Jo groaned from the pain in her lower back. Judging from the lack of light streaming through the windows, she had to have been seated for a least a whole day. Muscles she didn't remember having screamed for her to move, but what could she do? She was stuck in the chair.
After their first conversation, Jo had tried desperately to free her hands from behind the chair. It felt like they were tied together with simple rope, so surely, it would be easy to free herself. Despite her best attempts, the only progress Jo made was in the wounding of her wrists. She could feel the skin becoming raw as the rope scraped against it. Her next step had been to move with the chair, possibly to find something sharp enough to cut the rope. Unfortunately, the killer had taken precautions and bolted the chair to the floor.
Thoughts of the precinct flooded her mind suddenly. If an entire day had passed, then Lieutenant Reece, Detective Hanson, Lucas, and Henry would already have started the search. They would be pouring over the evidence they had collected, doing their very best to find her. Jo had great confidence in their abilities, but the more time passed, the more doubt filled the corners of her mind. What if they never found her? What if her last moments on earth would be here, in this room?
"You can't think like that," She said softly to herself. "Don't let hope vanish."
The sound of footsteps tickled at her ears, causing her to sit up straight. Blinking several times, she cleared her head and tried to look as unaffected by her circumstances as possible. If her captor saw any sign of weakness, he would use it against Jo. She needed to be the one holding the all the cards, if she was going to stay alive. Or at least, pretend she held them.
"Ah, I see you're awake." His voice was raspy, but was surprisingly polite.
"How long have I been asleep?" Jo asked, unable to curb her curiosity.
"For about a day," He said nonchalantly. "The drug I gave you was quite effective."
Great, she thought, if he gives me anything else, it may be a lost cause.
Based on the thousands of cases Jo had worked on, she knew if a person was drugged, there was little they could do to defend themselves. One too many women had been raped because of drugs. One too many men had been beaten and murdered because of drugs. It was imperative she remain as drug free as possible.
"Don't worry," The killer said coming up to her. "I don't plan on drugging you very often. You need to be awake for what I'm doing to do."
"And what's that?"
"In due time, Detective; in due time."
With that, he turned around and made his way out the door. Jo considered screaming when the door was opened, hoping her voice would carry far enough for someone to hear. But she knew better than that. If they were where she thought they were, no one would hear her for miles. Jo's only hope was to be found.
And fast.
Henry sat at his desk, pouring over his notes for the case, including the notes from his cases in 1902. He spent a good portion of his morning comparing and contrasting their similarities. There were quite a few, much to his dismay. He did his best not to allow his emotions to get mixed up in things. Now was not the time for that. Now was the time for good ole' fashioned science and detective work.
"Hey Doc."
Henry looked up to see Hanson standing in his doorway. "Yes, Detective?"
Hanson sat down in the chair in front of his desk. The sigh of frustration didn't go unnoticed by the M.E. "I just spent three hours looking over this list you gave me from the coffee shop. There doesn't seem to be any connection between these people and our murder. If there is a connection, I'm missing it."
He nodded. "I'd like to go back to the coffee shop and talk some more with Mr. Thatcher."
"How come?"
"We're missing something big, and I have a feeling we'll find it there."
"You want to go now?" Hanson asked standing up.
Henry nodded as he stood to grab his coat. As he slipped it on, the unusual nature of this moment flashed through his mind. How many times had he done this? How many times had he slipped his coat on, to go investigate with Jo? It wasn't that Henry didn't like Hanson; on the contrary, he considered him a friend. But these little moments between trips to investigate fit better with Jo in them. Wrapping his scarf around his neck, he took a deep breath and resolved to be as present as possible in this moment with Hanson. Jo's life depended on it.
Of course, it didn't help that his scarf still smelled of her.
Hanson could tell there was something in the air. Call it tension, call it uncharted territory. Whatever it was, he didn't like it. Turning on the radio, he allowed the music to fill the spaces between them. Henry didn't seem to mind the music, which was a relief. He needed it to cover up the thoughts that seemed to scream from his mind.
The realization that Jo was gone still hadn't properly sunk in yet. Hanson had tried to process what he was thinking and feeling, but it didn't seem to help the sinking feeling in his heart. No matter what he did, he could help but sense their investigation to find her would be in vain. If their killer was as good a copycat as they all believed, Jo would be dead soon. Oh gracious, how Hanson hoped he was wrong.
They pulled up to the coffee shop, and Henry was out of the car even before he could unbuckled his seatbelt. Hanson chuckled softly as Henry paused at the door, turning toward him and shrugging.
"Anxious, I guess," He said.
"We all are," Hanson said, smiling to ease the fear that hung between them.
The coffee shop smelled wonderful, and it took all of his resolve not to order several different coffee's at one. The man at the counter seemed to recognize Henry, and he figured this must be Mr. Thatcher; Thomas's father.
"Hello, Allen," Henry said politely. "How are you?"
Allen smiled. "I'm doing well; thank you. Is there something I can do for you?"
He nodded. "Do you remember telling us about the fight that almost was...between Thomas and Abigail's friend?"
"Yes, I remember."
"Do you happen to know the name of the two men who put a stop to it?"
Allen was silent for a few moments, trying to recall their names. Recognition flashed across his face, giving both Hanson and Henry hope. "I believe their name's are Jonathan and Michael."
"Are either of them on this list?" Henry asked, pulling the list of name's Allen had given them out of his pocket.
He scanned the pages, before point to the bottom of the third. "Jonathan is not; he just started coming here. Michael is, however."
Henry looked at the name, before shooting another question at the man. "Can you tell me when Michael started coming to your shop?"
All was silent again, before his face suddenly went ashen. "Oh my goodness..." He whispered.
"What?" Henry asked, slightly frantic. "What is it?"
He looked up at Henry and Hanson with deep sadness in his eyes. "Michael started coming a week after both Abigail and Jennifer, and...and since their murder, he hasn't been back."
Hanson couldn't believe what he was hearing. After weeks of hitting dead ends, seeing the pieces fall into place was thrilling. Here they were, standing in a small coffee shop, and their murder case had just been solved. Granted, they would need to bring Michael in for questioning, but from the look in Henry's eye, Hanson knew this was the man they were looking for.
They thanked Allen for his help, and were out the door within seconds. Once both men were in the car, Hanson turned toward Henry to say something, but Henry was already talking.
"Michael has to be our killer."
He nodded. "That's my conclusion as well, but we still need to bring him in for questioning. Plus, there is the small detail of little to no physical evidence against him."
"We'll find evidence," Henry said quickly.
Hanson let out a small sigh, understanding his need to find the killer. Finding the killer meant finding Jo, and making sure he was safe. They all wanted to find her safe, but doing it at the expense of someone who might not be their killer wasn't right.
"Listen, Doc, I'll do my best to piece together the evidence against this man. But, we have to keep in mind the possibility that he isn't our killer."
Henry sighed as well, nodding. "I know, Hanson. I know."
The car right back to the station was driven in silence. It hung in the air like a thick fog, making it difficult to focus. Hanson could tell Henry wanted nothing more than to get back to his lab, and do...something. Anything to keep himself from thinking or feeling. He felt the same way, but knew covering those thoughts and feelings up would prevent him from uncovering the truth. So, with hesitancy, Hanson parked the car and made his way into the precinct. This wasn't going to get any easier, and he knew the best thing to do was to simply press on.