“Ok, what if the kidnapper is unrelated to Chase? Someone just saw an opportunity and took it?”
I shook my head.
“It’s too planned, too well thought out for that. This isn’t opportunistic. It’s premeditated.”
Casey nodded.
“Professionals then? They’re in the news a lot. Maybe it’s a gang that wants to take advantage of the news. It wouldn’t have taken much to find Chase as a target. He’s an easy pick. Loads of people know he’s got money, hell, he flashes the cash around enough.”
“If they’re professionals, then they won’t let Millie live.” I took my phone out and stared at the picture of Millie. “And I won’t let them hurt her. Anybody hurts her and they die.”
“All I’m saying is that we have to look at other possibilities. Time is running out. If the drop doesn’t go well, or they are professionals, then Millie won’t make it out of this.”
I could see what Casey was trying to do, and bit by bit her pep talk was working.
“You’re right. Let’s think this through, every angle.”
I was back in detective mode. Back on the scent. And ready to track down the target.
“Have your contacts mentioned anything about kidnapping gangs?”
“Nothing. You?”
“My contacts are the same, and I think that if a new gang came into the city, people would already be talking. What about the last groups of people that he tried to rip off?”
“There’s not a lot of information about them, but from what I’ve found, he’s more likely to choose larger investment firms who want to sweep this sort of bad investment under the carpet. This was the first time that he’s targeted a smaller group of individuals.”
“I’d say that the investment funds had caught onto his fraudulent schemes. Word travels quickly in those circles, and they would’ve known to steer clear of him.”
“Then who else do we have?”
We stared out of the truck for a while.
“Remind me again, who else was on the list of people who were ripped off by Chase’s most recent display of moral goodness?” I questioned.
Casey scrolled through her notes again.
“Two of the people on the list have since died. James Peterson committed suicide not long after losing the money, no partner, no kids, parents deceased, so no one left behind to look for revenge. And David Malone, died of a heart attack before the investment went under. His wife has been in Canada with her family ever since. As far as I could tell, she didn’t even know about the money.”
Casey scrolled on.
“Another four were elderly, all without family and pretty frail, couldn’t kidnap a mouse. Two of them didn’t even know the money was gone when I spoke to them.”
I shook my head in disgust. “Chase certainly did his homework.”
“Next two are still in the armed forces, currently on deployment and out of the country at the time of the kidnapping. Again, not a lot of family to speak of. One from a troubled background, seems to have cut all ties with whatever family he had, the other is originally from Florida and any family is still there. Both unmarried.”
“Could either of them have planned it from there, arranged for someone to do it for them?”
Casey shook her head, “I don’t think so. I tried to get in touch with them but apparently they are unreachable at the moment.”
Casey closed her tablet and looked at me with a shrug.
“Which leaves?” I asked, even though I was fairly sure of the answer.
“From the list of investors? Kyle, the trucker, and your brother-in-law, Ben.” Casey put her tablet away. “Do you think Tanya knew that Kyle had lost that money?”
“Yeah, I’m sure she would’ve known. They seem like the sort of couple that wouldn’t keep secrets from each other. When was Kyle due back in the city?”
“This afternoon. Do you want me to put a tail on them?”
“That’s a very good idea. Him and the wife.”
Casey put her seatbelt on and looked at me.
“I’ve been thinking about this, and Chase is the real bad guy here. He’s the one ripping people off and betraying their trust. Karma has a way of coming to people who deserve it.”
“Doesn’t make this the right way to get revenge. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“But three lefts do.” She smiled as I tried to work that response over in my head. “All I’m saying is that Chase deserves something bad to happen to him. He deserves someone to come after him.”
“But Millie doesn’t.” I roared the truck into life. “She’s innocent, and I’m not going to let anyone hurt her.”
Chapter 16
Some people are easy to follow.
They live their lives in the routine bubble of everyday life. They walk the same route, look at the same things in the same way, and generally move through the motions without even looking twice. Only something really dramatic makes an impact in their zombie-like world. It’s easy to blend into the background and watch those people, those who dwell in the land of the living dead. The danger when following them is not to become complacent. You still have to remain alert and tail them as if they were super vigilant. Sometimes when something is too easy you let your guard down. And when you let your guard down you miss something that under normal circumstances would never get past you.
Tanya walked to her car after her shift had finished at the bar. She had a hard look on her face. Tough and uncompromising. A look that said ‘don’t mess with me today.’ She fumbled around looking for her keys in her large leather handbag, and finally yanked them out when she did find them, spilling the contents from her bag onto the cold and dirty concrete in the process. With obvious frustration, Tanya snatched her belongings up, clawing at them with her big glitzy nails, and shoved them back into her bag before climbing into the car and slamming the door. It took her five times before the engine roared into life. It sounded like a faulty starter on her car to me, but she was also clearly angry and agitated, exacerbating the problem and making it even harder than normal to start her vehicle. Her movements were fast and frantic. She screeched out of the parking lot, happy to be escaping her job, and into the flow of the afternoon traffic.
In a rush, she drove to her house, sounding her horn numerous times, even leaning out of the window to give someone the finger and yell at them. And to be fair, the guy did deserve it, cutting her off and nearly pushing her off the road. But it was a far cry from the calm and sympathetic ear I found when she served me at the bar, the pleasant woman who spoke tenderly to me—albeit about my concocted predicament—but then everyone has their breaking point. And on the journey home, Tanya had reached hers.
I called Casey once we were five minutes away from the house, letting her know that Tanya wasn’t too far away and to get out of the property before she was discovered there. She responded quickly, and assured me she was on her way out.
As we approached the house, I saw no sign of Casey. That was good and although it was what I expected, it was still a relief. I had the utmost faith in Casey’s ability to get out of there stealthily, but this aspect of the operation was outside of my power, and whenever something was outside my direct control, I felt a degree of concern. It wasn’t a worry, as such, more a healthy investment in the success or otherwise of events.
The semi-detached house was just one block from the corner of the main road, and the road’s high level of incessant noise was sure to affect anyone’s sleep pattern. It would have driven me nuts.
Sleep is such an important factor in well-being. From anger management to weight-loss to decision-making, quality sleep is the great regulator. The ultimate reset button. I once lived close to a busy main road, much like Tanya’s house, and I had never been in so many fights in my life. Not just verbal fights but physical altercations. Not that a fist fight was a rarity for me, but when I got into a fight on the way to work, had a fight on the job and then another on the way home, I knew things had got
ten out of hand.
Tanya’s house was clapboard, and the noise was sure to travel through the thin walls. A lot of trucks used West Fullerton Avenue, especially early in the morning. Maybe she was used to it by now and had become desensitized, but there was nothing I liked less than a consistent lack of sleep caused by excessive noise in the night. There was a good reason why sleep deprivation was considered a form of torture and was effective at breaking a person’s will to live.
I drove past the house once, before turning and parking across the other side of the road, under a large oak tree. The street was busy, cars coming and going to the nearby apartment complexes, and people walking to the shops close by.
On the street in front of their home, I saw a car arrive, and out stepped Kyle. Tanya came out the front door to meet him as if she had been watching at the window for his arrival, and it was immediately clear she was not there to simply welcome him home. Tanya and Kyle instantly broke out into an argument. And a heated argument at that. She was throwing her hands in the air and he was trying his best to pacify her. Something had rubbed Tanya the wrong way.
Something was not going well for them.
The question was: what?
I opened my window a crack and strained to hear what the argument was about. They were loud enough for me to hear their voices, but other than the odd word here and there, I couldn’t make it out over the other droning background noises in the street. Every time I nearly could hear something a vehicle would rush by and I’d lose it again, leaving me with nothing of practical value to work with.
After five minutes the argument faded out, they both embraced in a hug and walked inside together.
If Millie was inside, I was sure she would be safe. There was no way I could see Tanya harming her child for any reason whatsoever. She might’ve had an angry streak, a short fuse that flared up every so often when things became too much but she didn’t seem the sort of psychopath that could harm their own child.
But then, that wasn’t what Chase was paying me for. He wasn’t paying me to assess the safety or otherwise of his daughter, or the mental state and capacity of his former wife.
He was paying me to find Millie, and bring her back before he had to make the drop of a cool million dollars.
Even if Tanya was trying to blackmail Chase, did I see her as the criminal? She was trying to provide a life for Millie, and money could certainly help there, I understood that well enough.
Was I concerned about earning the money Chase offered, taking his money to do the job?
Of course. Without a doubt. Not too many jobs come around with that sort of money. It was a bit of a gold mine. And the price of gold was on the rise.
But would I risk Millie’s life to get it?
Not a chance.
Some things are worth more than money, including the life of a child. Especially the life of a child. Her wellbeing. Her happiness. Her security and health.
After five minutes of watching their house, Casey walked beside the truck and got in.
I looked at her expectantly.
“Anything?”
Casey shook her head with a despondent frown.
“Nothing. No sign of Millie, or that she’s been there in the last week. There’s a lot of kid’s tableware in the cupboards, but none of it in the almost full dishwasher. I’d say there was at least three days of dishes in the dishwasher, and not one of them was for a child. No plastic cups, no plastic forks, no plastic bowls. Millie’s bedroom was perfectly tidy, the bed was perfectly made and the house was spotless. There were no toys strewn chaotically around like you would expect with a child in the house. Clearly, she’s not keeping Millie there.”
I thought for a moment.
“If it was Kyle or Tanya at the garage two days ago, then I doubt whether they had a plan B. If their first plan had been disturbed, then Millie would be here.”
“And there was no sign of her.” Casey nodded in agreement.
“Did you hear their argument?” I asked hopefully.
“Argument?” Casey responded. “When was that?”
“I guess not,” I sighed, no such luck.
“Any trouble getting in?”
“Not at all. The backyard was enclosed, and the backdoor key was under the mat. Lax security if I ever saw it. Not that I’m complaining, it was as easy as they come.”
“Didn’t leave a trace that you were there, did you?”
Casey gave me a look that would wither a dragon.
I put my hands up in mock surrender.
“Ok, ok, of course not. Forget I asked. Anything else?”
“Not really. I took some photos.” Casey pulled out her phone and passed it across to me. “A few unpaid utility bills lying around, a large power bill, and five phone bills. Could explain the need for a quick hit of cash, but nothing to suggest they’ve done anything about it. Everything seems very, very normal. Not a sign that anything is wrong or a break from the ordinary.”
I punched the steering wheel lightly. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, damn it.
I wanted a clue, something to work off, something to build this case upon. Anything, no matter how small to get things moving and create momentum. At the moment, that all important factor seemed to have ceased.
“Do you think if Chase found out that it was Tanya, that he would press charges against her for blackmail?” Casey asked as she started sending the photos over to my phone.
“Without a doubt he would.”
“Even if it wouldn’t be in the best interests for Millie?”
I gripped the steering wheel tightly, squeezing hard into its solid and unyielding rubber until my knuckles turned white.
“Chase Martin is a prick. A prick of the highest order. He doesn’t care about Tanya one bit, and he doesn’t care about Kyle either, that’s for sure. He cares more about his precious money than getting his little girl back safe and well. Which stinks. He seemed more concerned with losing a million dollars. That’s his big worry in this whole sordid business, the bottom line. Imagine that, what a low life. There are only two true loves in Chase Martin’s life—money and himself, of course, the narcissistic slimeball. I don’t think Millie really matters, not in the way a young child does for a normal well-adjusted parent. But then Chase Martin is clearly not a well-adjusted person. I’m not saying Millie isn’t important to him, just that she’s important only up to a point, and not beyond, a bit like his favorite car—he’s fond of it, he’s even proud of it, but he’s never going to put it first in his life, and Millie’s the same.”
“Why do we even do this?” Casey shook her head, her hair falling across her face.
“Because it’s our job. We investigate. It’s what we know and it’s what we do.”
Casey looked out the window wistfully. “Sometimes I wish I was an office worker, just showing up nine-to-five, Monday to Friday.”
I gave a little laugh. “No, you don’t. And you know it. You’d hate it, even more than you’re hating this right now.”
Casey laughed too. “You’re right. I wouldn’t last a week.”
“A week! You wouldn’t even last a day. And nor would I.” I turned to Casey, serious again. “This is our job. And as much as we don’t like Chase, we’re going to see this through to the bitter end. No matter where it leads and what the outcome is.”
I started the truck and began the drive to drop Casey off at her apartment.
I had someplace to go tonight, someplace that couldn’t wait any longer.
Chapter 17
Hugh Guthrie was where I thought he would be—celebrating his win in his favorite restaurant.
The atmosphere was jovial as I walked into the Italian eatery. There was a bar to one side of the room, and twenty-five or so tables to the other side. The tables were covered with red and white patterned cloths, the chairs looked like they were bought in the seventies, and the upper walls were filled with photos of the owner and various famous customers.
I sat at the bar
, ordered a bourbon, and watched Guthrie from a distance.
He was laughing, cheering. A smile as wide as the Cheshire cat.
Someone was dead, killed with his hands, and he was laughing because the law couldn’t put him behind bars. That was when the system failed. How could a technicality let a killer walk free? How could a mistake in evidence allow a murderer to walk the streets again? That I would never understand.
Hugh Guthrie killed fellow newscaster Brian Gates, and now he was celebrating with joy. That made the grip on my glass tighter.
But worse than that, he gave the gun to the boy that shot up Claire’s school. Out of a need to be front and center in the news, he handed the gun to a mentally unstable teenager, pushing the boy to make the story. Guthrie had been following the teen, documenting his life, hoping for a story that would win him the Pulitzer Prize for journalism.
When the story didn’t materialize, Guthrie pushed the kid in the direction that the story desperately needed—a school shooting. Amongst the many people that the boy killed was my Claire, as she was desperately sheltering the young children in her class from the barrage of bullets.
The kid, Alexander Logan, died the day of the shooting, robbing me of any sense of justice.
The man who gave Alexander the gun had to be held responsible. Without Guthrie’s push, without Guthrie’s encouragement, the school shooting would never have happened. That was hard to prove, and even harder to get a conviction, but it was the truth.
And I thought Guthrie was going to pay. I thought the justice system was going to sentence him to life in prison for the murder of Brian Gates.
But the law let me down.
Guthrie looked up from his celebration and caught me staring at him.
I didn’t flinch, holding my stare.
The smile disappeared from his face, and for a few moments, he turned back to his friends, before excusing himself. I’d done work for Guthrie years before, and later, I convinced him to confess to the murder of Brian Gates. Most people are convinced to tell the truth after I slam my car into theirs and hold a gun to their head.
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