The Victim

by Jonas Saul

  “I’m resigning.”

  Waller went to his office to empty his desk. He left his coffee on the conference room table.

  He knew Parkman would be happy, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t remain on the force after what he had planned to do to Sarah.

  The innocent Sarah Roberts.

  Once he had his desk cleaned out, he would direct investigators to the secluded farmhouse with the basement where he planned on taking Sarah that night. The basement with the cage and chains where he would victimize her for a few weeks for what she had done to his platoon. His men would have been proud. Officers protect their own.

  Now that he learned the truth, it would have been the wrong thing to do.

  He was an embarrassment.

  Waller walked to his desk, head down, Parkman on his heels.

  Chapter 32

  Sarah Roberts fired up her BMW F800R, put on her helmet and backpack, straddled the bike and set off.

  With her parents’ blessing, it was time for Sarah to hit the road, see her country the way it was meant to be seen. She had traveled to Europe, spent over a month in the Toronto area, but had never toured America. It was the first time in a long time that no one hunted her. She had no outstanding arrest warrants and the Sophia Project had died with Hank’s and Rod’s deaths.

  She was free.

  Aaron had been the biggest hurdle, wanting her to stay with him in Toronto. But Sarah couldn’t. She missed Drake and then she had the Rapturites after her. There were too many memories. Too many bad ones.

  She needed to break free, move on.

  Parkman understood. He had accompanied her back to the States, visited her parents with her and then headed back to work. He put in for a transfer as soon as he clocked back in. Santa Rosa, California, was his destination, or somewhere in that area. Sarah’s parents were moving. They wanted to live closer to the coast in wine country and Parkman wanted to stay close to them if anything cropped up later in Sarah’s life when he would be needed.

  Caleb and Amelia, Sarah’s parents, had thought it a lovely gesture and welcomed Parkman as more than a family friend. They offered their new home to him anytime he needed it, as he was a member of the Roberts family now.

  It pleased Sarah to see her parents warm up to the only real friend she’d ever had.

  She had stayed in her old bedroom for a few weeks until the move to Santa Rosa. The house sold and the new one was smaller, allowing her parents to pay it off completely with the chunk of cash left over.

  They bought Sarah the new motorcycle after putting enough money in a bank account for her to travel for a couple of years.

  The California sun was dropping as Sarah set off. Her first stop was somewhere in Las Vegas, Nevada. Vivian had asked her to do a couple of small tasks that would have large ramifications if left unfulfilled.

  Sarah had packed a Mac Book Pro so that she could start writing a memoir of sorts of what happened to her over the last few years. She decided to start with the kidnapping, over four years ago, when her dark visions started.

  “That’s what I’ll call it,” she said to herself. “Dark Visions.”

  In her breast pocket were a notepad and two pens. Even though she appeared to ride alone, Sarah had a companion. Vivian rode with her, toward another chapter in Sarah’s life.

  Within thirty-six hours, Sarah would alter the course of events, and her life would change forever.

  She was no longer the victim.

  Sarah became the enigma.

  To be continued in The Enigma, Sarah Roberts Book Six, due out April, 2013.

  The Specter - A Preview

  An excerpt from The Specter, where you meet Aaron Stevens and his three employees from the dojo mentioned in The Victim.

  Chapter 1

  Aaron Stevens stared at the ferry and wondered if it had any connection to his sister’s disappearance.

  She had been missing for two days, and the police had said there was nothing they could do. One cop even went as far as saying she was probably still with one of her “customers.” Comments like that were commonplace since Joanne started dancing at the House of Lancaster strip club. Aaron detested what she did for a living, but she needed the money.

  The ferry lit up, the lights on both levels turning on. A moment later, its engine came to life.

  As the sun rose in the east, Aaron put on his sunglasses. He hated getting up this early, and today was worse than usual as he had pulled an all-nighter. He’d gone over the message from his sister in his head dozens of times.

  Aaron, I’m in trouble … after me … ferry … David Hornell … vodka … weeks …

  When Joanne left the message on his machine two days ago, the connection had been bad. She said she was in trouble. Someone was coming for her. The only other words he caught after that were ferry, David Hornell, vodka, and weeks.

  At first, Aaron thought she was referring to some guy named David Hornell who was gay and drank vodka for weeks and now he was dangerous. But after using Google, he discovered that David Hornell was the name of the ferry that ushered people back and forth from the mainland to the Toronto Island Airport. It was only last night, after following up with the ferry and Toronto Island, that he figured out weeks probably had nothing to do with a seven-day period. He had done some checking on the little airport and discovered that Frank Weeks and his brother, Gary Weeks, worked there.

  Vodka was the only word he still hadn’t figured out.

  As the airport employees entered the 5:15 a.m. ferry to the island, Aaron reasoned that he might never figure out the vodka connection. It could simply be the drink of choice on the night his sister called to ask for his help.

  He checked his watch. The ferry would depart in two minutes.

  As the airport workers boarded the ferry, he scanned their faces from the wall he leaned against twenty feet away from the docks. At 5:30 a.m., another ferry would begin the process of taking the regular passengers across every fifteen minutes until midnight, when the ferry service would retire for the day.

  He recognized no one. Not a single individual looked at him either. Another nameless face in the big city of Toronto. Had anyone noticed him, they would probably assume he was homeless. He wore his white wife-beater top with a light, collared shirt unbuttoned over it and loose shorts to combat the early summer heat.

  The ropes were thrown off and the ferry pulled away from the dock. The employees stood around zombie-like in their early morning stupor, waiting to cross the short four-hundred-foot expanse of water.

  Aaron pushed off the wall and stepped out into the light as the sun crested the edge of Lake Ontario. His polarized glasses reduced the glare off the water.

  He saw nothing suspicious. No one watched him. Although he had no idea what he was looking for, he had to be here. He had to do something. His sister was missing and he would do whatever it took to get her back.

  Joanne, what happened to you? Where are you?

  It had been almost three months since they had talked. When he heard her message on his machine, the fear in her voice was unmistakable. Her pleading came through the static on the line. It drove a wedge in his heart that wouldn’t come out until he found her alive.

  The police had said they would look into it. They told him to let them do their job. They also said if she didn’t return home soon, an officer would be in touch to get a statement from him.

  The 5:30 a.m. ferry was pulling in to load passengers. He moved toward the access point on the dock and waited. As people gathered with small pieces of luggage, he took in the whole scene, just as his sensei had taught him years ago. Monitor everything around you, paying close attention to any possible threats.

  His sister wouldn’t have left a message like that on his phone and then disappeared without a word. Nothing was normal about anything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. She hadn’t answered her phone and she hadn’t been back to her apartment. The sister Aaron knew would never do that. That equated to Aaron
assessing everything as a threat. He didn’t know what the message meant, and he didn’t know where the danger would come from, but he knew that he had to be on full alert.

  Two deckhands tossed out lines and another tied them to posts on the pier. The ferry docked and began letting passengers board. Aaron paid his fare, walked onto the ferry, and moved to a side railing where he could people-watch.

  A young couple boarded with backpacks on, speaking to each other in French.

  Must be on their way to Montreal, he thought, knowing that Air Canada and Porter Airlines both flew out of the airport.

  The couple headed up the stairs to the observation decks.

  A Coca-Cola truck and a white van with tinted windows moved forward to meet the ferry. Aaron wondered what the white van was delivering to the airport as it eased in behind the Coke truck.

  After a few minutes of boarding, the ropes were pulled from the pier. Feeling no immediate threat, Aaron stared out at the water as the ferry got underway.

  Is this what you did, Joanne? Is there something on the island that I’m supposed to discover? Did Frank or Gary Weeks do anything to you?

  The crossing only took a few minutes, and the ferry slowed in preparation for docking at the island. Aaron moved along the railing toward the front, watching his back. He found it odd that he was following in his sister’s footsteps, at least he hoped he was, and yet not a single cop had done the same as far as he knew. They had the recorded message. Today was the third day since anyone had seen Joanne and they still hadn’t even taken a formal statement from him.

  When the boat bumped the dock hard, Aaron grabbed the railing. The two vehicles started their engines. The backpackers came down the steps while the rest of the few early-morning passengers assembled to exit the ferry.

  He stood in the shadow of the ferry’s pilot house, watching everyone to see if anybody paid special attention to him.

  No one did.

  After the required wait, the ferry emptied, with Aaron walking off last. He followed the pack of people to the main building. The small airport was undergoing renovations. The temporary terminal building sat on the grass south of the runway. Aaron followed the group of people toward it. When he entered the terminal, a wave of cold air from the air conditioning blasted him.

  He found an employee pushing an empty cart.

  “Excuse me,” Aaron said as he rushed over.

  The man was about 5’10”, but his slumped walk made him look shorter, his back rounded in fatigue. The man’s name badge said Everton.

  “Can you tell me if either Frank or Gary Weeks is working today?” Aaron asked.

  The employee stopped and sized Aaron up, then met his eyes.

  “Why you wanna talk to them?” Everton asked in a French accent.

  “Old friends.” None of your fucking business. “Either one working today?”

  Everton looked him up and down again, snorted in derision, and started away.

  Aaron hustled up beside him. “Excuse me, why are you walking away?”

  The man stopped again. “I gotta pull two doubles this week because of Frank not showing up for two days. Dat brother of his, Gary, he here, but he sure is lazy. Neither one of them need a favor from me. You tell them when you find them that they owe me this time.”

  The man pushed away, yanking on the cart handle, and started off again.

  Aaron kept up. “What do you mean, find them?”

  Alarm bells rang in Aaron’s mind.

  Could Frank Weeks be missing too? Is that why he hadn’t shown up in two days? Was there a connection to Joanne?

  “Frank hasn’t shown up for work in two days,” Everton said. “And he hasn’t called in, eidder. Gary’s been walking around like he’s seen a ghost. He’s trying to act normal, but I can tell the difference.” The cart stopped and Everton walked around to the front of it. “If you are their friend, why don’t you know about Frank? Go find him and bring him here so I can go back to working my own shifts.”

  It was time to talk to Gary.

  “Where can I find Gary? What department does he work in?”

  “He’s that guy that loads the luggage onto the planes. But you won’t find him down there today.”

  Everton stared off at something over Aaron’s shoulder. In defense, Aaron spun around, his hands clenching, always ready. No one was behind him, only a line of windows. Outside the windows, Aaron saw the white van with tinted windows from the ferry. Two men with dark suits and sunglasses were escorting another man toward the van.

  “Is that Gary Weeks?” he asked Everton.

  Everton walked back to the cart’s handle and sighed. “Why you asking me? I thought you was their friend? You don’t know Gary by sight?” He started walking away. “I guess I’ll have to cover more shifts this week. I know cops when I see them. Looks like Gary’s in real trouble.”

  Aaron hit the doors and bolted outside, the morning sun feeling hotter after the cool comfort of conditioned air.

  “Hey!” he shouted across the grass as he ran. “Excuse me!”

  The trio reached the vehicle. One of the men opened the side sliding door and gestured for Gary to enter. Gary appeared to protest, then he was shoved inside.

  “Hey!” Aaron shouted again. Something is wrong, he thought. It didn’t add up. It didn’t look like two well-dressed police officers or detectives apprehending a suspect because the van wasn’t police issue. This was something else entirely.

  After slamming the side door shut, each man moved to enter the van.

  “Freeze!” Aaron yelled.

  It was an old tactic his sensei had taught him years ago. “Freeze” always made people think it was the police.

  It worked this time.

  The man about to enter the passenger side of the van turned and slowly removed his sunglasses. The pause was enough time for Aaron to reach him.

  He panted, trying to catch his breath. “I need to know … where you’re … taking Gary …”

  The man placed his sunglasses back on and opened the van’s door, ignoring Aaron.

  Aaron reached out and stopped the door.

  The man spun around to face Aaron.

  “You can’t be serious,” he said, his voice dark like an unexplored basement. It sent shivers through Aaron.

  “Who are you?” Aaron asked, knowing that if they were cops they would have to identify themselves.

  The driver had already gotten in and started the van.

  “Let go of the door or lose the hand.”

  Aaron almost smiled. The last thing he needed was being held on charges of assaulting a police officer. But he also understood the law better as he had recently been sitting for too many hours with his lawyer preparing his own defense on an attempted murder case. The cop, if that’s what he was, had not identified himself, and he had just threatened Aaron with violence for simply touching the van’s door.

  Aaron held onto the door. “I don’t take threats lightly.”

  As he spoke the man turned to fully face Aaron.

  Perfect, Aaron thought, open yourself up to me and make your whole body a target. Your move, asshole.

  “Last chance,” the man said. “Let go of the door and step away.”

  Aaron smiled as wide as he could, unmoved by the man’s alpha-male approach. He waited for the lunge or the grab or the punch, but nothing came. He was prepared to block and attack, but instead the man slowly moved his hand across his chest and pulled his jacket open a fraction to show him what was inside.

  If it wasn’t for the fact that his sister was missing and the only lead was Gary Weeks in the back of the van, Aaron would’ve conceded defeat and walked away. Guns were something altogether more serious. The kind of serious that Aaron wasn’t normally willing to tangle with.

  But his sister was missing, Gary Weeks was in the back of the van, and Aaron didn’t like being threatened.

  Aaron’s left hand shot out, grabbed the man’s right wrist—the one that would unholster the weap
on—yanked it down and twisted. At the same moment, his right hand released the van’s door, hit the pressure point at the base of the man’s throat, and applied the exact amount of force to cause prolonged choking, but not enough pressure to collapse the trachea.

  It was times like this he was glad he’d spent his entire youth working out, exercising, and doing his katas. Being a second dan black belt in Shotokan karate and an instructor in his own dojo had been a lifelong dream. Having almost killed one of his students a month ago with his bare hands in a fit of rage had been bad for business. But it was times like this that his extreme skill wasn’t put to the test, it was put to task.