Silver Justice

Chapter 20

The day passed uneventfully, but there had been no call, which was disturbing to everyone involved in the investigation. In most kidnappings, a ransom demand usually came in within twenty-four hours. If it didn’t, the crime took on a more ominous tone. If a child was kidnapped for money, there was a chance they could get the child back unharmed. But when abductions had no clear motive, the odds dropped drastically.

Art had stopped in with two agents and a psychiatrist. They had spent hours with Silver, waiting for the call that never came. Art was seasoned and proficient, and his demeanor gave away nothing, but she could tell that he was getting more worried as the day wore on. When he finally left with the team, he told her he would be back the next day if she needed him, but Silver declined. The techs had wired the phone line so it could be remotely traced from headquarters, so there was no point tying up personnel at her flat. Besides which, she wanted to be alone. Richard had called and offered to come by to keep her company, but she was overloaded and didn’t want to be around anyone, so she begged off, promising to call him the next day.

She went into Kennedy’s room, sat on her bed, and began crying for the little girl who’d been torn from her without warning. Silver fingered the quilted bedspread she’d gotten for Kennedy when she was five, keening as she spied her school bag in the corner, her clothes neatly hung up in her open closet, an outfit for the next day set out on the overstuffed chair by her window.

What kind of monster would do something like this? The thought echoed in her mind, over and over. Silver laid her head on Kennedy’s pillow, stained by the small amount of drool that seeped from her daughter’s mouth as she slept — something she’d done ever since a baby. The bed shook as sobs racked her body, and she moaned raw anguish into the mattress.

When Silver opened her eyes, she realized an hour had passed. She pulled herself to her feet and dragged herself into her own bedroom. She flicked on the lights and then padded back through the flat to the front door, checking to ensure that the two deadbolts were locked and that the chain and the sliding lock were also secure.

Silver returned to her bedroom and kneeled down at the base of her closet, spinning the combination lock on the floor safe with practiced finesse. Two to the left, one to the right, a half turn, and then depress the lever and swing the door open. She reached inside and extracted her Glock and chambered a round, then put it on her nightstand next to the bedside lamp.

Her vision blurred, and she realized that the combination of stress and too little sleep was wearing on her. She headed to her bathroom, opened the tap and poured herself a glass of water, and then returned to her bed, where she gratefully swallowed one of the sleeping pills the therapist had given her then crawled under the covers, emotionally and physically exhausted.

The following morning, Silver awoke to a grogginess that was a residual effect of the pill. She felt a little better after a shower but didn’t fully rejoin the living until her third cup of coffee.

No calls had come in, and a quick check with Art confirmed that no new leads had surfaced. Agents were working the neighborhood all day, and he agreed to check in if anything came up. Silver set the phone down on the dining table as she stared out the window with the realization that every minute nothing new transpired her daughter’s odds of survival declined.

Her next call was to Richard, whom she’d avoided being alone with since that night. She wasn’t ready to process what had happened between them; the added weight of the kidnapping had colored the whole thing negatively. It wasn’t fair to either of them to associate her daughter’s disappearance with their night together, but she did, and she wasn’t sure she would ever be able not to. He answered on the second ring.

“How are you, Silver?”

“Digging out. Waiting for something to happen. Going a little stir-crazy. How about you?”

“Sitting in meetings with Sam as he asserts control over the task force. Hours of brain suck.”

“Anything new come up?”

“He’s really interested in pursuing his theory about this not being the work of a single perp. He has everyone scrambling to follow up on the idea that it’s somehow connected to either the Ponzi scheme or the terrorist funding.”

“That’s not a surprise. Did anything come back on the photos of our mystery man that were circulated?”

“Nope. But I’m not sure how much priority Sam gave those with everything that’s happened since. I know they got sent out, but you know if you don’t follow up, they get tossed in the round file by the end of the day. Everyone’s got other things to do than rack their brain for a possible ID of a grainy black and white.”

“And what about the interviews that were done with the men connected with the fires?”

“Nothing. The New Jersey runner is still unconscious and in critical condition, and the prognosis is that he’ll be on machines for the rest of his life. We managed to get a warrant to search his digs, but other than some drugs and a pistol with the serial number filed off, there wasn’t much. If he is the killer, he’s either got a second place, or he’s the most methodical evil genius in history. Given the condition of his apartment, I think it’s safe to say he isn’t our man.”

“And the others?”

“The report on the old guy was negative. The agents conducted an interview but walked away from it believing he’s clean. The third suspect has an alibi for two of the nights — we’re in the process of checking it out.”

“What if it isn’t someone related to the victims? Have we looked at boyfriends of the daughter who was killed? Or maybe close school friends?”

“Seth is driving that effort, but my guess is no. Since Sam took over, there’s not a ton of time to follow up on that line of inquiry. He’s made clear the direction he believes will be the most fruitful, and I don’t think anyone wants to cause any friction with the new boss in the first few days he’s running things.”

“I was afraid of that. But listen — I have access to the computers, so I’m going to keep at it. I think Sam’s well intentioned, but dead wrong on this one. The way he’s killing them has to be the key. I’ll go into the system and pull everything from the interviews and see if anything pops up, and I’ll call Seth to see if he’s onboard to help. I hope you are…”

“Silver. You don’t even have to ask. Surely you’ve figured that out by now? And listen. About the other night-”

“Richard, it was magical. And I don’t regret a second of it. But with Kennedy missing, I’m not able to devote anything to it right now. I hope that doesn’t sound cold, but as much as I’d like to pick up where we left off, it’s not a good time.” As she said it, she realized it sounded distant and detached.

“Don’t worry. I figured you’d have other things on your mind — I know I would.” She made to interrupt but he kept speaking. “Silver, what I’d like to say is that it was special, and I’m here if you need anything, and I will be until this is all resolved. We’ve got time.”

Saying nothing to this, she silently thanked him for his understanding.

“One thing, though,” he continued, “and I’m saying this because I care. Do you really think it’s a good idea to be devoting a lot of your bandwidth to the task force? I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but you’ve got…well, you have other fish to fry.”

“Richard, if I don’t occupy myself with something that keeps my brain engaged, I’m going to spend my days sitting in Kennedy’s room, crying. Putting some effort into trying to nail the killer may not be at the top of any therapist’s coping strategies, but for me it’s a way to stay sane. I’ll drive Art crazy calling him every ten minutes otherwise, and my temptation to insert myself into his investigation won’t end well.” She hesitated. “So this is all I have.”

Richard paused for a few seconds. “It isn’t everything you have, Silver.”

“Perhaps. But for now it’s the only way I have to fill the next ten hours today that won’t have me locked in a padded room by the end of the week.”

He conceded the point. She knew herself better than he did.

“Fair enough. You can depend on me for anything you need, Silver. Anything at all. I mean it.”

“I know you do, Richard. Thank you. Now I’m going to try to find Seth. I need him to run me a couple of errands.”

“I’ll call later, after my day’s over.”

“You know where I’ll be.”

They ended the conversation, and Silver stared at the handset for a good minute. Part of her wanted to ask him to come over and stay with her, hold her while the world collapsed around her, but another part wanted to push him away. She knew she’d need to deal with her feelings sooner than later, but today wasn’t the day.

She dialed Seth and was reassured when he picked up.

“Seth. How’s everything going?”

“Silver! Fine, I suppose. What about you?”

“I’m alive. That’s about as far as I’m willing to push it today.”

“Any…developments with the kidnapping?”

“No. They’re doing all the usual stuff, but so far, nothing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But they’re staying in touch?”

“Of course. Art is running it, and he’s top notch. But they don’t have a lot to work with. No call yet, so the motive is an unknown.”

Seth didn’t say anything. There really wasn’t much he could add that wouldn’t sound like a bromide.

“That’s not why I called, though. I heard about Sam and the task force, and I wanted to follow up on the traffic cam photos as well as the research you were doing on the similar incidents.”

“Yeah, well, Sam has decided to move the investigation in a different direction, and that got de-prioritized.”

“I heard. But I’m just sitting around my flat waiting for the phone to ring, so I thought I’d work that angle. You know how I feel about Sam’s theory. How far were you able to get on other crimes that might be associated in some way?”

“Boy, Silver. I finished the search on decapitations going back ten years, and all I can say is there are a lot of bizarre accidental deaths, as well as a few really sick bastards out there. But nothing connected in any obvious way.”

“What about geographically? Did you try filtering them and limiting the results to only the areas near the fires?”

“No. I never got that far. I was going to do that next, and also look for any connections with any of the names.”

“How long would it take?”

“It’s not a fast process. Sam’s got me doing a whole stack of other things now, focusing on the people at the latest victim’s brokerage. He’s really fixated on the Masenkoff feeder thing, as well as all the jihad buddies of the fourth victim’s partner.”

“Could you shoot me an e-mail with an outline of how to do the searches so I can take that on? I want to go through all the evidence to date and look at it with fresh eyes. Can’t hurt, and maybe I’ll have a breakthrough.”

“Sure. No problem. Give me a little time, and I’ll get it to you.”

“Thanks, Seth. I appreciate it.”

The bolt on the door slid open, startling Kennedy out of the half slumber she’d fallen into. She’d busied herself killing any spiders or other bugs she could find in the room to avoid a repeat performance once the lights were turned off again, but had exhausted the pursuit hours ago and was now left to her thoughts. She was no longer thirsty, but the headache was still bad. The breakfast bar had helped, but not to the point where she felt normal.

The door swung open, and the man stood looking into the room. Kennedy met his gaze.

“Bathroom time.”

She stood and dutifully moved ahead of him.

“Five minutes. You know the drill.”

She nodded and went in, closing the door behind her.

The window was far too high to reach, even if she could somehow balance on the toilet tank, which didn’t seem like a great idea. It looked old and decrepit and was fixed haphazardly to the wall. She studied the empty room with defeated resignation. There wasn’t much promise she could see from a toilet and a sink, and there were no cabinets or any junk lying around she could use. He had obviously sanitized the area of anything before bringing her there.

When she came out, he had a sandwich wrapped in plastic and a liter bottle of water.

He held up the sandwich. “Peanut butter and jelly.”

She eyed it distrustfully.

“It won’t kill you. I ate one a few minutes ago, and I’m still standing. Now come on. Back to the room.”

She clumped to the doorway and then stopped. “What are you going to do with me? Why did you take me?”

“None of your business. For now, be glad you’re getting food and water and being allowed to use the bathroom. I could feed you to the dogs, and nobody would ever know about it.”

“I don’t hear any dogs. And you don’t have any dog hair on your clothes. My friend has a dog, and she always has dog hair on her.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “What are you, Sherlock Holmes? I don’t go near the dogs. They’re too vicious. I just push food out through the mail slot, and they devour it.”

“Sher…Sherlock who?”

“Sherlock Holmes. What the hell do they teach in school these days?”

“I’ve heard of him,” she insisted unconvincingly.

He snorted. “He’s a detective. The greatest detective of all time. I can’t believe you don’t know that.”

Kennedy didn’t say anything.

“That’s it for now. I’ll be back later to let you use the bathroom again.”

A tear trickled down her cheek.

“How long are you going to keep me here?” she asked and then snuffled. She wiped the tear away with a trembling hand.

“As long as I need to. But you’re alive, aren’t you? I haven’t killed you or fed you to the mutts. So it could be worse.”

“Why did you take me?”

“That’s not your concern. I had my reasons. That’s all you need to know.”

Kennedy decided to try a different tack. “My mom is an FBI agent. She’ll be going crazy to find me.”

“I expect she will. I would.”

That wasn’t the response she had been expecting. “Then you know about that. So why am I here?”

“To give me an entertaining hobby. Now go in the room and keep quiet. There’s no escape, so don’t hurt yourself trying to come up with one, or you’ll be sorry. Just behave yourself, and you’ll be okay. That’s all I’m going to tell you.”

“Will you leave the light on?”

“If you’ll promise to be good.”

“There’s not many ways I could be bad in an empty room.”

“That was the whole point.”

“What if I have to go to the bathroom before you come again?”

“Hold it. Or do you want me to give you a bucket? It would be easier than me coming down here every five hours.”

So he was coming down from somewhere. That confirmed her feeling that she was in a basement. She’d never really been in one before, but had seen them on TV in police shows.

She gave him a dirty look. “I’ll try to hold it.”

“Do that.”

The door closed with a metallic clunk.

Silver drifted back into Kennedy’s room and touched random items on her desk, silently agonizing over the ordeal she must be going through. She wasn’t hugely religious, but had found herself praying, promising any kind of bargain if she could only have her daughter back safe. A part of her was afraid to imagine what could be going on — she’d spent far too much time looking at crime scene photos of innocents who had been subjected to unspeakable horrors by sick animals masquerading as normal people. She understood all too well the violations, the depravity that people were capable of. But it would do no good to allow her imagination to run away with itself.

Her eye caught something she’d missed earlier. In the closet. There were three empty hangers. She did a quick scan of the dirty clothes basket in the bottom but couldn’t find the clothes she was sure she had hung up.

What were they?

She was almost positive there were two stretchy tops and a pair of jeans.

Her pulse quickened, and she moved to the dresser, opening each drawer to see if anything was missing.

There. Panties and socks. She wasn’t sure how many, but there were fewer in the drawer than before.

A cautious flicker of hope glimmered to life within her. If the kidnappers had taken clothes, then they were planning on her needing them — which meant that they were planning on keeping Kennedy alive. At least for a while. There was no other reason to do so.

She ran to the living room and grabbed her phone and called Art’s cell. He listened patiently and agreed that was indeed positive. But beyond that agreement, it didn’t change much.

Still, it was a reason for optimism. And at this point she’d adopt it.

It meant that her little girl’s chances of being alive were better than she’d believed an hour ago.

Silver made her way to her computer by her bedroom window and sat. She quickly made a series of keystrokes and logged into the FBI network, then searched through her recent messages. There it was, from Seth. A series of files was attached to the main body.

The search results were collected in several batches, with precise instructions for modifying the parameters to change the searches. She opened another window and studied the reports of the interrogations, and then followed the step-by-step directions Seth had left, and created a new algorithm, looking for decapitations that were geographically-proximate, as well as in any way related to their three likeliest suspects.

She knew from Seth’s warning that the results would take some time to churn out — it wasn’t like the movies, where the super-sleuth agents waved their hands over the touch screen wall monitor and the processing power of a small sun yielded answers in nanoseconds. In the meantime, she busied herself reading the interviews with the two who hadn’t run headlong into a truck, searching for the smallest inconsistencies.

The Regulator was killing methodically, and his schedule, while accelerating, didn’t seem erratic. Most of the time when a serial increased the frequency, it was because his impulse control was breaking down, which was how they tripped up — they started making mistakes, cutting corners because they were in a hurry. But this killer hadn’t made any she could see, other than allowing himself to be photographed by the traffic cams — assuming that was even him.

The photos.

She opened Seth’s folder and studied the face — hard to make out in the shadows, even with the image enhancement. With all the facial hair and the cap, it was tough to be sure, but he looked older than the average psycho — which pointed to their Brooklyn possibility. Assuming her idea that the current killings were mirroring earlier incidences was even valid — a conviction that was rapidly fading. She pushed back from the keyboard in frustration — she was getting nowhere.

After pacing a few lengths of the living room, Silver moved into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, searching for something sweet. She was reaching for the box of emergency chocolates when a thought struck her with the force of a blow.

This serial was highly intelligent and had left nothing to chance. Did it make sense that type of meticulous planner would simply not notice, or ignore, the traffic cameras that even cursory research would have revealed? They had been working under some assumptions, and one of those was that he hadn’t known about them. But what if he had? What if he’d planned on being photographed because there was no way around it, and disguised himself to throw them further off the scent?

She hurried back to screen.

Pulling up the driver’s license photos of the three possibles, she ruled out the Pennsylvania PI. He had a round, cherubic face, and the man in the photos had a longer face. But it also still didn’t look much like either of the remaining two. Was it possible that her hunch was that far off?

Silver opened the secure e-mail browser and sent the images to the technicians, asking them to do their best to remove the facial hair. Also, to put a beard and long hair on their two driver’s license photos and to modify the noses to match the traffic cam shots. And to run facial recognition software to see if it could spot any similarities that her naked eye couldn’t.

She’d be lucky if she got those back by the next morning, but she wasn’t in a huge rush — it wasn’t like she had places to go. And what if one of the two looked like the traffic shot?

She understood why Sam was pushing in a different direction. The odds were against her theory holding water, but she couldn’t shake her feeling, so she resigned herself to putting in a few more hours before giving up. It would be worth seeing what the image experts could do, and check if any decapitations came up over the last ten years that could be connected to the fires.

In the end, it was going to be a marathon, not a sprint.