GIRL JACKED (Crime and Punishment Mystery Thriller Series) Read online

  “Fine, I’m fine.” He closed his eyes. “Get dressed.”

  Jack waited, but her hands held his face. He could still feel her breath hot on his neck. He softly shook his head. She slid her hands down his cheeks, and he relaxed a little. Then he felt her hands move underneath his arms.

  “Let me help you up.”

  Jack kept his eyes closed as she struggled to lift him. He felt her body press against his and he managed to stand and lean against the door. He felt her lean up to him as she held him upright; her arms encircled his waist.

  He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. “I’m okay.” His voice sounded odd, and he realized he held his breath. He looked down to find Replacement’s eyes waiting to search his. Her mouth was open, and her lips glistened.

  Jack could feel the heat radiate off her, and he panicked. “I’m fine.” He guided her away from him and looked away. “Really.”

  “Let me help you,” Replacement protested and began to slide her arm back around his waist.

  Jack hurriedly turned. “Thank you. I’m okay.” As softly as he could, he slipped away from her hold, opened the door, and retreated into the safety of the bedroom. Just before it closed behind him, he caught a glimpse of a pair of very confused emerald eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The Tape

  He’d tried to go to bed early but failed. Jack rolled over and looked at the clock. Nine forty-five. He couldn’t sleep again. He rolled out of bed and hobbled into the living room. Replacement sat at the computer. She didn’t turn around but waved him over. Jack limped up behind her and saw a video playing on the monitor.

  “This is the file.” Her voice was low and monotone, and for the first time he heard real fear in her voice. Next to her the notebook lay open, “Password = C00KI3$” scrawled on a page.

  Jack turned to watch what had her so spooked. The tape showed a close-up of a man’s face. A leather band strapped his head down to a bed. It was hard to judge his age, but he looked to be at least in his thirties. His hair was long, greasy, and unkempt. He had sores on his lips and face.

  Drug addict. A bum too, from the looks of it.

  His eyelids were taped open, and a plastic bit or gag was in his mouth.

  “Is there audio?”

  Replacement cringed, but she turned up the speakers.

  Jack looked back at the man. They could hear him moaning. He’d seen the tape on the eyes before.

  Iraq.

  Jack had been doing a door-to-door in Iraq, chasing an insurgent. They’d come into a room with two dead bodies in chairs. Their eyes had been taped open. The torturers had wanted the men to see what they were doing to them.

  Who tortures a homeless guy? And why did Michelle have a video of it?

  Jack stood up and forced himself to put weight on his hurt leg.

  The man on the tape made a gurgling noise as he tried to speak.

  From somewhere off screen, they could hear a voice, but Jack couldn’t make it out.

  The room darkened even more, and they could hear some computerized clicks, beeps, and a strange humming sound. The man began to struggle against the straps. There was a loud crunching sound, and he screamed in agony. The gag in his mouth distorted his groans.

  “Whaaa…why?” he managed to say.

  From off camera, someone responded, but even though Jack turned the volume all the way up, they couldn’t make it out.

  The man started to thrash again. Tears poured over his face and sweat matted his hair. He frantically shook his head.

  A massive sob erupted from behind the gag in his mouth, and he choked on his own saliva. Replacement looked away.

  “Please.” In spite of the gag, the word was clear. He thrashed against the restraints.

  “I can’t watch this.” Replacement ran to the bedroom.

  Jack took the chair. He was so angry he didn’t feel human.

  He couldn’t tell what the person off camera was saying, but he knew the next sound they made. He heard someone laugh as the poor man on the table continued to sob. There was the sound of another bone being broken and the man’s body flopped on the table.

  The man’s muffled voice called out, “Please, God! Please…” and the tape ended.

  Jack found himself staring at the ceiling again. His whole body hurt, but his head was killing him. He checked the clock. Eleven ten. With a groan, he rolled onto his side and reached for the phone, and sat up as he dialed.

  “Dad? Sorry to call so late.”

  “Hey, kid. How are you feeling?” His father was attempting to mask the fact that he’d been asleep.

  “Good, good, much better.” Physically, that is.

  “What’s up, son?” His father’s voice always made him sit up straighter. He didn’t know why. He was one of the kindest men he’d ever met.

  “Dad, I need some advice.”

  Jack jumped back and forth as he relayed the events of the last few weeks, but he laid out everything. He spoke about Replacement, Collins, and Michelle as they talked for over two hours. His father listened and asked a few questions to clarify a point here or to have him repeat something there.

  “What do you think?” Jack held his breath as he waited for a response.

  “Jack, I know they found drugs in her system, but that doesn’t match with the Michelle we knew. Michelle would never do drugs. She…” His voice trembled, and Jack felt as if someone had squeezed his own heart.

  I’m a thoughtless jerk. Dad knew her. He loved her too.

  “Sorry,” his father continued. “You need to be careful. Jack, what do you think?”

  “I have no real proof, but you’re right, that isn’t the Michelle I knew, unless I didn’t really know her…” He almost whispered the last part.

  “Now you’re just beating yourself up, Jack. You knew Michelle.”

  “I pushed them out of my life. I didn’t know anything about what she was like recently.”

  “Jack. The truth is I don’t know everything about your mother.” He paused. “I don’t know her favorite movie. Do you know what that means? It means I should ask her. It doesn’t mean I don’t love her. You loved Michelle as a sister, and you knew her. Do you love me, Jack?”

  “You know I do, Dad.” Jack was now trying not to cry. He couldn’t remember crying in front of his father—his mom, yes—but never Dad.

  “What’s my favorite movie?”

  Jack lost it. He babbled, “Sorry,” before he dissolved into tears.

  He wiped his eyes and put his head in his hands.

  “Dad, what’s wrong with me? I’ve turned into a total pansy.”

  “No. You’ve always kept everything in, Jack. That’s not good. I’m not telling you to go on Dr. Phil, but you have to let it out from time to time. You didn’t do that when you were a little boy, and you didn’t do that after you came back from Iraq, and now…now it’s coming out. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. I shouldn’t…I got it good. I’m just…”

  “Jack. I’ve always been one hundred percent straight with you, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m no therapist, but the first seven years of your life sucked. Life after that wasn’t a picnic for you either. You’ve had it tough. You’ve tried to bury all that crap like it didn’t happen, and it doesn’t bother you. That’s like trying to bury toxic waste in your backyard. It doesn’t work. It will kill you.”

  “What should I do? How do I let it out?”

  “You have a choice, Jack. That stuff happened. You can’t bury it. You have to face it.”

  “How?” he whispered, more to himself.

  “It will come, Jack. Just let it.”

  “But Dad, I get…I get so angry…”

  “Jack, I know you don’t want to hear this but you have to face your demons. It happened. Life’s hard. Yeah, you got knocked down, but wipe your nose and get up.”

  Dad, I can’t. I can’t face them. I can’t win.

  “Dad, don’t
tell Mom, all right?” Jack wiped his eyes.

  “I won’t tell her. If I did, she’d come up there and kick your butt for being such a baby.”

  Jack’s mother was one of the kindest, sweetest people he’d ever met. He’d never heard her yell. His father’s joke was so out of character for Jack’s mother he laughed at the thought of it. They both laughed for a couple minutes. Jack’s head hurt, and now his sides did too. He needed that.

  “Dad, what’s your favorite movie?” Jack sniffled.

  “The Seven Samurai.”

  “The one where the Samurai help out the farmers?”

  “Yes. Jack, if you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do…please be careful.” His father sounded worried.

  “I will. I’m not afraid of a fight, Dad.”

  “Well, I don’t like you to fight, but remember, if you’re going to fight, fight to win.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Following the Bread Crumbs

  Early the next morning, Jack watched as Replacement checked her makeup in the hall mirror.

  “Where are you going?” Jack asked her again.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours. I told you about a computer job I have. Well, I used to have it. I do their website, and they need me again. The extra money would help out around here.” She shrugged.

  “You?” Jack couldn’t help making a face.

  “Thanks.” She spun back around, and he hardly recognized her. She’d come back that morning with a new hair trimmed and colored. Her medium brown hair was now almost black. Her ponytail was gone, and her shoulder-length hair hung down. It was a business look that went with her blue skirt and blouse. “Can I use the car?”

  “The car? My car.” Jack groaned, but then tossed her the keys. “Now I’m trapped.”

  “I won’t be late. Mrs. Stevens is right downstairs. Bye.” She waved and headed out the door.

  Jack flexed his wrist; his arm felt fine. Next, he tested his leg.

  Yeah, still hurts like hell.

  The bruise on his thigh was fading, but the muscles still throbbed.

  He forced himself to walk normally into the kitchen. After filling a large cup with coffee, he headed back to the computer.

  No reason I can’t work.

  Jack sat down and propped his leg up on a little footstool under the desk. The computer beeped as he logged in to the police database. He wanted to look for the guy from the tape again.

  Jack pulled up the mug shots and tried to limit them by gender, race, age, and arrests. He shook his head. The list was huge. He took a swig of coffee and forced himself to stop and think.

  There are too many results. Narrow the field. I need to break it down somehow.

  He flipped back to the video file and just stared at it. “XPC 15 Interview — Part 1.” The date was December 19.

  That’s when she put the file on her phone. The nineteenth. Michelle died on the twenty-first. Two days. Two days.

  He looked at the file. “XPC 15 Interview – Part 1.” Date Created: December 19. Jack tapped his fingers on the desk. He switched over to the Internet and searched for DATE CREATED.

  “The Date Created is the date the file was copied. When you copy a file, you CREATE a copy of the file in the new location.”

  So the nineteenth is when Michelle copied the file to her phone, not when the video was recorded.

  “DATE MODIFIED is the last time the file was actually changed. Moving or copying doesn’t affect the Date Modified.”

  The date modified would be the date inside the computer when the file was last modified or recorded. That’s the date the video was recorded.

  He opened the video and selected the properties. Date Modified. October 20—one year ago.

  Bingo.

  He switched back to the mug shots, this time calling up old photos. Male, white, twenties, meth.

  Yes.

  The man from the video was on the first page. Charlie Harding. He was twenty-three.

  Twenty-three? He looked forty.

  Charlie had been arrested a number of times. All of them were for either drinking, drugs, or because it was cold. Jack shook his head. Being homeless in winter meant that you got creative. If the shelters were full, you could freeze to death, so a few homeless people would try to get themselves arrested so they could get a warm bed and some food. Trespassing or shoplifting was the usual ticket.

  Someone reported Charlie missing in December that same year. Jack frowned. It took two months for someone to figure out he was gone? The person who reported him missing was Hank Foster. Under “Relationship,” the file said, “Sponsor.”

  Must be an AA sponsor.

  There was an address and number listed for Foster. Jack knew he should call first, but it would be just as easy to swing over, and he preferred that.

  He got up, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door but then stopped.

  I don’t have a car.

  Throwing the jacket down, he went back and reread the missing person report. Hank Foster listed Charlie as having “substance abuse issues.” Charlie’s rap sheet was long. They’d arrested him for drugs, alcohol, and meth numerous times.

  Jack leaned over, grabbed the phone, and dialed.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. I’m looking for Hank Foster.” Jack smiled. On an interview course, he’d learned that people could hear a smile in your voice, so he forced himself to smile when he spoke on the phone.

  “You got him. How can I help?”

  “My name is Jack Stratton. I’m a police officer with the Darrington County Sheriff’s Office and I’m calling about the missing person’s report that you filed.”

  “Oh, okay. What do you want to know about her?”

  Jack paused.

  “Hank, I’d like to swing by and speak with you. Are you still located on Pine Hill?”

  “I am.”

  “Will you be around…later this evening?”

  “It matters how late. I have an AA meeting at eight o’clock, and it can run late.”

  “Where would that be?”

  “It’s at the VFW out near Houton’s Pond. Do you have any more information about Tiffany?”

  Tiffany? Another missing person? One guy files two different missing person reports?

  “I’ll meet you after your meeting. Hank, I’m reconciling the reports and need Tiffany’s middle name. Can you confirm it for me?”

  “Tiffany Marie McAllister.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Jack hung up the phone and started to type. The case came up on the screen. Tiffany McAllister had gone missing five months prior to Michelle.

  Looks like Foster was a little late in reporting her missing.

  They had found her body a few days before he filed the report. The medical examiner had listed her as a Jane Doe.

  At least the report he filed attached a name to the body.

  Jack read the police report. The cleaning crew found her behind the Imperial Motor Lodge. The ME listed the cause of death as a meth overdose. Shot it.

  The Imperial is a popular hangout for prostitutes.

  Jack switched programs and ran Tiffany’s information. Prostitution and drug arrests scrolled up the screen. He looked at her age: nineteen.

  He printed out the report and then pulled up her picture. She looked younger than nineteen. She also looked ashamed. With her short brown hair and green eyes, she could have passed for Replacement’s sister.

  Jack ran Hank Foster. He’d done time for assault and armed robbery fifteen years ago. He had arrests for drugs and prostitution at that time too. The arrest wasn’t for being a john. He’d been a pimp. Jack continued to type. Assault on girlfriend. Assault on a police officer. Hank served five years and got five years probation.

  Habitual offender. Now he files two missing person reports? One was tortured. Replacement had best be back in time.

  Jack printed out a still from Charlie Harding’s video and pushed the mouse away. His h
ead pounded, and he wanted a drink, but that was also the last thing he wanted. With a groan, he grabbed Tiffany’s report from the printer, walked over to the couch, and stretched out.

  A few minutes later, the papers fell to the floor as Jack fell asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Girl Jacked

  IRAQ

  Jack’s shirt clung to him like a damp towel. He shifted his assault rifle in his arms and continued to scan the crowd.

  A lot of people moved by their checkpoint. The families going home chattered back and forth. Besides the heat, the feeling was upbeat.

  He turned to Chandler. “Are you hot?”

  “Yeah.” A cocky grin spread across his big friend’s face as he nodded his head. “That’s what all the ladies say.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You shut up,” Chandler shot back. “It’s two hundred degrees out. What a stupid question. I’m about to spontaneously combust.” He laughed and finished off another bottle of Gatorade.

  Jack turned to look at the approaching crowd. Something was wrong. People talked all around, but a strange pocket of silence approached them. He scanned the faces and noticed the source of the silence. A woman dressed in a black burqa walked with a little girl dressed in the same head-to-toe black dress. He could only see their eyes because of the slit on the front. Other than that, they were covered.

  Many women wore burqas, but there was something wrong with this pair. The mother kept the girl at arm’s length as they walked.

  “Chandler. One o’clock.” Jack nodded toward the approaching pair.

  Chandler stood next to Jack on the left. His smile vanished when he saw them approach.

  “The mother is freaked.” Jack’s chin tipped up. “She’s probably being forced to wear a vest and is trying to keep the little girl out of the way. Can we separate them?”

  “I can get the girl.” Chandler walked toward the edge of the crowd.

  Jack moved to the right.

  Chandler looked back, and Jack nodded. Chandler kept moving.

  The crowd kept shying away from the pair. The mother and daughter picked up the pace as a pocket formed around them. Jack looked at the girl. Judging by her height, she was six or seven years old. He could see her rich brown eyes. They gleamed. She was happy. She had no idea of the danger she was in.