Текст книги "Detective Jason Strong: The Early Cases"

Автор книги: John C. Dalglish

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Chapter 4

Michael Barton sat in the doctor's office, staring out the window. Large oak trees shaded the parking lot outside. People came and went, any one of whom might know something about what happened to his son. It had been two and a half Years since their son had been taken, and it still consumed his thoughts on a daily basis. The police were no closer to finding him today than they had been on that awful afternoon.

He and Tammy had been cleared early on. What followed were searches of ponds, woods, and dumpsters. They didn't say it, but he knew that they were looking for a body. He couldn't accept that. He felt that his son was still alive; he knew it inside. He was the only one. Even Tammy had seemed to give up all hope.

He and Tammy had been trying for another child for the last Year and a half with no luck, so Tammy had gone to the doctor. It had been a normal check-up with a pap smear, but the doctor's response had been unsettling. Instead of the standard letter saying everything was fine, they had received an ominous call asking them to make an appointment with a Dr.

Sanders.

Dr. Sanders was an oncologist.

“What's an oncologist?” Tammy had asked him.

“It's a cancer doctor.”

 “Oh,” was all she said, and then she dialed the number that had been left with the message.

Her reaction still haunted him. She didn't seem surprised, or even upset. He, on the other hand, was shocked. It never occurred to him that her not getting pregnant could be the result of something as serious as cancer.

 She had wanted to go to the first appointment alone, saying it was just a bunch of testing, but he wouldn't hear of it. She turned out to be right: they didn't talk to the doctor for more than a few minutes, but the tests had gone on for hours.

Today, they were back to hear the results. He heard someone come in, and turned to see the serious face of Dr. Jim Sanders. They shook hands and the doctor slid behind the desk. Opening a file he had been carrying with him, he looked up at Michael and Tammy. Clearly uncomfortable, he shifted in his seat..

“I'm afraid the news is not good.” He paused and shifted again.

“You have ovarian cancer, and it has spread.”

There was silence for several minutes. Michael reached over and took Tammy's hand.

“What do we do to treat it?” he asked.

“Our options are limited, I'm afraid. Surgery will be pointless, as the cancer has metastasized. Chemo is one option. It is unlikely to stop it, at best, maybe slow it down.”

“What about radiation?” Michael pressed.

“Radiation is a possibility, but it, too, will likely only delay the outcome. I'm afraid that, short of a miracle, the cancer is terminal.”

Michael's anger flared. Not just at the doctor or the cancer, but all of it. His son was gone, they couldn't have more kids, and now he was being told that their life together was over. Michael lurched to his feet.

“That's not good enough!! What else?”

“Please, Mr. Barton. Sit down. Believe me, I am telling you the truth. The cancer is too far along for the treatments we have available these days. I'm sorry.”

Michael paced the office.

“What about trials, drug testing? Aren’t there things like that that she can try?”

“I did some research last night and there are no trials going on that are suitable for Tammy.”

“How much time would chemo give her?”

“Well, it's hard to...”

Tammy had not said a word, and sitting stiffly in her chair, she didn't even appear to be paying attention.

“No,” she said quietly.

Michael stopped and stared at his wife. She was focused on Dr. Sanders.

“I'm not going through that to gain a couple weeks or months. Unless you can tell me that it will be cured or will buy me Years, I won't do it.”

“But Tammy...” Michael began.

“No, Michael, I will not go through that. I've seen what it's like.”

She was still staring at the doctor.

“Well, Doc, does it have that potential?”

“To buy you years or cure you?”

Tammy nodded her head at him.

“Well, anything is possible but,” He shrugged his shoulders “....no, probably not.”

Michael slumped back into his chair. He had lost his only son and now his wife was going to be taken from him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. The injustice ate at his very soul. Something welled up in him. He didn't know if it was the anger and frustration or something else, something darker, stronger. He wouldn't accept what was happening. He couldn't.

He knew the reason his wife wouldn't fight the disease was because of their son.  She had not been the same woman since that day. She'd lost her desire to take part in everyday life and seemed to just drift along.

The only fire he saw in her was when Detective Jason Strong would call with updates. She would get excited when she saw the number on the caller ID, and then she would sink back into depression when there was nothing new.

Dr. Sanders went on to discuss the path the disease would take and what steps could be taken to ease Tammy's suffering. He gave her four to six months.  Michael looked at a calendar on the wall. Four to six months. Four months was the three-Year anniversary of the kidnapping.

The rest of the appointment was a blur. He asked questions, but couldn't remember the answers. When they were done, he helped his wife up and out to the car. There were no words between them on the way home, but Michael was sure that his wife looked at peace. She looked as if a weight had been removed, not as if a death sentence had been delivered.

He didn't feel peace. He felt like he was dying inside, leaving an empty hole where his soul was. And he felt something else. A darkness was creeping in and filling the void. He sensed dark days ahead.

****

There was another blue and white cake on the table at Katie and Wade Duncan's house. This time it read: ‘Welcome Home, Jesse’. The house seemed as if it would lift off at any time because of the number of balloons hung around the walls.

“When's baby coming?”

Jack was standing on the couch, looking out the front window.

“Soon, Jack.”

Shirley ruffled her grandson's hair. Now her oldest grandson, she realized. She had a youngest and an oldest now, with the birth of Jesse.

It had been a wonderful three Years with Jack, and the news that Katie was pregnant again had only added to it.

There seemed to be no fear this time and Dr. Phelps had even suggested that the adoption of Jack might have relaxed Katie enough that there wouldn't be any more problems. He was right. Jesse had come on time and the delivery had gone smoothly.

“They’re here!”

Jack jumped down, ran to the door, and pulled it open. Katie led the way, carrying a little bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Wade followed with a diaper bag and gifts.

When everyone was inside, Katie sat on the couch so that Jack could see his new little brother. Jack's eyes were glued to the little baby. He reached out and touched Jesse's tiny hand, and giggled when Jesse pulled it away. All of a sudden, Shirley saw Jack sit up, as if remembering something.

“Cake now?”

Laughter filled the house.

“Yes, Jack, cake now.”

****

Throughout the afternoon, friends stopped by to see the new baby and visit. There were more gifts and lots of pictures. The whole time, Jack played the big brother, telling everyone who came to see the baby that his name was Jesse. By the end of the evening, Katie was exhausted, and bedtime brought relief for everyone.

Wade tucked Jack in and sat on the side of the bed. They said their prayers, including a special one for Jesse. As Wade stared down at his son, he could tell that a question was forming. Jack always got that look of concentration when he was wondering something.

“What is it, Jack?”

“Will he get big like me?”

Wade grinned and kissed his son's forehead.

“Yup, and you and he will be best buddies.”

Jack liked the idea.

“Best buddies,” he repeated, and closed his eyes.

Katie was waiting for Wade at the bedroom door. Together, they looked back at Jack. He had made all the difference in their lives. He had made them a family. Now Jesse was here. Wade kissed her, and seemed to read her mind.

“Those people will never know what they did for us, will they?”

“No, but I wish they could.”

****

Three months had passed since Dr. Sanders had given Michael and Tammy Barton the news.  Michael had never really recovered from the loss of his son, and he still hoped that someday he would be returned to them. Tammy had given up hope that she would ever see her son again, and her decline from the cancer was faster than even the doctor had expected.

Michael knew it was because she had lost the will. The will to keep looking, keep hoping, keep fighting. She stirred slightly in her hospital bed, and he realized she was looking at him.

“You okay? The pain meds helping?”

She nodded and pointed at the water pitcher. He got up and filled her water bottle, placing the straw to her lips when he was done. She smiled a thank you and rolled over. She was back asleep in moments.

Michael sat back down in the chair he had spent most of the last week in. They were in a semi-private room, but there was no one in the other bed. The woman who had been there had passed away two days ago. He had been glad that Tammy was asleep at the time. He didn't want to be looking into her eyes as they both thought the same thing: soon.

The TV had been on the Weather Channel constantly, but only as background noise. It didn't seem to matter how hot it was outside or if it was going to rain. Michael sat staring at the screen without seeing.

****

There was a commotion in the hall outside of Tammy's room. Michael got up to see what was going on and found a man, in cuffs, being dragged down the hall by two officers. Holding one arm was a uniformed officer, and the other was Detective Jason Strong.

“Jason, Jason. What's going on?”

The detective recognized Michael.

“Michael, this is the man who took your son. We got a tip and found him here at the hospital.”

Michael couldn't believe his ears.

“Where's my son?”

“We don't know yet; we're taking him downtown for questioning.”

Michael looked at the man that Jason was taking out of the hospital, and his anger took hold. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a knife, charging the cuffed man.

He stabbed him repeatedly in the back, jabbing the knife in over and over again. Blood spurted up his arms as panic set in around him. People were screaming his name.

“Michael...Michael!”

Michael nearly jumped out of his seat as he awoke with a start, looking around to see Tammy watching him.

“Yeah, you all right?”

“Yes, can I have some more water?”

He put the straw to her mouth again and sat back down.

“I guess I dozed off.” He rubbed his eyes.

 She smiled weakly.

“You must have been dreaming, because you were kicking your feet in the air!”

. Michael had always kicked wildly in his sleep and they had taken to sleeping in separate beds.

He leaned forward to take her hand.

“You need anything?”

“Yes, I want to ask you something.” She paused to catch her breath.

“Anything.”

“If you ever see our son again, will you tell him I love him?'

Michael nodded and gave her a smile, but inside he was breaking apart.

“Of course.”

Frustration boiled inside him. He hadn't protected his son, and now he couldn't save his wife. It wasn't fair. The anger that had burned in him since the days after his son was taken threatened to take control. He would find the son-of-a-bitch who was responsible and there would be payback for all the pain. He promised himself that he would make the kidnapper pay.

His dream had been disturbing, but even more disturbing was how good it had felt. He could imagine himself doing it for real. That was something he never thought he would be capable of. He could tell now that he was capable and willing.

****

A few months later, Michael found himself sitting beside her bed again, but this time they were in a nursing home. Tammy was on feeding tubes and no longer knew Michael was even there. The weeks since Tammy had gone into a coma had been filled with plans to somehow find the one responsible for his son’s disappearance. The heart monitor started to beep. It was a long, steady droning, and Michael knew she was gone. He didn't run to get doctors. He knew she wanted to be gone. He wished he could be gone, too.

A nurse rushed in and turned off the beeping but she didn't call for help. Tammy had made it clear not to try to resuscitate her when she went. A doctor came in and checked her vitals, looked at her pupils, and declared Tammy deceased.

Michael stood staring out the window while people moved around him in the room. All he felt now was hate. Hate for whoever had taken his son. Hate for every couple that would grow old together. Most of all, he hated the pain. It ate at his insides and left him short of breath. Somehow, he had to get rid of the pain.

He heard the nurse say something. When he turned around, Tammy was already gone from the room.

“Take as long as you need,” the nurse said “I'll be at the desk.”

Michael nodded and turned back to the window.

Somewhere out there was his son. The only connection he had left to Tammy.

And now, he had a message to deliver. A promise to keep. He would not give up.

****

A steady rain fell on the proceedings at Oakcrest Cemetery. Detective Jason Strong stood across from Michael Barton, who was seated next to the grave of his wife. He saw no life in Michael's eyes, and it worried him. They looked like shark eyes: lifeless. The last three Years had brought Jason close to the Barton's. He had done everything in his power to try and track down their son. So far, it hadn't been enough. He refused to give up hope, and he had called the Barton’s regularly to tell them that he hadn't forgotten or that he was looking into a new lead,

whenever one would surface.

Michael had called him when he had learned that Tammy was sick. Jason had listened, but he didn't try to make Michael feel better. He thought of his own wife, Sandy, and how he would feel about such news. He couldn't fathom it. He had met Michael a couple of times for a beer, and he sensed that Michael was headed for a dark place.

The service ended and people started to move away. Jason waited until there wasn't anybody left and went over to Michael.

“You gonna be all right, buddy?”

Michael gave Jason a half smile.

“Yeah...I'll make it. Thanks for coming.”

Even though Michael tried to smile, Jason saw that his eyes remained cold.

“You know you can call me anytime, right?”

“I know. Thanks, Jason.”

Jason shook his hand and turned to leave. He couldn't imagine the pain in Michael's soul, but Jason had seen it destroy more than one man.

He said a prayer that night for Michael. And he said one for the missing child, just as he had almost

every night for the last three years. And lastly, he said one more. This one was a grateful prayer. He felt the need to count his blessings and express his thanks.

 

Chapter 5

It was the time of the year that was most difficult for Michael Barton. His son's birthday was coming up, as well as the seventh anniversary of his wife’s death. It was the darkest time of the year for him. His life became weighed down by a shroud of pain and anger. Each time, he had been able to emerge from it and carry on, but this was going to be a particularly rough year. It was approaching his son's tenth birthday. Ten years since the happiest day of his life. Ten years of pain since that day. A decade.

He let himself into the house and was met by the same old quiet. In many ways, it felt as if time had stopped inside the walls of this house.

He threw the mail down on the hall table, without looking at it, and set the bottle of wine down on the coffee table in the living room while he went in search of a corkscrew. He had drowned in the hard stuff for a while after Tammy's death, but with the help of Detective Jason Strong, he had seen the alcohol as pointless. It didn't take away the pain; only numbed it. The detective had not given up hope of finding his son and Jason had made him see, at the very least, that he shouldn't throw his life away. What if Strong were right?

“I have seen kids twice your son's age reunited with their parents; what if we find him and you’re not here? What would I tell him?”

Michael had found the question difficult to answer. After all, he had made a promise to Tammy and to himself. He could not give up.

He rummaged around in the kitchen drawers, looking for the corkscrew. He normally just bought the

cheap stuff with the twist-off cap, but decided ten years required something more. He had splurged on

his and Tammy's favorite wine.

Eventually he had gone through every drawer but the junk drawer. It shouldn't be there, but he slid it open and pushed stuff around in it anyway. Lying in the back was his wife's digital camera. He pulled it out and found the corkscrew behind it.

He tried turning the camera on, but the batteries were dead. He carried the camera, corkscrew, and a wine glass into the living room. From the hall table drawer, he retrieved a penlight. He checked inside: the batteries were the same as the ones in the camera.

Pouring himself a glass of wine, he took a long sip before changing the batteries.  He pushed the power button and the camera came to life.

“Okay, let see what we have here,” he said out loud.

He often talked to himself to break the silence in the house. He hit the album button and was met with a picture of his son. He sipped his wine and stared at the camera.

“Where have you been hiding all this time?” he asked the camera, realizing that if it could talk, it would state the obvious: in the junk drawer.

Gathering his courage, Michael started to scroll through the pictures one at a time. They were mostly pictures of his son sleeping. The last few were the ones he had taken of Tammy and his son under the tree on that hot afternoon. He had finally taken a good picture with the last shot and he sat staring at it for a long time.

Something caught his eye. In the background behind Tammy, parked just down the street, was a car that he didn't recognize. It seemed out of place. An old, maybe 1960-something, Pontiac. He tried to magnify the picture on the camera, but it didn't help.

He took the camera to his computer, plugged it in, and downloaded the photos. On the computer, he manipulated and expanded the pictures. The old car was partially hidden by a tree, but the plate was still visible. So was the man sitting in the driver’s seat. His heart skipped a beat.

Who are you? You don't belong around here.

He magnified the car and plate as much as he could and was able to make out the number as his heart started to pound faster. The plate could lead him to the kidnapper, could lead him to his son. He wrote down the number.

Now what? If I call Jason Strong, he'll say that they'll look into it and then I won't have any idea what's going on.

He wanted to check this out himself. He could feel the darkness inside telling him that this was what he needed. This could take away the pain. He had an idea. He picked up the phone and dialed.

“San Antonio Police.”

“Yes, can I speak to Detective Strong?”

“Please hold.”

Several minutes passed.

“Hello?” Jason Strong's familiar voice came on.

“Jason, this is Michael Barton.”

“Michael, how's it going?”

“Fine. You?”

“Good...very good.”

“And Sandy?” Michael asked about Jason's wife Sandy, a tall blonde with striking green eyes.

“She's good...listen, sorry I haven't called lately. There hasn't been anything new to report, and I've been swamped.”

“No problem...actually, I called to ask you a favor.”

“You know I’ll try to help if I can.”

“Well, I was in a little fender bender at the stadium parking lot the other day, and the owner wasn't around. Of course, I didn't have any paper or a pen.”

“Of course!” Jason agreed.

“Anyway, I took a photo of the guy’s plate with my phone, and I was wondering if you could get me his number and address. I'd like to contact him without getting insurance involved.”

“Well…I'm not supposed to...”

Michael held his breath.

“But, okay. Don't suppose it'll hurt.”

Michael gave the plate number to Jason and waited. Jason was back in five minutes with a name.

Benny Carter. His address was near Hondo, a town west of San Antonio.

“Thanks, Jason. Appreciate it.”

“No problem, you staying on the straight and narrow?”

Michael chuckled.

“Yeah, just an occasional glass of wine.”

“Glad to hear it. Take care and, of course, I'll be in touch with any news.” Jason hung up.

Michael stared at the name. A dark fire started smoldering in him. He knew this was the kidnapper. It had to be. He felt certain. And he felt anger. Anger that pushed him to act. In the past, he had fought the anger, subdued it. This time, there would be no controlling it. He could feel it taking over, and he didn't care.

****

Benny wheeled the '69 Mustang Mach One down his driveway. He'd bought it with the money from the kidnapping and had it repainted. Yellow with a black hood and black stripes. It looked fast, and it was.

Benny drove around back and parked by the kitchen door. He got out, locked the car, and went to let himself in. Putting his key in the lock, he saw a reflection in the window, but it was too late. Pain exploded from the back of his head. His knees buckled and his face crashed into the glass. He slid unconscious to the ground.

When he slowly started to come around, he began taking stock of his body. He could feel liquid, which he assumed was blood, oozing down his neck and under his shirt. He could also taste it dripping from his nose, probably from when it hit the door. He had a splitting headache, and opening his eyes, in the bright sun, sent pain coursing through his brain.

Once he could get his eyes to stay open, he found he was tied to something, his arms behind him. It felt like the huge blackjack oak behind the house. His feet were also bound with a rope that went around his ankles and around the tree.

“So, you’re awake?”

Benny's head swivelled quickly to his right, which made him wince in pain.

“Who are you? What...what do you want?”

A man Benny didn't recognize got up and moved in front of him, but ignored his question.

“Who are you?” Benny demanded.

The man just stared at him.

“Who the hell are you!?”

He moved in very close and hissed into Benny's face.

“Who am I? Who am I?...I'm the father of the child you took.”

Benny's eyes got huge, which made his head ache even worse, and he thought he would vomit.

“Child? What child? I don't know nothin' about no kid.”

“Oh, come now, you remember: ten Years ago, small baby.” Michael nearly spit it out with contempt. “Or do you do that kind of thing all the time?”

Benny's head was getting clearer. That's what happens when fear pumps adrenaline through you, and Benny was afraid. He started looking around wildly for some means of escape. He didn't own a gun, and if he did, it would be in the house, anyway. His knife was in his boot, but the ropes were too tight, his hands would not come free.

Benny looked into his captor’s eyes. They were wild, angry.

“Now, where's my son?”

“I didn't do nothin' with your kid...I don't know what you’re talking about.”

The man put his hand across Benny's forehead, and drove the back of Benny's head into the tree. Benny let out a groan, his eyes rolling back in his head. When he opened them again, he spit in the man's face.

The man stepped back and slowly wiped his face with his sleeve. Benny watched as he turned and walked over to a woodpile and grabbed a twenty-pound sledgehammer. He hefted it up and down a couple of times before walking back over to Benny. Benny started to panic, squirming to get free. Without saying a word, the man swung the hammer directly at Benny's right knee.

Benny's world exploded with pain. Waves of agony raced up his leg, through his body, and into his brain. He screamed, briefly lost consciousness and then came to with a series of low moans. His knee was shattered and blood soaked his jeans.

The stranger waited for Benny to stop sobbing and then asked his question again.

“Where's my son?”

“I can't tell you...he'll kill me...” Benny sobbed.

“I'll kill you if you don't. Where's my son?”

“...Can't tell....”

His attacker started to heft the hammer again, and Benny freaked.

“Okay...okay...this guy paid me to get him a kid.”

“What was his name?”

“Zeb...Zeb Johnson.”

Benny tried to stop sobbing, his voice breaking and just above a whisper. The man had to move closer, listening intently.

“How do I find him? What did he look like?”

“I don't know...we used throw away cell phones.”

Benny paused for breath.

“He was a big man, red hair.”

“Where was he from?”

Benny scrambled for details. It had been ten Years, and his brain was more    concerned with the pain.

“The contact I met was from Missouri, I think.”

“Contact...what contact?”

“Some chick...I gave her the kid and she paid me.”

“What was her name? What did she look like?”

Benny didn't answer, the blood running down his leg and out from under his pants was making him light-headed. The man lifted the hammer and placed it against Benny's left kneecap. A surge of adrenaline shot through Benny and he started to stammer.

“Wait...no...she was real short...red hair...had a tattoo on her tit.”

“Anything else?”

Benny felt the hammer pushing against the kneecap.

“No…wait…yeah.”

Something was rolling around in the back of his head.

“She was in a van with a parking sticker…St. something…Lawrence…no ,Luke’s…that's it…St. Luke’s, and the guy said she was some sort of nurse.”

Benny was exhausted from the effort of remembering. His attacker looked at him a minute longer, put down the hammer, and turned to walk away.

“Hey…where…you…going? You can't leave me…like this!”

He turned and put a gun to Benny's head.

“You’re right.”

He pulled the trigger.

****

Michael left the ranch and headed east to his home in San Antonio. He didn't think that he had been seen, but he wasn't taking any chances. Parking in the garage, he went in and packed a bag. After loading it into the car, he sat down at the computer and searched ‘St. Luke's Missouri’.

There were only two hospitals: one in St. Louis and the other in Springfield. The one in Springfield, in the southwest corner of the state, was closer. It was the logical place to go first.

He stood up and looked around. He figured it was the last time he would see his home. There was a picture of Tammy on the side table. He picked it up and stared at it for a long time. He decided to take it. If he got the chance, he would show it to their son.

Shutting the door behind him, he climbed into his car and raised the garage door. The sun had started to go down, but it was still stifling hot. His sunglasses took the edge off of the glare and hid the determination in his eyes.

He turned the car north, towards Missouri.

****

Detective Strong was sitting at his desk when Vanessa Layne, a fellow detective, came into the squad room. She was 5’10” and thin. Some would say skinny. Large blue eyes and straight black hair, that fell to the middle of her back, made her very attractive. They had been together on the street as beat cops, but she had moved up to detective ahead of him. She was good, real good, and Jason liked working cases with her.

“Hey, JD.” She called him by his initials. Jason's middle name was David, and JD had stuck since the academy.

“Hey, Vanessa. How's it going?”

“Good. Just ran into Dan Carpenter—you remember him, out in Hondo?”

Jason looked up from his paperwork.

“Yeah, think so. Why?”

“He was telling me about a case they have out there. Torture-murder.”

She was sitting on the edge of his desk.

“Some local named Benny Carter was the victim. Brutal stuff.”

A bell went off in Jason's head. Benny Carter. Where had he heard that name? A chill ran up his spine as he recalled the conversation with Michael Barton.

“They got any leads?”

“Tire tracks, rope left behind, and a shell casing.”

“Motive?”

Vanessa got up; the phone on her desk was ringing.

“No, nothing apparently stolen. Looks almost like a hit.”

While Vanessa answered her phone, Jason called Michael. No answer. He left a voice mail. Next, he called Michael's work. They had not seen or heard from him in several days. Jason waved at Vanessa and left. He needed to go to Michael's house.