The TAKEN! Series - Books 13-16 (Taken! Box Set Book 4)

by Remington Kane

  “The DNA results are due any day now,” Jessica said.

  Amanda wiped at her eyes.

  “My Michael, oh, to have my sweet boy back. It will be like a dream come true.”

  ***

  They spoke a little while longer about the upcoming nuptials of Jessica’s brother, Jimmy, and his girlfriend Reina, which was scheduled to take place within weeks.

  The couple were currently staying with Jessica’s father, but Jessica, her Sister Gabby, and her father had come together to buy the couple a small house as a wedding gift.

  Jessica and her husband were taking on most of the cost, while Gabby was using a week’s vacation to clean and paint the small home, which was located nearby.

  Jimmy, who had always been a mooch and a dreamer, had mended his ways under Reina’s guidance.

  Thanks to the success of the 3-D project that Jessica’s husband had brought to fruition, money was no longer a concern, and it gave them pleasure to help the couple.

  After saying goodbye to Dr. White and Amanda, they returned inside, where they both commented on how quiet and empty the home seemed with the children gone. Maggie was also out of the house, as she and her friend, Heather, had gone off for the day to see a concert.

  Jessica helped her husband carry their bags to the car and then they headed for the airport, for their trip to New York City.

  As her husband drove, Jessica used her phone to go online, and after checking the clock and determining that they had the time, she told him she needed to make a stop.

  “Where at?”

  “I want to see Todd Gray. I don’t know if Summer was playing games or not, but I want to assess his mental state for myself.”

  “And what if he is suicidal?”

  “I’ll refer him to someone I know.”

  “All right, but keep in mind that our plane leaves soon.”

  “I know, and his home is on our way.”

  “I wouldn’t blame the man for being depressed after all he’s lost recently, but I’ll admit that I never liked him.”

  “I’m not a fan either, but if the man is truly hurting then maybe I can help him.”

  “I hope Summer is there. I want to know why she slapped your father.”

  “So do I, and if she’s not with Todd, I’ll track her down when we get back from our trip to see your brother.”

  “Our trip to see my brother? Yes, that’s what this is, isn’t it?”

  “It is, and no matter which one of the three he turns out to be, he’ll certainly be an improvement over Jeffrey Mitchell.”

  “So would the devil,” he said.

  CHAPTER 5

  In Chicago, two mobsters named Ron and Jerry Ponte walked into their boss’s office and laid three photos on his desk. The photos showed Robert Weaver as he was leaving the hospice where he interviewed Summer’s Aunt Janice.

  The boss, or capo, was named Dominic, and Dominic reacted to the photos with a sneer.

  “Weaver, is he sniffing around again?”

  “We think so,” Ron said. At forty, he was the older of the two brothers, although they looked much alike with their sandy-blond hair, blue eyes, and stocky builds.

  Dominic was their opposite, as he was thin and dark-haired, with brown eyes. The dark hair had fallen out at the crown of his head and he was self-conscious about it, so Dominic usually wore a cap to cover the bald spot, even indoors. A huge baseball fan and a former New Yorker, Dominic’s caps all bore the logo of The New York Yankees.

  “Where did you guys get these pictures?”

  “You’re not going to like this,” Jerry said. “Weaver was at the hospice where they put Sal Silvera.”

  Dominic stood and walked about the room as he pondered the news. When he stopped moving, he shook his head.

  “Sal wouldn’t rat on us, not even now when he’s about to die.”

  “I told you that I thought he blamed us for his daughter dying while he was inside,” Ron said.

  “We did what we could, but the kid was a heroin addict.”

  “Yeah, we know that we tried to help her, but she was still his daughter, and now that he’s dying, maybe he thinks it’s time for payback.”

  Dominic went over and leaned on the desk to stare down at the pictures.

  “Who took these photos?”

  “Jerry and me have been giving money to a kid that works on the hospice maintenance staff. Now, just so you know, according to the visitor’s log, Weaver was there talking to some old woman. But me, I think it was an excuse. Sal’s room is right across the hall from the old lady.”

  Dominic shook his head in disgust.

  “That damn reporter.”

  “That’s another thing; Weaver ain’t working for the Trib anymore. He writes books now, and I think he’s trying to get Sal to talk so he can write a book about us.”

  Dominic turned around and sat on the edge of his desk.

  “I don’t know, guys, this is Sal we’re talkin’ about here. He took life rather than give us up, even after the DA offered him that sweet deal.”

  “Yeah, but again, that was before his daughter died,” Jerry said.

  Dominic tapped his fingers on his thigh for several seconds and then looked up.

  “We’ll go talk to Sal, but it’s gotta be a coincidence that Weaver was there.”

  Ron shrugged.

  “You know what the cops always say, ‘There’s no such thing as coincidence.’”

  Dominic placed his hand atop the gun holstered on his hip.

  “There better be, or this time we waste Robert Weaver, and then the truth can die with him.”

  ***

  As soon as Todd opened the front door of his home, Jessica and her husband could smell the alcohol on him. Todd had a scraggly beard, wore a stained T-shirt beneath an equally dirty bathrobe and behind him was a home in disarray.

  There were empty beer cans crowded together atop the coffee table, and on the floor were several discarded pizza boxes, one of which still held a slice of pizza that had mold growing on its crust. Newspapers were scattered about the room, while a stack of unopened mail was on a tray table that sat on the right side of the door.

  The TV was on and showed a baseball game, but the volume seemed to be muted.

  The sofa, which was near the center of the room, was covered with blankets and a pillow, and Jessica realized that Todd must have been using it for a bed. Although the home was small, it did have two floors, but there was no ramp or wheelchair lift to take Todd up to where the bedrooms were located.

  Their presence puzzled Todd, and after taking a swig from a beer bottle that seemed to materialize from the folds of the bathrobe he was wearing, he spoke to them.

  “What the hell do you two want?”

  “May we come in, Todd?” Jessica asked.

  In answer, Todd left the door sitting open and rolled his wheelchair backwards.

  They entered, and after failing to think up a valid excuse for their visit, Jessica decided to tell the truth.

  “Todd, Summer came to see me today and she said that she was worried about you.”

  “What, Summer is here?”

  “You haven’t seen her?”

  “No, but thanks for the warning; I’m sure the bitch is up to something.”

  “I don’t know about that, but she did say that she thought you were suffering from depression... and I think she may be right.”

  “Hell yeah I’m depressed, lady. I lost my legs and now I’m stuck in this damn chair for the rest of my life, if you want to call what I have now a life.”

  Todd’s last few words concerned Jessica, and she took out a pad and pen and wrote down her cell phone number and address.

  “We’ll be away for a few days, but you can reach me at that number. If you ever feel overwhelmed or just want to talk to someone, give me a call or have a cab drop you off. I can also refer you to another doctor who has more experience than I do at treating depression, and she’ll also work on a pro bono basis, i
f money is a problem.”

  Todd looked down at the piece of paper and then back up at Jessica.

  “Do you really want to help me?”

  “Yes, Todd, if you’re hurting I’m willing to help.”

  Todd pointed to his crotch.

  “How about a blowjob? I don’t need your therapy bullshit, but I bet you give some good—” Todd stopped talking as Jessica’s husband took a step towards him. When nothing else happened, Todd let out a moan of disappointment.

  “Why did you stop coming at me? It’s because I’m a damn cripple, isn’t it?”

  “Just watch your mouth around my wife.”

  Todd stared up at him and then his chin fell until it was resting atop his chest.

  “Why don’t you two get the hell out of here; I don’t want you here; I don’t want anyone here.”

  Jessica looked as if she had more to say, but then she changed her mind and headed out the door. Her husband followed, but turned in the doorway.

  “Todd, why does Summer dislike Jessica so much? Does it have something to do with Jessica’s father?”

  Todd raised his head slowly.

  “Summer hates your wife, but she never told me why. If you want my opinion, she’s jealous because your wife is what Summer only pretends to be. Summer’s whole life is based on lies. Hell, she’s not even a real doctor.”

  He gave Todd a final look and then closed the door behind them. As they were driving away, Jessica made an observation.

  “He needs help, but I don’t think he’ll ask for it.”

  “Do you think he’s suicidal?”

  “He may be. He’s depressed, but there’s a huge amount of anger there as well. I want to visit him again when we return and have more time to speak.”

  “You may not be able to help him.”

  “I know. Not everyone can be helped.”

  “You helped me.”

  Jessica smiled.

  “That wasn’t help; that was love.”

  CHAPTER 6

  In New York City, a yellow taxicab pulled up in front of a three-story tall brick building on West 35th Street and, after paying the cabbie, Jessica and her husband stepped out.

  They were at Midtown Precinct South, and they were there for two reasons. One reason was work-related, as Jessica had been called in to consult on a serial killer case. The perpetrator had been dubbed The Times Square Stalker by the tabloids, and he had killed four victims over the last three weeks.

  The second reason for their visit was personal and just as disturbing, as a man named Michael Hobbs had been arrested recently and was being held as a suspect in the Times Square Stalker case.

  Michael Hobbs might be the Times Square Stalker, but he could also be the long missing brother of Jessica’s husband.

  As they entered the building, they saw a man in a suit push off the wall he had been leaning against while talking to a female cop in uniform. After telling the woman that he’d see her around, the man walked towards Jessica and her husband.

  The man was about thirty, with brown hair and a thin frame. He also had a prominent red birthmark that was splayed across the bridge of his nose and ended beneath his left eye.

  “Hello, Dr. White. I recognized you from the photo on your book. My name is Assistant District Attorney Jim Haskins.”

  Jessica shook Haskins’ hand and introduced him to her husband.

  “You can call me Mr. White,” Jessica’s husband told Haskins. “I find that it makes things less confusing.”

  Jessica smiled. People often called her husband by her surname, not knowing that she had kept her maiden name. Her husband didn’t mind, and their young friend, Samantha Ryan, called her husband Mr. White as a term of endearment and respect. She also realized that he liked the sense of anonymity it granted him.

  After the greetings were done, Haskins led them into a small conference room.

  There was a table inside that could seat eight, and atop the table were files that had to do with The Times Square Stalker case.

  Haskins gestured at the folders.

  “Everything is here concerning the case, and like yourself, I have my doubts about Michael Hobbs being the Times Square Stalker.”

  Jessica took a seat in front of the folders, but before opening them, she looked over at Haskins, who was seated across from her and her husband.

  “I don’t have doubts or convictions about Mr. Hobbs guilt since I haven’t seen the evidence yet, but as I told you on the phone, Mr. Haskins, there’s a chance that my husband and Michael Hobbs are related.”

  Haskins made a pained expression.

  “It must be a disturbing thought to have, knowing that someone in your own family could be capable of such heinous acts.”

  Jessica and her husband shared a look, and then her husband spoke.

  “My other brother was Jeffrey David Mitchell.”

  Jim Haskins lifted his head higher while blinking rapidly.

  “Oh my God, I remember hearing something about that now. Mitchell was a true monster, and ah, and you two took him down, didn’t you? That had to be very difficult for you, sir.”

  “No, it wasn’t, because Jeffrey and I hadn’t grown up together, and if this Michael Hobbs is a monster like Jeffrey, I’ll have no pity on him either.”

  Haskins leaned back in his seat.

  “Although Hobbs has a record of being a petty crook, he’s never been convicted of a crime involving violence, and he’s a married man with a good employment record. Now, I’m an amateur criminal profiler at best, but he doesn’t strike me as the type of man who would be this Times Square Stalker.”

  “If that’s your belief then why is he still locked up?” Jessica asked.

  “Because my boss, the DA, thinks Hobbs is a good suspect, and it makes people feel safer to think that the Times Square Stalker may be behind bars. However, Hobbs hasn’t been charged, he’s simply being held for questioning.”

  “But if Hobbs is innocent, then that means there’s still someone out there hunting and killing girls,” Jessica said.

  “That’s right,” Haskins said. “And that’s why I lobbied to have you come on board the case. You’ve been known to work miracles, Dr. White, and the quicker we find this bastard the safer the city will be.”

  “You have had a surge in the murder rate recently, haven’t you?” Jessica’s husband asked.

  Haskins nodded.

  “Yes, but most of that is due to a mob war that’s raging between the Italians and the Russians.”

  “I read on the Internet that the Russians weren’t at war with the Italians, and that there was some sort of internal dispute within an organization called The Conglomerate. Also, the killing was being attributed to only one man, is any of that true?”

  Haskins let out a chuckle after hearing the questions posed by Jessica’s husband.

  “No sir, supposedly there’s a hit man helping the Italians who is said to be a regular killing machine, but it’s all an urban legend that’s been passed around for nearly a hundred years. There is a hit man on record using the same name as the man in the myth, but it would be impossible for anyone to have killed as many men as this man is claimed to have murdered.”

  Mr. White stared at Haskins.

  “I don’t know about that, some men have a true gift for killing.”

  ***

  Jessica and her husband spent an hour going over the files concerning the Times Square Stalker case.

  The four victims had all been women between the ages of eighteen and twenty. The women were very beautiful and were all wearing short skirts when they were killed. All four victims had long blond hair, which had been worn loose at the time of their deaths.

  Although each woman had been out with friends or a boyfriend, they had all been alone when they were attacked.

  The attacks were swift and had been perpetrated with a thin blade. The medical examiner theorized that the weapon was an ice pick, and the women all died from massive internal injuries.
r />   Despite the name bestowed on the killer by the press, only two of the killings occurred in the Times Square area of the city, although all of the attacks took place in Midtown. There was also no evidence that the women were stalked by their assailant, although he undoubtedly followed them for some period, however brief, before attacking them.

  Assistant DA Haskins had left Jessica and her husband alone while they went over the files, but returned to the conference room as they were discussing the case.

  After taking a seat across from Jessica, Haskins asked her if she had formed an opinion.

  “Yes, I think the killer is young, and possibly still in his teens. The women who were killed were all dressed in a style that an adolescent would find provocative, but also intimidating. By killing them, he seeks to gain power over them, and all other women through the fear his acts spawn. I also believe that once he’s caught we’ll discover that he himself is not normal.”

  “Not normal?” Haskins said. “What do you mean? I assume you’re not speaking about the obvious, his mental state.”

  “No, I mean that there is something physical about him that sets him apart. Perhaps he has a deformity or a limp, or he may be obese. Whatever it is, it’s plain to see and he’s had to deal with it his entire life. Instead of learning to accept it or overcome it, he’s become embittered by it and has isolated himself. As is common with most serial murderers, he’s attempting to live out a fantasy, one that drives him to kill.”

  Haskins leaned back in his seat.

  “The department shrinks came up with the same profile, only they placed his age as years older, and they never mentioned anything about a deformity.”

  “It may not be a deformity,” Jessica said. “It may even be something as superficial as a large nose, or ears that stick out too far, however, whatever it may be; it has been blown out of proportion in the killer’s mind.”

  Haskins touched the birthmark on his face.