Chapter Four

Lucy looked up from her textbooks with a start when the front door opened at long last. She hurried out of the kitchen to greet her exhausted uncle as he shuffled through the door, groaning to himself.

"Uncle Arthur!" she gasped. "What's wrong?"

"Eh." Tragg shook his head. "Oh, this has been one disaster of a night." He hung his hat on the rack by the door as he shut and locked the door behind him. "Didn't you get my message from earlier?"

"Message?" Lucy blinked, turning to stare at the also-blinking answering machine. "No, I didn't," she realized. "My phone's been here charging. And I didn't think to check the machine." She looked back to her uncle, guilt flashing in her eyes. "I'm so sorry! I was out late, and when I got back I knew I needed to study for that test next week, so I just started right in."

"Oh well, that's better anyway." Tragg crossed the living room to a chair and sank into it. "There's nothing you could have done except worry more."

Lucy stood over him, her hands on her hips. "Worry about what? Uncle Arthur!"

Tragg ran a hand through his hair and finally looked up. "Andy's missing."

Lucy stiffened, her mouth hanging open in her shock. "Oh no," she breathed. "Oh, how did it happen?"

"That's what we'd like to know."

Tragg found himself telling her the whole sordid story, from finding the body in the park to the agonizing hours in the hospital and the discovery that the man was Amory Fallon and not Andy. Throughout the tale, Lucy knelt on the floor next to the chair, staring up at the tired and worried police lieutenant.

"And all this time I was out shopping and eating and working on a term paper!" she fretted. "Uncle Arthur, I'm so sorry. I should have been there."

Tragg shook his head and patted her on the shoulder. "No, no. You work hard at school—and around here. You deserved this evening to relax." He sighed. "There won't be much relaxation for anyone for a while now."

"Don't you have any idea where Andy is?" Lucy exclaimed. "Any idea at all?"

"None. We're going to be investigating the people involved in every one of his cases. And, just in case he was mistaken for Amory Fallon and taken by one of his enemies, we have to look into that angle too."

Lucy glowered at the floor. "Oh, that Amory Fallon." She got up, her hair bouncing with the motion. "I never thought we'd run into him again, or that he would end up causing so much trouble."

"It isn't his fault," Tragg sighed. "Anyway, he was hurt too, being mistaken for Andy. And his wife was in a terrible state."

"I know," Lucy sighed too. "But still." She gripped the chair arm. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Tragg managed a smile. "No, Lucy. I don't think so. I don't want you putting yourself in danger. Andy wouldn't, either."

Lucy made a face. "Well, Andy's important to me, too. I want to help!"

"You can help by giving me the peace of mind that I won't need to worry about you too," Tragg said. "And maybe by making some hot chocolate."

With another sigh, Lucy turned to head back into the kitchen. "Well, alright. Hot chocolate, coming up."

Tragg leaned back in the chair, listening to the sounds of pots and pans and measuring utensils. It was pleasant and comforting.

After Maureen had died years before, one of the things Tragg had hated the most was coming home to such an eerie stillness. There were no dishes clanging in the kitchen, no sweet voice humming or singing random songs, no footsteps going up and down stairs. There was only silence, a silence so loud he had nearly gone out of his mind from it. He had taken to playing the television and the radio at all hours, just to keep the house from being swallowed up in silence.

And it had not really helped. What had really bothered him was not so much the silence, per se, but what it represented. The knowledge that his wife would never again in mortality be present in the house was more than enough to make him abhor and detest the silence.

Lucy had known that Tragg needed her. At first he had protested; she had recently turned eighteen and should be out on her own, conquering her own little world. But she had insisted.

It had been almost bitterly hard at first. Lucy was so different from Maureen, and of course it was Maureen he longed to have there. He had not liked the idea of someone else using her kitchen and her dishes. When he had come home and heard someone bustling around in the house, for brief moments he had become eclipsed in the moment and fancied it was Maureen. And of course it could not be.

Still, slowly he had begun to heal. Lucy had been a large part of that process. Now he welcomed her presence and the fact that he was not alone. He dreaded the day when she would meet some nice young man and get married and move out. It did not seem likely to happen soon, but well, you never could tell with those things.

. . . Was Andy alone tonight? Or worse, was he with people who were treating him cruel?

Tragg sat up straight, opening his eyes. "Oh Andy," he whispered. "If only we could have found you."

xxxx

Hamilton was also troubled, as he drove home that night. He was alone with his thoughts; Sampson had lingered at the hospital for a while but had left out of necessity, needing sleep before going into court early in the morning. Hamilton had insisted.

Sampson probably would have stayed, otherwise. He was very devoted to Hamilton and was concerned by anything that concerned him.

"Alright, so what kind of theory did you come up with for the Thompkins case?" Hamilton had asked earlier that evening, as they had driven to Griffith Park in what now felt like an eon ago.

"Well," Sampson had replied, "you remember the details of the case, Mr. Burger? How it involves a mysterious man named Thompkins who fell in too deep with a criminal organization and then couldn't get back out?"

"Of course."

"All we have about him are the scrawled notes we found in the possession of Harvey Harlen, the killer for hire, describing what they know of Thompkins' habits and why he was a liability. It looks as though Harlen was plotting a time to kill him."

"Yes, that's what we figured." Hamilton had raised an eyebrow, waiting for Sampson to get to the point. Knowing Sampson, he would have one.

"It occurred to me to wonder why Harlen would need to know why Thompkins was a danger to the organization. Harlen's only purpose was to fulfill his contracts; he never needed or wanted to know why."

Hamilton had nodded. "It's too bad he was killed in that shootout with the police. Not that he would've told what he knew anyway."

"I wonder now if it was even Harlen at all," Sampson had said. "He never confirmed or denied his identity during the battle. We assumed it was him, but without his fingerprints on file to match against, we didn't know for certain."

"But who would it be if it wasn't Harlen?" Hamilton had kept his eyes on the road, but his mind focused on Sampson's words. It had certainly been easier than thinking of Andy lying injured somewhere in the park.

"For all we know, maybe it was Thompkins himself, after having removed the information from the real Harlen. Maybe he was trying to disappear."

"Maybe," Hamilton had offered noncommittally. "But why wouldn't he have said who he was? Surely he knew that he stood a good chance of dying if he had a shootout with the police."

"What if Harlen was there too, but he had Thompkins held hostage, ready to be killed? And then Thompkins was killed by the gunfire and Harlen planted the papers on him to try to make the police think that he, Harlen, had been killed instead?"

"That could be," Hamilton had said. "So what are you going to do? Start searching again for Harlen, in case he's alive?"

"That's what I've been considering," Sampson had answered. "I wanted your opinion first, Mr. Burger."

"You don't really need my opinion, Sampson. I would've trusted your judgment. But yes, I'll give you permission to go ahead."

"Thank you, Mr. Burger."

Their conversation was turning around in Hamilton's mind now, but he was not paying close attention to it. The words were mixing and mingling with other conversations from that day—discussions with Leon, questioning witnesses, and worrying over Andy's fate.

It was mostly the latter on Hamilton's mind as he pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine. Part of him was still bewildered, wondering how on Earth this had happened at all. The other part sadly knew it was all too plausible.

Would the police department receive some sort of ransom note for Andy? Or was Andy's abductor someone who only wanted revenge and intended to torture and kill him? They might not find out what had happened or where Andy was for days, weeks, even months. They might only put the pieces together upon finding Andy's body somewhere.

It was certainly Tragg's biggest fear. Discovering Amory Fallon in the park had only intensified it. If he managed to sleep at all, he would probably have nightmares about it.

And, Hamilton thought to himself as he fit the key in the lock, Tragg might not be the only one.

Andy had been a curious and capable new lieutenant upon his arrival. Amiable but businesslike, he had soon managed to adapt to the swing of things, striking up friendships with Perry and his crew as well as with Tragg and Hamilton.

Andy was not, however, quite as ease about it as Steve was. Sometimes Hamilton had the sense that Andy had been conflicted about how to handle being friends with Perry and company while not becoming caught up in any of their law-bending. The dilemma had stressed him more than once, and he had very rarely associated with Perry, Della, and Paul in social contexts such as lunch or dinner—unless it was a group dinner and Tragg and Steve were going as well.

Still, Hamilton had noticed that Andy had gradually begun to relax and open up around Della ever since Vivalene's spell had thrust them into an odd situation together. Della had been largely quiet at the hospital tonight, but Hamilton knew she was every bit as worried as everyone else.

Tragg had dubbed the group of them a "family". A mismatched, sometimes dysfunctional family, that was for sure. But a family nevertheless. And Andy was certainly a key member of it.

Almost automatically, Hamilton stepped into his house and flipped on the light, shutting the door behind him at the same time.

He wished there was more for him to do. The police and Hamilton's investigators had taken up the search, and he imagined Perry and Paul and Della would join in too, but for now he knew he needed to at least try to sleep. He wouldn't be fit to go to court or look for Andy or anything else if he stayed awake.

At the same time, he doubted sleep was possible.

Everyone else was probably of the same mind. Perry and Tragg were probably awake right now, trying and failing to think of what could be done.

With a heavy heart, Hamilton trudged up the stairs to his room.

xxxx

Andy was still restless. He had placed the letter from Ned Thompson in his coat pocket and was walking the floor, debating what to do. As he saw it, he had three choices.

He could go through with his original plan and climb out the window, despite the vicious dogs.

He could wait for the door to open again and try to overpower his captor and run out, despite the unknown dangers in the building.

Or he could wait with no intention of leaving yet, despite the danger if his identity was proved.

He was not sure which was worse. Every choice left the possibility of him being seriously hurt or even killed. But still, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed most logical to take his chances with the dogs. He would be killed for sure if his story was found to be true. And he might be shot on sight if he ran into other people while trying to flee through the building. He had no idea what was even in it.

Perhaps the great outdoors really offered just as much—or more—danger, but Andy was more willing to try it above the other options.

Still, in the process of climbing back onto the table, he hesitated. That man had not so much as tried to remove the table or push it away. That very likely meant something. He did not seem concerned about the idea of Andy escaping. And as long as he wanted to keep Andy alive, thinking he was Amory, he would surely not want Andy either to escape or be mauled by the dogs.

Maybe an alarm would go off as soon as the glass was broken. Or maybe there was even some sort of electrical wire that would deliver a jolt not harsh enough to kill him, but enough to stun him. He could do without being electrocuted today.

And completely aside from the pain, it would also be dangerous, because while he was unconscious all manner of things could be done to him. He could be left worse off than he was now. He might come to tied to a chair or in a torture chamber.

With a sigh, he stepped away from the table. They might even have a security camera fixed on him, observing his every move. Maybe it would be wiser to try to overpower whoever came through the door. It would be a surprise move, unable to be predicted from watching him via a camera.

But if they came through having learned that he actually was Lieutenant Anderson of the Los Angeles Police Department, they would already be prepared to kill. He wouldn't have a chance.

Finally decided, he stepped back on the table and took off his coat, wrapping it around his right arm. With all of his strength, he smashed his arm into the window, shielding himself at the same moment.

Glass flew everywhere, but there was no alarm. He looked up, frowning, as he cleared the jagged pieces of glass away from the sill and the edges. Maybe it was a silent alarm, meant to lure him into a false sense of security.

Well, he would have to chance it anyway. He hurriedly slipped his coat on again before placing his hands on the sill and hoisting himself up.

The cool night air immediately hit him in the face. As he pulled himself out of the broken window and got to his feet, he adjusted his hat to hopefully keep it from blowing away. He did not want to lose it, for more reasons than one. If he did and his enemies picked it up, they could use it to track him with the dogs.

He took a moment to stay in the shadows and take in his surroundings. It looked as though he was in some sort of compound. The grass stretched ahead of him, while more than one white, single-level building was behind him. Far ahead, underneath the towering florescent lights, ran a barbed-wire fence.

Andy winced. It was too high to climb over. And there was still the possibility that it was electrically charged. He would have to start walking across the compound in search of a gate or other means of escape.

The only consolation was that it certainly did not seem that any kind of alarm had gone off, silent or otherwise. Everything was in complete stillness; there was no shouting, no mobilization of vehicles or dogs. There was absolutely nothing.

And yet, somehow that made him more concerned than ever. If he was really not going to meet with any resistance, they must want him to escape. And that could only mean that he was still a pawn in whatever devious plot they had concocted.

Still, he could not go back. He could only go forward. He started on his path over the perimeter of the compound, keeping to the shadows of the buildings. The lights illuminated almost everything else, which, while good for him in one way, was dangerous in another. He could see all around, but he could likely be seen without difficulty too.

Where on Earth was he? Surely it was not an abandoned government bunker. He was not sure there even were any in the Los Angeles area.

Of course, he had no guarantee that he was even in the Los Angeles area. The chloroform could have kept him under long enough to be taken far away, maybe even out of the state. If he could get out of here, the first thing he needed to do was to find a payphone. The phonebooks in the booth, if there were any, should give him an approximate idea of where he was.

He rounded the corner and then stopped short. Now there was a sign of life. A guard was passing by on his rounds. One of the infamous Dobermans was trotting at his side, kept on a short leash.

Andy pressed himself against the wall of the building. What was he to do now? Pray that they would go by without noticing him? Turn back and go around the other way? Slip into the building?

He had no idea what was in it. He would rather stay outside and get away as quickly as possible. Then, if he knew the location, he could return with more police and have the place stormed.

Neither the guard nor the Doberman seemed to sense that anything was wrong. For a moment Andy had hope. But then the dog tensed, a low growl starting in its throat.

"What is it, Boy?" the guard asked. "Someone running around who shouldn't be? Fallon, for instance?"

The dog turned towards the building's corner.

Andy pressed himself against the wall, his heart gathering speed. He could not bolt and run. That was the worst thing to do with a ferocious dog. But he was certainly not going to stand still and be caught, either. Keeping himself against the edifice, he inched his way towards the opposite corner.

He just barely disappeared around the other side as the dog and its handler reached the side where he had just been. The dog, not satisfied, emitted another growl, one that ended in a sharp bark.

Andy traveled down the side of the building and around to the back. He might be far enough away now that he could break into a run, but he was not sure he dared. He hated the thought of running blindly through an unfamiliar complex. Who knew what kind of trap he might fall into?

He was forced to run nevertheless. Two more dogs and handlers spotted him from a distance. "Hey!" one of the men called. "You! Stop!"

The dogs strained at their leads. Their handlers began to run themselves, allowing the dogs to fly over the grass.

Andy fled. On the other side of the building, the first dog was barking up a storm. It was likely running now too. And dogs all over the compound were starting to join in and sound their own alarm.

Andy could run into more quite by accident, stumbling across them around corners or between buildings, but he had to keep going anyway, in spite of that possibility. If there was just a tree he could shimmy up and use to drop down on the other side of the complex . . . ! But there were none.

It felt like the entire security force was coming after him now. He was coming up on the fence at last, but what good would it do him? Without breaking his speed he bent down and picked up a small rock, throwing it at the fence. As he had expected, it flew back as the electricity charged through it. There was no hope of going over the fence, even if he was willing to deal with the barbed wire.

Unless . . .

There had been a tree here. He could see the stump now, as he turned and ran frantically for the corner. And during the clean-up, some of the branches had been left behind. One looked particularly long and possibly strong.

Andy had been an excellent athlete in school. Pole-vaulting had never been his specialty, but right now it might be his only chance. As he passed the long branch, he grabbed it up in desperation and held it high as he continued to run.

Two of the dogs had been released from their leads. Andy looked back in mounting horror as they charged ahead, their handlers falling back to let them make the capture . . . or the kill.

He jabbed the branch into the ground with enough force to propel him into the air. The fence was still too high for comfort, and his pole-vaulting had always been average or a bit below at best, but he frantically prayed for deliverance.

The electricity crackled to life, clipping at his leg in spite of his best efforts. With a yelp he collapsed on the other side, in a small patch of grass. He struggled up, trembling from the shock. One of the wires had snagged his leg too, but there was no time to inspect the damage. He was out of the compound, but he was in the middle of nowhere. And the dogs were still coming. It would not take long for them to be directed to the gate and continue their pursuit of him.

He ran ahead through the dirt, towards the clumps of grass and brush and what looked like a mountain. There was no telling what was on the other side, but if he could stay alive and free long enough, he would find out.

He had to pray it was some sort of friendly civilization, if not Los Angeles itself.