Page 11 of Fractured Fear

Liam continues, “I’m excited to work together. It’s going to be great. I have so many questions. Like how did you catch the Midnight Rose Rapist?”

That case was actually more simple than people know. I narrowed down his comfort zone, staked out the bar I was sure he would hit next, and boom. There he was pretending to help a woman he drugged. Of course, the resources I used to find him will never become public knowledge since it wasn’t exactly legal. What happened after I followed him home didn’t follow the letter of the law either, but no one questioned when I brought him in and the bastard had two black eyes. Once he was takencare of, I made sure the evidence I logged was obtained by legal means.

I don’t answer Liam. I just lean back in my crappy desk chair and let him ramble, and ramble away he does.

I catalog each detail he gives me. The facts he’s sharing will help when I look into him later.

Two kids, married six years, his wife was his high school sweetheart, grew up in Brooklyn. It’s a cute story.

Honestly, this guy really should be careful about who he gives this information to.

“Kingston!” Captain Abrams calls and stops next to me before I get my next sip of my sad excuse for coffee.

“Yes, sir?” I sit up in my chair as it creaks.

Captain William Abrams is stout and just a few inches shorter than me. The only sign of aging on the man is the white hair peppering the sides of his head and small beard. Captain Abrams is a good man. I would know, I checked him out when I started working here. He’s close to retirement, but you can’t tell. He doesn’t know how to slow down. Abrams is a native, he grew up here and is passionate about keeping the people safe. He’s been especially worked up about the recent increase in missing women and girls. He’s a father and a husband. I can’t imagine what it’s like to worry about the women in his life on a daily basis.

Whoever is abducting people off the streets, doesn’t have a type. Captain thinks we just have some crazies out and about right now, but I know the real answer.

“Meet your new partner.” Captain tilts his head towards Liam.

“Already done, sir.”

“Good. The missing persons case you got this morning. The girl’s sister witnessed it. Go talk to her and see if she canremember anything. I want to know what the hell is going on here and I want that information yesterday.”

“I’m on it, Captain,” I reply dutifully.

“Take James with you.”

“Come on, newbie. I’m driving.” I nod at Liam, set down my lousy coffee on my pile of casework, and head out.

Time to break in the new guy.

Rolling up to Central Park,I turn to Liam. “Stay here.”

“What? Why? Shouldn’t I come with you as back up?”

“Hank spooks easily. If he sees you, he’ll bolt,” I raise my eyebrows to emphasize my point that we can’t lose Hank and the leads he may give us. “Stay.”

I exit my car with the hotdog, no ketchup with mustard, and the can of coke I made Liam buy earlier. I ignore my partner’s protests and stalk off into the park. Food always softens Hank up a bit. Leisurely walking down the path, I easily blend in with office workers enjoying lunch in the park.

While looking for Hank, I think back to what we learned from Ella Thomas, Ava’s sister. Ella is a few years younger than Ava and idolizes her sister. Which is why she was following Ava to Sunny’s Market yesterday. Ella saw a white van with no windows speed down the street right towards Ava. They stopped and two men with ski masks, dressed in black, jumped out of the sliding door, and snatched Ava. Ella said the guys put a hand over Ava’s mouth and that she didn’t fight long. Before she was even in the van Ava “went to sleep,” which means the kidnappers used chloroform.

Ella’s statement is huge. We finally have a fucking idea how these guys operate.

I spot Hank leaning against a sycamore like some bad boy that suburban moms warn their daughters to stay away from, which I guess he is. He’s only twenty-one-years-old with shaggy, dark blonde hair and gray eyes. His skin is covered in freckles from hanging out in the streets all hours of the day every day. He’s only a few inches shorter than me and skinny, but he’s lean and packs a punch.

I busted Hank eight years ago when he was just starting out as an errand boy for the annoying as hell MS-13. His mom was never home. She goes by Roxanne on her corner, but her real name is Alice. I don’t judge her for doing what she has to in order to provide for her kid, but her absence didn’t go unnoticed and left plenty of time for Hank’s hands to get him into trouble. A lot of trouble.

When I need to find Hank, I know he’ll be in this part of the park. He sells whatever he can to whoever he can. I understand his lack of morals when it comes to not caring who buys the shit he sells. When it’s survival of fittest and a boy becomes a man at a young age, he doesn’t give a fuck what he has to do to make sure he’s breathing at the end of the day.

I wait a good twenty yards away, watching him finish his sale. He hands a man wearing a suit and tie a small bag with white powder and the man hands over some folded bills. As the man slinks away—I’m sure to find the closest bathroom so he can do a quick line before heading back to his boring as hell desk job—Hank nods at me indicating he’s ready.

He tries not to eye the hotdog in my hands, but I don’t miss the lick of his lips. Kid probably hasn’t eaten today. I know some nights he doesn’t even go home, and if he has to he will skip a meal choosing to feed his overworked mom instead.

Handing over the food, I wait for him to devour it. I make a mental note to bring him two next time. Maybe some fries or a bag of chips as well. Once he’s done, I hand over the drink, but he takes his time sipping instead of chugging it.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

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