In the Gingerbread House with Candyman
By Jolly
Chapter 11
THE HOUSE ON THE HILL
Fenton, like the others, was staring at the TV monitor before them in disbelief. That was impossible!
They were watching the video recording of the security cameras during the time when the unknown agent delivered that package to Arthur Gray.
There was no one there. Then, there, in the space of a heartbeat, Gray was holding that package in his hand.
They went through all the other recordings too. The recordings from security cameras that led into this very room, and all relevant recordings of all alternative routes from this room, to all potential entry points into the building. It had taken them precious hours, even with all the work divided up among them. They even double and triple checked each other, not because they did not trust each other's work, but because they all knew they were tired and were all more susceptible to human error now more than before.
Then there were the FBI agents assisting them who also did their own checks of the videos. They questioned almost every staff member who was on the videos, asking if they remembered seeing any strangers.
Nothing.
The technicians had gone over the recording several times. The recordings had not been tampered with, they swore.
"It must have been!" Fenton muttered angrily. "It's just that those bunglers refuse to admit that they're not good enough to figure out the security breach."
Fenton could see that a number of his fellow detectives had the same thoughts as he. It was galling that their current enemy had the technological capability to breach the security of FBI headquarters so easily.
His best friend, Maxwell, looked downright embarrassed and furious.
"This has to be the work of more than one person," Madeline stated, her lips drawn tight into a grim line.
"Agreed," Jude concurred.
The others simply nodded their heads in affirmation, their expressions equally grim. Fenton knew they were beating themselves up for failing to question that mysterious agent who made the delivery, just as he was. That mysterious agent could so easily be the Candyman himself, they all thought. And that knowledge ate away at their consciences. Now they could only hope that their mistake would not cost their children's lives.
"Are the test results for those candy pieces back from the labs yet?" Mathew enquired.
"No, not yet…they're rushing it, but it'll take at least another hour if not more," Maxwell informed them in a grim voice.
"I've completely dismantled this 'candy-launcher'. It's fully constructed out of items one can obtain from any hardware store…" Sam said, and then he hesitated a little before turning to his partner. "Fenton…"
Fenton quirked his brow at his long time partner and managed to appear suitably curious, even though he knew what was coming.
"… from the placement of the fingerprints, I would say Joe built this contraption," Sam finished what he had to say. "Fenton, you know both Frank and Joe are capable of constructing something like this."
Fenton gave a curt nod. Yes, he knew his sons were capable. He ignored a number of sympathetic looks sent his way. He ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair. He was getting anxious, and nervous, and frustrated. Not to mention worn-out. He wondered why Joe built it. Was Frank threatened? Well, at least the 'candy-launcher' turned out to be a relatively harmless 'toy', Fenton consoled himself. It could have been Frank building a bomb…
He shivered. Frank wouldn't, would he?
The father shoved those thoughts away. Now was not the time to play the game of what-ifs. They had to work out where their children were being held and free them before the past repeated itself.
But the bad news was they were all at a dead end for the moment. They had nothing more to go on.
That's not quite true, Fenton suddenly realized. Turning to his best friend, he requested, "I would like those original video recordings. I would like to let Phil Cohen, from Cohen Tech Solutions, take a look at them. Maybe he can come up with something."
Fenton saw that Maxwell was about to deny his request, so he let his anger came to the fore. "Come on Max, what have you got to lose? They ARE good. You have seen their work. The Cohens are close family friends, and Phil's Frank's best friend." Then the father pleaded, "Max, please, it's my kids out there…"
Finally, to his relief, Max gave his approval. Sam, bless him, quickly moved to pack the recordings for delivery to Phil Cohen before Max could change his mind.
The door burst opened, and a female agent rushed in. "An emergency call for Mr. Hardy," she rasped out.
Fenton grabbed the cordless from her. "Hello, Fenton here…"
The line was silent. Puzzled, Fenton turned towards the female agent. "There was no one on the phone," he told her.
But he felt a sense of dread slowly rising. His heart inexplicably started to bang hard against his ribs. His eyes were glued to her as he awaited her response.
"Agent Cassandra, who was that?" Max enquired for Fenton.
"It was a Con Riley looking for you, and he sounded really terrified…"
Fenton headed towards the door at a sprint. "The safe house's been compromised!" he yelled as he ran.
The pitter patter of footsteps behind told him the others followed.
HBHBHB
The house on the hill seemed to glow with an inner light as it stood, tall and proud in the pale moonlight. It beckoned to them, welcoming them into its embrace, as the dozen of cars and vans made their way up the few different winding roads towards it.
They all came to a stop just outside the driveway of that safe house.
The silence of their surroundings was expected. The phone lines to the house had been cut, and none of the four agents they had guarding the place had answered their cell phones or their CB radio.
They arrived almost thirty minutes later, expecting the worst.
In the distance, an owl hooted, followed by a short symphony by several crickets. And the wind hushed and whispered its approval after.
It all showed how loud the silence was.
For five detectives, the sound of silence was to be feared. It could mean everything to them. And in their hearts, they already knew it meant everything to them. But their rational brains simply refused to acknowledge that just yet.
Fenton exchanged looks with Sam and several other detectives and agents. They gave each other grim nods and headed towards their designated entry points and locations. They were all professionals here and knew exactly what to do.
Fenton beckoned to Sam, and the two of them moved towards the kitchen door, their hand guns held firmly before them. He gave Sam a quick nod before kicking the door wide open, and swiftly moved in, the gun again held before him.
Darkness and silence greeted them.
Fenton squinted hard against the darkness as he slowly made his way deeper into the shadows of the kitchen. He knew Sam was there covering his back.
Then his feet hit something. He looked down.
It was Con.
He knelt and swiftly checked Con for injuries. There were none, nothing he could see or feel, at least. His finger at the neck told him Con was still alive, and he let out a sigh of relief. He signaled for Sam to be on guard as he called for medical backup via his mouthpiece.
"One survivor found in kitchen, medical aid required…" he rasped out.
Fenton continued to scan his surroundings as he waited by his friend. It was the least he could do for someone who had so generously offered to help look after his wife.
But his heart and his mind were in turmoil. What happened? Was Laura okay? He wished he knew. Then he wished he did not have to know. For the first time in many years, he prayed for strength to survive the hours ahead.
Finally the paramedics arrived.
"They cleared the building, Mr. Hardy. Max said to meet him in the living room upstairs," the older paramedic said to him.
Fenton nodded and followed Sam up the stairs.
The others were already all there waiting for them. Fenton realized why. The primary crime scene sat before him, taunting him with the secrets it held hidden in its folds.
There was a large coffee table in the middle of the room. Right on the exact centre of it was a gramophone, and the vinyl disc on it was spinning. He moved closer. He could smell the tangy scent of ginger and sweets, and that pungent minty scent of licorice. He could now read the tag on the gramophone. 'Victor II Humpback 1909' it read. Then he thought he heard something. It was emanating from that gramophone.
It was that song.
His heart missed a beat. Or did it? It mattered not. It felt that way to him, and that was what mattered.
Next to the gramophone was a huge book made of sugar. He knew because he could smell it. He scanned the title: Hansel and Gretel
Fenton frowned. What was that supposed to mean? He knew he would be reading it later. Next to the huge book were several items that looked like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Like the previous two items, those pieces were also made of some sort of candy or sugar.
Laura would be able to tell the difference, Fenton thought. For him, they were only sugar and more sugar…
He looked closer at the jigsaw pieces. He noted the lines, the green for the trees, and the blue for the waters. It was a map of sorts, he grasped.
The Candyman had left a series of clues for them.
Finally his eyes fell on the five mugs of half-finished coffee scattered casually around the coffee table. And he knew all five wives were taken.
No, not Laura too…
HBHBHB
They were all back again at their designated room in the FBI building. The assembled map from the candied jigsaw puzzle sat in the centre of the huge conference table before them, mocking their inability to decipher its secrets.
The story of Hansel and Gretel had spooked the eight detectives far more than they cared to admit. And they wondered at the message behind the story. Fenton did not miss the way Max's eyes narrowed as he read the story aloud. He wanted to ask why, but Max was called away before he could.
Then there was that beautifully made (baked?) gramophone…
None of the four FBI agents or Con had been able to tell them what happened at the house. They were all currently unconscious or sedated. Two of the agents had awakened and were so terrified; their heart rates were going through the roof, so the medics had to put them under again.
And Con…Con was in slightly better shape than the others. He woke up with his eyes wide with fear, but he at least managed to retain some measure of control over his emotions when he saw Fenton and Sam sitting next to him. Fenton could not help but wonder why Con was better off than the others. But Con could not remember what happened, and Fenton felt a sense of futility threatening to overcome him. Con did not even remember making that desperate phone call to him.
"Fenton," Sam consoled him, "We still have Con's notes. Maybe there is something there."
Fenton gave Sam the slightest nod. It was all he could manage at that moment.
"Do you think that the clue that we assumed the Candyman accidentally left behind 13 years ago was deliberately planted?" Madeline suddenly asked.
The eight detectives stared at each other as they digested the possibility. If that clue was deliberate, it would change the entire picture of what happened back then. They would have to review the entire case again from a different perspective.
This time, the Candyman had made it clear. It was HE who left the clues.
"Suppose he left that clue for us to track him; why would he do that?" Gaby asked.
"What if we were meant to follow the clues he left, but we found them too early?" Fenton asked and watched all the expressions shift and focus on him. He suddenly felt a little excited. This was something else to consider, a possible but different angle they could work on. "What if we interrupted something else he had in mind; we would have spoiled his big plans…"
Fenton's voice faded off as the door opened.
Agent Cassandra walked in.
"The director has asked me to say that he had to attend an emergency meeting and to pass you the preliminary report from the forensic team on the crime scene," she announced in a rather apologetic tone. "He will join you as soon as he can."
Sam Radley reached for the report and quickly skimmed through it. Fenton did not miss the concern in his partner's eyes as he started to speak. "There are seven sets of prints in the safe house, other than those that were supposed to be there…"
Sam placed the list on the table, and everyone leaned over to read it. There were seven names on the list:
John Broadwick
Eduardo Carlos
Enrico Carlos
Richard Smith
Arthur West
Frank Hardy
Joseph Hardy
"That's crazy! Are you telling us our own kids kidnapped their mothers?" Gaby West blurted out, his face stark white with anger and fear.
Fenton simply stared at his sons' names, last on the list. That instant of excitement for figuring out a new angle was suddenly gone. He lowered his face into his palms. He was alone now, and he was just too tired to think.
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