by Joe Hart
“I think this is all the proof you need that I have your wife,” the figure said. The voice was garbled and low, almost mechanical in nature. “Although I can send you one of her fingers if you need further verification. You will give me two million dollars in unmarked bills or she will die.” Valerie’s cries increased and it sounded as if she were trying to say please but it came out as feez around the gag. The kidnapper kept speaking as if he couldn’t hear her. A faint methodic thumping rose in the background and fell away. “I will contact you again in two days. The countdown has begun.”
The video ended, then disappeared from the screen, leaving the small symbol of a burning tree in its place. Owen began to cry in earnest and slumped forward over the table as if he’d been shot. Perring put a hand on the back of his neck and gazed around at the task force.
“Heller’s going to send copies of the video to each of you. I want everyone to go over it. Watch it and then watch it again. I want a list from everyone in half an hour, anything pertinent you can think of, anything that stands out to you. Let’s find her, people, clock’s ticking.” The men and women dispersed, returning to their computers. There was a rustling of fast food bags as they were cleared from the workspace, then the tapping of keyboards filled the room. Liam knelt by Owen’s side, touching his heaving back.
“Hey, listen. She’s alive, okay. We can quit worrying that she’s not, right?” Slowly Owen raised his reddened face and nodded. “So now we’ve got a plan. That guy wants his money. He doesn’t want her dead, otherwise she would be.”
“Liam’s right, Mr. Farrow,” Perring said. “This is by no means a good scenario but it’s much better than some of the alternatives. Now you need to decide how we’re going to proceed. Are you willing to try and raise the funds for Valerie’s release?”
Owen sniffled and squinted at her. “What? Of course. Of course I’m going to pay, what choice do I have?”
“We could try to extend the ransom time, call his bluff, use our resources in the meantime to smoke him out of wherever he’s holed up with her.”
“No, absolutely not. I won’t risk her life over money. My insurance company will reimburse me. I already spoke to the necessary people this morning to acquire the money.”
“Okay. I always have to give people options,” Perring said. “So we’ll go ahead with the ransom demands and when the kidnapper makes contact again we’ll put a contingency plan into effect.”
Owen nodded and Liam caught a faraway glint in his eyes, a fading of sorts. Owen’s head continued to bob, and when he tried to rise from the chair, his legs wouldn’t hold him. Liam steadied his swaying form until the other man could stand on his own.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Owen said, then hurried down the hall. They heard the slamming of a door that deadened the sound of him being sick. Liam stared after his friend before turning back to Perring.
“Can I have another look at the video?” he asked.
“Sure. Here. Heller, share your laptop with Mr. Dempsey.”
The man in the horn-rimmed glasses scooted to the side, holding out a hand as Liam settled into a chair next to him. “Brandon Heller.”
Liam took his hand. “Liam Dempsey.”
“Good to meet you, Liam. Okay, I’m going to start the video over from the beginning if that’s fine with you?”
“Perfect.”
Heller opened the recorded file from his hard drive, but before he began to play it he handed Liam a set of ear buds. “Go ahead and listen first, I’ll take the second round.”
Liam plugged the buds into his ears and Heller hit the Play button. Valerie’s sobs were much louder and so defined that it made him want to close his eyes to the pain and anguish that each sound brought. Instead he removed his focus from her form in the chair and began to study her surroundings: the stain on the cinderblocks, the mold, old spider webs, the lack of light. The camera shifted away from Valerie and he watched the shudder that ran through the video as if whoever was turning it had fumbled their grip for a moment. When the kidnapper spoke he listened for any phonetic markings: odd pauses, slurred speech, lisps, rounding of vowels, but there was nothing. Besides the obvious electronic masking of the man’s voice, there was nothing peculiar or defining about it. When the thumping rose in the background, Liam turned up the volume one notch, replaying the portion several times. Dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk. A pause. Dunk, dunk, dunk. It sounded like someone was knocking on a door with a large piece of iron. When the video finished playing and reset, he pulled the ear buds out and handed them to Heller.
“What do you think?” Heller asked, twisting the cords in his fingers.
“Well we know it’s a basement. Looks old, unused. I’d say it’s either in an abandoned building or somewhere run-down, but that doesn’t really narrow our search.” Liam felt a flicker of amusement as Heller scrambled for a piece of paper and began to jot down notes. For the first time he noticed how young the man was, definitely not older than twenty-five. “The water stains are interesting. Looks like the building was flooded at one point.”
“We had a really terrible flood here a few years back.”
“That’s right, I remember seeing it on the news. Was there anywhere specific in the city that got hit hardest?”
“No. Everything from the top of the hill down was partially underwater. There was less damage on the north and south ends of the city but everything in between got nailed.”
Liam sat forward and stared at the computer screen. “That sound near the end, the thumping, it’s really familiar but I can’t place it.”
Heller put the buds in his ears and ran through the video before drawing them out again. “Sounds like music from a passing car.”
“I thought that too at first but if you listen closely there’s no increase or decrease in volume like you’d have with a car driving past,” Liam said.
Heller frowned. “You’re right. Maybe it was someone playing a song upstairs or outside.”
“Maybe, but it didn’t sound like that. I think we might’ve heard some lyrics or melody alongside the bass with it that loud.” Liam sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head as he looked out through the kitchen windows at the lake. With the falling dark the water had turned a lurid black draped with patches of the last light drifting on its surface. The sound in the video replayed in his head as clearly as if he were hearing it again. There was something exciting about listening to it.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what it was.
Heller continued to take notes as Perring and Sanders circled the table, stopping at several computer stations to gaze at the screens. Owen appeared from the direction of the bathroom and Liam rose, walking beside him into the living room.
“You okay?” Liam asked.
“No.”
“Stupid question. Would you like something to help calm your nerves? I’m sure Perring could have a prescription sent over from your doctor right away.”
“No. If I could have a drink I think that would help.” Owen’s watery eyes met Liam’s and then slid away.
“Go ahead,” Liam said. Owen swallowed, then made his way to the liquor cabinet before taking his drink to the couch. From the dining room, Perring’s voice asked for the task force’s attention. Liam walked to the doorway and leaned against it.
“Okay people, what do we have?” she said, placing a digital recorder down in the middle of the long table. A slender woman with mousy hair stood up and held a notepad before her.
“Generally we all agree that Mrs. Farrow is being held underground, some type of old basement by the looks of it. It’s been flooded to a height consistent with most basements and properties below the hill so that’s where we think we should begin the search. As far as the kidnapper goes, I’m guessing age to be somewhere between twenty-five and fifty, and by the width of his shoulders over two hundred pounds. We didn’t pick up any voice tags or any other significantly revealing speech patterns. Obviously he was using a
type of voice distortion, but he sounds Caucasian with a Midwestern speed and cadence to his sentences. I would go so far as to say he’s well educated by the way he structured his sentences. The sound that can be heard behind the kidnapper’s voice three-quarters through the video could be the bass of a stereo or possibly a train passing nearby.”
Perring waited. “Is that it?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Anyone else have anything to add?” A burly, mustached man at the far end of the table raised a hand. “Mills?”
“There’s a possibility that there’s more than one kidnapper. By the way the camera turned it looked like either someone else had moved it for the person speaking or he had it on a remote pan.”
“Good,” Perring said, scanning the group again. “Let’s have the recording analyzed, see if there’s any way of telling what type of camera he’s using. If we find that out, we can do a check of local shops that sell them. It’s thin but right now it’s all we have to go on unless we can pull an IP address from the burn site.”
Liam dropped his gaze to Heller’s computer screen where the video was playing again. The portion where the beating noise came in the background passed, and something caught his attention. He stepped forward so fast that everyone glanced in his direction.
“Rewind that,” Liam said, pointing at Heller’s screen. The man did so without question. “Now turn up the sound as loud as it will go.” Valerie’s gagged cries came from the speakers as the kidnapper talked over her. The bass thumping started and Liam pushed a finger against the screen. “There. Something fell from the ceiling while that sound was going on.”
Heller leaned in, squinting as he replayed the video. Several other officers rose from their seats and closed in around them. “You’re right,” Heller said. “It looks like a little bit of dust fell from the ceiling.”
Liam looped the sound in his mind, letting it become a rhythm. Dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk. He closed his eyes. The first tinges of memory grew on the outskirts of his consciousness, a glint of sunshine off of a car’s rear window being the first image that came to him. Heat, roasting within his clothes. A sense of impatience, his fingers drumming against a steering wheel.
All at once the memory surfaced clearly like a fish leaping into the air.
He opened his eyes.
“It’s a jackhammer,” Liam said, looking around the group.
“Can’t be, it’s too slow for that,” Sanders said.
“Not a handheld one, the kind that mounts on a payloader or a backhoe.” Liam watched several officers frown, then begin to nod.
“I think he’s right,” the task force member who had spoken first said, looking at Perring. “There was some construction going on down the street from my house earlier this summer and they were using one of those to break up the pavement. Sounds exactly the same now that he mentioned it.”
Perring looked at Liam. “Okay. I want a report of all construction activity utilizing this type of equipment within the city limits in my hand in the next ten minutes. This is definitely worth a look, people.” The tap of keyboards rose in the room. Several cell phones appeared and in a matter of seconds officers were scribbling down notes. Perring approached Liam and gestured toward the kitchen. When they were in the next room she pulled out her diminished pack of gum and unwrapped another piece.
“Nice ear,” she said.
“I heard that sound enough when I was on duty in Minneapolis. There always seemed to be construction going on somewhere.”
“If you’re right that’s going to narrow down a search for us real quick. Owen will have a decision to make.”
“What decision?” Owen asked, stepping into the kitchen. His drink was only half gone but Liam wondered if perhaps he wasn’t still on his first anymore.
“Mr. Dempsey here may have identified the sound in the background of the video,” Perring said. “We think it might be an industrial jackhammer and that would pinpoint the location Valerie’s being held at.” Perring gave Owen a long look, which he read correctly.
“If you figure out where she is you want to go in and get her, am I right?” Owen asked.
“Yes,” Perring said.
“And you need me to okay it since she’s my wife.”
“Yes.”
Owen sighed and rubbed the side of his face before leaning back against the counter. To Liam he looked like he’d aged ten years since that morning. “It’s going to be dangerous for her.” Owen said.
“It’s dangerous for her now,” Perring returned. Owen gazed at her, then at Liam. Liam nodded.
“We should move forward with this if it pans out,” Liam said. There seemed to be a wavering inside Owen that Liam could see, as if a guttering candle flame was nearly extinguished.
“Okay. But I want to be there.”
Perring chewed her gum harder. “You can be in a squad car out of sight.” Owen began to protest but she shook her head. “That’s the best you’re going to get. Sanders wouldn’t even agree to that most likely.”
The mustached officer named Mills entered the room and handed Perring a sheet of paper. “Got ahold of the city administrator. She said there are three locations in the city undergoing street repair but only one that was utilizing a backhoe with a jackhammer in the last three days. It’s over on West Seventh Street, south of the second intersection.”
“You’re sure?” Perring said, studying the note.
“Positive. Bigger city it would’ve been a nightmare to narrow down, but Duluth is small enough there weren’t any other options.”
“Good. Get SWAT’s collective ass in gear. I want three teams of four ready to roll in the next forty-five minutes. Tell them I’ll be in touch before then. Send them all the information we have so far as a briefing.”
Mills moved out of the room, calling out to someone as he went. There was a bustle of movement from the dining room and Liam couldn’t help the rusty feeling stretching its legs in the base of his stomach. The thrill of the chase still lived and breathed after its long hibernation.
“You’ll be with Sanders and I if that works for you, Liam?” Perring said.
“That’s fine.”
“I’d like to be in the same car with you also,” Owen said after a moment. “I need to be there when it happens. No matter—” He took a deep breath. “No matter what the outcome.”
Perring flicked her eyes from Owen to Liam, then back again. “Okay, but you both do exactly as I say, no argument.” Both men nodded. “Good. Let’s get organized, it’ll be dark soon.”
CHAPTER 7
Liam moved down the sidewalk, head hunched low, the wind even sharper than it had been that afternoon.
He glanced up the street, the sodium halos of light pouring from the street lamps like dirty water. A row of run-down houses lined the north side of the road while the opposite held homes in considerably better repair. Wrong side of the tracks, he thought, trudging onward. Almost out of sight he spotted the blinking lights mounted to the tops of several sawhorses marking the beginning of the construction area across the intersection he was approaching. He neared a bus stop and ducked inside the glass alcove, glad to be out of the wind’s direct fury. He pulled out a brand new pack of cigarettes along with a Bic lighter and blazed the end of the cancer stick with a flick of his thumb. He drew a small amount of smoke into his mouth and then blew it back out before looking around.
Many of the houses on the north side of the street were missing siding. A few had garbage strewn in the front yard, but all of them were occupied. Lights blazed in each of the windows and voices clamored from the third house down where the bass of loud rap music flowed out like a speeding heartbeat. Liam gazed at each home, examining the garages, the vehicles in the driveways, the signs of life. As he took another fake pull from the cigarette, the radio tucked behind his ear came to life with Perring’s voice.
“What do you see, Liam?”
He turned away from the construction area before answeri
ng into the small microphone beneath his collar. “The houses on this end of the street are way too active to have someone like Valerie making noise in the basement. Someone from next door would hear her.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I don’t think she’s in any of the homes. How does it look on the other side?”
There was a pause. “The same. Houses seem to be all occupied.”
“I’m going to make my way up the side street that leads to the alley and see what I can see.”
“Don’t fuck this up, Liam.”
“I won’t.”
He crushed out his cigarette and tossed it in the butt-can outside the bus stop before drawing his jacket tighter as the October night deepened around him. The heft of his handgun at the small of his back was comforting, like a thick blanket on a cold evening. He glanced once more down the street at the dormant construction equipment, forms of sleeping monsters in the ill light.
The side street led up one of the steep hills that seemed to be a constant feature everywhere on the east side of Duluth. There were no flat spots; you were either walking up or down. His thighs burned as he moved and a light sheen of sweat developed near his temples despite the cool air. When he came even with the alley running south, parallel to Seventh Street, he turned into it, making his movements seem as natural as possible to anyone who might be watching. He was simply a shipyard worker returning home, maybe a college student walking off a bender in the fresh air. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as the shadows of the alleyway swallowed him whole.
He moved behind the dilapidated houses, their two-story height seeming much taller now that he was beside them. To his right was a cleared parking lot, empty save for a pop bottle that chattered across the cement beneath the urging wind. Several gnarled trees grew beside the alley, their twisted branches naked and obscene in the darkness like arthritic reaching fingers. Ahead a deeper shadow took the form of a square building with several broken windows in its second level. Liam stopped beside the trunk of the last tree and studied the building for a time before speaking.
