CHAPTER 6 – THREATS OLD AND NEW
OCTOBER 10, 2012 – WEDNESDAY
Danny woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee brewing. "Ugh," he groaned, as his stiff neck protested movement. Sitting upright on Jamie's couch was not the most comfortable sleeping position, he quickly decided.
At the sound, Jamie turned away from the coffee maker. "Good morning to you, too."
Danny rolled his head, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. "Aren't you the chipper one this morning," he groused.
"Slept pretty well the second time. You're good at telling bedtime stories," Jamie teased. He carried two mugs of coffee across the room. "Here. Coffee will make it better."
Danny took the mug with grumbled thanks, grateful that at least one of them was ready to face the new day.
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Across town, a similar scene was playing out in a brick colonial house. "I don't know which woke me up - the racket of you grinding coffee beans or the aroma," Henry remarked as he ambled into the kitchen where Frank was pouring coffee into two mugs. "In my day, coffee was silent; stealthy even. You could have a pot brewing and no one would even know."
"Well, Pop, with that coffee, no one would want to know." Frank took a sip of his morning caffeine. "I wonder how Jamie handled last night," he pondered as he looked out the window.
"Poor kid. He'd put that whole mess behind him so well," Henry remarked as he took his own mug.
"He had. But last night brought back a lot of memories for me, and I'm sure for Jamie and Danny also," Frank commented. "Mary... This is one more event I'm glad she's not here to witness."
"The kidnapping really hit her hard," Henry added.
"Her baby boy missing, and none of us had any idea why."
"Until you got to work the next morning."
"Until then…"
FEBRUARY 4, 1998, WEDNESDAY AM
After Detective Vickers' call, Frank had attempted to convince the family to turn in for the rest of the night, arguing that he would be contacted if there was any news. The next morning, he'd headed to work, leaving his injured son in the care of his distraught wife. He'd arrived at his office to find one of his detectives and a homeless man in the reception area.
"Chief Reagan, this man has something to tell you," the detective stated.
"The woman aksed me to git this to you," the man said, holding out a manila envelope to Frank. "She paid me the money to be here firs' thing and hand this to you pers'nally."
Frank almost ripped the envelope out of the man's hand and quickly opened the clasp on the back. He shook the two items inside out onto the receptionist's desk. The first item was a Polaroid photograph. Frank picked it up by the edges, mentally bracing himself for what he expected he would see. Even so, his first glimpse of the snapshot knocked the air out of his lungs as effectively as a punch from a Golden Gloves champ. The picture showed a teenage boy sitting against what appeared to be the back corner of a minivan, his knees drawn up to his chest, ankles bound together, a blindfold and gag obscuring much of his face. Reddish-brown hair fell across the boy's forehead, reaching down to the top of the blindfold. A familiar nose and cheekbones peeked through the strips of material that covered the boy's eyes and mouth, and the Reagan jawline and chin showed beneath the gag.
"It's Jamie," he said, trying to push down the horror at seeing his son in that defenseless position, his life completely in someone else's control. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward, closing his eyes and taking a few breaths to steady himself. He's alive, with no visible injuries. Focus. You can work with alive, he told himself. He forced himself to take another look at the snapshot, noticing this time that Jamie sat with his shoulders squared, his chin tilted up. Alive and defiant, he amended his previous assessment.
Something else in the photo caught his attention. Jamie was still clad in the flannel shirt over a t-shirt and jeans that Mary had described to the detectives. With his knees tucked up, his sock-covered feet and ankles stuck out beneath the hem of his jeans. No shoes. They took his shoes. Why? Frank wondered. One possibility came to mind immediately. Because he tried to escape. My stubborn boy tried to run, so they took his shoes and trussed him up so he couldn't try again. The evidence that Jamie was keeping mentally together enough to resist his captors was encouraging, but he hoped his son wouldn't push it too far. Jamie needed to stay alive so they could rescue him. After one last look, he handed the photograph to the detective, who carefully placed it in an evidence bag.
"Chief, do you want to see the ransom note?" the detective asked.
No, Frank thought, no, he didn't want to see that note. Because right now, a very large part of him wanted to do whatever it asked. Throw open the jailhouse gates, rob a damn bank, assassinate the police commissioner, whatever it took to get his son back safely. But he knew he had to read it. He stood up and held out his hand to the detective, and silently read the words written in flowing handwriting on the expensive paper.
Chief Reagan,
My son, Andrew Parker Carrington, was murdered last year. You have done nothing to find those who took him away from me. I want justice for my son. To further that purpose, I have taken your son and will give him back to you once you have found those who took my son from me.
Sincerely, Marjorie Thornsberg
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"I can still see every detail of that photograph, every detail of that note, right down to the flourishes on her signature." Frank commented as he stared out the window. He suddenly put his mug down. "That's her, isn't it?" he asked.
Henry looked out the window. "What the hell?" He looked at the woman standing at the end of their driveway. "What is she doing here?"
Frank was already pulling on an overcoat. "I'm going to find out." He headed out the door.
Instead of making a move to depart, Marjorie Thornsberg held her ground at the end of the driveway, staring at him as he approached.
"Mrs. Thornsberg, my son doesn't live here anymore. He's grown up and moved out on his own."
Marjorie continued staring at him. "I know that, Commissioner. It's so interesting, what you can learn on that internet. I know Jameson Regan graduated from the police academy. I know he lives in Manhattan. I haven't found his address or his phone number yet, but I will." She paused to pull her coat more tightly around her thin frame.
Frank interrupted her rant. "Mrs. Thornsberg, I would advise you against making any threats against my family."
"I know your middle son was killed and that you got justice for him," Marjorie continued as if Frank hadn't spoken. "What I don't know is why, in all those years, you haven't found those responsible for my son's death."
"Mrs. Thornsberg, I'm going to ask you to leave. If I see you around my family, I will take whatever steps necessary to protect them."
Marjorie stared at him before turning around and walking to a minivan… that minivan… parked on the street in front of the neighbor's house. "This isn't over," she called over her shoulder. "I always keep my word."
Frank made note of the vehicle's license plate, then slowly walked back to the house. He wasn't looking forward to the phone call he needed to make. Not at all... He picked up his phone and dialed his son's cell number. "Danny, we need to have a meeting in my office forthwith."
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An hour later, Jamie and Danny found themselves seated in front of their father's desk in his office at One Police Plaza. "So, Dad, what was so important that you're making us late to work?" Danny asked.
Franks looked over at his sons. Danny looked tired, like he hadn't slept well; Jamie also looked tired, but more rested than he had expected. "How was your night last night?"
Jamie shrugged. "Same old nightmare and sleepwalking. Danny stopped me before I could get out the door."
"He needs a better couch," Danny griped. "That one he has isn't any good for sleeping on."
Frank hated to say the words he needed to. "Marjorie Thornsberg showed up at the house this morning."
Danny jumped to his feet. "She did what? What did she want?"
"Danny, sit down." Frank ordered. "She was standing at the end of the driveway, staring at the house when I was getting my coffee this morning. I went out and confronted her, but she didn't have anything new to say. She's still looking for 'justice' for her son. She's keeping up with the family; she knew I was the commissioner, she knew about Joe." Frank looked over at his youngest son, who was suddenly sitting up much straighter, waves of tension radiating from him. He hated to increase that stress. "Jamie, she's apparently still focused on you. She's tracking you on the internet. She knows you're on the job and that you live somewhere in Manhattan. If there's any good news, it's that she didn't seem to know your actual address."
Jamie couldn't stay seated. He stood up and began pacing in front of the desk. "She knows where I work. She knows where you live, and she's working on finding out where I live. Where am I supposed to go to be safe?" he asked. "And if she's still hanging around the house, I'm not the only one in danger. Nicki, Jack, Sean. They're all there at least one time a week. She went after me last time because I was the easy one to get. She could go after any of them this time," Jamie worried as he continued to pace back and forth.
"From her statements, it appears you're still the focus of her attention," Frank said. "But just in case, we'll take extra precautions at home. I already have Erin working on getting restraining orders in place."
"Piece of paper never stopped a criminal before," Danny grumbled.
"No, but if we do catch her near the house, Jamie, or any other family member, we have reason to lock her up," Frank argued back.
"And then they'll let her out after a day or so." Jamie strode over to the window and stared outside. "How long is this going to last? How long do I have to keep watching my back, wondering if she's going to try abducting me again?" he asked.
"Until we can get 'justice' for her," Danny commented. "I don't know what she wants us to do. I don't think she wants Jamie dead. She had plenty of opportunity the first time, if that was her goal."
Jamie turned away from the window, lost in thought. "That's not justice, that's retribution," he said. "She wants justice – her son's murder solved and the perpetrators locked up."
Danny snorted. "Yeah, well, I took a look at the reports from Parker Carrington's death, and bringing that murderer to trial is going to be impossible. The lead detective determined it was a suicide someone had cleaned up. There's no murderer to bring to justice." Danny paused. "Maybe she's trying to drive Jamie to suicide, so you'll lose a son the same way she did?"
Jamie shook his head. "That's getting back to retribution again. And it's not going to happen." He paced across the room to his father's desk. "Please, if anything happens to me, you have to know I wouldn't kill myself," he begged.
Danny gripped his brother's shoulder. "We know that, kid. But she doesn't. And nothing is going to happen to you. Not while I'm around."
Jamie nodded. "Why don't we take another look at the whole file? Maybe there's something that was missed. Something that would determine what happened, one way or the other."
"That's likely to drag up a lot of bad memories, Jamie." Frank said as he considered Jamie's idea.
"I don't think so. Parker Carrington's death happened well before the... the other events."
Frank nodded. "Okay, but for right now, we're doing this on our own time. I think we're all free this Saturday?"
"I'm not on duty." Jamie added.
"Nothing on my schedule right now," Danny confirmed.
"Saturday morning then. We'll meet here. I'll get the files delivered." Frank said. He looked at Jamie, knowing what he had to say next was not going to go over well. "Jamie, now that we know Ms. Thornsberg is actively looking for you, I don't want you staying at your apartment alone right now. With no one to watch your back, you're in too vulnerable a position. You can either move back home with your grandfather and me, or go stay with your brother."
Jamie thought about protesting, but he knew from his father's tone it was a lost cause. "Protective custody again? If those are my choices, I'll take Danny's house. Marjorie Thornsberg knows where the house is."
Frank nodded. "Go by your apartment during the day today and pick up whatever you'll need for a few days. Don't go straight from your place to Danny's," he advised.
"Dad, we've got this covered. Don't worry. My house will be the safest safe house ever," Danny reassured his father. "Jamie, let's get to work." He stood up.
"Shouldn't you call Linda and let her know the plan?" Jamie asked as they headed for the office door.
"Nah. Let's make it a surprise," Danny joked.
"I don't know, Danny. Maybe I should stay with Dad and Grandpa. I don't think your house is going to be very safe if you surprise Linda with an overnight guest."
"Shut up, kid," Danny teased back as they walked out the door.
Frank smiled at his sons as they left, glad they were finding ways to keep their new friendship growing. He had a feeling Jamie was going to need to lean on his brother in the days to come.