Lost and Found

[Dreamfire]

LOST AND FOUND
Part One

December 2005

Easy go easy come easy lost easy found swiftly lost swiftly found

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He hadn’t been aware of them even having stopped. The usual sounds of the journey were muffled by the falling snow and the hum of the heater. When it snowed the whole world fit inside the confines of the car.

One minute they’d been laughing about something funny in the show, he had his left hand under her hair and was stroking the back of her neck. She rubbed her cheek against his hand. The mingled smell of her perfume and her skin wafted over. He wondered out loud how far ‘til they got home. He could feel her smile against his fingers and his hand started a journey south. She giggled and said it was dangerous.

That was the last word he heard before she screamed, the driver’s window smashed in a violent explosion of sound and the wind rushed in the open door. Instinctively he held her, his left hand on her shoulder and his right taking her left arm in his powerful grip. He felt her struggle as she was slowly pulled out of his grasp. “Christie, fight,” he bellowed and tried to reach beyond her to whoever was pulling her out of the car, but pain exploded in his head and as he lost consciousness he felt her hand sliding out of his own. Her screams faded and the car stopped shaking.

~

“Mr., Mr., wake up. You can’t sleep on the road, you’ll freeze out here tonight.” The voice of an old black woman reached him through a muffling blanket of snow and he struggled back to consciousness. He couldn’t open his eyes, something tacky stuck his eyelashes together. He forced them open, blinking. Car crash? No … someone had dragged Christie from the car– a struggle. Christie - was she hurt? Where was she? He pushed himself to his knees and nearly toppled over. The old woman held onto his arm and tried to help him stand but she was too weak and he had other things on his mind.

“Christie?” Jim called. He climbed to his feet. “Christie?” Jim turned 360 degrees - searching, stronger now. His calls were getting louder. “Christie?” he shouted.

Panic started to chill in his stomach. He turned his head from the silence around him and asked the woman next to him, “Can you see a car? A Volvo. A woman, dark hair, fair complexion – is she here?”

“No, there ain’t nobody here, unless they’re under these snow drifts like you nearly was – you must have had too much to drink, slipped over and hit your head – look.” Her hand brushed his brow. “See? You’re bleeding all over the place.”

“No, it’s nothing. I’m not drunk. We were attacked, my wife and I. I gotta find her.” Jim brushed past the old lady as he turned. He took her thin arm in his hands and bent down to her. “Please help me. Are you sure you can’t see her here?”

“No, you look for yourself, she ain’t nowhere. Maybe you two had a fight and she hit you?” Suspicion entered the old lady’s voice. “You didn’t hit her back did you?” She looked at him, trying to decide just how dangerous he was. “Well I’m getting off the road, even if you ain’t got enough sense to.” She tried to leave but he held her arm. He took a phone from his pocket and speed-dialled. He turned in a circle, dialed the number again and left a messsage. The old lady only caught the end of it "... I'm going to get you." The old lady tugged at her arm in his unforgiving grip. "You're hurting me."

“Listen to me. We were attacked. Please look for me.” Jim’s breathing became ragged, bile rose in his throat, he swallowed. “Snow drift you said? – Arghh! Fuck!” Jim released the old lady, turned away and took deep breaths, as he stepped away, his stomach heaving.

Turning, searching, his foot slipped on something under the snow. “Christie?” He got down on his knees and cleared snow, but there was nothing. It was a slick, perhaps oil on the road, perhaps blood. He brought his hands to his face but it was too cold to make out any odours. “Blood, is this blood?” he shouted at the old lady.

She backed away, he was losin’ it. It was dark, how was she expected to see what it was. “No, it's just oil on the road.”

He sat back on his heels, pushing his hands up into his hair, face to the sky. “Christie!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Now if you start shoutin’ an’ swearing around an ole lady like me I ain’t going to help you after all. You’re just blind drunk and that’s your sin, not mine.” The lady turned on her heel and started to move away.

Jim lunged forward, reaching out. He felt courderoy and he grasped. He drew her back into a firm grip. With the back of his other hand he scrubbed at his eyes, his forehead. He took a steadying breath. “I am not drunk. I am a police officer. My wife and I have been attacked and I need you to help me look for her before help arrives. We can't afford to wait.” His voice, though strained, was steady; there was no mistaking the authority in his voice.

Quiet, he could feel her gaze on his face. “I’m blind. I can’t see her. I need you to help me look; she might be freezing under the snow here somewhere.”

The old lady was silent, frozen, undecided. Looking up at him, frightened.

“Christ!” He held onto her arm tight, and pulled his phone out with his other hand. “This is Detective Dunbar, 8th Precinct. My wife has been assaulted. She’s missing. I need a patrol here now!”

“Sir, what is your location?”

How close had they been to home? He tried to think of the route back from the theatre. He had no idea what street they were on - Broadway? “Broadway…”

“You’re on Carra Street – tell them Carra Street and Allen.” The old lady spoke up. A gentleness replacing the fear in her voice.

“Correction, Carra Street and Allen. Get someone here fast.” Jim hung up and speed dialled the squad.

Lieutenant Fisk picked up the call.

“Boss, I just called dispatch and they are sending a patrol. … Christie’s gone. …We were in the car. Stopped at the lights, I think. Someone smashed the driver’s window. They pulled Christie from the car. … Then I guess someone hit me. … Yeah, I was out … I don’t know how long! … I don’t know. … I’ve got someone here… She says she can’t see Christie anywhere but she could be here, hurt, under the snow….” Jim worked hard to hold down the rising panic. “OK, I will. See you soon.”

He closed the phone and turned back to the old lady. “We have to look. Are there any snow drifts around, big enough to hold a woman?”

“Yeah, maybe a couple.”

“Take me to the closest one.”

Jim was still digging through the first snow drift when sirens signalled the arrival of the patrol car.

“I’m Officer Jensen, you called for a patrol? Dispatch said there’d been an assault.” A male voice, young.

Jim turned. “Detective Dunbar?” The officer’s voice sounded shaken.

“Yeah, help me with this. Your partner here?

“Yes sir, Officer Francis.” A second voice, older.

“OK, Francis, you help me here. My wife is missing. We gotta check she’s not under one of these snow drifts. We’re looking for a female, about 5”6’, fair with dark hair. We were attacked in our car. – Jensen, you scout or canvass for the car, a Volvo, four-door sedan.”

“Sir, what colour is the car?”

Jim rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah…. Silver.”

Jim returned his attention to the snow drift which suddenly gave way.

“Not here.” Officer Jensen kicked away the fallen snow.

“The others?”

“Sorry, Detective, they’re all too small.”

“Argh!” Jim kicked out at what was left of the snow drift.

A second car arrived and Lieutenant Fisk jumped out. “Jim, I’m here. From the top; what do we know?”

Jim took a deep breath, visibly collected himself and turned to face Fisk. “We were in the car, heading north. Suddenly Christie screamed, then driver’s window was smashed and the door ripped open, a struggle. I had hold of her and I assume someone else did, too. Then nothing. I came to with this lady saying she found me out there on the road.” Jim’s voice had risen by the end, his bid to remain objective dissolving fast; his movements betraying his desire to actively search for Christie.

“OK, Jim, calm down. Ambulance will be here in a minute. Let the medics take a look at your head. I’ll get the search started for Christie. Will you be alright here for a moment?”

“Yeah, good.” Finally someone was looking for Christie. Jim put a hand to his head for the first time since coming to. It came away sticky. He had blood running down his face. No wonder the old lady was scared.

“I’ll stay wichoo.” The old lady grabbed his arm and held on like he was going to fall over.

He heard the lieutenant giving orders. Skid marks on the road, that was good. No car, that was bad. No Christie, good she wasn’t dead in the snow, bad she wasn’t here.

The ambulance arrived and the old lady led him toward it.

“It’s nothing,” he said to the medic who jumped out and ran to him.

“Don’t you tell him it’s nothing – you want your pretty wife seeing you like that? You’ll give her a heart attack, you will, and then where’ll you be?” She scolded him like a frightened mother.

Jim’s skin was so cold that he could barely feel the medic’s ministrations as she cleaned the blood from his face but the smell of alcohol wipes was so strong it made his eyes water and he lost his train of thought. When the alcohol reached the wound it felt like the whole top of his head was on fire. He just sucked in his breath and resumed his thinking.

When the medic spoke it sounded as if she were talking to the old lady, reassuring her. “This isn’t as bad as it looks, head wounds always bleed like this. This one is wide but fairly shallow.”

She was using tweezers now. Jim wished she warned him before poking around under his skin.

“What happened – hit the road?”

The old lady poked Jim in the arm, prompting him to answer. “Maybe, although I remember a blow in the car.

“Well, there is gravel in here … Oh, nasty – By the print on here I’d say someone kicked you with a treaded boot. Lucky they didn’t hit lower you could, have lost an eye.” Jim did not respond.

The medic placed butterfly clips across his forehead and Jim heard her putting some equipment away.

“You done? I gotta go.”

“I need to check you for concussion first.”

Jim just shook his head. “No.” He stood, sliding off the back of the ambulance bay where he had been perched. “Ma’am? You here?”

“Yeah I’m here, Detective.”

“Let’s go see the lieutenant.” He turned toward the lieutenant’s voice and moved quickly in his direction.

She caught up with him and gave him her arm. “Which one is he?”

“Tall, no uniform.”

After climbing through to the back of the bus, the ambulance driver had joined the medic, who was shaking her head in disbelief. The driver smiled and patted her on the arm. “These cops are all the same, Joyce, don’t take it personally. They just keep going ‘til they fall down.”

“Oh, shit!” They jumped out and ran over to the odd couple – Jim had fallen and Jessie was trying to pull him up by his arm.

“Get him back to the bus. He’s probably concussed.” The female medic moved the old lady aside and together she and the driver hoisted Jim between them.

Jim stood to his full height, and shook them off almost violently. “I’m OK. I just stumbled, all right? I missed the kerb, that’s all.”

“Detective, you could have concussion. Loss of balance is a common symptom.” The driver stood in front of Jim and tried to reason with him.

Jim stopped. He faced down the shorter man. “I've had concussions several times, I know the symptoms very well and I don’t have them.”

The medic thought for a moment. Reason wasn’t working. Placing her hand on his arm she tried another approach. “Please be reasonable - let us at least do a reaction test –otherwise, if you go home and die, well, I’m up for negligence.” Her self-depreciating smile and wry tone were wasted on Jim.

His voice was tight with anger, his words staccato, “As a paramedic you know concussion tests don’t work on blind people. Now if you will excuse me, my wife is lost and I need to find her.”

The medic's face fell. She looked up at her patient; finally took in the unfocussed eyes, the gaze resting somewhere over her shoulder. A stray snowflake landed on his lashes, unnoticed. She looked at her driver and nodded. “Yes, Detective.” They stepped out of his way.

Jim felt the old lady return to his side and took her arm. “Let’s find the Lieutenant.”

She gave the medics a nasty look and spoke loud enough for them to hear. “Good on you detective, that’s telling them.”

In snow sound travelled very short distances only. The lieutenant’s voice appeared suddenly, like out of a fog, very close by. The car running was behind him and the radio crackling – the door was open.

“Jim, do you have any idea what this is about?”

“No, we were on our way home, then – this?”

“If this is a planned kidnapping, they may call you with demands. Keep your phone on.”

Jim nodded, thinking. His brow was furrowed and he was rubbing his bottom lip. This was very similar to the pose Fisk saw in the squad, right before Jim came up with one of his theories.

“You got some ideas?”

“No, I’m working on it but – nothing. I can’t see any connections so far.”

“OK. I’m leaving the CSU to see if they can find anything and I’m heading back to the squad to mobilize some more personnel – you coming?”

“Yeah.” Jim turned to the old lady. “Thanks, thanks for helping me. I gotta go now.”

“Yes, you find your wife, Detective. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

Jim tried to smile, but only managed a grimace. “No problem. Don’t feel bad. You were a good help for me.”

She gave him a sad smile as he turned and slid his hand to the door. He sat heavily and resumed his thinking position.

Fisk looked closely at the old lady. She had on a big worn coat, but it looked too thin for snow. Wisps of wiry grey hair escaped a woollen hat. Shoes but no boots, no stockings. She was looking at Jim with warm compassion in her eyes. There were so many homeless in New York these days. It wasn’t unlikely she lived on the street. He spoke gently, “We might need you to come down to the precinct and give us a statement, Ma’am. Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“I jus’ came back from my daughter’s but, well, she said I wasn’t welcome so I was goin’ to the movies. There’s a marathon on at Nicks for four dollars all night.” She pushed her chin out, daring him to contradict her.

“It would help us if you could give us some of your time.”

With great dignity she nodded. He smiled and called a uniform over. “Officer Kent, please give Mrs …?”

“Jessie, just Jessie. And I would be happy to answer any questions and help that nice young man any way I can.” She smiled at him, silent thanks for his kindness.

“Please give Jessie a ride back to the squad.”

~

As he drove, Fisk looked at Jim. The man’s face was creased with worry. Nervous gestures he had seen before, but raw, no effort spent to smooth them over: Jim ran his hands though his hair, bit his lower lip, his eyes in constant motion - searching for something in his mind.

Fisk had nothing that could give him ease.

After the silent ride back to the squad Fisk pulled into the underground car park.

Concentrating, thinking, Jim was in another world. Who, who could have done this, why? The sound of the driver’s door slamming finally pulled him out of his thoughts. He got out of the car and located Fisk’s footsteps as the boss came around.

“We’re here. D’you need …?” Fisk let the question hang in the air.

“Yeah.” Jim held out his hand.

The elevator ride seemed to last forever. Fisk had been in the force for fifteen years, he thought crimes like this had stopped affecting him. But this time it was happening to one of his own. “I’m not making light of this Jim, believe me, but we got onto it fast. We will put as many men on this as we have to and we’ll get her back.”

“I know, boss, I know. And thanks.” Jim’s nod was more of a shake. He let go of Fisk’s arm as the elevator doors opened, followed the footsteps into the squad room and headed for his desk.

Fisk called back from his office, “I’ll call Tom and Marty. You try to get hold of Karen.”

Jim picked up the phone. Then he remembered Hank.

Lieutenant Fisk was speaking on the phone already so Jim stood in the doorway. When Fisk paused he spoke up. “Boss, Hank is in the back of the car.”

“OK Jim, I’ll let everyone know.”

Jim felt somehow better; at least Christie wasn’t completely alone.

[Dreamfire]

Lost and Found
Part Two

Karen felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. Couldn’t be the squad, they usually paged after hours. She debated letting it go to message bank, taking up that guy’s offer for a dance, but he wasn’t really her type. She shrugged her shoulders in apology and turned away, phone to her ear.

“Karen?”

“Hey, Jim, what’s up?”

“I need you to come into the squad.” Jim sounded tense, strained.

“Jim, are you okay?”

“Christie’s been kidnapped.”

“When? Jim, what happened?”

“Just now. We were in the car, on our way home from the theatre. Someone must have yanked open the door and they took her. They just took her.”

“Any idea who or why?” As she finished her question Karen realised that Jim was still talking.

“The boss has uniforms out canvassing but it’s snowing. So we have to get onto the case fast.” He stopped, a shiver ran through his body – “the case”, he’d just called his wife’s kidnapping “the case”.

“Have we got a trail or a suspect yet? ... Jim…” Karen’s voice sounded almost far away; there was noise in the background. She was out- a club or something. He’d seen victim’s families in shock; they stared into space, answered only after prodding.

“Jim, are you there?”

He shook himself, he was a cop and he would find his wife. “Can you come in?”

“I’m on my way, Jim, you sit tight.”

~

Karen entered the squad and looked around for Jim. She almost felt relieved he wasn’t there. She didn’t want to see confirmation on his face of the despair he’d hidden in his voice.

Karen had been a cop for a few years now; she knew things happened to people. But this was the first time such a violent crime had infiltrated her squad. It made her feel vulnerable.

And Jim, what would this be doing to him? What would she see in his face? Normally strong and proud, what did a man look like who had had his wife stolen from right beside him? Knowing Jim, he would be blaming himself, saying it wouldn’t have happened if he’d been sighted. He already had doubts about his ability to protect the women in his life because he was blind.

Kidnapping, abduction, it had happened to others before him. But maybe not to cops with a gun at their side. Again she felt disturbed that her partner couldn’t carry anymore. A cop, a real cop, should have a gun. And Dunbar was a real cop. When he first arrived at the squad Karen had understood the department’s worry for Jim having a gun, but since that day when he had held Lyman at bay - since he had saved her life -she never doubted he could use a gun and use it safely. 80% of detectives never had to fire their weapon on the job. And the 20 % that did, averaged 8 years between incidents. She had to smile; who was she kidding? There was no way Jim would ever be in the 80%. But he’d never shoot unless he was sure, and she’d happily bet her life on him being accurate if he did have to shoot.

Footsteps interrupted her thoughts. She closed her eyes and listened - this must be how people appeared in his awareness all the time. Jim’s footsteps coming down the hall were as familiar to her now as her dad’s when she was little; her father had done his knee in football and had always walked with an uneven gait. Jim’s steps were solid and even, dependable like he was. “I’m here, Jim.”

Arriving at the corner, Jim nodded and stopped at Fisk’s open door. He listened for a moment. “Boss, Karen’s here. Anything new on the canvassing?”

“Not yet. Anything from the hospitals?” Jim shook his head and the Lieutenant continued, “Tom and Marty are on their way. As soon as they get here we’ll get Jessie in, bring everyone up to speed, and make our plan.”

Karen watched Jim as he walked over. She tilted her head, studying him. Perhaps he walked slower than usual, his arms heavier, his shoulders drooped. There was a wound across his forehead, four or five butterfly clips. A solid red patch promised a bruise on his right cheekbone, in an otherwise pale and strained face. His eyes were hooded, downcast. He seemed to fumble while checking his watch, as if unsure of its reading. He looked very alone. Karen got up and headed to the locker room. He knew she was here now; he’d speak when he was ready.

Standing at his desk Jim checked his watch again. It had already been 50 minutes since he had come to in the snow. Christie hadn’t been brought to any hospital within 20 miles and no patrol had seen a woman of her description. The canvass had yielded nothing as yet and he had no idea what really happened; a carjacking, random assault, a kidnapping? Massaging the bridge of his nose, he realized his thoughts were competing in his head. Scenarios presenting themselves before being discarded and then dredged up again for lack of something better.

He should run this by Karen. If he talked it through he might remember something, anything that would help. He lifted his head and scanned - her desk area was silent but he couldn’t remember if he’d heard her leave. Shit - now was not the time to wig out, Dunbar. He lifted his shoulders and reset them, took a deep breath. Perhaps he was in shock; he needed to move out of it now, to think clearly. Christie needed him on top of things. He stood up, coffee, that would help. He stepped back out from behind his desk and trailed his hand along Marty’s desk ‘til he reached the end.

Karen watched Dunbar as she came down corridor. He slid his chair over toward her desk, stopped and seemed to look around. He shook his head, stood, walked a couple of paces and seemed to get lost in thought again.

Jim reached the end of Marty’s desk and stopped. What was he going to do? He heard Karen’s footsteps approaching from the corridor. She stopped in front of him. “Here.” Taking his hand she pressed a hot mug into it. “It’s got sugar in it.”

He nodded, the smell of strong coffee calming him already. The hot mug warmed his hand. He hadn’t realised he was cold. “Thanks, Karen.”

She prodded him back toward his desk “I just got your back is all.”

~

In Fisk’s office Marty and Tom sat in chairs facing the Lieutenant’s desk. Jim paced behind them between the filing cabinet and the door. The Lieutenant occupied his own chair and motioned Karen to bring Jessie into the room. Karen seated the old lady and squeezed past to sit with Tom and Marty.

Fisk put the old woman at ease quickly. “Jessie, you’ve met Detective Karen Bettancourt, Jim’s partner. This is Detective Selway and Detective Russo. We want to find Mrs. Dunbar as fast as possible, so if you could tell us what you saw, starting from, say the last person you saw before you found Detective Dunbar on the street.” He smiled under his frown.

Jessie nodded, clutched her purse and spoke up clearly. “I was walking, crossing east on Carra looking down at the snow to make sure I didn’t slip. A car screeched in front of me, nearly ran me over. The man driving leaned out of the window and shouted at me, and I wondered why he had the window down. Then he drove around me, horn blaring and disappeared.”

“Was there a woman in the car with him?” Marty was taking notes.

“Maybe, but I’m not sure. The wipers were going for the snow, you know, so maybe not. I don’t know.” Jessie looked apologetic.

“Did you see what kind of car it was? Make and model?”

She shook her head. “It was snowing. A big car, maybe, silver.”

“And when he shouted at you, what did he say exactly?”

“I’m not sure, get out of the way, or get off the street, something like that.”

“Okay.” Fisk moved the interview along. “What happened then?”

“I kept walking to the other side. About 50 meters down the street I saw the detective and went to help.” She looked down at her lap, embarrassed. “I jus’ thought he was another drunk on the street and would probably freeze to death. And I didn’t want that on my conscience.

“He was a bit hard to wake and when he did he was raving mad like a bull, ordering me around and swearing.”

Karen smiled to herself, avoiding eye contact with Marty. He would probably find this funny. Jim was prone to ordering and not asking, especially when under stress. She turned to Jim as he walked toward her; his brow furrowed, his eyes creased in concentration, his mouth in a grim line. Her smile died on her lips.

Jessie was still speaking, “He had my arm in his hand and wouldn’t let go. With the blood running down his face and his ranting and raving, I admit I got pretty scared and accused him of some awful things. I’m real sorry, detective.”

Fisk smiled at her.

Jim kept pacing but turned toward her. “It’s OK, Jessie; I can see how it must have looked.”

“So then the detective here pulled out that fancy cell phone and I knew then he wasn’t a bum at least, but maybe he was a wife basher? He tried a number a couple of times and he left a message saying he would get her back. I thought he meant get her back for leaving him in the snow. He sounded deranged to me. I was worried he was going to get violent with me too, and I tried to get away but he had my arm pretty tight. Then when he called the police I knew he was legit and I weren’t afraid no more. We started looking through the snow together and then the police were there. They hardly took any time to get to us.”

Jim stopped pacing, hands on the back of Karen’s chair. “I tried Christie’s cell, hoping we could hear it in the snow if she was close by, or she would answer it. But I couldn’t hear it anywhere. It was busy every time so I left a message saying I would do whatever it took to get her back.” Jim went silent; the weight of the ordeal pressing down, he hung his head. The whole room was silent in empathy.

Marty couldn’t stand the tension. “Boss, why don’t Tom and I sit down with Jessie and see if we can get a better description of this driver?”

“Yeah, you go ahead.”

Marty helped Jessie up from her chair. They appreciated what she had done for Jim, and if she had no more info she may as well have some food and bed down comfortably. She’d done enough.

As soon as the door closed, Fisk took control.

“Jim, sit down. We need a plan.”

Jim took a chair, his hands gripping the arms tightly, biting his lip, thinking.

“Jim, I’m taking this case on myself.” As Fisk spoke he moved around and leaned against the front of his desk, within a meter of the blind detective. He looked straight into Jim’s unfocussed eyes, speaking quietly but firmly. “To find your wife and get her back fast you need someone who is more objective than you are. I’ve already spoken with two other precincts and we have as many extra detectives and officers as we need to follow every possibility without delay. I will let nothing get in the way of finding your wife and bringing her home.”

Karen watched the two men, both in their prime, both insightful, brilliant detectives. The lieutenant stared intently into the younger man’s eyes. Jim’s still body was at odds with his restless eyes, which seemed to flit from somewhere over Fisk’s shoulder to the floor and off again, his head almost imperceptible jerked around. She felt her own eyes grow hot as Jim processed the Lieutenant’s words and then nodded slowly. Her partner, a man who never found it easy to give up control, knew when he heard sense and he would not let anything, himself included, get in the way of finding his wife.

There were similarities between Fisk and Dunbar that neither would ever see, but Karen saw them. Fisk taking this on personally would ensure the investigation remained objective. It also meant resources would be made available that were usually out of the reach of the average homicide detective. She hoped Jim would find cause to appreciate Fisk’s commitment and not interpret it as a lack of trust.

Karen had reason to trust Fisk. She had seen him take on a case himself only once before. When she first joined the squad a child had gone missing; the 3-year-old son of a friend of the Lieutenant. Fisk had run his detectives ragged, followed every lead as far as it would go. He had not allowed a single thought of failure to intrude on the squad. They had the child back within 2 days, and the perp had been shot by the Lieutenant himself, while resisting arrest. After a patch up in hospital the perp was sent down for 30 years in maximum security and only then had Fisk finally relaxed. Marty, who had been in the squad the longest, had stories of Fisk’s ability to smell out the clues. Apparently he had been a decorated detective and only stepped up to the lieutenant’s role reluctantly, not wanting to leave the street. She wondered if Jim knew of Fisk’s reputation.

Fisk kept his eyes on Jim’s and waited for his answer. “I can’t sit back on this, Boss.” Although he could see the sense in the Lieutenant running the case, Jim was clearly worried he would be sidelined.

“Not at all, I need you and Karen all over this. You take the lead that seems the hottest and run with it. But you are too involved to run all the lines.” Fisk paused, gave Jim time to nod his agreement. “I will work the others and chase down all the stray leads. You will know everything I do.” He paused again and searched Jim’s face to assess his response. “And you keep me up-to-date with all -- and I mean all –ideas, and don’t leave the squad without telling me - Got it?”

Jim nodded and dropped his head. Fisk looked to Karen who confirmed, she’d make sure Jim didn’t disappear on his own.

The Lieutenant headed back around his desk and sat down, relieved. He had considered forcing Dunbar off or giving him busy work to keep him away. If Dunbar could keep his mind straight he would be invaluable on this, if he launched off on his own, he could be his own worst enemy. Fisk would not let that happen.

Jim felt his head was clearing and he was thinking again; the coffee and sugar must have done their job. He looked up. “Boss, anything from the APB on Christie’s car?”

“Nothing yet. And the canvass is widening, but Jessie’s the best so far.” Jim started to talk but Fisk interrupted him, hand in the air. “Before you say anything, we have a dozen pairs of cops on it. If anyone saw anything we will know about it within the hour….Now, I assume you’ve been thinking?”

Jim nodded again. “Either this is random and whoever did it doesn’t know I’m a cop or this is not random and he knows me well enough to know I don’t carry anymore.”

Karen continued the line of thought. “And if it was random, then we’ve got nothing to work on until the canvass brings something up or whoever took her calls in with some demands.”

Karen looked toward Jim who picked up smoothly, “So, for now, we better assume it’s not random.”

Fisk watched his team as they worked through the logic. “Alright. You got any more?”

Jim resumed his pacing while he spoke, “So I’m wondering who might have it in for Christie or has a beef with me? On Christie I’m coming up blank. The beef list is fairly long - Boss, we’d better check if any of my collars got out lately.”

Karen finished off. “And there’s that woman we brought in from that party who might be connected to the Granny Killer. She’s in the tombs.”

Fisk was typing on his keyboard. “I’ll get the list of your collars, Jim, and check the woman in the tombs, what’s her name?”

Karen wrote the name on a sticky note and handed it to Fisk while she added her next thought, “Or anyone who might still be inside but has connections outside who could carry this off.”

Jim’s face registered disgust, but he nodded. “Boss?”

“Yep, I’ll get a list together while I’m in the database. But you can’t eliminate that this is about Christie, just because you don’t know of anyone.”

“We need to dump Christie’s phone records and someone needs to go look over my apartment. Maybe there’s something there that I don’t know about that points to our perp. Journals, that sort of thing. Karen?”

But Fisk interrupted, “Jim, I don’t want you out of the squad.”

Jim nodded, thinking and then shook his head. “No one else will know if something is out of the ordinary. I can keep my phone on and be back here in 15 minutes if something comes up.” His voice carried no argument, just reasoning.

Fisk looked from Karen to Jim and back again. “Okay. Take Russo and Selway with you, be thorough but fast and keep in touch with me. I’ll start working your parolee and inmate lists.”

“We should also get Christie’s editor in here. See if he knows anyone who would want to harm her. Clay Simmons. His number will be on her phone list.” Now that Jim’s mind was engaged he could see more pathways that needed to be followed.

“That’s fine, I’ll get his number and pull in some help from the next precinct to bring him it.” Seeing Jim hesitate Fisk stated the obvious, “Jim you can’t run all the lines, choose the one you think will give you the best possibility and run it. Trust me with the rest.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Jim recognized that this was not something he could do on his own. This was the hardest part of being in a team, and the best. He didn’t need to do this on his own. Everyone here had his back and would do what was needed. “I think the apartment is my first step. I’ll get back in time for Clay’s interview.” He pulled out his cell and brought up Christie’s phone number. The little electronic voice read out the number and Fisk noted it down.

Karen spotted Tom and Marty walking out of interview two. “Tom and Marty are done, Jim. Boss, you got anything else you need us to do before we go?”

“Selway, you get anything more from her?” Fisk called out.

Tom ducked into the office. “We cleaned up the description of the driver a little.” He handed Karen a page of notes. “She’s in there looking through mug shots but it’s going nowhere.”

Hearing paper being handed around, Jim spoke up, “Can you read out the description?”

But Fisk interrupted, “You can brief him on the way – get going.”

[Dreamfire]

Lost and Found
part two continued

~

In the elevator Karen read the report for Jim. “Dark hair, sat high in the car so we assume he’s tall, voice medium pitched New York accent, she thought he was white. And what’s this, Marty, about what he said to her?”

“She wasn’t sure what he said exactly, she said he was very unclear, she thinks maybe he stuttered.”

Karen watched as Jim digested the information, nodded, and took her arm as the elevator slowed and opened. She moved fast, propelled by the urgency communicating through his hand to her arm.

~

“Let me do that.” Tom took the keys from Jim as he stepped forward to the apartment door. Three guns slid quietly from their holsters and three safeties clicked off. Jim stepped back; jaw clenched, his hands in fists, and let the three detectives move in front of him.

The key slid into the lock. The handle turned and that squeak he’d deliberately left in the door played out. With his arm outstretched and one hand lightly touching the back of Karen’s jacket, Jim kept well behind her. Steps echoed off the floor, the brick wall, the ceiling. Hearing the change in sound that meant he was inside, he stopped and waited. He opened his mouth to keep his breath silent. Jim’s sense of reality wavered, as he fought to reconcile his current reality. He should not be here with his squad, opening his own apartment, looking for clues that someone hated Christie enough to hurt her. And since he was here, he should be the one out front, with his gun raised. Not standing like a civilian behind a screen of blue.

With a supreme effort he pushed the thoughts and the self-pity away and forced himself to do what he could. He turned his head and listened harder; Karen’s steps, lighter, faster than the men, turned left into the kitchen; Tom’s heavier, slower pace through the lounge and into the bedroom. Marty, almost silent, slow, disappeared around into the alcove beyond the wall in front of him.

“Empty.”

“Empty.”

“Empty.”

Karen sighed, making eye contact with Tom and Marty, relieving the tension of the last few moments. Then she turned to Jim. He stood, a few feet inside the door, looking relieved and disappointed at the same time. She understood the disappointment; an intruder would have taken him one step closer to Christie. He nodded, his cheeks puffed a little as he released the breath he had been holding. He walked forward quickly and joined them in the middle of the room. “Alright, any obvious signs that someone has been in here since I left?”

“Nothing, it looks the same as the last time I was here.” Karen looked around. In fact it looked exactly as it had been last time, nothing out of place. Necessary she guessed.

“We got anything specific to look for?” Marty asked Jim.

Jim shrugged. “Whatever you’d normally look for in an abduction or disappearance when the spouse was in the dark about what happened, I guess. Address books, threatening letters, financials, evidence of an infidelity…”

“Jim…” Karen interrupted. A man should not have to do this, maybe Fisk had been right to ask Jim to stay back.

“Karen, we have to check everything. I don’t care what we find but let’s try and find something that points us in the right direction.” Her admiration for him swelled. She didn’t think she could keep objective like this if someone she knew were missing, let alone her spouse.

Jim waved in the direction of a desk and cabinets beyond the dining table where Marty had first looked for an intruder. “She keeps her papers and work things in the alcove over there.” Marty and Tom went over.

“And, Karen, the drawers by her side of the bed.” He walked into the bedroom, smoothly bypassing the steel post in the centre. Karen stood for a moment; she blushed, realising that she had been expecting him to take her arm, for her to lead him in. This was his home; of course she wasn’t needed here. He moved away from the side of the bed, where he had opened a drawer and waited by the window, facing the cold glass and his hand up touching the pane.

She glanced over at him. Watched him waiting. Waiting for her to find evidence that could help him find the woman who should be sitting here on the bed, perhaps evidence of infidelity. She tore her eyes away from him and began looking through the books and papers on the nightstand.

“I thought Hank would be here?”

“He’s with Christie.”

“Oh shit.”

“Nah, it’s better, she might need him right now, he can be very comforting when you’re stressed.”

Jim could hear Karen shuffling through papers. “A novel, some love letters signed James, old, from you I guess.” Jim nodded, nice to know she still had those. “A journal. It’s locked.”

“Here, let me see.” He walked to the bed and held out his hand. Karen placed a large format book in his hand. She watched as he traced the embossed letters on its heavy cover. By his expression, he hadn’t known Christie kept a journal. He tugged at the lock. “Can you see a key anywhere?”

“No…” Sounds of rummaging, if Christie had hidden it, even experienced detectives would never find it, he knew.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jim stride to the kitchen. Karen stood up and watched from the doorway as he selected a heavy, sharp kitchen knife from the rack. He slid it in through the pages, sawed through the heavy leather flap and opened the journal. He stood for a moment, his hand touching the pages that held whatever thoughts Christie kept locked. Karen wondered why the woman would keep it locked, when the only other person in the house was Jim. He leafed through the pages as he returned to Karen, having found the last written page.

“Here. Read the last entry.” He held the journal out, open to the last written page.

Karen took the journal, the handwriting was clear and firm, indenting the paper. “This one was written 2 days ago.” She looked up to see Jim nodding. “Boysie presentation today. I hope they like it, it could mean my promotion comes faster. And I’d like to take a holiday, somewhere luxurious. Jimmy’ll be too busy I know. Another case more important than our marriage. Anyhow, it might be more fun without him. He’s a bit of a drag when we go out these days. More than about 3 people in a conversation and he wigs out.”

There was no expression on Jim’s face. Karen coughed to cover reading the rest. “Nothing else here, nothing that suggests any other person or fear of anyone.”

“Alright, that’s good. Take it back with us, we’ll finish it in the car. I guess there may be things in the closet, too. I think she keeps papers in a box up high and look for any obviously missing clothes, she has a lot, they’re usually so crammed in, they squeeze onto my side.”

Jim headed to Christie’s work alcove, skirting the steel pole, the couch, the table. Again Karen noticed how fast and smooth he walked here. She hadn’t realised his pace at the squad was slower than usual for him.

She went through the closet, just clothes, and yes there were a lot. Most people kept some other things in the closet. Not Christie, not even that box Jim mentioned. For a moment Karen entertained the idea that this, in itself, was suspicious. Coming out of the closet she saw a box poking out from under the bed. Looking inside she found diet books and a diet journal. Quick flick through, nothing.

Jim’s voice came from the lounge and broke through her thoughts. “Anything guys?” No. There was no evidence in these rooms that anyone would want to hurt Christie Dunbar.

Marty’s words floated back to her through the open door. “A date book but we’ll need to ask you or her boss about the names.”

“Nothing suspicious, Jim, everything looks… normal.” Karen walked out in time to see Tom report, straightening up from checking the lower drawers.

Jim was holding a photo frame he had picked up from the buffet and chewing his lip. “Look over the photos, look for any photos of men you don’t recognise.”

“You think she might be having an affair?” Marty sounded surprised.

Jim turned to face Marty. “No, I don’t. But it’s one motive for abduction and I don’t want to rule out anything at this stage. If she had pictures of another guy up here, how would I know?”

Karen glanced back in the bedroom, but there had been no photos in there. Jim stood impatiently, waiting while others looked for him. He checked his watch again, time was moving, even if he wasn’t. Silence while the guys looked.

“There’s a guy with his arm around her in this one?” Tom’s voice came from the cabinet by Jim’s desk.

“Dark hair, blue eyes – they’re skiing?”

“Yes.”

“Her brother, no problem.” Jim fingered the butterfly clip closest to his hairline.

He sighed and cracked his neck, checked his watch. This was taking too long, they had to get back to the squad.

“No one else, Jim.” Agreement echoed around him, he could hear relief in their voices. Hell, didn’t they understand he’d be relieved if that was all that had happened? Not finding anything just meant they were no closer to finding her.

“OK, anything else we can do here?” Jim spoke up, taking control, not letting any more time slip away. “Take anything that might yield information and we’ll head back to the squad.” He headed to the door, colliding with someone who dropped whatever they had been carrying.

“Oh, sorry, Jim.” Marty spoke up.

“No, my fault, I’m used to moving faster here.” He moved around Marty and over to the door. “You’ve reminded me I need to get something.”

Jim went to the hall stand at the front door and retrieved his spare cane from where it stood leaning in the corner. He held the door open. “Let’s get back to the squad. Tom, you got my keys?”

Tom and Marty headed out with Karen close behind. Jim locked the door and followed the others to the elevator. He stepped in and pressed the ground floor button.

He confidently followed the footsteps through the foyer but as they exited the building Jim was buffeted by cold wind and snow settled in his hair he stopped a few feet into the snow covered sidewalk. He turned his head; footsteps were lost in the snow. He shook the snow from his hair and felt it fall from his eyelashes to his cheek. “Karen?” Jim spoke quietly, his voice almost lost in the air.

Karen turned and saw him standing still on the path, cane extended, his face creased with concentration. How quickly she forgot. She had led him to the apartment block from the car and he needed her again, now they were out of the apartment. She moved back next to him. “Here, Jim.” He took her arm.

When they reached the car, Marty offered to get the snow off the windshield, it had fallen heavily and would strain her wipers. Halfway to reaching for the door Jim stopped, arm extended toward the car, looking lost in his head again. “Jim?”

Jim shook himself mentally and slid his hand down the crease to the handle. “Karen, I need to add Christie’s family to the call list. See if they know anything, notify them if they don’t.” Her mother would break down. Settling into the passenger seat Jim reached into his coat pocket. He found the bottle of aspirin he had grabbed from the kitchen earlier and dry swallowed a couple. Shit, being on both sides of this fence hurt no matter which way he turned.

~

“Boss, we’re done in the apartment, nothing obvious, we got a journal and a day book, some names to ask Simmons about… ten minutes.” Jim closed his phone and asked over the seats to the back, “Can one of you guys start reading names out of that day book?”

~

Jim opened the door to Interview 2. “I have the day book, Lieutenant.”

“Sure, Jim, take a seat. Your end of the table is free. We’ve just started. ” Jim closed the door. He reached forward and found the chair, pulled it out and sat down. He placed the diary on the table and pushed it in the lieutenant’s direction.

“Hey, Jim, I’m sorry to hear this…” The emotion in Clay’s voice was strong.

“Yeah, it’s bad, Clay, let’s get through the questions, not waste any time.” Jim turned to face the man, kept his tone neutral and then turned back to Fisk.

Fisk continued his questioning, “So, no upsets with any clients or staff at the publishing house?”

“No, nothing like that. We’re a PR based firm, client relationships are everything to us so we keep them all good.”

“What about staff, does she have special friends, someone who might know more?”

“Well, this last year or so, she’s been kind of out of it.” Clay looked at Jim, and then back to the Lieutenant, clearly unnerved by Jim’s neutral face and dark glasses. “You know, with the accident and all that. She hasn’t had time for anything else. And her close friend in the office, Jane, left last year, I don’t think they talk any more.”

“Can you give us her surname, and a contact?”

“I can look it up.”

“We’d appreciate that.”

The lieutenant picked up the day book and opened it. “I’m going to go through these names and I want you to describe the relationship between the person and Christie…”

Fisk read out name after name. Jim heard about clients, staff, names he did not recall ever hearing from Christie, but no one, it seemed, disliked Christie or saw her as any kind of threat.

“Well, if you can get us that list of full names and contacts immediately I think we’re about done. Anything else you want to ask, Jim?”

“Clay, which theatre did Christie say we were going to?”

“Ahh?” Clay looked to Lieutenant Fisk who gave him a hard stare and then back to Jim. “She didn’t say, she only said you were going to the theatre, not which one although I think she mentioned the play. I don’t remember now.”

“When did she tell you?”

“In the morning, we always have a morning briefing.”

“Who else was at the briefing?”

Clay thought for a moment. “I think I was the only one there, she was the first to arrive and we had already started on her projects by the time everyone else arrived.”

“Is there anyone else she is likely to have told?”

“It’s possible she mentioned it during the day to one of the girls, but I’d be surprised. She’s pretty hard under the pump right now. It’s work, work, work, you know?”

“Okay, good. When she spoke about it did she seem nervous or tense?”

“You mean, as if she knew something was going to happen?”

Jim nodded.

“No, she seemed to be looking forward to it, quite excited really. You know she can be quite a workaholic at times and I think I teased her about going out to play. She laughed and we got onto her project report.”

Jim accepted this and probed a new area. “If Christie was having an affair with someone connected to your business, or even otherwise, would you be in a position to know that, Clay?”

“No,” Clay said, flustered, “I mean, she wasn’t, Jim, I know you thought that I, that we … but…”

Jim put up his hand. “Clay, my wife is missing, there’s no room for coy, for anything other than facts. If Christie has done anything, we don’t care about that. It’s her life we’re concerned for; we don’t care about anything else right now.”

Clay looked back and forth between Jim and the lieutenant, his eyes showing disbelief.

Lieutenant Fisk posed the question with a hard edge to his voice. “Mr. Simmons, answer the detective’s question. Would you have been aware of it if Christie Dunbar had an affair with anyone connected to your business?”

“No, no I was not. And I would have been if she were but Christie is not the sort of person to do that.”

“Thank you. The uniformed officer who brought you in will take you back and get those names and numbers from you.”

Fisk watched as Jim stood and opened the door for Clay. There was clearly some earlier tension in this relationship but Jim seemed to have the man scoped.

On his way out Clay leaned in close to Jim to speak to him alone, “If there is anything …”

Jim jerked back into the door, repelled by Clay’s sudden proximity, he lifted his head to face the slightly taller man. “If there is anything else we’ll have someone call you.”

This time Clay took the hint and walked out, a uniformed officer joining him as he headed for the elevator. The other three detectives came out of the observation room and they gathered outside Fisk’s office.

“Slimy bastard.” Marty looked disgusted.

“Boss, you want us to follow up those names from Simmons?”

“No, Tom, I don’t think they’re key. Jim?”

“No, Marty’s right, he’s slimy but he sounds just as surprised as the rest of us. He look that way?”

“Yep,” Tom supplied.

“I’ll put someone else on following those names, just in case there is anything, and also on her relatives. I know you said they should hear this from you, Jim, but I can’t afford to have you on that. We need to find a solid lead and we need it fast.” He walked into his office, Tom and Marty close behind, Karen tugged on Jim’s sleeve, and he followed her in.

Lieutenant Fisk took a sheaf of papers from his printer and held them out. “Here’s the list of Jim’s collars. We need to comb through these put-aways. We’re looking for anyone who is capable of doing this. Anyone you find who is out or who might have enough leverage, we’ll look into.”

Jim started to leave.

“Jim, Karen, wait. Selway, Russo get started on this.”

Jim stood in the doorway, half turned back into the room, clearly wanting to get out and get busy on the list. Fisk could see his jaw was clenched, and tension radiated from his body. He moved aside only when Tom touched him lightly on the arm. “Jim?”

Tom and Marty left, avoiding looking at their colleague.

“Do you remember that case last year where the local DC judge went against all expectation on that child homicide case?”

“No.” Jim didn’t sit down, he waited by the door, holding his emotions in check.

“Yeah, it was soon after the bank, so maybe you never heard.” Karen frowned, remembering, “It was a landmark case, loads of publicity and the judge was expected to return a guilty verdict. He threw the case out of court instead.”

“That’s the one. A week after the defendant was released and fled, the judge came forth, offered his resignation. Turned out the defendant, who had been out on bail, kidnapped the judge’s granddaughter and threatened to kill her if he didn’t rule in the defendant’s favour.”

“And so you want us to see if there is anyone on our suspect list who could use Christie as leverage on Jim?”

“But no one has contacted me.”

“Jim, I am sure it feels like it has been days, but it has been only a couple of hours since we picked you up. There is no telling when they’ll contact you.”

“And you think this is a valid line to follow?” Jim asked the Lieutenant.

“I do.”

Jim nodded several times. “Alright, okay, come on, Karen, let’s get onto them.”

“I’ll go check this woman from the party.” Fisk left.

[Dreamfire]

Lost and Found
Part Two continued

~

20 minutes later Fisk returned from the tombs. The team looked up at him as he entered the squad room, shaking his head. “Marge Sims, the woman from the party, is a dead lead. We gotta look elsewhere. What have you come up with?”

Marty answered for him and Tom, “Of all Jim’s put-aways, 8 are on parole. All behaving.”

“Show me.” Fisk held out his hand for the list and read from the page. “You go physically check the first three, eyeball them, send them in with a patrol if you think there is even a remote chance they’re involved. We have a fast start on this one and I don’t want to let it loose. I’ll get someone else onto the others. Okay, get outa here, don’t waste any time and call back in after each one.”

Fisk joined Karen and Jim where they stood, in front of a stack of a dozen or so files.

Jim was rubbing his forehead, eyes closed.

“You hanging in there, Jim?” Fisk enquired.

Jim straightened up. “I’m fine.”

“Right then, what have you two found?”

Jim threw his hands in the air and turned away. He found the aspirin bottle on his desk and dry swallowed some pills.

“Here let me show you…” Karen showed Fisk the files they had discarded. The Granny Killer file sat on the top.

The Granny Killer had been leading the squad on a merry goose chase for several months now. But each time he killed they got closer, finding the bodies faster. Jim and Karen were pretty sure they would locate the perp in the next few weeks. The list was narrowed to three bases of operation and both Karen and Jim knew they had him in range. There would be no more granny deaths with little old ladies found sitting in department store windows or perched on park benches like art nouveau. The slime bag preying on these loved ones would be behind bars ‘til he was older than his victims. There was a theory out that perps wanted to be caught so they left clues. This guy must have read the book. He had gotten so cocky, his last note left the time and place of his next “exhibition”. If they had not caught him before then, they would have him in their net when he arrived to set the scene he had invited them to.

“As you know, Boss, this guy started using the name Dunbar in his notes, none of the other cop’s names. Perhaps he’s taking Jim’s attention on this case personally - it has happened to cops before,” Karen summarised.

Jim chimed in, “The next ‘exhibition’ isn’t due for 5 days but we suggest ‘round the clock watch in case he recons the area or gets in early.”

Fisk nodded. “We can do that, but do you have reason to think he’s the guy that took Christie?”

Jim was shaking his head. “No, other than my name in the notes, there’s nothing that ties him to me. And nothing so far tying him to Christie. I’ve turned this over in my head but I can’t find anything stronger. I don’t think it’s our line.”

“I’ll put extra patrols on the area. Finish up the rest of that file and let me know if there is anything. So you checked Sandhurst and the Johnson twins?”

“Yes, neither could have done this. Sandhurst slipped through our fingers and is definitely out of the country and we think he’s gone for good. We’ve had eyes and ears on the Johnson twins since prior to the assault and the stakeout cops say they’ve been at home with Mom and Dad for dinner all evening.”

Fisk looked from Jim to Karen. Sometimes discarding possibilities was the worst part of the initial search, it could feel like you were throwing all your chances of a collar out the window. But these two were handling it right. Throw out the ones that don’t have opportunity first. Focus on the ones who could have and you were usually looking at the ones who did. “Who’re you looking at next?”

“DeVries.” Karen sounded almost sick. She made eye contact with the boss and held it. He could see she thought DeVries was a contender.

Fisk looked over to Jim for confirmation. Jim was fidgeting, standing next to his desk, one hand unconsciously peeling the veneer off the side of his desk.

Fisk, looked at the ceiling and closed his eyes. If DeVries were involved, things had just gotten worse. He balked at recalling the last time he’d sent his detectives to emergency.

~

DeVries. The case of the missing bodies had gone cold before it could get started. Jim and Karen had been left with no evidence, no trail, nothing but their memories and the rumours of slave trading at the docks. With no families here calling for justice. With no bodies to compare with loved ones faces on Interpol’s missing person list it was a case that people found easier to forget. Partly because no one could see a way to trace this criminal, partly because they could not accept the idea that someone was importing white slaves into America. They did not outright say that Karen had been wrong about what she saw, but with Jim as the only other eye witness, the jokes were hard to keep hidden.

Piece by piece, dock worker by dockworker Karen and Jim had chipped away at the stone wall in front of them. More than once Karen had marvelled at the amazing detail of Jim’s memory as he pieced together the picture of what had happened on dock 13. And with it found the right questions to ask, the right people to put pressure on and finally he had developed a name. DeVries. An entire cargo of slaves had arrived dead at the port. Smuggled away from their homelands after abduction they died in the giant container that DeVries owned. Rumour said one of the air conditioning units had experienced problems and sucked the air straight from the engine room pipes, poisoning the entire shipment of 24 slaves. Another rumour said that DeVries found out one of the slaves was the daughter of a rival gang in the trade and DeVries has intentionally “liquidated and dispersed” so as not to have her disappearance pinned on him. Whichever was true, it was the most bizarre and disturbing crime Karen had ever encountered.

Fisk nodded, acknowledging the unspoken possibilities. “Well, get into it fast. I’ll give you half an hour to discard or come up with something solid on that line.” Fisk’s voice was harsh, but both Karen and Jim knew he was just keeping them focussed and moving forward so their imaginations did not go running wildly down the worst case scenarios.

Jim joined Karen at her desk. “You scan – it’ll be faster.” Karen opened the file and started reading. Jim checked his watch and wondered again what had happened to Christie. He checked his watch, 2.15am; she’d been taken 3 hours ago. Was she frightened, hurt, dead? Conscious, unconscious? He walked to the window and put his hand to the glass. Cold. Was it still snowing?

Karen asked a question and Jim turned his attention back to her and the files.

~

The lieutenant walked out of his office with a sheet in his hand. “Russo and Selway called in. None of the parolees are looking good for it.” He handed the sheet to Karen. “This is the list of put-aways – go through this and tag any you think would have enough muscle to pull something like this off.” He went back inside.

“Karen, read the list.” Karen started listing names. Jim shook his head at each name as she read them.

They had gotten very close to the end when Jim’s cell phone rang out. He lunged from her desk to his and had the phone open and to his ear by the second ring. “Christie?” Desperation showed clearly in his voice.

“Listen here, detective.”

Jim blinked, once, twice - he recognised that voice. “Mattis?” His hand gripped the phone so hard it threatened to crack. His whole body tensed, veins pushing out on his forehead. A trickle of blood started tracking from under the butterfly clip at his temple. His blood pressure started to sing in his ears and his voice came out in a roar. “Where is my wife, you fuck?”

Fisk heard the commotion and stepped quickly to the door. Jim held the phone so hard it was in danger of breaking. Fisk frowned. Karen took control of the situation. Stepping up close beside him, she touched his arm, put her hand on the phone and brought it down to a level where they could both listen. With his head touching hers, Jim better contained the violence that churned inside.

“Now, now, Detective Dunbar, we both know I’m safely locked away here in Attica. You booked my room I believe?”

“Mattis, what have you done? Where is she?” Karen spoke calmly, keeping her hand on Jim’s arm so he would hold his anger in check. They needed this tenuous lead and could not afford to burn it in rage.

Jim released the phone to her and stood clenching and unclenching his hands, his head down near Karen’s, listening to laughter on the other end. “I don’t know, pretty one, you still playing Girl Guide for Dunbar? When you bring him to visit will you bring cookies?”

“Listen, Mattis, if you’re behind this, we’ll find out and you’ll think Attica is a five star hotel.”

Back under control now, Jim took the phone. His voice was cold and calm. “Mattis, where is she?”

“Oh, detective of the dark, got control of yourself again, have you? Your little Girl Guide calmed you down? How does a man like you end up with such pretty girls? I hear you lost something. Does that happen to you often, can’t find things in the dark? We have so much in common - I’m locked away where the sun don’t shine, too. Why don’t you swap places with me, detective? She might stand a better chance of being found if I’m free to go look for her. At least I could probably spot her in the sunshine easier than you can.” He laughed dryly. “And you wouldn’t mind the lack of views in this place, I’m sure.”

Jim shook his head. “Those games are wasting my time and they don’t work on me, Mattis. You tell me where my wife is right now or I’ll come up there and you can tell me where she is after I break every bone in your body and before I get you the medical aid you’ll be crying for.”

The smile in Mattis’ voice grew bigger. “I look forward to your visit, Jim, this could be the best fun I’ve had in years. Make sure your Girl Guide comes too, she’s nice eye candy for a man who can appreciate her. Not as nice as your wife, but it takes more than one flavour to fill a chocolate box.”

The line went dead. Karen took the phone from Jim and placed it on the desk. “We need to think clearly now.”

Tom and Marty arrived and joined Fisk who stood watching as Jim took several deep breaths, leaning over the desk. Blood dripped slowly from the re-opened cut on his forehead and dotted the scanner.

“Okay, I need to get up there to see him - now.” Jim picked up his phone and turned to grab his coat.

Karen took the phone from Jim’s hand again and looked at the display. “Wait, Jim, let’s think about this. He’s upstate - the caller ID on your phone is Attica prison. He didn’t do this.”

“No, but it sure sounds like he orchestrated it.” He interrupted her, eager to get moving, to make progress, it had been two and a half hours now since he’d seen his wife.

Fisk spoke up. “Or maybe he just wants you to think that. If you go racing off there and he’s a wild goose, then that’s precious hours you’re not working this case, Jim. I need you here, on this, not up there trying to kill Mattis.”

“He didn’t need to be out to send a hit man to Condell. Maybe he managed to get contacts together even in Attica.”

“That we can find out - Tom, Marty, you go find out for sure if he orchestrated this or if he’s just pulling our chain.”

Jim stopped, the lieutenant was making sense and although he wanted an excuse to beat someone to a bloody pulp, he wanted his wife back more. If Mattis was behind this, Marty and Tom would find out. Jim had listened in on plenty of their interviews to know they were a good team, and they knew what was riding on this. “Marty? Tom?”

Tom spoke up. “Yeah, Jim, we got it, we’ll find out if he has the lines to do this.”

Jim nodded. “Don’t leave ‘til you’re sure, and call me when you know.” Jim spoke directly to Marty, who looked to the lieutenant. Fisk nodded.

Marty was quiet, feeling for the other detective; if this had been his wife he didn’t know how he would handle it. He’d hope to handle it as well as Jim. “We’ll find out 100%, Jim.”

“You two get up to Attica fast. Go see Thompson - I’ll call ahead and get you a chopper.” Fisk nodded at Tom and Marty and they left.

Fisk looked at Jim and Karen. Both looked exhausted, Karen seemed haunted and Jim fidgeted.

He redirected with that no-nonsense voice. “OK, Tom and Marty have that now, we need to focus on what’s in front of us. Did you finish the Granny Killer file? Did you find any connection?”

Karen answered, “Granny Killer – yes we finished the file and no, we’re convinced he’s not our guy. With his profile, he would have left calling cards. Every other one has had a note to us, the last five with Jim’s name in it. And if he were acting anywhere near his usual MO, he would have been quoting Bible verses while he abducted Christie, instead of being silent.”

“Plus all the evidence says the serial killer is a black man and Jessie said the man she saw was white,” Jim added.

“How’s DeVries looking?”

“Well, he’s got the manpower. And something like this would be child’s play to him…”

Karen watched Jim turn away and start pacing as he reported. Then he went quiet, his hand at his mouth, head bent forward. Usually an indicator that he was putting pieces together. Fisk and Karen watched then looked at each other. “What you thinking?”

Jim worried at his lip. “Do I remember a report from way back suggesting one of DeVries’ men stuttered?”

“I don’t know, we’ve got all the files here – let’s get back into them.” Karen looked at Fisk. He nodded, they were doing their job. She handed him the list of inmates with connections and Jim’s notes. He took it back to the office to work through.

Karen skimmed the files, Jim resumed his pacing. She read, he thought, she asked, he answered.

They searched for the man who stuttered. They went through the names of every lowlife connected to this case; searching over the old ground in his memory to ensure nothing was missed, turning over interviews, opening up crime mobs, following connections ’til they evaporated. Usually when he worked an angle like this, time flew. Since his shooting he found when he was quiet and thinking, time suspended for him and when he rose up from his thoughts, to try the answer out with his partner or the guys, he would find hours had passed.

He was caught, caught between the need to let his mind go and do what it was best at, and the knowledge that every hour, every minute took him further away from his last moment with Christie. Now he needed to hold onto those hours, those minutes, to the world from which he could slip so easily when there were no visual anchors to hold him. So he kept himself connected forcibly; touching the cabinet, touching the desk, as he paced between them. Listening consciously to Karen’s sighs as she turned another page…he was pacing back and forth from Marty’s desk to his when she found it and, alerted by her gasp, he asked, “Who?”

She looked up, startled, how had he known? “DeVries’ son, name of Nathan – goes by Nate. Interviewed last spring by Simpson and Hane. Says here he stuttered pretty bad. It says the interview took particularly long because it took ages for him to get it all out.”

“Yeah, I remember now, seemed he didn’t like this particular goon his dad hired, and so he was willing to talk.” Jim pressed his fingers into his forehead, willing the memories to rise. “Wasn’t that the info that allowed the 22nd squad to collar Franks for that society murder?”

When Karen murmured her agreement, Jim continued, “Okay, good.” He chewed his lip. “But DeVries runs a tight ship, if his son is doing this, DeVries would have to be behind it. What would he think to gain?”

Karen stretched and stood. “I dunno, but, we’re both too close to this for clear thinking. Let’s take it to the boss.”

They walked into the office where Fisk was finishing up a call, “Okay, got it. Get me names of every regular call these guys make. And all calls from the last 2 weeks. Yes, we are going to send someone out to check them so hurry.”

Jim paced. Karen fell into a chair. “Boss, we got a possible connection.” She looked to Jim.

He picked up where Karen ended, “DeVries’ son stutters badly. But I don’t know why DeVries would do something like this. He certainly has the muscle, but this doesn’t fit with his current business or MO’s on any of his crimes that we know of. ” Jim frowned, and shrugged.

Fisk frowned, thinking. “Actually, while he sells the white slaves here, he must be arranging their abduction at point of pickup – in the UK, France and the other places he sources his abductees from. So he’d have an established way of carrying out abductions. If he wanted to do this he could.”

Jim swallowed, the creases under his eyes deepening as he imagined his wife in the hands of slavers. He ran his hands through his hair, nodded and then shook his head.

Karen spoke up, “But say it is him - he’s never grabbed someone locally before. He’s not stupid, he would have to know that would just bring him a shit load more trouble. Kidnapping for slavery here, and the area where you two were, that’s not exactly the place to find white trash who won’t be missed.”

Fisk answered, “No, I’m taking another angle - I’d say he might be scared you two will nail him. You nailed his opposition last year and although that helped him grow his business, I’d say he might be worried you were getting close.” Fisk could see this line becoming solid, this was a motive he could understand. He watched Karen start nodding as his reasoning became clearer.

Karen saw a hole in the argument. “But why wouldn’t they kill Jim outright at the car. When they grabbed Christie they could have done it easily? One bullet or even two and he would have been off that case forever.”

Fisk took up the argument, turning it around again. “Then maybe it’s not DeVries. If he had the chance to cap Jim where he stood, he wouldn’t hesitate about Christie, either.

“Or maybe it is DeVries,” Fisk continued working the theory, “and rather than do a cop killing, ensuring he gets the whole department all over him, he decides to distract the one team that has continued to chase him despite the department turning the other way?”

Karen turned to stop Jim in his pacing. “This is good, it means that either way, whoever has her doesn’t want to kill.”

Jim couldn’t see the connection. He stood, hands on the back of Karen’s chair. “But why kidnap Christie? How does that help him?”

Fisk was blunt. “Right now, you’re not working his case are you?”

Jim stopped, completely still and nodded. “We’ll go get him.”

“No, Jim, I’ll make the calls, get him brought in. You two get into those files and pick up everything we can use to open him up when he gets here. We need to know who has your wife.”

~

Karen sat down and began reading from the files. Jim passed behind her, pacing. His foot kicked Hank’s bowl which went rolling. Expressionless, he waited until it clattered to a stop, found it by Marty’s desk. He checked the floor - no spill. Dropping the bowl on Hank’s rug he turned and faced the windows.

Fisk walked over and stood beside Jim. The light from the room put a glow on the snowflakes as they drifted softly past the window and settled on the ledge. It was so cool and peaceful outside, so hot and tense inside. “You know, Jim, if DeVries is a friend of Mattis’, he could have arranged that little decoy to get you off his track.”

Karen spoke up from her desk, “In all our investigations of DeVries and the connected cases, we’ve never come across a connection to Mattis. Devries keeps his public image clean, if he is connected to Mattis it’ll be hidden behind several veils of contacts. But, they are of a similar age and it’s possible.”

Jim spoke quietly, still facing the dark night. “If you are right, and DeVries has Christie, then he won’t kill her because if he did, he knows I would work on this until the day he dies in the electric chair.”

“No one doubts that Jim, no one,” the Lieutenant assured Jim.

Fisk and Karen both looked at his reflection in the dark and mirroring window. Karen returned to the files, Jim stared out the window, churning old interviews in his mind. Fisk stood next to him.

The quiet was broken by the buzz of the phones across the squad room, bringing them all back to action. Karen picked it up. “8th, Bettancourt…. Yes, put them through.” She put the phone on her shoulder and spoke to the men. “Jim, Boss, aerial patrol has just spotted Christie’s car on the west side highway going north.”

Fisk collided with Jim as both made for Karen’s desk and the phone. Jim arrived first, but Fisk, several inches taller than Jim, reached over Jim’s outstretched hand and plucked the phone from Karen. Jim’s fingers only found Karen’s now empty hands.

“This is Lieutenant Fisk. Who am I talking to? …Okay Officer Gaul, what can you see? We are seeking a woman – 40 years, white, with dark hair. Can you see her?”

He nodded looking at Jim.

Karen whispered to Jim, “Yes.”

“Please describe her condition.”

“She’s restrained in the passenger seat, the driver is armed. But she is sitting upright. Moving.”

Fisk relayed the information and he and Karen watched Jim’s face. The normally stoic countenance was flooded with relief. Christie wasn’t dead.

[Dreamfire]

Lost and Found

Part Three

“Lieutenant?” Fisk prompted the officer in the helicopter as it hung over the stationary car.

“The driver pulled over. It looks like he’s making a cell call. We have the equipment to listen in. Stand by.”

“They’ve stopped. The driver is about to make a call, we can listen in,” Fisk whispered.

Karen moved away from the huddle they were in and Jim found another phone being placed in his hand. Click and the phone connected into the conversation the Lieutenant was having with the ‘copter.

Despite the noise of the rotor blades they could hear a ringing tone.

“Yes.” A heavily accented deep voice. Jim recognized DeVries’ voice from the one occasion on which they’d managed to interview him. His jaw clenched further.

“P-p-p-apa, I’m-m-m on my my my w-w-way.”

“Has anyone followed you?”

“N-n-no, P-p-papa, I know what I’m d-d- I’m-m d-doing.”

“Good boy, take her to Grimaldi. Then come back here.”

“But, Papa, you you you you s-s-s-s-said –“

“Don’t argue, son, just do as you’re told.”

The caller’s voice went quiet and he sounded frightened, “P-p-p-papa, you said we were g-g-g-going to let let let let her go.”

“Nathan, I don’t have time for this, you do as you are told. This is business. Now get her to Grimaldi’s and don’t make me angry.”

“N-n-no, he’ll k-k-k--“

Nate DeVries was cut off by his father. “Nate, where are you now?”

Nate was silent.

“C'est une blague ou quoi? You tell me where you are now or you will be sorry. Nathan? Tas de merde. …Quand je te trouve…” His swearing continued at screaming level in French but no further answer from Nate.


In the background Hank began barking.

“Sh-sh-sh-shut the fuck up!” A gunshot boomed out and Christie screamed in the background. “No!”

Jim froze. Karen watched him, his eyes wide open, breath coming short. She realized she was holding her own breath, he was just a dog but…

“Gault, what’s happening?” Fisk demanded.

“I’m swinging back around, we got ahead of them when they stopped prior to the phone call. The bullet went through the windshield – no blood. The driver has dragged the woman out she does not appear to be hurt. He’s dragged the dog out of the back. He’s waving his gun around, shouting at the woman, pushing her, she’s arguing back. He’s pulled out a handgun and it’s aimed at her. Her dog’s standing between the her and the driver, it looks like it’s going to attack…he’s aiming at the dog now…No, wait the woman has pulled it back, it’s a bloody guide dog, is this woman blind?

“She’s arguing with the driver, she has the dog behind her. Wait. The man’s opening the trunk, and she’s coaxing the dog into the trunk. They’re getting back in the car. Hang on, I’ll try and pick up audio again.”

The wait was interminable, the powerlessness pressing in on Jim.

“I’ve got audio again. The man in the car is no longer speaking but I can hear the one on the other end. It’s faint, the man on the other end has stopped speaking into the phone, he’s still shouting but it’s hard to pick up. I’d say he’s speaking to someone else in the room… he’s giving orders for a chopper I think, and for a search.”

“Alright, what about at the car; what can you see?”

“They are still in the car arguing, not going anywhere.”

“Give us your location.”

Fisk threw his phone to Karen and ran for his office. “We have to get to Christie before DeVries does.” Jim and Karen could hear him ordering a SWAT team and all available cars to the location he had been given. “I want you available but hang back, meet at…” Fisk consulted the map on his wall, and spoke into the phone, “the entrance to the bridge. Don’t let him see you but be ready to go in.”

Fisk slammed the phone down and stepped back into the squad room. “Anything?”

Karen and Jim shook their heads in unison.

Fisk took the phone from Karen to speak to Gault. “Can we pick you up on cell phones?”

“That’s possible, but then if he gets on his phone again, you’ll be bumped off the line, we can’t hold two mobile calls.”

“We’re switching now. Karen you dial in. You two come with me.” Fisk went back into his office.

Karen finished dialing. “Officer Gault? Yes, we’re back.” Jim was searching his desk, a confused look on his face. Karen put the phone to her shoulder. “No change, Jim.What’re you looking for?”

“Cane.”

“On the floor alongside your desk.”

Jim’s face reflected his annoyance. He had forgotten grabbing his backup cane, from the apartment - his collapsible was in the car with Christie. “Thanks.” His hand finally snagged the sturdy fixed length from the unfamiliar place. He stood, hands clasped tightly around the cane, his knuckles white. “We ready?”

“Boss is just making another call.” Karen was collecting what she needed, the mobile glued to her ear. She pulled on her warm winter coat and grabbed her gloves and hat. She grabbed the pair of heavy duty thermal gloves Marty had left on his desk. “Here, it’s still snowing outside.” She handed him his coat with the gloves tucked into a pocket. “He’s ready.”

The Lieutenant was on his mobile. “Yes, monitor all incoming and outgoing and call me directly you hear he has a location.”

Karen stepped into the aisle as the Lieutenant headed out the door. “I’m assuming we all stick together? You want to take your car or mine?”

“We’ll take mine. And grab a couple of extra radios.” Lt. Fisk headed straight out of the squad, stopped outside the doorway and called back, “I’ll pick you up outside at the front.” He bypassed the elevator and took the stairs in twos and threes.

Karen went for the extra radios. Over her shoulder she noticed Jim, unable to wait any longer, head for the elevator.

She stepped out the doors of the warm precinct building to the covered entrance. Several feet in front of her Jim hesitated, moved a few steps to the left and then a few more. She could see him shivering from ten feet away. As she walked up he found the hand rail in the centre of the flight of stairs and started down. She hurried up to him. “I’m here, Jim.”

He took her arm and they continued out to the pavement. “Thanks.”

Karen could hear some relief in his voice and, as they waited for Fisk to come around from the underground parking, she watched Jim’s face. Strained and drawn, the red line of his cut stood out, snow had gathered already on his shoulders and a stray flake threatened to drop from his lashes. She spoke to fill the silence. “I put some gloves in your pocket, you might want to wear them.” Jim tucked the cane in the crook of his arm rather than let go of her and pulled out the gloves. He nodded thanks and slipped them back in. “No good?”

“They’re fine, maybe in the car.” She rolled her eyes. Men and being tough, what was the problem with wearing them now, while he was in the snow? “Lotta snow tonight.”

“Yeah, makes it…” Jim gestured in an arc, “different…difficult.”

“Right.” Karen shook her head. She had assumed he was distracted by the situation, tired and fumbling – it was the snow, cutting down the sound information. Mentally she kicked herself - and she wanted him to wrap his hands in heavy gloves and cut down that avenue, too? She looked at her own hands. “Jim, I’ve got some of those fingerless gloves if that’s better?”

He squeezed her arm in response. His voice was almost lost in the wind. “Thank you.” She peeled off her own gloves, tugged the bulky ones from his pocket and replaced them with hers. She pulled on Marty’s big ones.

The lieutenant drew up and Karen took them to the car.

~

Gary Fisk drove, Jim sat beside him and Karen took the back. Karen kept up her monitoring of the chopper and Fisk continued calling orders into his phone.

Jim sat, chewing his lip. The only sounds were in the car, the boss on the phone and a tinny voice answering him, Karen and a surprisingly clear chopper connection. The tires crunched on the snow-covered road, the windshield wipers were almost groaning with effort. He had a moment to decide the snow must still be falling and remember back to when he had been in the car with Christie.

They were driving fast, siren on, two more following. They headed west.

“Stand by, we’re on our way.” Karen spoke into her phone and then to the men in the car. “The chopper says they are both in the car and it’s moving again, they’re following.”

~

Fisk’s phone buzzed on his belt, he twisted in his seat and managed to get it off, the car swerved and hit gravel for a moment before Fisk corrected.

“We got something happening?” Jim’s voice showed his worry.

“You never driven with the boss before?”

Jim shook his head. “No.”

Karen reached over and patted his shoulder. “I always hold onto the door handle.” She smiled to see his right hand grip the handle at his side.

Fisk answered the man on the end of his phone. “Okay, stake it out and call me immediately you see him.”

“That was Power, there’s no one at the DeVries’ residence. We’ve set up the monitor on his cell but so far he hasn’t located them.” The Lieutenant snapped the phone shut and immediately it rang again. He looked at the screen. “It’s Russo, Jim you take it.” He dropped the phone in Jim’s lap.

“Marty.”

“Jim, it’s Tom, we’ve just finished seeing Mattis. We’re convinced he didn’t do this, but he did receive a call 10 minutes before he called you. We haven’t traced it yet but it came from a mobile somewhere in New York and he says it was a free grape. He wants us to believe someone just did him a favour.”

“And do you?”

Tom sighed. “Yeah, I do. I wish he knew more, man, but I think that’s all it is.”

Marty’s voice came on the phone, “He knows nothing, Jim, just twisting the knife.”

“Okay, hang on. Lieutenant, they say Mattis isn’t involved.”

“Okay, tell them to get back to the squad.”

“Marty.”

“Yeah, Jim.”

“Boss says come back. Look, before you leave, choose a guard you like and fill him in, tell him you might call to ask him to find out more if we need it later. I hear Jamieson is a good type, if he’s on, he’s your man.”

“Alright, Jim, we’ll do that.”

Fisk glanced at Jim. “You know this Jamieson?”

“Yeah, I filled him in on Mattis while he was en route to Attica. I thought someone should know what they were getting. Jamieson acted on the info, didn’t hold back when Mattis tried a stunt the first night he was there. A couple of guards avoided serious injury because of the heads-up.” Respect for Jamieson showed in Jim’s voice.

Jim had just closed the phone when Karen spoke up, “Chopper says they’re turning at the Newark Jersey city turnpike.”

“Turing, what way?” Jim asked.

“North, back this way.”

“What is this guy doing?” Jim shook his head in exasperation.

“Give me my phone.” Fisk got back on and began changing orders to the SWAT team and backup.

“Karen, can you get an update on Christie?”

“Sure, Jim. Officer Gaul, can we have an update?” Karen pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. “Shit – the line dropped out!”

Simultaneously the phone in Jim’s pocket began to ring. He dragged it out and had it open before the second ring began. “Dunbar.”

He heard Christie’s voice. “Jim, Jim, are you okay?” He had forgotten that she had seen him kicked in the face, probably seen him thrown out of the car, he hadn’t even considered that she would be worried about him, his own fear had consumed all his thinking.

“Yeah, sweetie, I’m okay, we’re going to get you back, don’t worry.”

“Jim, he won’t let me talk for long. I have to say you need to meet me at Hoboken, there is a big space near the railway lines.” She gave him map coordinates which Karen wrote down hastily.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming, Christie, just stay on the phone, stay with me, I’ll come.”

The voice on the phone changed. A male voice, stuttering, “You – y-y-y gotta be cc-cc-crazy. Stay on the phone so you can find us before then. No way, m m-m-man.
No, you come and you come al-l-l-one.”

“How,” Jim’s voice nearly broke with anger, “how am I supposed to come alone, Nate? You seem to know me pretty well, you know where I spent my evening, where to attack, you’ve got my dog and my cane – tell me, how am I supposed to come alone – drive there?”

“Ha. Ooh I g-g- g- got the d-d- d-dete c- c-c-detective mad, ha ha .” Nate sounded like he was having fun. “Okay, c-c-c-concessions for the c-c-c- cri, h-h- h-h- h-handicapped. You can get dropped off. You can h ha- ha- ha- have that pretty lady cop drop you – no one else. And sh-sh-she has to leave then.”

“So I just come over and you’ll let Christie go?”

Christie came back on the phone, she sounded shaky. “Honey, he wants some files, some evidence.” She usually only sounded like this when she was crying or really angry.

“What did he do to you, Christie?”

“I’m okay, it’s okay, just do what he says, I have to give you the list or he’ll hit me.” Her voice shook and Jim knew that sound, she was trying very hard not to cry.

“Okay, baby, files? Evidence? Whose?”

“He’s given me a list.” She was sobbing.

“Okay, sweetie, tell me, tell me the list.”

“Um, Helf Gentry, Donald Frems, Stephan DeVries and Carlo Manigetti. And you have to bring those files and all the evidence with you.”

“Gentry, Frems, DeVries and Manigetti. All right, sweetie, I’ll bring it and he’ll let you go.”

But instead of Christie he got Nate DeVries answering him, “And when I’ve got what I want, you can have what you want. After I’ve f- f- f – pp-played with her of course…”

Jim exploded, his right fist hitting the side window, his voice elevated to a shout. “You leave my wife alone, you son of a –“

He heard Christie scream in the back ground.

“D-d-d-don’t sh-sh-shout at me! I’ll hurt her. I’ll f-f-f-f …make you re-re-regret shouting at me. N-n-now, Detective, don’t make me hurt her. Not another word. Stephan DeVries’ files, all of them, or-r-r-originals.”

Jim dragged in a breath, another one. When he was sure he could speak without shouting he said, “Okay, I’m coming now.”

Christie’s scream could be heard again.

“I told you not to interrupt me. 60 minutes - no more, no less. The r-r-r-railway yard at H-H-Hoboken. Bring ‘em all. I’ll call you. Now li-li-listen to some m-m-m-music.” Jim could hear Christie crying in the background, she screamed and sobbed before finally her crying slowed and she was able to talk.

“Please, Jim, please come get me.” Christie’s crying lasted a long time after this. Jim could hear a pattern of thumps and gasps, sobbing and short breaths in the background He didn’t put the phone down but stayed on the line, remaining as close to her as he could, until the line went dead.

[Dreamfire]

Part three continued

Then Jim briefed the others in a dead calm voice.

Karen’s phone rang. “Copter’s back on, they say he’s just pulled into a gas station. He’s about an hour from Hoboken, at least. We’re about 10 minutes away.”

“That gives us time to set up an ambush.” Fisk spoke into the car radio and gave them fresh orders.

“Jim, Karen, you might want to hang on,” Fisk warned. The tires squealed, Jim grabbed the handle on the door, then felt the car slide and then a bump before they took off again.

Karen looked back to watch the six patrol cars follow them up and over the median strip. Fisk continued talking as he drove, “And better odds than a fight out at a gas station. He’s shown he’s willing to hurt her, I just hope he’s not willing to kill her. This gives us time to set it up as long as the father doesn’t locate them first.”

“Tom and Marty can bring the files?” Jim spoke up.

“Yeah, good. Call them.” The snow was building and although there was little traffic on the highway, when they did appear it was fast, and it took his concentration to keep them on the road at the speed he was going.

“Tom? You guys back at the squad yet? … You have to pick up some files and meet us at Hoboken railway yard. We’ll get you more specific directions in a moment.”

He gave them the list of names. Then Jim called the precinct. He gave the list of files again, adding, “Get them ready for Detectives Russo and Selway, they’ll be with you inside ten minutes. Can you make copies in that time frame?”

Fisk leaned back, “Jim put it on speaker… Who’s this? … Frankson, get those files copied and ready in ten minutes. Put everyone on it, no delays.”

~

Fisk chose a place from which they could observe the meet point but would not be seen.
The lieutenant briefed the patrols and discussed their strategy with the SWAT captain over a map on his hood. The snow had stopped falling for the moment but the cold was bitter and with the clouds overhead it was a dark night.

“And you are sure we can’t replace your guy with one of mine, it would be safer,” the SWAT officer made one last appeal.

“Not for his wife it wouldn’t. This guy saw Detective Dunbar and would know if we switched as soon as he got close enough. We need to play it his way until we have the woman safe.”

“Alright. We’re ready to deploy.”

One of the SWAT team handed Karen and Jim bulletproof vests. Jim shook off his coat and jacket to get it on. “So what is this place he’s chosen Karen?”

“It’s like a deserted railway yard. Junk everywhere, some empty lockers. Any idea why he would choose this place?”

Jim shrugged. “No idea.”

A phone rang in the quiet. “Fisk. … No, continue to monitor his calls and if he tries to leave grab him. Grab anyone else who leaves and call me.”

Fisk joined Jim and Karen. “DeVries just arrived home with his lieutenants. He hasn’t managed to locate Nate yet.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, here come Tom and Marty. Five minutes to go, you ready, Jim?”

Jim’s cell phone rang before he could answer. “Dunbar.”

“Honey, it’s me. He wants to know if you are there and how you got there? I’m putting him on. He says to remind you no questions, no wires on you and no tricks.”

Nate came on the line. “S-s-speak.”

“I’m here, my partner drove me and the files. This is not a question but I need to know where to go exactly.”

Christie’s voice returned. “That’s good honey, he’s happy, he says ask if Karen can see a red container. About two feet long, knee high.”

“Karen, can you see a red container, two feet long, knee high?”

Karen spun around, searching. “Shit everything’s covered in snow, Jim.”

“He doesn’t want questions, Karen, please look for it.”

“Hang on, yes, there, Boss, does that look like a red container to you?” Karen whispered.

Fisk looked through the binoculars to where Karen pointed. “Definitely.”

“Yes, we’ve located a red container,” Jim spoke into the phone.

“Good. You have to go to the red container and stand next to it with the files. Karen can’t come closer than 100 yards and once you’re there with the files she has to go. You’ll get another call then.”

“Okay. I’m on my way. This is almost over, Honey.”

Jim turned to the lieutenant. “I’m to go to the red container. Karen can drop me and the files at 100 yards and then leave.”

“Okay, Jim. “ Fisk handed Karen his keys. “Karen, you stay in the car. I don’t want you exposed at all.”

“Right, Boss.”

Fisk put his hands on Jim’s shoulder, turned him around and checked his bulletproof vest was secure. “We are watching. The SWAT team will not fire unless Christie is safe. Karen will take you in and come back to join me. Keep it simple, no heroics, I’d rather pick this guy up as he flees than here.”

Jim nodded. “Yes, Boss.”

“Good, go get your wife back.”

“Jim, files are in the back seat.” Tom clapped Jim on the back.

“See you back here soon, Dunbar.” Marty stepped back and watched as Karen led Jim back to Fisk’s car.

Tom and Marty looked at each other and shook their heads. There were no words for this moment.

~

They drove in silence to the place with the red box. Looking back, Karen couldn’t see any of the patrol cars or SWAT team. “I’ll help you unload.”

“No, I agree with the lieutenant, you stay in the car. Where is this box?” Jim opened his door, she smiled to see her gloves on his hands, and then shivered as a gust of wind blew in, bringing a sprinkling of snow.

“11 o’clock, about 100 yards away. It’s next to a locker. Like the ones in the squad.” The clouds had shifted and the moon shone down, from the car Karen could see the area clearly. She looked around, wondering where the kidnapper was, was he watching? “From here it looks like a clear path, but there’s a lot of snow on the ground…I think I should at least walk you over.”

“No, Karen, we can’t afford to piss this guy off. I’ll unload and be back.” Jim took a file box under his left arm and headed out. Despite the snow there were no major obstacles and, cane extended, Jim easily located a double locker and near it a metal box, somewhat like a trunk, empty. “This the one?” he called back to Karen.

“Yes,” Karen shouted.

Jim dropped the file box between the locker and the trunk and returned to the car. One by one he took the boxes from the back seat and stacked them on top of the others. Returning from the fourth trip for the last box, Jim felt Karen’s hand on his as he reached into the back. “Jim, here, take this.” Karen’s voice was low, almost under her breath. She pushed a gun into Jim’s hand.

He felt the piece, stubby, heavy, a 9mm. “Karen, this is yours?”

“Yeah, you’re familiar with a nine right?” When he nodded she continued, “It’s fully loaded. Take it.”

Facing her right now, Jim wished, more than ever before, that he could see his partner’s face. Instead he took her hand and spoke slowly. “Karen, if I have to use this, it would mean our jobs, your job.”

“Better our jobs than Christie’s life.” She closed his hand tightly around the gun, and watched him nod and tuck the weapon behind his back, a mixture of relief, and tension in his face. “Do what you have to do, Jim.”

Karen watched him hoist the last box, extend his cane and move confidently toward the pile of boxes he had already created. She wanted to go with him. She gritted her teeth, put the car in gear and drove out.

Jim waited by the tower of boxes. Shifting from foot to foot in the cold, he placed his hands in his pockets and hunched his back, the wind had slowed, the night was still and cold. Even the snow seemed to be waiting to see what happened before it fell again.

His phone rang. “D-d-d-detective. Nice to s-s-s-see you do-do-do-doing what you’re told. N-n-now w-w-wait.” In the background Christie sobbed.

~

From his vantage point near the bridge, Fisk watched through binoculars as Jim answered the phone. It was still the early half of dawn, not enough light over that distance to make out Jim’s expression, but fatigue showed in his posture. The captain of the SWAT team spoke into his mike, the code he used unknown to Fisk. Fisk turned to him. “You won’t move until she’s safe?”

Captain Renato put his hand on Fisk’s arm and gave him a reassuring smile. “Lieutenant, we’ve done this before, my men are all trained to within an inch of their lives and we know our priorities. Your people will be safe before the perp even knows we’re here.”

Fisk nodded and turned back to the scene in front of him. Fisk’s phone vibrated in his hand. “Fisk.”

“Sir, DeVries just got a call, he knows where his son is and he’s sending a chopper to get the woman.”

“He’s sending one of the men in the house?”

“No, Sir, the chopper has been ordered to pick up someone called Grimaldi on the way.”

“Damn!” Fisk almost slammed his phone to the ground. He made do with kicking the nearest tire and then returned his attention to the phone. “Good work, Power, stay glued to the house, grab anyone who tries to leave.”

Captain Renato raised an eyebrow.

“The kidnapper’s father is sending in a chopper. He wants the woman. Probably the son, too.” Fisk wished there was some way to get a message to Jim. When the chopper arrived he wouldn’t know it was the kidnapper’s backup arriving.

“It should take them at least 15 minutes to get here. If all goes well we’ll be done by then.”

Fisk, ground his teeth. “We’d better get our chopper back in case we’re not. Police presence in the air might hold the other chopper off and if not at least we can chase them if we need to.”

Renato made a call. “On its way; 15 minutes.”

The captain’s radio came to life. After a moment he turned to Fisk, “Gary, silver sedan is approaching from the north end?”

“This is it then.”

[Dreamfire]

Part three continued

Jim heard the car draw up, about five feet head, in the same direction that Karen had stopped the car. The doors opened, muffled words, Christie’s voice in there somewhere. Sweeping his cane in front, Jim stepped forward. “Christie?”

“No, Jim, don’t move. He’s got a gun pointed at your head.” Christie’s voice was strained like she was in pain. “He wants you to be quiet and just do what he says, Jim, please.”

“Alright.” Jim stayed where he was, palms up, he gestured behind him. “I brought the files you asked for, Nate. Now let her go.”

But Nate didn’t answer, didn’t give away his position. Christie answered for him. “He wants to check them first. He wants you to move away so he can look. ”

Jim moved a few feet left of the boxes.

Nate must have stepped up. Jim heard the boxes being opened, contents gone through and then being tipped out. “This is-is-is- is everything you’ve g-g-g-got?”

The voice from the phone, now a mere few feet in front of him. Jim tensed, holding himself back from lunging forward. “Yes, you’ve got what you want, can we go?” He stepped toward Christie.

Footsteps went past him, too fast to follow, masked by the snow. Christie grunted in pain. Jim felt his anger about to boil out. “Christie, what’s going on?”

“Shh detective, she d-d-d-d-doesn’t get to t-t-t-talk now. You do your job, she m-m- m-might get to talk again later.” He was there, no more than three feet away.

Jim stepped forward to the sound of the half-whispering, half-panting voice. His fists curled involuntarily. “You’ve got your fuckin’ files, let go of my wife.”

He heard the click of a safety coming off and then a muffled scream.

Jim took a deep breath and stepped back, hands up. “Okay, don’t hurt her anymore. What else do you want? You want me to put them in the car?”

More whispering and then Christie spoke for Nate again. “Jim, don’t come closer. Don’t ask things, just hold out your hands, take this gas.”

Jim reached out and grasped a large can of gas, his fingers touched warm flesh for a moment. Christie’s hands? But they were gone and all he had was a large can of gas, very full, no cap, some spilled out onto his coat and sweater, his gloved hand. “I got it. What now?”

Some whispering and Christie spoke up again, “He has tipped the files into that red box, and he wants you to pour the gas on the files.”

“S-s-soak them r-re-real good, D-d-d-detective.”

Jim returned to the files, he propped his cane and against the locker, put the can down. He located the copied files and fake evidence piled inside. He lifted the can and the gas tipped over the files, soaking them and spilling into the metal container.

He dropped the empty can behind the box and turned back. Something light hit him in the chest. “P-p-pick them up.”

Jim got down to one knee and found a small box on the snow. Wet with the gasoline and now chilled further by the breeze, his fingers were getting stiff. He found the box, shook it - matches. He stood up and showed the box in his hand. “Okay, what now?”

“Light the files.”

Jim nodded and lit a match. He held it toward the boxes. “I’m doing what you want Nathan, so don’t hurt Christie, okay?”

Jim took Nate’s grunt for agreement. He continued, “Can she come here when these are on fire? Please, she had nothing to do with this.”

“J-just d-do wh-wh-what you’re told.”

“But, if I burn these what’s to stop you just taking her and leaving?”

“H-h-h-honor.”

The match burned down to Jim’s fingers, he dropped it to the snow. “That’s not good enough, Nate. You assaulted me, kidnapped my wife. I see no evidence of honor. You gotta show some faith. I came out here, on my own, I brought the files, come on, let her go, you got what you wanted.”

Christie’s cry came unchecked. Jim stepped out toward her voice and was met with a blow to the knee. He went down, his knee screaming in agony, but came straight back up ready to take on this man, hoping this was the start of an up close physical confrontation.

“Jim, no, he’s got a gun and it’s aimed at your head. Please just do what he says.” Christie’s sob was muffled, it came from close to the ground, but he still couldn’t locate their attacker. Even in the quiet of the night the snow absorbed the sounds of his steps; Jim needed Nate to speak to have a chance of locating him.

Jim could hear Christie’s breathing, at ground level, hard and fast, she was in pain.

“L…light it.” There - behind Christie, a little to the left. Standing.

He lit another match and threw it at the files.

“Jimmy, you missed.” At least Christie was still talking.

He stepped up to the boxes and put his hand on the top one. He lit another match, placed it carefully in the full box and laid it on the files.

Whuump! The flames took hold and a searing heat emanated immediately. Jim took another step, hoping he was angling right and would be very close to Christie now. The heat was enormous, the files didn’t stand a chance.

“S-s-s-step b-b-b-b-b-b…” Nate gave up, whispered to Christie.

“Honey, step back, all the way to the locker.”

Reluctantly, Jim complied. He bumped the locker, dislodging his cane and took it up again.

~

From their vantage point Fisk, Karen and the others watched as the files went up in flames and Jim limped away. Then they cursed as clouds covered the moon and turned their view into a murky darkness. The SWAT leader’s radio crackled. “Our guys are following a chopper in, theirs should be here now, ours is minutes behind them.”

~

The sound of a helicopter invaded the scene. Nate’s voice rose in a panic, locating him at about three feet in front of the fire. “Ahh, shit, p-p-p-papa found us.” Above the staccato sound of the blades announced a chopper approaching.

An amplified, accented voice projected down from the chopper, “Nate, leave the cripple, pass her up here, then you and we’re off.” By the sound of it, the chopper hung low behind Christie and Nate, behind the car.

“C-c-come with m-m-m-me, Christie, I won’t let them get you. I’ll keep you s-s-s-safe.”

Jim stepped forward, brushing past the flaming files and pushed his cane ahead, seeking Christie. There was no time to comply now, this was no longer Nate’s show.

“Nate, you gotta give her to me now,” Jim shouted to make himself heard. With the noise of the chopper surrounding them he could no longer locate Christie. He took a step closer to where he had heard her breathing a moment ago.

“Nate, don’t be stupid, your life is not worth this girl, who is she to you? Your father wants you back, come back now, or… I got orders.” The foreign voice, an older man, was easily followed as he jumped from the chopper and stepped in front of the car behind Nate and Christie.

“N-n-no, Grim-grim-grim-Grimaldi, I’m not doing it. I’ve destroyed the files, nothing can happen now. I’m letting her go.” Nate moved back toward Jim.

“That’s not what Stephan wants, Nate, you know I have to do what he wants. You’re not the boss yet.” The older man laughed loudly at the idea.

Counting on the conversation holding their attention, Jim slid his cane further out to his right, searching for Christie while Nate spoke. There, a foot? Another? “Jim?” Jim caught Christie’s voice - a mere whisper, caught up in the snow but enough to tell him she was standing next to Nate.

Grimaldi swore a long string of French, his voice rising in rage. “The fuckin’ cops, you little shit, you got followed.”

The choppers moved up and off, disappearing in the night.

The sound of a gun cocking was unmistakable. “Christie, drop!” Jim shouted. A shot rang out. Jim lunged forward, colliding with Nate DeVries as he was thrown back with the force of the bullet, into Jim’s arms.

Christie’s scream tore through the air, a beacon in the dark and snow, coming from the ground to his right about two feet in front of him.

Jim reached for Nate’s gun. Found it still entwined in limp fingers.

“Sorry, pretty lady, your turn.” Grimaldi sounded anything but sorry. Grimaldi started to chuckle.

Jim gave an animal roar. All the building tension of the past hours erupted and he aimed and pressed Nate’s finger on the trigger. Grimaldi grunted, Jim pressed the trigger again, and was rewarded by the thump of Grimaldi falling to his knees; a slow wheeze escaped the man’s mouth. With no time to disentangle Nate’s hand from the gun, Jim stepped forward, dragging Nate up onto his knees and touched the gun to Grimaldi’s body. He fired again. Grimaldi fell forward. Jim pressed the trigger again - click. The weapon was empty.

Silence. Sobbing. Jim dropped Nate’s hand, the gun still tangled in it, the young man fell, forgotten, and Jim stepped over his body reaching for his wife. “Christie?”

She rose slowly, came into his arms, limping, sobbing. He cradled her, holding her head to his chest and whispering comforting sounds as she calmed. Snowflakes landed softy on their shoulders, Grimaldi’s body and Nate’s still form. Her head still buried in Jim’s chest Christie shuddered and asked, “Is Nate…?”

“No, I don’t think so, he’s wearing a vest.” Jim had felt the unforgiving edges of the vest as Nate fell backward into his arms.

Jim pulled out his phone and pressed a speed dial.

Fisk answered, “Jim?”

“We’re okay. We need two buses.” He could hear Fisk shouting orders as he closed the phone.

As he ran his hands over her head, wet patches made his brow crease with worry. “Blood?”

“No, it’s snow, I think.” She reached up and felt her head. But when he took her hand, she recoiled. “My hands though, Jimmy, he hurt my hands.” Gently he ran his fingers over her hands, finding the blood, the swellings and the unnatural twists. A tear escaped his eye unnoticed.

A groan began behind him on the ground. Jim turned swiftly, keeping Christie behind him. “Don’t you move an inch.”

“It’s alright, I’ve got him covered.” Fisk ran up. Then the crunch of tires, engines getting closer, footsteps running.

Karen’s voice, “Come on, let’s get you to the ambulance.” She put her arm around Christie from the other side and led the Dunbars forward.

As they left Jim heard Tom on the radio. “Bring the second ambulance down, put a patrol in it.” And Marty whistled as he turned Grimaldi’s body over.

On the stretcher in the ambulance, the medic took Christie’s vitals and prepared to depart.
“Sir, we’re about to leave, are you accompanying us?”

Jim whispered in Christie’s ear, “I just have to tell someone to get Hank.”

She looked up at her husband, who tried to hide his worry. “No, you go see if Hank is okay.”

“I’ll follow, you go ahead.” He kissed his wife’s forehead and spoke softly, “I’ll be in the hospital five minutes behind you.”

Karen watched Jim descend from the ambulance. “Boss, I gotta …” She gestured at Jim.

Fisk nodded. “Go.”

“Jim, I’m coming.”

“Karen, the trunk - Hank?”

“Of course, Jim.” She gave him her arm and they returned to the silver sedan that had been Christie’s prison for the night.

“The trunk release is on the driver’s left.” Jim stood at the trunk. Karen released the lock and the cover sprung up under Jim’s hand.

“Hank?” Jim reached in, afraid to find his canine partner still and cold. Cold, yes, but not still. Hank’s wet nose nudged Jim’s hand and his tail beat a weak staccato. He managed to sit up, albeit a little shakily and shook himself. Jim put his arms around Hank and buried his face in the cold fur. “Good boy, Hank.” He lifted his dog out of the trunk, placed him gently on the ground and squatted beside him. Jim ran his hands down Hank’s back and limbs. He placed his forehead on his dog’s for a moment and then stepped back a few feet. “Hank, come.” Hank took a few uneven steps toward Jim, shook himself again and came to stand between Jim and Karen.

“He looks alright, a bit wobbly maybe.” Karen smiled. “But what a hero; defending Christie like a police dog.”

Karen watched Jim removed Hank’s harness. “He’s not going to wear it?”

“No, he’s off duty.”

“Here, I’ll take it.” As Karen moved close to take the harness from Jim, he held her by the arm and reached behind his back and added her gun. Kneeling to pick up Jim's cane where it had fallen a few feet from Christie’s car she slid her weapon back into its holster. “Boss first or straight to the hospital?”

“We’ll need a car – CSU will have to process this one, so the lieutenant I guess.” Jim took Karen’s arm and Hank’s leash. “Let’s go, Hank.”

Off harness, Hank stopped on the way and lifted his leg, then, feeling a little more confident he pushed his head into Karen’s knee, greeting her and demanding a pat.
She ruffled his fur. “Good to see you too, Hank.

Business taken care of Karen, Jim and Hank walked on.

~