Proving Ground

By

A. Rhea King

Chapter 1

A dozen female prisoners in orange jump suits filed out of the county jail and onto the bus. They didn't speak, hardly looked at each other, but most looked straight at the guards, almost as a challenge. The guards didn't look away. They filed onto the bus and sat down, letting the guards chain their handcuffs to bars that were solidly fastened to the floor. Two guards walked on, one taking a seat in the empty bench behind the driver. The other would remain standing until they arrived at the courthouse. The bus driver climbed aboard and sat down, closing the doors. They pulled out of the yard into New York City streets and started the twenty-four block trip.

Four blocks passed in silence. The driver slowed when a van slowly pulled out of an alley in his path. The van stopped and the driver got out, opening the back, and began unloading boxes. The bus driver honked his horn. The driver ignored him. The bus driver honked again.

Gunfire came from all directions. Instinctively the guards and driver hit the floor. The inmates got down as best they can.

Four men and a woman broke through the front door, and started firing at the two guards at the front. The walking guard got up to shoot back and was shot in the chest. She fell to the floor next Annie Stohl. They stared into each other's eyes.

"No," Annie softly whispered, grabbing the guard's hand. "Melanie, stay with me. Mellie?"

Mel smiled a little, giving Annie's hand a squeeze. She opened her mouth to speak as a bullet splattered blood and brains over Annie and the area. Annie ducked back, pressing against the side of the bus. She looked up when a man appeared. He stared at her, and then held up a key.

"If you want out, put your hands up."

Annie held up her hands and he unlocked them.

"Get the fuck out of here!" he snarled, and moved to the next to last inmate.

He unlocked her cuffs and she stood, the two kissing.

"Knew you'd come for me, baby," she said.

They headed for the front of the bus. Annie looked at Melanie, and then climbed to her feet. She headed for the door, staring at the second guard and bus driver on the floor as she passed them. Annie stepped off the bus into chaos. The people in the neighborhood were frantic about what had just happened. Inmates were attacking people, beating on people for their cars or just for fun. Annie felt like she had stepped into a world of complete chaos. A movement toward her caught her attention and she focused on the last inmate striding toward her with a gun aimed at her. Was the inmate going to shoot her too?

"Move!" she ordered Annie.

Annie looked back. The bus driver was still alive, and reaching for the radio. Annie looked back at the woman.

"I'll pay you not to shoot him," Annie told him.

"What?"

"I'll pay you not to shoot him. Just shoot the radio. You'll have to get me out of here if you want the money. A thousand. Will a thousand change your mind?"

The woman hesitated. She fired over Annie's shoulder and she jumped, turning. The radio showered the guard with sparks, but he was still alive. He looked up into Annie's eyes.

"Come on," the woman told Annie.

Annie glanced at her. She paused long enough to tell the guard, "Put pressure on your head wound until help gets here."

Annie ran after the woman. They climbed into a car that sped off, away from the scene.

#

As Mac entered the police building, Regina, the receptionist, waved him over. He walked up to her desk and she held out a stack of calls.

"These all came in the hour I was out?" Mac asked.

"And they just keep coming," she answered.

Mac took the papers and headed upstairs to the crime lab. He hit the top of the stairs and was bombarded from all directions.

"Boss, I gotta problem," Danny said as he came down the hall.

From behind Lindsay called out, "Mac, I need to you to go over these results. Something's not right here."

Coming in from his left front was Stella with a stack of case files. "These all need your John Hancock, Mac."

"Oh good, you're in Mac," Hawkes said as he came out of a lab. "I need you to look over this ballistics report."

Mac pinched the bridge of his nose as the four started talking at once. He held up his hand, calmly telling them, "Wait." They didn't stop. "Wait!" he said a little louder.

That stopped everyone. He smiled, chuckling a little to let them know he wasn't angry; he just needed them to all stop talking at once.

He held up the calls. "Okay, we—"

"Detective Taylor, we gotta problem," someone yelled from down the hall.

He looked around Stella, seeing the night shift supervisor standing in his office. Standing in his door, and the culprit of yelling so the entire lab stopped to look, was DA Tom Hillary.

Mac sighed, looking at his CSI. "Sorry, guys, he gets me first. I'll come find each of you when I'm done."

"This is really important, though, Mac," Danny insisted.

"It'll have to wait for a few minutes, Danny."

Mac pushed through his CSI. He stopped and turned, holding out the calls to Stella. She exchanged them for the stack of files in her arms.

"Prioritize these and then start dividing them between us. Looks like we're getting more overtime today, guys."

They all groaned.

"Sleeeeeeep!" Danny whined as he lightly beat his head against a wall.

Mac turned away. His own sentiments echoed Danny's whine. In three days, he'd had five hour of sleep, including the hour nap he'd just taken in his car, and caffeine was starting to lose the battle against the urge to sleep. Mac looked up to see the DA had retreated back into his office, and the way he and Roland were throwing their arms around, they were fighting about something. He went into his office, and their argument prompted a headache to start forming. It was dull now, but he knew that by the end of the day, it was going to be fighting to hold onto him.

"What's the problem?" Mac asked.

"We don't have a problem," Roland answered.

"Your department lost the case files, Roland," DA Hillary snapped back at him.

"When those case files leave CSI and are entered into records, they aren't our responsibility any more, Tom!"

The two men started another round of arguing about whose responsibility the alleged missing files were. Mac walked around his desk and sat the files down in the only clear spot on his desk. The rest was loaded down with graveyard and swing shift cases waiting for his signature. Mac pulled off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. He sat down, picked up a pen and started signing case files, tuning the fighting men out.

"Mac," Roland's voice said, cutting through his concentration. If that's what it was. He may have mentally dozed off since he realized he'd already signed three quarters of the stack Stella had given him – and he had no idea what they were. He looked up at the two.

"So do either of you want to tell me what this argument is about or go at it again while I finish up some work?" Mac asked.

Roland frowned. Hillary shot him a narrowed-eyed glare.

"It's about the Jared Raspton case," DA Hillary said.

That meant nothing to Mac. He returned the DA's stare with a blank stare.

"Jared Raspton, Internet entrepreneur. Two months ago he was killed by a woman he allegedly raped," Hillary added.

This still meant nothing to Mac.

"You signed off on the case, Mac," Roland told him.

Mac looked at the sea of case files surrounding him then back at Roland.

"Maybe you hadn't noticed, Roland, but that's about all I've been doing since New York citizens went on a crime spree three months ago. I'm sorry, gentlemen, I have no idea what case you're talking about."

"This is pointless," DA Hillary turned to Roland. "I need those files. The police need those files."

"Why do the police need them?" Mac asked.

"The suspect, Anastasia Stohl, was being transport for trial a week ago and escaped," Roland told him.

"I heard about that. The guard said she bribe one of the inmates not to shoot him, didn't she?"

"One small act of kindness does not mean she's a saint, Mac, and now, even if she's caught, we have nothing to prosecute her with!" Hillary snarled at Roland.

"Well, I'm sorry!"

The DA's lips thinned as he pressed them tightly together and hardened his stare on Roland.

"I can't make the files magically reappear!" Roland retorted.

"We need those files or we have no case against this woman."

"Wait, wait. Roland, we have the evidence still, right?" Mac asked.

"Without case files, we have nothing," Hillary snarled.

"I'm aware of that, Tom. Roland, wake up your CSI and—"

Flatly, Roland told him, "They aren't asleep. They haven't left."

"Okay. Well, tell them to put aside whatever they're working on and have them begin putting the case files back together. I'll have one of my CSI pull the evidence and run what tests they can."

"The crime scene hasn't been touched. We might be able to get back into his apartment," Roland told him.

"It hasn't been touched for two months?" Mac asked.

"His entire estate is wrapped in a legal dispute between the ex-wife and his parents. There's a good chance no one's been in it since he was murdered."

"Okay. Roland, get a court order and send your guys back to collect what they can."

He nodded.

Mac looked back at Hillary. "Better?"

"It's starting to be."

"Good. Now if you two don't mind, we have a lot of calls to deal with today. Please…" Mac motioned them to his office door.

He noticed Danny standing in the hallway waiting. Hillary left, but Roland hung back.

"Thank you for handling that."

"No problem. Just do what you can to keep him out of here. We're having a hard enough time keeping things smooth without a hot head DA around."

Roland flashed a smile as he left. Mac motioned Danny in.

"Weren't you working on the Hydeman case today?" Mac asked him.

"Yeah. That's what I've got a problem with. You said there might be a connection with that strangler case from SOHO last year. Remember?"

"Yes. What's the problem?"

"So, I went down to the evidence locker to check out that case evidence, and Simon asked why I didn't send my assistant down to get the stuff. I thought he was playing and told him I wish I had one. Then he got mad. Said I was the one playing. Told me this kid picked up evidence for me last night, even showed him my badge." Danny lifted the badge on his belt, showing Mac his badge. "I have my badge, showed it to him. He says the badge the kid showed him was mine, same number, everything. Then I remembered I lost mine when I was investigating this murder a few days ago and had to have a hundred deducted off my check to get this one."

"I remember."

"So now Simon won't let me check out anything until he talks to you."

Mac pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. The headache was growing.

"You okay, Mac?"

"Yeah." He picked up his the receiver of his desk phone and dialed a number.

"Evidence, Officer Fredrick," Simon answered.

"Simon, Mac. Seems we have some confusion."

"I'm not confused. That CSI of yours is. He comes down here, tells me he doesn't have an assistant, and gets mad when I say his joke isn't funny."

"Simon, Danny doesn't have an assistant. No CSI does."

There was a minute of silence. "Then we gotta problem, Mac."

"It would appear so. So what was checked out by this assistant?"

"Hold on. I gotta go look at the board." Hold music came on.

Mac looked up at Danny. His eyes were drooping, heavy with lack of fatigue.

"Danny, sit down before you fall over."

Danny fell into his chair. Mac watched him doze off and wished for a moment he could doze off. He turned his attention back to the phone when the hold music cut off.

"Here's the case number," Simon said.

Mac grabbed a pad of paper and pen. "Okay."

"Case number is NYPS0433437."

"Got it. Simon, he needs the evidence he came to get. Can he come back for it?"

"What about the badge the kid showed me?"

"It was stolen."

"Okay. Send him back."

Mac hung up, turning to his computer. "Danny."

"Hm?"

"Go back down."

Danny got up and walked toward the door. "Are we going to get a day off sometime soon?"

Mac looked up at him. He stopped when Mac didn't answer. Mac smiled sympathetically.

"I hope so. Bring the evidence up and then why don't you go home for a few hours?"

"What about everyone else?"

"I'm going to start sending all of you home for a couple hours. We can't keep working like this. We're bound to make a mistake."

Danny nodded. "Thanks, Mac."

Mac nodded, turning back to his computer.

"Does that mean you to?"

"Only after you five have had some time."

Mac heard Danny leave and focused on his screen. He pulled up the case number Simon gave him.

"Jared Raspton again." He sat back, staring at the screen for a moment. Then dialed another number. "Roland. We have a problem with the Rapston evidence. All of it's been stolen too."

#

Mac climbed into bed and collapsed. In minutes, his breathing slowed as he slipped toward deep sleep.

His cell phone started ringing and his eyes slowly opened, staring at the glowing device beside his bed. He sighed, looking at the alarm clock next to it. 2:37 AM glowed back in blue. He reached out and answered the phone on the last ring.

"Mac Taylor."

"I woke you, didn't I?" Stella asked. 'I'm sorry,' was already in her voice even if she never said it.

"What's going on?"

"We have a quadruple at forty-seventh and Broadway. Looks gang related, but it's just me."

"Where's everyone else?"

"Everywhere. We don't have anyone else left. Roland even called in swing to help out tonight."

Mac rolled onto his side, yawning.

"I'm sorry, Mac. You haven't had a day off in three weeks."

"It's okay. If you need me, you need me. Give me thirty minutes."

"Thirty?"

"Forty?"

"Better. I'll see you soon. Should I save anything good?"

"Yeah. Of course."

She chuckled. "Okay."

Mac hung up and drug himself out of bed. He fumbled for the bedside lamp switch and dressed.

#

Mac trotted out of his apartment building, looking through his keys as he strolled across the street. He heard metal clink against metal and turned. He didn't see anything in the darkness. He turned back to his CSI Tahoe as he separated its key from the rest and pushed the unlock button. With a flash of lights and soft beep, the car let him know the door was now unlocked. Mac reached for the door handle and a shadow separated from the rear of the Tahoe in his peripheral vision. He turned, reaching for his gun, but froze. The person already had theirs aimed at him. A hooded sweatshirt hid the person's face. In a quick glance, Mac saw a lot: the sweatshirt was plain, the person wore gloves, and the gunman was short, probably not much taller than five foot.

"Mac Taylor?" the person asked. It was a woman, he couldn't judge the person's age by the tone, but she sounded young.

He didn't answer.

"Are you Mac Taylor? Cuz if you're not I'll have to kill you."

"Yeah."

"Get in and get over."

He held out the keys. "Here. Take it."

"I don't want the car. Get in and get over."

His brow furrowed. "You don't want the car? But you want me to get in? I don't understand."

"You're annoying me. That could be bad for your kneecaps."

Mac slowly obeyed, climbing over the dividing console into the passenger seat. The person got in and quickly adjusted the seat for their height. Even with the dome light on, he couldn't see the person's face, just the tip of her nose.

"Put the key in the ignition and start it," she ordered him.

He did as she told him. She tapped the lock button on the door, locking all the doors. A kidnapper or carjacker that was paranoid or precautious? That was dangerous.

"Put your seatbelt on."

"Why?"

"Put on your seatbelt."

He obeyed. She pulled her seatbelt on and snapped it in, but never took the gun off him doing it. She put the car in gear with her left hand and pulled out onto the street. They drove in silence for a few blocks.

"What is this about?"

"Well talk later. When there's not an in-dash camera and microphone recording us."

She'd done her homework if she knew his vehicle had those – most of the CSI vehicles didn't. He watched where they went so he could tell someone later – if there was a later. She pulled into the parking lot of a large company and went to the far end where a white Passat waited.

She parked the Tahoe, telling him, "Turn it off."

He obeyed and the doors automatically unlocked. Mac's cell phone started ringing and he instinctively reached for it. She lunged at him, pressing the gun against his head. Not at his temple, but into his hair.

"Whoever it is, you will be there soon, or you will call them back because of traffic. You will not say anything else. Understood?"

He nodded slowly as he answered.

"Mac," he said.

"Hey. Did you want me to pick up some coffee?" Stella asked.

"No. I'll be there soon."

"Okay. Well, two of the bodies came back to known gang members. So—"

"Stella, I need to call you back. The traffic here on Clifton is backed up."

Stella hesitated. Did she notice the unusual comment? Or the name of a street he'd never use to get to forty-seventh and Broadway?

"How bad is it, Mac?" she asked.

"Pretty bad. I'll be tied up for a while. No escaping it."

"Hang up now," the kidnapper whispered.

"Stella, I gotta go. This looks pretty nasty. Bye."

The kidnapper grabbed the phone and closed it before he heard Stella's response. The person dropped it in the cup holder.

"Put your sidearm on the floor, under the seat."

He did as she told him.

"Get out your side."

Mac obeyed and she climbed out behind him. She tapped the door lock button again and shut the door, then motioned him to move.

"Go around to the back," she told him.

Mac did as she ordered.

"Pull off the cardboard."

He looked down, seeing she'd taped a piece of cardboard taped over the license plate with black electrical tape. He pulled it off.

"Passenger side."

He walked around and she dug keys from her jeans pocket. She tapped the unlock button on the key and the car greeted them as his Tahoe had earlier.

"Get in and buckle up."

He got in and obeyed. She crouched down next to him, pulling a syringe from her sweatshirt pocket.

"What is that?"

"It's harmless." She looked up at him and he saw her face for the first time.

"Anastasia Stohl," Mac loudly announced. He hoped the microphone in his Tahoe would catch the name.

She didn't say anything. She reached up and injected the fluid in the syringe into his neck. The drug worked fast and he started feeling tired right away.

"Why are you kidnapping me?" he asked her.

"Go to sleep, Mac. You can't help me if you're tired."

He didn't want to obey, but the drug didn't give him a choice. He heard the door close softly as he faded to sleep.

#

Stella was finishing her notes when Flack walked up to her. He leaned in so he could talk quietly.

"Where is he?" Flack asked.

She pulled her cell phone off her belt, dialing Mac's number again. She let it ring until it went to voicemail.

"No answer."

"I don't like this, Stella. He would have called if he weren't coming."

She agreed. She watched coroner load the bodies into their vehicles. She and Hawkes had already finished the scene. The evidence collected. Mac should have been here before they had even started searching the area for evidence.

"Let's stop by his place before we go back," Stella said.

Flack nodded. "Maybe I should ask them to get a hold of Lo-Jack."

"Yeah. I've gotta bad feeling about this. When he said there was traffic, I should have known something was wrong. That just sounded wrong."

"Don't beat yourself up over it. It was a perfectly normal answer."

She frowned. Hawkes walked up to them, looking at Stella's phone.

"No answer still?"

She shook her head. "Finish up here. We're going to go by his place."

He nodded. Stella and Flack headed into the crowd of onlookers toward Flack's car.

#

Stella pounded on Mac's apartment door. "MAC!" she yelled.

It brought another neighbor to the door. She looked up when Flack came up the steps two at a time. He shook his head.

"The Tahoe is gone. His car is here."

"Has Lo-Jack found it yet?"

"Not yet. The manager's coming up with the key."

Stella's phone rang. "Stella, I have an address from Lo-Jack," Lindsey told her.

"Just a sec. Flack, I need a piece of paper and pen."

He dug his notepad out and tore her out a page, handing it over with his pen.

"Go," Stella said.

Lindsey rattled off the address. "Do you want us to check it out?"

"No, Lindsey. We have too much work there. Flack and I will go check it out."

"Okay. Let us know what you find out. That building is a software company. There's no reason he should be there."

"I'll call you."

Stella hung up as the manager came to the top of the stairs. She stepped back to let him unlock the door. The two walked in, but there were no clues to tell them what had happened to their boss.