“That's correct. You'll find her leaving for work at six-thirty tomorrow morning. Her shift starts at seven-thirty, but she’ll never make it to work.” Phillip smirked. The bitch almost screwed things up by switching shifts, but he’d received confirmation hospital security that she’s on for the morning. And his source wouldn’t dare reveal that he’d given out the information.
“Now, listen; she's a red-head. A real knockout—you can't miss her. I've had someone watching her place, and she takes the EL to work. She always leaves enough time to catch the next train if she misses her usual one at six forty-four, so she ends up getting to work early every morning. That gives us a head start of at least thirty minutes before anyone realizes she’s missing. She'll head down towards the EL station two blocks away. At the end of the first corner, she'll cross the street to reach the side closest to the station, and she'll have to pass an alley. Someone is going to park a big box truck in the spots both before and after the alley entrance, and that'll limit anyone's view—don't worry, I'll make sure the parking spots are available when I need them.”
Phillip shook his head. Did he doubt Phillip's connections? It didn't take much to get his guy at Streets & Sanitation to mark that street for street sweeping today. Signs were already in place banning parking along the stretch. At six-twenty, the signs would come down, and at six twenty-one, the trucks would arrive. Well, sooner probably, just to be sure. Nobody was going go ticket them. Phillip had made sure of that.
“The man driving the first box truck, in the parking space west of the alley will be watching, and when you have her, he's going to back into the alley, open up the back of the truck, and you can throw her in there. Shut the door, and meet me at the address I gave you. It's a simple task and shouldn't take more than a few minutes.”
Nobody but he knew the whole plan. The whole thing was on a need-to-know basis. The driver of the second truck was just told to park there, and not to react to anything. He could leave after fifteen minutes and could truthfully say he had no idea what had happened. The first driver had a deeper role, but Phillip had several charges hanging over the man's head, ready to file them if he didn't comply exactly. The driver wasn't exactly a model citizen and hadn't hesitated when Phillip had given him the instructions.
Dealing with Cooper was going to be trickier, but he was pretty sure he could set up the cop. Cooper was going to get a call about two p.m. for a woman in distress. And it wouldn't be fake. Harlow would be in distress. Hamilton smiled. Very much in distress. Cooper would show up and Tom would be waiting, and getting Cooper should be simple. Tom would have the element of surprise and Tyson would have Harlow at gunpoint. Cooper would have to give up his weapon or the nurse would die.
The most interesting piece of intelligence Tom had obtained was with Sheridan showing up in the nick of time to save some guy from a falling block on concrete. Phillip didn't believe in psychics, but he had learned over the years to follow hunches, and he had a hunch that somehow this Sheridan kid could see when things were going to happen. He'd already saved the nurse, along with an ER full of patients and other healthcare workers from the terrorist. Granted, he wasn't certain Harlow would have died, but the gunman had been intending to kill as many people as he could based upon evidence compiled in the case.
It hadn't been possible to obtain information from the rapist himself, as he was the only casualty of the event, but rambling writings from his home had turned up mentions of someone meeting Harlow's description getting away when some young do-gooder, wanna-be hero, according to the ramblings, had appeared out of nowhere. The man's DNA had already tied him to a string of murdered women who had been sexually assaulted prior to their deaths, so Phillip had no doubt he'd intended to do the same to Harlow.
He remembered Sheridan with another guy, Mark Taylor, showing up to save his skin when he'd been jumped by some thugs several months ago. He opened the Chicago database and looked up Taylor's file. Very fishy. At the time, he'd been concerned that Sheridan and Taylor had been tailing him, even though he'd been thankful they had shown up when they had. He'd been conducting his own business, under cover of taking care of police matters, when a rival gang had seen an opportunity to take him out. He was taking business from them, and they were pissed. It was just business. And a few weeks later, a drive-by shooting just happened to take out a couple of guys from that gang. It was just business.
Taylor had an interesting file on his own, and as Phillip scrolled through it on his computer, he wished he had time to look into it more. Soon. One problem at a time. He closed Taylor's file and found Sheridan's. The kid was a college grad, so he could easily be working for the FBI. He had the background. But while he didn't discount that, he had a hunch about the psychic angle. And listened to hunches. As insurance though, he could always just call Sheridan and make a deal. An exchange. The nurse for the truth. What was Sheridan up to? How much did he know about Cruz? How much did he know about Hamilton's operation, and how much had he reported to his father?
* * *
When CJ got home, it didn't surprise him that his father wasn't home either. His dad didn't speak of specific cases normally, but to keep CJ from doing his own investigating, he’d dropped that he had opened an official investigation into the Chicago P. D.
They had interviewed Alex Mendez. His father hadn't told him that, but Mendez himself had when CJ had called him to see if he could speak to him. Even knowing the FBI was on board, CJ wanted to see what he could find out. And every day he’d used the camera hoping to get something more he could tie to Hamilton, but he hadn’t. Just a few routine saves after the concrete masonry save.
Poor Mendez had been so spooked, he'd hung up on CJ the first time he'd called. The second time, he’d agreed to meet him somewhere public, so they’d gone to a fast food place. He hadn’t said much though and CJ got the impression he was just trying to see if CJ was working with someone. Kept asking to see his ID and didn’t believe he was just a photographer’s assistant. Then, he'd said he was done talking. That the FBI had already taken a statement and he wasn't going to talk to anyone else. CJ had tried to tell him that he’d been held as well, but Mendez hadn’t listened and instead had been busy looking around the restaurant.
CJ still planned to speak to him, but decided to back off for now. Wayan said he'd get Alex's address for him and when he had that, he could go and speak to him again. Once CJ told him that he had also been a victim of Hamilton's, he was hoping the guy would open up and share information with him.
His phone buzzed, and he saw a text from Blanche. She asked if he wanted to come by tonight. He grinned and started to send her a reply asking when, but then remembered the photos. He needed to concentrate on those tonight. He glanced around the condo. He really should get his own place, but he didn't earn enough to get anything decent. Mark paid the best he could, but he was a one-man studio. Mark had started giving him pointers on photography and CJ was becoming interested, but it would be a long time before he'd come close to being able to take over a photoshoot.
As he looked at Blanche's message, he wondered if it was too soon to suggest they find a place together. She'd mentioned that her lease was up soon. Together, they would be able to afford something half-way decent. Then he could spend every night with her no matter the camera's demands.
He also wondered if his being here was stifling his father. It was strange to think his dad had had a girlfriend over the last year or so until just a few months ago. What if he wanted to see someone else but hesitated to bring her home because of CJ? Talk about awkward. CJ decided to bring up the subject with Blanche. Since his experience as Hamilton's prisoner, he and Blanche had grown much closer. Part of it was that he didn't have to hide anything from her. She understood when he had demands on his time or was stressed out. By the same token, he considered it only fair to let her blow off steam about her work related problems. Most of the time, she loved her job but she had issues with management at times.
Reluctantly, he s
ent a text saying he couldn't because of something that developed. It was his code for the camera and she sent back a sad face text, but signed it off with 'Love, B'. He smiled at that. He decided after taking care of the photos tomorrow, he'd take her out somewhere special. He’d just been paid and had a little extra this week. And he wouldn’t talk about the camera. He wanted to hear all about her. What was her favorite food? Her favorite movie? What was her childhood like? He had so many questions and every time the saw each other, the damn camera was the subject of most of their conversations.
CJ vowed that the next date, camera discussion would be completely off-limits. It was going to be all about Blanche. A smile spread across his face when he realized how clueless he had been. Chuckling, he wanted to tell Blanche about his self-revelation, because she was the one he thought of first when he had something he wanted to share. The irony that his revelation was about her wasn't lost on him, which made it even more amusing.
Deciding to order a pizza, CJ changed into a t-shirt and a pair of running shorts, and flopped on the couch. When the pizza arrived, he ate his fill and left the rest for his dad. Another couple of hours passed with no sign of his father. Deciding his dad must have already eaten, CJ put the leftover pizza in the fridge and returned to sofa, flipping through channels, finally stopping on some reality show. He watched, but his mind was occupied by the photos. The show droned in the background of his thoughts, and his eyes grew heavy.
He awoke in the morning, still on the sofa, a light blanket covering him. He tossed off the light blanket, absently noting it hadn't been there before and his father must have covered him. The dream had jarred him awake. It was dark outside, but when went to the kitchen to find a sheet of paper and pen to jot down notes, it was already after six a.m.
Not wanting to forget anything, he scribbled the details from his dream, not taking time to puzzle over it. He'd do that once he had the important stuff down.
He chewed on the end of the pen as he replayed the scene in his head. It was worse than he'd even realized from the pictures. He now knew the identities of the victims in the photos.
Chapter Twenty-Three
CJ strode down the hall and knocked on his dad's door. Not waiting for a reply, he turned the knob, and opened it a few inches. “Dad?”
He expected to see his dad in bed, but he strode from his bathroom instead. Already partially clothed in dress pants and a t-shirt, his father paused as he reached for a white dress shirt that hung on the back of the bathroom door. Whatever had kept him late last night must be big for him to be going into the office so early.
“What's wrong?”
“I was going to wait up for you last night, but I guess I fell asleep. I got photos yesterday. They're bad. Really bad.”
“How bad?” His dad drew the shirt from the hangar and slipped it on.
“They show Blanche. And she's…” He couldn't finish as his throat locked up.
His father's hands stilled in the act of buttoning his shirt. “She's…dead?” He didn't add, 'Again?', but the unspoken question hung in the air.
CJ didn't trust his voice and could only nod.
His dad blew out a breath. He looked down as he finished buttoning the shirt and tucked it in to his pants. When he finally spoke, it was in a steady, measured voice. “Okay. Go get dressed. Meet me in the living room when you're ready.”
Like a balm, his father's calm tone washed over him, and CJ nodded. “Okay. It'll only take me a minute. Two, tops.”
He raced to his room, shucked his shorts and jumped into a pair of jeans. He grabbed the first shirt his hand touched and pulled it over his head. He left the socks on that he'd worn to bed and cast about for his shoes. One was hidden beneath the shorts he'd just removed, but the other wasn't within sight. He dropped to a knee and checked under the bed. There, at the end. He grabbed it and shoved his feet into them. As he turned to leave, he caught his reflection in the mirror. Something about it was unsettling, but he shook it off. Every single nerve was unsettled right now.
“I'm ready.” He turned the corner into the living room. His father sat with a glass of orange juice, sorting through the photos. CJ remembered returning them to the envelope last night and setting the envelope on the bottom shelf of the coffee table.
“These do look bad.” Setting the orange juice down as CJ moved to an easy chair, his dad picked up one photo. “Is this Wayan Cooper?”
“Yeah. It looks like he's dead in the photos, but the dream didn't confirm it. He's injured, for sure, but I just don't know if he dies.” CJ clasped his hands behind his head as he tried to grapple with the overwhelming images tied to the vivid dream. “I don't even know why he's there.” He unclasped his hands and reached for the image. “One thing I didn't get in the dream was where we were, exactly. It looked sort of like the place I was held, but it wasn't.” He tilted the photo towards his dad. “See? He's wearing his uniform. He must have been on duty, but I don't get it.”
“So, there's Wayan and Blanche both at the same place. Could Blanche have called police and Wayan responded? Maybe the room is at the hospital?”
CJ considered that. “I suppose it could be, but it looks pretty bare. My first impression was a garage, from the cement floor.” CJ set the Wayan image down and picked up the one with Blanche, “but in my dream, the room was cold and stark.”
“Maybe where the ambulances pull in?”
“Possibly, but…” CJ thought about it. He associated hospitals with certain smells. Mostly the scent of the alcohol wipes they used before drawing blood. He'd asked Blanche about that one time and she claimed she didn't notice it very often. Would scent enter into a dream? He couldn't recall ever smelling anything in any dream before. Could the lack of scent in the dream be why he was ruling out the hospital? And even if he could smell odors in dreams, would a hospital garage smell like antiseptic? It would probably smell like oil and exhaust, like any other garage. Bottom line, he didn't think it was the hospital even though it made sense because that was where Blanche spent much of her time.
“What if Blanche was taken to a place like I was, Dad? They could have moved to another site since we know about the one where I was taken.”
“A definite possibility and one we'll have to look into, but why?” His dad spread all of the future photos out on the table so he could see them all at once. His eyes snagged on the one that showed Blanche and his gaze flicked to CJ. Sorrow and concern flashing for a moment before his professional demeanor dropped in place. CJ was glad for that because he didn't think he could handle discussing it on a personal level right now. He had to pretend this was a regular save.
To do that, he needed to look at the image that he now knew was Blanche. His stomach twisted, and his hands shook as he turned it so he could see it at the correct angle. He closed his eyes for a second, steeling himself. He could do this. He had to do it. He had to examine it for any other clues now that he had the dream to fill in some of the missing pieces.
“CJ…”
He glanced up from the image of Blanche, grateful to have a reason to look away. His father's eyes were wide, his face drained. CJ's heart almost stopped in a gut response. “What?”
“What you're wearing…”he reached over and tapped the photo with Blanche, but he was pointing to the guy who lay face down, obscuring Blanche's face, “it matches what this victim is wearing.”
CJ looked at the picture, then at the t-shirt he'd grabbed from the drawer. It was a black and long-sleeved with the name of a favorite band on the front. The back was plain and so he hadn't paid much attention to the guy in the picture, but he caught the edges of white letters on the left sleeve. The letters marched down the sleeve twisting out of sight due to the angle of the hands in the cuffs. He glanced at his left arm, startled to see matching text. It was a famous lyric from one of their songs. His favorite song. He shook his head, not knowing what to think. He didn't recall seeing himself in the dream. “Well, shit. I swear I didn't see myself in the dream.”
“Has the image changed since you first saw it yesterday?” His father had managed to regain some of his composure, but CJ heard a tremor in his voice.
He closed his eyes and tried to recall exactly what he'd seen yesterday and what he'd seen in his dream. “I think it's the same, but definitely I didn't see myself or even think it could be me.” CJ studied the prone person and sighed. “But then again, I never see my own back. I don't know what I look like from this angle.” The length and color of hair was right. Build too. One foot was in the shot, and he saw his sneakers on the foot. That sealed the deal. “Yeah, it's me.” His first thought was he couldn't die because he had to save Blanche and Wayan. If he did die, it was going to have to come later, after they were safe.
“Well, then you're staying here all day. Mark and I can take care of the other two. Jessica too.”
“But this isn't Mark's vision to change, it's mine.” CJ rose, thumping his chest. He knew his dad was only thinking of his welfare, but this was his responsibility, not Mark's. Not even his father's and certainly not Jessie's. He leaned down to gather the photos. If he had to, he'd do it alone.
His dad slapped a hand down on the last two photos preventing CJ from picking them up. “Chris…CJ, what good will it do to get killed? Maybe you can call Blanche and get her to come over and then you can make sure neither of you leave. If you're not there, you can't be victims.” His eyes begged.
CJ almost relented. His dad was right—if they weren't there, how could they be victims? Then he shook his head. “What about Wayan? He's in uniform, so obviously he's working. How do we warn him?”
“I'll figure it out.”
“That's the thing, Dad. I have to figure it out. I shouldn't have even let you see these. I know you help Mark a lot and just thought we could fix these together, but if you're going to jump in every time and take over…”
Capture: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 2) Page 23
