Missing - Mark Kane Mysteries - Book Five: A Private Investigator Crime Series of Murder, Mystery, Suspense & Thriller Stories...with a dash of Romance. A Murder Mystery & Suspense Thriller

by John Hemmings

  “They may already have left the area, or even the state, before we alerted the authorities about the car,” I said. “We’ve no means of knowing how far away they might be now. Let’s stay optimistic that something we find in that house will help.”

  “I’m so pleased that we’ve found a way for Tommy and Shakes to help us,” Lucy said. “I know Tommy in particular wanted so badly to help. He thinks a lot of Marisa.”

  “I’m glad you said ‘thinks a lot’, and not ‘thought a lot’, I said.

  “Because I know she’s still alive,” Lucy said. “I can feel it in my bones.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  The Ranch House

  Sunday morning was bright and sunny. We were sitting at the window of the hotel coffee shop overlooking the parking lot when Shakes arrived with his entourage. They were a motley bunch. Some of them looked old enough to be drawing their pensions; others appeared to be barely out of high school. I went out to meet them. Tommy, Shakes, Jillian and Jacky were all there.

  “Okay, how many of us are there?” I said.

  “Thirty-eight, not counting the ladies,” Shakes said.

  “Okay – I’m going to lead you all to the search area,” I said. “The area we need to search lies to the west of the road. I haven’t been able to pinpoint exactly where we need to look but I’ve narrowed it down to about five miles of road. So we’ll need each biker to be about 200 yards from his neighbors. Then they’re to head through the trees. The trees lining the road are about two hundred yards thick and after that it’s mostly open ground, so it should be a cinch to find what we’re looking for.”

  “Which is...?” Tommy said.

  “A single story ranch house, probably abandoned, surrounded by a few small outbuildings, and some wire cages where the dogs were kept. It should stick out like a sore thumb. If all goes well we’ll locate it within the hour. Nobody’s to go inside. When you find it we’ll get over there and check it out. There’s a couple of the sheriff’s men as escorts, so don’t go breaking any speed limits. If there’s anyone at home when you find it then your boys can surround the place, but I don’t think that’s likely. Ready?”

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  I led the convoy out of town and headed east. A parade of small kids lined the sidewalk and watched us go. We waved to them and they waved back. It was probably the most exciting thing they’d seen in a while.

  “What did you mean when you told Shakes we’d check out the house?” Lucy said suspiciously as we led the line of bikers out of town.

  “I told you, we’ll need to see if Marisa’s left anything behind that might serve as a clue to where they’ve relocated. I’m assuming there’ll be no-one there.”

  “But you promised Benson you wouldn’t touch anything, remember?”

  “Well, I won’t.”

  “How can you search the place properly without touching anything?”

  “I’m not going to search – you are. I’ll just be there to guide you.”

  “But…”

  “I never gave Benson an assurance on your behalf. Look Lucy, in this job you sometimes have to bend the rules a bit. Don’t worry, I’ve got some latex gloves and we both know enough not to compromise the scene in any way.”

  “But why not leave it to them?”

  “Because it’ll take forever; and I’m willing to bet I have a whole lot more experience in searching places than any of the local police.”

  “I don’t want to lose my ticket Kane, I only just got it.”

  She was referring to her investigator’s license, which she’d finally received earlier in the month.

  “Hey,” I said, “don’t go all mushy on me now.”

  In the end she needn’t have worried. The empty Eldorado parked nearby was a dead giveaway and the Scouts located the place in less than twenty minutes. Or at least what was left of it. Someone had burned it to the ground. They’d torched the Eldorado too.

  *

  As we viewed the blackened scene my heart sank. Even if we hadn’t been able to locate any clues inside I had hoped the police would find some prints at least, or other evidence that could help identify the people who’d abducted Marisa. For a moment a cold shiver went up my spine, like someone had walked over my grave, as I wondered if the remains of Marisa might even be among the charred wood. There was a basement in which a good deal of the debris had sunk. There was nothing to search.

  The burned-out car suggested that Marisa’s kidnappers had probably realized after their trip to the gas station that the car might have been spotted. They weren’t dumb. They would have realized that when Marisa failed to return to Springfield sooner or later her call would be traced. According to Vicky they’d been taken to the house in an SUV, although she hadn’t been able to recall any details of the make, model or even color of that vehicle. After Vicky’s escape they’d have moved fast. With no time to clean up the house they decided to destroy all traces of themselves and whatever nefarious activities had taken place there and to abandon the Eldorado, which explained why it hadn’t been spotted since we’d identified it.

  We walked over to where it was parked. Next to the car was a wire cage with a couple of dead dogs inside. Probably they’d simply been left behind to starve. I steered Lucy away from the grim scene and then went back to the car. The plates had been removed. I put on some gloves and tried the handles but it was locked down. I peered in but couldn’t see a trace of anything inside. I got out my cell phone but there was no signal.

  We made our way back to the road and drove back to Clinton. On the way I managed to get a call through to Kent Benson. He said to leave everything as it was and he’d have a deputy get over and take a look. They’d need to get what was left of the Eldorado back to the pound.

  I knew there were numerous places that the police could look for the vehicle identification number – the front of the engine block, front of the car frame, rear wheel well, inside the driver-side doorjamb and the driver-side doorpost; even underneath the spare tire. I thought it unlikely that the fire would have removed all traces of the number and probably the police would eventually be able to trace the owner, but it was going to take a whole lot of time; maybe it was stolen for all I knew. While I drove I thought what an anti-climax it was. I’d narrowed the area of search thanks to Glen and learned a lot of useful information from Vicky. Now this – it was like finding a nickel and losing a dime.

  The Scouts headed back to Springfield and we arranged for Shakes, Jillian, Tommy and Jackie to join us for lunch in a pizza joint back in Clinton. They knew most of what had happened from Jillian, but I brought them up to date with the information Vicky had been able to provide. I told them about Sally Bowman’s theory.

  “I’m hopeful that we’ll eventually find Marisa safe,” I said. “If Sally’s right then the deaths were probably accidental. If so, they’re unlikely to harm Marisa, but on the other hand they’re facing serious prison time for manslaughter at least; then there’s the kidnapping of Marisa and Vicky. We need to find Marisa as soon as possible – nothing’s certain, even if Sally’s theory’s correct.”

  After lunch Lucy went with Jillian and Jacky to the hospital to visit Vicky. Shakes, Tommy and I sidled off to the nearest bar.

  “I’m grateful for your help, guys,” I said, “but it looks like this game isn’t quite over yet.”

  “At least Vicky’s safe,” Tommy said. “From what you told us she’s got Marisa to thank for that.”

  “Maybe as she recovers she’ll be able to remember more,” Shakes said. “Maybe from conversation she heard she learned something that’ll turn out to be useful. It’s hard to see what else you can do in the meantime.”

  “There’s the car,” I said. “Maybe something will turn up from that, but I’m not hopeful. I’ll need to talk to old man Roberts later – I wish I had something positive to tell him. The police could plaster the state with photographs of Marisa but I doubt that’ll help
– they’ll be keeping her well under wraps; and anyway they may not still be in this state. America’s a big country.”

  “It’s crazy, man, what you told us about this red market. I still can’t get my head around that. Not in the States.”

  “Well I heard a while back that there’s a trade in the red market down south – with illegals as the main targets, but I guess you never know what people will do for money,” I said.

  “Sure is the root of all evil,” Tommy said.

  “Well not all evil,” I said. “But a fair bit of it.”

  “We’re sure goin’ to party it up when you find her,” Tommy said.

  I was glad he said ‘when’.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Dr. Fooks

  Nothing much happened during the next couple of days. The police examination of the abandoned vehicle continued. On Wednesday morning Benson called to say the forensic boys were all done with it.

  “They located the VIN and took some tire impressions – from what was left of the tires; that’s just in case we find any impressions near where the bodies were found. Even if we eventually locate the vehicle owner it’ll be pretty hard to pin anything on him. And the examination of the fire scene hasn’t turned up anything – except that gasoline was used; must’ve been quite a blaze, but no one saw anything. Dr. Fletcher says there’s no reason Vicky can’t be discharged soon.”

  “Well you’ll have Vicky’s testimony in due course, but first I’ve got to find these guys. More importantly I need to find Marisa.”

  “Maybe they’ll release her eventually.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But that depends on just how much she knows – and anyway I want to nail those bastards.”

  “I guess I should get someone to take a statement from her – do you think she’s ready for that yet?”

  “Her memory’s improving all the time, but I’d suggest leaving it for a day or two,” I said. “We’re still trying to coax more details from her about her ordeal.”

  “Okay, let me know when you think she’s ready.”

  *

  We’d hit a dead end for the time being – but then Lucy had an idea.

  “I’ve had an idea,” she said, as we sat having lunch on Tuesday. “I saw this movie once…”

  “Lucy…”

  “No listen; listen. It was one of those movies based on a true story, and there was a girl who’d been raped and gone through some terrible kind of ordeal but she couldn’t remember a lot of stuff – so they brought in this hypnotist and he was able to help her remember even tiny details of what had happened: even things that she didn’t know that she knew. We could try that with Vicky – see if she can remember details about the SUV that are buried in her subconscious.”

  I stopped eating and put down my knife and fork.

  “I guess we’ve nothing to lose,” I said. “Any ideas where we could find such a person?”

  “I’ve been looking on the internet. There are several promising candidates but I thought I’d better run it past you first.”

  “Maybe we’d better run it past Dr. Fletcher too. If he’s okay with it he might even know of someone we could approach.”

  “See, I’m not just a pretty face,” Lucy said brightly.

  “If this works you’ll be able to dine out on it for months, if not years,” I said.

  As it happened Dr. Fletcher thought it was a swell idea and he did indeed know someone who might be able to help.

  “Serious hypnotism isn’t to be confused with stage hypnotism– it’s a recognized science, although some subjects are more susceptible to it than others. There’s a widely held belief that perhaps as little as two percent of memories stored in the brain are accessible to us on an everyday basis. As I explained to you last week the brain is very selective as to what it permits us to recall. Most of the automatic things that we need to remember, such as how to breathe, how to walk, run or swallow are actually controlled not by the brain but by the central nervous system, but matters that need conscious thought are controlled by various regions of the brain.

  An experienced hypnotist with a suitably susceptible subject is able to bypass the brain’s natural tendency to block memories that it doesn’t think are important. I know of one hypnotist who has had some remarkable results − he’s called Sebastian Fooks. Strange name,” he said, “and something of an oddball I’m told, but he’s got the right credentials and he’s built himself quite a reputation. He’s not local, I’m afraid, and he won’t be cheap – that’s if he agrees to take it on at all.”

  “Can you sound him out?” I said.

  “I’ll start on it now, but his clinic’s in New York and he’s not likely to be available at the drop of a hat.”

  “Maybe if he knows how urgent it is he’ll make it a priority,” I said. “Vicky may be safe now but another girl’s life is at risk and we’re working against the clock. I’m going to put my cards on the table, doctor. As things stand Marisa’s a very serious threat to the group that is holding her captive − that is if they haven’t disposed of her already. Marisa is really the only person who can directly link them to any of the deaths. While it’s true that Vicky can implicate them in falsely imprisoning her and Marisa, only Marisa can link them to Jane Doe’s death. Vicky can only relate what she was told by Marisa – she never actually saw the victim herself. Although I’m outwardly optimistic that we’ll eventually find her alive, deep down I’m not at all confident in that regard. Marisa’s at very serious risk in my opinion and I need to do everything possible that can help me find her. Money’s not an issue, I know that.”

  As I left the room I had an afterthought.

  “Could be a high profile case for him if it works out,” I said. Fletcher nodded thoughtfully.

  *

  Sebastian Fooks’ appearance was everything his name promised it would be. He was a portly man of medium height with rosy cheeks and a cheerful demeanor. He was dressed in a Saville Row Harris Tweed three-piece suit and was sporting something that I’d previously only seen in the movies – and old movies at that. It was a monocle, in a frame of finely twisted gold filigree. A Double Albert gold watch chain protruded from his vest pocket which presumably concealed a pocket-watch. My first impression was of a man about to attend a costume party dressed as a quintessential English gentleman from a nineteen fifties British comedy movie, but on the business end he exuded an aura of professional confidence that was reassuring

  As it turned out, Fooks was indeed English – from Oxford − where he’d started out his career as an academic.

  “It’s essential for the subject to be willing in order to elicit a favorable response,” he said; “and I shall need to have absolute quiet and privacy.”

  We were sitting in Fletcher’s office on the first floor of the hospital. It was shortly after ten on Thursday morning. Fooks had jumped at the opportunity to assist in the case and he was anxious to make a start. Vicky had indicated her willingness to participate in the experiment and Fooks had already had a preliminary meeting with her and declared himself optimistic in ‘treating her’, as he put it.

  “Any details that she can remember will be important,” I said, “but we’re most interested in the vehicle that Vicky said was used to drive her and Marisa from Springfield. It was parked out front while they were being held captive but Vicky only has the vaguest recollection about it and we’re hoping that she might have noticed the license number.”

  “Right,” Fooks said. “You’d better relate to me what she’s been able to remember so far – right back to when she first met this group of…regenerators. I shall need to take her back to when it all started.”

  “Anything you can add to what we already know will be a help, but obviously we’re not expecting miracles.”

  Fooks looked at me in surprise. “Miracles,” he said, a little pompously, “are my specialty.”

  Lucy and I sat together with Fooks relating everything Vicky
had told us so far and adding further details that we had learned from other sources. At twelve he said he was ready. Lucy and I drove back to the hotel; it was that or drinking endless cups of coffee in the hospital canteen.

  “What do you reckon?” Lucy said when we got to the room.

  “I reckon we’ve nothing to lose,” I said.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Charlie

  It was just before five o’clock when the call came through. We’d eaten lunch, been for a stroll and were watching a game show on TV, Lucy having trailed endlessly though the available channels in a hopeless quest to find a movie she hadn’t already seen.

  “Fooks has something for us,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  “Did he say what he’d found out?” Lucy said as we took the short drive to the hospital.

  “No, but we’ll find out soon enough,” I said, as I slid the Ford into a space near the hospital entrance. “He’s still with Vicky now. I hope she survived the ordeal unscathed.”

  When we entered Vicky’s room I was surprised to see that she was sleeping soundly.

  “It’s not uncommon,” Fooks said. “We’ve had a journey back through time and it’s left her quite exhausted. She’ll be fine, though, when she wakes up.”

  “Did you manage to find out about the SUV?” I said.

  “It’s a dark grey, or possibly black, Toyota. It looked new. There’s a D and an A in the license number.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It wasn’t much to go on.

  “Could she remember whether it had Missouri plates?”

  “No.”

  We were still standing at the foot of Vicky’s bed. Fooks sensed my disappointment, but I thought I saw something of a twinkle in his eye. He pursed his lips and slightly arched his back, drawing himself up to his full height. He poked the thumbs of each hand into his vest pockets.

  “She remembered something else though which you might find rather important.” He paused, no doubt for effect, and said casually, “It had a parking ticket on the morning they left Springfield. It was parked near the University campus. Shouldn’t take a private eye long to track it down, I suppose.”