Darkmask

By Scott Metzger and Adam Smith

A young girl is kidnapped, a building collapses, a loved one is lost, and Scott Roberts is left with extraordinary abilities, powers he uses to ensure that such a tragedy never happens again. As a private detective, and as the costumed defender, Darkmask, he has teamed with the Sonic Sentinel, Sonarr, to protect the people of their city and pursue the criminals who prey upon them. But a new threat looms as a string of robberies poses an unexpected challenge: the possibility of a foe who also possesses extra-human skills. The menace grows as an enemy from Scott's past resurfaces, and a mysterious woman seems to be manipulating these events in a plan that could endanger the city itself. With the help of their allies, the heroes must solve the mysteries facing them before the city's time runs out…

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543967388

Book preview

Epilogue

PROLOGUE:

Alright, you’ve got a general fix on the location of the car. Try to focus on it, the sounds coming from it, and push out everything around it. Sonarr’s voice was low and soft so as not to distract his student.

Right, just blot out the rest of the planet, Darkmask quipped. He could see the slightly dilapidated Mitsubishi Mirage clearly from the edge of the roof. He and his fellow hero had been staking out the area from atop this building for the past two nights after a rash of thefts from the local electronics or technology related businesses. Usually, it would have been a police matter, but one of the stores had shown some curious, fleeting security footage of something or someone strangely blurred so a clear image of the perpetrator couldn’t be extracted, even with the best imaging tech the forensics lab had at their disposal. That made it weird stuff, the phrase Police Lieutenant Danielle Ferguson used for any case she asked costumed help on. As with most stakeouts, however, the majority of the time was spent watching and waiting. The heroes were curious about a parked car across the alley tonight; it was running and no one had gotten out, but there was nothing obvious to tie it to the crimes at present. It was, however, a good opportunity for some impromptu training. Sonarr kept his ears focused on the surrounding area to pick up on anything unusual while giving his partner in crime-fighting some tips on super hearing.

Okay, I’m concentrating on the car. The shadowy champion tipped his head to the side.

You don’t really have to aim your ear; the sound will come, Nate advised.

You can hear a pin drop on a marshmallow a mile away, oh, great sound guru; I need all the help I can get. the dark detective jokingly craned his neck toward the car to emphasize the point.

Two and a half miles away, actually, the tonal guardian replied in his usual matter-of-fact tone. Darkmask shot him a bemused look, not certain whether his friend was serious or joking, and then focused back on the car. Now, the sound guru continued, the first thing you’ll hear is the loudest sound, in this case, the engine that’s running. Follow that sound first to focus on the location. His friend nodded. Next, try to catch other sounds in the same place. Don’t lose the focus and pull in surrounding noise, just what’s there in the car. See if you can make out anything like a human voice.

Okay, there’s like a garbled mumble mixed in, the perceptive hero noted, again instinctively moving his ear in the direction of the sound.

Sonarr had to stifle a Will you stop that!! and resumed the lesson. This is the tricky part. Focus in on the mumbling, and try to block the engine noise.

I can’t tune in on a specific frequency like you can, pal; my ears aren’t made that way. the stygian warrior tapped his carefully aimed earlobe beneath his mask with a blue gloved finger.

It’s not about frequency, it’s about focus. It’s about discipline; it’s just discipline of the ear rather than the mind, the sonic hero explained.

Like centering your chi. I get that. the nighttide investigator looked down, trying to block distractions, and followed the mumbling in the car. The garbled sounds started coming together until he could make out a male voice. He took a breath, let it out slowly, and concentrated. Gradually, more words came, this time more clearly, and he realized what he was listening to. We’re in trouble.

The acoustic defender moved to roof’s edge, peering intently at the car, and focusing his own hearing there.

Yep, the end times, they are a-coming, and only Reverend Ralph can show us the way to salvation. Darkmask had a huge grin on his face as Sonarr shot him a pained look. The Reverend Ralph Show on KGZX.

Listening to a gospel channel in the middle of an alley may be a bit strange, but it’s not a crime. The master of resonance relaxed and went back to scanning the area with his hearing.

A crime of bad taste, the dark stalwart said, rolling his eyes. Guy’s a scam artist with a record going back years.

That aside, you were able to focus in on the car radio over everything around it. the sound sage seemed fairly pleased with both his pupil and himself.

The dark hero kept his eye on the car. It’ll take some practice, but it does feel good to be able to sort through all the sounds. I’ve gotten pretty good at blocking things out, but narrowing the field hasn’t come as easy. Thanks pal; the hearing lessons really are helping a lot.

Glad I could help, the sonance sentinel said, and then his tone became more somber. You gave me a lot of help when I was starting out. It’s nice to be able to repay even a little of that.

The dusky protector turned and smiled. You did that the day you shook my hand and hopped on board the super hero crazy train. He paused for a moment. An ally isn’t an easy find; a good friend is an even harder one. He wanted to go on, but his attention turned again to the car.

Noting his friend’s continued fixation with the Mirage, the maestro of sound returned to the edge of the roof. Something about Reverend Ralph still bothering you?

Darkmask squinted at the car. The not-so-good reverend doesn’t bug me as much as why someone would be sitting in an alley listening to him in the middle of the night. Keep an ear out up here. With that, the blue gloved guardian leapt off the rooftop, snagging the fire escape along the side of the building and using it for handholds as he somersaulted to the street below.

I sincerely hope he knew that fire escape was there before he jumped, Sonarr thought as he watched his friend…

*    *    *    *    *

Darkmask kept low and to the shadows as he crept up on the dingy car, sizing it up. Old model, poorly kept, but a fairly new set of tires. He saw only one person inside the car, sitting at the wheel. He watched for a moment, and saw no movement; it was hard to make out any detail through the tinted windshield, even with his enhanced vision. He kept his eye on the driver, and focused once again on his ears. It was still difficult, but he tried to sort through the sounds coming from the vehicle. The radio, the obnoxious voice ranting out of it, a slight bur in the engine, a rattle in the back seat. But several sounds he should have been hearing were absent. He spoke softly into the air. Pal, check out the car. You getting a heartbeat? He listened to the earpiece built into his mask for the response.

A few seconds passed, then Sonarr’s voice came in low over the compact transceiver. Nothing. No heartbeat, no breathing. You think the driver’s dead?

Or maybe he was never alive. Again, the shadowy defender whispered into the open air rather than activating the small, extending microphone in the earpiece, knowing his keen-eared partner would hear him just as clearly this way. Something majorly screwy here. Keep your ears on me. He moved forward quickly, coming up to the car on the driver’s side. He once again tried to penetrate the darkened glass of the windshield and the side windows, but could make out only vague shapes. He jabbed his elbow against the back-door window and it shattered. He flicked a switch on his wrist panel and a small light popped up. Shining it into the vehicle, he saw that the driver was simply a mannequin propped up in the front seat. The next thing to catch his eye was a large speaker installed on the dashboard, and what could have been a motion sensor right beside it. Trap!! he blurted, and dashed away from the car, his hands going to his ears. Cover your ears now! he yelled, knowing the volume wasn’t needed, but hoping it would add extra urgency to the request. He’d barely gotten the words out when a deafening screech split the night. Pressing his hands even tighter over his pounding eardrums, the hero tried to put as much distance between himself and the screaming car as he could as quickly as possible. His legs pumped until they were almost a blur, but then a pulse of even more painful sound was added to the assault, and he lost traction, careening into a garbage can by the side of the street.

Sonarr closed his eyes as the sound attack from the car hit him; a low hum emanated from his body as he set up a wave of destructive interference. He concentrated, focusing on the sound of his own heart to block out the most damaging of the waves assaulting his eardrums, but he had to let some of the painful sonic barrage through to gauge the frequency so he could nullify it. After a few agonizing seconds, he adjusted the sounds his body was making and felt the attack subside. He knew that Darkmask had no such defense and raised his hand, aiming directly at the neglected Mirage, carefully checked to make sure his friend was nowhere near the car, then let loose with a full power blast of sonic force. Within seconds, the car was tossed like a child’s toy, slamming into the nearby building and shattering into a spray of metal. Sonarr barked into his microphone. ‘Mask!! Respond!!! The auricular defender was already shooting off the roof into the sky, hovering as waves of sound held him aloft. He saw a crumpled form in the alley several yards from the car’s wreckage, and swooped down. By the time he landed, the form was stirring. ’Mask?

You’re gonna have to speak up for the next couple of years, the disoriented stalwart groaned. He sat up and grimaced as he brushed brown lettuce out of his hair. His costumed partner offered him a hand and helped pull him to his feet. You okay? Darkmask asked.

Yes. Thanks for the warning. Sonarr flicked a piece of banana peel off his friend’s shoulder.

Thanks for the save. Nodding to the remains of the car, the agile guardian’s eyes narrowed, a look the acoustic warrior recognized as a signal he was switching into deductive mode. That was meant for us. Specifically, us.

Sound is an effective weapon on anyone, the paladin of sound countered.

But especially on us. Say someone figured we might be in the area keeping watch. What could they count on us doing?

The tone master folded his arms. Keep all of our senses open.

Exactly. Meaning a sonic attack would be one of the best ways to hit us both at once. the shadowy detective shook off the last bit of refuse from the garbage pile and headed for the Mirage’s remains. Somebody did a little homework. Your powers are pretty well known, including your hearing. I may not outright advertise mine, but it wouldn’t be too hard to put together a pretty good list based on hearsay and police reports. Once you have that, it just takes a little imagination to figure out how to keep both of us busy, at least for a minute or two.

Sonarr watched his fellow crusader as he started sifting through the twisted metal. Sounds logical… and clever.

Yeah, I really dislike a smart bad guy. Tossing a few pieces aside, the ebon masked sleuth hovered over some mangled electronics. I think this is part of the motion detector I saw on the dash. Maybe there’s something here to trace. He placed the tangle of plastic and wires into a small plastic bag he pulled from inside his belt, then tapped a flurry of buttons on his COMM. I’m betting somebody was busy while we were playing ‘burst the eardrum.’ A few buttons later, they both heard the police channel come up.

… 1 Charlie 10. We’re en route to the 4-5-9, code three.

Both heroes looked up and listened; they could hear the police siren in the distance, and it was definitely heading in their direction. Another robbery, the acoustic champion noted.

Darkmask grimaced again. They were waiting for us to give them the signal.

By tripping their trap. The sonic maestro was still following the police car with his ears. And, yes, the alarm went off exactly when the trap did. It sounds like they’re heading for a street north of here.

The costumed detective glanced to the side at nothing in particular, picturing the area. Berman Electronics. East corner of Bleaker. It would fit the pattern so far.

The sonic sentinel cocked his head quickly up and to the side as he continued to monitor the police conversation.

You don’t need to aim your ears, you know, the blue gloved guardian chuckled.

Sonarr ignored the friendly jab. The police are just getting there, I hear Joe Currie, and you’re right, it’s Berman’s. Another car heading this way responding to a disturbance. About a minute, minute and a half away. Probably a good time to head over to Bleaker?

The Holmesian hero bent back down and started sifting again. You go on; if I’ve got a minute or two before they get here, I want to check through this stuff a little more before they cordon everything off. They don’t like folks disturbing their evidence.

Which apparently doesn’t stop you from doing so, the resonant protector thought, but only said, Roger that as he took to the sky…

*    *    *    *    *

Anything interesting? the Darkmask asked as he settled down in the shadows beside Sonarr. Both watched and listened as the police scampered around Berman’s.

An eyewitness. Security guard next door.

Okay, that is interesting. the dusky investigator noticed Sergeant Joe Currie finishing up a conversation with a man in a gray uniform, his short, straight brown hair dipping beneath the brim of his police cap onto his forehead. The stout but fit policeman finished his questioning and turned as one of the officers walked up to give him a quick report on what was found inside. Joe listened and nodded; the officer headed to his patrol car as Joe trotted back to his own black and white. Joe know you’re here? the dark hero asked his costumed partner. The sergeant often worked quietly with the heroic pair, having known Darkmask since their high school days, long before the dark hero had donned his costume. He was also one of the handful of people who knew both heroes’ true identities

Standard procedure. Gave him a silent buzz through the COMM when I got here. The acoustic guardian gave the policeman second soundless signal.

‘Mask here? Joe said softly as he turned and lowered his head. Another quick vibration in his pocket answered the question. Just got done talking to the guard. Heard the alarm, looked out the window, saw someone running out the back door. He reached into his pocket and took out a small device that hooked onto the back of his ear, with a small plug he slipped into his ear canal. It was virtually unnoticeable, especially in the dim street light.

Running out? the dark sleuth puzzled as his mini-mic popped out of his earpiece. How long did it take him to get to the window?

A couple of steps from what he said, the sergeant answered, wandering back toward the building and keeping his voice as low as he could, knowing the heroes would tell him if they needed more volume.

The masked eyebrow shot up No lead boots I could see, so a few steps should only have taken him a few seconds. The thief bypassed the alarm going in? Triggered it on the way out?

Checked that. Alarm shows no signs of being disarmed; far as I could tell, it went off when the thief broke in using the back door.

The stygian super-hero nodded, then grimaced. Fits. The alarm went off exactly the same time Sonarr and I tripped a trap a little ways away.

Loud noise followed by a loud explosion a few streets over? Joe asked.

Yeah. Saw two of your brothers in blue pulling up when I left.

You two had something to do with that? The policeman sighed softly. Do I want to know?

You’d be happier if you didn’t, but I need to fill you in later. As for this, I’ve heard of ‘in and out’ during a robbery, but this might set a record. The dusky detective pondered for a second, then started thinking aloud. They might have forgotten something outside, went back to get it. They go back in after coming out?

Nope. Guard was watching until the police came. The perp left and never came back

‘Knew what they were looking for and grabbed it quick?"

Actually, looks like they rummaged around a bit to see what was available.

They broke in, checked out the selection, and then took what caught their eye all in a matter of seconds? Any chance the guard isn’t telling the whole story?

Not a living lie detector like you two, but I didn’t get any bad vibes off him. Was Sonarr listening in?

The sonic sentinel nodded instinctively, then verbalized knowing Joe couldn’t see them. Steady voice, steady breathing, steady heartbeat.

The shadowy guardian stared at the electronics store as though willing it to offer answers, as he didn’t like the conclusions he was coming to. So, if the guard isn’t crazy and it went down as he said, there’s only one conclusion: Someone is fast.

The peace officer felt a knot forming in his stomach. Not just fast, ‘Mask. That would be… inhumanly fast.

Super-humanly fast, Darkmask corrected. We might have somebody with actual super speed.

Is that even possible? the sonant super asked.

Says the man who just blew up a car with a sonic whammy, the dusky vindicator said with an uncomfortable smile.

Blew up a car!?!?! Joe blurted, then immediately lowered his voice as he looked around to see if anyone had noticed the outburst. One of the officers glanced in his direction quizzically, but then returned to checking the perimeter of the building with a flashlight. Okay, I apparently DO need to hear about that later. He closed his eyes and he shook his head slightly. But for now, you seriously think we’ve got some kind of super here? I thought you were the only two.

That we know of, pal, the Holmesian hero pointed out. There may be a more rational explanation, but ‘when you’ve eliminated the impossible…’

‘Whatever remains, however improbable’… I’m familiar with the quote, the peace officer groaned. I’m just hoping a super powered thief falls under the impossible column. I know you’re fast, but… what’s your top speed again?

I’ve hit seventy-five running full out. We’re talking a lot faster than that, though, if this went down as described.

Whatever the sergeant’s reply might have been was cut off when he noticed the lieutenant on the scene waving him over to one of the squad cars. Being summoned… stay tuned in. He surreptitiously removed the earpiece as he headed for the car. Yes, Lieutenant?

We’ve got the statements we need. Lab folks are a block away. Anything more we need to look at here? Lieutenant Norman Bollhirn asked in his usual booming voice. He was not a particularly large man, usually sporting neatly pressed slacks, shirt and tie beneath an equally well-maintained trench coat, as he was tonight. But the quiet, unpretentious exterior belied the often obnoxious and consistently loud man behind it. There were times Joe could swear he saw windows rattle when the man spoke.

Just another sweep of the area and I think we’re done, the sergeant offered.

Do it quick. I’m already late for dinner with one of the mayor’s people, the lieutenant bellowed. Joe nodded without comment and began his final sweep.

Back in the shadows, Darkmask shook his head at the boisterous policeman. And he wonders why people call him ‘Bullhorn’.

Anyone ever do so to his face? Sonarr asked.

One person, the dark defender said with a wicked grin.

The sonic sentinel sighed to himself. And I’d wager I know who. "You really think there could be someone else out there with powers?" the acoustic warrior queried, turning the conversation back to the matter at hand.

The concerned sleuth stared at the storefront again. In this case, I hope not. But it would explain why we’ve turned up so little on this thief. The blurry surveillance footage, long gone before anyone spots him. It does make a weird kind of sense.

Roger that, the sound maestro replied. Unfortunately…

Chapter 1

Phyllis Dayle strolled into Scott Robert’s office, a small sticky note in her hand. The middle-aged assistant was dressed smartly but functionally as usual, her short dark hair perfectly set, and her full, friendly face set in business mode. Her boss stood by the small window behind his desk, staring out over the city, his jacket half draped over the back of his chair. The long-sleeved shirt almost matched his pants, but it’s ill fit did succeed in masking the lithe yet muscular frame beneath as intended. His eyes covered the cityscape beyond, particularly the Bay Street area. It was a fairly clear view from the fifth floor, especially in the afternoon sun, with few tall buildings in the way. Once blighted and declining, that part of town was once again growing, though still threatened by the organized crime that had once almost swallowed it. It always gave him a feeling of hope looking at Bay Street, knowing that the good guys were actually in the process of winning that battle, something he took no small amount of satisfaction in. He had helped out a number of the local business owners as a private detective, and often did even more when night fell. It was, however a far cry from the life he had not so very long ago…

*    *    *    *    *

Two and a half years ago…

Scott pulled up behind one of the police cars lining the street, scrambled out of the car, nearly tripping as he did so and sprinted over to the nearest person in a blue uniform he could find. The burly female officer turned to him and sized him up quickly. A tousle of brown hair that obviously hadn’t seen a comb that morning and a speckling of stubble across his face combined with the rumpled brown suit and a mismatched tie lying loosely about his neck did little to impress her, and she held out a hand before he could speak. I’m sorry, sir, but you need to clear this area. Please move your car out of here. Her expression was intended to quell any protests; he did so anyway.

My name is Scott Roberts; I just got a call from a Detective Conway to get over here. She said there’d been a kidnapping.

Let me check, she replied, her tone softening a bit.

Scott took in the activity around him; there were three black and whites, as well as a couple of cars he supposed were unmarked, blocking the modest apartment building where Mitchell Whitney and his family resided. It was an unassuming middle-class neighborhood, a nice, normal place for Mitch and his wife to raise their young daughter. A major crime like a kidnapping might be commonplace in the big city some twenty miles away, but it seemed out of place in a sleepy college town like Lauren, as did the swarm of police milling about.

Okay, you can go in. She motioned toward the building.

Can you tell me anything? Who was taken? Was anyone hurt? He was blurting out the questions in a near constant staccato.

Detective Conway will fill you in, she replied, again pointing to the apartments.

Yeah, thanks, he responded absently, his mind racing from one bad scenario to the next. He ran up to the front door, identified himself to the officer standing there, and then proceeded to the second floor. The door to Mitch’s apartment was open, and he could hear unfamiliar voices. He could also hear another sound as he reached the door, one he did recognize; Mitch’s wife, Rita, was crying almost convulsively, barely taking a breath between sobs. He burst into the room and saw his two friends sitting on the couch, surrounded by two uniformed officers and two in plainclothes, one male, one female. The male detective was smartly dressed in an impeccable suit; the woman wore jeans and a leather jacket and looked to be the more formidable of the two, despite the fact she was half her partner’s size. Both turned their attention to the disheveled man when he bounded in. He ignored them for the moment, rushing over to Mitch.

Scott, Mitch said, his voice strained and lifeless.

Mitch, what’s going on? What happened? He knelt down, placing a hand on Rita’s shoulder.

Emily. Somebody came in last night. We didn’t hear anything; we didn’t wake up. Then this morning, she was gone. She was gone, Scott. The frantic father shook his head, repeating the words under his breath.

You Roberts? the female investigator asked, walking over with her arms crossed.

Yes, Scott answered, not taking his eyes from his friends. He searched for words, but all he could force between his lips was How?

Far as we can tell, someone broke into her room last night, grabbed the girl, and took off with her. There was an e-mail first thing this morning with a picture demanding ransom. The detective waited, hip cocked slightly to one side, staring at Scott, trying to size him up. His appearance was less than impressive, and she wasn’t sure if his wardrobe was usually this bad or if he had simply thrown something on when he received the call summoning him. Her attention was diverted by one of the uniforms in the room speaking up.

Detective, there’s no signs of anything left behind in the girl’s room. Crime scene team is finishing up in there right now.

She pursed her lips, sighed, then turned her attention back to Scott. Mr. Roberts, I’m Detective Conway, and this is my partner, Detective Minetti. We’re questioning everyone in the family’s immediate circle right now, and Mr. Whitney asked us to call you over here.

He rose and faced her. I’m glad you did. Someone came in and snatched Emily? Why? What are they asking for ransom?

The usual. Five hundred thousand by tonight at midnight, Minetti chimed in.

Turning to Mitch and clasping his chin, the rumpled man thought out loud. If they’re asking that much, they obviously know who your dad is, Mitch.

Apparently. You know his father, General Franklin Whitney, correct? Conway had a small pad out, jotting down notes.

We’ve met a few times. From what I know. he’s done pretty well for himself after retiring from the army, but even he’d have a hard time raising that kind of money by tonight. He glanced back at the distraught parents, and then looked off to the side at nothing in particular. Have you contacted the General? Have the kidnappers contacted him?

Conway raised an eyebrow, wondering why she suddenly wasn’t the one asking questions. Not that we know of. We talked to him earlier, and he said he hadn’t heard a thing. The family told us you were here last night, Mr. Roberts? she asked, trying to regain control of the questioning.

For dinner. Wednesday night tradition; we get together for dinner and then a family movie.

How long has this been a ‘tradition’? Conway seemed interested in how close the relationship was between this disheveled individual and the family.

Mitch broke in. Scott’s been family for the last three years. What does that have to do with anything?

I’m sorry, Mr. Whitney. I have to get all the information I can here if we’re going to find your daughter. Any detail could turn out to be important, so I have to be as through as I can.

It sounds like you think he might have something to do with this, Mitch protested.

Scott rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Easy, Mitch. She’s just doing her job here. And she knows the majority of kidnap victims know their kidnapper, so she’s sizing me up as a suspect. Mitch and I met at the local college, Valmark State; I’m an instructor there, and he runs the tutoring lab. I don’t have any family around here, so they sort of adopted me.

He loves Emily like she was his own, Mitch added emphatically. Like I said, he’s family, and I’d trust him with my life. And my daughter’s.

Understood, Mr. Whitney. The female detective softened her tone as she continued, trying to defuse the tension. Mr. Roberts, did anything unusual happen while you were here or after you left?

Nothing out of the ordinary. I didn’t see anyone hanging around outside when I left; everything was quiet. Completely normal. He looked off to the side again, going over the events of the previous night in his mind.

Were you aware of anyone who might have a grudge against the family? Minetti asked, seemingly trying to assert his relevance. Conway kept a poker face, but the perceptive educator picked up the slight twitch in her left eye that indicated she was less than thrilled with her partner breaking in on the questioning.

Against Mitch and Rita? No, nobody has anything against them; nobody would have any reason to. The General may have some enemies racked up, though.

You said you didn’t know him that well? Conway took back the reigns of the exchange.

Scott shook his head. Like I said, only met him a few times. He was a three-star general back in the day. I have heard he ruffled a lot of feathers in his time.

Conway hesitated slightly. When she did speak, her words were precise and careful. From what Mr. Whitney has told us, I get the impression that the relationship between the family and the General is a bit… strained. How bad is that strain?

The uncombed teacher arched his eyebrow sharply. If you’re thinking the General might have been involved, that’s crazy. I may not know him all that well, but I know Emily is the most important thing in the world to him.

You seem certain of that. she pressed, still treading with care.

All you’d have to do is watch his face when she walks into the room and you’d be sure, Scott answered firmly.

My dad didn’t do this, Mitch blurted as he grabbed his friend’s arm. Scott, this is going nowhere. You have to look around. Do that thing you do.

Mr. Whitney, what ‘thing’ are you talking about? Conway pointed the query toward Mitch but was looking at Scott.

He figures things out, detective. He just looks around and sees stuff, like Sherlock Holmes on steroids. Mitch gripped his colleague’s arm tighter.

Minetti piped up again. Mr. Whitney, we’re trained professionals. If there are any clues to be found, we can find them.

Mitch glared at the policeman. And what have you found? Nothing! You’ve been here for two hours and you’ve got squat! Let him look. For the love of God, please let him look.

Minetti opened his mouth, but a quick glance from Conway silenced him. We can’t just have civilians poking around a crime scene, Mr. Whitney. If there is anything here we might have overlooked, we need to preserve the crime scene until we’ve found your daughter.

You’re in my house, lady. Your guys just said they were finished, and they got zip. Mitch’s face was beet red, his veins protruding on his temples. There’s a whole bunch of reporters out there, and I’m sure they’d love to hear about the police refusing help that might find an eight-year-old girl!! You want to read that interview in tomorrow’s paper?!?!?

Detective, I can poke around without disturbing anything, Scott injected, trying to diffuse the escalating situation. I don’t know if I can find anything you haven’t, but can it hurt to try? You can watch over my shoulder and make sure I don’t foul anything up. I won’t touch a thing, won’t break the evidence chain. His gaze shifted to Mitch, then back to Conway. Please, let me at least try.

She looked first at Scott, then at Mitch, but her eyes eventually fixed on Rita, whose face was buried in her hands. The rumpled professor caught Minetti starting to open his mouth, but Conway subtly cut him off, Okay, but I’m by your side the whole time. Anything you spot, you tell me, and you don’t lay a finger on it. Scott nodded, and noted Minetti’s face was pure stone during the exchange; the tightness of his lips and the wrinkle in his brow, however, told the amateur detective the policeman was far from happy with this development.

Mitch released his vice-like grip on his friend’s arm, and the keen witted instructor proceeded to the child’s bedroom. He stopped as he stepped in the door, his eyes scanning the room. He was trying to focus on the details, but had a hard time pushing past some of the memories flooding into his head as he looked at the bed and saw all the times he had tucked her in. A glance at the shelves on the wall, lined with Technicolor ponies, brought to mind the time she had first shown him her collection, telling him all of their names and their special magical powers. Okay, just put it out of your head, Scott. Clear your mind and get it together. He walked around the room slowly, Conway almost attached to his right shoulder, and then stopped by the open window. Jimmied. But it doesn’t look like there was a lot of force applied. He turned his head. Am I just telling you things you already found?

Just keep going, Mr. Roberts. If you find something we didn’t, I’ll make a note.

Alright, moving on. He craned his neck and stared at the top of the window frame. The latch has been bent a bit. Looks like enough to allow you to jar it loose without a lot of effort. That had to have been done from the inside, though. His eyes dropped and turned to the side but centered on nothing. Someone had to have been in here beforehand to do that.

Conway nodded; the jimmying and latch had been noted by the CSI team, but Roberts picking up on it so quickly made her think she might have underestimated the rumpled college instructor They continued around the room as he continued to make observations. He basically identified everything the crime scene team had told her about before he arrived, but nothing new had emerged.

Sorry, detective. I wish I’d been able to find something to help. Mitch was standing there as they exited the bedroom, his face showing strain and disappointment as he heard Scott’s apology. He looked around desperately, trying to think of something else to try. His head froze suddenly, his eyes fixing on the family computer. The picture.

Conway followed his line of site. The ransom picture? Do you think you can get anything off of that? His response was to bolt over to the small computer desk in the corner of the living room, almost stumbling over the power cord on the floor as he clambered behind it. The female cop quickly joined him. The machine was already on, and it took her only a moment to bring up the ransom message and the photo. The disheveled professor steepled his fingers as he read the short note. No way to trace the IP address?

Internet café, phony email address, the detective answered, Nothing to track.

Figures. Scott shifted his attention to the photo. Seeing Emily there, with a terrified expression on her face, surrounded by nondescript walls that could be anywhere, made him wince. He tried to push his concern for the girl aside, clearing his mind so he could focus all his attention on the details of the photo. The walls were bare, and there was no window visible to give a clue to what lay outside. The room was dirty white, no pattern, just flat paint on a flat wall, with what looked like some sort of staining along the bottom, as well as on the carpet. There was bluish mold growing up onto the molding. Emily was standing against the wall, her hands folded in front of her, that frightened look on her small face. The only thing in the picture other than Emily was a table; again, there was nothing unusual about it, and there was nothing on top of it. He gripped his chin tightly between his fingers, feeling his frustration rising. Mitch was counting on him to find something, anything, that could help, and he was coming up blank. He focused again on Emily; she was still in her pajamas, light pink with little panda bears placed randomly across the material. No marks, no stains he could see. He looked at her hands, her fingers intertwined, and then leaned forward, zeroing in on her wrist. There was a small bracelet on her left arm, one he immediately recognized. Her Medic Alert bracelet. She’s wearing it.

A perplexed look crossed Conway’s face. How’s that important?

I’ve looked after her before, put her to bed. She always takes it off because it wakes her up if it jangles during the night. She puts it in the drawer beside her bed. He stared intently at the picture as though it was speaking to him. No way the kidnapper could have seen it or known to take it unless it’s someone who knows her.

Could she have told the kidnapper to take it? Minetti had been quietly fuming over by the couch, but now saw a chance to re-insert himself into the conversation.

She’s a little girl who was being kidnapped; I doubt she’d be thinking about the bracelet. She hates wearing it to begin with; thinks it’s ugly. Would have been the last thing on her mind. Whoever took her had to be someone who knew about it, someone actually concerned enough about the girl not to leave it behind. Scott’s head jerked up, looking off into nothing, and then he turned to Mitch. That girl from downstairs, the one who babysits when she’s home from college…

The frightened father’s eyes went wide. Tammy?

Conway’s interest was piqued. Do you know her well?

We’ve known her mom, Mrs. Fitz, since we moved into the building, about, what? Mitch looked at Scott, but then continued before his friend could offer an answer. About nine years ago, I think. She’s been sick on and off since we met her. Her daughter comes from college upstate a lot to look after her. Sometimes she babysits for us while she’s here to make a little extra.

Conway opened her mouth, but the tousled teacher got the question out first. Is she here now? Minetti glared at him, his eyes little more than slits.

Yeah, Mrs. Fitz’ health has been really bad the past few weeks. Tammy dropped her classes for the quarter so she could be here more. She sat for Emily last week.

Any reason you know of that she would take your daughter? This time Conway got the question out first.

No, none. She’s always been great with Emily, but nothing weird. Shaking his head slowly, Mitch was trying to recall any instance that might have been a warning sign, but nothing came to mind.

Her last name the same as her mother’s, Mr. Whitney? Minetti asked.

Yeah, Tammy…, no Tamara Fitz. I don’t know if there’s a middle name.

Mitch, Rita’s weak voice called out, tears still pouring from her eyes, what about her boyfriend?

Boyfriend? Conway glanced at Rita, then turned her attention back to the frantic father.

Mitch furrowed his brow deeply. I don’t know much about him; only met him a few times here in the building. Didn’t seem like her type, kind of a punk. We didn’t care much for him. Kyle something…

Anderson, Rita injected. Kyle Anderson.

Conway spun and barked at Minetti, Get me what we’ve got on this guy. If he’s involved, it’s a good bet he has priors. She looked over her shoulder at Scott. Not bad, Mr. Roberts. Thanks.

Don’t thank me ‘til we find her, the rumpled sleuth said, still staring at the picture on the computer screen, unable to shake the feeling he was still missing something…

An hour later…

I haven’t got any kid!" Kyle Anderson fired another shot out the living room window at the one unmarked and two police cars parked outside.

Hunkered down behind one of the cars, Detective Conway was calling for back-up. In the five minutes since she and the squad cars had arrived, the situation had quickly become dangerous, with Anderson opening fire the minute the first uniformed officer stepped out of his car. He had a long record for a young man and was easy to locate here at the house of a long-time friend. The friend was nowhere to be seen, something he would likely be thankful for given the circumstances. Conway was biding her time until help arrived. There had been no sign of anyone else in the house, and a quick chat with a neighbor had confirmed that only Anderson had been seen entering, so the female cop had little hope that the kidnapped girl was here. That meant that they needed to take Anderson alive for questioning, but he was apparently in no mood to make that an easy task. She had her phone in hand and was quickly dialing Minetti, who was still overseeing things at the Whitney apartment. As soon as she heard him say Minetti here, she blurted out the quick details of the situation at the house. No idea how long this is going to take; I don’t think the girlfriend or the child are here. You got anything else on your end?

Back in the apartment, Minetti paced as he spoke on the phone. Scott was still sitting in front of the computer, catching snippets of the conversation, enough to know that they hadn’t found Emily as yet. For the last hour, he had been fixated on the photo of the frightened girl, certain there was something there he was overlooking. Mitch hovered over his shoulder, trying not to distract his friend but unable to take his eyes off the picture on the screen. Leaning back and staring at the ceiling, the disheveled detective almost hit Mitch with his head. Nothing? Mitch asked, unable to hold back any longer.

Not yet, the dejected professor sighed. His eyes wandered as his mind raced. What shouldn’t be there? Something out of place, something distinct that doesn’t fit the mold… The thought made him sit straight up so quickly Mitch backed up a step. You got something? the distraught father asked desperately.

His eyes once again glued to the photo, Scott said, simply, Mold.

Mitch stood silent and thoroughly confused as his friend studied the wall behind Emily. Mold? he finally said.

Blue mold, the mussy sleuth began. On the walls. Looks like there was water damage from the stains around it and on the carpet. Mitch still had no idea what his best friend was talking about, but he recognized the tone and manner; Scott was doing that thing once more. There was a story on the local news about a condemned building right around here; ancient water pipes breaking and leaking into the apartments a while back. The story was about a demolition crew that didn’t want to go in unprotected to set any charges because of all the blue mold that was spreading around inside; they mentioned it was similar to the kind we get penicillin from.

You’re allergic to penicillin, Mitch noted a bit absently as he tried to see where his friend was going.

That’s why it stuck in my head. the educator was in full deductive mode, his fingers darting across the keyboard as he searched the internet. That’s it, he said a moment later, having found the news account in question. It’s about a block and a half away. He scrolled down the page and saw a picture taken of some of the damage, a hallway with the same dirty white and stained walls as the room Emily was shown in.

That’s it! That’s the place! Mitch was almost screaming.

Minetti noted the ruckus as he pocketed his phone. He turned to the one remaining officer in the apartment to give him an update. Back up just got there. They should be able to take the Anderson kid in soon. Turning his attention to the father and his friend, he shuffled over to the computer, giving them both an annoyed look as he approached. What’s going on?

He found it! Mitch blurted out.

The unkempt professor got up from the chair and faced the detective. I think we have the apartment building where the photo was taken. He motioned to the screen, which was now split between the ransom photo and the news picture. Same mold, same stains, same walls.

Minetti scowled. Different carpet, he noted, pointing to the greenish carpeting in the ransom shot and the tan color covering the hallway floor.

Scott saw Mitch’s face fall, the hope draining from him. The news shot is the hallway; it’s not exactly unusual for an apartment to have different carpeting than the hall.

It’s worth checking out, isn’t it? Mitch offered to the skeptical policeman.

We’re checking the most viable leads we have; I’ll send a car to check out the moldy walls if we confirm the little girl isn’t with the boyfriend, Minetti explained in an unconcerned tone.

The angry instructor’s hands clenched into tight fists, but he pulled his temper back. He glared at Minetti, then turned to Mitch. Pal, I need some air. I’m just gonna step outside for a minute or two.

The detective grabbed his arm as he started for the door. Just outside, okay?

Is it against the law to go for a little walk? Scott shot back.

No, Minetti answered, still holding the arm tightly. But interfering with a police investigation is.

Then I’ll try to avoid doing that, the exasperated teacher said, pulling his arm lose and stalking out the door…

Six minutes later…

It took more time than he had thought to jog the block and a half to the condemned building, leaving the out of shape college professor huffing heavily. Got to stop carrying this spare tire around with me someday. Fortunately, it took far less time for Scott to determine that, though condemned, it was not abandoned. There were clear signs that the rear entrance had been used more recently than the front doors, meaning someone had been inside and could still be there, as he had suspected. He circled around the whole structure, looking and listening, trying to be careful, keeping close to the building and ducking past windows so as not to alert anyone inside to his presence. Just as he was approaching the back door for the second time, he heard someone on the other side. He quickly ducked down behind a large bush a few feet away just as the door opened and a man slunk out, his heavy coat a bit warm for the mild weather. The collar was pulled up, almost hitting the hat he wore atop his head, making identifying him nearly impossible. The only distinguishing characteristic the perceptive educator noticed was when the man reached up and readjusted the thick collar; there was what looked like a large class ring on his left hand, with a very distinct red and purple stone. The mystery man hustled off, heading around the building for the street. Scott snuck around the other side, hoping for a better look at the mysterious stranger. All he saw when he peeked around the corner was more of the man’s back as he shuffled quickly away. The teacher pondered following him but didn’t have the chance to decide before the window behind him blew out and he felt the ground shake. He tumbled awkwardly away from the apartments and lay on the grass, stunned. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when his senses cleared, but he saw most of the windows had shattered and there was an unsettling creaking coming from the structure. He then heard a cry from above and recognized the voice immediately: Emily. He heard it again; it was from the third or fourth floor, but he couldn’t be sure. He had no time to really think, and before he was even aware he had moved, he was racing into the building through the shattered hole where the back door had been, tripping over his own feet in the process. There were scattered spots of flame and parts