by Jerry Ahern
He ran back, a pool of dark red/black blood forming a halo around his friend’s head. He checked for a pulse, it was weak. The business man had followed him and was giving information to the 911 operator. “We need police and an ambulance in front of Benny’s and Bubba’s. A man is hurt... hurry, please hurry.”
Sirens could be heard in the distance.
Chapter Ten
Tim Shaw was angry and frustrated as he sat listening to the Police Captain on the patio in back of Emma and John’s house. Captain Jim Walker was six foot, four inches tall and two hundred, forty pounds. With his black tactical uniform, his shaven head and spit shine boots, he looked like he had been carved from a gigantic piece of polished ebony. “Here’s what we know,” Walker said.
“We know that the kids walked out of Benny’s and Bubba’s freely. We have video of them exiting; a white man was with them. A check of the videos show that he followed them in. Problem is either he was damned lucky or he knew where the cameras were, we didn’t get a picture of his face; a camera across the street got a partial.”
“He had a partner waiting across the street by the van. He also avoided the cameras; no luck there, either. Two eyewitnesses tried to intervene; one chased the van for almost two blocks on foot. He couldn’t get a make, but we know it was an older model van, white, and the last three digits of the Hawaiian license plate are 677. We’re running that.”
“The other eyewitness was injured; he’s in ICU at General, still touch and go with him. His skull cracked when he hit the street. Traffic camera at the intersection snapped this when the driver busted the red light.” He slid a black and white photo across the table. “Clean shot of the driver and we have identified him as William Alan Davis; white male, five feet, ten inches tall, twenty-three years old. That’s all we have, so far...”
Shaw asked, “What about the other man?”
Ben Phillips, commander of the FBI Hostage Rescue team, was the exact opposite of Walker. Only about five foot ten, his head sported a short buzz cut of shockingly white stubble. His body was wiry and tight, energy vibrated around him. He said, “We think we know his partner’s name. Davis has been seen in the company of a Lee Elwood McAllen, late twenties or early thirties, just under six feet tall. McAllen has crooked teeth and is gap toothed on the top. His medical records show he has signs of moderate mental retardation. He is illiterate and suffers from epilepsy and grand mal seizures. The two allegedly met at a soup kitchen where they developed a sort of relationship.”
“We think Davis is the leader and McAllen is the follower. We think the injured witness tried to stop the kidnapping and ran to the passenger side of the van where McAllen slugged him. McAllen’s punch slammed him back, landing on the back of his head, cracking his skull open. McAllen has a similar van registered to him, but the last three digits on the plate are 643. Might be stolen plates or could be the guy that chased the van... what was his name?”
The Captain said, “Dylan Wilson, construction worker.”
“Yeah, maybe Wilson got the number wrong, mistakes happen,” Phillips said.
Walker said, “We’re checking theft reports now, but if the plates are stolen the owner may not even know it yet.”
Shaw took a sip of now cold coffee, and pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket. The damn thing was empty; Shaw needed a cigarette. He crumpled the empty pack and cursed. “Damnit, anybody got a smoke?”
Phillips fished in his breast pocket and flipped a pack of Camels to Shaw. “Take it easy Mr. Shaw; you need a little anger management right now.”
That was all it took to set Shaw off. “Hell, I don’t need anger management. I need people to stop pissing me off! My people skills are just fine. It’s my tolerance to idiots that needs work.” He lit the cigarette and took a deep draw on it. “Now, what do we know about the perps.”
“Quite a bit, actually,” the Captain said seriously as he consulted a file. “Both have had a couple of minor scrapes with the law; petty theft, simple assault, stuff like that. McAllen... well, there are reports of him being a serial arsonist as a child; he got off on fire. We’re getting their juvenile records sent over. Looks like his childhood was a nightmare, his mother was a religious fanatic. He claims that she abused him, exposed him to various Satanic practices and rituals in his youth, including self-mutilation and grave robbing.”
Chapter Eleven
While Davis’ concoction was fast acting, it didn’t last long. Tim was the first to start waking up. Groggy, his face and head hurt from Davis’ backhand slap that had sent him flying into the side wall of the van. He laid on his right side; his left cheek, red and tender. The left eye puffed up into what would become a world class black eye.
His hands were wrapped in duct tape and a gag, now soaked in his own saliva, plugged his mouth. He remained still, watching out of his good right eye as his sister and cousins stirred. Like him they were duct taped, gagged and lying on their sides. Paula came around first, then Jack and finally Natalie. Paula looked around confused. Natalie looked scared and Jack... Jack looked mad.
Paula looked wide eyed at Tim; he smiled, or tried to and winked. She winked back, she was okay. Natalie had tears running down her cheeks. Jack grimaced and tried to pull his hands free but couldn’t. Tim got Jack’s eyes and shook his head. Jack took a deep breath and stopped struggling.
Tim thought to himself, Okay, we’re in trouble. But everyone looks okay. At least for now.
The others looked at him; he closed his eyes and tilted his head like he was asleep. Then he opened his eyes wide and looked hard at them and repeated the motion. Paula nodded and mimicked him and then she opened her eyes and nodded her head. Tim nodded back and she repeated the motion and stayed “asleep” this time.
Natalie watched and figured it out; she “went to sleep.” Jack looked at Tim; Tim repeated the silent instruction, he had to do it twice before Jack nodded his agreement and closed his eyes. Tim looked around one last time; the inside of the van was bare, nothing he could use. C.J. and the other man sat up front facing forward. Tim thought, We have to wait for an opportunity... or we have to wait for someone to find us.
Then he closed his eyes and feigned sleep.
Chapter Twelve
Walker told Shaw, “McAllen ran away from home, but he was brought back. Later he claimed he was forced to have sex with a friend of his father’s when he was five years old. By age ten, he decided he was homosexual. Claims to have had a consensual relationship with a neighbor boy when he was twelve. He dropped out of school in the ninth grade and began visiting gay bars. He says he was a male prostitute as a teenager, his first arrest was at the age of seventeen.”
“He drifted around, supporting himself by prostitution and panhandling. He was one of the prime suspects in the murder of a twenty-four year old college student. Later he was named a ‘person of interest’ in the murder of a thirty-one year old housewife but he disappeared and showed up here.”
“Davis, on the other hand, has a college education. He was born in a home for unwed mothers, in...” He checked the records. “Texas. The identity of his father has never been determined with certainty. Some of his relatives believe his father was actually his own mother’s violent and abusive father. There is no existing evidence to prove that, however. His birth certificate lists him as a ‘bastard.’”
“He did the psycho triad; bed wetting, fire starting and cruelty to animals. There is an early report that during a time when he was living with his grandparents, the grandmother woke one day from a nap to find herself surrounded by knives from the kitchen and her grandson standing by the bed, smiling.”
“His high school and college class mates called him bright but withdrawn. Teenage drinking got him in trouble several times, and there are a number of field interview cards where he was caught out late at night. The police suspected he was looking for undraped windows where he could observe women undressing, or whatever.” Captain Walker closed the file report.
Shaw drug hi
s hand over the stubble on his chin. “This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?” He mumbled under his breath and stretched his right leg out. “Damn, I hate it when my foot falls asleep during the day ‘cause that means it’s gonna be up all night.”
Walker said, “Tim, you’re talking to yourself. What is it?”
Shaw looked up surprised. “Of course I talk to myself, sometimes I need expert advice. Never mind, I’m just thinking out loud.”
In times of stress, Shaw used his Wrightisms more than normal. Steven Wright was an old American comedian Shaw had discovered in some of John Rourke old tapes. Shaw thought Wright’s distinctly lethargic voice and slow, deadpan delivery of ironic, philosophical and sometimes nonsensical jokes, fit his own personality. “What about Davis?”
The Captain shrugged. “He’s as dangerous as McAllen, probably worse. He has been interviewed several times as a suspect in the disappearance of young women. He showed up here two years ago.” Walker said, “I suspect we have a team now, made up of these two losers; a pair of serial rapists if not serial killers. I know we have a hell of a problem and we better solve it quick, the clock is ticking. The kids were snatched; he pulled up his sleeve to check his watch... two hours and twenty-five minutes ago.”
Shaw nodded. “We both know the numbers. The bad news is in nearly sixty percent of cases, more than two hours usually pass between the time someone realized the child was missing and the time police were notified. The good news is our search began almost immediately.”
The Captain agreed. “Another bit of good news, traffic cams recorded an older model van with new damage to the left rear quarter panel, after the accident. Our technicians are monitoring footage from all over town, trying to locate it. Bad news is... nothing yet. Shaw, you know as well as I do that in seventy-six percent of the missing children homicide cases, the child is dead within three hours of the abduction. In almost ninety percent of the cases, the child is dead within twenty-four hours. After the first forty-eight hours following an abduction, the chance of finding the victim or in this case the victims alive is, for all intent, virtually unheard of.”
Shaw nodded, “Yeah, I know. Over a thousand people go missing every day and we have no way of knowing how long these two had been active. They know how to rape and murder; probably have been getting away with it for some time.”
Phillips said, “My HRT is the best counter-terrorism and hostage rescue unit the FBI has. I can tell you we’re good at what we do. We’re trained specifically to rescue citizens in hostage and high-risk law enforcement situations. I have fifty of our best operators headed this way.” He checked his watch. “The last team should arrive in about forty minutes.”
Captain Walker said, “Look, we’re not going to get into a turf pissing war with you guys. While normally we would have jurisdiction, the fact that these victims are part of the Rourke family changes everything. We will cooperate fully with the Bureau.”
Shaw said, “Thank you Captain. Guys, here is my bottom line. These aren’t just victims; they happen to be my... Two of them are my grandchildren and the other two are their cousins. You have the unlimited resources of the Secret Service. The only good piece of news is John Thomas Rourke is currently out of the country and you have to deal with me instead of him. You may think I’m a son of a bitch, and I am. But if this goes down wrong, you will be dealing with him and John Rourke scares the hell outta me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Tim Rourke lay there... thinking, What can we do? He thought about his father, Plan ahead, that’s what Dad always says. A sharp pain stabbed in his side. Raising himself up a little, he saw a rusty nail head protruding a quarter of an inch out of the floor. They had been taken, not too gently, out of the van and were now in a room; a dirty and dark and damp room, and he didn’t have a clue as to where it was located. He did know that they didn’t have much time left. He lay back down and bumped his head gently on the floor to catch the other’s attention. Then he rolled onto his back and slowly pushed both feet out and up; he looked at them and did it again, faster this time.
They nodded and then Tim closed his eyes and laid his head back down. They all went “back to sleep” and waited. Tim began to work the nail head quietly on the duct tape that bound his hands. When it finally parted enough, he rested. He was about to free Jack when he heard the floor creek. They’re coming, he thought. He lay there keeping his hands behind him as if they were still bound.
Tim lay still as Davis approached with McAllen close behind. He and Jack were closest and lay curled up in fetal positions. Davis went to the girls to check them and he said with some concern, “They should be awake by now.”
“Yeah,” McAllen said as he reached for Jack. Jack rolled over on his back and shot out both legs, smacking McAllen in the face as he leaned over. “Damn it,” McAllen screamed as he staggered back. Tim rolled over and launched his feet at McAllen’s crotch. “Oooooh,” McAllen squealed as he sank to his knees.
Paula’s feet shot out aiming for Davis’ face; he swatted them away. Natalie’s feet smashed into his right ankle and Davis fell. “Bitch,” he shouted and struck Natalie’s jaw hard with his fist. Paula tried again and missed again.
Davis turned his attention to her. Tim pushed up from the floor and got his legs under him and jumped, aiming for Davis and hitting him in small of the back. The impact sent them both tumbling. Tim kept punching at Davis’ head as hard as he could.
McAllen stood up and pulled a small blue steel revolver from his belt. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it now,” he shouted. The kids froze. McAllen helped Davis to his feet. “You okay?”
Davis flashed a glare of pure hate that scanned the face of each of the kids, before slugging Tim in the face. “Yeah, I’m alright but they aren’t.” He looked into Paula’s eyes. “I’m going to take my time with you,” he said before looking at Natalie. “And you too, and when I’m through with you, I’m gonna kill ya and then rape you again and again. After you’re dead, you little whores... I’ll let the rats feed on you. By the time your bodies are found... Well, it won’t be an open casket funeral, I promise. Oh, by the way, Lee really likes boys; want to know what’s in store for you?”
McAllen smiled that crooked gap-toothed grin. “Let me tell, can I tell them?”
Davis smiled. “Sure.”
McAllen looked at Tim. “You’re first, I’m lookin’ forward to you.” He looked over at Jack. “And when I’m through with him, you’ll be next. When I’m through with both of ya, I’m going to strangle you with my bare hands.” He licked his lips. “Then ya know what I’m gonna do? I’m going to slice ya up and cook ya for my supper, hahahaha!”
Davis slapped Paula across the face. “Bring me some rope for this one,” he said, pointing at Tim. McAllen went in the next room and returned with a small length of grass rope. Davis rebound Tim’s hands and threw him across the room. “Come on,” he said to McAllen. Davis wiped blood from his jaw. “I need to see how bad this cut is, that little bastard...” He looked at Tim. “You guys enjoy yourselves for a little while. Trust me, you ain’t going anywhere and we’ll be back shortly.”
Chapter Fourteen
Paul and Annie had just checked in with each other and Paul told her he would be on his way back shortly. Captain Walker approached Rubenstein and Shaw as they stood on the patio. “Guys, we got a break. Those traffic cams finally paid off. Once we had a track to follow, Hickam Air Field launched two tracking drones.” He looked at Shaw. “I guess you were able to pull some strings?”
Shaw smiled and nodded. “Like I said before, you have the unlimited resource.”
Walker smiled. “Thanks, it made all the difference. One of the drones found the van and tracked it as it turned south off of Lunalilo Freeway, or Highway 1, onto Ward Ave. Then it took a left on Ala Moana Boulevard followed by a right on Ala Moana Park Drive, to right here where they parked, right here.” He showed them an aerial photo.
“This is a row of dilapidated buildings on the nor
th side of the Kewalo Basin. Kewalo Basin used to be pretty active but it is older now; kind of a poor man’s mixed-use harbor for commercial fishing and recreational vessels. Not much charter work there but the old loading docks are still available for harbor tenants and guests.”
Shaw said, “Tell me about the marina and waterfront area?”
Walker said, “The various buildings, piers and docks were constructed over many decades. Most have been repaired, renovated and/or demolished and replaced since their original construction. HPD has evacuated occupants from any structure close to the scene. There are about 250 boat slips ranging in size but less than half of them occupied. We’ve already made a call to the marina office. Luckily, today there were only a few folks in the area and we have them moved out.”
Phillips said, “Let me get with my team leaders. How long will it take to get there?”
Walker checked his watch. “This time of day probably thirty minutes, but if we wait until rush hour... you’re talking an hour to an hour and a half.”
Emma emerged from the house and walked to her father. “Anything yet, Dad?”
Shaw turned. “We have an idea of where the kids might be being held. We ain’t waiting a second longer than necessary and I’m going to be there when this goes down.” Emma nodded and hugged her dad.
Paul kissed her forehead and said, “I’m going home, I will be there with Annie when you call.”
“Go, all we can do right now is pray,” Emma said.
Chapter Fifteen
Phillips, his two team leaders, Tim Shaw and Walker, were gathered around the front end of Phillips’ sedan, leaning over the hood, studying a map. Phillips said, “Okay our first unit will park here, and advance on foot to here...” He pointed out the location on the map before asking his first team leader, “How long to get in position here?”
