitting upright in the chair she was tied to. She would sometimes nod off for a minute, but then wake up with a terrible crick in her neck. The pain wouldn’t go away in her dehydrated state.

  Sure, Lucky had been giving her little sips of water and had fed her one packet of instant oatmeal—at gunpoint—but her lips cracked, and she was starving.

  Yet even dehydrated, somehow her body still needed to pee. After the first day, she’d thought she’d been left to pee her pants. But then, Lucky showed up and cut her zip ties, taking her to the toilet. He’d been letting her visit the restroom once a day.

  During those few, free minutes, her arms celebrated with little movements, but she dared not try to attack Lucky. He never took the gun off her.

  Thankfully he didn’t stare at her when she sat on the toilet. And he never tried touching or grabbing her in that way. He didn’t seem interested. In fact, he didn’t seem to want her there at all.

  As relieved as Jessie felt about Lucky’s ambivalence toward her body, the implication was a catch-22. He seemed extremely comfortable with his gun, and ruthless.

  She had no val
ue to him.

  Lucky didn’t look or seem like a typical thug. In fact, he looked like a character from a late 70s or early 80s TV show. Kind of Tom Selleck-y. There was something very detached about Lucky and his actions.

  Outside her bedroom door she heard him moving and rustling things that sounded like crinkling plastic wrap or bags.

  But he wasn’t often at the house she was held captive in. Gone every night, he never returned until the sun shone from behind the closed blinds in her room.

  She tried screaming at night while he was away—the best she could with tape over her mouth. It hadn’t been effective. No one seemed to hear her muffled cries. No one came.

  Lucky never told her to be quiet unless he had guests, lest she be discovered by men more evil than he. But that also worried her. The house might be in the middle of the godforsaken desert.

  At this particular moment, Lucky stood by the bathroom door as Jessie sat on the toilet. He’d left the door cracked a few inches.

  Like usual, he didn’t watch or stare, but did occasionally glance at her, making sure she behaved in ways he expected. She felt small, invaded.

  She’d thought about screaming while in the bathroom, in the rare moments her mouth was tape free, but ultimately decided against it. Not knowing if there were any houses or people outside, she feared that making Lucky angry would lead to horrific results.

  But on that third day, as she left the bathroom, she noticed something.

  There was a cabinet that hadn’t been entirely closed. Inside she saw something. A razor. It was a man’s razor, for shaving.

  As Lucky led her back to her room, he casually said, “Another guest will arrive soon. Make sure you stay quiet. This one’s the worst of all. Not only does he make people disappear, but he’s unpredictable and careless. If you know what I mean.”

  Jessie’s stomach knotted.

  She wouldn’t make a peep.

  ◆◆◆

  Lucky needed money. The casino was calling his name, but his funds were dry. Fortunately, the Russian was coming today and had a paycheck for him.

  Actually, the Russian’s son was coming, which was fine and dandy. More and more, Lucky had been dealing with Viktor, the son.