by Hunt, James
Grant reached inside his jacket and removed his card. “The station’s address and both our cell numbers. If you get lost or something comes up, please, let us know.”
“We will,” Glenn said, a nervous grin appearing on his face. “This won’t take long at all.”
“Thank you, and God bless,” Stacy said, walking back to the van as both Grant and Mocks returned to their vehicle.
Once the doors were shut and they were out of earshot, Mocks fidgeted in her seat. “I didn’t like how that smelled.”
“We’ll get a warrant for his phone records, see if he made any calls to the Givens household,” Grant said.
“A young girl, outcast by society, warmed by the good Lord and a handsome man,” Mocks said. “If she’s been coming here without her mother knowing for the past year, then that’s been plenty of time for Mr. Paley to lay down his groundwork.” She grimaced. “That one’s good at pretending.”
“We’ll know more soon enough,” Grant said, shifting into drive as their radio demanded attention.
“Unit thirty-five, this is dispatch, over.”
Mocks picked up the receiver. “Go for unit thirty-five.” She let her thumb off the receiver and then looked at Grant. “When did you put both our cell numbers on your card?”
Grant shrugged. “Can’t remember. It was whenever I had my last office supply order. Is that all right?”
Mocks grinned. “Am I listed as your emergency contact too?”
Grant scoffed. “I’m not that stupid.”
The radio blew static, and dispatch’s voice came in garbled and unintelligible.
“Say again, dispatch,” Mocks said.
“We have a hit on your missing girl. Multiple witnesses have her heading northbound on Interstate 5. Suspect is male, balding, late forties, and the vehicle is a gray 2002 Buick Regal. We have units in pursuit.”
Grant flipped on the lights and slammed on the accelerator. The tires spun out on the church parking lot asphalt, and Grant swerved back onto the main road toward the nearest I-5 on-ramp.
Traffic diverted left and right, and Grant weaved around the few cars that either refused to move or were too oblivious to the speeding, flashing, siren-blaring bullet rocketing past.
“See if the chopper is up?” Grant asked.
Mocks reached for the radio, turning the knob to another channel. “This is unit thirty-five heading northbound on I-5 in pursuit of Amber Alert suspect. Do we have air support?”
“Negative, unit thirty-five, bird has not taken off yet.”
Mocks tossed the radio on the floorboard. “Shit!”
The sedan’s V8 hummed, and Grant glanced down at the speedometer, which tipped over one hundred miles per hour. Thankfully, traffic was sparse, which let Grant keep the dangerous pace to catch up. The adrenaline brought with it the twisting feeling in his gut. Chases never ended well. For anyone involved.
The radio continued to blare sporadic updates, including a notification of a roadblock that shut down the entire northbound side of the interstate. A million thoughts raced through Grant’s mind during the chase, many of which included the safety and well-being of those still on the road, but at the very top of his list was Mallory Givens. A little girl who had no idea what was happening.
Whenever Grant spoke to the victims afterwards they all said the same thing, nearly word for word, the moment they were free: I thought he was going to kill me.
The suspect’s motives varied from case to case. Some wanted to kill the victims they abducted, but others, much like the man who’d taken the ambassador’s daughter, had darker intentions. Acts that if spoken in the light of day in a public place would get them beaten to death. Grant just prayed that whatever intentions were meant for Mallory Givens had not yet been practiced.
Grant finally caught up to the growing caravan of police cars in pursuit of the Buick. Dozens of blue and red lights flashed, taking up all four lanes of traffic. The roadblock was set up four miles down the road. But the Buick quickly swerved off on the nearest exit ramp, and the horde of police vehicles bottlenecked while trying to keep pursuit.
When Grant passed the exit and the police vehicles keeping pursuit, Mocks whipped her head around so fast and hard that it sounded like she snapped her neck.
Grant pointed toward the sky before she could utter anything, and that was when she saw the chopper overhead, which could track the Buick from anywhere now. “We’ll take the next exit and cut him off on one of the crossroads. Follow the updates from the air.”
Mocks shook her head and changed the channel to the air cavalry circling overhead. “I swear sometimes I think you’re telepathic.”
“I just pay attention.”
The chase continued for another twelve miles, passing through a no-name town in the middle of nowhere before the driver cornered himself. Either out of desperation or planned efficiency, he veered into the dirt lot just outside an abandoned canning factory. Grant and Mocks were the sixth car on scene, and when they stepped out another five police cars pulled up behind them.
A perimeter was quickly established as Grant and Mocks hopped out of the car and jogged over to one of the officers yelling into his radio over the hum of the chopper overhead. The Buick was parked in the center of the lot with the driver side door and trunk still open.
“He went inside?” Grant asked, his badge dangling in the open space of his jacket.
“Yeah, we’re calling S.W.A.T. now to handle extraction,” the officer said.
Grant shook his head. “This guy is desperate.” He pointed to the trunk. “If he had the girl in the trunk, then he doesn’t give a shit what happens with her life.” Grant removed his pistol from his holster, and Mocks did the same. “I need two officers with me and Detective Mocks.”
The officers froze, and Mocks stepped forward, her presence much larger than her tiny frame suggested. “Now, gentlemen.”
“Yes, ma’am!” A pair of officers at the lead car separated immediately, and the four of them started their path toward the rundown structure.
Grant kept his feet as light as possible, and while the normal steel-winged butterflies still fluttered, the continued adrenaline had also given him a light tremor in his right hand. Between the events of the morning and now, the day had provided more excitement than Grant had intended.
The foursome paused at the broken door that the suspect had entered, and Grant and Mocks were the first inside. It was dark, the overcast sky and dirty windows providing poor visibility. Grant reached for his light, and when he flicked it on, the beam highlighted rusty equipment and floors covered in thick layers of dust and animal droppings, sprinkled with mildew caused from leaks through multiple holes in the roof.
Everyone was quiet, and Grant hand-signaled for each officer to check a quadrant. They moved slowly, steadily, and surely, their sweeps methodical. They had to squeeze the suspect out of hiding without spooking him enough to hurt the girl.
“Stop!” The panicked voice rang out just as Grant’s flashlight found the tip of his shoe sticking out from behind one of the office walls meant for the foreman on the job when the old factory was still operational. “Don’t move any closer or I’ll shoot her.”
The suspect quickly thrust the girl around the corner and revealed the barrel of the .38 special revolver pressed against the girl’s head. The man’s arm covered her face, and Grant couldn’t confirm if the girl was Mallory Givens.
“It’s all right,” Grant said, raising his voice an octave higher. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt. Not even you.”
“Bullshit!” The outburst rang high in the vaulted ceilings. The violent outcry was filled with a desperation that accompanied the knowledge of one’s own finality. “You’ll put a bullet in my head the moment I hand over the girl.”
“No,” Grant said. “As long as the girl isn’t harmed, you still have a way out.” Grant crept closer, inching forward slowly. “You never really wanted to hurt her, did you?”
The man s
wayed back and forth, the gun’s barrel still pressed against the girl’s head. Grant glanced back at the officers and motioned for them to hold back. He didn’t need to add to the man’s growing anxiety. But when he squinted in the darkness, he couldn’t find Mocks.
“I just want to get out of here,” the man said, his voice still wavering.
“And I just want the girl,” Grant said. He took a step forward. “You give her to me and we can work that out.”
Movement to Grant’s left out of his peripheral caused him to dart his eyes in that direction, and it was there he saw Mocks creeping around to the back side of the office. He quickly returned his gaze to the suspect, praying he didn’t give her away. He just had to keep talking. Keep the man focused on him.
“Listen, I’ll tell you what,” Grant said, again taking a few steps before stopping. “You don’t want to give up the girl because you need a bargaining chip, right?”
A pause. “Yeah.”
“So why don’t we do this,” Grant said. “You send out the girl, and then you can take me instead?”
“No, you have a gun.”
“I’ll leave the gun behind, see?” Grant extended the pistol and placed it on the floor where the suspect could see it, then Grant kicked it with his foot, and the weapon skidded across the concrete. He extended both hands, palms out. “No more gun. No more weapons.” He reached around for the handcuffs as he caught the last view of Mocks just before she ducked around the backside of the office. “I’ll even let you cuff me so you know I won’t give you any trouble.”
As Grant drew closer he had a better view of the man and girl, but her face was pressed into the gunman’s stomach. She was about the same size as Mallory Givens, same hair color.
“I-I don’t know,” the man said. “What about the rest of the cops. What’ll they do?”
“They’ll do exactly what I tell them,” Grant answered. “I’m the one in charge. And if you control me, that means you’re the one in charge.”
From the silence that followed, Grant knew the man was mulling it over. His panic-stricken mind grasped at any hope of getting out of this situation alive, and it was exactly what Grant wanted the man to think.
Mocks was out of view now, the building blocking Grant’s line of sight. His heart rate was jacked, and he had no idea when she would make her move. The tremor in his right hand had worsened, and his mouth had gone completely dry. He kept his eyes locked on the lunatic still pressing the revolver to the girl’s head.
“It’s a good deal, buddy,” Grant said.
“Don’t rush me!”
Grant inched closer, wanting to draw the man’s rage and focus on him and off the little girl. “Tick-tock. What’s it gonna be?”
“Stop yelling at me!”
Grant took another step. “Take me. It’s the best way out.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” The man trembled, but the pistol was off the girl’s head and now pointed at Grant.
“Last chance,” Grant said.
The man pulled the hammer back on the revolver, and his face flushed red. “Fuck you!”
Grant shuddered from the gunshot but dove forward in the same instant, ripping the girl from the man’s clutches while simultaneously knocking him to the floor. Something warm grazed Grant’s cheek, and he felt nails dig into the sleeve on his arm, and as he lay on the floor with his eyes shut, he was afraid to open them to survey the aftermath. It was a split-second decision, a coin toss. He just hoped the girl was on the winning side.
6
“Detective Grant!”
The words sounded muffled after the ring of the gunshot, and Grant wondered how much more abuse his eardrums could take.
“Detective Grant!”
He opened his eyes and saw one of the officers hovering above. He then looked down to his arm and saw the young girl kicking and punching him, screaming to be let go. When he released her he finally got a good look at her face. It wasn’t Mallory Givens.
One of the officers led the girl away, and Grant turned around to see Mocks handcuffing the kidnapper with his belly on the concrete and a bloodied wound covering his shoulder.
“We need a medic,” Mocks said, slightly out of breath, then looked to Grant. “You all right, partner?”
A stab of pain radiated from Grant’s left hip down the side of his leg as he pushed himself off the floor. When he stood and put pressure on it, the pain worsened, and he leaned against the wall for support before he collapsed. “I think I tweaked something.”
The factory was flooded with officers now, and a pair of them relieved Mocks of the suspect and whisked him outside. Mocks walked over and helped Grant walk out, him leaning against her like a crutch. She was surprisingly sturdy for her size.
“You were working that distraction pretty hard,” Mocks said.
“Wanted to make sure you had enough time,” Grant replied, the pain lessening the more he moved. “You could have given me a heads-up beforehand though.”
“I figured you’d catch on eventually,” Mocks said.
Outside, the police force had increased tenfold, and helicopters hummed overhead. Mocks helped Grant over to one of the medics to get him checked, but after a few more practice steps on his own, the pain in his leg disappeared, and the paramedic couldn’t find anything else wrong with him.
Another drizzle started, and Grant and Mocks returned to their car to avoid the wet. The windows fogged, and a biting cold caused Mocks to disappear into her jacket.
“So, that wasn’t Mallory Givens,” Mocks said, zipping the jacket all the way up to her chin. “Guess that means our date with Mr. and Mrs. Faith is still on.”
Grant massaged his left hip with his knuckles and grunted a “mm-hmm.” “We need to trace the tip that led us to this guy. See if there was anything unusual about it.”
“Unusual how?” Mocks asked.
“In the decade-plus I’ve been with Seattle PD, I have never seen an instance where a tip came in the middle of an Amber Alert for a kid that looks exactly like the missing person, and then that individual ends up being the victim of another abduction. Have you?”
Mocks stayed quiet for a moment, and she reached for her lighter, flicking it on as she answered, “No.”
“I don’t think that has ever happened in the history of the Seattle PD,” Grant said.
“So what now?”
“I’ll drop you off at the station so you can interview the youth pastor and the fiancée. While you’re doing that, I’ll head over to Mallory’s neighborhood and see what I can find from the neighbors. If she left on her own accord, then there may have been someone that had seen her.” Grant drew in a breath, checking the timer on his watch. “I’ll call the mother and let her know what’s going on before the news spins any information that sends her into a speculation nosedive.” And considering the girl was most likely in a similar situation as the girl they just rescued, that speculation was probably very accurate.
* * *
When Mocks stepped out of the vehicle at the precinct, she was immediately swarmed by the flock of reporters that had roosted outside, jamming microphones and cameras in her face, asking about the car chase.
“We apprehended the suspect, and we’re discovering more information as we go along. Thank you.” Questions still buzzed about her ears and followed Mocks all the way to the door, which she could barely open from the cluster of reporters engulfing her, then she squeezed inside, glad to be rid of them. Like Grant, she had no desire to speak with them. Ever.
Mocks weaved through the precinct and back to her desk, where she was forced to prepare the paperwork for discharging her firearm. She hated paperwork. It was so monotonous and tedious. If she had known that most of her detective career would be spent filling out forms, she might have changed career paths.
But despite the piles of paper, she still loved the job. And she was lucky enough to have a partner that felt the same way. She and Grant shared a deep-rooted connection in that regard.
They shared a past that was soiled and fertilized in despair. Though she understood his pain differed from hers.
One of the first things Mocks learned about Grant before she even met him was the series of events that led to his ‘voluntary’ leave of absence. But when she found out they were to be partners, she ignored the rumors and gossip and went straight to the source. She was surprised at the truth and even more heartbroken. How Grant had pulled himself out of that hole was more than she could understand. But as an addict, she could empathize when it came to making the wrong decision.
“Detective?” The voice was high-pitched and echoed more of an adolescent than the grown man standing in front of her.
“Mr. Paley,” Mocks said, looking up from and setting aside the paperwork. “Thanks for coming in.” She looked behind him. “Is your fiancée joining us?”
“She’s parking the car. It’s a bit of a madhouse out there.”
“Abductions are hot news topics,” Mocks said, leaning back in her chair, folding her arms on her stomach. “Really spikes the ratings.”
Paley stood there quiet and uncomfortable until Barbie showed up at the reception desk. Despite the rain and deplorably mucky weather, the woman still looked like she was ready for a night out dancing. Not that Mocks suspected she was the type of woman who danced. There was an anal retentiveness behind that mask of makeup.
Mocks led them into one of the interrogation rooms, and once everyone was settled, Mocks went to work. “How long have you known Mallory Givens?”
Mr. Paley flexed his grip over his girlfriend’s hand and cleared his throat. “Um, the first event she came to was in November of last year. She came alone, said she saw one of the flyers I posted at a restaurant downtown.” He looked anywhere but Mocks’s face.
“What’s an event on Wednesday nights like?” Mocks said, reaching for the lighter in her pocket. It helped keep her mind calm and working. It always received odd stares, but when it came to interviews, she wanted to throw people off their game.
