Tagalong: JD Pickens Mysteries, #6

By George Encizo

When the ten-year-old daughter of a prominent attorney is kidnapped, Sheriff JD Pickens goes into overdrive to recover the girl only to discover that things aren't always how they appear. For one thing, the daughter is adopted and doesn't know it. For another thing, her uncle is a federal prosecutor who wants to help. Then there is a ransom note—an email message that warns the girl's mother not to contact the authorities. Fearful for her daughter's life, she is reluctant to talk to the sheriff, but she's known him all her life and used to tagalong with him and her older brother when they were teenagers.

Pickens needs to work with clues, and they are few to begin with. The glimpse of a white van that doesn't belong in the neighborhood leads to the hunt for a sketch artist to draw a composite portrait. The girl's dog tried to attack the kidnapper before being kicked aside, which leads to a very unusual clue. Finally, Pickens calls on a private investigator to bring another skill set to the investigation and get more information from the mother, Allison. During a conversation with her brother, the mother reveals that her daughter, Melinda was adopted. Concerned that the abduction might involve the birth parents, Pickens immediately wonders if this might be a lead, a motive for someone to grab the girl.

Pickens is informed that trying to open a closed adoption is ill-advised and not to go there. Dropping that avenue of pursuit, Pickens collects DNA evidence from his prime suspect when the suspect tosses out a cigarette butt. Putting a hard rush on the DNA, once it is uploaded to CODIS, all hell breaks lose because the FBI has warrants out for the suspect on other charges, and Melinda's DNA is uploaded at another database due to healthcare issues from several years earlier. The suspect turns out to be Melinda's biological father.

By the time the genetics get sorted out and a surveillance drone confirms the location where Melinda is held captive, the manhunt is in position, sniper and FBI agents included. But a tangled past and a determined uncle will jeopardize the rescue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: George Encizo
• Release date: May 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662927171

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

TEN-YEAR-OLD MELINDA HAD walked from her neighbor’s house to her home to walk her dog, Bobbie Joe. She unlocked the front door and entered.

Bobbie Joe, I’m home. Ready for your walk?

The dog, a gray miniature poodle, came running from Melinda’s bedroom, where she slept and yelped.

You missed me, didn’t you? Bobbie Joe raised on her hind legs, and Melinda leaned down and let Bobbie Joe lick her face. Okay, let’s go. Melinda retrieved Bobbie Joe’s leash and put it on her.

They left the house and started down the street.

Melinda paid little attention to a van that drove past her for several days except to wave to the driver. She thought it was probably someone’s cleaning service.

But today, the van pulled up to the curb, and a man jumped out and grabbed Melinda.

Let go of me, she shouted. Get him, Bobbie Joe.

Bobbie Joe sunk her teeth into the man’s leg.

Son-of-a, yelled the man, then kicked the dog into the bushes. Melinda seized the opportunity to land a kick in the man’s crotch. Damnit, kid.

Use the gag and let’s get out of here, said the woman driving the van, before someone sees us.

Melinda continued struggling, but the man slapped her hard across the face, then covered Melinda’s mouth with the gag, and she blacked out.

Go, yelled the man and closed the van’s door. The woman hung a U-turn and sped off.

Did anyone see us? asked the man.

No. That was easy. I told you the kid walked the mutt every day after coming home from school.

Easy? You’re not the one who got bit and kicked.

Aw. Poor boy. You can fix your wounds when we get to the farm.

CHAPTER 2

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, ALLISON Westcott, a victim’s advocate attorney in the firm of Carlson and Westcott, was preparing for her court appearance before Judge Stanley Mercer the following day. She had worked through lunch having ordered a panini and a bottle of water from Lydia’s Bakery, which she always did when working a complex case. She had just printed out some papers and tossed the remains of her lunch into the wastebasket.

She sat back in her chair behind her desk and glanced at the framed picture of her ten-year-old daughter, Melinda, in a uniform kneeling on one knee with a soccer ball at her foot. It made Allison smile. She was proud her daughter had made the soccer team and scored the winning goal at last Saturday’s match. Melinda was a fierce competitor, and Allison felt she had raised a budding athlete—maybe a future Olympian in the making.

Her reverie was interrupted when her laptop signaled that she had incoming mail.

Annoyed by the interruption, she considered ignoring it. Still, she decided to open it if in the event the email was from Judge Mercer’s office, but it wasn’t from Mercer’s office, and she didn’t recognize the sender.

Opening the window, she didn’t recognize the anonymous sender. When she opened the message and started reading, she felt like she was hanging from a noose, and her breath caught in her throat.

She struggled to gasp for air.

When she regained her composure, she opened the attachment and thought she was having a nightmare. The strangling sensation returned, but she forced it back down. She couldn’t believe what she saw.

She thought if she blinked, she’d wake from the nightmare and the image would disappear, replaced by a blank screen. After blinking, the image hadn’t disappeared, nor had the nightmare, and her mind raced with unimaginable thoughts.

The only possible solution for her was to leave her office immediately and go home. Allison closed her laptop, stood, and grabbed her suit jacket. She was about to leave her office when her phone rang. The call was from her neighbor with more unsettling news.

Alison ran down to her partner’s office, John Carlson, and tapped on the door jam.

Carlson looked up from the paperwork he was studying, noticed Allison’s pained expression, and said, Something wrong, Allison?

Allison frowned, uncertain how to phrase her request. I need some time off because of a family emergency. Could you take my court appearance for me in front of Judge Mercer in the morning? Maybe get a continuance? The file is on my desk, and you can read it and get up to date. I’m sorry, I really need to go.

Allison turned and walked away, then left the office and headed home to talk to her neighbor.

CHAPTER 3

JUDGE STANLEY MERCER’S hair had turned whiter after twenty years on the bench in Central Florida, and his patience had worn thin Thursday morning from listening to bickering and grandstanding attorneys. The case before him was a civil one, the two attorneys were shouting at each other, and he had heard enough. The judge rubbed his hand through his hair, banged his gavel, and pointed it at the defense attorney.

Acting as the plaintiff’s attorney, John Carlson had just finished arguing for a continuance. He’d already scored on his request for additional discovery material that the defense was withholding. Carlson’s opponent—unhappy with the outcome—argued again that there was no merit to the case and the judge should dismiss it.

Counsel, you’re trying my patience. Judge Mercer shouted. I’ve already made my decision, so live with it. Besides, the plaintiff’s counsel has been very cooperative in keeping this matter from the public. Carlson glanced at the defense counsel and grinned. You should be grateful to him. Now, if there are no more motions, we’re adjourned. He turned and addressed Carlson. Counsel, give my regards to Ms. Westcott.

I will, thanks, your honor. Judge Mercer got up and left the courtroom. Both attorneys stood out of respect. Carlson removed his glasses, began putting his paperwork in his briefcase, turned, and addressed the defense attorney. Sorry, Jeff, but I have to do what’s best for my client. You can argue whatever you want when Allison returns. Both attorneys had known each other quite some time but rarely came up against each other.

Yeah, well, I hope she’s more cooperative than you. He shook his head and frowned. Give my regards to her. I hope her emergency wasn’t serious.

So do I. I’m glad Allison will be back in time to review your discovery material. He grabbed his briefcase and walked away. Take care, Jeff.

You too.

Carlson was still a match for most women at fifty-three, hair receding and graying. Unfortunately, he was married. He exercised routinely at the gym to prevent his muscles from getting soft and maintain a healthy heart. He began wearing eyeglasses a few years ago at his wife’s insistence.

He’d been handling only cases as a corporate attorney, and now he had to act as a victim’s advocate because his partner, Allison Westcott, had taken time off for a family emergency. Carlson’s wife, Emily, was forty-nine and married him twenty-four years ago—three years after receiving her master’s degree in art. Both were graduates of Florida State University.

Carlson left the courthouse and decided to walk several blocks to his office since it was a beautiful spring morning. Later in the morning, the temperature would be higher typical for Central Florida.

Carlson’s office was in the Cambridge Center on Montrose Street. He passed the Old Clock at the corner and waved to two colleagues walking across the street past the banner that read Downtown Market Place. City workers were setting up tents for Saturday’s market.

During the pandemic, the market had shut down but recently had started up again. Many businesses had shuttered during the pandemic, but some had reopened. Most employees had returned to work rather than stay at home and collect an unemployment check. Covid cases and deaths never reached the peak as they did in other counties in the state. The populous adhered to guidelines and wore masks as suggested, which kept cases and deaths low. Lately, people have chosen to wear them or not.

It was their right to decide, and hardly anyone declined to be vaccinated. All told, the way the county came through the Pandemic was a testament to the resilience of its citizens.

Carlson strolled into Carlson and Westcott, LLC and said hello to his legal assistant, Jayne Burrows. Two years younger than him and a single mom with two kids who had graduated from Duke University and now lived in North Carolina, Burrows was extremely attractive. Her hair was the color of the skirts she wore and always well-coiffed. Dressed in black and white business attire that accentuated her slender figure, she made an impression on Carlson and the office clients.

Good morning, John. You look like you had a rough morning in court. Her greetings were always cordial, and she addressed him by his first name at his insistence.

He gave her a half-hearted smile. Arguing motions for discovery is always taxing. He raised his hand. I don’t know why I agreed to take this case for Allison.

You had no other choice. Allison was called away for a family emergency, and it’s not like you haven’t handled a case like this before.

I know, but reliving the Wellesley case is difficult. Thank god Allison will be back soon.

He took on the Wellesley case because his then-teenage daughter, Jessica, had insisted he look into it. She had learned that a girl in a high school in another county, who Jessica knew from swimming meets, was raped by two boys from the same school, and she wanted him to talk to her parents. Jessica was now in her third year in college.

Carlson almost lost the case when the victim’s original story dramatically changed. Fortunately, Carlson’s investigator received help from a neighbor of one of the boys involved in the rapes. The neighbor was a retired photographer and took pictures of several girls coming and going on Saturday nights. With the pictures he had, the investigator discovered several more rape victims and was able to get them to testify. The trial turned into a media circus, but the victims prevailed.

Go relax in your office. I can handle anything that might come up.

He smiled. Thanks, Jayne. I’ll close the door too.

She raised her hand to get his attention. Wait. She raised her hand again to get his full attention. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off and work from home? It’s not like you haven’t done it before.

He pursed his mouth, tilted his head, contemplated her suggestion, and smiled. That’s a great idea. Boy, you sure know how to please a man. His face lit up. If I weren’t married to Emily, I’d make you, my bride.

She winked and smiled back. You’ve been saying that for years now. She waved a hand at him. Go on, go home.

He turned and started for his office to grab some work to take home with him, but his private investigator called after him.

John, wait, I need a favor.

He glanced at Jayne and nodded his head. What now, Louise? I’m going home to work, and haven’t I done enough favors for you? It was actually the other way around as she was the one who did the favors.

Louise Tomlinson was rapidly approaching that year when many women denied their age. She tied her almond-colored ponytail with a purple ribbon. She had a figure that any man would enjoy looking at—which she nurtured by running with a small group of other single women daily. Tomlinson was his private investigator—meticulous and persistent but compassionate and humorous. She wasn’t shy about taking on complex cases, especially involving crimes against women. Louise was a victim of rape in her senior year of high school. Her parents had the case tried in civil court as a Jane Doe. Unfortunately, they lost the case, but when her rapist tried it in college, he paid a painful price and never had sex with a woman again, because some of the victim’s friends castrated the guy. Louise was first referred to Carlson by the Florida Attorney General, a friend of Carlson, and asked to assist him with the Whellesly case.

Not one to be discouraged, Louise plowed ahead.

It will only take a minute, and then you can go home.

He raised his hands in surrender. Fine, come on in.

They entered his office, he sat behind his desk, and she sat in front. Okay, let’s have it.

You know I’m friendly with Pickens. She referred to JD Pickens, the sheriff of a small rural county in Central Florida. Well, he asked me for a favor.

And you’re making it my favor.

She gave him her usual coy smile. Got me. He’s dealing with a young girl who disappeared, and no one knows the girl’s whereabouts. Pickens has a small staff and asked if I would help with the investigation since I have experience in abduction cases and the resources to get answers. She took a deep breath and continued, Do you mind if I help him?

Carlson raised a palm. No. Go ahead. I know you really want to, and say hello to Pickens for me.

Thanks, I will. But there’s something you should know. She took another deep breath before continuing. The—missing girl is Allison’s daughter.

Carlson stiffened. She’s what?

Allison’s daughter. That’s why she asked for time off. I think Allison has been trying to find her daughter by herself.

That’s just like her but not smart. Do whatever you have to and take all the time you need.

I will, and it will be on my dime, not yours.

Carlson raised his palm. "No. Allison is family, and so are you. It will be on my dime. Submit your invoices to Jayne for time and expenses. And don’t argue with me. Tell Pickens you’re on loan to him, but you still work for me. Now, go find Allison’s daughter and make it