by Christa Lynn
“Gabe!” I turn as I hear my name called from the door to the bar. Agent Jason Morrison, or Mo as we call him, is holding on to the door motioning me towards him. Seeing the FBI agent makes my stomach sink, because if he’s here, then there’s bad news somewhere in the city. I know then that sleep will have to wait.
“What’s up man?” I ask, as he opens the door. I step out onto the still busy New York street scanning the area.
“We just got an alert for a missing young woman, age twenty. She was last seen getting in to a cab on Fifth Ave.”
“Fifth Ave? Sure she wasn’t just having a romp with one of the Wall Street’s finest?”
“Maybe, but that was three days ago. Her dad is some hotshot bank executive and the authorities are wondering if this is random or not. A rope and chloroform cotton balls were found at the entrance to the Crown Heights station in Brooklyn. Trail cuts off there. Cab driver states he picked up a white man and a white woman, and dropped them off at Penn Station. She didn’t appear scared, like she knew the guy but you never know what he had on her. He said her eyes were glassy, like maybe she’d been drugged.”
“Shit. What took them so long to report her missing?” I ask Mo.
“Her parents said she was going to visit a friend on Long Island and didn’t know until her roommate called them today to let them know she never came home. When her friend was contacted, she said the girl called her and cancelled, so she had no idea either.”
“Damn, three days is a long time. Any word on a cell trace?”
“Yeah, located her phone on the bank of the Hudson, near Battery Park.”
“Jesus, this guy’s had her all over the place. Fifth Ave, Penn Station, Brooklyn and Battery Park. How long did this guy have her before they disappeared?”
“Don’t know, seems as if the girl knows him.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sophia Fishman, daughter of Alex Fishman, CFO of NYB&T.”
“Fuck, has to be about money. But why no ransom call?”
“No clue yet, but the Brooklyn looks like war zone. Cops are everywhere, road blocks are set up on all bridges and throughout the streets. So far, nothing has been deemed suspicious.”
Mo’s phone buzzes and he presses the phone to his ear. “Mo here.” I listen to his lack of words and watch his face as it turns ashen. He disconnects his phone without saying a word to whoever called him. He turns to me with a glum look in his eyes, “Her body just washed up on the shore of the Hudson, about seventeen yards from her phone.”
My mind travels back to last month when a girl vanished without a trace. Her body was found a week later, beaten and bruised. Multiple sexual assaults and.... I shiver at the thought of it. That girl vanished in the same manor, but no one ever reported her missing. She was a runaway out of Newark with no parents or family to speak of. Fled from a halfway house and wasn’t found until her body washed up in the East River. I wonder silently if this is the same monster, coming out of the woodwork after a......wait, exactly one month. “Hold on a second. Do you remember the Samantha Brockwood case?” I asked Mo.
“Samantha Brockwood, the runaway that washed up on the riverbank of the East River?
Yeah, why?”
“Check the dates, if I’m not mistaken it’s been exactly one month since she appeared in the water. Could we have a serial rapist/murderer on the loose? I’ll call Matthews and have him pull that folder, and let him know I’m coming in.”
Twenty minutes later I bust through the doors to HQ, centered in Manhattan. Olivia is seated behind the check in table eyeing me suspiciously. “Detective Torres, what are you doing here so late in the evening?” She whispers, almost seductively. She’s a pretty little thing with a hot little body to go with it, and she’s expressed an ‘interest’ in me, but I refuse to mix business and pleasure.
“Is Matthews in?” I ask, without acknowledging her smirk.
“Yeah, he’s in his office.” She replies while smiling at me like she wants to eat me. And, as frustrated as I am with the fact that I am at NYPD HQ at twelve thirty on a Friday night, her smirk is not helping. I had hoped to be naked and sweaty with a beautiful woman underneath me.
But, duty calls and here I am. I know I could have her at any time, but again - there is that business and pleasure combination.
I knock on the Chief’s door and stand back, half expecting him to fling the door open. “It’s open.” He calls from the other side of the closed door. I walk in and close the door behind me, only to see he has his nose deep in to a folder. “You come looking for this?” He asks as he waves the folder at me.
“If that’s the Samantha Brockwood file, then yes. You see anything interesting in it?”
He motions for me to sit in the chair opposite him, but I’m too fired up to sit. I continue to stand at his desk, glaring at the folder that I so want my hands on. “Sit, Torres.” He says as he hands me the folder.
“Good call on this one, Gabe. Appears we may have a huge problem. Exactly one month ago today is when Miss Brockwood washed up on the shores of the East River. I’ve called in the investigators and profilers that worked this case and they should be here in the morning.”
“Profilers?”
“Yeah, I’ve called in the FBI on this one.” I nod cause I figure that’s why Mo grabbed me at Blazer’s. “Based on the similarities in the crime, we may need their help. All of NYPD’s forensic team is wrapped up in the Angelo/Meeney drug war. They’ve got their own issues and one of the FBI’s profilers is.......well, very knowledgeable. We had an abuse case a couple of years ago, a young girl kidnapped and raped. She helped bring the guy down and then counseled the young girl, who actually survived. His other victims didn’t.”
“You think it’s the same guy?”
“No, that guy was gunned down by NYPD when he fired at the SWAT team. After the gas was tossed into the warehouse he was held up in, he came out swinging. Got off one shot before Preston took him out.”
Preston is one of NYPD’s sharpshooters, and he’s damn good. Spent eight years as a SEAL and now proudly serves as NYPD’s best. He can put a bullet in your head from six miles away.
“What’s happening now though? Any leads on why this girl was taken?”
“Read the file, Gabe. Your intuition is always good. Scan it and tell me what you find. If you pick it up too, then we move forward.”
As I scan the file, combing over notes on the Brockwood case and immediately notice both similarities and differences between this case and the Fishman case. Samantha was young and a runaway, with no family to speak of. Sophia is also young, but comes from a wealthy family.
But neither family knew the girls were missing right away. “Seems as if he’s prying on their innocence. Money doesn’t seem to be an issue, at least not on the Brockwood case, but....... wait.
Do you have pictures of these girls?” I ask Chief Matthews. He nods and slides another folder to me. As I open the file, two photos spill onto my lap. I suck in a breath at the similarities. Dark hair, dark eyes and stunning features. These girls are the epitome of beautiful. They look so alike they could be twins. “See if Rose can run a profile search on young girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty five with similar features. Both of these girls look so alike they could be sisters.” I tell Matthews as I stare at the photos.
“There is one interesting thing.”
“What’s that?” I ask as I drag my eyes up to meet his.
“They’re both adopted.” Matthews says as he drops another folder at me.
I open the folder and scan the documents. “Both closed adoptions, but the file indicates they were.......shit. Both of their mothers were rape victims?”
“According to the court documents, both mothers were kidnapped and raped by the same man. The father is named as ‘unknown’ in the documents, but it appears they were both victims of the same man. Brockman’s birth mother died during childbirth from her injuries and Fishman’s birth mother committed suicide
three days after she gave birth. Rose is already running a search for any other’s that might fall into these parameters. Since the records are sealed, it’s going to take an act of God to get a judge to open them. We’ll have to get both families to consent before we can do anything, and if only one refuses to allow it then we are shit out of luck.”
I stand to leave and head home after looking at my watch, one thirty. “Shit man, my shift starts in five hours. See if I can get copies of these files and I’ll check in tomorrow. Sleep is calling my name.”
Chapter 4
The alarm goes off way too early, blaring in my ears. As I peel my eyes open and squint from the sun shining in through the blinds, I realize I managed to not have a nightmare last night. I feel rested and refreshed. But it’s Saturday and I wonder why in the hell my alarm was set anyway. I guess in my exhaustion, I forgot to turn it off last night before falling into bed.
I kick off the covers and sit up, slinging my legs over the side of the bed. I stumble into the bathroom and see a different face than I did yesterday morning. My eyes are brighter and the dark circles under them faded. Amazing what a good night’s sleep will do. I wash my face and brush my teeth. Not sure why I brush my teeth, since I haven’t even had coffee yet, but I do it out of habit I guess.
After throwing on some yoga pants and a tee shirt, I make my way to the kitchen for that coffee. As it brews, I scroll through messages on my phone that I apparently missed last night.
Nothing interesting there, but I have one voice mail from a number I don’t recognize. My finger hovers over the ‘play’ button, but I decide to wait. It’s my day off and I won’t let work interrupt my morning cup of liquid caffeine. I head out to my patio and sink down onto the chaise lounge and sip my coffee quietly while listening to the sounds of the city that never sleeps. Horns honking, cars zipping by and people milling about. I’m on the top floor out of fourteen floors of my building, so I am far enough up to have a decent view, but not far enough to drown out the city sounds.
After a few minutes of quiet time and a feeble attempt at waking up, my phone rings. As I look at the caller ID I see it’s the same number that left me a message last night. I debate letting it to go voicemail, but since they’re calling again it must be important. As I slide the answer button, I suddenly feel like I’m making a mistake answering the phone.
“Doctor DeCarlo.” I answer, my voice still sounding sleepy.
“Sydney, this is Chuck Matthews with the NYPD, am I catching you at a bad time?” Does my voice really sound that bad? “No Chuck, what can I help you with?”
“The NYPD and the FBI need your help on a case. I know it’s the weekend, but time is of the essence. Can you come down to the station and take a look at our files and see what you think?”
I shiver in my chair. Has to be another missing girl case, cause that’s the only time they call on me. Its times like this I second guess my choice of profession. “What’s the case?”
“The daughter of a high profile bank CEO washed up on the Hudson and the similarities are......astonishing. I’d rather go over the details in person. Can you help?” He asks.
After thinking for just a few seconds, I decide that....yes, I need to help. If my experience can help one girl, then it’s worth it.”
“Sure, give me an hour or so and I’ll be down.”
“Thanks. See you then.” He says as he disconnects the call.
Great, there goes my weekend. But, as I said earlier if I can help one girl, then it makes it worthwhile.
After taking a shower, I throw on jeans, a tee-shirt and my Chucks. Yes, I know this is not professional, but it’s Saturday and I figure I’m going to be there for a while, so I might as well be comfortable.
I catch a cab down to NYPD HQ and dodge the traffic trying to cross the street. It’s a little cool today, so I pop the collar of my jacket up over my ears and enter the crowd of people crossing Lafayette Street. As I push the door open, a gust of wind blows through and almost knocks me down. As I sway to my right, I’m steadied by.....him. The man from the bar last night.
He towers above me and as I look up, I see him smiling. His eyes light up and his lips curve up into a sexy smirk. And what is that in his eyes? Recognition? I shake my head, no. Surely he doesn’t remember me.
“I’m sorry, wind just about blew me over.” I say as I straighten my jacket collar and try to compose myself.
“Well, you don’t weigh but a buck fifty, so any gust of wind could blow you over.” He says in a gravely, husky voice.
Embarrassed, I sneak under his arm that is now holding the door open and make my way to the reception desk. I know that was rude, but the totally threw me off guard. “Doctor Sydney DeCarlo here to see Chuck Matthews.” I tell the older lady behind the counter.
“Have a seat, Doctor. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She says.
I take a seat in the lobby and pull out my phone and call Les, letting her know who I just literally bumped in to.
“No way!” She squeals in to the phone. “Rock on girl!!”
“No no, Les. There will be no rocking on.” I say as I scan the room. “He’s nowhere to be found, so even if I wanted to ‘rock on’ with the man, he’s long gone.”
“Oh come on, Syd. He was hot! Oh, and what are you doing down at police HQ?”
“I got a call this morning from Chief Matthews. Something about a case they need help with.
And the guy from the bar is a cop, so it’s no surprise I’d see him, I think.”
“Oh no, not again. Another missing girl?”
“I think so, but don’t know the details yet. That’s typically why they call me. I’m seriously starting to re-think my career. I wonder if Starbucks is hiring baristas.” I say quietly.
“I hear ya girl. Well, keep me posted. And if you see him again......”
“Stop it Les. I don’t expect to see him again.” I chuckle in to the phone.
“Doctor DeCarlo?” I hear the receptionist call my name.
“Gotta run Les. I’ll call you later.” And I end the call without saying goodbye.
I make my way towards the door where there is a uniformed officer standing there. “Doctor DeCarlo?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Follow me please.” He says as he turns down a long hallway. The walls are cinder block and cold, much different than the warm and comfortable lobby area. I walk behind him, his night stick clinking against his handcuffs. That’s the only noise I hear except our feet. We reach a metal door and the officer knocks once, before opening the door ushering me inside.
“Sydney, thank you for coming in.” Chief Matthews stands and circles his desk, taking my hand.
“You’re welcome, Chuck. What can I do to help you in this investigation?” I ask as I take the seat in front of his desk.
Chief Matthews is an older man, a little round in the belly. Thinning, grey hair and thin wired glasses. He’s been on the force for probably twenty years or more, so we’ve known each other forever. He tries to keep it professional, but after so many years I’m comfortable around him. Comfortable enough to call him by his first name. The only thing that makes me nervous is the fact that he and my father used to be friends back in Chicago. I try to not let that get to me and keep our visits professional, but sometimes that can be difficult.
“Ah, Sydney.” He says as he sits down. He shuffles some files and papers around on his desk before sliding a manila folder towards me. He nods towards the file and I slowly grasp it within my fingers. I look at his eyes, and they are full of worry. Whether it’s worry for me or for the case, I can’t be sure. He knows my past, thoroughly. Which I guess is why he continues to call on me for these cases.
I thumb through the documents one by one. Young women, probably eighteen, nineteen.
Dark hair and dark eyes....I suck in a breath. They look like.....me. “Sydney, as you can see by the photos of the girls.....” He drifts off.
I know I must look like a deer c
aught in headlights, because he stops talking. I freeze momentarily just staring at the photos of these two girls. I close the file and stand up. “I don’t know if I can do this Chuck.”
I move towards the door. “Sydney, please. Hear me out on this one. I know.....I know these girls look....”
“Like me, Chuck. THEY LOOK LIKE ME!” I scream at him, my hands shaking and my voice unsteady.
Chief Matthews comes around his desk and stands next to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Sydney, we need your help on this case. The details are so.....so, shit how do I say this?”
“Similar? Creepy?” I answer with a bit of sarcasm in my voice.
“Yes. Which is why we need your expertise in this case.”
About that time a knock on the metal door causes me to jump out of my skin. I’m thankful for the distraction, because my mind was about to go somewhere it doesn’t need to go right now.
Chuck is right, they need me on this case and I need to wrap my head around it all in order to help him.
The door opens and HE walks in. All Six feet or so of man. Our eyes meet and his lips quirk up in a half grin. His eyes appear confused this time. “Gabe, glad you’re here. This is Doctor Sydney DeCarlo, the FBI profiler I told you about.”
“Well, I’m not an official ‘profiler’ Chuck, and I’m not ‘officially’ with the FBI.” I smile back at him. He has always thought I should have joined the FBI and not gone in to private practice, so he jokes with me all the time.
“A mere technicality, Sydney.” He grins.
Gabe steps forward and holds out his hand in a friendly greeting. I take it and squeeze as hard as I can. Why? I have no idea, but he smiles and then lets my hand go. “So you’re the famous Doctor DeCarlo?” He asks as his eyes travel over me.
“Yes, though nowhere near famous, Detective......”
