Page 2 of Vision of Justice
He sauntered out of the bath attached to his bedroom, shedding the towel at the closet to dress. Then he looped a tie beneath the collar of his button-up shirt, took his sidearm off the nightstand, and secured it in his shoulder holster.
“You live the life,” he said, scratching Gilligan behind one pointy ear. The lazy mutt only got out of bed when he smelled something cooking on the stove or needed to take a piss. The dog raised a lip and huffed, not happy to be disturbed. Time was a luxury he didn’t have, which meant a bagel to-go unless Julie had whipped something up. Given that the dog was still curled up on his bed though, it wasn’t likely. He flipped off the light and strode down the hall toward the kitchen.
“Hey, Jules.” His little sister sat on a barstool at the island finishing up her homework before class. Her backpack was on the floor beside her, her books and papers spread in a flurry over the table.
She grunted, acknowledging his presence. Like Gilligan, she wasn’t what he’d call a morning person. “Coffee’s fresh.”
“Thanks.” He got down a mug and filled it to the brim before turning to the island and topping off his sister’s sloths are my avatar cup. “Test today?”
“Adaptive learning,” she said without breaking stride in her notes as he grabbed a frozen cinnamon raisin bagel and threw it in the toaster.
Pride expanded in his chest. They’d done all right for themselves. Jules would be getting her Master’s in applied behavior analysis next spring to help those with differing abilities. He loved that she had grown into a compassionate young woman despite all they’d been through in their childhood. Sure, she was annoying like every younger sibling, left her stuff all over the place. Preferred to sleep away the day when she could, but she was the most important person in his life, and he wouldn’t trade her for anything. The toaster spit out the bagel, and he slathered it in cream cheese.
“All right, I’m out. Good luck today.” He slugged down the rest of his coffee, letting it burn down his throat.
“Knock ’em dead,” she called after him.
“You’ve got a sick sense of humor, kid.” He walked to the front door, shaking his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
The day flew by, it always did. Phone calls to the families of victims, witness interviews, paperwork upon paperwork. He was more than ready to call it a day by the time five o’clock rolled around. Maybe he’d grill up something for him and Jules, have a cold beer on the back deck.
He started to close out of his email when a meeting request popped up. The lieutenant had called an immediate conference in the debriefing room. He got to his feet, not wasting any time. The lieutenant rarely called on them, but when he did, it was important. The sounds of shuffling paper, ringing phones, and the slam of filing cabinets disappeared as he walked through the double doors, past the armory, and into the debriefing room. Several troopers were gathered, along with another member of the detective bureau.
He pulled out an open seat around the large conference table. The lieutenant stood by the dry erase board affixed to the wall, lips set in a tight, thin line.
“You’re all here, so I’ll get right to it. We have a request from the Charlton PD to take the lead on a case. Wright, Lambert,” he said, acknowledging the two detectives. “This might not be a homicide, but I want all hands on deck to this initial call.” The lieutenant planted his hands on his hips, the muscles in his neck taut. “A witness made an emergency call and stated she’d found Melissa Fletcher, twelve-year-old juvenile from the abduction in the Boston seaport area. The FBI is all over the scene, and the town wants to wipe their hands of a high-profile case. More than ever, we need to be by the book. The media is already swarming the address according to the investigator I just got off the phone with. The witness thinks the assailant may still be in the area.”
A few of the troopers had questions, but he and Wright were on the road in under ten minutes, headed toward the home of the witness. There was an empty feeling in his stomach the moment the missing teen’s name rolled off the lieutenant’s tongue. He took the first exit to the remote address. Cars edged to the side, allowing him to pass as his unmarked car flew by. If the emergency caller was correct about the juvenile’s identity, it was a miracle she’d been found alive. Three weeks ago, media outlets reported that she’d disappeared from the second floor of her home. Not only were there signs of a struggle, but the home security camera had recorded her being dragged by an unidentified assailant.
Just the thought of an innocent kid getting hurt made his jaw clench. It seemed like yesterday when Jules was around that age, and he had a hard enough time keeping her emotionally safe from their parents’ bitter divorce, and later, the threat of their father’s fists. Something had broken inside him after their mom’s affair, and he’d struggled with violent outbursts. It was the reason he wanted to be a cop. To be that person to offer comfort and protection. Maybe if he’d had someone he could trust, someone he could confide in, their childhood would’ve been a bit less rocky. He flipped on his directional and pulled down the side street that led to the address given by the lieutenant.
Two cruisers were parked along the street, including the K-9 unit that held Max, a beast of a German Shepherd. If the perpetrator was still in the area, it wouldn’t take long for Max to fetter him out. He shifted his car into park just as he spotted the ambulance’s red and white strobes flaring in his rear-view mirror. Media vans from four competing channels sat on the other side of the street, news reporters standing in the middle of the road to get the perfect shot of the witness’s home. It was easy to see why the local PD wanted to play hot potato with this case. He got out of the car, slammed his door shut, and paced toward the driveway. Neon crime scene tape surrounded the two-story colonial. Clean white siding accented with blue shutters and a wraparound porch spoke to a homeowner who took pride in their property. The house was set back from the road, right on the edge of dense forest. The hairs on his arms prickled. Plenty of places for an assailant to take cover and also watch the home.
Trooper Justin Ricardo was standing just inside the barrier with a clipboard. He was new to the force, but he’d proven to be extremely adept at handling tough calls, and he was always willing to help out where he was needed. He stopped briefly so Ricardo could bring him up to speed, and he signed into the scene. With two troopers already guarding the victim and the EMTs retrieving their equipment from the ambulance, he checked in with those searching the woods for the perpetrator.
“Detective Lambert calling the K-9 unit. What’s your location? I’m here to assist,” he said into his radio, already skirting around the front of the property to the backyard.
Static crackled through the line. “Quarter-mile down the backyard trail. Over.”
“Received.” He narrowed his eyes as he crossed the backyard toward the wooded area behind the sprawling back porch. The trail was easy to identify. Someone made good use of it. The grass was bent from footfalls, and he’d only taken a few steps onto the trail before he noticed paw prints in front of the tread of large boots. He frowned at two deep grooves in the dirt, like someone had dragged their feet all the way to the opening. A hum reverberated through the trees, and he looked up to see the police department drone hovering overhead. Any resource the department had would be used to put the abductor behind bars. He caught up to them after about a mile and a half. The K-9 unit was stopped off the trail, staring down at something.
“What do you see?” He came to stand beside Trooper Brian Thompson and his K-9 Max. Wind tossed the tree branches, stirring up a terrible scent that made his nose twitch.
“This is where the victim was kept.” Thompson’s face was set in a scowl, his brows drawn together.
“Crime Scene Investigator?” Over the deep pit was a steel door, like the type you might find over a metal bulkhead. A broken chain dangled off one of the handles. Whoever had stumbled upon the victim must look like The Hulk to damage a lock like that, except the only footprints he’d seen were barely a size five.
“On their way.” Thompson was already signaling to Max. “I’ll catch up to Rowan and Bingo.”
He nodded, and Max took off through the woods, his handler at his heels. It went unspoken that he would stay and secure the scene until the others arrived, then he’d circle back to the house and get a statement from the witness.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d made his way to the front yard of the house. The FBI agents would follow the victim to the hospital to continue the questioning, while they handled the grunt work at the scene. EMTs were wheeling a gurney toward the ambulance, trailed by FBI agent Lena Nilsson, and a woman who must have made the emergency call. Officers were blocking the view of the media, but cameras flashed incessantly behind them. He stayed a few feet back, surveying the nosey crowd of bystanders for anyone who might look a little too excited about the scene playing out.
Although the agent’s voice was quiet, her calm tone was still audible. “Okay, Melissa, the ambulance will take you to the hospital, and I’ll be right behind you the whole way.”
The teenager shot a worried glance at the woman standing near her legs. She was still in running clothes, a shock of red hair pulled back into a ponytail. When the kid worried her lip with her teeth, looking back and forth from the agent to the woman, he had to fight the surge of anger that flared through his stomach. It wasn’t always easy to compartmentalize cases, especially those involving children, and this one was terrified. Her bound hands and sallow face made him want to pound his fists into the abductor’s face. Christ, he hated how cruel humans could be. The idea that someone in the crowd could be the suspect, watching their prize get away, put every cell in his body on high alert.
“Would you like me to ride in the ambulance with you?” Now the runner was leaning down, searching the girl’s face. The kid nodded feverishly, eyes locked on the woman who’d somehow managed to free her. The runner had been smart to leave the rope on the girl’s wrists because it was going to hurt like hell to get it removed. Another wave of fury pulsed hot beneath his skin. The EMTs would give her something for the pain and they could reassess the damage to her hands at the hospital.