Chapter 8

He must have dozed off. He felt steadier and stronger, but his head still hurt like hell. Unfortunately, his captors didn't seem inclined to supply an aspirin or an icepack.

They'd left his hands cuffed in front. That at least was an improvement. This whole thing made no sense. Why was he here? Were they keeping him for ransom? If that was the case, it was a damn spontaneous kidnapping, a crime of opportunity, since it was pure coincidence that he'd been on the street last night.

Okay, he had pushed his luck, poking around in a couple of alleyways, but he'd been hoping to catch the guys ripping off old ladies. What had he stumbled into in that backyard? Nothing had looked overtly criminal, just suspicious. He had seen four, five people loading up a couple of cars in a downpour on a dark night. If they were trying to cover their tracks; why not kill him outright instead of keep him prisoner?

Not that he intended to hang around long enough for these guys to change their minds. He knew he needed medical attention, he needed to escape.

What did he know? He was in a room with a hardwood floor. He could feel the edges of the boards. From the way the sound carried, the room was small and closed up tight. He'd heard a bolt slide after they'd pushed him in here. How long ago?

He pulled the blindfold away, leaving it to slide down to his neck so he could see. He was alone in the unfinished room. The scuffed floor was stained from years of use. There was a thin blanket next to him, and a chipped mug filled with water. There was no obvious signs of a camera or peephole, and he couldn't hear any movement that would indicate anyone in the next room.

Faded wallpaper hung in ragged strips. There was one small, square window. Heavy nails were pounded through the wooden panes into the casement to keep it from opening. The windows were covered on the outside with some kind of sheeting, but dappled light came through the cracks. He could hear trees rustling. Faintly, he could hear footsteps below him. So, maybe two stories, an older home, maybe he was being held in the attic.

He hurt everywhere. It was only a few feet to the window, and yet it took an eternity of agonizing effort to slide across the floor. Ross leaned against the wall, woozy with pain. Any thoughts of bashing through the glass would have to wait. He clearly wasn't up to escaping out a secured window, jumping from the window or scurrying over the roof. Damn, he couldn't even stand.

He started to creep toward the door, and after a few feet, lowered his head to the floor. He'd rest, just for a moment, just until it stopped hurting.

The darkness returned.

Goren took a quick visual scan of the evidence collected from the exterior of the car, then shooed the technicians away to work on the coat. Just preventing someone from slipping into the surf from that slick rock would keep them occupied.

He looked at the tires first. The tread showed traces of black goo that didn't smell like oil or tar. Goren flicked open his knife and pried little bit of it out, rubbing it between his gloved fingers. It didn't have the gritty texture of soil or mud. A sniff told him it was some kind of rotting vegetation, but he couldn't identify the source. Forensics would have to deal with that.

The car was unlocked. Goren closed his eyes for a moment, trying to wipe away all the anxiety and distractions that would interfere with his concentration. Slowly, Goren opened the driver's side door, concentrating first on smell.

There. A fragrance, not sweet enough for a woman's perfume. A man's scent, probably an aftershave, not the brand Ross wore. At least there was a possibility that someone else had been in the car. Slipping on a new pair of disposable gloves, Goren picked up an empty Starbucks cup and sniffed it. He recognized it as Ross's typical order. No doubt the prints would be Ross's. There were no other food wrappers or trash in the car.

He was about to examine the seats when he rocked back on his heels and grinned. He was certain now that Ross hadn't been the one to drive the Camry to this spot. The seat was positioned for a man taller man than Captain Ross was. Bobby swung into the seat, and found the position comfortable for him. Goren was several inches taller than the captain and there was no way a man of Danny Ross's height had driven the car with the seat in this position. They were looking for a taller man. Or one with long legs. Although he wasn't ruling out a very tall woman, but the aftershave seemed to indicate otherwise.

Goren stood up, backed away and called for one of the technicians. They could take some photos and finish with the rest of the car. He had the one piece of information that he really needed. Danny Ross hadn't come up here on his own, and he felt it was quite possible the man hadn't been here at all.

Eames brought Jeremy down to 1PP. Jeremy had calmed down, but the young man was shaken and emotional. The bullpen was almost empty when they entered. Goren and Powell were visible through the windows of Ross's office, absorbed in conversation. Jeremy rushed by, flinging the door open as he went. "Where's my dad?" he yelled. "Why aren't you guys doing something?"

Powell came around the desk and wrapped Jeremy in a hug. "I'm glad you're here," "It's going to be okay."

Greeted by a face he'd known since childhood, Jeremy's composure broke. After a few ragged sobs, he pushed away. "Sorry. I know it's not your fault. I'm sorry. Please tell me what's going on."

"Sit down, now," Powell said gently, pulling Jeremy toward one of the chairs. He sat next to him. Eames closed the door and stayed there, almost as full of questions as Jeremy was. Goren leaned against the desk, watching quietly.

"Your dad didn't come in from patrol last night. He called he was coming in, and that was the last we heard from him," Powell said. "We found the car he was using and his coat, but that's all."

"Detective Eames already told me that," Jeremy said. "What was he doing? Dad doesn't go out on patrol, he hasn't since I little."

"He was covering for Eames and I to give us a couple hours break." Goren shifted uncomfortably, knowing that Powell was deliberately keeping them out of it. "I'm sure you know how shorthanded we are. Half the force is running around for Homeland Security."

Jeremy nodded. "All dad ever talks about is how screwed up the schedule is and how beat everyone is. It really ticks him off. The message he left just said he was working late and to order a pizza. He said he'd be home before midnight." Jeremy swallowed hard, almost losing his composure again. "He's been working a lot lately."

Powell nodded in agreement. "Well, then you understand why he was out there. There was no indication of any trouble. We just don't know where he is, or what happened."

"He didn't kill himself, and he didn't do anything wrong, or.. or make a mistake," Jeremy said angrily. "I want to pound whoever said it."

"I'm sorry you had to hear about that," Powell said. "It was idle talk. We wanted Eames to tell you, so you'd be prepared. We didn't want you to hear something silly like that without warning."

"You don't believe it, do you?" Jeremy asked, the question somewhere between a question and a challenge.

"Of course we don't. Nobody who knows your dad believes it either. You don't need to worry about it." Powell paused. He grasped Jeremy's arm, willing him to believe him. Jeremy gave a small nod.

"Good. We're going to figure this out and we're going to find your dad, but that means we have work to do. We need to take you somewhere safe, Jeremy, just in case." He cast a quick glance at Eames. "Actually, I'm surprised that you're here. We kind of thought you would go to your mom's."

Jeremy looked down, a stubborn frown on his face. "Mom's on a business trip until the end of the week, and I'm staying with Dad, it's not that I'm some baby who needs a keeper."

Looking up in defiance, jaw set, he firmly added, "I want to go to the crime scene."

"Well, that's out of the question, and you know it." Jeremy refused to make eye contact, and Powell finally nudged his foot with his own. "You look at me, young man. If you're not a child, then don't act like one."

Jeremy sighed as only a disgruntled teenage could. "Okaaay, all ready. But you can't expect me to toddle off somewhere and just disappear. That is just not going to happen."

"Then we'll compromise with something appropriate, but I need your word that you won't take off and do something stupid."

"And I suppose Overlook Park would qualify as something stupid?" Jeremy said bitterly.

Powell crossed his arms and glared sternly at Jeremy. "Right now, your dad would be saying something along the lines of, 'Don't backtalk me, young man.' Want to hear it out of my mouth, too?" Jeremy shook his head. "Overlook would definitely qualify as stupid. We've blocked off the parking lot and the scene, but there is plenty of folk lurking around. You don't want to get messed up in that. Besides, forensics is bringing the car in and all the other evidence to the lab. There's nothing to see."

The ringing of the phone interrupted them. "Sergeant Powell, Chief Moran called," Rhonda said. "He's on his way from the airport and wants to see you in his office as soon as he gets here, in about ten minutes."

"Thank you, Rhonda," Powell said. "I've got to go, so we need to do this fast. How about going to stay with your grandparents?"

"I'm not going there either, unless you want to arrest me, and you can't. I haven't done anything wrong." Jeremy folded his arms and sat back in his chair. "What's it going to be?"

Powell stood up and looked at Jeremy with complete impatience. "We don't have time for this argument. For now, you can stay here, but don't test me, young man. If you even stick a foot outside this office without an escort, I will throw you in a holding cell. Your dad won't even bat an eyelash when he finds out. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Jeremy… " Powell said reproachfully.

Jeremy held up both hands. "I heard you. I get it. Okay, okay. I promise. I'll stay here and be a good little boy."

"See that you do, son. I'll come down on you like the wrath of God. I'm off to see Moran and the mayor."

Goren motioned his head toward the door. "Jeremy, Eames and I need a minute. We'll go get you something to eat and be right back." They slipped out of the office, shutting the door behind them. "That ought to last about ten minutes," Goren said softly.

"Can you blame him?" Eames asked sharply.

"No, but that's not the point." They retreated to Goren's desk. For a moment, they watched Jeremy wander around their captain's office. "How's he doing?" Goren asked.

"You saw," Eames said. "He's old enough to know how he should react and young enough not to. He'll do his best. How are we doing for evidence?"

"Not much. For what it's worth, I'm certain Ross didn't drive that car up there. The seat was set all wrong. He would barely have been able to reach the gas or brake pedals. There was a scent in the car, aftershave, that wasn't the captain's."

"Anything we can use?" Eames asked.

"Too generic, I'm afraid. The car was wiped down on the door handles and the interior."

"Does it look professional?"

Goren shook his head. "I doubt it, it's a pretty simple mistake to forget to move the seat back to the right position and leave it in the wrong place. This whole thing just doesn't make sense."

"Maybe we're tired and we're missing something."

"Ya think? Four hours of sleep in the last thirty-six shouldn't be a problem," Goren snapped. Eames's eyes flashed. "Sorry. I'm tired, and I know that's no excuse. I'm sorry. Culver made me promise I wouldn't come down to forensics –". He checked his watch quickly. "For another forty-three minutes. Correction, forty-two minutes. How about some coffee?"

Fifteen minutes later, Goren was wolfing down a scrambled egg sandwich, bacon and extra hash browns. Eames had chosen fruit and an English muffin, the only menu item she considered moderately healthy. Jeremy was toying with a stack of pancakes.

"Do you think my dad was even up there? At Overlook, I mean," he asked."

Goren took a swallow of juice. "We should wait for the evidence, but my sense is that he wasn't." He checked his watch. "Ten more minutes. Eat your food while you have the chance."

Jeremy started on a bite and then put his fork down. "Wouldn't someone see him? He must be somewhere, hurt or something? We should be looking for him, not sitting here eating."

Goren grabbed his arm as he started to get up. "Don't you think it might be a good idea to have some idea where to start? Logan and Wheeler are already down in the neighborhood. Powell isn't going to rest until he gets some action from the higher ups. Sometimes acting without a plan is counterproductive. Now like I said, a good soldier never misses a chance to eat or sleep." He noticed Eames's raised eyebrow, and remembered her cue. "Besides, if you're going to help us, we need you sharp."

Jeremy said nothing for a moment, and then started to shovel in pancakes at record speed.