Trace sent a quick acknowledgement then launched her phone’s browser to look up NYU’s campus security phone number. Within minutes she was talking to the night supervisor. “This is Detective Trace of the NYPD. I need to know if you have a student there named Jackie St. Jean.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t give out that information over the phone. You could be anybody.”
Trace rolled her eyes. “Listen, this is life or death. My partner, Detective Shakespeare will be there shortly but time is of the essence. I’ll give you the number for central dispatch, and they will forward your call to me if you want to be sure.”
“Did you say Shakespeare?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, I was talking to him just a little while ago. Okay, what was the name?”
“Jackie St. Jean.” She spelled the name for him, as she knew she wouldn’t have known how to just from hearing it. She could hear some very slow keyboard work on the other end, the letters spoken aloud as each was typed with excruciating deliberation. At last, she heard the final letter and then a blow by blow description of each mouse move and click.
“Okay, here we go. Jackie St. Jean. Yes, she’s a student here, or rather was a student.”
“What? When did she leave?”
“Just a second, this is odd.”
“What?”
There was no reply for several moments. She was about to ask again when he finally started speaking.
“Why are you looking for her?”
“She’s a witness in a murder we’re investigating.”
“From when?”
“What do you mean from when?”
“When was the murder?”
“Saturday, why?”
“Because according to our records, Jackie St. Jean was reported missing two years ago, and was never found.”
TEN
Walker knocked on the door, then eyed his watch. “I hate these types of calls.”
Curtis nodded. “Your daughter has been missing two years, and two policemen show up at the door in the middle of the night. I know what I’d be thinking.”
Walker knocked again, this time a little harder. Their canvas of the massage parlors had been reassigned, the news that Jackie St. Jean was a missing person taking higher priority. “I guess if it is her, then it would be good news.”
“Right. Hi, Mr. and Mrs. St. Jean. We found your daughter, she’s a murderer!”
“Shhh, I think I hear someone coming.”
“Who is it?” a man’s voice asked through the door.
“NYPD, Mr. St. Jean.” Walker held his badge up to the peephole. “We need to talk to you about your daughter, Jackie.”
“Kathy, it’s about Jackie!” they heard the man yell, his voice indicating his excitement as he unbolted, unchained and unlocked the door. He yanked it open just as his nightgown clad wife rushed into the small entrance.
“Did you find her?” she asked.
“May we come in?” asked Walker.
The anxious parents quickly moved deeper into the small apartment. Walker followed, with Curtis bringing up the rear, closing the door behind them.
“Well?” asked Kathy St. Jean. “Did you find her?”
“Please have a seat,” said Walker, motioning toward the couch.
“Oh no!” Kathy’s eyes filled with tears as she turned to her husband. “Ronnie, she’s dead, our little baby is dead!”
Walker shook his head and waved his hands. “No, no, it’s nothing like that.”
The distraught parents took their seats, and Walker sat across from them while Curtis held back, discretely surveying the apartment. Walker pulled out his phone and brought up a photo from the Bureau’s surveillance camera. “We had a possible sighting of your daughter on Saturday.” He handed them the phone with a picture of the woman claiming to be their daughter in the interrogation room. “Is this—”
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Kathy, “That’s our Jackie!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, absolutely! She’s changed her hair, but that’s her, no doubt about it!”
Walker looked at Ronnie. “And you, sir, is it your daughter?”
He stood up and went to a nearby table with a baker’s dozen of framed photographs filling its surface. He grabbed one and brought it back to the couch. He sat down, held the photo up facing Walker, with the phone flipped around. “You tell us, Detective. Is this our daughter?”
Walker looked at the two pictures side by side and frowned. There was no doubt, these two people were one and the same.
“Did you say Saturday?”
Walker turned to Kathy. “Yes, why?”
She turned to her husband, her hand squeezing his arm. “The phone call.”
Walker glanced at Curtis who had stopped and turned to face the conversation. “What phone call?”
“Saturday afternoon I received a phone call. No one was there, but I just had a feeling it was Jackie. When I asked if it was her, they hung up.”
“Was there a number on the call display?”
Kathy nodded, reaching over and grabbing the cordless phone from its cradle. She scrolled through the numbers and handed it to Walker. He dialed the number in his phone and waited. It rang once then picked up with a message from the phone company indicating the number was a phone booth and the call couldn’t be completed.
He handed the phone back and turned to Curtis. “Phone booth.” He stood up, ending the interrogation. It was clear what the next step was.
“What now?” asked Kathy.
“We’ll try to track her down. If we find anything else out, we’ll let you know.”
“But if she’s been out there all along, why hasn’t she contacted us?”
“There’s any number of reasons ma’am, and I wouldn’t want to speculate.” He headed for the door, Curtis already waiting. “And if you receive any more phone calls like the previous, call me.” He handed them his card.
“There’s something you’re not telling us.” Ronnie stood in the doorway, his arm around his wife. “What is it?”
“I can’t say at this time.”
“It’s been two years. Please, we need to know.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “That photo. It looked like she was in an interrogation room. She looked scared. She looked—” He paused. “She looked sad.”
Kathy buried her head in her husband’s chest, her body suddenly racked with sobs. Walker knew nothing he did or didn’t tell them would help. And telling them their daughter might be involved in one or more murders, certainly wouldn’t help.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I just can’t say any more.” Walker lowered his voice. “She’s alive. That’s the important thing. Now just give us time and we’ll try to find her.”
Ronnie nodded, and turned back into the apartment, his wife still sobbing into his chest. The door closed and Walker turned to Curtis.
“Glad that’s over.”
“Uh huh.”
“Notice anything unusual?”
“No, none of the usual slip-ups evident. Photos all seemed to predate the disappearance, no mail lying around, no birthday or Christmas cards to Mom or Dad.”
“Yeah, they seemed genuinely upset. I think they truly were shocked their daughter is alive.”
“What now?”
“I’ll let Shake ’n Trace know about the ID, and then we need to see if there’re any surveillance cameras on that phone booth.”
“Shake ’n Trace. I like that.”
“They won’t.”
“That’s why I like it.”
Frank paid the cabby and climbed out, looking about. Pedestrian traffic was light, so were the cars. In any other city at this time of night the streets might have been deserted. But not New York. Its citizens might sleep, but the city certainly never did. Yes, there were still revelers on the streets, walking one off, but the bustle was from the businesses. Deliveries were made, garbage hauled away, cleaners swept and polished, laundry services picked up and del
ivered, while machines swept streets and vacuumed sidewalks, erasing the previous day’s grime away. All while the majority of the city slept, and while the notorious New York traffic slept as well. Deliveries during the day were almost impossible. Overnight was the time to do it.
But Frank noticed none of it, the activity occupying the periphery. His eyes scanned everything, looking for a clue as to what he should do next. For the past hour he had been sent instructions with new addresses to go to, and each time he had arrived, he had ended up hailing another cab as the next set arrived. He had realized if anyone wanted to trace him through the cab companies, they’d have one hell of a time. Which was why he had started to use his credit card on the last several pickups. When it had occurred to him, he had stuffed his cash into his sock, just in case whoever he was going to meet might check his wallet. He’d at least then have an excuse for using the credit card instead of cash, and might survive that part of their encounter. But would Shakespeare think to check his credit cards?
Of course he would.
Frank knew Shakespeare’s reputation, both new and old, and he was relying on his old reputation, the one where he was considered the best damned detective in the Bureau. His phone vibrated with another message.
TICK TOCK
LITTLE TIME ON THE CLOCK
IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR FRIEND
FOLLOW THE MAP TO THE END
Another vibration and a set of GPS coordinates arrived. He input them into his phone and soon had an address. Flagging a cab, he gave the cabby the address and sat back in the seat, his eyes heavy.
How much longer is he going to keep this up?
Jackie stood at the portal, awaiting her final instructions from her master. The sound of his voice still terrified her, but by obeying him since her death, recently she had been chosen from his minions to serve him, the opportunity providing a slight taste of the world she was once part of so long ago. In fact, until yesterday, she had no idea how long it had been since she had died and been punished for her sins.
Two years.
Two years since she had died. Two years of suffering in Hell. Two years before her master had granted her some slight reprieve, granted her the honor of serving him. And she was eternally grateful. To serve her master meant to be rewarded, and after two years of living in her own personal hell, the sounds of those around her and their suffering, the loneliness broken only by the occasional visitor that only seemed to add to her suffering, the rewards, no matter how small, how confusing, were to her a little taste of Heaven, a Heaven she knew she would never experience, her sins apparently too great.
Her suffering she could stand, but her poor parents, and what they must be going through. She knew the worst nightmare of any parent was outliving their child, and hers had been forced to live that nightmare. Which was why, after the police released her, she had done one thing, one thing her master had forbidden, but something she couldn’t resist.
She had phoned home.
The sound of her mother’s voice on the other end had been heartbreaking, especially as she couldn’t answer her, she couldn’t say anything, her master having told her they would be eternally damned if spoken to by someone from the other side. She had silently cried as her mother asked several times if anyone was there, then almost balled when she heard her mother ask, “Jackie, is that you?” She had immediately hung up and cried, her heart shattering all over again at the thought of the pain her parents had been suffering.
But would her master know? Was he all knowing, all seeing like God was supposed to be?
“Are you ready to serve your master again?”
His voice sent shivers down her spine, her heart slamming against her chest.
“Yes, my master.” She waited. Would he say anything, would he know what she had done?
“You did well on your last task. Are you prepared for your next?”
“Yes, my master.”
He didn’t know!
“Very well, you may proceed.”
“Thank you, my master.”
She reached forward, shaking both from fear of displeasing her master by failing at the task at hand, but also from the excitement of knowing he hadn’t caught her. She turned the handle and opened the portal, stepping inside.
“Greetings, Sarah Paxman. Are you prepared to serve your master?”
“What?”
Sarah lay stretched out along the wall farthest from the entrance, her head resting on the palm of her right hand. As the door opened, she immediately drew her legs up into a ball, attempting to preserve her modesty as best as possible. She sighed slightly as a young woman, about her age, stepped in, rather than a man. But she wasn’t sure she had heard what she said. Serve your master?
The girl walked toward her, then sat down not five feet from where she was huddled in the corner. “I said, are you prepared to serve your master?”
This one was different. Her other visitors had never mentioned him. And what did she mean by ‘serve’? “I don’t know what you mean. Who are you?”
“Jackie.”
“Yes, but who are you?”
The girl smiled. “I serve our master, and he has given me the task of offering you this opportunity to serve him.”
She didn’t like the sound of it. What could she possibly do for the devil? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. And no matter how horrible a future, how horrible an eternity she was facing, she wouldn’t do anything truly bad.
“Serve him in what way?”
The girl’s head bobbed in approval, as if Sarah had already agreed to whatever it was she was about to ask.
“Very good.” The girl leaned forward. “You have a friend.”
Sarah somehow knew exactly who she was talking about.
“Yes.”
“His name is Frank.”
Oh, God, please let him be okay.
“Yes.”
“He will be coming here shortly.”
Her chest tightened and a pit formed in her stomach. “Wh-what do you mean?”
Jackie leaned back and frowned. “What do you think I mean? I mean he’s about to die, and he’s about to be delivered here.”
“But he didn’t do anything!”
Jackie grunted. “That’s what I thought, yet”—she waved her hands at their prison—“here I am.”
“Wh-what did you do to get here?”
“Nothing I thought was all that bad until I arrived here.”
The room shook suddenly, and a roar filled the chamber. The girl in front of her yelped and covered her head, as if protecting herself from a pending assault. “I’m sorry, Master, I know I have sinned and deserve to be punished. I only meant I didn’t know when I first arrived.” The shaking subsided, and after a few moments, Jackie slowly uncovered her head, looking back at Sarah, tears streaking her face.
Sarah didn’t say anything, too terrified herself to even move, her hands and feet having shoved her body tightly into the corner. But she felt sorry for the girl cowering in front of her. She reached out to touch her, but the girl scurried away. “No, no touching, no physical contact. It’s forbidden.”
Sarah nodded and withdrew her hand. “How will he die?”
Jackie shook her head. “I don’t know. All I know is he will die, and he will be brought here.”
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. Poor Frank. He doesn’t deserve this. But then again, neither did she. She could never see herself believing the life she had led deserved this sort of punishment for eternity. Then again, she hadn’t been here long, and clearly Jackie had felt the same way when she first arrived, but now seemed to be a servant to their keeper.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because my master wants to give you an opportunity to prove your loyalty to him.”
“Why?”
“If you are loyal, if you can be trusted, then you can leave.”
Sarah’s heart leapt. Leave? That couldn’t be right. Leave Hell? Leave eternal damnation? “Do you
mean leave here”—she nodded at the walls surrounding them—“and go somewhere else, like Heaven?”
A roar of laughter filled the room, its volume vibrating through the floors and Sarah’s bones. Jackie cowered again, awkwardly laughing as well. “No, don’t be crazy. We’re never going to Heaven.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I mean you can serve our master in our former world from time to time.”
She felt a surge of excitement. A chance at seeing the world again, of seeing, hearing, smelling people, traffic, subways, life. She smiled slightly. “That would be nice.” Then she frowned. “But what would I have to do?”
“Whatever he asks.”
“What has he asked you?”
“Nothing much. Nothing bad like killing or hurting anyone. I’m not allowed to tell you what. But trust me”—she leaned in, lowering her voice—“it was worth it. Just to see the world again. After you’ve been here as long as I have, you’ll do anything for that. I just wish I had been lucky enough to have had the opportunity as early as you.”
Sarah thought about it. A chance to see the outside world. If it was something truly bad, she could refuse. But if it was something benign, then why not? She knew this place was probably filled with millions of people who would do whatever it was she’d be asked to do if she didn’t, so what additional harm could she possibly be doing?
She nodded. “What do I have to do?”
“First, you have to prove your loyalty to our master.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Easy. When your friend arrives, convince him of where he is.”
Sarah felt a lump form in her throat. “You mean he’s coming here? I mean, right here, in this room?”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
Jackie waved her hands quickly, as if sweeping away the words. “Ours is not to question why.”
Ours is but to do and die? A harrumph echoed in her mind. I’m already dead. “And why do I need to convince him he’s dead? When I arrived he”—she pointed at the ceiling—“convinced me pretty quickly.”
Tick Tock (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #2) Page 20
