Chapter 6

The old Inn stood large and foursquare on its plot of land on East Superior Street. Its white walls and solid wooden windows gave it an air of grace and favour, an echo of a bygone era when things seemed more civilised and less dangerous.

Hank Netter sat quietly in his car and stared at the old building, his mind wandering away to the turn of the century, when, as his Mother was fond of saying "men were men and women were glad of it". He tried to imagine what it would have been like to live back then when the house had been built. Was there still a need for a law man? He supposed so. Would that lawman be dealing with blackmail and kidnap? Wryly, he considered. Wherever there was money, there would be people trying to get it by fair means or foul. So yes, he guessed there would have been some old hack, probably sitting on his horse, staking out a place somewhere around here as he tried to catch his own particular kind of bad guy.

At this time of day the road running past the Inn was busy. People were scurrying into and out of the Inn's entrance, but all seemed to be legitimate travellers and trades people, coming and going quietly and with purpose. There were a few parked cars dotted around the parking lot and the street corner but nothing noteworthy. Netter looked at his watch. Almost one o'clock. They'd said one hour and that was at 12:07. He sighed. His dealings with this sort of people over the years had led him to realise that they were punctual if nothing else. He lifted his eyes and scanned the surroundings for the hundredth time. Nothing. No men lurking in the shadows, no cars parked with the engine left running. Just wholesome down-home folks busying themselves with their own mundane lives, unaware that somewhere a young blond man was hurt, alone, scared and living with the threat of losing his life.

The minutes ticked by as the fingers on Netter's watch crawled around their allotted circuit. 1:05 came and went. 1:07 and then 1:10 and still nothing. No signs of the kidnappers. They were either lying about the location, or they were tardy. And in Netter's book, tardiness and ransom deadlines didn't equate.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of dark blue metal as the thin shark fin of a tailgate set off from the side of the Inn in a racing start. The car was just one amongst many with no discernable distinguishing features, but Hank cursed under his breath for not having marked it as a possible target earlier.

Now that he was sure it was the car the kidnappers were using, Netter started the engine, slammed the stick into drive and pushed his foot to the floor in a roar of engine. He sent unsuspecting pedestrians diving for cover as he fishtailed out of his parking space and started to chase after the blue sedan as it sped away down the street.

The noise caused by his hurried departure must have alerted the driver of the target vehicle because suddenly it surged forward, heading for downtown Duluth. Netter kept it in his view as he nursed his own car through the steadily increasing traffic. One eye on the road, the other on the blue sedan, he felt cold sweat break out over his body and trickle annoyingly down his spine. This was it. His hunch had been right. Now he needed to keep the car in sight because to lose it now would mean certain death for Ken Hutchinson. The kidnappers knew now that Hutchinson senior wasn't going to cough up the money and their only alternative was to get rid of their useless "guest" and hightail it out of the area.

The sedan was using every trick in the book; finding trucks to hide behind; making sudden turns to left or right and leaving a trail of chaos in its wake as cars skidded to a halt and pedestrians backed up against the walls of the buildings. But Netter had been on the force long enough to have done some high speed chases of his own. He stuck tight to his target, never taking his eyes off the blazing break lights which flared angrily at each tight turn, but whilst he didn't lose the car, he couldn't seem to close the gap either.

Now into the city itself, with its bigger buildings and more highly populated streets, Netter had to slow. While he didn't want to hurt any innocent bystanders, the lead car had no such concern and Hank yelled curse words into the solitary interior of the car as he saw men, women and children diving for cover in the wake of the sedan. He made a swift right turn and was just in time to see the tailgate of the blue car hanging a left up ahead. Netter raced to the junction and set his own car in a tyre squealing turn of its own. Up ahead, a busy intersection loomed and he saw the big blue vehicle aiming for it with no signs of slowing down. Hank pushed his foot to the metal and urged his car on, but as he got within 100 yards of his target, the sedan ran the intersection, narrowly missing a school bus, which slammed on its breaks and slewed sideways across the road as a red car ran headfirst into its side. Another car behind the red one veered drunkenly at the last minute and hit a motor bike, which in turn hit a guy on the sidewalk. There was silence for a split second before horns started to blare and people started to scream.

Netter brought his car to a halt. There was no way he could get around the intersection and no way he could pick up the trail of the blue sedan. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel and cursed long and hard. He looked at the carnage the kidnappers had left in their wake. The children on the school bus were all clambering to get out, passers by were hysterical and the motor cyclist and pedestrian lay unmoving on the ground as a crowd started to form around them. And somewhere far off, a young blond man's fate had also been sealed. For Hank Netter was convinced that now the kidnappers knew he was onto them and that they were not about to get the money, they would kill their hostage and leave.

Wearily, he picked up the mic. and called through to his precinct asking for more black and whites, ambulances and maybe a coroners wagon. Replacing the mic. on its cradle, he got out of the car and plodded towards the knot of people to try and get some semblance of order.

An hour and a half later, Hank made his way back to his car. He'd tried desperately to save the life of the motor cyclist who had sustained breaks to both legs and an horrific graze right down the side of his body. A rib had punctured a lung too and Netter had stayed with the man until the ambulance had got there, before moving on to crowd control and a handover to the uniformed officer who came along to co-ordinate the cleanup. Now, he stood by the side of his car, one hand on the roof, the other arm resting on the open door as he asked for a patch through to the Hutchinson house. Blood caked his hands and he felt dirty, sweaty and more tired than he had in a long time. And now he was going to have to tell the Doctor in as polite a way as he could that through the Hutchinson's stubbornness, he thought the young man would lose his life. Sometimes, Hank Netter thought, life sucked big time!

He straightened as he heard the click of the patch through and heard the telephone at the other end pick up.

'Hutchinson residence' he heard a heavily accented female voice respond.

'Hi, this is Hank Netter. Could I speak to Dr Hutchinson please?' he asked, recognising the voice of the Mexican maid.

'I'm sorry Senior Netter. Dr Hutchinson is in surgery right now and Mrs Hutchinson has been gone for an hour or so. May I take a message?' there was hope in the voice and Netter felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the portly woman. At least someone in that cold, frigid household cared for the welfare of Ken.

'I lost 'em' Netter ground out. 'I had them in my sights and the bastards got away from me'.

'And Senior Kenneth?' Chancita asked, a quiver in her voice.

Netter gripped the mic harder. He hated this part. The part where he had to tell someone that there was little hope left. The part where he told the ones left behind that their nearest and (usually) dearest was a lost cause. But the difference here was that instead of giving the news to some distraught and weeping mother or father, he was having to deliver those depressing words to the only woman who seemed to care – the maid.

'I don't think its good news for him. They'll know we didn't deliver the ransom money. And a hostage without payment is useless. They…' he couldn't bring himself to say the words and he heard a quiet moan on the other end of the phone before the woman pulled herself together. 'I'll keep on it. I'll keep looking but….'

'Gracias Senior' Chancita's voice was calm and quiet and it tugged at his heart more than if he'd had a hundred kind words from someone else.

'De nada' Netter replied with a heavy heart. 'Trate de no preocuparse'. He put the mic. down and got into his car, trying to think what to do next. He took out the last ransom note from his pocket and looked at the carefully cut and pasted letters which made up the words as though somehow they would leap off the page and whisper their answers into his ear. Was there a clue there? Maybe forensics would be able to decide which paper or magazine they were cut from. Sighing heavily he switched on the engine, backed his car up and turned it round to head back to the precinct. Perhaps a fresh pair of eyes would help. But if not…… Hank Netter was pretty sure he wouldn't be seeing Ken Hutchinson alive any more.

oOo

In a dark blue sedan fleeing from the scene of the chaos that they had caused, the woman and man sat stony faced.

'He told me his Dad wouldn't pay up. I was sure he was only saying it to try and stop us' Hillary French said as she stared out of the window at the rapidly passing scenery. 'Which other loving family would stand back and let a group take their son without lifting a finger to help?'

'Seems like this Hutchinson guy is one tough cookie' Damon Beck agreed. 'Shit I thought that cop had us nailed though. We need to get rid of him right now. D'ya think he got a good look at us? He sure followed quick enough'.

'I don't think he got a good enough look. Maybe he could ID the car, but as its stolen anyway, where's that gonna lead him? But I agree with you. I think he's gonna have to be wasted. Shame. I wanted this to be clean and simple. We take little blondie, we get the money, we let him go'.

'So what're we gonna do with baby blue eyes now?' Damon asked.

Hillary smiled coldly. 'He aint much use to us now that Daddy's not playin' Maybe Johnny will want to have a little fun before we dump the body huh?'

'You're gonna get rid of him?'

'I know it's a waste. After all the time we took to set this up. But we haven't got the money and I don't think, with the best will in the world that we'd convert him to the cause. So I'm afraid we give him to Johnny and throw the remains in the lake'. Hilary sighed as she settled back into the seat. Sometimes it paid to have plan B formulated well in advance.