Chapter Twenty-Four
For the next hour, Mike methodically reviewed performance evaluations, market research charts, and sales stats. Once he finished those, he delved into employee records. He chose, then eliminated potential suspects from among well-placed Northland employees. His choices were slim.
Then it hit him. Like a ton of bricks.
Caitlin had always insisted someone from the union had a hand in the scare tactics against her. Tom Jaspers. The more Mike thought about it, the more likely it was that Jaspers was a suspect. Even more so than Keith, since Jaspers had more to gain financially and much less to lose.
But as with Keith, Mike’s gut said Jaspers wasn’t the one. He trusted his gut and eliminated him. Jaspers was solid, a stand-up guy. But Jasper’s chief committee man? He was a much different kind of guy. Mike’s fingers rubbed his forehead as if massaging memory. What was his name? Dan, Dan Moore. That was it. He grabbed the phone to call Rachel. He didn’t know why. Just wanted to run his idea past her. He could play detective, too.
Later, feeding off Rachel’s enthusiasm for his new theory, Mike punched data into his computer, accessing Moore’s employment records. He printed a copy. Moore had access to all Northland’s departments. He had worked in shipping when Buddy Stein did. He presently worked with Kirby Metz on a Co-op team. He served as grievance rep for Ivan Schwartz. All the key players connected to him.
He grabbed the phone again, this time to check on Moore’s attendance. He had not reported to work yesterday, but did today. No sooner had Mike disconnected when it rang again. An outside call. Maybe Vince.
“Rafferty...”
“You tol’ me I’d get special pay for my work the other night,” the guttural voice rasped. “I got my pay, a redhead bitch. Others told me I’d get extra, but they backed off. I ’spect my new plan blows their operation to hell.”
Mike heard heavy machinery and trucks in the call’s background. “What do you want? How much money?”
“Shit, I got me enough money. Don’t want nothin’ ya can give me. This redheaded bitch’ll take care of that debt. Lookin’ forward to it.”
Listening to the man, Mike detested the images skipping through his mind. If he wanted Caitlin back alive, he better curb his imagination and stay calm. He counted to ten.
“I ’spect she’ll put up some fight. Just like before. Feisty bitch. Like ’em that way.”
He heard a chilling laugh. Rachel’s coffee cramped his stomach. Another gut instinct followed. Time was running out for Caitlin—and for them. “What’s the purpose of keeping Ms. Donnelly? Without her, you can travel faster and safer.” He grabbed at straws, anything to keep the guy on the line, perhaps identify where he might be. Damn, why hadn’t he had a tracing device put on this phone?
“I need me a woman, a red-headed woman. That’s why I got her. Never had me one. Tell me, man, she any better than—”
Temper erupting like lava, he cut the man off. “You bastard!” Caution turned to volcanic ash.
“Yeah, you think about us. That’ll triple my fun. Almost like you was really watchin’.”
The caller enjoyed baiting him. Clenching his fists, Mike wished nothing more than to use them to turn the caller’s face to bloody pulp.
“I’ll bring her down. Make her beg. Don’t worry, asshole. I always travel solitary. Say, you want her back after I’m done? How ’bout in pieces? Wrapped with black ribbons? Maybe a spike? That’d be damn good...”
Mike heard a dial tone. The bastard had hung up.
Sweat trickled down his spine. His shaking hand cradled the receiver. Vince had to find Caitlin, if it wasn’t too late already. He raced from his office, the door slamming behind him and headed toward Metz’s office.
That damn peacock better be there. He’d break every bone in his body to get information from him. Whatever it took, he’d do.
****
Metz wasn’t in his office.
Rachel said he had called her again. “He’s been detained at his meeting. He sounded upset, but not as much as you. What’s wrong?”
His stomach roiled and rumbled as a picture of Caitlin in the hands of that madman pricked his imagination. From their conversation, the guy had broken with his cohorts. A real loose cannon now, functioning on his own.
Gulping breaths to calm himself, he told Rachel about the phone call. “Do you have any idea where Metz’s meeting is today? Doesn’t he leave a log sheet of where he’ll be?”
“Always, but it’s rarely accurate. That’s one of the issues Caitlin has documented.”
A clicking of metal-tipped leather shoes interrupted them. Rachel looked at Mike’s anger-flushed face. “I’m going with you. I don’t want you to murder him. He’s not worth it.”
They heard Metz’s phone ring as they neared his office. Since he had left the door partially open, they stopped in the hallway and listened to his conversation.
“Okay, okay, Moore, I’ll get on it. I was held up. We got some snafus in our system that had to be ironed out. Bring the list down. I’ll phone them in right away.”
Mike recognized the name Moore, bellowed like a bull irritated at a red cape, and slammed into Metz’s office. Rachel’s restraining hand fell useless to her side. In full battle stance, Mike grabbed the man by the lapels of his well-tailored suit.
“No excuses. Tell me what you know about Ivan Schwartz!” Naturally strong and athletic, he lifted Metz, like a piece of rubbish from his office chair. Anger strengthened him as he shook the man like a pit bull grabbing its weaker opponent. His action set off-kilter the carefully placed toupee on Metz’s head. His watery blue eyes looked into Mike’s smoldering eyes, and the smaller man shrunk into himself.
“Tell me, you bastard, where does Schwartz have Caitlin.”
Metz’s tanned face slackened with Mike’s tightening grip. “Caitlin? With Schwartz? Who’s that? How should I know where she is?” Fear spiked the man’s voice to falsetto soprano.
Mike smelled the fear on the man. It overrode his obnoxious cologne. “Look, I’m not a police officer. I don’t have to play games or read you your rights.” Mike’s fist and blunt fingers tightened their grip, not only on the lapels but on Metz’s necktie. A bluish-red tinge suffused the man’s face. “Tell me, damn it!”
“I’ll leave you to handle this, Mike,” Rachel spoke from the doorway, closed the door, and stood guard outside.
“Rachel, come back here,” Mike yelled after a few minutes. Rachel re-entered Kirby’s office and waved an interoffice mailer at Metz. “This what you were waiting for? From Moore? He handed it to me while I waited in the hall. I wonder what it contains…”
Metz gurgled a choked answer.
She touched the knotted muscles of Mike’s back in a gentle massaging motion. “Loosen up, Mike. I think he’s got something to say.” She got no reaction from Mike, but Metz turned a deeper shade of burgundy.
“Mike? Loosen up!” His tense muscles relaxed and Metz slumped forward. The smaller man gasped for air. He wheezed while Mike stood dazed, looking at him.
“Damn you! Talk.” Mike snarled.
“Try old…farmhouse…State Line Road.” Metz rubbed his throat and neck. “Need water.” At Mike’s okay, Rachel poured some from the office carafe. Metz gulped down what she poured.
“Not good directions, Metz. Be more specific.”
“Can’t talk. Your fault,” Metz sputtered and nearly choked on his last gulp of water.
Mike handed him a pad and pen. “Then write and be accurate.”
It took only a few minutes for Kirby to produce two places with map-like directions. As he drew the maps and wrote directions, he kept glancing at the door.
Rachel noticed his actions. “If you’re expecting Dan Moore, forget it. I met him in the hall, remember? Sent him away, but I have his information. He mentioned a noon deadline? “ She opened the mailer and scanned the contents. “Looks interesting. Detective Bertoli should find this very incriminating.” She turned to Mike. “I’ll call security to guard him.”
When the guard arrived, Mike explained the situation. “Don’t let him out of your sight except to an officer.”
“If this S.O.B. had anything to do with Horace being hurt, no one will get him away from me. Unless Detective Bertoli shows up.” The guard looked flinty-eyed at Metz who cowered behind the desk.
“No calls or visitors, Jack. Watch him like a hawk. Any false moves, assume the worst and take appropriate action,” Mike paused, raised a menacing eyebrow and asked. “Didn’t I hear you were in a Special Forces unit in the service?”
“Yep, I’ll handle this situation just fine. No problem.”
Mike nodded approval and led Rachel toward her office. Heading down the corridor, he recounted his theory about Dan Moore being involved in this whole mess.
“But there needs to be another one, someone higher up, someone in management. Though I agree with you, Mike. I don’t think it’s Mr. Jantzen.”
“Or Caitlin.” Mike opened Rachel’s office door and followed her in.
“Caitlin? Wherever did you get that idea?”
“Vince mentioned that possibility.”
“What about me?” Vince entered Rachel’s office.
Rachel lashed out at him. “You idiot! I can’t believe you think Caitlin could be involved in this or Mr. Jantzen. What’s gotten into you?”
Resignation etched deeper lines in Vince’s face. “Nothing, Rachel, I’m a police officer. I examine all possibilities. That’s the nature of my job, but it doesn’t mean I agree with them.” He cleared his throat. “I found Stokes. Talked with him. He doesn’t believe he’s in danger but if he is, he’s been warned. That man can cover his back. He’s prepared. And very good.”
Mike nodded at this news. “Does he know anything we don’t? Had he talked with Caitlin?”
“He believes Northland has a strong, well-established gambling and drug ring. Metz is actively involved as are many in the shipping department. Stokes thinks Caitlin was getting too close to uncovering the system.”
“I’ll warn Bob Krok to be even more cautious. Anything more about Caitlin?”
“Stokes intends to continue on the case. He hears a lot on his nightly rounds. He’s thinking there’s been some type of major falling out among the players. He thinks Schwartz is working on his own.” Vince paused.
“Tell me the rest, whatever you’re holding back. I can handle it.” Mike had no intention of not knowing what was happening.
“I can handle it, too,” Rachel chimed in.
“Metz is in big trouble with the head honcho. Stokes thinks that person’s an outsider, just using well-placed insiders like Metz. But he doesn’t know why Northland was picked for the drug trade other than it ships material world-wide and receives shipments from all over. After hearing about Caitlin, he’s kinda working for us now, not just Northland.”
“Good, now listen to what I’ve uncovered.” Mike settled on the edge of his chair and recounted the morning’s events. “So I have these two directions as possibilities. The phone call must have come from a phone booth on the interstate or a main highway because of the traffic sounds I heard in the background. We don’t have much time left.”
“You can’t go off half-cocked to these places. Metz could be sending you out on wild goose chases. However, let’s say he did tell you the truth. What if you do find her with Schwartz? Do you think you could take him alone?”
“Probably.” Mike didn’t like the skepticism and anger rising from Vince.
“Not! Damn it, look. You did well, but this situation has now moved way beyond your league. We’ll handle it. That’s why we get paid so well.” Mike’s face hardened in disagreement. “Okay, how’s this? You can come along. Fair enough?”
“Fair. Let’s get going.” Mike pulled his tie off and opened his shirt collar. He itched to be wearing jeans and running shoes.
“Whoa, we plan this carefully.”
“Planning takes time. Damn it. Cait’s out of time, even you agreed. He said he’d send her back in pieces.”
“But planning saves lives and won’t take that long. Slow down. We don’t need screw-ups with this.” Vince headed for the extra phone on Rachel’s desk.
“He’s right, Mike. I’d like to see you on your way right now. But I want Caitlin, and you, back here, alive and safe.” Rachel’s long fingers twisted a pencil, which snapped as the pace increased.
“I’ll give him an hour. Just an hour to get organized.” Mike set the timer on his watch. “In the meantime, I’m going to Caitlin’s office and call Bob Krok.” He nodded toward Vince. “When he gets off the phone, tell him about Dan Moore and Metz’s gray mailer. Not to mention, he needs to get an officer in here to pick up Kirby.”
****
Her wrist bonds loosened. She sawed back and forth against the spring, often jabbing and tearing the skin at her wrists. Her captor had left her. Just how long he’d be gone this time, or how long he’d already been gone, she couldn’t judge. Time lost meaning. Only memories of Mike and home had value, but would she ever see them again?
Her lower legs, feet and toes were numb. She couldn’t wriggle her toes. Tired and so cold. Sleep. That’s what she wanted. Fight sleep.
Her eyes darted to the scarred tabletop not far from her daybed. Black satin ribbons taunted her, urging her to break free. Her face was wet. Was she crying? Tears wouldn’t help. She struggled against the broken spring, wriggling her hands, and felt her wrist bonds give way.
Was this her miracle? Had she done it? Biting her lip against the searing pain, she wiggled her hands. Rushing blood and tingling pain zapped her palms, her fingers, and even her nail beds.
“Yes!” she screamed inside herself, fearful of making noise in case he lurked outside. Be careful. Don’t move too quickly. Don’t do anything to alert him if he’s watching. Think of Mike. Home. Warmth.
He couldn’t be inside or she’d smell him. She inched her tortured hands from beneath her out toward her sides, then up, and toward her tummy. Her arms weighed a ton. Her fingers refused to move. Pain nauseated her and she fought dry heaves. Be strong. Think home. Mike.
She struggled to raise her hands to check the damage to her wrists. With minute care, she moved her prickling fingers, one at a time. “Please, dear God, let me get my ankles untied. Give me the strength to get out of here before he returns.” She spotted those black satin ribbons. Adrenalin pumped through her. She flexed her hands again and pushed herself up.
She smelled him before she saw him.
“Your goin’ to look damn sexy in black ribbons, bitch.”