Captives and Captors Read online

  Bruce gazed into Frank's grim eyes, baffled by the ominous threat. The man's eyes were devoid of life and hope – he was a hollow shell of a man. The glare in his eyes was daunting. He would do anything in his power to reach his goal. Bruce knew the fact very well and it terrified him. A man with nothing to lose was capable of monstrous acts.

  ***

  Frank slowly nodded and said, “I know you kidnapped my daughter, you pervert. I know you took her. I have a detective upstairs that's positive it was you. The fucked up part of the criminal justice system is: his hands are tied. He needs to wait until someone tells him he can proceed. He needs to wait for warrants, fucking paperwork. I don't have to wait for anyone, though. No, I answer to no man. If you don't want to see the worst of me, you best tell me where you're hiding her. Tell me. Tell me!”

  With a quivering lip and glistening puppy eyes, Bruce stared at Frank – a wordless plea of innocence. He couldn't conjure the words to respond to such a sinister accusation. He could not summon a sharp rebuttal. He was maladroit compared to Frank's sharp tongue. Considering he was tied to the chair, he didn't think it would be possible to convince the distraught father of his innocence anyway.

  Bruce said, “I... I don't know what you're talking about, sir.”

  Frank tilted his head and asked, “You don't know what I'm talking about?”

  “Well, I mean... I heard about the girl. Yeah, sure. I saw it on the news, but I don't understand what you're accusing me of. I had... I had nothing to do with her disappearance. I'm innocent. I'm an innocent man, I swear.”

  In a blatantly dubious tone, Frank repeated, “Innocent?”

  Bruce loudly swallowed, then he nodded – I'm innocent. Frank huffed as he glared at his prisoner. The utter disbelief was evident. He did not believe his captive's statement. He was certain of Bruce's guilt. The idea was deeply rooted in his mind like a tree in the forest. A strong gust of proof could not convince him otherwise.

  Bruce asked, “Why? Why me? Why do you think it was me?”

  Frank responded, “You don't know it, but you're the number one suspect in the police investigation. My buddy told me. He told me everything. As soon as I heard your name, I knew he was right to suspect you. You're the same punk that was caught fooling around with that girl a few years ago. You were charged with 'statutory rape,' right? You fucked that little girl, didn't you?”

  Bruce frantically shook his head and said, “No, no, no. You're wrong about that. She wasn't a 'little' girl. She wasn't a girl, I swear! She was a woman!”

  “She was 17! She was 17 years old! But, you knew that, didn't you? You like them young, don't you?”

  “She wasn't a girl, sir. Not the way you're saying it. You're acting like I molested an elementary school student or something. She was... She was 17-and-a-half. It's not different from a week before turning 18, right? It's just a fucking number. A day, a month, what difference does it make? What's the big deal?”

  Bruce had a deviant lust for younger women – the fact was undeniable. As far as the police and courts were concerned, his taste for women didn't dip below seventeen years of age. He was caught in a relationship with an underage girl a few years ago, but he always stood by his innocence. Does a day make a difference?

  Frank shook his head, baffled by the young man's disturbing lack of morals and remorse. He paced back-and-forth in front of the anchored chair, constantly glancing towards Bruce. He needed to release his rage and the brisk walk didn't help. The fury was difficult to contain under the stressful circumstances.

  Frank said, “It's a big deal. It's a very big deal, especially when men like you start to sink. A few days below 18 doesn't matter, right? Then, a few weeks, a few months, a few years... You get it, don't you? You eventually go down to my little Katherine's age. You go down to 11 years old and that's all you can think about. That's the big deal.”

  Bruce responded, “I'm not like that. I don't do that anymore. I–”

  Frank slapped Bruce – an impetuous reaction. He said, “Don't lie to me, boy. You just tried to pick up a 'seventeen-year-old' from a bar. Don't give me your bullshit. And, by the way, she wasn't 17. She's 21 and she hates perverts like you.”

  “That was... That was a moment of weakness. I have a girlfriend now, sir. I don't need young college girls. Go ahead, call my girlfriend and ask her. Robin Morris. That's her name. You'll find it in my phone. Call her, she'll tell you everything.”

  Frank jabbed his index finger at Bruce and barked, “Stop lying to me! Stop it, goddammit!” The captive shuddered like a frightened pup. As he composed himself, Frank breathed heavily and said, “Tell me the truth. Make it easier for yourself. Where's my daughter? Where's Katherine? Is she... Damn it, is she still alive?”

  Denying any responsibility for Katherine's disappearance, Bruce shrugged and said, “I really wouldn't know...”

  Frank clenched his jaw and fists, trembling from the anger boiling within. He pounced on his captive, releasing his wrath with a fierce jab. One punch wasn't enough, though. He jabbed Bruce's face five times, each consecutive hit stronger than the last. Bruce was dazed by the blows. He coughed and grunted as blood oozed from his swollen nose. Frank rubbed his knuckles, then he walked away from the chair.

  As he walked towards the staircase, Frank said, “It's going to get worse for you, Bruce. It's going to get much worse...”

  ***

  Frank ascended from the gloomy basement. He closed the door behind him, then he inhaled deeply. He carefully glanced around his surroundings, like if he were unfamiliar with his own home. The first step in his interrogation was supposed to be the easiest – a punch and some intimidation. Yet, he found himself at odds with his conscience early in the game. The interrogation made him feel disoriented.

  He sighed in utter disappointment, bowing and planting his chin on his chest. He stared down at his grimy boots and the white linoleum kitchen flooring, then he stared at the clean white walls. He glanced at the marble countertops, the stove, and the refrigerator. He searched for a sense of normality in the kitchen – nothing more.

  As he contemplated, the sound of clicking dress shoes echoed through the room. The distraught father glanced to his left, waiting for his guest to arrive. From the sound of the shoes, he already knew who was coming.

  Frank asked, “How are you doing, Wayne?”

  Detective Wayne Washington stopped at the neighboring archway. Wayne stood six-one with a lean and muscular physique – a sinewy figure. The detective wore a long gray coat over a white button-up shirt, a crimson tie, and gray pleated trousers. The man had a buzz cut hairdo and a clean-shaved face. His brown eyes were dull and his demeanor was stern. Despite his grave appearance, the investigator glowed with a helpful aura of justice – a knight in drab armor.

  Wayne furrowed his brow and asked, “How am I doing?” He huffed and shook his head – the nerve. The detective said, “Don't worry about me, Frank. Let's just worry about finding your daughter. You get anything from the guy? Anything at all?”

  Frank responded, “No, not yet. I'll get something from him soon, though. I just need to prepare myself. I've... I've never done anything like this before.”

  “I understand, but you need to understand something, too. We don't have much time here. Not only will the police be looking for him soon, but Katherine could be in danger. I know it's not what you want to hear, but you better accept it. It's the only way you're going to be able to get through to the man. You're going to have to get your hands dirty.”

  “I understand. I can do this. You find anything?”

  “I stopped by the bar this morning to check on his car. There was nothing in the interior or the trunk. I didn't move it, though. I couldn't risk putting myself in that position for too long. You know how it is.”

  “Okay. I figured he wouldn't keep her in the trunk anyway. Where's Nathan?”

  “He should be in the living room, I think.”

  Frank glanced at the archway to his right and said, “
Well, let's go talk to him.”

  The pair strolled through the curved arch, entering the entrance hall. With a sharp left, the duo found themselves in the living room. The living room had hardwood floors and matching walls. The walls were covered by bookcases brimming with voluminous textbooks and moldering novels – the living area of an avid reader. Early morning sunshine poured through the windows on the left and right, offering some everyday warmth.

  Towards the center, there were two forest-green sofas sitting perpendicular to each other. Nathan and Sylvia Jones – father and daughter, respectively – sat on the couch to the right. Julia Meadows sat by her lonesome on the sofa in the center, brooding. Although the sunshine was embraced with open arms, the dead silence was unnerving. The tension was burdensome, sitting on shoulders like angels and demons. Upon spotting the pair, Nathan stood from his seat and nodded.

  Matching Frank's height and age, more or less, Nathan stood with a respectable stature. He was a bit more chubby, but he still lingered in the healthy range. The man wore a gray cardigan over a navy button-up shirt, black jeans, and black boots. He had wispy black hair, dark brown eyes, and a clean-shaved face. In terms of appearance, he certainly was not prepared for dirty work.

  Nathan asked, “What's happening? What's going on?”

  Frank explained, “Well, here's what's going to happen. You and Wayne are going to continue the police investigation without the police. You understand what I'm saying? You're going to follow-up on their leads. I want you to handle whatever he can't do. He needs a car moved, you move it. He needs a door busted down, you bust it down. You understand?”

  Nathan nervously glanced at his beloved daughter. She had changed from her seductive club outfit to a cozy gray sweater and denim shorts. He could only imagine the example he was setting for his kin – the precedent he set with his illegal actions. Nevertheless, he couldn't desert his close friend. He couldn't abandon Katherine, either.

  Nathan said, “That's fine. I'll do it. What are you going to do, Frank?”

  Frank glanced at Julia and sighed. He said, “I'm going to do whatever I have to do. I'll continue the interrogation here and I'll let you know when he speaks. Go on. Get out of here.”

  Nathan turned towards Sylvia and said, “Stay here. You can spend some time with Mrs. Meadows while we're gone. It'll be good for you, sweetheart. It'll be good for the both of you, right?” Sylvia nodded while Julia sat in silence. Nathan whispered, “Right...”

  Frank stared at his petite wife, examining her timorous demeanor. Julia was lost in a maelstrom of doubt and dread. She was visibly rattled by the haunting experience, but she couldn't utter the words to express herself. She struggled to release the venom flowing through her veins. Parents usually weren't prepared to respond to such an unfortunate event. What do you say when your child vanishes?

  Like her muddled thoughts, Julia's appearance was disheveled. Her dark blonde hair, clearly dyed, was tied in a tousled bun. She wore a rumpled blue patio dress and white slippers. Considering the circumstances, laundry and personal hygiene were not at the top of her list – and rightfully so. Praying and sobbing were her top priorities.

  Frank couldn't offer her the comfort she sought. He didn't have a remedy for her depression. He remained silent, biting his tongue like a boxer without a mouth-guard.

  Wayne beckoned to Nathan and said, “Come on. We need to go see a young lady.” As the pair walked down the hall, Wayne shouted, “Remember what I said, Frank!”

  As he despondently gazed into his wife's lusterless eyes, Frank whispered, “I understand...”

  Chapter Three

  Seventeen-and-a-Half

  The sky was painted with radiant orange colors as the rising sun pierced through the billowing white clouds. The small town was caressed by the balmy sunshine, washed by the reassuring illumination. The residents awoke with the sun, preparing to start the seemingly regular day. Although a young girl was missing, the burden wasn't on their shoulders. The unfortunate disappearance was treated like a drama on television. If it wasn't happening to them, it was only a source of entertainment – such was life.

  A black sedan cruised down Main Street, rolling at a leisurely pace. The unmarked vehicle turned into the parking lot of a homely diner – Alfonso's Diner. The small restaurant was plastered with neon signs and posters – welcome, pancakes, burgers, special of the day, all day breakfast. If the sun were extinguished, the eatery would shine like Vegas at night. Wayne and Nathan exited the vehicle, then they strolled towards the entrance.

  As the pair walked, Nathan said, “Come on, man. Seriously, we don't have time to eat. What are we doing here?”

  Nonchalant, Wayne responded, “We're not eating. We're here to talk to a young lady. We're looking for Bruce's victim in his statutory rape case. She should be working here now. If not, we'll grab some eggs and bacon, then we'll move on.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Yeah, I'm yanking your chain. Just follow my lead.”

  The door chime echoed through the small diner, dancing through the early morning rush. The wall to the left had a dozen booths; the neighboring windows overlooked Main Street. To the right, there was a bar with a dozen stools. The succulent scent of fluffy eggs, crispy bacon, and juicy sausage wafted through the kitchen's pass-through window. The tantalizing aroma defined the eatery – delicious.

  Wayne sat in the second booth to the left – the first booth was occupied by a black-haired young woman listening to music through her headphones. Nathan followed Wayne's lead. A brunette waitress in a blue dress strolled towards the pair with a pen and pad in hand.

  The waitress said, “Good morning, boys. What can I get you today?”

  Wayne responded, “You can get me a... Ms. Tiffany Ramirez. Is she working now?”

  The woman glanced over her shoulder and said, “Yeah, sure. I'll see if she can help you.”

  As the woman strolled towards the kitchen, disappointed about a lost tip, Nathan turned towards Wayne and asked, “What exactly are you going to ask her? Didn't you guys get enough from her when the man was initially charged? Didn't you already go through an entire court case about this?”

  Wayne sighed, then he responded, “This is why you're not an investigator. You seem to be clinging to this idea that the man is innocent. You believe we're making a mistake or some bullshit like that.”

  “No, I don't.”

  “Yes. Yes, you do. Subconsciously, at least. You seem to be questioning everything, which means you're filled with doubt. So, let me explain something to you: the man is not innocent. He knows where Katherine is, dead or alive. And, we're going to get more information from this woman. You don't just interview a person of interest once and move on. No, you come back and find the missing pieces. That's what we're doing. We're looking for anything we might have missed. If Frank can't get a confession, then we have to use every piece of information at our disposal to find that girl. You understand?”

  Nathan sighed and shook his head as he stared at the table. He was at a sudden lost for words, contemplating his true intentions. The detective was brutally honest with his assessment. Am I trying to prove his guilt or his innocence?–Nathan thought. He couldn't rebut his doubt. Before he could utter a word, the sound of thudding sneakers derailed his train of thought. He glanced up and watched as Tiffany approached.

  Tiffany stood five-one, short but plucky – her size did not determine her heart. Her straight black hair was tied in a neat bun. A black pen protruded from her hairdo. She wore a faded blue a-line dress with a crisp white collar and shoulder-length sleeves. The old-fashioned style was the required uniform in the diner. It wasn't her style, but she wore it with pride.

  Tiffany stopped at the booth with her hands on her hips. She said, “Okay, I'm here. What do you need from me?”

  Wayne flipped his billfold open and showed his ID card and badge. He said, “I need you to have a seat. We have some questions for you.”

  Tiffany sighed, then she
said, “If this is about the robbery last week, I already talked to your friends. I had nothing to do with it. Please, stop bothering me.”

  “It's about your ex-boyfriend, Bruce Watson. Please, have a seat. This shouldn't take very long.”

  Upon hearing the name, Tiffany tilted her head and furrowed her brow. She had not heard the name since the court case. The simple name flooded her mind with memories – happy, sad, hurtful. She bit her bottom lip and nodded, intrigued.

  Tiffany asked, “Are you going to want any coffee?”

  ***

  The trio sat in the small booth, waiting for the first word – waiting for the conversation to snowball. Tiffany sat directly across from Nathan and Wayne, a coffee mug clasped in her hands. The anxiety was blatant. She wasn't frightened or intimidated by the pair. She was simply lost in a maze of thoughts – thoughts of her former lover. She couldn't help but reminisce about her lost love.

  Wayne coughed, breaking the silence, then he asked, “You were with Bruce for a few months while you were 17, right?”

  As she stared at her coffee, Tiffany responded, “Yeah. I mean, we actually started talking when I was 16, but we weren't 'official' until I was 17. Seventeen-and-a-half.”

  Chiming-in, Nathan asked, “How old are you now?”

  “19. I'll be 20 in a few months.”

  Wayne nudged Nathan with his elbow – let me handle this. He said, “Tell me about him. Tell me about Bruce. How did you meet? What did you do together? How did he treat you? Tell me something.”

  Tiffany sighed, then she said, “Bruce was a very sweet and charming man. He just knew how to talk to a girl, you know? He knew the right things to say at the right times. He was...” She softly giggled and blushed, holding her hand to her mouth. As she composed herself, the waitress said, “He was just really sweet. He took care of me with a soft hand. I loved him for it.”