Taken: A Christopher Lance Thriller

By L. Jerome Word

In the posh suburbs and the gritty streets of Atlanta, children are being stolen, taken in broad daylight. A madman, with the audacity to call himself Angel, toys with police. This stealer of children, delusional and misunderstood, reaches out to his own “personal” reporter. He has story to tell.

Christopher Lance is a young and ambitious beat writer for a second rate newspaper. A chronic insomniac, Christopher is always available when the stealer calls. Though prone to taking reckless chances, soon it's clear that the young reporter with something to prove is the only one who can save the taken.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. Jerome Word
• Release date: Mar 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476314099

L. Jerome Word

Born near Nashville, Tennessee, after bouncing around the Midwest and Deep South, the author now resides in Jackson, Tennessee with his wife. At night, during those nocturnal hours, he writes, but during the day he ‘makes a living’.His next Christopher Lance Novel will be available winter of 2013.

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Taken: A Christopher Lance Thriller

By L. Jerome Word

Blog: http://www.jeromeword.com

Copyright 2012 L. Jerome Word

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Table of Contents

Part I - The Story of Patsy Tyler

Part II - The Stealer’s Reporter

Part III - Cat or Mouse

Part IV - To Catch a Stealer

Part V - The End of It All

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Part I

The Story of Patsy Tyler

Detectives Pettis and Milan had seen better days but none recently. The kidnappings and murders, of children no less, began six months earlier and since then things had went from bad to worse to undoubtedly dreadful. Now, they had to tell a little girl’s parents that their daughter was dead, murdered by a madman.

Paul Milan drove the tan Malibu toward a suburb of Atlanta at a grandmother’s speed. Neither of them wanted to reach the Tyler home any time soon. Phillip Pettis stare out of the window with thoughts of his own daughter. She was sixteen, much older than any of the children snatched so far, but that wasn’t much comfort.

I don’t like this, Phil. This nut is getting crazier by the day and we’ve got nothing, said Paul Milan, the junior of the partners. He waited a moment for a reply and there was none. His partner’s thoughts were now firmly with the family of Patsy Tyler.

Patsy Tyler, a vibrant nine year old, had been stolen from a downtown mall a week earlier; her lifeless body was found just hours ago. She was the second child found murdered, but no reason existed to believe the others weren’t still alive. The madman child stealer had contacted the police to tell them that he had killed Patsy but had not harmed the others. Why had Patsy been killed, strangled? None of this made sense to Pettis. He, a monster with no name, had killed two children and held seven others captive, leaving the police to wonder when the madness would end?

The unmarked car pulled into the driveway and the detectives marched toward the Tyler’s door. Their faces grim just like the news they had come to deliver. They met the morose face of a father along with his horrified wife, both seemingly and silently begging for the detectives to bring them a miracle.

I’m sorry, Pettis said. We found your daughter’s body this morning."

My dear God! Patsy’s mother screamed and ran back into the house.

Mr. Tyler reached for his wife, but she was gone. He began after her but stopped and turned toward the detectives, seemingly with a need to know what had happened to his little girl. Please, tell me. How did you find her?

Visibly upset, Pettis couldn’t speak. He knew what this would feel like. His thoughts were with his own child. So, Paul Milan stepped forward. Right now…we don’t believe she was physically assaulted. She was found in a field off of I-75, fully clothed and covered by a wool blanket. We think she may have been smothered, Milan offered. To him, that sounded better than strangulation.

Mr. Tyler slumped, holding his head in grief, and then thanked the officers before going to his wife.

Pettis and Milan left the Tyler’s home wondering what the world was coming to, but such philosophical pursuits wouldn’t last. The dispatch was on the radio – another child had been taken.

Part II

The Stealer’s Reporter

Evenings at the Atlanta Inquisitor were usually a calm down period for reporters, if such a thing existed. I liked to spend the time eating dinner at my desk, while browsing the internet for topics on the popular and mundane. Anything to take my mind off corruption and violence - normal and every day page one fare. The Los Angeles Lakers and Kobe were coming to town this weekend and there had to be some tickets out there. While I loved the Hawks, even I had no intention of buying season tickets.

The phone rang just as I took the last bite of a sandwich. I could always tell when it was something big, out of this world, and this ring was atomic. I choked a bit when I heard the computerized voice on the other end.

I killed Patsy Tyler, Mr. Lance. You assholes better not force me to do it again.

What a sick bastard, I thought, don’t play games with me. But then I composed myself. This was not the first would-be maniac call I had fielded. Prove it, buddy, I said nonchalantly.

I-75 North. Red shorts and white shirt, the synthesized voice said. "I covered her with my favorite Snoopy blanket. I kind