Abducted: A Jake Badger Mystery Thriller (6 page)

Chapter 10

Wednesday Morning

Wilson and I were just about
to leave for the office when someone knocked on my door. It was too early for
visitors. I whispered for Wilson to go into the bedroom. He did. I stepped to
the wall at the side of the door and pulled my .357.

“Who is it?”

“Jake, it's me, Heidi.”

I took a deep breath and let
it out. I put my gun away and opened the door.

“I know it's early,” Heidi
said, stepping inside. “But I haven't seen you in several days and haven't seen
Monica coming around to help you with your rehab. Is everything okay?”

Since Heidi is a good friend
and lives next door, she often comes over in her around-the-house uniform: very
small tight shorts and a tight tank top with nothing underneath to support her
considerable femininity.

I hadn't told her what had
happened, but she could see in my face that all was not well.

“Jake, what is it? What
happened?”

“It’s okay, Wilson. You can
come out.”

I asked Heidi to sit down and
explained to her about Monica being abducted.

“Oh, Jake,” she said,
clutching her hands over her heart. “That's terrible.” Tears welled up in her
eyes. “Who would do something like that?”

I took it as more of a
rhetorical question.

Then she asked, “What can I
do to help?”

Her offer caught me off
guard. She's a sweet person and would do anything I asked her to do.

“Heidi,” I said, “it's very
kind of you to offer, but this is a dangerous situation. The LAPD and the FBI
are involved. We'll find her.”

“But you and Monica risked
your lives for me. You rescued me from that maniac, Pipestone. I have to do
something to help. What can I do?”

I thought for a moment. “Do
you believe in prayer?”

“Of course.”

“So do I. It would be very
helpful if you would pray for Monica's safe return.”

She was crying now, and
nodding. “I'll do it, Jake. I'll pray for Monica and for you.”

“Thank you. I know it will
make a difference.”

Heidi had experienced a
terrible trauma the week before I was shot, when Jasper Pipestone kidnapped and
tortured her. Monica and I rescued her and I knew that hearing of Monica’s
abduction brought back the horrible memories of her own experience. I didn’t
want to just tell her what happened and send her away, so I offered her a cup
of tea. She accepted. We chatted for a few minutes while she sipped her tea.
She wanted to know how the search was progressing, so I told her what we had
done so far. As she finished her tea, she offered again to do anything she
could to help. I thanked her again and she left.

Wilson and I got to our
office at eight thirty. I got the coffee maker going for Mildred and made
myself a cup of tea, putting it in my travel mug so I could drink it on the way
to Alex's office. I told Wilson I'd pick him up from Mildred's.
He woofed that he would be okay.
I knelt and gave him a good
scratch behind the ears; he gave me a couple of good licks on the side of my
face.

When I walked into Alex's
office at nine twenty, Susan sat in one of his guest chairs.

“Morning, Jake,” Alex said,
sounding agitated. “Look who dropped in for a visit.
”

“Hello, Susan,” I said. “Nice
to see you.”

“Nice you see you, Jake,” she
said. “I wish the circumstances were better.”

“Me, too.”

She was wearing a pair of
snug jeans, the female version of a yellow Oxford button down, black leather
boots, and a navy blazer. Her black shoulder-length hair was silky, and her
dark eyes radiated an intensity that suggested both intelligence and passion.
She smelled good.
Obsession
, I think.
Very nice.

“My little sister,” Alex
said, “has informed me that she will be joining us today for a ride along. Isn't
that just swell?”

His annoyance made me smile.
I could imagine the two of them as teenagers—the brilliant, nerdy older
brother and the pretty,
confident
, sometimes bossy,
little sister.

“Well,” I said, “we could
always overpower her and lock her in a holding cell.”

She looked at me with one of
those,
Oh please
, expressions.

“Alex,” she said, “I don't
see what you're so upset about. I just need to ride along and observe. I'm
nearing the end of my Ph.D. in forensic psychology. I'm hoping to work for the
FBI. I need to be familiar with how things work. Who better to show me than my
big brother, who just happens to be a Special Agent in Charge in the L.A. office
of the FBI?”

“I hope the FBI does hire
you,” Alex said. “And if they do, I'm going to request that you be assigned to
this office, which would make me your supervisor. Then you'd have to do what I
tell you.”

She smiled sweetly and said, “Alex,
do you really think me working for
you ...
” she made
quote marks with her fingers when she said
working
,
“would really change the way things have always been?”

I was enjoying the exchange,
which seemed to annoy Alex even more.

“Yeah, well,”
Alex
said, “this is Jake's investigation. It's his call.”

I looked at her. Truth was, I
didn't want her along, either. Things can go south pretty quickly when
questioning persons of interest. Susan wasn't law enforcement; she was an
academic. Having to watch out for her would just be one more thing to worry
about. Still, she was a friend and she had a point about needing to understand
how things worked. The only way to learn that was to experience it.

She could see me struggling
with it.

“I just want to observe,
Jake. I won't get in the way.”

I looked at Alex. He shrugged
and looked put out.

“Okay, you can ride along.
But you do what you're told.”

She smiled radiantly, stood,
and gave me a kiss in the cheek. “Thank you, Jake.”

I noticed that she had not
agreed to do what she was told.

When we exited the FBI
building, we were hit in the face with a blast of hot air. Technically, it
wasn’t a Santa Ana wind, but it was close—hot air from the high desert
blowing down into the L.A. basin. It was hot and going to get hotter. Even
people who love the outdoors want to stay out of the hot dry wind.

Alex was driving. I was in
the front with him. Susan was in the back. We decided to go to Norco first to
see Gary Moller.

As Alex merged onto the freeway,
Susan said, “So, how are you doing, Jake?”

“Holding it together,” I
said.

She was silent for a moment.
Then she said, “I've only interacted with Monica on a couple of occasions. But
it seems clear to me that she's a very nice person. The thing is, there are a
lot of nice women out there. It would take more than a nice person to attract
you. Monica must be a very special woman … She's also a very lucky woman.”

I took a deep breath. I knew
at some point I'd have to have this discussion with Susan. I just didn’t think
it would be in the car with her brother driving. A few weeks ago I had to
explain Susan to Monica, now I
was having
to explain
Monica to Susan. It was like I’d done something wrong. But I hadn’t! At least,
I didn’t think I had. A few months ago, Susan asked me if I would be interested
in going out with her when I was ready to move on from Elaine. I'd told her
yes. What was I suppose to say, no? I like Susan. She’s beautiful and smart and
she’d made it clear that she’s interested in me. What's not to like in that
scenario? But things had moved very fast after I'd discovered the truth about
Elaine. Monica was right there. But it wasn't just proximity. It was that she
was Monica. Susan was right. Monica’s a very special woman. There’s a
connection between us that’s difficult to describe. But I feel it. Susan has a lot
going for her. But Monica is the one for me. But how do I explain that to
Susan? And how do I explain it in front of her brother and my best friend?
Crap.

I said, “Monica and I have a
lot in common. We share similar interests, we have similar backgrounds,
we
do the same kind of work. But it’s more than that. I have
those same things in common with lots of people. I'm not sure that just having
things in common with someone is enough to keep a relationship going. It takes
more than that. Monica and I …” I struggled for the right word … “complement
each other. We complete each other … at least, she completes me.”

“Like I said,” Susan said, “
she
’s a lucky woman. And you're a lucky man. It's not easy
to find someone you can love and who loves you back.”

“
Susan ...”

“It's okay, Jake. You don't
need to say anything else. I'm happy for you. And for Monica, too.”

Alex sensed an opportunity
and jumped in, changing the subject. God bless him.

“So, Jake,” he said, “what
are we hoping to get from Gary Moller?”

“As I understand it,” I said,
“Moller was in Chino Men's along with Kyle Dell when James was sent there. Dell
and Moller were due to be released in a couple of weeks. James approached them
about retaliating against Monica for shooting his brother. Dell said he wasn't
interested. He says Moller wasn't interested, either. I want to talk to Moller
about it. Hear from him what he said to James.”

“And Moller's in school to
learn how to weld?” Alex asked.

“That's what Frank said.”

“How will you confirm what
Moller tells you?” Susan asked from the back seat.

“That's a good question,” I
said. “Corroborating witnesses are always nice ... if there are any. If there
aren't, sometimes it comes down to whether or not you think the person is
telling the truth.”

“And how do you decide that?”
she asked.

“The eyes.”

“But some people are very
good liars.”

“It's not an exact science,”
I said.

Chapter 11

Wednesday Morning

Strong Steel in Norco was
just barely in Norco, out on the edge of town in what, fifty years before, had
been farm or pasture land, transformed, probably in the seventies, into a not
so vibrant industrial complex that had failed and had been ignored for a dozen
years or more. The school was housed in a quonset hut reminiscent of the
nineteen forties.
It was enclosed by a six-foot high chain-link
fence
. Within the compound, rusted cars sat abandoned, on the ground or
up on blocks, in various states of assembly, or disassembly, depending on how
you looked at it. A large double gate opened inwardly, granting access to the
school.

As Alex parked, we could see
through the large open double-doors of the
quonset
hut. Several welders worked at their craft, generating bright balls of white or
blue or orange flame, depending on what they were welding and whether they used
arc or acetylene.

Alex and I got out and so did
Susan. Her eyes met mine. She must have recognized the unspoken warning in
them, because she said, “I just want to observe. I won't get in the way.”

I nodded and turned to go
find Gary Moller.

We walked into the
quonset
hut and saw an office off to the left. The top
portion of the office wall was glass, so the people in the office could watch the
workshop floor. There was one guy in the office. Alex went in first and flashed
his badge and identified himself.

“We're looking for Gary
Moller,” he said.

The guy behind the desk was
fifty something, big, gnarled, and unimpressed by Alex's badge.

“Why?” he asked.

“What's your name?” Alex
asked.

“Baxter Lamont.”

“Well, Mr. Lamont, this is
official FBI business and none of your business. Now where is Gary Moller?”

“You have a warrant?”

“I don't need a warrant.
Where's Moller?”

Lamont hesitated but finally
responded, nodding with his head toward a smallish guy, arc welding about half
way across the shop floor. Alex looked at him and turned and walked out onto
the shop floor. Susan and I followed. As we approached Moller, Alex slowed and
stepped aside. I took the lead and approached Moller. With his welding helmet
on, he couldn't see us. I tapped him on the shoulder. He broke the arc and
raised the helmet to see who was interrupting him. Alex held up his badge.
Moller looked at it, at Alex and then at me. He took a deep breath, took the
helmet off and stood up.

“Can I help you?”

“Is there someplace we can go
to talk?”

“Sure,” he said, pointing. “There's
a lunch room back over there.”

Moller was about five nine,
one sixty, with brown hair and brown eyes, clean-shaven. He looked more like a
schoolteacher than a welder. He led us to the lunchroom and we sat around the
table. He looked at Susan for a moment, then at Alex, and finally at me,
waiting for me to begin.

“I understand you were just
recently released from Chino Men's.”

“Yeah.”

“I also understand that just
before you were released, a man named James Benson approached you and Kyle Dell
about a woman named Monica Nolan.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“What'd he say?”

“Said this Nolan woman killed
his brother and that he wanted to get even. He was looking for someone to take
her out. That's how he said it ...
take
her out
. Been
watching too many movies.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him I wasn't
interested.”

“Why? Wasn't he offering
enough money?”

Moller gave a snort and shook
his head. “I was in there for selling drugs. I'm not a killer.”

“A drug dealer, huh?”

He took a deep breath. “Not
really. I was the manager of a Blockbuster store.
A big one.
We did a lot of business. I was in line to move over to corporate. Then, thanks
to Netflix and Amazon, the market for DVD and video rentals dried up. Stores
closed. My store closed. I couldn't find work that paid enough to make my
mortgage payments. One day, a guy approaches me and says I can make a bundle in
a couple of hours by delivering a package for him. I did. And I made a lot of
money. I told him I would be happy to do more of that kind of work. Eventually,
he asked me about selling.
More money in selling than in just
delivering.
I said, sure. Turns out I wasn't good at it. I got caught
and went to prison. Now I'm out and learning a trade so I can support myself, legally,
including making alimony and child support payments. When I was arrested for
selling drugs, my wife divorced me.”

“That's a sad story, Mr.
Moller. Was anyone with you when you told Benson no?”

“Sure. Kyle Dell.”

“This past Monday morning,” I
said, “where were you between five and eight a.m.?”

“Home. Getting up. Getting
ready to come to school.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

“No. I live alone.”

I looked at him, studying his
eyes.

“Why,” he asked. “What
happened Monday morning?”

“Monica Nolan was abducted.”

He shook his head. “I was not
involved.”

I continued to stare at him.

“Look,” Moller said, “I've
got a good thing going on here. I got a scholarship and a loan to pay for
school. When I graduate in a few weeks, I've got a job lined up. Starting
salary of thirty-five thousand.
Enough for me to live on.
I'm not going jeopardize that for some loser in prison.”

“Loser in prison,” I said. “The
same prison you were just released from?”

“Look, I made a mistake. I
was punished for it. I'm not a career criminal like James Benson.”

I studied Moller's face some
more,
then
asked, “When you and Dell said no, did
Benson ask other guys?”

“Probably.”

“Any idea who?”

“None,” he said, shaking his
head.

I studied his eyes some more.

“I didn't have anything to do
with Ms. Nolan's disappearance,” he said. “And I have no idea who might have
been involved.”

He was calm and looking me in
the eye. I believed him.

“All right, Gary. Thank you
for your time.”

Alex, Susan, and I got up and
walked to the door.

Still seated, Moller said, “I
hope you find her.”

I stopped and looked at him. “Thank
you,” I said.

As Alex pulled out of the Strong
Steel yard onto the street, Susan said, “The process is much more effective
when you see it being used than it sounds when you hear it described.”

Alex said, “Depends a lot on
who the interrogator is. Jake is one of the best. Got a very menacing stare.”

“I’m sure the physique has a
lot to do with it, too. The shoulders, the chest, the neck.”

I didn’t respond, so Susan
said, “So you believed what he said?”

“Yeah,” I answered.

“From his eyes?”

“Windows to the soul,” I
said.

“What if he was a psychopath?”
she asked.

“You interview many people
with antisocial personality disorder?” I asked.

“Not really.”

“I have. Moller isn’t one.”

Susan was quiet for a moment,
thinking and making mental notes. After Alex had merged onto the 15, she asked,
“So who's next?”

“Guy named Albert
Humphries,” Alex said. “A violent man who belongs to a violent motorcycle gang
called the Marauders.”