WHERE'S MY SON? (Det. Jason Strong (CLEAN SUSPENSE Book 1)

by John C. Dalglish

  “Sure, nurse in OB.”

  “How about an address?”

  Jason dialed Sam Garner while the security chief looked up the nurse’s address.

  “Detective Garner.”

  “Sam, this is Jason Strong. I may have a lead on my guy.”

  The security chief slid a piece of paper with an address and phone number in front of Jason. While Jason relayed the address to Sam, Tom Evans called the nurse’s number.

  He shook his head as Jason watched him. “Went to an answering machine.”

  Jason told Sam. “Sam, no answer at the number. Do you know where the address is?”

  “Yes. I'll pick you up in ten.”

  “I'll be waiting.”

  *******

  Stan Turnbull climbed the steps out of his pool and grabbed the towel hanging on the fence. He tried to have a swim in every morning before starting his day. This morning was no different.

  Most of the backyard was taken up with an Olympic-sized pool. Across the back and down the sides of the property was an eight-foot high, wood privacy fence. Blue morning glories grew over most of it.

  Attached to the back of the one-story house was a covered patio. He toweled himself off as he walked to his chair under the patio roof. The sun was out and the day promised to be hot.

  He sat down, sipped his coffee, and opened the paper. Unable to focus, and after a feeble attempt at the crossword, he set the paper down.

  Details ran through his mind. He was planning the next ‘adoption,’ and things had to be just right to make it equally as successful as the previous jobs.

  He needed to talk to Benny Carter and see if he wanted in on another deal. He’d tried to reach him a couple of times, but hadn’t got an answer. Picking up the phone, he punched in the number again.

  It rang three times before picking up. “This is Benny, you know what to do. Wait for…”

  Stan hung up. He didn’t leave messages; they were loose ends that could be traced back to him. He took another sip of coffee and decided to call his sister.

  He punched her speed dial number. “This is Susan, sorry I can’t answer. Leave a message.”

  He hung up before the beep. “What's the deal? Is no one around?”

  He heard the click of a gun hammer as it was being pulled back. “Sure, Stan. I'm here.”

  Stan started to turn around, when he felt the end of the gun barrel press against his skull. He froze as a black leather bag dropped into his lap. “Who are you? What is this?”

  “Open it...put ‘em on.”

  Stan didn't recognize the voice. “And if I refuse?”

  A tremendous explosion next to Stan’s ear was followed by shattering glass. The gun barrel returned to the back of his head, but this time the end was hot and burned him. Stan’s mind spun with the echo.

  “Open...it...and…put...them...on.”

  When Stan had gathered himself, he fumbled with the bag until the contents spilled out into his lap. Two sets of handcuffs. A chill ran down his spine and he hesitated.

  “Put them on, the feet first.”

  As Stan leaned forward to cuff his feet, the gun never lost contact with his body. It traveled down his neck and back as he bent over, then retraced the path as he straightened up.

  “Now the hands.”

  Stan complied.

  The stranger walked around in front of Stan and took a chair opposite the cuffed man. The gun remained pointed at Stan's chest. “So, do you recognize me?”

  “No, but I won’t forget your face. I promise you that.”

  “Maybe if I showed you a picture of my son,” he pulled a picture of a baby out for Stan to see. “He has my eyes, don’t you think?”

  Stan stared at it. It started to dawn on him what this was about, and fear quickened his pulse.

  “Picture doesn’t jog your memory?” the man asked.

  Stan didn't answer.

  “Ten years ago, my son was taken from my home; does that help?”

  Stan now stared off in the distance, no longer looking at the picture.

  “How about Benny Carter? Do you remember him? An ex-con who lived west of San Antonio. He seemed to remember you.”

  Stan pretended not to hear, but now he knew which kid this man was after. He looked around, trying to find a means of escape, some way to turn the tables in his favor. He didn’t see one.

  *******

  Michael stared at the large, redheaded man. This was the face behind it all, the one ultimately responsible for what had happened to his son, and to the Barton’s lives.

  Michael was convinced that whoever had his son knew he didn’t belong to them. The darkness in him swore they would pay, too. But for that to happen, he needed information, and he needed it from the man in front of him. “Stand up.”

  Stan slowly got to his feet as Michael moved around behind him, putting the gun in the big man’s back, shoving him forward.

  Stan stumbled in the cuffs and almost fell. Fighting to regain his balance, he swung around to face Michael. “Whoever you are, you’re going to regret this!”

  Michael bore into the man with an icy stare. He picked up the pole to a pool skimmer, and without saying a word, jabbed it into Stan’s massive chest. Stan teetered backwards, getting ever closer to the edge of the pool.

  Michael’s anger boiled over. “Where's my son?”

  “I’m not telling you nothin’!”

  Michael smirked. “Oh, you will, or you’ll learn to swim with those cuffs on.”

  All the blood drained out of Stan’s face and Michael thought the man might pass out.

  “I…I don’t remember...”

  “Really? Your sister seemed to remember.” The look on the big man's face told Michael he’d struck home.

  Panic filled the man’s swollen red eyes. “When did you talk to her? Where is she? Is she okay?”

  Michael's smile was mocking. “Well, let’s see. I saw her yesterday…she’s at home…and whether she’s okay or not probably depends on your point of view.”

  “You…”

  Michael jabbed Stan hard, forcing him back, almost tipping him over the edge. “You better start talking right now, and don’t waste what breath you have left calling me names.”

  “Okay…okay...Duncan...the last name was Duncan.”

  Michael pressed the pole into the man’s chest. “More, I need more!”

  “Come on man, it was ten years ago. I can’t remember everything.”

  Michael exploded.

  “You’re telling ME it’s been ten years? I’ve suffered every day of every week of every month of every year since that afternoon,” Michael increased the pressure of the pole against the big man. “Now, you tell me more.”

  “Alright...he sold homes…Wade…Wade Duncan and his wife Katie, I think.”

  Michael pushed harder. “Where did they live?”

  Stan was at the edge of the pool now, and in full-blown hysteria. “Here in town…south side, I think. I’m not sure.”

  Michael relaxed slightly, his smile returning. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  All at once, Michael lunged forward, shoving the pole hard into Stan’s chest, tipping the big man backwards. Stan clawed at the pole as he started to fall toward the water. Everything went into slow motion.

  As Stan began an inevitable descent into the pool, his eyes grew wide with terror. Michael leered at him, continuing to push with the pole until there was no stopping the big man’s momentum. Michael stepped closer to watch him fall into the water.

  The sound of a huge splash was followed by thrashing, as Stan tried to turn himself over, while he quickly sank. It was too deep for him to stand, so when he reached the bottom, he bent his knees, and thrust himself up. His head cleared the water long enough to get a breath. Again, he sunk quickly.

  He repeated the process a second time, just barely getting his face far enough above water to catch a breath. He thrashed wildly, trying to stay at the top, but his weight was his cur
se. He went down for the last time.

  Within a short time, all motion on the water’s surface stopped, and Stan Turnbull lay on the bottom of the pool. Michael stared for a long time until finally he was confident the big man was dead.

  He spit into the water and walked away.

  *******

  Sam and Jason pulled up at Susan Turnbull's home. Everything appeared quiet. Together they approached the door and rang the bell. After no answer, Sam rang it again. Still nothing.

  Finally, Jason knocked on the door. It swung open. Both detectives drew their guns as Jason pushed the door the rest of the way open.

  “Susan Turnbull! Springfield Police!”

  Sam nodded his head to indicate he was going to search the living room. Jason headed down the hall.

  Sam called out “Clear!” several times, as he checked the living room, dining room, and two bedrooms. Jason checked the kitchen and then the master bedroom.

  “Clear!”

  Moving to the master bath, Jason pushed open the door.

  “Sam!”

  Sam came around the corner and stared at the bathtub. “I'll call it in.”

  An hour later, Jason was outside, leaning on Sam's car. The house was crawling with cops and techs. Sam came out, said a few words to a uniformed officer, and walked over to Jason.

  “Electrocuted, hair dryer. Not a nice way to die.”

  Jason looked up. “Accident?”

  “Not likely.”

  “I agree. It figures to be Michael Barton.”

  “Nothing's been found to suggest him, but it makes sense. We know he was looking for her, but what's the connection?”

  “I don't know yet. Any family to notify?”

  “A brother lives on the other side of town. I sent two uniforms to the house.”

  “Okay. Can you drop me at my car?”

  “Sure, I'm done here.”

  *******

  Michael returned to the motel, satisfied with the way Stan had met his fate. He thought Tammy would have approved. And now, his son was within reach. He had a name, Wade Duncan. It was only a matter of time.

  He poured himself a drink and pulled out his laptop. A search for ‘Springfield, Missouri, real estate agents, Duncan’ took only seconds to pull up the smiling face of Wade Duncan, complete with a short bio. Michael studied the photo for a long time. This was the face his son called ‘Dad.’

  Sipping his drink, he read the bio.

  Wade Duncan was employed at Golden Century Realty on Battlefield Road. He has been top salesman of the year for the central division twice, and was a member of the Million Dollar Club. He was also a member of the local Chamber of Commerce and his church board. The last line said he was married with two children.

  Michael stared at it for a long time. Two children. One child was his kidnapped son, and he couldn't help but wonder about the other child.

  Is the other child someone else's missing baby? The Duncans have to be in on it, they have to know their children belonged to someone else.

  He sucked on his drink. Maybe he could return two children to their rightful parents.

  That would make Tammy very proud.

  Chapter 8

  Michael consulted his map of Springfield. The real estate company was on the south end of town, less than thirty minutes from his motel room. After breakfast, he headed north on Highway 65 toward Wade Duncan’s office.

  He found the address easily enough and parked several rows away from the front door. Golden Century Realty took up one end of a ten-store strip mall. The glass windows were covered with pictures of properties for sale, some covered with large letters declaring them ‘SOLD.’ He saw a secretary inside, but she appeared to be alone.

  Michael watched for twenty minutes but saw no activity inside, so he got out of his car and went in.

  Coming through the door, he paused to look around. Ten desks lined the walls: five down one side and five down the other. Each desk faced toward the door and had two chairs in front of it.

  I imagine a full office would look like a gauntlet of sales people.

  He walked past the desks, toward a glass-paned conference room at the rear of the office. Adjacent to that room was a desk attended by a receptionist. As he approached, he was greeted with a smile. “Can I help you?”

  The nameplate on the desk identified her as Peggy, and she appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Slim and fit with dark eyes and dark hair, Michael found her attractive. “Yes, I hope so. I’m looking for Wade Duncan. Is he in?”

  Peggy looked around as if she was scanning for a wildfire.

  “No,” she let a smile slip. “Actually, they’re all out on caravan.”

  Michael smiled, acknowledging her teasing. “Caravan?”

  “It's a once-a-week trip to see all the new listings. They go out together and tour them. I expect them back in an hour or so. Can I have him call you?”

  “Actually, I'm pretty hard to catch. I’d better call him. Do you have his card?”

  “Sure,” she pointed at the desk directly in front of the door. “There should be one on his desk.”

  Michael walked over and retrieved a card from the tray on the desk. He paused and picked up a picture of a man, his wife, and two kids. They wore big smiles.

  “I've haven't met him in person yet. This is Mr. Duncan and his family?”

  “It is. Really nice people, good people, you know what I mean?”

  Michael could tell by the tone of her voice she was fond of them. He stared at the picture of the two boys, one a near-spitting image of his father.

  Michael forced a chuckle. “The youngest looks just like his father.”

  “That's Jesse. He’s a carbon copy of Wade. The oldest is Jack. Jack was adopted as a baby. I still remember the day they brought him home, they were so proud.”

  She said it as if adoption was a noble act. Under normal circumstances, adoption probably was a great thing, but this was not a normal case at all. Michael thought she probably wouldn't have such a high opinion of the Duncans if she knew how it really happened.

  Of course, she would almost certainly defend them and say the Duncans didn't know what was going on. He was sure the Duncans would claim the same thing. He was not buying it.

  Michael stared at the oldest boy in the picture.

  That’s my son. MY SON! All the football games, picnics, birthdays, and hugs belong to me. They stole them.

  Wade Duncan had taken Michael’s life as a father and lived it for himself. That woman had lived Tammy's life as a mother. Michael wanted to take the picture and smash it.

  Michael became aware Peggy was talking to him. “Sir…Sir?”

  “Oh, sorry...I let my mind wander.”

  “Can I tell him who stopped by?”

  Michael thought about it for a moment. “Sure, tell him Michael from San Antonio.”

  “Really? Texas?”

  It was Michael’s turn to tease. “Yes, Texas.”

  He forced a smile, thanked her for her time, and left. When he returned to his car, his head swam with anger. If blood really did boil, his was frothing right now. His face was flush and he realized he was gripping the steering wheel hard enough to snap it in two.

  He'll know my pain. He’s going to feel the loss I felt.

  Knowing what he had to do, and knowing it required him to be calm and calculating, made him struggle to relax. If the rage took over, he could make a mistake. He wouldn’t make a mistake, he couldn’t, because he owed it to Tammy. And he needed it for himself.

  He started the car and headed out of the parking lot, passing a van full of people in office attire. As they passed, Michael locked eyes with the man in the front passenger seat who he recognized from the picture.

  Wade Duncan.

  *******

  Wade got out of the passenger seat and opened the side door for his fellow agents. They were still making fun of him. Wade had a reputation for telling extremely lame jokes, and his latest had caused fits of eye-rollin
g.

  As they came groaning through the door, Gavin Tanner summed it up for everyone.

  “Worst yet, Wade. You've sunk to a new low.”

  Peggy knew what it had to be. “What did he say this time?”

  Wade stood smirking while Gavin retold the joke to Peggy.

  “So, Wade sees a cat and says, ‘Hey, that's a Himalayan!’ and Judy says, ‘How can you tell?’ So Wade says ‘Cause him-a-layin’ right over there!’”

  Peggy let a small laugh escape, mostly because of the look on Wade's face.

  “See, what did I tell you? Worst ever,” Gavin laughed.

  Peggy looked at Wade and smiled. “Pretty bad Wade, gotta admit. Oh by the way, there was a man here looking for you. In fact, he just left not five minutes ago.”

  “Did he say if he wanted to look at property?”

  “Actually, now that you mention it, he didn't say what he wanted.”

  “Did he leave a name and number?”

  “Didn't leave a number, said he was hard to catch, but he took your card. He did say his name’s Michael.”

  Wade tried to place the name. “That's it, just Michael?”

  “Well, no. He also said he was from San Antonio.”

  Wade couldn't think of anyone he knew in Texas. “Huh, can't imagine who it might be.”

  *******

  Michael let himself into his room. Sitting down at the little desk, he pulled out the business card from Golden Century.

  Wade Duncan

  Golden Century Realty

  “My goal is your satisfaction.”

  Michael doubted his satisfaction was Wade Duncan's first concern. He stared at the card and began organizing the details of what he needed to do. Most of it he'd worked out in his head already, but how to get Wade Duncan alone was going to require some planning.

  He let his mind wander to that meeting.

  What will it be like to confront him face to face? To tell Duncan about the pain he’d brought upon Tammy and me.