A/N: I'm sorry it took me some time to update, I got busy with exam and needed to update another fic. Again, this chapter turned out to be longer than expected and I had to cut it in two, so looks like there will be another one after this after all. XD
But the next one will be the last, I promise.
"Well," Gant muttered, reaching to scratch the back of his head while he observed the parking area thoughtfully "that was unexpected."
"That's what happens when incompetent oafs such as that one are considered fit to be bailiffs," von Karma said dryly, shooting an annoyed glance at his left, where a few people were trying to somehow comfort Ms. Atmey – who, on the other hand, was quickly getting hysterical. As though that was going to get anything solved, he thought in distaste. Not to mention that, as far as he was concerned, that foolish child's safety wasn't worth that much of a hassle; especially not now that he was done playing his role as the key witness in the trial.
"Good point. The guy should put up some muscle. Maybe swim a little more often. Ah well, guess I'd better get going," Gant said with a sigh. They had ran outside just in time to hear – not to see, to his annoyance – a car leaving the parking lot at full speed, and he was fairly sure the good doctor had stolen a car to aid his escape with the hostage. He had no idea doctors could be that good at stealing cars.
"Are you just going to drive around blindly in hopes to catch him by sheer luck?" von Karma scoffed "we don't even know what kind of car he's driving yet. And even if the security camera caught it on tape, it's a given he'll steal another one as soon as he gets the chance."
Gant clicked his tongue. "Well, we have to follow the standard procedure. There will be roadblocks, a bulletin describing him and the kid will be broadcasted to all out units, and the guys in the department will look into his life to try to figure out where he could go. But yeah, we'll also be driving blindly in hopes to be going in the right direction when we finally have a clue of where he's heading. And to think I wanted to go swimming this afternoon."
"I see. Well, have fun with your wild goose chase," von Karma said before turning to walk away.
"Aw, I hoped you'd try to help us out too, Manny. After all, it's your convict who just escaped."
The prosecutor snorted. "He's stopped being of my concern the moment the sentence was passed, Gant. I got the guilty verdict I wanted for him. As a prosecutor, I'm a guardian of law only inside the court. What happens outside it is not of my concern."
"The kidnapping did happen inside the court," Gant pointed out cheekily.
"Not by my responsibility. I had my role to play and I fulfilled it – perfectly. Time for you to fulfil yours," he added, nodding towards the police car that stopped in front of them.
Gant sighed. "One can't discuss with you, eh, Fredo? Ah well. Tell Ms. Atmey not to worry too much. I'll be getting Luksey back safe and sound," he said before getting into the car – but as the agent began driving out of the parking lot, he took out his cell phone and dialled a number, an amused glint in his eyes.
Manfred von Karma observed the car leaving with a blank expression, but then he turned to look at the courthouse, and a slight frown creased his brow. He kept staring at it for a few minutes, lost in thought. He had no doubt that Gant would catch the escapee soon, but it still felt unacceptable that a criminal such as that man had managed to escape from the courtroom so easily. Security should be increased, he thought – he was going to point that out to the Chief prosecutor, he decided, so that he's talk to the Chief of police about it. That idiot couldn't deny any request – no, order – from Manfred von Karma, for he was fully aware of the fact that the only reason why he wasn't Chief prosecutor in his place was his unwillingness to work away from the courtroom. He could take that position from him any moment, so he would simply obey and-
"Looks like the perfect prosecutor let a defendant get away," a familiar voice muttered behind him with thinly disguised amusement "had to happen, I suppose. And in a rather foolish way, to boot. You thought you had him, didn't you?"
Von Karma gritted his teeth, suddenly reminded of the reason why he had always let Gant speak with that particular forensics expert any time forensics were needed on a crime scene – she had the uncanny ability to infuriate him while most people could manage to annoy him at most, the way a bothersome but worthless fly would. Granted, she would deliberately try to get on his nerves at any chance she got, probably thanks to the knowledge he couldn't cut down her salary, no matter how much he wished to, unless the Chief of Police agreed… and von Karma already knew he wouldn't. Being the best in one's field always has some advantages, and he had to grudgingly admit she was the best as far as forensics went. But not perfect like him, obviously, which meant she had no right to speak to him as she did. He turned to glare at the woman, who was still smirking and wiggling her finger at him.
"For your information, detective Delacroix, it was the bailiff who let him get away," he said dryly "I obtained the guilty verdict I was aiming for. That was my role, and I fulfilled-"
She clicked her tongue, absentmindedly brushing back lock of light blue hair. "Foolish excuses for a foolish fool who can't admit having been foolishly defeat," she said with a shrug "what do you make of a verdict if the culprit doesn't spend one single day in prison?"
Von Karma clenched his fists, wishing more than anything having an excuse, any excuse, to cut down her salary and knowing he had none. "He will," von Karma snapped "as soon as he's caught, he'll also have to face charges for kidnapping – or for another murder, if he kills the boy."
"And what if he isn't caught?" she retorted "imagine the laughs – the defendant escaping the clutches of the God of prosecutors after kidnapping his key witness. Even juicier if said key witness gets killed."
Von Karma stiffened. He could imagine it well, so well. Not that it mattered, for his perfect record was safe – he had gotten the guilty verdict and nothing of what had happened afterwards was his responsibility – but the idea those pathetic defence attorneys would have any kind of edge to try making it sound like it had been a failure from his part made his blood boil.
"He will be caught and he will face the death penalty, or my name isn't Manfred von Karma," he seethed before glaring at her "I trust you can update me on whatever progress the police makes – or is that kind of information reserved to those who outrank you?" he asked scathingly.
"Of course I can. What kind of foolish question is that?" she asked, a little more coldly.
"Very well. In that case I want you contact me in case any new information comes up, no matter how small. I'll be looking into Dr. Seltzer's life. He can't possibly hope to make it on his own. He'll have to turn to someone," he added almost to himself before turning his back to her and marching away.
Detective Delacroix stared at his retreating back for a few moments, then a small smirk curled her lips. She took her cell phone from her pocket and dialled a number before bringing it to her ear. "He's on it," she said as soon as Gant took the call.
From the other side of the line, Damon Gant laughed. "My dear, I was sure you'd manage to convince him."
"I just let his foolish pride do the work," was all she said "let's see what the genius can cook up this time. Do you have any update?"
"Yes, the boys in the department got a frame from the parking lot's surveillance camera. We know what kind of car he took and we have part of the plate number. At least now we know what car we're looking for – it belongs to a prosecutor, really. One Winston Payne."
"Payne? Never heard of him."
"I can't remember anyone like that either, but oh well, can't remember them all, eh? I bet he doesn't hit the public pool often, maybe I'd remember him if he did. Anyway, seems like this guy didn't show up for a trial that was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago, so maybe he was taken hostage as well. The car that was taken is beyond doubt his anyway. It makes things easier."
"Until Seltzer steals another one. He would be a fool to think you don't know what car to look for by now."
"My, how come you and Freddie can't be optimistic for a change?" Gant sighed "you two should learn to relax. Swimming would help. Tell you what, one of these days we should all go to the beach together and-" he trailed off as he realized she had hung the phone. He rolled his eyes and put the phone back in his pocket. "Those two don't know what fun is," he complained to a rather confused agent before grinning at him "say, how about letting me drive from now on?"
What would he do? What would Sherlock Holmes do?
Luke squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make himself answer to the question that kept running over and over in his brain. He drew in a deep breath to try calming down – he didn't really like it how trembling each breath he drew in was – and tried to focus, blocking out the worry for the fact he was sitting in the passenger seat of a stolen car with a murderer who was driving with one hand and keeping a gun pressed on his left side with the other one.
Things had definitely gotten out of hand. And this time his mother wouldn't be there to make everything better.
Focus, Luke, focus. What would Sherlock Holmes do?
He didn't know. No matter how much he focused, he couldn't come up with an answer. He hadn't actually read all the Sherlock Holmes stuff he had yet, but he was pretty sure that he had never been kidnapped, so he couldn't imagine what he would do if he were in his shoes aside from deducing stuff and getting out of that sticky situation. How he would get out of that sticky situation while being held at gunpoint, though, was something he couldn't imagine. So maybe he should just stick to deducing for now, and then he would… he… how could he act with a broken arm anyway? He swallowed, trying his hardest not to panic.
It doesn't matter. You can win without using strength. Brains over brawn. Mind over matter. Think. Deduce. Deduction always comes first. Focus. Detective Gant told you to focus – it's what he would do, isn't it? So what would detective Gant do?
Luke opened his eyes again and dared to glance at his captor. He was sweating bullets and staring at the road ahead with a grimace on his face, his left hand on the wheel, and aside from the gun he kept pressed against his left side – the reason why Luke didn't dare to move anything but his head – he wasn't even acknowledging his presence. He was speeding so much that Luke couldn't even hear the faint bumps coming from the trunk anymore, the engine's roar easily covering them.
Luke faintly wondered if the guy in the trunk would make it okay. He was closing the car when Dr. Seltzer had hit him on the head with the handle of the gun before stuffing him into the trunk, shoving Luke on the passenger's side and driving off. Luke supposed he hadn't left him behind so that he wouldn't tell the police what kind of car he had taken right away – but they would find out eventually, which meant that the most logical thing to do for Seltzer now would be stealing another car and leaving that one behind.
Maybe he could take advantage of that to try running away, he decided before looking ahead through the windshield, hoping to catch sight of some sign that could tell him where they were heading. Not that it would do him much good now, but if he could find a way to leave a clue of any kind to detective Gant…
Still, he read none: the few he caught a glimpse of went by too quickly for him to read. That guy was breaking all speed limits, and Luke briefly wondered why had no one noticed and started pursuing them before he forced himself turn his attention back to the road signs. If he could make him to stop, or slow down enough for him to read at least one…!
"I need to use a toilet," he finally spoke up a little hesitantly, breaking the icy silence for the first time.
Dr. Seltzer seemed startled for a moment, as though just reminded of his presence, then he gave a barking laugh. "Then hold it, because I'm not stupid enough to stop at the side of the road."
"I'll pee my pants if you don't," Luke said, trying to sound somewhat threatening "I have to-" he trailed off as the gun was pressed harder against his side, making him yelp.
"Shut up and hold it, or else this car is going to be such a mess that a little urine won't make any difference," he growled, his gaze still fixed ahead.
Luke swallowed, then he tried to gain some courage. "You wouldn't. You need me alive to-" he began, but any shred of courage he had managed to gather up to that point seemed to disappear as the gun suddenly stopped pressing against his side and was lifted so that it was aiming straight at his face – there were no other cars around them right now, of course, or else Seltzer wouldn't have dared to lift the gun like that.
"I'm going to need you alive only until we make it to Ventura County," the man said quietly before lowering the gun so that it was pressing against Luke's side again, hidden from the gazes of anyone else outside the car "afterwards, whether you'll live or not is up to you. Don't annoy me, and you'll be okay. Got it?"
He was lying, Luke knew that much: he was going to kill him so that he couldn't tell anyone where he had gone; his only hope was that detective Gant would stop him before he could – and now he knew where they were heading. It was a start. Now he knew what he could do to leave him a clue; he only needed a minute alone, just a minute…!
As if to answer to his unexpressed plea, Dr. Seltzer suddenly turned on the direction lights and began turning to their right, to a service station. He drove in the parking lot, heading for the most secluded part of it, his eyes scanning the parked cars – and he didn't have to look for long, for only a few feet from them there was an old green pickup with its door open, its owner leaning against it while busily chewing on a donut. He pulled the car to a stop and turned to hiss at Luke. "One move and you're dead, Pinocchio. You and the guy in the trunk. Got it?"
Luke immediately nodded, eyes wide.
"Good," he said before tucking the gun his pocket and walking out of the car, taking car to close it so that Luke couldn't get out before he walked up to the other man. Luke watched for a few moments as they talked – maybe Dr. Seltzer would say he needed something so that he could hit him once he turned – but then he stopped watching and reached in his pocket to take out his deck of cards and the pencil he had used for crossword puzzles in the hospital, careful not to lift his hands so that Seltzer couldn't see what he was doing from outside the car.
Trying to ignore the bumps coming form the trunk, he worked quickly, barely taking time to glance outside to make sure Dr. Seltzer was still busy with that man, and he was done just in time as his captor finished tying the poor guy up with some tape he had found in the pickup. Seltzer threw the man's unconscious form on the backseat and walking back to the car Luke was sitting into. He opened the door of the passenger's side and roughly grabbed Luke's healthy arm to pull him out. "Out."
"Wait, my cards!" Luke whined convincingly, pretending to be trying to reach for the deck that now sat on the seat he had occupied until that moment, and he had to suppress a smile of triumph as the man growled impatiently and just yanked him out of the car, leaving the cards just where he had left them, in plain sight.
Only minutes later, though, sitting on the backseat next to the unconscious man, gagged and with his healthy arm tied behind his back with duct tape – he couldn't do much with his broken one anyway – he didn't have much to smile about: he knew all too well that Ventura County couldn't be that far anymore, and that unless detective Gant found them in time he was as good as dead. He was sure Gant would know where to look once they found the other car – because he was a great detective and great detectives know where to look – but the question was, how much time would it take for the police to find the car? Would they find it soon enough?
Luke Atmey was young, but not inclined to believe in anything that couldn't be logically explained, and miracles couldn't be logically explained – so he didn't believe in miracles at all. Still, as he shut his eyes and listened to Dr. Seltzer's mutters and to the engine's roaring, he wished for a miracle with all his might.
Luke would never get to know it, but not even five minutes after they left the parking lot his very own miracle happened in the form of a rather disgruntled teen with impossibly spiky hair pushing an old scooter through the parking lot and to the gas station, an apparently endless stream of curses leaving his mouth.
"I shoulda known this piece of crap woulda left me on foot," Furio grumbled, taking a break from pushing and looking towards the end of the parking lot, where the gas station was. How come that darn thing seemed to grow farther instead of closer? That seriously sucked. Of all things that could stop working, did it have to be the gas gauge? At least the scooter had stopped very close to the service station, otherwise he would have been in a heap of-
Furio Tigre was snapped from his thoughts by a sudden bumping noise. He blinked and looked around to see nothing out of the ordinary, just cars. He was about to shrug it off when something about one of the cars caught his eye – the door on the passenger's side was slightly open. Furio took a quick look around to make sure there was no one nearby, then he shrugged before leaving the scooter on the kickstand and approaching to take a look: maybe there was something worth taking in it, and he wasn't one to let a chance pass by. Besides, if someone was dumb enough to leave a car's door open they probably deserved to-
Another sudden bumping noise made him stop in his tracks, then a shout followed, and he realized that the noises were coming from inside the car's trunk. "Da fuck?" he blurted out, taking a step back. He stared at the trunk for a few more moments, then another shout came from inside and he recoiled. His hand reached in his pocket to pull out a switchblade – it wasn't enough for some serious locks-picking job, but that was an old car with old locks, so it could do – and he crouched in front of the trunk.
It took him just a minute to force the lock open. Furio stood up and opened it to see a man in his late twenties with black hair and thick glasses lying in it and gasping for air, his skin glossy with sweat. He gave a hoarse cry as the trunk was finally opened and tried to sit up, only succeeding in doing so at the third attempt. "What the-" the teen began, but he trailed off as the man reached to grab his shirt, still gasping for air.
"T… the child," he wheezed, eyes still half-closed behind his glasses to shield them from the sudden light "he had a child… knocked me out… police…"
"Wait, what?" Furio asked, frowning a little "a kid knocked youse out? Youse kiddin', right? Calm the hell down and-"
"THE POLICE!" the man shrieked somewhat hysterically, causing him to wince and take a step back, fighting the urge to cover his ears against the high-pitched shriek – what that really a guy? "Call the police!"
"Fine, fine! Just calm down, okay?" Furio said before turning on his heels and running to the service station, more to get away from those brain shattering shrieks than for real worry. As he ran, taking a mental note to put gas in his scooter and get the hell away from there before the police arrived and he could get involved into any kind of mess, he couldn't hold back a chuckle at the thought that it was the first time he was the one to call the police rather than having it called on him. Ironic.
He just hoped none of his friends would ever find out.
"Well, it was a fun ride, wasn't it?" Gant said lightly as he pulled the car to a stop, apparently unaware of the fact the agent on the passenger's seat was sickly pale and sweating bullets. The poor man tried to utter something, but the detective was out of the car before he could utter a word. Damon Gant barely turned to glance at the agents writing down the testimony of a rather shaken Payne – he had been already told the man had spent all the time in the trunk, so he couldn't be useful in any way – and headed straight to the car, which was being examined by a few men already.
"Tell me you've got good news for me, Petey," he said, standing next to the agent who was currently inspective the driver's side.
"I'm afraid there's nothing of interest here, sir," the man said with a sigh "no sign of struggle, which is no surprise since the hostage is so young and probably frightened, but at least there is nothing indicating he was harmed in any way."
"I don't think the good doctor would harm his life insurance before he feels like he's safe," Gant said thoughtfully "he's the kind of guy who doesn't take off the lifejacket until he's at the shallow end of the pool. Boring people, but that makes our job easier. What of the person who called the police?"
"Male, most likely just a teen judging by the voice. He had a strong accent – probably from some part of New York, according to the agent who took the call. But he didn't give us his name or personal data, and he wasn't here when we arrived. He seems to have nothing to do with this mess, though. Payne was blinded by the sudden light and didn't get a good look of him before he ran off to call the police, but he says that he got him out of the trunk little time after Seltzer had escaped with the boy. Probably just a bystander who heard his shouting and took a look. Do you think we should…?"
Gant shook his head. "Nah, no need to. I think the boy has nothing to do with this, and trying to track him down would only be a waste of time. He did us a favour, so let's leave it at that and let's get looking for our good doctor, okay? He must have stolen another car," he added, letting his gaze run through the parking lot "are there cameras here? They could have caught a glimpse of something."
"Negative, sir. No cameras – there is one at the exit, but it's broken."
Gant scowled a little. "This isn't looking good, is it? We still don't know where he's heading, and now we don't know what car he took. And if he took the owner hostage like he did with Payne, we could never get to know in time… what's that?" he asked, having finally noticed something the agent was holding – a deck of cards in a small plastic bag.
"This? Oh, I found it inside the car, sir. Seems like there are prints on them, but they're small and most likely belong to the hostage – not that it has any meaning since we know exactly-" he trailed off with a slight gasp as Gant reached out to snatch the bag from his hand "sir?"
Gant didn't listen to him and gave a low hum before slipping his gloved hand into the bag and taking the cards. He carelessly let the bag fall on the ground and observed the cards more closely, grabbing a few of them and flipping them to check on both sides.
"I already took a look, sir, but it seems like it's just a common deck of cards. The boy probably dropped them and-"
"Nah, I don't think so," Gant cut him off before he began shuffling through the cards "Luksey is not that careless, you see. He's a bright kid. And if there's something here, it's meant for those who know where to look. He couldn't risk to have his captor catching him so easily while trying to sneak info to us, could he?"
The agent was about to ask what he meant, but he had his reply before even asking: only seconds later Gant gave a booming laugh and held up a card so that the agent could see its back. There was something hastily scribbled on it with a pencil – part of a license plate. "See?" Gant said with a huge grin "he did this. He left a clue for us. Smart kid, isn't he? Now, if I'm not mistaking, there should be two more bits of info for moi…"
Gant shuffled through the cards again and he was grinning widely as he picked two more cards and looked on their back. "Very well, looks like the good doctor is heading for Ventura County on a green pickup. I'll let the boys in the department know what the license number is so that we can identify exactly what model we're dealing with." he said before giving the agent a powerful pat on the shoulder "great job, Petey," he said cheerfully even though the other man hadn't done much of anything, then he turned to walk back in his car.
He sat on the driver's seat and reached for the radio, taking a few minutes to pass the license plate number to the agents in the department, to order for all units available to converge to Ventura County and for roadblocks to be placed, then he started the engine. "I'm going ahead. Alone," he added, causing the man who had been about to climb on the car to freeze "you follow me, okay? Great. Good boys. We should go swimming together after we're done here," he said before he drove off, and he began speeding as soon as he was out of the parking lot; he didn't think Seltzer had that much of an advantage on the police now, but he wasn't going to take risks. One minute too late could be fatal to the kid, and that would be a pity: the little guy had potential, he mused before reaching to call a number on fast dial, holding the wheel with the other hand.
"Delacroix here."
"Hi there, Françoise! I've got news. We know where he's heading – well, kind of. He's heading for Ventura County, and that narrows the field, but not quite enough."
"Ventura County? That close?" she sounded perplexed "that's… curious. Why isn't he trying to go father than that? Maybe he has a reason to go there…"
"Exactly what I thought. Which means it would be great if a certain genius got his gears working on this one and managed to figure out just where he's exactly likely to be heading. As far as I know, the guy spent his whole life in Los Angeles and has no relatives over there. And it would be great finding out soon, because I'm afraid that once he gets there and feels safe, the kid is a goner. Would you mind letting Manny know?"
"Of course. But you owe me a dinner just for the displeasure of dealing with that pretentious fool."
Gant wisely decided not to point out she seemed get a great deal of amusement out of dealing with that 'pretentious fool' Manfred von Karma was – that wasn't the right moment for a discussion. He was going to point it out once that mess was over and he got a well-deserved pool break. "Okay then, a dinner for you. Tell him to call me back once the stroke of genius hits. Thanks, you're the best. Just don't tell Fredo I said that to you, the guy gets jealous," he joked before ending the call.
Grasping the wheel with both hands, he finally allowed himself to speed some more. The Chief of police would have probably wanted his head on a silver platter if he ever got to know just how much he was currently speeding, but hey, that was the main reason why he had wanted to go alone.
As far as he was concerned, speeding was a more than acceptable crime if it meant catching a murderer before he could kill a future colleague.
"Do you need any help?"
Von Karma frowned, barely turning from the screen to look at the woman standing on the doorway. The offer itself could have passed as helpfulness coming from anyone else, but he knew all to well that, coming from her, it was only meant to be a taunt. "In case your limited intellect kept you from understanding even simple statements, I'd like to remind you I'm perfect," von Karma pointed out scathingly "thus I am, of course, perfectly capable of using any of your computers."
She rolled her eyes. "And you're of course perfectly aware of the fact I shouldn't be letting you use any of them. Aren't you, Herr von Stuffy?"
Von Karma's frown deepened for a moment before he apparently decided her taunt didn't even deserve his attention. "But you're letting me because you know no one in the department has enough brains to figure out in time where Dr. Seltzer is heading. Speaking of which, I suppose the reason why you're here is that you have information I can use. If not, do remove your bothersome self from my presence."
Detective Delacroix snorted. "I do have news from Gant. Looks like he's heading for Ventura County, but we don't yet know where exactly."
Von Karma raised an eyebrow. "And you expect me to guess that?"
"Didn't you just say you're perfect?"
"This doesn't mean I should be doing the work the police is supposed to be doing," was the cold reply, but he was already frowning in thought "unless Gant managed to get it all wrong, Seltzer isn't heading very far away. It's… peculiar."
"Yes, it is rather odd," she agreed, taking a seat in front of the computer as well and ignoring how he shifted a little aside to keep some distance between them "he must have a reason to go there," she reasoned "if I were on the run and had no plan in mind, I'd try to go as far as possible. He's staying very close instead. I don't think it's simple foolishness from his part. "
"He's not trying to just run away. Perhaps he's hoping to find help there – but from who?" von Karma frowned and looked at his notes "his whole family lives in Los Angeles, aside from a few relatives in Massachusetts. If it's from some other acquaintance he's seeking help, I doubt the police's database would be of much help without more information."
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying you can't crack this one, von Frills?"
"I never said that – of course I can. And I would be grateful if you refrained from using such puerile names when you're speaking to me," he retorted.
Delacroix ignored his last remark. "Then enlighten me, von Perfect. How would you solve this?"
He snorted. "By using logic, obviously. What would you seek if you were on the run? What would help you?"
She didn't even have to think. "Cash, because I'd have no money after being arrested and using a credit card would be a foolish move. And some fake document so that I could leave the country," she paused before smirking "he has a gun and could have obtained cash already, of course, but documents? That's trickier. Do you think that's what he's after right now? It makes sense. Maybe he knows someone in that area who could make him some new documents."
"That's a possibility," von Karma conceded, rubbing his chin "but what good would fake documents do to him while his face has been broadcasted already? Everyone in the police force and most likely a good share of commoners already know his face by now. His future doesn't look bright, unless he's somehow able to change his-" he trailed off and blinked, a sudden idea occurring to him, then he raised his gaze to see that Delacroix was staring down at him as well, eyes wide.
"Do you think…?" she said slowly "I mean, that would be… then again, he is a doctor…"
"…and he's bound to know other doctors," von Karma finished, turning to type something on the keyboard, then he paused and frowned.
Detective Françoise Delacroix smirked. "Trouble with the cross-search feature?" she asked casually, but she didn't wait for him to snap and claim he was perfect and in full control: she just leant forward and began typing "tell me what criteria are you thinking of."
Pressed between the back of his seat and her shoulder, he glared at her. "Are you even vaguely familiar with the concept of personal space?"
"What, am I creasing your precious frills? I'm so sorry," she said a little sarcastically, but there was some smugness underneath the sarcasm "the search criteria, if you will."
Von Karma snorted, but finally dropped the matter. "Do a search for any doctor with experience in facial reconstructions who studied or worked with Dr. Seltzer and who also happens to live or work in Ventura County."
"Sure," she said, typing for a few minutes before hitting enter and pulling back, watching as the search was completed and ignoring how von Karma was straightening his cravat. After a few moments she smirked a little – a result had appeared. "Looks like we have a name. Dr. Ken Hurt – studied in the same university as Dr. Seltzer, same year, same course. They appear to have worked together for a short time before Dr. Hurt specialized in facial reconstruction and moved to Thousand Oaks, Ventura County. And look – he was once suspected of having helped a convicted man to change his appearance to escape prison, but the case against him was eventually dropped for lack of evidence. If that doesn't fit, I don't know what does."
"Of course it does," von Karma pointed out, having apparently decided that he had smoothed his cravat well enough to stop fixing it and look at the screen "my logic is flawless."
"Would you bet your cravat on it, von Flawless?" she asked.
"Quit asking idiotic questions and call Gant, will you?" he snapped, causing her to give something suspiciously close to a chuckle before she took her cell phone and got up, taking a few steps back and forth as she waited for Gant to pick up the phone.
"Gant, it's Delacroix. Look, we-" she trailed off and rolled her eyes a little as von Karma coughed "fine, fine. Von Karma found out where he's likely to be heading. Thousand Oaks. He knows someone who lives there, they studied together – a specialist in facial reconstruction. Get the picture? Perfect. I have the guy's address…" she turned to glance at the screen again so that she could read it to him "yes, we're sure. At least, the perfect prosecutor here is. No, I'm not coming any pool later," she turned to look at von Karma, who vehemently shook his head "…no, I don't think he feels like it either. Enough with your foolish questions and focus on catching that guy, last thing I want is knowing that I had to deal with this fool in frills for nothing. Yes, I know. Yes, you're the man – now hang the phone and keep driving, okay? And try not to get shot," she added before ending the call "well, looks like the rest is up to him now. You should leave before the Chief detective notices I let you get into our system. He's a fool, but even he would think something's off if he saw you here," she paused, then she shrugged "anyway… that was some good thinking, Mr. Genius Prosecutor," she conceded.
"It was nothing short of perfect logic," he said stiffly, getting up from his seat and adjusting his cravat once more "now, if you'll excuse me, my work here is done – and, unlike someone, I have some real work to catch up with."
"I can imagine. See you at next week's trial, von Cravat," she said lightly, and she smirked a little at his slight snort as he left. Manfred von Karma was a stuffy, pompous, foolish fool, and there weren't many things she found as amusing as taunting stuffy, pompous, foolish fools.
Truth to be told, Damon Gant was already a mile or two past the turn for Thousand Oaks when he received the call, but that wasn't much of an issue: driving a police car gives you some advantages, and one of such advantages it being able to do a U turn any moment without any consequence, or almost. Sure, there were a few slammed brakes and shouts, but no one was hurt and so all was well.
Gant ignored the insisted horning coming from some truck that had slewed in to avoid him and just sped up some more; not even minutes he finally took the turn that would lead him to Thousand Oaks, and he smiled. He was certain he was on the right track – Freddie was never wrong – which the end of the line was close for good old Dr. Seltzer. Gant almost felt bad for that guy: he really had chosen the wrong city to kill someone, and the wrong kid to kidnap. You don't escape a courtroom while von Karma is in it and kidnap a future detective without consequences after all.
"I'm coming to get you back, Luksey," he muttered to no one in particular; and only moments later, after getting past a small hillock, he saw ahead of him exactly what he had been waiting to see until that moment.
An old green pickup.