Chapter Three
4:00am
Jack walked onto the quiet floor and headed right to his office. He hung up his coat and went to the kitchenette to make himself a cup of coffee. He waited a moment while the Keurig B50 one cup beverage maker did its job. Van Doren had lobbied for it and Jack had to admit the coffee was great. His knee felt better, the aspirin finally having kicked in, and he was able to walk without a significant limp. Making his way back to his office he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt before sitting down at his desk to go through his in box.
8:00am
Jack's cell phone rang.
"Malone."
"Hey, you left for work early."
"Morning, Tyler. Yeah, I needed to get a jump on the day," Jack said, leaning back in his chair.
"Did you sleep?"
"About an hour, but frankly, it felt more like five minutes. I had dreams that bordered on nightmares."
"Can you leave early?"
"Maybe, right now there aren't any cases but that could change. When are you going back to D.C.?"
"Tomorrow at some point."
"Then I'll see you tonight."
"Yeah, how's your knee?"
"Feels better, the aspirin caught up."
"Take it easy. Get up once an hour or it will really lock up on you."
"Point taken," Jack said, shifting in his chair to get to his feet.
"See you later."
"Bye, Tyler."
Jack closed his phone and slowly walked around his office for five minutes before sitting down again at his desk. He heard the ping of his computer announcing a new email and opened it. Starting to read it, he hit the print command and waited for the printer. His desk was clear, his outbox was full. He removed the pages from the printer and started again to read.
Jessica Allan Lambert, age twenty-nine, gallery owner of The Right Folk art gallery on Norfolk Street. Left the gallery Tuesday night after an opening and hadn't been seen since. Jack continued to read her basic history and then looked at the photo. She was pretty, blonde hair, brown eyes, with a smattering of freckles on her nose. Looking into his desk drawer, he pulled out a manila folder and started his own file. He read the information again, and made notes on the inside cover of the folder before sitting back in his chair, his eyes closed.
9:00am
Vivian walked off the elevator and headed for the bullpen, walking by Jack's office. She smiled that he was in early but stopped when she saw the circles under his eyes. Continuing to her desk, she put down her purse and coat before going for her first cup of coffee. Walking back from the kitchenette, she knocked on Jack's office door with her ring. He opened his eyes and motioned for her to come in.
"Hi," she ventured.
"Hi," he replied straightening before getting to his feet.
She looked at his desk and then at him again.
"What time did you get in?"
"Around four, I guess,"
He buttoned his shirt and tightened his tie before picking up his coffee cup and case folder. Vivian sighed and followed him as he walked out of the office to the kitchenette. He made a fresh cup of coffee and they headed side by side to the bullpen. Jack walked up to the whiteboard and put up Jessica's photograph and her case ID number. He turned around to see Danny, Martin, and Sam walk from the elevator. He sat at the conference table and sipped his coffee until they were settled and sat down with him.
"Jessica Lambert, art gallery owner on the lower east side, went missing Tuesday night. Viv, I'd like you to do the usual background check," Jack said, pausing to look at Danny and Martin who were giggling at something.
"Heckle and Jeckle, check out the phone logs. Sam check out her apartment, take Elena with you."
"Elena is in Cancun for her sister's wedding, remember?" Danny reminded him.
"That's this week? Right, okay, Heckle, go with Sam to Jessica's apartment." Jack said, looking at Danny.
"The gallery doesn't open until eleven. I'll take a run over there then," Jack said, walking back to his office.
"Doesn't look like he rested much on his day off," Sam commented as she got her things together.
"No, here's Jessica's address," Vivian said, handing her a piece of paper.
"Thanks."
10:45am
Jack sat at his desk and stared at the copy of Jessica's picture that he had just printed. Ten minutes later, Viv walked in.
"Okay, Jessica Lambert, graduate of The Art Institute of Chicago, moved to New York five years ago. Parents both dead, she has a sister in Philly, who reported her missing. Apparently, Jessica was supposed to go visit her and never showed. She bought the gallery space two years ago and has been doing very well. There is an assistant, a William Farrell. He reported her missing."
"Great Viv, I'll head over there, now," Jack getting up from behind his desk.
"You sure you don't want company?"
"Nah, I'm fine, thanks. I'm hoping if we all work on this we might get lucky and find her today."
"Gotcha, keep in touch."
"You bet."
Jack walked to the elevator and went down to the garage. It was cold outside; a raw rainy day and the forecast for the rest of the week was much the same. Standing in front of his car, he changed his mind and decided to take the subway, knowing that parking would be a pain. Thirty minutes later, he was looking in the window of The Right Folk gallery. He walked in, hearing a chime from the back room as he crossed the electric eye. Looking at the paintings, he headed further into the gallery, assuming that someone would come out to greet him. Finally he was outside a door marked Private. He knocked and walked in.
The bullet hit him in his left shoulder and spun him before he fell face first to the floor. A thin man, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, put the gun back into his waistband and continued to pack a plastic bag with money from a cash box. He stepped over a man sprawled on the floor, in a linen shirt and silk tie, now embossed with blood, on his way to Jack. Rolling him over, he pulled the black leather wallet from his coat pocket. He pulled the money and the credit cards out, tossing the wallet into the waste paper basket. He added it to his bag and continued to search Jack thoroughly, finding his badge, cell phone, and gun.
"You're kidding," the man commented.
Jack groaned and opened his eyes, looking up at the man above him who was holding his gun.
"Come on, Mr. Ness, get on your feet," the man directed, tossing the badge and cell phone on the floor.
Jack rolled over to his hands and knees, grunting as he got to his feet. The man grasped Jack's lapels and then buttoned his jacket, hiding the growing blood stain on his white shirt, before motioning with the gun for him to walk to the door.
"Keep walking, Mr. Ness. I figure that you are here to find Jessica. Well, let's not keep her waiting," he said, leaning over to pick up his plastic bag.
"What's your name?" Jack asked, through clenched teeth.
"You can call me Al."
"Funny," Jack replied, reaching up to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt several buttons.
"Keep walking, Mr. Ness," Al said, having slipped his hand and Jack's gun under his shirt as he walked on Jack's right side.
The rain had all but stopped as they went down the block and then turned east, rapidly getting into a more run-down area. After fifteen minutes, the shoulder of Jack's black suit jacket was almost soaked through. The blood dripped from his fingertips, but he didn't feel the pain in his knee any longer.
"Up the stairs," Al pointed to the brownstone on their left.
Jack walked slowly, allowing his sleeve to rub against the railing, grunting at every step. He opened the door and was hit by a combination of urine and vomit smell. Biting back the option of adding his signature to the floor, Jack breathed through his mouth and continued into the stairwell.
"Upstairs, third floor."
Leaning against the wall for support, Jack walked up the stairs, hearing them creak under his weight. The stairs corkscrewed rather than switch backed, which helped him continue his trek. His breath was coming in gasps as he fought not to black out.
"Second door on the left."
Jack lurched down the hallway to the door and leaned against the frame as Al unlocked it. Pushing Jack ahead of him, they both entered the apartment. He saw Jessica, lying on the bed, blindfolded, stripped naked, bruised, bloodied, and tied at her ankles and feet.
"Mr. Ness, please sit, and say hi to Jessica." Al said, pointing to a chair that was facing the bed.
Jack sat down and cradled his left arm. He started to pass out, until he felt his shoes and socks being removed and tape being applied to his ankles. Next, Al taped his wrists to the arms of the chair and squeezed Jack's left shoulder hard, feeling him collapse from the pain beneath his touch.
12:15pm
"Anyone heard from Jack?" Viv asked, putting down her phone.
"No, and I have Jessica's phone records and credit card charges. Nothing outstanding," Martin said, looking up from the large pile of papers in front of him.
"Nothing at her apartment, either," Sam said, walking into the bullpen with Danny in tow.
"Tech is looking at her computer but she appears to be a nice, normal, woman," Danny remarked, taking off his coat.
"Well, then, we're waiting on Jack," Vivian said, looking out the window at the grey day.
1:00pm
"Hey, Jack, it's me. Call in, please; we need to touch base with you. It's one o'clock," Viv said, hanging up her phone.
"Still nothing?" Sam asked.
"No, right to voicemail."
"Maybe he went out for lunch and is out of range," Danny suggested.
"Yeah, maybe," Viv picked up her receiver again and placed a call.
"Simpson."
"Tyler, it's Vivian. Have you heard from Jack?"
"Hi, Viv, not since I called him at eight this morning. Something up?"
"I'm not sure. He's late coming back from an interview."
"Well, keep in touch."
"I will, bye."
"Bye."
"Tyler hasn't heard from him since this morning," Viv said, hanging up the phone.
1:30pm
"What's the number of the gallery?" Martin asked, picking up the receiver.
"212-555-7684," Viv said, reading off the sheet.
After four rings, someone answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hello, is this The Right Folk Gallery?"
"Yes."
"I'm Special Agent Martin Fitzgerald of the FBI. I'm looking for one of my fellow agents, Special Agent Jack Malone-"
"This is Jim Binder, NYPD. You should get down here. We have one dead body, a bunch of blood, and your friend's wallet, badge and cell phone."
"Thanks, Officer. We'll be right there," Martin said, getting to his feet before hanging up the phone.
"There's trouble; NYPD has Jack's wallet and badge at the gallery. There's also a dead body and a lot of blood."
The four agents took their coats and ran out of the office. When the elevator door opened on the garage level, Sam looked towards Jack's parking spot and saw his car.
"He took the train," she said out loud.
They all got into Danny's car and had barely shut the doors before they were practically flying out of the garage.
"In one piece, please, Danny," Viv remarked, holding on to anything she could.
Danny slowed down a bit, more to acquiesce to the weather than Vivian. The rain was coming down in torrents but, even so, ten minutes later, they arrived at the scene. Flashing their badges they walked into the gallery.
"It's here in the back," an officer said, waving them towards him.
They walked in as a group and stopped when they saw the blood. Each agent put on latex gloves as they started to process what they saw.
"Special Agent Fitzgerald?" a police officer with bright red hair asked.
"I'm Fitzgerald."
"I'm Sgt. Jim Binder. We found his wallet in the trash can. No credit cards, no cash. His badge and phone were just lying on the floor."
"Martin, it's not Jack," Viv said, straightening up from looking at the body.
"My guess is that it's William Farrell, the assistant," Sam remarked as she walked up. "We saw photos of this man with Jessica in her apartment."
"We need the prints, especially from the wallet and the badge," Viv said, jotting down a note.
"Is there a surveillance system?" Danny asked.
"There was," Sgt. Binder said, pointing to the smashed unit on the floor.
3:00pm
Sam glanced up at the whiteboard, looking at the photograph of Jack and the timeline they were building.
"Viv, what the hell is going on?" a strong voice called from down the hall, approaching the bullpen.
"Tyler, he's missing and probably hurt. We're waiting on the preliminary forensics and fingerprints to make sure," Vivian replied, not moving her eyes from her computer.
"Hi, Tyler."
"Hi, Danny," Tyler said, looking beyond him to the whiteboard.
"May I see the file?" Tyler asked, turning back towards the team.
"Sure," Viv replied, handing it to him.
Tyler took the case file and sat down at the conference table opposite Sam. He loosened his tie and undid the first button of his shirt. Running his fingers through his long blonde hair, he looked up and caught both Sam and Martin staring at him.
"Sorry, I'm Tyler Simpson, FBI, Quantico. I'm actually in Violent Crimes as a profiler. Jack and I are old friends," he said, standing.
"Hi, Samantha Spade," she said, extending out her hand.
"Pleasure."
"Martin Fitzgerald," he said, also extending his hand.
"I thought you looked familiar. You look a lot like your old man." Tyler said, sitting back down to the file.
Martin blushed and looked back at his desk.
4:00pm
"Okay, the blood is definitely Jack's. Forensics is trying to sort through the fingerprints," Danny said, rushing into the bullpen.
"Samantha, take Martin and canvas the area. We still don't know why Jessica left the opening. Is there a list of who was there?" Tyler asked.
"Uh, yeah, we have a sign-in book. Tech printed a list from the computer at Jessica's apartment." Danny replied.
There was a silence and Tyler finally looked up at the other agents.
"I apologize, Viv. Sometimes I forget my place," he sighed, sitting back in his chair.
"We all miss him, Tyler. Sam and Martin, go canvas the area. Danny you and I will go through the sign-in book."
6:00pm
A decidedly soaked Sam and Martin arrived back at the bullpen. They took off their coats and walked to the conference table where Tyler was working.
"The deli owner, dry cleaner, and liquor store owner all knew Jessica. No one saw her that night," Sam said softly.
"Come on, Malone, where are you?" Tyler asked, looking at his photograph on the board.