The Cost Chapter 13

Monday Morning Blues

The phone rang shrilly, waking her far before her alarm would have. Reaching out groggily, she fumbled for the receiver and held it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Samantha. It's Danny. Jack just called; he's on the way in. I think you'd better get in here, too. I'm calling Martin and Valerie, next."

"What happened?" she asked, dread trickling down her spine as she struggled into a sitting position.

"They found Tyler Germaine's body beside a dumpster just off Flatbush, near the Belt Parkway. He's really messed up. Another fifteen, with three plus signs this time, and they say it looks like he was used pretty rough. This guy's on a roll."

Samantha stood up, already calculating how long it would take to get in. Then something more important occurred to her. "You said Jack was on his way in? He's already been to the site?"

"No, he's on the way to the site now. He'll come here straight afterwards," Danny explained.

"When did you talk to him?" What she really wanted to know was if she could manage to get to the site while Jack was still there.

"Only about ten minutes ago." Understanding what she was asking, he added, "If you're fast, you'll probably get there about when he does: traffic's the usual Monday morning mess out his way. Try it - it might be good to have someone else there."

She was already walking towards the shower. "What's the address?"

He told her and she memorized it quickly. Saying thanks, she set the phone on the bathroom counter and stepped into the shower. Fighting down her dismay, she turned on the water. She'd thought when there'd been no body on Sunday that perhaps Tyler Germaine had a chance....

* * *

Jack's face was ashen as he stepped out onto the twenty-third floor. Purposefully trying to block out the image of Tyler Germaine's poor, abused body, he strode towards his office, not appearing to notice the others stand back out of his way and then gather around Samantha as she stepped out of the elevator behind him. Closing his door behind him, he went to his desk and smashed his first down on it, welcoming the stab of pain it brought. Where the hell was he slipping up? Who had he not thought to have interviewed? Where had he not thought to have someone look? Spaulding had to be leaving clues; someone, somewhere had to have seen something...

He sat down heavily. Every time he failed to get the job done, another boy died. He reached over and picked up the phone. Punching in an extension, he waited. When the ringing tone stopped, he said, "Martin: I want you and Vivian to get on that bus driver right now. I want to know if Tyler and Spaulding got on that bus, and if they did, I want to know where they got off and what direction they went. I want all you can find, including the names or discriptions of anyone else on that bus. Someone might have overheard a conversation between them. Call me after you've talked to him."

Placing the receiver down with a thud, he sat, trying to calm himself and trying to push back the feeling of helplessness that tinted his sense of guilt. Sighing, he reached over and picked up the receiver again. Dialling for his voice mail, he sought refuge in routine. Routine would help him focus; routine would take the edge off his anger. And off his fear for the next person missing.

Routine, however, was not the solace it ought to have been. Message number five blew that hope all to hell.

End Chapter 13