Taken: A Christopher Lance Thriller Read online

Taken: A Christopher Lance Thriller

  By L. Jerome Word

  Blog: https://www.jeromeword.com

  Copyright 2012 L. Jerome Word

  Nocturnal

  Table of Contents

  Part I - The Story of Patsy Tyler

  Part II - The Stealer’s Reporter

  Part III - Cat or Mouse

  Part IV - To Catch a Stealer

  Part V - The End of It All

  About the author

  Discover other titles

  Sample Chapters

  Part I

  The Story of Patsy Tyler

  Detectives Pettis and Milan had seen better days but none recently. The kidnappings and murders, of children no less, began six months earlier and since then things had went from bad to worse to undoubtedly dreadful. Now, they had to tell a little girl’s parents that their daughter was dead, murdered by a madman.

  Paul Milan drove the tan Malibu toward a suburb of Atlanta at a grandmother’s speed. Neither of them wanted to reach the Tyler home any time soon. Phillip Pettis stare out of the window with thoughts of his own daughter. She was sixteen, much older than any of the children snatched so far, but that wasn’t much comfort.

  “I don’t like this, Phil. This nut is getting crazier by the day and we’ve got nothing,” said Paul Milan, the junior of the partners. He waited a moment for a reply and there was none. His partner’s thoughts were now firmly with the family of Patsy Tyler.

  Patsy Tyler, a vibrant nine year old, had been stolen from a downtown mall a week earlier; her lifeless body was found just hours ago. She was the second child found murdered, but no reason existed to believe the others weren’t still alive. The madman child stealer had contacted the police to tell them that he had killed Patsy but had not harmed the others. Why had Patsy been killed, strangled? None of this made sense to Pettis. He, a monster with no name, had killed two children and held seven others captive, leaving the police to wonder when the madness would end?

  The unmarked car pulled into the driveway and the detectives marched toward the Tyler’s door. Their faces grim just like the news they had come to deliver. They met the morose face of a father along with his horrified wife, both seemingly and silently begging for the detectives to bring them a miracle.

  “I’m sorry,” Pettis said. We found your daughter’s body this morning.”

  “My dear God!” Patsy’s mother screamed and ran back into the house.

  Mr. Tyler reached for his wife, but she was gone. He began after her but stopped and turned toward the detectives, seemingly with a need to know what had happened to his little girl. “Please, tell me. How did you find her?”

  Visibly upset, Pettis couldn’t speak. He knew what this would feel like. His thoughts were with his own child. So, Paul Milan stepped forward. “Right now…we don’t believe she was physically assaulted. She was found in a field off of I-75, fully clothed and covered by a wool blanket. We think she may have been smothered,” Milan offered. To him, that sounded better than strangulation.

  Mr. Tyler slumped, holding his head in grief, and then thanked the officers before going to his wife.

  Pettis and Milan left the Tyler’s home wondering what the world was coming to, but such philosophical pursuits wouldn’t last. The dispatch was on the radio – another child had been taken.

  Part II

  The Stealer’s Reporter

  Evenings at the Atlanta Inquisitor were usually a calm down period for reporters, if such a thing existed. I liked to spend the time eating dinner at my desk, while browsing the internet for topics on the popular and mundane. Anything to take my mind off corruption and violence - normal and every day page one fare. The Los Angeles Lakers and Kobe were coming to town this weekend and there had to be some tickets out there. While I loved the Hawks, even I had no intention of buying season tickets.

  The phone rang just as I took the last bite of a sandwich. I could always tell when it was something big, out of this world, and this ring was atomic. I choked a bit when I heard the computerized voice on the other end.

  “I killed Patsy Tyler, Mr. Lance. You assholes better not force me to do it again.”

  What a sick bastard, I thought, don’t play games with me. But then I composed myself. This was not the first would-be maniac call I had fielded. “Prove it, buddy,” I said nonchalantly.

  “I-75 North. Red shorts and white shirt,” the synthesized voice said. “I covered her with my favorite Snoopy blanket. I kind of miss it.”

  He was for real, an authentic maniac! I had gotten the details of the Tyler crime scene from my source within the APD, and the caller, whoever he was, knew the particulars. I almost freaked but this was a big break, the only one so far. And even though I was only a few years out of college and still green by newsroom standards, it was imperative that I keep my cool.

  “Okay, so you killed her. How did we make you do it?” I struggled to speak clearly. I was certain that he could tell I was nervous.

  “You liars in the media called me a killer, but I’m a protector of children. I only kill when I have to. Poor little Patsy wouldn’t follow direction. I tried my very best to get her to be a good girl but, in the end, she was rotten to the core. She kept screaming and slapping at me. I had to kill her, but I didn’t strangle her like that asshole Milan said. I heard him.”

  Damn! That statement wasn’t published or aired on television. Earlier that day at the crime scene, Milan had said it, that he believed Patsy had been strangled. I was there and heard him, but how in the hell did he know. The caller was there at the scene. I must have seen him.

  The maniac continued to spout off. “I sedated her, and then I gently suffocated her. Painless. I’m not a beast. I saved those children from those who wanted to hurt them. I’m their savior and I want the world to know this.” He began to calm down.

  “Why me—”

  “Why am I calling on you? That’s the question, eh. Ready for an answer,” Now, he was enjoying himself. Obviously, he had prepared a plan and was now carrying it out. “Why, Mr. Lance, I’ve chosen you to be my own personal reporter. Groovy, Right?”

  “Tell me more.”

  “Hold your horses now, Lance. Hope you don’t mind me calling you that, eh. Lance sounds much more daring than Christopher, and that’s what you’ll need to be now – daring. I like your inquisitive nature. But I guess that’s an attribute of a star reporter, and I am going to make you a star, Lance. Count on it.

  First, I need my own reporter to get my story out. It’s obvious so far that these numskulls reporting the story have no journalistic ethics, and that’s why I’ve chosen you. I see your potential.”

  Great. Now my journalistic skills are attracting child killers. But things were just looking up for the good guys. The killer had made his first mistake. “Okay, so I see your point—,”

  “And we have a deal. I only talk to you and don’t screw me. I love all children. I just want to protect them from the real scum of the world.”

  “I have absolutely no intention of screwing you over, but one thing is all I ask. No more dead children,” I demanded, although I was in no position to do so.

  “Well, Lance, I’d say that is largely up to you. But now for good faith between us, I said I’d make you a star. Margie Hendermen will be left at Needle Pine State Park in twenty minutes, unharmed -- by me anyway -- and she’ll be left there with a message. A very important one. She will be waiting for you, as she will be instructed to do, and she will obey. She is such a good girl and I’m going to hate to see her go. Bye.”

  “Hold on, what do I call you?”

  “You can call me Angel. And Lance, don’t be late.”

  And after
the click on the other end, the phone went silent. I shot out of my office, down a dozen flights of stairs, and into my car. I would need every bit of its speed today -- Needle Pine was thirty minutes away.

  *

  If Angel thought I was going to be his messenger boy, he had made a sad mistake, an insane mistake. The APD had shown no ability to get this guy but I could. This was a dangerous game I was choosing to play, and yet a hard-nose, wise-ass reporter (which is what I aspired to be) wouldn’t have it any other way.

  I reached Needle Pines entrance in nineteen minutes (one to spare) and careened around the bold curves at its entrance. With no specific directions, I engaged in a frantic search of the small park. The girl had to be in the open; Angel wanted her to be found.

  I spotted her sitting on a park bench alone with a bright green baseball cap on her head. I knew it was her because Margie’s red hair, now jutting from under the ball cap, was seen on every television screen for forty-eight straight hours after her abduction. As I approached, calm was the expression on her face. She seemed completely unharmed until I was standing over her, and then she reached up and grabbed me around the shoulders. She cried and I held her tight.

  After only moments, she pointed to a small envelope that lay on the ground. This was Angel’s message, it had to be, and inside I believed was a piece of his puzzle – the reason why he was stealing children.

  Angel’s message was short and jolting.Of course, he had intended it that way. The message rocked me down to one knee as I read it.

  ‘Margie ‘lil’ redhead his been molested for years. Not by me, though. Ask her and she’ll tell you. It’s her bastard stepfather and the proof is in a safe in his basement. All of these children I have taken have been abused. I am giving the citizens of Atlanta a chance to make things right for this one. Don’t fail or you will never see the others again.’

  He signed the note ‘Angel, savior of children’. Well, at least, one child was safe. Six more to go.

  *

  Detective Paul Milan instructed a small fleet of officers into place, flanking them out across the park in search of a kidnapper. From his car, on his way to the park, Christopher had called Milan and Pettis to alert them that their killer/kidnapper would be somewhere near Needle Pines. Of course, he would be around — he was a protector of children.

  Pettis and another officer searched on foot, while Milan drove on the asphalt beside them, watching their every move. The group looked for anything suspicious; actually, they were looking for anything. Pettis spotted a man in jeans and a ball cap walking a dog. The dog walker strolled along with a leisurely stride that in no way resembled a kidnapper in the midst of twenty police officers. What the hell, thought Pettis, no one else was around.

  “Hey, you in the ball cap, could I speak with you for a moment,” the uniformed cop said, at the instruction of Pettis.

  That was the stimuli. The man in the cap started running with the dog ahead of him, and both were headed toward group of large Pines. They both had vanished within a matter of seconds, but the cops were close behind on foot. They chased him through trees and brush, following only a blurry trace of his blue T-shirt. From the cuts he made, it seemed he knew the park well. And he was quick; they’d need a slip up or luck to catch him.

  The blue-shirted man broke into a clearing, racing to the other side of the park. As Pettis appear out of the trees, he saw the man running toward a gray pick-up parked near the back entrance of the park. He looked around, frantically, for the others, either the foot men or Milan in his car. The runner was too far ahead. It was clear he knew the park, and that he was going to get away. Milan zipped around the corner just as the officers on foot ran from a walking path parallel to the roadway, but there was no stopping the fleeing suspect. He was already gone. Pettis knew they had missed their best chance to catch this maniac.

  *

  Little Margie refused to leave with anyone other than me. Of course that seemed right. I had been the one to find her and make her feel safe. On the way to the hospital—which was only a precaution -- I stopped at MacDonald’s and bought her a happy meal. I saw the first glimpse of a smile when the first fry touched her lips. I had done a good thing today but I needed to do more.

  After seeing the note, it didn’t take long for the APD to get a warrant to search Margie’s stepfather’s basement. They seemed skeptical, but I knew they would find the horrible things that Angel said they would. Pictures, filthy, and despicable. The law would throw the book at the scumbag; I’d have simply busted his head.

  I was confident that the cops and the judges and the lawyers would take care of Margie’s violator, and yet I had an equal lack of confidence in their ability to catch Angel. The APD had continued the chase outside of the park, but the man was stealth, almost like an angel, except for the murders, of course. If anyone caught the murderer, it would be me. I only hoped that I hadn’t lost his trust or confidence.

  Part III

  Cat or Mouse

  The cops had tapped my office and home phones understanding Angel would try to contact me again. It was unlikely that he’d approach me in person, so there was no need for surveillance. He had proven to be bold in the past, but I was sure our man was smart and sly, like a cat bracing himself to pounce on a mouse. I planned to turn the tables, though. Call me back damnit, please call.

  *

  Angel spotted the boy playing with a tattered tennis ball. His name was Alfred. The child bounced the ball against a dying tree in his back yard. He was quite jolly for an eight year old who had been abused since he was two. That would all end today. The cat was ready to pounce.

  Angel lay on his stomach, patiently waiting for the neighborhood to settle down, and now all the neighbors and their children were inside, and the sun had begun to set. Angel knew Alfred would be out; he always was. No one cared about the poor fellow but Angel, of course. Bless his heart.

  Boweng. The ball bounced off the tree, dribbling toward the ditch that hid Alfred’s would-be capturer. The child ran toward the ball with all his might. Boy, he’s quite a fast little guy, Angel thought, a milli-second before he pounced.

  *

  I looked out into I-75 traffic when my cell rang, which was more like a series of beeps. I answered and heard Angel’s jagged, computerized voice.

  “Good job, Lance. Splendid, actually. I knew I could count on you to avenge little Margie’s honor.”

  “Thanks.” I couldn’t believe I was receiving praise from this lunatic.

  “And don’t worry; I’m not at all upset with you for calling the police. Indeed, I expected you to. That’s why I chose you.”

  Great. I am so grateful.

  “Did you know a little boy was missing in Dearborn?”

  “No.” With a lump developing in my throat, I was hardly able to get out the word. Not another child.

  “Not surprising. Those people are monsters. Never should have had a child in the first place.”

  “Angel, you can’t keep taking these children,” I pleaded. I sounded pitiful but, at this point, I didn’t care.

  “Make you a deal,” Angel said, sounding as if he were ignoring me. “You get those bastards put in jail and set up for Jolly Al to be placed in a nice foster home, one with nice foster parents, and then I’ll give him back but only to you.”

  Angel gave me all the details about Alfred Browder and his battering parents. The family appeared to be hard working people for all I could tell and, without the boy, we probably couldn’t prove they beat anyone. Still, since I was Angel’s chosen disciple, the show was mine to run. Of course, Pettis and his crew listened in on the conversation hoping to track Angel, but they were unable to pinpoint our kidnapper. It seemed he operated with the use of cheap pre-paid cell phones that he tossed regularly. I told Pettis he had no choice but to arrest Alfred’s parents, so I could work a deal with Angel to get the boy back. That was the only way and it troubled me.

  My plan was all worked out and only I knew about it. Onc
e the police had the Browder’s in custody, Angel called back and arrangements were made to pick up Alfred. During the release of the child, the police would have no choice but to lie in wait for Angel, in order to, first, beat him down and then arrest him, letting the sometimes sluggish wheels of justice take its natural motion. I couldn’t let that happen, though; it would be horrible for all involved. I had been through enough therapy to know that this man, Angel, whoever he was, believed his delusion. Being a protector of children, in its own screwed up way, was more of a reality to him than anything the APD and its muscle could do. No, if Angel was nabbed now, those kids might be lost forever. A protector worth anything would keep those children in a safe and secluded place. It was only a hunch, a phantom feeling deep somewhere in me, but I needed to take chances. That was the way I was made.

  *

  “We’ll be watching from the top of the hill over there. You’ll be in clear site if anything happens,” Milan said, in an attempt to calm me.

  I didn’t need it. I was perfectly composed. “Nothing’s going to happen,” I offered.

  Pettis moved his wrinkled, battle-tested face to an inch from mine. “Listen, Christopher, you’re a smart, tough guy okay but don’t underestimate this creep. Just do as we’ve planned. Okay?”

  I wanted to say that I was the only one who had not underestimated Angel, but I held back. I simply nodded and was on my way toward the meeting point.

  Orchid Park was like a maze, with trees and accompanying pathways throughout the suburban paradise. It was developed privately by someone with the idea that it would be good to have a park/mall combo — the next great idea, I guess. Because it was an early Sunday morning, Orchid Park was void of people except for about twenty police officers and me. Soon Angel would show up. I prayed that he had received my message; he would have to if the plan was to work.

  Walking along the cobblestone path, I stopped in front of the Bath and Body Works store. I thought about maybe getting Jordan, my girlfriend, some of that rock salt used for creating a sauna feel in the bathtub. She was always appreciative of the smallest of gifts and that’s why I loved her.