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ROMERO AND COPELAND WERE all ears. The Chief said, “We have a report of a possible kidnapping.”
“Who? Where?” Copeland asked.
The Chief leveled a silencing, stone face at Copeland. A couple seconds of quiescence ticked by. “The coach, from Marston High. It seems someone witnessed two men snatch the man and stuff him into a truck. We have several complaints about a red sports car idling at the curb without a driver or a passenger.”
Romero swiveled his head, gut loaded with angst. “Man, I sure hope that girl’s father hasn’t pulled a stunt that’s going to get him a stretch in the pen.”
“Same thing I was thinking,” the chief agreed. “We need to get a handle on this thing and put it to bed before the press can run with it.”
Copeland was agreeing with a silent head nod. The chief continued, “I want the two of you to check out the kidnap site and the abandoned car complaint. Just in case this has something to do with that not guilty verdict, I have a Search and Seizure Warrant for the car. So, detectives, don’t contaminate the car. Treat it as a crime scene. Chain of evidence is important here.”
“The girl is in the hospital,” Romero told the chief. “She almost died. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Me too,” Copeland concurred.
The chief said, “Yes, I heard about the girl. I’ve already put two detectives on it. They’re at the hospital as we speak questioning the girl’s family.”
“Where’s our crime scene parked?” Romero asked.
“Marston Road, south of the school just after the bridge at the southern entrance to the wooded trail.”
“I know exactly where that is,” Romero replied. A lot of the kids use it as a shortcut to the school and a hangout.” He fingered his toothpick. “Aw man, that bad feeling just got worse.”
“We’re on it, Chief,” Copeland said standing and adjusting her duty belt.
Romero stood and adjusted his toothpick. “We’ll keep you posted, Chief.” He went for the door and held it gentlemanly-like for Copeland.
She didn’t protest, just walked through. They headed down the hallway. At the end of the corridor, Billy was waiting. He wanted in on whatever was going down. He wanted to be right there in the thick of it. Copeland and Romero were walking fast. Billy fell in step.
Billy asked, “Well?”
“Well what, Kid?” Romero replied knowing darn well what he was asking.”
“Come on, Boss. Let me in. I want to help.”
The trio stopped walking. “Okay, Kid,” Romero started, “I’ll let you ride along, but stay low and keep your hands to yourself.”
“Sure, Boss. I can do that.” Billy was beaming. He threw a palm up at Becky. He was in. Becky gave Billy a thumb up.
The three piled into the unmarked, black Mustang. Romero in the driver seat, Copeland shotgun, and Billy in the back. His long legs could have used just a little more space, but he wasn’t going to grumble about it. He was on the team. They drove listening to the police radio chatter.
Romero pulled up behind the red sports car. Sure enough, it was running. No driver. No passenger. They unfolded themselves out and onto the street.
“Can’t believe someone didn’t make off with this beaut,” Romero said as the three of them walked around the car.
“It’s too hot to steal,” Billy commented. “Too well-known. Everyone knows the coach’s car. And everyone knows he lets no one drive it other than his blonde bombshell.”
Romero was pulling on latex gloves. “You have a point there, Kid.” He tried the driver’s door. “Well what do ya know, a gift from the big guy.” He swung the door open and leaned in. It reeked of burgers and fries, expensive cologne and perfume. The radio was still on. Jazz was seeping through the speakers. The volume was low, so low you could almost miss it if you were talking or not on the prowl for a missing person.
Copeland said, “Maybe he turned it down to talk to someone.”
“With his window up?” Billy asked.
“I don’t see it. If he let the window down, he’s not going to put it up, get out, and leave the car running,” Romero said. He turned the key and shut the engine down.
“What do you think one of these babies cost?” Billy asked. He had retreated to the curb, hands in his pockets.
Romero pat the car’s roof. “More than I make in a year. Maybe even two years.”
Billy whistled under his breath at the thought of that number. He scanned the surrounding area. Nothing stuck out. Nothing presented itself as evidence of a crime. He began a trek toward the woods. The trees were green with dense foliage. The path was littered with fallen leaves, sticks and stones. Animal life in the little woods was active. Squirrels bustled up and down trees. The fireflies were gearing up for their nightly show. Dusk was creeping in. The swish of the brook was calm and melodious. Billy ambled on, following the trail. It smelled as if the grass had been cut earlier. Serenity lingered in the air. He could see why the kids liked it here.
Billy glanced back at Copeland and Romero. They were still nosing around the car. Romero had his head stuck in the passenger side. Copeland was stuffing a key into the trunk’s lock. Billy was fifty feet into the wooded area now. He was standing in front of a glacier of a rock. He rested a foot on it. Then he took a load off. He spun around to face the school, his back to the road. He put his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his palms. He was thinking and assessing. He was just a rookie. The coach was missing. A girl was in the hospital just out of death’s clutches. Then he saw it when his gaze slid over the ground. A cell phone. Someone had dropped their phone and just kept moving.
If you were in the woods running, walking, doing whatever, how long before you notice your phone is missing? That’s the question Billy posed to himself. He picked the phone up and gave it a once over. It was an iPhone—cracked, black screen. The person hadn’t bothered to put it in a case. He pressed the home button. A girl’s face appeared with duck lips. She had puckered up for her selfie. He took a closer look at the girl blowing a kiss at him. Damn if it wasn’t... He swiped the screen to be sure of his thought. The lock screen appeared. He was up, ready to share his find. Then he heard Romero’s excited voice.
“Hey, Cope, hey, Kid, get over here!”
He was standing at the passenger door triumphantly holding up a white envelope. Billy was jogging back. Copeland slammed the trunk and sidled up next to Romero.
“Just as I thought,” Romero exclaimed. “He has another house.”