by DL Cook
“Hanson?”
“I don't know.”
Oh please tell me Cinthia is there. “How about a woman?”
“No man, no chicks.”
“Well, thanks.”
“No prob—”
Lucus ended the call and dialed Kurt.
“Hello,” a groggy voice said after the fifth ring.
“Kurt, it's Lucus. You at the warehouse?”
“Hell no, man. They're not paying me overtime or at all for that shit man. I went home at six on the dot. My shift ended and I bounced, man. I did stop by the station though. Jackie said there was cake.”
Lucus hung up. He dialed Hanson. No answer. He dialed Cinthia.
“Hey Lucus, you better get down to the station.”
“Why, what's going on?”
“Chaos I guess is the best word for it. Don's not here. Libby's not here. People are dancing on the tables. Someone found an old boombox.”
Lucus heard the music and something breaking in the background. “I want you to release Mort,” he told her. “Tell him to meet me at the warehouse.”
“Got it.”
“You know where Peggy is?”
“Yeah, she's in her office yelling at the phone company to hurry up with handing over some records.”
“Okay.” Better not bother Peggy then. “So release Mort, then try to get some order in there.”
“Yes sir.”
Lucus called Don. Straight to voicemail. He called Libby.
“Hey Lucus. Is Don with you?”
“No. Where are you?”
“I'm at home. I'm trying to get Ludvig to come out from under Tom's bed. But the silly guy got spooked.”
“Ludvig? Never mind. Listen, there's a problem at the station. They're having a party or something. Mort's not involved in the Hadiger properties—”
“I knew it.”
“So I instructed Cinthia to let him go. There might be a problem at the warehouse. I can't reach Clyde or anyone who's supposed to be there. I'm heading there now.”
“What should I do?” Libby asked.
“You're in charge.”
“Right. Well, um, um, um, thanks Lucus. I'll think of something.”
Lucus made a u-turn and sped toward the warehouse.
Libby's phone rang after she finished with Lucus. It was a number she never saw before, certainly not one of her contacts. She let it go to voicemail. Ludvig still cowered under the bed. He was such a big dog. Libby wondered how he'd gotten under there. She left food and water for him and went in search of Wolfgang.
She grabbed the sleepy puppy, kissed him between the eyes, and put him in her bag. Then she was off to work. Her phone, having been called by the strange number a couple of more times, vibrated to let her know there was a message. It occurred to her then that Peggy might be able to track Don's phone. Libby stepped on the gas.
The station was as Lucus described. Cinthia screamed at her older colleagues, but to no avail. Tom waved at Libby from behind a couple of dancers, then resumed playing with his phone.
“May I have your attention please,” Libby squeaked.
Kurt turned to her for a second, opened a fresh beer, then ignored her. The others paid her no attention at all. Libby sighed and went to Peggy's office.
The forensics expert slammed her phone on the desk. “Those rotten bastards. 'Three to five business days,' they said. And they're going to charge us for it. Where's Don? Last time he threatened them with a r—what's wrong, sweetheart?”
Libby realized she was crying. She reached into her bag for a bottle of water. Drinking usually stopped the tears until she could go to somewhere private. Instead of the bottle she felt something warm and fuzzy. Then something wet. The puppy licked her hand.
“What's the matter, Libby dear?”
“I don't know where Don is. He didn't come home last night.”
“You came here so you could track him?”
Libby nodded, drying her wet cheeks with her sleeve. In her head she heard Don's voice scolding her for touching her face with a dirty hand. The tears welled up in her eyes again.
“Have a seat, honey. Let's see if we can find Don.” Peggy typed something into her laptop. “Have you tried calling him?”
“Uh huh.”
“No answer, huh?”
“It didn't even ring,” Libby said.
“Maybe he's following a lead and his battery died. Have you tried the radio?”
“Nopers.”
Peggy's radio hissed as she turned up the gain. “Don? You there? Don?” She typed into her computer again. “Hmm. There's no signal. I'm going to have to call the phone company again, to request the phone's previous locations. Don't worry. I'm sure he'll turn up safe and sound.”
Libertad nodded. She hoped Peggy was right.
“In the meantime, maybe you should conduct an investigation.”
That was a great idea. Libby thanked her and left.
Cinthia waited in the hall. “So what now, boss?”
“We're going to find Don.”
“What about everyone in the conference room? It's like they're chickens running around without a head.”
Oh the poor chickens.
No. That was just an expression. Libby refused to be saddened by it. The anger that had been building reached just under her throat. “I'll take care of it,” she murmured.
In the conference room she said, “excuse me.”
No one even glanced her way.
The rage grew past her throat and into her head. She drew her gun and fired several shots into the boombox. All the officers froze. The only sound besides the ringing in her ears came from Arthur's sweeping.
“Don't you have work to do?” Libby glared at them.
“We're waiting for our morning briefing,” someone said.
“New rule. When there isn't a morning briefing, you go to your assigned posts. You go on your patrols. You respond to emergency calls. Got it?”
Some of them nodded. Tom rubbed his hands together excitedly. Kurt rolled his eyes and opened another beer. “You don't get to give us orders.”
“When Don's not here I'm in charge. I'm the Assistant Commissioner.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He rolled his eyes again.
“You're fired!”
Kurt took a step back and paled.
“You heard me. Get your stuff and get out of here. Your last paycheck, not that you deserve it, will be mailed to you. Never come back,” her vocal chords strained. “Now the rest of you, get to work.”
“Yes ma'am,” cops shuffled out of the room.
“Can we...” Kurt began.
“Out!” Libby pointed at the door.
He scuffed out with his head down.
“What do you want me to do,” Tom rubbed his hands together as if lathering them with soap.
“Sit here for now.”
“You got it, dude,” Tom pulled up a chair.
Libby sat down for a second to catch her breath. Realizing the gun was still in her hand, she holstered it. The puppy looked up at her with wide eyes. Libby scratched under his muzzle. “Sometimes you have to yell at people or else they don't listen.”
She exhaled and stood. “Cinthia, you're with me.”
“Oh son of a,” Lucus reeled from the smell. He lifted his undershirt over his nose. Water pooled under his boots. His flashlight beam shimmered off into the darkness.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
Only dripping answered Lucus. He splashed toward the interior, sweeping his flashlight from side to side. In one corner, before the space opened to where the corpses were discovered, he found a body in a police uniform. His heart skipped a beat. The bloat looked like Hanson.
Someone killed Hanson and cut the power. Lucus was about to call Don when he realized his boss was missing.
That whole thing with Mort was a distraction for someone to destroy the evidence. It made sense now. Lucus reached Hanson, slumped over in a chair. As he shone the light at h
is face the man started.
“Whoa. What's going on? Don't hurt me,” Hanson raised his arms.
“It's me, Lucus.” He shone his light elsewhere, relieved that Hanson was alive. “What the hell happened here?”
“I don't know. I was just resting my eyes, and the next thing I know you're shining a light in my face.”
“We're going to retrace Don's steps?” Cinthia asked from the passenger seat.
“Yep,” Libby replied. “After we found Travis and all that, Don and Clyde went to the morgue so that Mrs. Quinton could identify her son. So sad,” Libby fought back tears. “So that's where we'll start.”
Arthur beat them to the Medical Examiner's office. As they pulled into the empty lot he was busy mopping it. The janitor skittered every way Libby pointed the car, forcing her to stop.
Her uncle stopped too. She moved. So did he.
“For the love of God, Arthur, get out of my way.”
The janitor muttered to himself and moved his bucket.
“What happened here?” Libby noted all the broken glass and metal shards.
Cinthia drew her attention to the shot up door. “Should I call Peggy?”
“Definitely. Make sure Arthur doesn't touch anything. I'm going in.”
Libby went through the broken door with her gun drawn. Nothing seemed amiss inside, but one could never be too careful. She arrived at the morgue without incident, wondering where all of Mort's workers were. The double doors were unlocked. Libby forgot which unit Clyde slept in, so she banged on all of them.
There was a thud, and then an “ow!” One of the fridges opened and Clyde slid out, rubbing his head. “What's going on?”
“That's what I was gonna ask you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Weren't you supposed to be at the warehouse?”
“Uh yeah,” Clyde said, “but Duncan brought over a body. I left two uniforms guarding the warehouse. So I kind of fell asleep here last night.”
“You didn't hear anything unusual?”
He made a face. “Nope. Don't hear much in there,” he pointed. “Which is why I like it so much.”
“Was Don here last night?”
“Yeah. He brought over this old woman to identify the body.”
“Then what happened?”
“Uh, nothing. The lady left, then Don asked some stuff about Mort. Then he left.” Clyde shrugged. “Why, what's going on?”
“Don is missing,” Libby's voice quivered. “And it looks like there was something not good happening outside.”
“Oh.” Clyde offered her some kombucha.
“Thanks.”
“I'm fiddling with your recipe.”
“Yeah, this is more tart. I like it.”
“Thanks.”
“Where is everyone? Usually there's the guys that drive the vans and help you guys,” Libby said.
“They come mid afternoons, most times, unless there's something for them to do,” Clyde shrugged.
Libby asked him around what time Don and Ingrid left, wrote it down, and left. When she got to the entrance Cinthia was pushing against Arthur, trying to prevent him from contaminating the crime scene.
“Arthur, please stop that. You're destroying evidence.”
“I'm only trying to be helpful,” her uncle replied as Peggy's van pulled into the lot.
Don awoke with the worst headache ever. The rest of his body felt no better, except for his butt, which had fallen asleep. He couldn't move his arms or legs.
Don was hazy on what happened. The last thing he remembered was running away from two big men. He thought he shot one of them. Judging from the restraints around his wrists, tying him to a metal chair, it wasn't enough.
He surveyed the room. Mounted on the wooden wall next to a very familiar and torn painting of a man and a dog was a deer head. Its huge antlers clipped the ceiling. The mustiness of the air along with other assorted hunting trophies told him he was in a cabin.
“Hello?” he said through dry lips. Not a good situation, but whoever had him wanted him alive. “I kinda have to go to the bathroom. Hello?”
“Still no word from Don?” Peggy asked over her lift's mechanical whine.
“No,” Libby sucked on her bottom lip.
Peggy rolled onto the concrete. “Did you check your voicemails? Sometimes your phone doesn't have a signal and whoever's calling you can't get through.”
Libby checked her phone. “I do have a voicemail!”
She held it to her ear. Instead of Don she heard a computer. Like a robot from one of those old sci-fi shows it said, “Li. Bee. I have D-on. Do. As. I. Say. And. He. Will. Not. Be. Harmed. Dee-stroy the. Ev. Edens. Cut. The. Pow her. In. Ware. House. Or. Your. D-on. Is. De-ad.”
“What's the matter, child?” Peggy frowned.
Libby sniffled while trying to figure out which button to push to replay the message. “He's been captured by a robot. I hate Ray Kurzweil. He's evil!”
Peggy gently took the phone out of her hands and replayed the message on speaker. “Sweetheart, it's not a robot that has him. It's someone using an old text to speech program.”
“That's what I meant,” Libby got a hold of herself. “Inside is the last place anyone saw Don. He came here to meet Mrs. Quinton to identify her son's body.” Tears threatened again.
Peggy had Libertad redial the kidnapper. The line was dead.
“Arthur!” Peggy barked. “Get away from that. That's evidence. Cinthia, can you lock him in the car?”
“I've been trying,” said Cinthia. But Arthur was too persistent.
Libby helped draw her uncle away from the broken glass. “Look, Arthur. All that mess that needs cleaning over there.”
“I'll get to it later,” the janitor said. “This other area,” he gestured behind him, “is of vital importance.”
“Don't worry, you'll get to it,” Cinthia said on his other side.
Arthur jumped. “Oh my, you startled me. I didn't see you there.”
Libby made a mental note to push up the date she and her mom would take Arthur to a neurologist. They had planned it for December, but it might have to be sooner. “Just send him to a home already,” she heard Don's voice in her head and smiled. The tears threatened to come back.
“Clyde confirmed that Don was here and left?” Peggy asked once Arthur was secured in the backseat of Libby's squad car.
“Yeah. Mrs. Quinton left first, he said. I'm gonna go ask her if she saw anything later.”
“Good thinking.” Peggy gazed at the doors. “So we know Don was abducted, and whoever has him is responsible for the warehouse. They also knew enough to find him here last night. Maybe he was followed. Maybe they have a police scanner.”
She squinted at something. “Did Arthur move anything over there?”
“No,” Cinthia said.
“Okay.” Peggy took out a camera. “Cinthia, be a dear and take a few photos of those shell casings over there.” She pointed in the direction she rolled. “Looks like the glass on the entrance was broken by shots fired from here. The way they're spaced, Don was moving. Either toward the building or away from it. Here, take these number cards.”
“How do you know it was Don?”
“You know how he instructed everyone to start marking their bullets with a permanent marker after that last shootout you guys had? He wanted for us to be able to easily distinguish between which bullets were ours and which the bad guys'. I know for a fact he marked his in blue.
“Libby, where does he usually park when he comes here? Over there?”
“Yeah. How'd you know?”
“I figure he was going towards his car, or away from it. Where else would one go? And he parked there because it's the closest non-handicapped parking spot to the entrance.”
“Yeah, he's a stickler for the silliest rules,” Libby smiled.
“Since Clyde saw him inside, Don was most likely shooting while running toward his car.” Peggy handed Libby a vial. “Take a sample of that
, dear. That's blood.”
“They shot him?”
“Judging from the trail, I'd say he shot his attacker.” She rolled toward the door. “Somewhere around here. Don exits the building, gets jumped, runs to his car. Firing backwards. Breaks the windows. Hits his attacker. Gets to his car.”
She rolled back to Don's parking spot. “He drove away fast,” Peggy noted the rubber embedded into the cement. “Made a turn for the exit.”
Libby took notes and followed behind Peggy. They came upon a shoe.
“Not Don's?”
“Noppers. Don has small feet.”
“When Cinthia's done taking pictures of it, we'll bag it.”
“I was gonna say that,” Libby smiled for a second, then remembered her husband was missing.
“So what's it doing here? Might be it has nothing to do with Don. On the other hand, if it does...”
Libby put her index finger to her lips. The gears turned in her head. “Maybe someone held on to the car and his shoe fell off?”
“Definitely a possibility,” Peggy said. A couple of dozen feet later she gasped.
“What? What is it?”
“Look at those tire tracks and the broken glass.”
“They're per-per-per,” Libby searched for the word, “perpendictutar.”
“Perpendicular. Yes. Another car crashed into Don's from that direction. By the looks of it a blue car. I'd say one of those newer luxury models with an automatic braking system, unless the driver changed his mind and tried to stop at the last second. And you were right about someone hanging on. Look here. The force of the impact threw him off. I know a helmet-less head on the pavement when I see one.” The gray concrete had a dark, roundish spot.
“Take a sample,” Peggy gave her another vial. Peggy wrote on a baggy with a permanent marker. “So I know where the sample came from,” she explained when Libby was about to ask.
“What are those other spots around there?”
“You'll take samples of those too. Not in the same vial.”
“Sorry.”
“That's okay, dear.” Peggy gave her little cards with letters and numbers to place next to the dark spots. “Make sure the letters on the baggies match the samples. Understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Those smaller splotches look like they're from the guy that got shot. We'll know for certain when I get them to the lab. But my preliminary opinion is that there were at least two guys. One who got shot, and another that hit his head. Looks like the guy who got shot dragged him away, in this direction.”
