The video went dark.
It came alive again, the time now 9:47 p.m.
“This is where the girls will be when they wake up.” The girls were lying motionless in a sturdy reinforced plywood box, side-by-side, their arms and feet no longer bound.
“What’s that box, maybe two feet high, four across, and six feet long?” Mac asked quietly.
“Looks about right,” Burton answered softly.
The camera zoomed, showing what looked like a Dictaphone and a flashlight lying between the girls.
“You’ll note the absence of food and water,” the voice said, as if reading everyone’s mind.
“Ah shit,” Rock uttered quietly.
“Mother fuckers,” Mac muttered, knowing where this was going.
The camera pulled back to show the box lying in a large hole, four to five feet deep. Portable lights provided just enough illumination to film, but not enough to identify the location. The video showed the arms of two men laying a piece of reinforced plywood over the box, then using electric screwdrivers to set it in place. There was no hole in the top for ventilation.
“How are they going to breathe?” Rock asked.
“The PVC piping,” Mac answered as he pointed to the lower right side of the screen. “If you look, there are holes on the right side of the box.”
The video went dark.
It came back to life, five minutes later, now 10:01 p.m.
As Mac had suggested, one of the men was securing the PVC piping to the right side of the wood box. The camera pulled straight back to show that the pipes were four to five feet long, and would probably stick just above ground once the dirt was shoveled back into the hole. The voice came back, briefly.
“The girls have two pipes for air to breathe.”
The video once again went dark.
Ten seconds later, it came back to life, 10:27 p.m.
The last of the dirt was being shoveled into the hole. The pipe stood inches above the ground. The camera pulled back to show that the area was a small clearing in the midst of thick woods. Logic dictated it couldn’t be far from the edge of the tree line, but there was no way to tell. The voice came back one last time.
“Mr. Hisle, I bet you’re wondering about your daughter’s diabetes. That type 1 is nasty stuff. Your daughter will just have to hang on. So if you and the chief want the girls back alive, you follow our next set of instructions to the letter.”
The video went dead.
The room was silent for a minute.
“Mother fuckers,” Rock railed, pounding the table, rattling the laptop, coffee cups, and water bottles. He wasn’t alone—several officers found something to hit, or at least some space to pace, to try to regain their composure. But Mac, Riles, and Burton stood still, deep in thought. Burton had his arms crossed, stroking his chin with his right hand. Mac grabbed a notepad and scribbled his thoughts down, working the gum in his mouth hard. Riles took a look over Mac’s shoulder and nodded.
“We gotta… gotta… find these guys,” Lich ground out, running his hand over his bald head. “We don’t have much time.”
“We need to go over this video with a fine tooth comb, find anything and everything,” Mac said. “I know a guy. We need to get this to…”
“We’ve got that covered,” Burton interrupted. “This is the FBI’s bailiwick. Technology is our deal.”
“Yeah, but wait a minute…” Mac persisted. “I know a guy…”
Burton steam rolled him and took control of the room.
“Duffy,” he said, pointing to the laptop, “let’s get our video people on this, every second of that video. I want them going over it, picking it apart, find something that we can use.”
“I’ll make it happen,” Duffy answered.
“Wait,” Mac pleaded, but Riley grabbed his elbow.
“Keep your powder dry for now and let Burton do this thing,” Riles whispered into his ear, “this is the FBI’s show. Let them play it out.” Riley gave him a look that recommended patience.
“We don’t have the luxury of time,” Mac retorted under his breath.
“See what Burton does,” Riley replied, equally quiet. “Let’s see if he’s as good as they say he is.”
“And thinks he is,” Mac replied, with just a touch of skepticism. Riley returned a knowing smirk. “I like the guy,” Mac added in a whisper, “but I only see him reacting to events. We need to push this thing.”
“We need to stay at the table. The mayor’s here for a reason. He’s just waiting for us to fall out of line.”
“What about that pipe for air from the…” Lich asked the room, struggling for what to call it.
“Grave. It’s a fucking grave,” Mac said, finishing the thought out loud, drawing looks from the room. “And that’s how they want us, the chief, Lyman, all of us to think of it. If we don’t find these guys, that’s where those girls will die.”
“They’re not going to die,” Burton replied with fervor. “We’re going to find them.”
“How?” Rock asked.
“First,” Burton answered, “we’re going over that videotape. If there is something there, we’ll find it. Something in the van, an identifying characteristic or mark on one of the kidnappers, I’ll bet that there’s something there. The road and land they’re on, we need to see if there’s any identifying landmarks or features on it. We just have to break it down and look.”
Mac joined in.
“We need to, at a minimum, get this out to local sheriffs and chiefs within an hour of the cities. The girls are buried somewhere rural, but they can’t be that far from town. They need to be somewhat close, so maybe, just maybe, some county mountie will recognize something.”
“Why don’t you think they’re farther away?” Riles asked.
“They want isolation for sure, they need to have it to bury the girls and not draw any attention with those lights. That takes time and privacy. But they can’t be working two or three hours away. That’s not convenient enough. They’d want to stay close,” Mac shook his head. “They’re not up in Brainerd and then driving two, three hours down here to plant laptop computers under football bleachers. They’re centered somewhere around here and then driving from the Twin Cities, or somewhere nearby, up to Clearwater or down to Ellsworth. They’re not that far away.”
“McRyan, the last phone call was from Duluth,” Duffy noted. “They made it from a city park. They could be prowling around up there. That creates an awfully wide net.”
“Fine then. Let’s send the thing out to the whole state as well as western Wisconsin,” Mac said. “But I doubt they have the girls up in Duluth or any place that far from the Twin Cities. They’re in closer somewhere.”
“Then why go to Duluth?” Duffy pressed.
“Because now they’re not on as tight of a timeline. They’re not calling us until 6:00 p.m. tomorrow night. So they have time to go a little farther away, gain that extra layer of safety. And at the same time, they get the chance to make us think they’re that far away. They want us expending resources casting that wide of a net, spreading ourselves that thin. But I just don’t think they’re that far away. They’re closer than that. They have to be.”
“Still an awfully big area… essentially the fifteen-county area,” Lich said, looking at the map pinned to the bulletin board. “And we don’t know this for sure.”
“No, we don’t,” Mac replied. “But it feels right, makes sense, and gives us something to work with, a lot of eyes to give us a look. Who knows? Maybe some sheriff’s deputy, forest ranger, or cop gets a look at that video and says, ‘hey, six years ago I responded to an emergency call down that road.’”
“I don’t know,” Duffy said, with apprehension in his voice. “What if this thing leaks? I mean, this is pretty unsettling video. It’ll create a media firestorm if it gets out. I’d rather control this.” Mac got the feeling that FBI control of the investigation was of more concern to him than the girls or the kidnappers.
&nbs
p; “Agreed,” the mayor added.
“Are you two fucking kidding me?” Mac growled. “Media firestorm’s worth it if someone finds that spot.”
“I don’t want to create a panic, Detective,” the mayor asserted. “We put this video out there, there’s a chance we’ll create hysteria. Hell, we’ve got calls coming in by the dozens from people worried that every van that drives by carries a kidnapper.”
“So what? You don’t want help from citizens?”
“No, I do,” the mayor answered. “But I got calls today where we’ve got three different panel vans stopped along Grand Avenue by you guys because somebody called in a tip with two or three big men in a van.”
Mac looked incredulous. “Heaven forbid we disrupt traffic on Grand Avenue trying to find these guys. My gosh,” he mocked, “a voter might call City Hall to complain and you might have to do some work.”
An agitated Duffy interceded. “All the mayor is saying, Detective, is that people are on edge and panicky. If this gets out, that only adds to it. We don’t want a panic. Hell, I’ve heard people on the radio talking about the need to carry a gun to defend themselves.”
“Great, just great. That’s all we need,” the mayor complained, “someone to up and shoot some family guy driving along in a van because it matches the descriptions all over the news.”
Mac wouldn’t have it.
“Jesus Christ, whose side are you two on?”
“Hey,” Duffy yelled.
“I resent the implication…” the mayor started.
Mac thundered on.
“I could give a flying fuck about your, frankly, ridiculous concerns,” Mac said pointing at Duffy and then to the mayor, “or how inconvenient its release could be politically.” The biggest crime story in the country was taking place in St. Paul, and Mac suspected the mayor didn’t like the glare.
“Now just a minute…” the mayor started.
“All I care about—all anyone in this room should care about—is finding those girls,” Mac shouted, slamming his fist on the conference table. “Everything else, everything, politics, who’s running this investigation, whose backside might be exposed, all of that shit is secondary. For Christ sake, I’m only talking about releasing the video to law enforcement, not to the general public. Although, the more I think about it, the more I think we ought to do that as well. By getting this out, we increase our odds of finding the girls. The risk is worth the reward.”
“You’d like to release it to the whole public?” the mayor asked, stunned.
Mac, seeming equally stunned, replied, “Hell yes. At least the first part, where they’re driving on the road, path, through the field, sure, you bet. Have the media run it every half hour. Who knows what we’ll find. There’s nothing problematic in that. The rest of it, we hold back and only have law enforcement review it.”
“Christ, we’ll have calls coming in by the truck load and a huge panic. Especially if the whole video gets out,” the mayor pressed. “And I bet it will.”
“Since when does the mayor’s office tell us how to investigate?” Mac asked, up and out of his chair, pointing while Rock reached for his arm to pull him back. “It’s fucking fundamental to do this. We need to get as many eyes on this as possible, not as few. This is not something to cover up. It’s the difference between police work and politics.”
“That’s enough,” the mayor bellowed. “If you can’t keep your cool, Detective, you can go grab a barstool at that pub of yours.”
“Got all the answers, don’t ya,” Duffy added derisively.
Mac kicked a chair out of the way and moved toward Duffy, his fists balled, but Lich and Rock jumped in front of him and pushed him back to his chair.
“You’re no good to the chief if you’re not in this room,” Lich said quietly through clenched teeth. “So dial it the hell back.”
Riles jumped in, casual.
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Mayor,” the veteran detective said, shaking his head. “We’re talking about the chief’s daughter. There isn’t a cop out there who would compromise this and release the whole video. McRyan’s right, we should get the whole thing to other law enforcement agencies and the front end out to the public.”
The mayor looked at Duffy, who then looked over to Burton, who’d remained passive through the whole blow up, taking it all in.
“What do you think?” Duffy asked Burton.
“Like I said,” Riles added one last time, staring straight at Burton, “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
Burton stood quietly for a moment, scratching his chin with his right index finger. After a moment, he nodded and spoke.
“I think McRyan is right. We should get the video out. It can only help. And we get it out to both the public and law enforcement. Mac, one part that maybe I disagree with is, does law enforcement need to see the part where the girls are going into the ground? What can other cops tell us about that?”
Mac shrugged, “Probably not much.”
“I think that’s right,” Burton answered. “We get the first part out to the public and police and see if anyone recognizes the road, area, or any landmarks.”
“Thanks,” Riley said. Mac nodded his approval from his chair, and tension drained from the rest of the boys.
“I’ll get it started,” Peters said, and then he turned to another. “Paddy, get a copy and then let’s get this e-mailed to all the police and sheriff’s departments. I’ll start making some calls.”
“Done,” Paddy said.
“What else?” Riles asked.
“I gotta work on Plan B,” Burton answered.
“Which is what?”
“Talk to Flanagan and Hisle. We have to let them know what’s going on and prepare the ransom,” Burton answered. “If we don’t find these guys, we’re going to have to make a money drop.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Hello, girls.”
The first sensation was thirst. Her mouth felt dry as she slowly moved her tongue over her lips, then smacked her lips together and exhaled lightly. She felt groggy and lethargic as she moved her left arm out from under her head and felt the skin of her right bicep scrape along the wood and dirt. Taking in a deep breath, she smelled dirt and wood, new wood, like the plywood she’d smelled two weeks ago up at her folks’ cabin when they were building a gazebo. Was she still asleep and dreaming? The smell wasn’t right. Why would she smell that? Where the heck was she?
She opened her eyes to pitch blackness. She blinked her eyes and strained to focus, but no light seeped in through window shades or under a door.
Carrie Flanagan lifted her head up and banged the right side hard, just above her ear, against something above her.
“Ow!” she exclaimed as she brought her head back down. The feeling of pain was quickly overtaken by panic. She flipped off her left side and onto her back, and her right hand felt another body.
“Jesus!” she yelped as she jumped back, hitting her head and back against the hard wood.
The other body didn’t move.
“Hello,” Carrie whispered but there was no movement. She reached over with her right arm, looking for the other body, when her hand hit something round and metallic. She grabbed it. It was a flashlight. Carrie turned it on.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”
Carrie ran her hands along the top of the box and the left side.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”
Shannon Hisle slowly awoke. Carrie reached for her arm.
“Shannon, wake up! Wake up!”
When Shannon’s eyes fully opened, her screams matched those of Carrie’s a few seconds earlier.
“Carrie! Carrie! Oh my God, where are we! What have they done to us? What have they done to us?”
Both girls frantically felt around the box with their hands and feet, pushed at the top, and kicked at the end of the wood box.
After a few minutes of frantic pushing, kicking, and screaming, the girls settled some. Both wome
n were breathing hard, sweating, still wildly looking around, disbelieving where they were.
Where they were was a wood box. It was maybe two feet high, four feet across, and six feet long.
And it was solid. They weren’t going anywhere.
They were buried alive.
The girls lay on their sides facing one another.
“What have they done to us? What are we going to do?” Shannon asked weakly, sniffling, tears streaming down her face.
“I don’t know,” Carrie answered, using the back of her left hand to wipe away her own tears.
It was time to take stock.
Carrie used the flashlight to search the box.
“What are you looking for?” Shannon asked.
“Air, how are we getting air?” Carrie replied. She found what looked to be the answer. “It’s behind me, two holes with vents over them.” She turned her back on Shannon and flashed the light on the nearest vent. “We’re getting air, so I guess that’s good news.”
Shannon put her mouth to the opening.
“Help, can anyone hear me?”
Carrie put her ear to the grate to see if she could hear any response. She repeatedly yelled and then listened for a couple of minutes. There was no response.
She scanned the top of the box and upon inspection understood at least one reason why they couldn’t push the top off.
“Look at that.”
“What?”
“The screws. Or at least those little silver tips sticking through the wood. The top of this thing is screwed on. No wonder we couldn’t budge it.”
She used the flashlight and scanned the box again. Down by Shannon’s feet, in the corner, there was a small black object. Carrie reached with her left leg, caught the object with her toe and dragged it back so that she could reach it with her hands.
It was a Dictaphone.
Carrie slid the button up. There was a whirring, then a crackling sound, followed by the voice she heard when lying on the bed.
“Hello, girls. First, if you haven’t done so already, you will want to turn on the flashlight. But economize its use; you may be in the box for a while.”
First Deadly Conspiracy Box Set Page 56
