Not only was it the place of the kidnapping, it was also the drop-zone for the money, which suggested that the kidnapper knew this place well. Even intimately. It made sense. You’d want to know all the entry and exit points, all the potential hazards and danger zones. It must have been a place that was very familiar to the kidnapper, somewhere they came often and possibly still did, following their normal routine so as not to arouse any suspicion. It was an interesting thought: that the kidnapper might have been back here over the last few days. Who maybe was even here right now. Or who maybe was watching the area and us.
But there was no way to know one way or the other.
There were no surveillance cameras pointed at the park, the shops all had closing times around 5pm, and the streets surrounding the park would be quiet at midnight. The set-up for the drop was perfect.
I studied the street map closely—there were only two real escape routes the kidnapper could take. One led them straight to the express way, where it would be easy to escape out of the city, and the other led them further into the suburbs, where it would be easy to lose a tail amongst the maze of different streets.
Assuming the kidnapper was well organized, I imagined they would have a secondary car close by to switch into, so there wasn’t much use looking for license plate numbers. And they would probably use a stolen vehicle anyway. That’s what I would have done.
I stared at the large oak tree nearby, a perfect spot to place a small camera. I formulated a plan to return later that night to place a camera in the tree in preparation for the following night. No matter what went down, I wanted it recorded. But I had to be careful. For all I knew the kidnapper was watching the area. Maybe watching me right now, and so when I placed the camera it had to be done completely unobserved. Nightfall would be my friend. I’d slip in, climb the tree and place the camera, then slip out again before anyone knew I’d been there.
“There’s nothing unusual,” Casey commented as she sat next to me on the park bench. “Except for the big guy in the dark glasses sitting on the park bench staring at the children in the playground.”
“Funny,” I said as I ignored her reference to me. “I couldn’t find anything unusual about the shops. None of the store owners have a history of criminal activity. From what I could find they’re all Mom and Pop type owners, people who have operated those stores for years and are part of the fabric of the place. Trustworthy members of the local community.”
“Who’s your front-runner at the moment?”
I stood and Casey followed me as we walked to the edge of the grassed area, next to the under-used dog park.
“Kyle.” Just as that thought went through my mind, five loudly barking dogs came up next to us, and a grumpy woman opened the gate. I say grumpy, but death-warmed-over would be a better description.
Her dogs were disheveled, underweight, and loud. They were desperate to let off excess steam, let off stress by running in the park. And living with her appeared to be very stressful.
The woman forcibly opened the yard gate, slammed it shut behind her, and then lit up a cigarette. She took one long, deep drag, letting go of the dogs’ leashes, finally giving them a chance to be free.
I stared at her for a moment, the dogs yapping loudly as they fought each other.
“I didn’t realize this little patch was a dog park.” Casey leaned in close to me. “Not much of a dog park either. It’s only a tiny little square. Still, better than nothing, I guess.”
“Nobody has been in there in the times we’ve come here. And I can understand why.” I watched as the woman finished her cigarette, and then casually flicked it into the bushes. I couldn’t stand people who threw trash all around the place, and it annoyed me immediately. She then went and sat on the bench and opened her phone, no doubt posting about her position in the dog park on social media to appear like she was doing a great thing for her animals. Then one of her dogs took a dump in the dog park. She looked up from her phone and clearly saw but made no effort to bag it up. If I disliked her before, I detested her now. I’m a dog owner and I love my mutt, but without fail I always clean up after him. It’s the decent thing to do and she clearly had no decency or class.
“So, you really think it’s Kyle?” Casey led us away from the dog park to the street. “I thought you said he was the symbol of decent All-American goodness.”
“He’s got to be the number one candidate at the moment, which is a concern. I want the number one guy at the moment to be the person who I also believe did it, but I’m not so sure I do. He’s a nice guy who has worked extremely hard for his money. If he lost a hundred thousand in an investment, I can guarantee that’s his life savings. He would’ve had plans for that money. Plans for the future. Losing that money was sure to hurt him, and possibly hurt him enough to take revenge.”
“And Tanya would’ve told Kyle not to beat him into the ground because he’s Millie’s father.”
“Exactly. That anger had to come out somehow.”
“It could be a ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ type of situation. You know, where everyone is involved. Maybe Kyle, Tanya, Damon, Ruby, Ben, and everyone else on that list of people who had lost money are involved. They all could be working together to pull this off.”
“Could be. But then the more people who are involved, the more likely it is that one of them will slip up. And no one has so far. We also know that Ruby isn’t going to be here for the drop, she’s been posting pictures of herself in L.A. There is no way she would’ve taken Millie with her.”
“True, but she could’ve still set it up from the start.”
I pondered that thought as we walked across the road, stopping on the sidewalk to look back at the park. The location where the crime had occurred just three days before. I tried to picture the scene in my mind’s eye as it would have unfolded, searching it for clues, for information, for something new and previously overlooked that I could work with.
“Guessing is about all we can do now. Our best chance of securing the girl, and keeping the money, is getting the drop right. I’m coming back at midnight to set the place up—small cameras and the works.” I shook my head as the woman from the dog park started screaming at her dogs. “But we’re going to have to ride this one out.”
“The risk is going to be high.”
“We’re not going to risk Millie. No matter what Chase wants us to do with the money, we’re not going to risk the life of that precious little girl for his cash.”
Chapter 20
My favorite bar was the perfect escape.
Dark, somber, and separate from the rest of the world. It was a little haven where I felt centered and could think. Filled with people who needed to escape, people who needed to disappear for a while, just like me. After three pints of Goose Island IPA, I finally raised my eyes from the glass in front of me, and looked to the television. There was a game on. The Cubs were playing, and that elicited the occasional noise from the people around the bar. Every now and again, I joined in on the collective groans. And groans it was. The Cubs hadn’t been having the best season, and the locals were beginning to feel it.
The bar was filled tonight, not for any special occasion except escapism. But that’s as good a reason as any in my book. There was a group that I didn’t know—not locals, could be bikers, could be gang members. We had that sometimes, travelers drifting through the area, looking for the right place to pick a fight, and they were directed here by some unknowing local. The fights that happened in our bar didn’t last long—although I couldn’t name the people next to me, although I had no idea what these people did with their lives outside this bar, they were my family. A family of misfits, lost loners, but a family no less. If one of us was to throw a fist, we all would join in.
I tried to watch the game, tried to bring myself into the intensity of the innings, but I couldn’t switch off the thoughts running wild in my head. The batter swung hard, throwing his entire bodyweight behind the hit. The people around me made comments about his p
ossible steroid use, how he had bulked up massively since last season and that he had missed a drug test, but I just couldn’t bring myself into the game nor the gossip.
The thoughts of Millie had taken over everything.
It was no longer a case, it was no longer a job, it was a determined mission to save a girl’s life. One that I couldn’t bear to let anything happen to.
My mind was racing through the possibilities, but with three pints in me and less than thirty hours to go until the drop, the adrenaline coursing through my veins wouldn’t let my mind settle on anything long enough to figure out what was what. I was running on empty. Fueled now by nervous energy and fear. I didn’t mind admitting it, but I was scared. Scared something would happen to that young girl, something that I could never forgive myself for. There was no shortage of guilt already in my life and I didn’t need the death of Millie added to it. I guess that was selfish, in a sense. Although Millie’s wellbeing was my main concern, I was worried about my own sanity too if things went wrong. And it’s not like they’d exactly gone right so far anyway.
Mentally, I flicked from one potential perpetrator to the next. Kyle. Tanya. Ruby. Damon. Ben.
Every so often, Claire’s face floated into my mind and I shook my head hard to displace it. I couldn’t let my love for her affect my judgment. I needed to think clearly, to focus on the problem at hand.
Maybe it was too late for that. The doubts were coming back. Now thick and fast. I’d been through every scenario, checked out every suspect and what had I come up with? Nothing. Nothing of substance anyway. If ever there was a case I wanted closed, and for the right reasons, it was this one. I wanted to find Millie, to know that she was safe and well, and that she was back with her loving mother. At the moment I knew none of those things. For all I knew she could be dead. Or worse. I shuddered at the thought. It didn’t bear thinking about. However, I couldn’t ignore it either.
Maybe it was time to call the FBI, to utilize their unrivaled resources and manpower, even if it was against Chase’s wishes. The person who had hired me in the first place. I was good at what I did, I knew that, but at the end of the day I was just one man, albeit one man working with one hell of an assistant. Still, Casey and I didn’t compare to the investigative juggernaut that the feds were, for all their failings.
I didn’t care about what Chase was hiding in that apartment, whether it was money, or files, or plans to rip people off. That wasn’t my concern. I only cared about getting that little girl back safely. If the FBI wanted to nail Chase for ripping some people off, then so be it.
But I wouldn’t contact them.
I couldn’t.
There was too much risk. Another kidnapping in Florida had gone wrong with the FBI’s involvement. That didn’t look good, and it didn’t look promising. I couldn’t have a dead girl on my conscience.
What could they do anyway? I’d already looked at every lead, and they all led nowhere. They would show up, take over the case, and likely botch another money-drop. They didn’t have the delicate touch. They’d lose the money and the girl trying to follow their procedures. It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. I had to find her myself.
“Hit it!” I shouted aggressively at the screen, my hand gripped tight around my glass. “Take a swing! Damn it!”
The people around me sat back, stunned by my sudden show of aggression. Usually, I was the calm one, the one that nicely brought other people back into line. They weren’t used to seeing me like this. I was agitated. Frustrated and angry.
“Cubs don’t have a chance.” The call came from one of the blow-ins on the other side of the bar. One of the guys dressed in black jeans, black t-shirt and leather jacket. Long black hair, tattoos running up his neck. He was shorter than me, maybe 5’10, but he weighed more than me. If he wasn’t looking so angry, I might’ve rubbed his belly for good luck. “Cubs are hopeless this year.”
“You’re a brave man walking into this bar and saying that.”
“Yeah?” The man slid off his bar stool and walked over to me. “Why would that be?”
Usually, I would’ve landed a left hook there and then. It was my favorite punch: closer to the target than the right hand when in an orthodox boxing stance, but a real power shot. I would’ve lined him up, asked him a question, whether real or frivolous, it didn’t matter, and then in that split second while his mind was processing the question and his response, I would have swung hard before he was ready. After all, it’s the punches you don’t see or expect that have the greatest effect. And then when he was sprawled on the ground, I would have turned to the bar tender and handed the situation over to him. He would have told the rest of them to drag him out of here, shot gun in his hand. And it wouldn’t have been the first time.
But I couldn’t risk an energy sapping fight. I still had a job to do.
I still had to go to the park and watch for the kidnapper at midnight, and if there was no sign of them, I had to plant the cameras in preparation for the next night. And I had to do this carefully with an attention to detail. I had to keep my mind on the job and my head in the game.
“I don’t know where you’ve blown in from, but in Chicago, we talk nicely to strangers.”
That made him smile. He was already missing a few teeth, and I would’ve happily knocked some more out, but turned back to the television.
“I’m not from around here, but I’ll happily drive you to the hospital after I beat you into the dirt.”
That pushed my buttons.
“Not in here.” The bartender could see my hand grip around the glass tighter. “Not tonight, boys. Not here. You.” He pointed to the guy picking the fight. “Go back to your friends and finish your drink, and then get out of here. This isn’t the place to be picking fights.”
The guy didn’t move.
“Did you hear me?” The bartender shouted. Everyone in the bar turned around.
The situation was on knife-edge.
I stood, towering over the man.
“Oi!” It was the bartender again. He was reaching for something. The shotgun, I would imagine. “I said, settle it down!”
The guy didn’t budge and nor did I.
Luckily, one of his friends came between us, and pushed him back. They walked back to the pool table at the end of the bar, knocking back their drinks.
I sat back down and indicated I wanted another drink.
“Not tonight, Jack.” The bartender said. “I could see it in your eyes the second you walked in here. You’re looking for a fight. You’re looking for someone to take the blame for whatever situation you’ve got yourself in to. I like you, Jack, but I don’t want any trouble in here. You’re cut-off tonight. Best if you take off now. Understand?”
I stared at him for a moment, part of me still wanted to make an issue out of it, but he was right.
I nodded and stood to leave.
“Not that way, pal. Not out the front.” It was the bartender again. “10 to 1 your buddy will be out there waiting for you, along with his buddies. I don’t need you two getting back into it, blocking my doorway with your fighting, interrupting everyone’s evening with a visit from the law. I’ll show you out the back.”
As I followed him down the dark staff corridor, my mind was getting back to work. I still had five hours until midnight, and that left me with time to kill, and anger to burn.
It was time to take a chance.
Chapter 21
With a few pints under my belt, my decision-making process wasn’t the best.
My decision making was never that good, but under the influence of beer, it was even worse than normal. I was too impulsive with drink in me. I didn’t think things through. And I took needless risks. But then sometimes that’s what’s needed. Sometimes who dares does win and you need to say ‘what the hell’ and throw it all into ‘who gives a damn gear’ and then wait to see where the chips fall.
Outside of the bar, I climbed on board my truck and decided it was time to take a chance
. I fired up the engine, revved it twice until it screamed for mercy, as if a mirror to my mood, and hit the gas, screeching the tires out of the gravel parking lot, and hitting the highway. I was driving like a man possessed, weaving in and out of the late-night traffic, propelled forward by my determination and my resolution to see through the drastic action that I had in mind.
I had a goal and nothing was going to stop me.
I had to save that girl.
The longer it took to get to my destination, the more the rage inside me bubbled. Building and building until I felt ready to explode. When I pulled up to the sidewalk outside Tanya’s front door, I was fully wired, like a prize bull ready to burst out of the gates at a rodeo. I didn’t have time to formulate a coherent plan. This wasn’t the time to stop and think. But I knew the basics of what I was going to do and more importantly what I wanted to achieve.
I stormed out of my truck, slamming the door behind me, ran up to the front door of the Logan Square home, and banged on it hard with my fist. Waiting for a response, I looked around the street. No witnesses. Good. That was just the way I liked it.
Kyle answered the door. That was also good.
He opened it wide, standing in the doorway proudly. He was a step above me, but that leveled out our difference in height. Kyle even had a smile on his face as he said ‘hello,’ a warm welcome to his home. But this was no time for pleasantries.
That smile was quickly wiped away as I flung my fist into his throat. I gripped hard on his windpipe, squeezing the fragile tissue there into a contorted mass inside my knuckle white fist. He wheezed violently, the air departing from his lungs, as his eyes widened in shock and fear. He fell backwards like a sack of potatoes. I stepped inside, my handgun drawn from my belt, and I pointed it into his face. Kicking his legs out of the way, I pushed the front door shut behind me. I was inside and concealed.
Tanya stepped out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel, to see what the commotion was all about. The color drained from her face and she froze when she saw I had the gun to Kyle’s face.
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