Chapter 73: Vance - 9.3
Inside, the apartment was modest but tidy, with signs of a loving family evident in the photos on the walls and the toys scattered on the floor. She gestured for me to sit down at the kitchen table, and I took a seat, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible in my tactical gear.
"What's your husband's name?" I asked gently.
She shook her head, starting to cry again.
"It was dinner three days ago," she began, her voice trembling. "Arnold just... he just disappeared. One moment he was in that chair, and the next, he was gone."
I furrowed my brow. "What happened?"
She wiped her tears with a barely intact tissue. "We were having dinner, just the three of us. Suddenly, the door burst open, and these men stormed in. They grabbed Arnold and took him. Timmy was in his room, thankfully, but they took Arnold right in front of me."
My heart sank. "Did they say anything? Send any demands?"
She nodded, her voice breaking. "They said... they said if I called the police, they'd come back- for Timmy. I've been so scared. I want him back safe, but I could never risk if they would take my Timtim too."
Her voice trailed off, but I understood. The mother turned back to me, her eyes filled with gratitude.
"This might be too much to ask..." she said, her voice sincere, "but please. Save my husband."
I looked at her, seeing the desperation and hope in her eyes. Timmy clung to her, his tiny hands gripping her shirt tightly. The thought of this family being torn apart made my chest tighten.
"I'll do everything I can," I promised, my voice steady. "Do you have any idea who took him? Any details at all?"
She shook her head, fresh tears forming. "They were masked. All I know is that they spoke in hushed tones, like they didn't want me to hear too much. But they mentioned something about 'the boss' and 'getting even.'"
I nodded, my mind racing. "Do you know if Arnold had any enemies? Anyone who might have had a grudge against him?"
She hesitated, then slowly nodded. "He worked for a construction company. Sometimes, he would mention disputes with other contractors, but nothing serious, I thought. But now, I don't know."
"Construction, huh?" I mused, thinking of the possible angles. "Can you give me the name of the company he worked for?"
"Sure," she said, wiping her tears. "It's called UnderLine Construction."
I made a mental note. "Alright. I'll start there. In the meantime, stay safe. I'll keep in touch."
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you so much."
I left the apartment, my mind already working on a plan. The police officers outside gave me nods of respect as I passed by. I couldn't shake the image of the mother's desperate plea. This felt like more than just a kidnapping; almost a puzzle with missing pieces, and I was determined to put it together. I needed to dig into this UnderLine Construction, see if there were any leads.
The night air was cool against my face as I sprinted through the city streets, my footsteps echoing off the tall buildings. The Botanic Garden loomed ahead, a serene oasis in the midst of urban chaos. But tonight, I had no time to admire its beauty. My destination was the police station just beyond it, where I hoped to find Sergeant Duke.
As I rounded the corner, the police station came into view. It was a modest building, sturdy and historic, with a few squad cars parked out front. The lights inside were bright, a stark contrast to the dimly lit street. I slowed my pace as I approached, trying to catch my breath and calm my racing thoughts.
I pushed through the doors, the cool air of the station washing over me. The front desk officer looked up, his expression turning from curiosity to recognition.
"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, his tone professional but friendly.
"I'm here to see Sergeant Duke," I said, my voice steady. "It's urgent."
The officer nodded, picking up the phone and making a quick call.
"This is 3-9-0-1-1 at the lobby desk, I have an unidentified male asking to speak with our supervisor."
Muffled static flowed from the other end.
"It's a man in one of our SWAT uniforms." The officer said into the receiver.
A moment later, he gestured for me to follow him. "This way. He's in the back."
I followed the officer through the station, the sounds of police chatter and ringing phones filling the air. We passed a few interrogation rooms and offices before stopping at a door labeled "Sergeant Duke." The officer knocked once before opening it and ushering me inside.
Duke looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowing in concern as he saw me. "Nice of you to stop by. What can I do you for?"
I took a deep breath, stepping further into the room. "I need your help, Duke. There is wife and son scared out of their minds."
Duke nodded, his jaw set in determination. "Alright, let's see what we can dig up. I'll make some calls. For now, we'll start with what you know. Full names, address, time and date of last known location..."
He trailed off with a series of questions I had not the forethought to ask. Simple steps that I completely ignored. I let Duke drone on for minutes until he finished his light interrogations.
I asked, "Could we, maybe, take a cruiser out to a particular home?"
Duke quickly responded, "What?"
We sat in silence for several moments, the sergeant behind the desk lightly rubbing his chin with frustration.
"You did not ask them about any of this. Did you?" He pointedly asked.
I drug out the first syllable for several seconds, "Well they did say he went missing at dinner a few nights ago."
Duke blinked while expelling a sigh, "Do you hear how vague that is?"
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