Stolen Power

by Peter O'Mahoney

  Guthrie didn’t confront me inside. I didn’t expect him to. Guthrie was in his fifties, weak, and sly. He looked at me, and stepped out the front doors of the restaurant. He didn’t want to cause a scene in front of his friends, I understood that, especially today, but it was risky for him to walk out onto the street with me.

  I knocked back the rest of my bourbon, threw a few notes on the bar, and walked out the doors, following Guthrie onto the street.

  “I’m packing.” He held open his jacket for me to see his holster and weapon as soon as I stepped outside. “I thought you would track me down; however, I didn’t think it would be this quickly. Not when I was celebrating.”

  The sidewalk was quiet, as was the street, and no witnesses would’ve seen us.

  I could’ve taken him out right there and then, and I would’ve enjoyed it, but then I would be arrested within the hour. I couldn’t afford that risk right now. Not when Millie’s life was still on the line.

  Now wasn’t the time to get physical.

  “You think your little revolver would stop me?” I stepped close, towering over him. “You wouldn’t be able to draw that thing quick enough to stop me.”

  Guthrie stepped back, bumping into the brick wall behind him. “What do you want, Valentine? I beat the law. The courts said I was innocent. The—”

  “The courts didn’t say you were innocent.” I snarled, bringing my nose close to his. “They said that they didn’t have enough evidence to convict you. That doesn’t mean you’re innocent. You’re a killer. A cold-blooded murderer. And I’m going to make sure that you get what’s coming.”

  “You couldn’t,” he scoffed. “You can’t stop me.”

  “I’m your karma, Hugh.” I pressed my finger into his chest. “Get a good look at my face, because I’m the person that will see that you go down. I don’t care which crime they get you for, but I will make sure that the memory of my wife will get justice.”

  He tried to move back further, but he was squashed against the wall.

  “You don’t want to make enemies with me, Valentine.” He tried to sound tough, but I could smell the fear rolling off him. “I know how to play the system. I know how to play the game. And if you threaten me, then I will strike first. Consider this a warning.”

  “You’re going to threaten me?” I grabbed his collar and pressed my fist into his throat. “I will make sure that you pay for your involvement in the school shooting, Guthrie. Mark my words.”

  “Everything ok here?”

  We turned. It was two beat cops. They were walking their route, wondering if they should get involved. One cop had his hand on his weapon, the other was cautious but open.

  “Everything is fine, officer.” I let go of Guthrie’s collar. “Isn’t it, Hugh?”

  Hugh looked at me, and then to the cops. The fear in his eyes was clear, but he played the game. All he wanted to do was go back inside to his friends and celebrate the fact that he beat the system.

  “Everything is fine.” Guthrie patted himself down, and straightened his collar. “We’re just some old friends talking.”

  The cops watched as Guthrie stood next to me.

  “It’s good to see you, Valentine.” He patted me on the arm. “But attack is always the best form of defense. And you’ve just made yourself a very powerful enemy.”

  I watched Guthrie walk back into the restaurant, no doubt to laugh and drink and celebrate, and then I turned to the officers, who were still waiting for me to move.

  I grunted, before walking down the street, away from the scene. I couldn’t afford trouble tonight.

  But I was sure that trouble was going to follow me in the future.

  And it would have Hugh Guthrie’s name written all over it.

  Chapter 18

  Chase Martin was waiting at my office when I returned. He was waiting by the door, phone in hand, hair a mess. He looked uncharacteristically disheveled, if ‘disheveled’ was ever a word to describe someone still wearing the very best designer clothes that money could buy. But there was a world-weary look about him from the stress and pressure. His posture was slumped and he looked worn down and fatigued. His normal smug arrogance was currently absent. I wondered how long it would last. It was a look that I had not yet witnessed on Chase. But then he needed taking down a few pegs so I can’t say I particularly felt sorry for him in this moment. For Millie, yes, always, but not Chase. He had caused enough hurt, pain and misery in his time to warrant more than a fair share himself, and he was now finally getting a taste of it too. And by the looks of it he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Something had clearly got to him. And I was curious to find out what.

  “Tell me you’ve found her, Jack.”

  There was stress in his voice, almost a desperate panic.

  “Let’s talk about that inside.”

  I opened my office door with the key, swinging the door wide open.

  My office was in a good location, in the Loop, amid the hustle and bustle of good old Downtown Chicago, the beating heart of the city. Its very essence. There was no signage on the street, no listing in the building directory, nor, heaven forbid the yellow pages, and only my name on a small nondescript plaque on the door. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d never see it. My office was on the second floor, and strategically so, mostly to prevent any curious walk-ins off the street. You know, the sort of people who weren’t really looking for a private investigator, but on seeing a sign for one decide to come in and waste time with stupid questions about following their partner, husband or wife, whom they suspect of having an affair. That sort of work might be the mainstay of your average yellow pages P.I. but it sure wasn’t mine, nor was it the type of business that I wanted or would ever accept. That sort of thing was amateur hour, anyone could do it with a half decent camera and a video recorder. The cases I took had a bit of punch to them, which was the way I liked it.

  People came looking for me. That’s the type of work I wanted. Those desperate for assistance who could really utilize my skill set, which when you’ve been in the game as long as I had, was extensive. And if they really needed to find me, and they persevered in doing so, then they’d manage it, sure enough.

  Inside my office door was the foyer office, filled by a long desk with two computer monitors, usually where Casey sat. It was the most organized and tidy section of our workspace. Not that to an outsider’s eye it really appeared that way, until they saw the bombsite of my own little corner of the office. There was a worn old couch next to the door, and a potted plant next to that in a constant state of dehydration from lack of consistent watering. The poor thing was in a permanent state of barely clinging onto life as a result. I should have chucked it in the trash but I sort of admired its tenacity and so would drown it in water to try and bring it back from the brink, only to forget about it again until it looked like it was once more about to give up the ghost.

  I had the pleasure of traveling to Ireland a number of times, a stunning place with hilarious people, who explained to me how much a ‘pot plant’ livens up the office. I instantly assumed that they meant a marijuana plant—and I’m sure that would liven up any office. It wasn’t until a week later, when an elderly lady talked about her ‘pot plants’ at home that I realized that pot plants were the same as potted plants here.

  To the side of the room was a white board, filled with my incoherent scribbles, and a number of post-it notes. Trying to plot out the links between suspects, evidence and the victim, seeking to order these into some sort of coherent logical way that ultimately would identify the perpetrator. Not that I was succeeding so far with this case. Things were foggy to say the least.

  To the back of the room was another door, the one to my separate office.

  I led Chase into my office and offered him a whiskey.

  I could see he thought I worked in a pigsty. It was written all over his face. But I didn’t care what he thought. Or anyone else for that matter. They could take me as they found me or get the hell
out.

  “How can you drink at a time like this?” His hand went to his forehead.

  “What’s changed?” I questioned as I dropped a cube of ice into the glass, slowly rotating it in my palm so the liquid spiraled in the glass, releasing its malty aroma. “You seem more frantic.”

  He paused, and almost fell down into the chair opposite my desk. “I took the money out of the bank. All of it. My hard-earned money.”

  I felt my jaw harden, and my fingers tightened around the glass.

  “Right. The money,” I muttered through gritted teeth. “Of course.”

  I moved around my desk and slowly placed my drink down on the table, before sitting down.

  “It’s in the safe in my penthouse. One million dollars in cold, hard cash. It’s a lot of money, Valentine. An awful lot of money. And I don’t want to lose it to some criminals. They don’t deserve my money. Nobody does but me.”

  I bit my tongue as the dialogue in my head explained to him that I thought he was the criminal—a fraudster, a corrupt piece of dirt, if I ever met one. That he was the man who I should be after and put away behind bars. And that the world would be a far better place as a result.

  Chase stood and moved to the door. He was clearly struggling to stay still. He held his arms across his chest, staring at the ground. Practically hugging himself.

  “I couldn’t talk to Ruby, but her father returned home and said that she’d gone to L.A. He flew there with her. I don’t know if I believe him,” Chase said. “Maybe now is the time to call the cops? I don’t want to lose the money.”

  “What about Millie?”

  “Millie will be fine.” He was almost dismissive.

  “And if she’s not?”

  He shook his head, and then began pacing the room, agitated and jumpy, trying to use up all his nervous energy, which was almost spilling out of him.

  “She has to be. I couldn’t live with myself,” he whispered.

  At last, a glimpse of humanity.

  He paced the floor a while longer, before he turned back to me.

  “Do you think I should call the cops? I’ve never had a good experience with them. They hate me. I’ve got enemies there. People who would love nothing more than to lock me up.”

  “It wouldn’t be the cops. The FBI would handle this case, and maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to hand it over to an organization with unlimited resources and manpower.” I leaned forward on the table. “We’ve investigated all the major suspects, and we haven’t come up with much. We’ve felt like we’ve got close, but in the end, we’ve got nothing concrete. The drop is in two days. Just two days, Chase. If you’re going to call them, now is the time to do so.”

  “No, no.” He shook his hand at me. “Not the FBI. I can’t have them snooping around my business. I’m already on their radar and this would be the perfect reason for them to get into my files. They would turn my penthouse upside down before they had even considered Millie.”

  “What do they want you for?” I quizzed, doing my best to sound surprised.

  He looked shocked that he had just given that information away.

  “Nothing.” He shook his head hard. “It’s nothing. A disgruntled investor reported me, but they had nothing solid. The lead of the case, Special Agent Ramon Wright, said he was going to make sure that I would go down. I told him that I’d done nothing illegal, but he was adamant that he was going to get me. Hasn’t managed it yet though and I’ll be damned if I’ll be the architect of my own downfall by inviting him in.”

  I sipped my whiskey.

  “But,” A thought went through Chase’s mind. “Do you think that the FBI set this up? As an excuse so that they could search my apartment? Of course, they would have. They’ve wanted to search my apartment for a year, and I won’t let them. No judge will sign off on a search warrant of my place with the small amount of evidence that they have. And it’s all circumstantial anyway. But if I invited them to talk about the kidnapping? Then they could take their liberty. They’d go through everything with a fine-tooth comb, going through my private business, my accounts, my files, stuff that has nothing to do with them. Maybe it’s all just one big set up.”

  “I doubt that’s the case,” I responded. “But that’s not entirely impossible.”

  “I can’t have them involved.” He sighed. “And that’s just my luck—when you need them, you can’t go to them. And when you don’t want them, they’re on you like a swarm of bees.”

  Chase paced the floor again.

  “There aren’t many crimes that happen over a long period of time,” I said. “That’s why kidnappings are so hard. You know that the crime is taking place, you know that something is happening, but there’s too much to risk before getting the cops involved.”

  Chase nodded. “One million dollars is a lot of cash.”

  “I was talking about Millie.”

  “Of course.” He quickly agreed. “What’s our next step?”

  I took another sip of whiskey. After Chase left my office, I was going to need another one. Just being in the presence of this man makes me angry. He had an unusual presence about him, a sort of stench, not of the body but of character. There was just something repellent about Chase, that although difficult to define was easy enough to recognize, which made me sick whenever I was near him.

  “We’ve looked at all major suspects, and we’ve got nothing. We’ve looked into all the people that you’ve suggested could be involved, and we have no further leads. It’s time to take this to the next level. It’s time to prepare for the end of this.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that it’s time to prepare for the drop and prepare to save Millie’s life.”

  Chapter 19

  The playground looked so different on a weekday. More stay-at-home Moms and less Dads making up for lost time. There were a handful of nannies too, they were more interested in good gossip, on catching up and swapping notes than whether little Jenny could finally manage the monkey bars yet, or if Johnny could ride his beloved bike without his training wheels. And the kids didn’t need their approval, they were happier just to play today outside in the clear fresh air. It was calmer, more relaxed. The atmosphere was still jovial, the laughter of children sliding down the play equipment was joyous and infectious. There were happy smiles, beaming eyes, and little running legs. I could sit next to the playground all day and listen to the happy children laughing. But I wouldn’t do that. That would be creepy. Or at least perceived as such. In a way that made me sad, that something pure and beautiful had been tarnished by a small minority of twisted weirdoes.

  I couldn’t help but think of Claire at times like this. Of what we could have had together before it was so cruelly taken away. Of the son or daughter we could have raised and loved, and watched grow and thrive. I think I would have made a good parent. Claire definitely would, no doubt about it, she was always so patient, so soft and caring, with a real nurturing heart. You could almost say she was made for motherhood. It would have been a world of bliss for us both. That all seemed so distant now. Almost like a dream. My life had changed incomparably since her murder. There was an emptiness in my heart that I had now come to terms with, accepting that it would always be my bedfellow. Still, despite my stress, despite my anger, despite my lack of sleep right now, I found it hard not to smile today. The children were all so happy, so free and so innocent.

  And yet, these parents didn’t know that a child had been taken from this very spot only three days ago. Three days down, two days to go. Time was ticking. The top of the hourglass was less than half full now, and the sand always seemed to move faster the closer to empty it became. Rushing frantically in the final moments. And then finally it’s all used up and gone forever.

  I was starting to feel the pressure, and with pressure comes doubt. I was beginning to question my instincts. I had to go over all the possibilities again to sharpen my focus. Why had I been so quick to dismiss professional kidnappers? If it was a prof
essional group of kidnappers, then these parents deserved to know, they deserved to understand the threat. Any of their children could be the next victim, their child snatched and held who knows where, while a demand for a cool million dollars was levied at their door.

  My instincts told me that was not the threat. Why?

  It was too open, with too many witnesses. Millie had been too easy to lure away, she hadn’t caused a fuss, there were no reports of a scream, a struggle, of anything. It was so much more likely that it was someone she knew. Someone she trusted and would go with freely, even happily. Maybe someone she loved. Maybe even someone that loved her.

  And five days was a long time to hold a child you didn’t know. Professionals wanted it over in twenty-four hours, forty-eight at the most. The longer they had the kid, the more chance they had of getting caught. It upped the stakes for all involved and that wasn’t what kidnappers wanted. They wanted to minimize the risk and they wanted the money as quickly as possible, with as little fuss as possible. And then they wanted to disappear without a trace forever. Like a thief in the night.

  It had to be someone that Chase knew or was associated with, someone who wanted to take his money. And that’s what this was about—money. That cold, harsh greenery. The lottery offered worse odds to make someone a millionaire, but it also didn’t come with the threat of life in prison if you got it wrong.

  No risk, no reward.

  But then maybe it wasn’t just about gaining money. Maybe that was part of it but not the whole story. Perhaps to whoever was responsible it was just as important to take it away from Chase. To see him humbled. Brought to his knees. For Chase to know what it was to be fleeced, like he’d done to so many others before. Maybe that was the overriding motivating factor, to give Chase an almighty dose of his own medicine and teach him a lesson he would never forget.

  I scanned the park again, taking in every detail.