Chapter 4

Devastation

Chief Detective Chris Lane was a woman of few words. Anyone who knew her would have told you so, and added a comment or two about the veteran officer's steely demeanour. Tall, curvaceous and with a headful of short grey hair, Lane was one of the most well-known and respected figures in NYC's law enforcement. She'd started her career very young – many people had discouraged her from doing so, claiming she was too pretty, too feminine, too soft-spoken to succeed in a male-dominated field such as the police force.

But she'd certainly showed them all.

Beneath a seemingly calm and unperturbable demeanour lay a dauntless warrior, capable of squashing down enemies and cutting them to size without batting an eyelid. She was righteous and kind to those he deemed deserving of said kindness, but she could be ruthlessly brutal with those that she considered enemies. Regardless, her work ethic was exemplary. Lane was the epitome of professionalism – she was punctual, obedient, responsible, an avid self-discipline cultivator and she always found the time to further develop professionally.

Such a character is seldom looked over by employers, so it hadn't taken long for Lane to climb up the hierarchy at a vertiginous pace. She was both feared and respected, which was just as well because that's exactly what Lane was after.

She was a fair boss, but she expected nothing but efficiency from her employees. Her bureau ran like a perfectly oiled machine; no mistakes, no mishaps. She couldn't afford them, not when her enemy was crime itself.

But, perhaps the oddest thing about Chief Detective Lane was that, despite a lifetime in the force, she was still one of the most kind-hearted and attentive individuals in it. She took her time to soothe and console the victims of crimes, she spoke with the criminals to try and encourage them to do better, she was relentless when it came to getting a crime solved…

She was simply devoted to her work, mind and soul.

It was hard, sometimes, knowing where to draw the line. Her children and husband understood that her job was demanding and were supportive of her, but she knew she should try and spend more time with them, but given her most recent case she doubted she'd have the opportunity to do so anytime soon – C.C. Babcock, prominent producer and entrepreneur had gone missing.

Barely a week ago, a middle-aged British man had come up the steps of her department to report her as a missing person, claiming she'd last been seen over a week ago, and that no one, friend or family, had any knowledge of where she could possibly be.

Niles, which Lane had soon discovered was his name, had told her about their more than… peculiar… relationship, and how he'd played a particularly nasty prank that had prompted the producer to storm out of the hospital he'd been in, upset and enraged in equal measure. She'd left her wallet behind and had never come back to get it. That combined with a silence that stretched for days had pushed the butler to go looking for her, and instead he'd found a more than worrying scene – abandoned pet and house, and a producer that had apparently vanished into thin air.

She'd been told by Niles that Miss Babcock's father, a billionaire and immensely powerful business tycoon, would be flying in to try and aid in finding his child, something he'd done the following morning of C.C. having been reported missing.

Phone calls had been made, information gathered, and friends, family, co-workers and employees had been interviewed, but all that had left Lane with more doubts and suspects than she could have possibly imagined. It had quickly become apparent that Miss Babcock wasn't a particularly friendly woman (she only had a small group of close friends), but being a socialite and businesswoman meant she had a vast number of acquaintances, most of whom disliked her or held no regard for her except that of a convenient business partner. She was well respected at work, but her ways and brash demeanour had gotten her to be dubbed "The Bitch of Broadway" by those in the business, something that had greatly amused the Chief Detective.

Of course, people had immediately dubbed a strong, powerful woman who knew what she wanted a 'bitch'. Lane knew that feeling well – the ruthlessness needed to get a job done, all the while being told that she was too bossy or aggressive, too loud or too pushy, too much or not enough, but continuing to make the climb to the top anyway.

She respected Miss Babcock for her own climb. It was like Everest for a lot of women out there, even if they did have a head start in terms of finances.

Lane hoped to at least make Chief of Department before she retired. And she was going to do everything in her power to find the producer long before that happened. She'd gotten involved with the case personally because she'd felt such a strong kinship with the woman. Usually her subordinates would work on cases like this, but it felt too special to pass up.

She was due to meet with Niles again, and with Miss Babcock's father and brother, too. The older Mr Babcock had already held a live news conference, in order to urge anybody who could have any information as to his daughter's whereabouts to come forward.

It had been something of a reach to imagine that someone might come forward from that, given how many people lived in New York and how many people were probably not watching at the time. But, astonishingly, it had happened twice.

A homeless man who'd been going through the garbage, had come across the producer's discarded driver's license, and a jacket that matched the description of what she was wearing when she'd disappeared. He'd happened to see the conference on the television of a local diner just before, when he'd stopped by with what change he'd had that day to get a coffee, and after he'd found the items he'd come to the police. Not too long after that, a woman had come to the station, claiming to have seen a woman matching Miss Babcock's description getting into a car with a man and driving off.

In turn, Lane had alerted Miss Babcock's father, brother, and Niles, that they'd had some developments in the case, and now all three were on their way to her office, to see where the investigation could go from there.

They certainly all walked into Lane's office with a sense of purpose, even if they were also clearly exhausted from one too many sleepless nights.

Atop Lane's desk sat a coffee jar and four mugs, one of which had already been used and had the imprint of Lane's mauve lipstick on its rim. By their side were a number of empty Marlborough packets and a few ashtrays, all of them littered with cigarette butts and ashes. Stress was unavoidable in her line of work, so a vice or two helped endure her gruelling workhours.

"Welcome, Mr and Mr Babcock, Mr Brightmore," said Lane, gesturing between the three men and the chairs around her office desk, "Please, do take a seat."

The three man did so immediately after, only taking a moment to shake Lane's hand.

"So, Chief Detective, what's the update?" Stewart asked, anxious to find out what could have brought them here.

Noel could only agree, leaning across the desk, "Yes, has there been any big news? Has someone seen my sister?!"

Niles felt his heart leaping at the very thought of a positive sighting, but he said nothing. He knew that if he tried to open his mouth then he'd probably come apart at the seams with how much he wanted to express - how much he wanted her to be alright, and to have been spotted walking around out somewhere in the city, right as rain...

Looking as though she was holding back a sigh, Lane went into her bottom desk drawer, and pulled out two things that crushed that want into dust, and caused all their hearts to sink.

Noel and Stewart focused on the first item; C.C.'s purse, both of them trying not to tear up at the dreadful idea of why she wouldn't have it with her...

Niles, meanwhile, stared holes into the jacket, feeling the cracks spread through his heart.

It was very same jacket she'd been wearing when she'd left the hospital...the last thing she'd been wearing...

"These were found in the garbage by a member of the public, and someone else came forward to say that they saw C.C. leaving with a man and getting into a white Ford Bronco," Lane explained. "The fact that she was seen getting into a car, her purse was found discarded, complete with a driver's license inside, and it was accompanied by something identifiable as one of the last things she was seen wearing, it is...well, it's unfortunate but safe to assume that this had at least some planning to it. This, with everything else we have, leads me go conclude that C.C. was taken. As such, we're changing this case from a Missing Person's Report to the crime of kidnapping."

Stewart let out an involuntary choked cry, his hand flying to his mouth being the only thing to stop him.

But it didn't stop the tears from starting to come, or the fear taking over his heart.

His C.C...his Kitten...someone - some man - had taken his Kitten...

Noel gripped at his father's shoulder, trying to comfort him but not managing it - he knew how desperately he was failing, because of the mist covering his own vision as he imagined his little sister - who he'd spent all his time with playing games, and taking to horse shows - alone in the clutches of a stranger, cold and frightened, not knowing if anyone was coming to save her...

Niles' thoughts were much along the same bleak, sorrowful lines, only his were weighed down further by the knowledge that it was all his fault.

It was his fault they were seeing her jacket and her purse, complete with driver's license, tossed into a dumpster with the obvious hope that they'd never be found again. His fault that the two Babcock men were starting to cry, heartbroken that their daughter and sister had vanished with practically no trace, other than seeing her go off to an unknown (but probably awful) fate with a stranger. His fault that they were there at all, because if it wasn't for his own stupid need to prank her at all times, she wouldn't have stormed out of that hospital!

She would still be there, with them, alive and safe. And things might've been better than ever, between the two of them.

And that was the thought that sent the tears overflowing in his own eyes, too...

"I understand that this is hard, but we have a facial composite, based on the description by our witness," Lane said, turning to the top drawer of her desk.

She opened it and brought out a piece of paper, before sliding it across the desk to show the men.

Niles, along with Stewart and Noel, peered at the hand-drawn image of a man with a strong jaw and apparently dark hair.

And as the butler looked at the picture, he thought (along with the burning hatred at the thought of that being the man who had taken Miss Babcock away) he felt a pang of...recognition?

Yes… yes, it definitely was a pang of recognition! He'd seen this guy somewhere! But where? The picture ran a bell – actually it was more like several bells – but he couldn't quite pinpoint who this person was or where he'd seen him before. It made him want to tear his hair out, and it only fed the feeling of worthlessness and guilt that had attached to his heart. Was he so useless that he couldn't even help in the investigation? Was he that much of a waste of space in this world?

He knew the answer to those question was a certain "yes".

It should have been him suffering the one suffering at the hands of a deranged lunatic, not Miss Babcock. It should have been him who was taken, not her.

And yet, this was his reality.

"We checked surveillance cameras near the spot the witness said she was taken," added Lane in a soft voice, "We got footage of her getting on the car, but we couldn't see the plate, or a clear image of our suspect. Does this picture ring a bell to any of you?"

It certainly did ring a bell to him. He was just kicking himself and his useless brain because he didn't have a concrete idea of who the man was! If he could say, he could tell Lane, and then Lane could go get a warrant to search the man's place of residence!

Then...then, they might find Miss Babcock...

But he had to speak out anyway, didn't he? He knew that he didn't know fully who it could be, but the fact that he recognised the man had to be better than them having nothing whatsoever.

It probably meant the circle could be narrowed, somehow...

So, he spoke up, hoping it really would be enough to provide some sort of clue, or next step in the investigation.

"It does to me," he said, watching as Lane's eyes left the paper and went to him with interest. Suddenly, he didn't feel quite so determined. "I...can't say for sure who he is, but I have definitely seen him somewhere before..."

He cringed internally after that, overcome by the shame of not being able to do any more to help. Him simply recognising the man from somewhere probably wasn't enough, considering the amount of people he saw during the day.

He really was useless, wasn't he?

"You…you have?" asked Stewart, tears still running down his wrinkled face and tired eyes being the silent witnesses of him having spent endless sleepless nights.

Niles nodded. "I think I have, sir, but I don't know who–"

"There are ways to fix that," interrupted Lane as she reached for the phone, "We don't exactly expect you to instantly remember who this person is. However, would you be willing to go over a few pictures?"

"Absolutely," replied Niles, instantly getting to his feet – he was ready to do anything and everything if it meant getting Miss Babcock back.

"Excellent. Now, gentlemen, I will ask my assistant to bring me the pictures of our many suspects, and we can begin," she said as she dialled in the number of one of her interns, "I suggest you get comfortable, this will take a while."

She then put the phone to her ear and Niles went back to his seat.

He settled onto the chair and shifted around a little, even if he knew he didn't really care about how comfortable he was. Miss Babcock was probably feeling far worse, wherever she was, so him being sat in a slightly-too-hard chair felt like the least of the things he could worry about.

Especially when Stewart and Noel appeared the same way. He'd be letting the team and the search down if he started worrying about his own needs. They were all there for the same reason, and whether it was comfortable or not, they were going to do everything they could to help. Nothing was more important right then, than what they were about to do.

They didn't care how many pictures of how many potential suspects it took.

They'd go through each and every single one, until they found the one that could lead them to bringing C.C. home.