The Plantation paj-1

by Chris Kuzneski

  A few seconds later, Jones smiled in triumph when an elaborate tattoo came into view. The three-inch design was in the shape of the letter P, and it started directly below the palm of the suspect’s hand. The straight edge of the symbol was in the form of an intricately detailed sword, the blade’s handle rising high above the letter’s curve. At the base of the drawing, small drops of blood fell from the weapon’s tip, leaving the impression that it had just been pulled from the flesh of a fallen victim. Finally, dangling from each side of the sword was a series of broken chains, which appeared to be severed near the left and right edge.

  As Jones printed several copies of the image, his speakerphone buzzed, followed by the voice of his secretary. “Mr. Payne is on line one.”

  With a touch of a button, Jones answered his call. “Jon, any news?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing. I went to the police like you suggested and filled out the appropriate paperwork. It turns out that I knew a few of the officers on duty. They assured me that Ariane would get top priority.”

  “Even though she’s only been gone a few hours?”

  “Her scream on the surveillance tape and Mr. McNally’s testimony have a lot to do with it. Normally, they’d wait a lot longer before they pursued a missing person, but as I said, the evidence suggests foul play.”

  “Did they give you any advice?”

  “I wouldn’t call it advice. I think a warning would be more accurate. These cops know me, so they automatically assumed that I would do something stupid to get in their way. Why would they think that?”

  Jones smiled. The cops had pegged him perfectly. Payne was definitely the intrusive type. “Instead of giving you the obvious answer, let me tell you what I discovered.” He described the image in detail, then filled him in on a theory. “I think we’re looking for a Holotat.”

  “A Holo-what?”

  “Holotat.”

  Payne scrunched his face. “What the hell is that?”

  “Back in World War Two, German guards used to tattoo their prisoners with numbers on their wrists in order to keep track of them. After the war, the people who survived these camps had a constant reminder of the Holocaust, marks that eventually became a source of inspiration.”

  “What does that have to do with Ariane?”

  “About five years ago, members of Los Diablos, a Hispanic gang from East L.A., decided it would be cool if they tattooed their brothers in a similar fashion, marking them on their wrists. Before then, gangs used to get their tattoos on their arms, chests, or back, but suddenly this trend caught on. Holocaust tattoos, known as Holotats, started popping up everywhere.”

  “And you think the P tattoo is a Holotat gang emblem?”

  Jones nodded his head. “That’s what it looks like to me. Of course, I could be wrong. It could be a jailhouse tat or the initial of his girlfriend, but my guess would be a Holotat.”

  Payne considered the information, and a question sprang to mind. “You said it might be his girlfriend’s initial. Does that mean we’re sure it’s a guy?”

  “That would be my guess. The thickness of the wrist suggests a masculine suspect, but to be on the safe side, I wouldn’t completely rule out a female. Of course, she’d have to be a Sasquatch-looking bitch.”

  Payne laughed for the first time in a long time. He felt better knowing that Jones was helping him through this. “So, what now?”

  “Why don’t you come down here? I have a few more tests I want to run on the video. But I want you to look at the tattoo to see if you notice anything that I didn’t.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  IT took Payne nearly an hour to reach Mount Washington, and the drive was a miserable one. Holiday traffic was starting to pick up even though it was only midday. Payne used his master key to enter Jones’s technology lab and found his friend hard at work on the computer.

  “Any new developments?” Payne asked as he picked up a printout of the tattoo and studied it.

  “There wasn’t much visual data to work with on the disc, so I focused on the audio. I know it’s hard to believe, but sound can tell you so much.”

  “You mean like her scream?”

  “No, I mean like background noise. You know, stuff that’s there, but isn’t really obvious.”

  “Such as?”

  Jones walked to the far side of the room and tapped his hand on a small metallic unit. “I call this device the Listener, and for the last half hour, it’s been our best friend.”

  Payne crossed the room for a closer look and watched as Jones typed a specific code into the unit’s keypad. The Listener responded by extending its front tray six inches forward.

  “This unit was designed to analyze sound and place it into specific categories. Since we were dealing with a stable environment with little background noise I had the machine focus on a couple of things. The first was her voice. I wanted to see if I could understand what she tried to say after her initial scream.”

  “You mean when her voice got garbled.”

  “Yeah. My guess is they were probably gagging her at the time, but I was hoping the machine might be able to isolate the sound and clean it up for us.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Actually, it worked beautifully. Unfortunately, it won’t help our cause very much.”

  “Why not? What did she say?”

  Jones picked up the transcript and read it aloud. “She said, ‘Help me. Somebody help me.’ ”

  Payne closed his eyes as Ariane’s words sank in. He had managed to stay relaxed while Jones explained the features of his computer equipment, but now that the focus of the conversation was back on Ariane, Payne felt the nausea return. What would he do if he couldn’t track her down? Or worse yet, if someone had already killed her?

  “Jon?” Jones said. “Are you okay? I asked you a question.”

  Payne opened his eyes and turned to his friend. “Sorry. What was that?”

  “I wanted to know if you told the cops how many people were involved.”

  He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I told them that Mr. McNally saw more than one person, but wasn’t sure how many.”

  “Well, thanks to the Listener, I’d say that there were probably three of them.”

  Payne sat up in his chair. “How did you figure that out?”

  “Simple. I programmed the device to filter out everything but the footsteps, and after listening to the disc, I could hear three distinct sets. But, as they were leaving, I could only hear two.”

  “You mean someone stayed inside Ariane’s apartment?”

  Jones shook his head. “At first, that’s what I thought, too, but as I listened to the disc again, I noticed a scratching noise in the background. I filtered out all the other sounds, isolating the scratch, and this is what I got.” He pushed his mouse button once, and a rough grating sound emerged from his system’s speakers. “What does that sound like to you?”

  “Feet dragging on a carpet?”

  “Bingo!” Jones was impressed that his friend had figured it out so quickly. It had taken him several minutes to come up with a hypothesis. “Remember what McNally said? It looked like your girlfriend was snookered because they were practically carrying her to the van? Well, my guess is she was drugged or knocked out. The three sets of footsteps that the Listener originally detected were Ariane and the two assailants. They broke into her place, gagged her, drugged her, then dragged her out. That’s the only thing that fits.”

  “But I thought you said there were three guys involved. Where was the third guy while the abduction was going on?” Before Jones had a chance to answer, the solution popped into Payne’s head. “Oh, shit! They probably needed a driver to stay outside in the van.”

  Jones nodded. “That’s what most criminals would do.”

  CHAPTER 14

  PAYNE

  and Jones gathered all of the information they’d accumulated and took it directly to the police. When
they entered the local precinct, Payne headed for Captain Tomlin’s office. He had met Tomlin a year earlier at a charity golf event that Payne Industries had sponsored, and they had stayed in touch since.

  “Do you have a minute?” Payne asked as he tapped on Tomlin’s glass door. The captain, who had curly hair and thick arms, waved him in. “Have you ever met David Jones?”

  Tomlin introduced himself, shaking Jones’s hand with a powerful grip. “Jon has told me all about you. I almost feel like we’ve met. I understand that you served under him in special ops.”

  “Yeah,” Jones answered as he took a seat next to Payne. “We relied on each other so much we ended up attached in the real world.”

  “That happens all the time. There’s something about life in the military that draws soldiers together-a kindred spirit that bonds all warriors.”

  Payne winced at the suggestion. “I don’t know about that crap. I think D.J. stuck with me so I could get him a job.”

  Jones nodded. “To be honest, he’s right. I actually can’t stand the bastard.”

  Tomlin laughed loudly. “So, I take it from your comedy that Ariane’s all right? Where was that gal hiding?”

  The comment drained the humor from the room.

  “Don’t let our joking fool you,” Jones declared. “It’s just our way of dealing with things. The truth is we’re still looking for her.”

  Payne held up his cell phone, showing it to Tomlin. “I’m having all of my calls forwarded. If she tries to contact any one of my lines, it’ll ring here.”

  “Good, then you won’t have to sit at home, killing time.”

  Payne took a deep breath and nodded. To him, waiting was the hardest part. “How are things on your end? Did you have a chance to send any officers to her apartment?”

  “I sent a small crew over. Unfortunately, we didn’t notice anything new. You guys must’ve done a pretty thorough job this morning.”

  “We did,” Payne said. “I hope we didn’t step on any toes by entering the scene.”

  “Heavens no. I would’ve done the same thing if a loved one of mine was involved in something like this. Of course, my answer as a police officer would’ve been different if I didn’t know you. But you’re professionals, so I trust your judgment when it comes to a crime scene.”

  Jones stood from his chair and handed the captain all of the information he had acquired from Ariane’s DVD. “We did get some data on one of the suspects that entered the apartment. He had an elaborate tattoo on his right wrist. Looks like a Holotat to me.”

  Tomlin pulled a close-up of the tattoo from the large stack of papers and studied it. “It could be, but very few gangs in Allegheny County use them. They’re a lot more common on the West Coast and down south.”

  “That makes sense,” Payne said, “since this person’s probably from Louisiana.”

  Tomlin furrowed his brow. “I’m not so sure of that. If I were a criminal, I wouldn’t use my own van as a getaway vehicle. And if I did, you can bet I wouldn’t use my own license plate. I’d bet there’s a good chance we’re going to get a report of a stolen plate or an abandoned black van somewhere in the area. And when we do, we can go from there.”

  That wasn’t what Payne wanted to hear. He was hoping the captain supported his theory on the van’s origin. When he didn’t, he felt an unexpected burst of betrayal. “What are you saying, that these clues are a waste of time?”

  “No, I’m not saying that at all. Every little bit helps. However, I’m not going to blow smoke. I respect you way too much for that.”

  “Good! Then tell me where we stand. I need to know.”

  Tomlin leaned back in his chair and searched for the appropriate words. “In a standard kidnapping, there’s little we can actually do until we get some kind of ransom demand. Sure, we’ll continue to search for evidence and witnesses, but without some kind of break, the odds of us finding her

  before

  they call are pretty slim.”

  Jones glanced at his friend and waited to see if he was going to speak, but it was obvious he was done talking for the moment. “Captain? In your opinion, do you think this abduction was done for money?”

  Tomlin didn’t want Payne to feel responsible for the kidnapping, but there was no denying the obvious. “To be honest, that would be my guess. Payne Industries is a well-known company, and Jon is recognized as one of the wealthiest men in the city. Since Ariane doesn’t have a history with drugs or any other criminal activities, I can think of no other reason for her abduction.”

  “Thank you for your honesty,” Payne said. Then, to the surprise of Jones and Tomlin, he stood up and headed for the door. “If you find anything at all, please let me know.”

  “I promise,” Tomlin called out. “The same goes for you. Call me day or night.”

  ***

  WHEN

  they reached the parking lot, Jones questioned Payne. “Jon, what’s going on? First you snapped at the man, then you bolted from his office without even saying goodbye. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  Payne shrugged. “I’m not really sure. But I’ll tell you one thing. I’m not going to sit at home, waiting for some ransom demand.”

  “I kind of assumed that. You aren’t exactly the sit-on-your-ass type.”

  Payne nodded as he pondered what to do next. Even though he valued Captain Tomlin’s advice, there was something about his opinion that bothered him. He couldn’t place his finger on why, but he knew he didn’t agree with Tomlin’s assessment of the black van.

  While thinking things through, Payne pulled from the crowded police lot and turned onto a busy side street. He maneuvered his vehicle in and out of traffic until he got to McKnight Road, one of the busiest business districts in the area. As he stopped at a red light, Payne reached across Jones’s lap and pulled a small book out of the Infiniti’s glove compartment.

  “What’s that?” Jones asked.

  “It’s my address book. I’m checking to see if I know anyone from Louisiana. I figure maybe a local would know something about the Holotat. You don’t know anyone down there, do you?”

  “Sorry. My roots are up north, just like yours. Why, do you have someone in mind?”

  “No, but-” The light turned green, and as it did, the word

  green

  clicked in Payne’s mind. “I’ll be damned! I just thought of someone from New Orleans.”

  “Who?”

  “Did I ever introduce you to Levon Greene?”

  Jones’s eyes lit up with excitement. Levon Greene was an All-Pro linebacker for the Buffalo Bills before a devastating knee injury knocked him from the NFL. Before getting chop-blocked by Nate Barker, a guard with the San Diego Chargers, Greene was a fan favorite. He was known throughout the country for his tenacity and his colorful nickname, taken from a famous Bob Marley song. “The Buffalo Soldier? You know the Buffalo Soldier?”

  Payne nodded. “He lived in Pittsburgh for a year after the Bills cut him. The Steelers signed him and kept him on their injured list for over a season. Our paths crossed on more than one occasion on the b-ball courts. He liked to play hoops for therapy.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you

  know

  him. I see Steelers and Pirates all of the time, but that doesn’t mean they’re my boys.”

  “True, but I know Levon.” He handed Jones the address book and told him to look for a phone number. Jones quickly flipped to the

  G

  s and was stunned when he saw Greene listed.

  “Holy shit! You do know him.”

  “I told you I knew him. What’s Levon’s home number?”

  Jones glanced at the page for the requested information. “You don’t have a home number. You only have a cell listed.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense. When he gave me his info, he was just getting ready to move back to New Orleans and didn’t know his new number.”

  “He was moving to Louisiana, and he gave you his number? What,
were you guys dating or something?”

  Payne laughed. “Jealous?”

  Jones shook his head and grinned. He’d always been amazed at Payne’s ability to keep his sense of humor in the most tragic of times. Sure, his buddy would have the occasional flare-up and reveal his true emotions during a crisis, but on the whole Payne was able to conceal his most personal feelings under a facade of levity.

  Originally, when the two first met, Jones had interpreted Payne’s frivolity as a lack of seriousness, and he actually resented him for it. After a while, though, he learned that Payne’s sense of humor was simply his way of dealing with things. He realized that Payne never mocked the tragedy of a situation. Instead, he tried to use humor as a way of coping with the fear and adrenaline that would otherwise overwhelm him. It was a good trick, and eventually Jones and several other MANIACs learned to do the same thing.

  “Seriously, what’s the deal with you two? Have you known him long?”

  “I met him in North Park playing basketball. We were on the same team, and the two of us just clicked on the court. He was rehabbing his knee, so he couldn’t move like he used to on the football field. But he was strong as an ox. He set some of the most vicious screens I have ever seen in my life, and most of the time he did it to get me open jumpers.”

  Jones laughed at the description of Greene. “It sounds like Levon plays hoops with the same intensity he showed in the NFL.”

  “Hell, yeah! Even though we were in the park, he had a serious game face on. In fact, some people were afraid to play against the guy.”

  “I bet, but that still doesn’t explain why he gave you his number.”

  “We ended up making it a daily thing. We’d meet at the courts at the same time every day, and we’d take on all comers. Kicked some serious ass, too. Unfortunately, right before Steelers camp started, he failed his physical and was released from the team. But he told me if I was ever in New Orleans I should give him a call.”

  “Wow, I’m kind of surprised. I thought I knew most of your friends, and now I find out you’ve been keeping a celebrity from me. So, are there any movie star chums that I should know about?”