A/N: Once again, thanks for the reviews. I appreciate the encouragement!
Ch. 22:
As Detective Rodriguez took the stand, Warrick stood and left the courtroom. Gil watched him leave as he pulled out his cell phone. Turning his attention back to the proceedings, he wondered once again what Rodriguez could be introducing into evidence. Everything pertaining to the case had already been submitted. The tie, the bugs, the cell phone, the body, his car, the sleeping pills, all the CCTV security camera evidence. The only thing left actually should have been the voicemail Julia left on his cell phone calling off the divorce. If Jefferson was going to submit it. It went to motive so he didn't know why he wouldn't. Maybe that was what Rodriguez was going to testify to: the voicemail.
Jefferson started his questioning and he immediately straightened in his seat as he heard, "Detective Rodriguez, your investigation led you to California. Can you please inform us what took you there and what you discovered?"
Rodriguez glanced at him before answering the questioning, "The marriage of the defendant, Gil Grissom, and the victim, Julia Holden, started in California. They married August 12th, 1979."
Just five days shy of his twenty-third birthday. They'd both been so young. He thought marriage was the right thing to do. That's what people did when they loved each other. It'd been the worst mistake of his life, but one he wouldn't change for anything. Years later that turbulent relationship with Julia gave him the greatest blessing of his life: his daughter.
"During my investigation into the marriage, I discovered an incident report filed December 24th, 1985."
He'd forgotten that it happened on Christmas Eve. His mind went back to that night as he remembered his car pulling up in front of the house, in the yard, ringing the bell, and then Alan. Seeing him standing there, he'd never been so angry, but it wasn't with Alan. He was angry with himself. He'd ruined his marriage.
Then something inside of him broke. The jealousy, the possessiveness, all boiled up and he hit Alan in the face. It should have stopped there. The first punch hurt his hand; he remembered the pain. Then that was all he wanted. More and more pain. Instead of taking it out on himself, he took it out on Alan.
Julia's voice then broke through the anger, and he stopped. Once he stopped, he realized what he'd done and why. The man he'd become was someone he didn't trust; someone he didn't know anymore or understand. He was someone he no longer loved. He hated himself so much. And the problem was them. Him and her together. Taking his wedding off, he told her to keep it. He was done.
"And what was the incident report for?"
"It was filed as a Domestic Violence Incident."
He flinched at those words. He never touched Julia. Didn't even yell at her. He never yelled at her. Whenever they argued they used their hands and it never got physical or violent. The only time it ever got physical was when she kept pushing him because she wanted it to get violent. For her, it had to be out of anger, out of jealousy, for her to think it was out of love. He had no idea at the time how much she needed help. He'd been so blind. So young and native, and so very much in love that he couldn't think straight.
Rough sex play to him was just that: play. It was fun, an escape, and with the right person, it was exhilarating. Always safe and out of love, except for the times when he got low and wanted to hurt himself. Then there was no love involved. It was all hate.
"Were there charges filed?" Jefferson asked.
"No," Rodriguez said. "There was no arrest made or charges filed, but the report was taken of the incident and filed. The defendant spent the night in county lockup and then released the next day."
"What does the report state, Detective?"
As Rodriguez read out loud the police report, he relaxed slightly that no mention of any violence towards Julia occurred, which was the truth. The report stated that the only two involved in the altercation was him and homeowner, Alan Morales, despite Julia also being present at the scene. The police were called, he was escorted away, his car impounded, and he spent the night in the drunk tank, and then released.
That was nineteen years ago. He was twenty-nine years old, and they'd been married for six years. Six years of ups-and-downs, and anger and resentment. Six years of make-up sex, affairs, and silence. Six years of both their addictions spinning and spiraling until he broke. Miami had been the catalysis, but that night was the final straw. The beginning of the end of their marriage.
He left California two years later. It took him that long to figure it all out and gather the money and courage to leave. Once he got the job in Las Vegas, he packed up and left literally in the dead of night. Juila and Alan's relationship had ended a year prior, and she was back in his life, on-and-off again like a bad habit he couldn't break. That's what it felt like. She'd become a habit. An addiction. All they had was sex. The sex led to anger. Anger to resentment and guilt. Guilt led to hate. Hate led to more sex to stop the hate. Over and over again.
Turning in his seat, he saw the concern in Sara's eyes. She was owed an explanation. He wanted her to know that what happened that night would never happen to them. He wasn't that guy anymore. That anger and jealousy was no longer inside of him. She'd purged it out of him with her love, trust, and forgiveness.
There was only one way to do that. He had to take the stand. He had to explain.
"Your Honor," he said, interrupting Jefferson's next question. "I object to the validity of this report—"
"It's an official police report—"
"In order to lay basis to the introduction, the parties involved have to establish its validity—"
Jefferson turned to Judge Mason as he said, "Judge, Alan Morales has since passed away and Julia—"
"Alan died?" he asked in shock. He hadn't known.
Jefferson glanced at him as he explained, "Car accident, four years ago."
He felt a ache in his chest but pushed it down as he turned back to the Judge Mason and said, "As the only remaining participant in the incident, I can testify to the events—"
"You want to take the stand?" Jefferson asked, incredulously.
"I do. I want to testify—"
Jefferson shook his head as he told Judge Mason, "Your Honor, this is unprecedented—"
"Just because something is unprecedented doesn't mean it's deniable. I have the right to testify," he said. "If I'm the only participant left, then my testimony is the only—"
Judge Mason interrupted as he tapped his pen on the bench and cleared his throat. "I'll allow Dr. Grissom's testimony."
Jefferson looked annoyed, but also smug. "If Dr. Grissom wants to waive his 5th Amendment right and wants to subject himself to direct examination, then by all means. Your Honor, at this time, I would like to call Dr. Grissom to the stand."
Rodriguez passed him on the way to the witness stand and smirked at him as he buttoned his suit jacket. "I'm going to love watching you squirm."
He shook his head at the detective before he took the oath before getting on the stand. Adjusting himself and then the microphone, he was asked his name and to spell it for the record.
Jefferson rounded the podium as he approached the stand while asking, "Dr. Grissom, when did you and Julia Holden meet?"
He wanted to object to the relevance, but he knew Jefferson was setting up background, so he went with it. "Over the July Fourth weekend of 1977, at a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert in Oakland, California. I was twenty years old, Julia a year younger."
"You were married two years later?"
"Yes, as Detective Rodriguez already stated, we married August 12th, 1979."
"What was Alan Morales's relation to you at the time?"
"He was my best friend," he answered.
"And how long did you know him prior to the incident on December 24th, 1985?"
Thinking back, he answered, "Ten years. We met in September 1975. Alan was my best man when I married Julia. He was a good friend."
"A good friend who had an affair with your wife?"
He frowned at that question, but nodded as he said, "He loved her. He thought—...He thought I wasn't good for her. I can't blame him for that. You can't help who you fall in love with."
Jefferson started pacing, back-and-forth as he said, "According to the police report, you busted his lip and split open his left cheek. He had to have stitches. That doesn't sound like someone incapable of violence against a human being." Throwing Warrick's words back at him, he was trying to make the jury think that he was someone capable of beating someone. He was trying to discredit Warrick's statement. "You must have felt vindictive. Your best friend, a man who'd been your best man, had betrayed you. Angry at your wife for having an affair. You intentionally went to Alan Morales's house to fight him. He had to go to the hospital to get stitches in his face because you beat him. Dr. Grissom, did you not beat your best friend and send him to the hospital?"
"If you want me to answer that out of context, Jefferson, it isn't going to happen. I can cross-examine myself to explain. I'd rather not do that."
Jefferson's jaw twitched. He probably wasn't used to this much push back and defiance from a witness. "You may explain how you were capable of beating a man, Dr. Grissom."
Taking a moment, he readjusted himself, his glasses, as he addressed the court, the jury, but most of all, Sara, "First off, let me be clear: an explanation to what happened isn't a justification for it happening. I was nowhere near justified in my actions. I would like to say that I was led by my heart, but I wasn't. The heart forgives. I was led by my anger and that made my actions inexcusable." Then he said simply, "I was wrong."
He was told once by Nick that not many people admitted when they were wrong. Admitting being wrong meant putting ego aside, which led to humility and then to change. Eventually he'd find what was right and what was the truth. HIs eyes found Sara and he saw her encouragement. He knew getting on the witness stand that he was going to have to open up and expose himself some more. He didn't care what Jefferson thought, or Judge Mason, or the jury or anyone.
Warrick had walked back in and he was once again seated beside Sara. He cared about what Sara thought of him. He cared about his friendship with Warrick and protecting his character. Warrick hadn't been lying, and just as he saw him as a good man, so was Warrick. He couldn't let his reputation get tarnished.
Thinking back to that time, to the events that led up to that night, he said, "Three months prior to the incident of December 24, 1985, Julia told me she was in love with Alan. I wanted to fix our marriage and she wanted out of it. We separated and I found myself drinking a lot. I, uh, I lost myself. All I knew was that I wanted her back. It wasn't out of love that I wanted her back, but possessiveness, and jealousy. That's why I ended up on Alan's doorstep." He shook his head at the memory of hitting his best friend. "All I ever wanted was for Julia to be happy, but she wasn't happy with me. She looked happy with him. I hated him for it, but mostly I hated myself for letting it get that bad. I lost my temper and I hit him. Julia told me to stop, and I stopped. She was so scared. I remember sitting on the floor, looking up at her, and seeing her fear." He felt the tears in his eyes as he remembered seeing her fear. "I never wanted to hurt her like that. All I could think was how much I still loved her. Then there was nothing but guilt. How sorry I was. She deserved so much better. She deserved Alan. Right then, I forgave her for everything. She wanted a divorce, so I gave it to her. I took my wedding ring off and told her to keep it. It was my fault. All Alan did was love her the way I couldn't. I apologized to him and to Julia. I even paid Alan's medical bill. Paid with a credit card, you should be able to find a record of it somewhere, Detective Rodriguez."
"Is that why Mr. Morales didn't press charges?"
He was confused by that question. "You think I bribed him? Alan didn't press charges because he knew I didn't mean it. He said that I needed help. And he was right. I should have listened to him then and got myself the help I needed. I didn't. That angry, jealous young man was who Julia wanted me to be. I didn't understand until later that she wanted me to fight for her by literally fighting for her. That she believed it was proof of love." He shook his head in anger at himself, sadness at her, as he said, "Violence isn't love. Possessiveness and jealousy are not proof of love. Once I realized that, I left. I left her, I left California, not just to get away from her but away from the man who I hated more than anything: myself. I had no idea who I was, or what love was or how to love someone the right way. I didn't even know how to love myself. All I knew were lies. It took a long time, and the love of my daughter and of a good, strong woman, but I found the right way." Letting out a breath as he saw Sara's face, her eyes, and once again her forgiveness. "And then I nearly ruined it…I am so sorry for that. But, like I said, the heart forgives." He let out a breath as he said, "I am one lucky man."
His mind immediately went to Julia. How her last moments of her life were anything but happy. He felt the tears in his eyes as he reached up and rubbed them away while taking off his glasses. As he got lost in thought, his words slipped out unnoticed.
"I don't understand," he said without thinking. "She had to be in so much pain…She didn't deserve any of that."
"Dr. Grissom, you lost me. Who didn't deserve what?" Jefferson asked.
"Julia," he answered as he rubbed his pounding head and tapped his glasses on his leg, thinking. "I just don't get it."
He couldn't stop thinking about how afraid she must have been. All the pain, both physically and mentally. How scared she would have been for Charlotte. Had Julia known that Charlotte was left at the house, or did she think she'd been taken just like her? God, that must have been horrible.
His mind shifting to his daughter, he felt the sadness grip his chest so hard he thought he was having a heart attack. He missed her so much. His mother hadn't brought her back to court and he had no idea when he'd see her again. It just didn't make any sense. None of it did.
Realizing that he'd drifted off, he tried to shove it all down but couldn't. Was he still being questioned? "Did you ask a question?"
Jefferson was working his jaw again as the doubt crept back into his eyes. "You were talking."
Blinking back, he saw the wetness in his eyes. "I was?" He quickly looked around the courtroom and saw Sara. She was on the verge of tears. "What did I say?" he asked the court reporter. He had no idea what he'd said. His mind was miles away from that courtroom. He was also exhausted. He hadn't slept since the trial started.
As the court reporter read back his words, he realized he was speaking his thoughts out loud. His fear for Julia, Charlotte, and how much he missed her. It made his heart hurt even more. He needed a break. Checking the clock on the wall, he saw it was nearly five o'clock.
"Your Honor," Jefferson said, "I'm done with my questioning of Dr. Grissom. It's nearing the end of the day. And my next witness will have to wait until tomorrow."
He headed back to the defense table, keeping his eyes either on the floor or on Sara as he didn't want to see the look in anyone else's eyes. As he slumped in the chair, he felt so tired. He didn't know if it was from his depression or the long days, or both, but he was tired of himself. He was exhausting to be around.
Judge Mason seemed at a loss. Whatever amusement he had was gone as he said, "Court's dismissed until ten o'clock tomorrow morning."
Once the jury was gone, and there were only a few people remaining in the courtroom, he turned to Jefferson and asked, "You're going to take this all the way to the end, aren't you?"
Jefferson put his files and notebooks in his bag without looking at him. "Yes."
"Jefferson—"
"Grissom," he said as he turned to face him. "We can cut a deal, but I'm not dismissing this case. There's a lot of pressure coming down—"
"Then you should want to get it right."
"And miss your defense? Now why would I do that? You don't have one." Jefferson was right. On his witness list for the defense was one name: Gil Grissom.
"I'm all I need."
"You can gain sympathy from the jury all you want, but the evidence is on my side."
He watched as Jefferson walked away. Sara was still seated, watching him. Warrick next to her. "What was that phone call about?" he asked Warrick.
"I got a hold of Brass. He said he'll get someone on her to see what she does. He's also chasing down some leads with Catherine. Think they got something."
He gave a nod then asked Sara, "I'll see you tomorrow?"
She smiled at him as she said, "You know it."
"If you can, I'd love for Charlotte to be here. I want her to see me prove my innocence. My mother too, but…that might be difficult."
She wrapped her arms around herself as she told him, "I'll do my best. Gil?"
"Yeah?" he asked. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch her. He wanted to pull her into a hug, kiss her, and tell her he loved her.
"I do," she said, "forgive you."
He smiled. "I know. I love you." He stood as the deputy walked over to handcuff him and escort him out. "Warrick, thanks." He held out his hand for him to shake.
Warrick shook it as he said, "I have to work tonight so I won't be here tomorrow. Once you're a free man, breakfast is on me."
As his hands were cuffed in front of him, he smiled as he said, "Hopefully this is my last night in jail."
"Get some sleep," Sara told him. "You look like hell."
That almost made him laugh.
Catherine sent out a page. It was pow-wow time. All this was making her head hurt and there were so many moving parts. She even ordered pizza and had it all set up in the break room by the time everyone arrived. The whole team, which only included Nick, Warrick, who was back on duty, and Sofia. Once this meeting was over, Sofia would be off nights and back on days.
The only one missing who worked on the case was Brass. He was out on his own chasing down leads. He'd told her that one of the staff members from Anonymous, Seth McKnight, finally reached out to talk. He was going to meet up with him now.
Once everyone was seated at the table, and got some food, she said, "Okay. Let's go over this from the beginning—"
"Where's the beginning?" Nick asked as opened a soda and took a drink. "Julia's murder?"
"Whatever you want to start, Nicky," she said as she leaned on the table.
Nick nearly blushed as he repressed a smile. "Fine. I'll go first. Uh…well, new evidence came to light thanks to Sofia and Hodges. Saddle soap, specifically Premium Clean Saddle Soap. It's what Sparkle Car Wash uses to clean the leather interior of their customer's cars. Thanks to Hodges, we were able to link that soap to Grissom's car, and then from his car to his tie."
"And Brass tracked the production and distribution of the saddle soap to the Tanner Ranch," she said. "The business manager of the ranch, Rebecca Keleher, owns the car wash and exclusively sells them the saddle soap that the ranch produces. It can only be bought there, or from the ranch, or the on-line store."
"Roger Jennings," Sofia said. "He's another connection. Brass told me that his brother was sent up for a crime he didn't commit, and the key piece of evidence was a tie with his epithelial skin cells on it that belonged to one of the murder victims. The actual killer was Roger. He set his brother up. The lead CSI on the case was Grissom."
"And the tie in Julia Holden's murder is the key piece of evidence linking Grissom to the murder the exact same way," Nick said. "The cocaine connects Roger and Julia Holden."
Catherine let out a breath and said, "Along with club Anonymous and the Tanner Ranch." She pulled out both sheets containing the lists her and Brass got from Miss Keleher. "Roger Jennings sold coke at the club, and also worked at the ranch during the same time period that Charlotte Grissom was a member of the Youth Outreach Program. She used to ride horses and compete in horse riding competitions. And, lastly, Roger worked at Sparkle Car Wash. He quit soon after Julia's disappearance."
"Our main suspect and connection to the murder of Julia Holden is Roger Jennings," Warrick said, "and now he's dead."
She gave a nod. "Yep. Stabbed twice in the back with a serrated knife and dumped on the Air Force firing range. Boots Sofia found at the scene connects the people who dumped the body to the Tanner Ranch." She pulled out the photos of the boot impressions and showed them around. "The branded "T" on the bottom of one of the boots is a perfect match to the boots worn by all the employees of the ranch. It's the trademark."
"Was Roger wearing any boots when he was found," Nick asked.
Sofia shook her head. "He was bootless. In fact, he had no shoes on."
Nick frowned, "Why take his shoes? Was any other clothing missing?"
"Not that I'm aware of," Sofia said. "Catherine?"
She reaffirmed as she said, "Nothing else was missing. There had to be evidence on his shoes—"
"Or," Warrick said, "if he was wearing boots, they could have led us to the ranch. They took the evidence with them." He leaned back in the chair. "Any luck on the knife that killed him?"
"Since there might be a military connection, I told Bobby to check military knives first," she said as she opened a file and saw the results. "He didn't get a match, but we lucked out because the knife was serrated. It narrowed the search. Bobby got several possible matches, all Spyderco brands. A Harpy or Byrd. We won't know for sure until we get the knife used, but it will be sharp on one side and serrated on the other."
"Popular models?" Nick asked.
"You can buy them at any store, knife and gun show, on-line purchase. Or get it from a fellow cowboy."
"So basically," Warrick said, "anyone can have one."
Hodges walked into the break room with a smile on his face and two sheets in his hand. "Just the people I'm looking for."
"What'd ya got, Hodges?" she asked.
"I may have solved the case, again," he said with a smug look of triumph. "Doc Robbins sent me some trace that he'd found in the knife wounds during the autopsy. Your killer didn't clean the knife before using it to stab your vic. Hairs and fibers were in the wound."
She took both printouts from him and read, "Braided nylon and polyester blend. 3-strands…What am I looking at?"
"Rope strands, specifically the kind used to make lassos. The nylon, poly blend makes the rope rough and extremely tough, so it'd take a serrated knife to be able to cut through it."
Reading the other printout, she said, "Hair histology report."
"Based on the hair cuticle scale pattern, type and diameter of the medulla, and the pigmentation, and the characteristics—"
"Hodges," she warned.
"It's horse hair," he quickly answered.
"Another connection to the Tanner Ranch," she said as she smiled. "Thank you, Hodges."
Hodges smiled as he stood awkwardly, looking around, and then asking, "Can I have some pizza? I've been smelling it down the hall—"
"By all means, grab a plate. You did solve the case." As Hodges nearly strutted over to the counter where the pizza was, she saw the amused smirks on everyone's faces as they watched him.
"Good job, Hodges," Nick said as he raised his drink to him.
After Hodges got his pizza and left, Warrick said, "Our other suspects are Jerome and Heather Kessler. During testimony today, Dr. Kessler practically admitted to her involvement, or at least knowledge, of Juila's abduction. There was someone else at her house the night of March 21st, and we're assuming it was her ex-husband. She knows more than she's saying."
Catherine nodded. "We still have Grissom's clothes from that night in evidence. If they had an altercation, Jerome Kessler's DNA would be on them. We did find foreign DNA on his clothes from both XX, most likely Heather Kessler's DNA, and XY, but no hits in CODIS."
"Jerome doesn't have a record," Warrick said. "We'll need to be able to get a warrant for his DNA, he's not going to cough it up himself."
Nick said, "Grissom taught me that: "If the mountain won't go to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain". There's other ways of obtaining someone's DNA."
Warrick held out his fist as he said, "That's what I'm talking about," as Nick fist-bumped him.
She smiled at her guys as she said, "Jerome Kessler is also associated with the Tanner Ranch. He's one of the board members and a sponsor for the youth program. He sponsored Charlotte Grissom."
"And his connection to Julia Holden is the night club," Warrick said.
"All roads are leading to two places," she said. "Anonymous and the Tanner Ranch. Now, all we have to do is connect Julia Holden to either of those locations. Right now, other than Jerome admitting that she was a customer, we have no evidence she was there any time after her disappearance. And other than Charlotte Grissom taking horse riding lessons, we have no evidence that Julia Holden was there at any time."
"Her daughter rode horses—" Nick was saying.
"Doesn't mean Julia was present," she said. "They have their own buses for the Youth Outreach Program. Bus them from the city and take them back. They have an office at WLVU. They're partnered with the agriculture department." Giving it some thought, she said, "Nick, Warrick, go back to Jerome Kessler. Find out what you can, and if possible, get a sample of his DNA. I'm going to go back to Julia Holden, see if I can find any direct connection to her and the ranch."
As Nick and Warrick left, she regarded Sofia. "I know you're back on days in the morning."
"What'd you need?"
She smiled. "I need you to dig deeper into Rebecca Keleher. Any connections you can find between her and this case. Anything."
Sofia stood and headed out. "I'll get right on it."
The bar, Atomic Liquor's, was off Fremont Street, one block down from the Western Hotel. Captain Jim Brass parked his detective's car across from the bar that was one of the oldest in Las Vegas, having opened in 1952, as he waited for Seth to show. Beside the bar was a building with butterflies painted all the way up the side walls. Next to him was a sign from the "A" Motel where the "Llamas Stay for Free". On the sign for the motel was a message: "If your parents did not use the word "Galavanting" did you really run the streets?" On the other side of the sign, it read: "99 percent of my socks are single and you don't see them crying about it"."
The thing was that the motel no longer existed. The huge parking lot that filled the space was now called the "Llama Lot" and it would at times host carnivals, food truck festivals, annual marathons for charities, and different projects or events that were part of the "Fremont Experience". Right now, it was just a damn parking lot.
He reached for his cup of coffee and took a sip of it and felt a hot drop run down his chin. Pulling the cup away, he groaned as he looked down at his tie. "Ah, man," he grabbed a napkin and patted the coffee off the tie as he let out a breath.
Movement out his window had him turning while going for his gun and the door handle at the same time. Seth tapped on the window, making him nearly jump. He hit the unlock button on the door as he told him, "Get in the passenger side."
Seth rounded the car and got into the passenger side as he spotted movement in the rearview. Before he could hit the "lock" button the backdoor was opened on the driver's side and a man dropped into the seat as a gun appeared in his face.
Behind the gun was a familiar face. Solid square jaw, brown eyes, and a high-and-tight haircut. It was the bouncer from club Anonymous. He never did get the guy's name.
Seth said with a shaky voice, "I'm sorry."
"Sure, kid," he said as kept his eyes on the gun trained on the back of his head through the rearview mirror.
"Very slowly," Mr. High-and-Tight said, "remove your gun."
Reaching down, he unclipped the holster and removed his gun using two-fingers.
"Toss it."
Being an ass, and hoping the guy got his prints on it, he tossed the gun into the backseat.
"I meant toss it out the window," Mr. High-and-Tight said.
"You didn't specify," he shot back. There was no point in having him disarm if he was only going to kill him. He figured the guy was wanting to take him somewhere to talk first.
In the rearview, he watched as Mr. High-and-Tight picked up the gun, rolled down the window, and tossed it into the parking lot. He really hoped some kid didn't come by and pick it up and go on a shooting spree.
"Cell phone too, and this time, toss it out the window."
He pulled out his cell phone and rolled down the window as he used his thumb to place a call. From his position behind him, the guy couldn't see his hands and Seth was too busy looking out the windows making sure no one was watching them. Hanging his hand out the window, he dropped the phone and hoped it didn't disconnect the call.
Then the gun was pressed into his head as he was told, "Drive."
He reversed out of the parking spot and then headed out the parking lot. At the stop sign, he asked, "Which way?"
"Left."
Turning left onto Fremont Street, he drove towards Las Vegas Boulevard. Then he turned right and headed north. As the Strip became just a distant memory in the rearview, he realized exactly where they were going. He had a feeling that the owner of Anonymous wanted to have a talk.
The bright red neon light from the sign over the club lit up the entire parking lot as he drove through it, down the alley, and parked in the back where there were only employee vehicles and no CCTV cameras. Before he got out of the car, he turned the steering wheel as far as it would go until it locked. Getting out of the car, he hit the lock button and then turned towards the dumpster that was over against the side of the building and tossed his keys up high in the air towards it. He wasn't about to make anything easy for anyone.
Mr. High-and-Tight just watched as the keys disappeared in the darkness. The keys either went into the dumpster or ended up on the roof. He had no idea where, but if they were going to take him out of there, dead or alive, they'd have to either find his keys or use someone else's vehicle to do it.
The gun was shoved into his back, and he was pushed up the steps to the loading dock and then through the backdoor. The hallway led to another door that opened into a room he hadn't seen before. It wasn't Jerome Kessler's office. It was dark. The lights in the ceiling were dimmed and there was a single chair in the room. He was shoved down into it and Seth walked around him and disappeared from his sight.
A door opened behind him and the light from outside lit up the wall in front of him along with the bouncer with the gun. A shadow of a man walked in and said, "Since he's your problem, you get to stay."
The door shut and a moment later he saw Jerome Kessler. He stood in front of him as he let out a breath like he was annoyed that he was there. Walking behind him was Seth. He was there to watch. This was a lesson for the kid. Talk to the police, this is what happens.
"I don't have to tell you the world of shit you're in by abducting a cop. If all you wanted to do was talk, you could have made an appointment or returned my phone calls."
Jerome didn't look amused, and neither did he. "I'm not here to talk. You're going to tell me what you and the CSI's know. Everything."
"And what if I don't? You're going to have your goon squad rough me up?"
Jerome gave a nod.
"It won't change anything."
"We'll see."
Jerome stepped away and took the gun away from Mr. High-and-Tight. Watching the bouncer approach while he took off his suit jacket to roll up his sleeves, he realized that the coffee spot on his tie was going to be the least of his problems.
"Just a heads up," he said as he tried not to let his fear show. And he was afraid. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't. "If you break my jaw, I can't do any talking. And pace yourself. What's more fun? A KO in the first round or going twelve rounds?"
Mr. High-and-Tight actually laughed, right before he punched him in the gut.
TBC…