Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

I was shouting. Several people turned to look at me.

“Okay, buddy. Take it easy. I’ll do it.”

I went inside and ran up the stairs to the captain. I went in without knocking.

“Stone!”

“Dehan has been abducted.”

“What? When? By whom?”

“The serial killer we’ve been tracking down. She was convinced it was David Hansen. But while I was interrogating him, she was abducted.” I told him about the phone call.

He was reaching for the phone. “We can have them track her GPS.”

“The bureau are on it already.”

He looked startled.

“It was quicker. We need a BOLO.”

He frowned. “But what are we looking out for?”

“I don’t know! Goddamn it!”

“Get a grip, Stone. She needs you cool right now.”

I breathed. “Put out a BOLO on Detective Dehan. Approach with extreme care. She has been abducted. Also, an all points, I need to talk to the last person who saw Detective Dehan when she left the building. There must have been patrolmen or women coming in and out.”

As I was talking, I was leaving his office and running down the stairs. I went to the desk sergeant and took him aside.

“Don. Dehan has been abducted.”

“Shit!”

“You saw her step outside. I need to talk to any patrolmen and women who were coming in or leaving and may have seen her.”

He nodded. “Yeah! Andersen was going out just behind her. She’s outside now. She ain’t left yet…”

I was already running, shouting, “Andersen! Andersen!”

She was just climbing in her car. She stopped and turned to face me.

“Hey, Detective…”

“You saw Dehan, ten, fifteen minutes ago.”

“Sure.”

“She was abducted moments after you saw her.”

“Holy…”

“Think. Where was she going? What was she doing? What vehicles were near her…?”

She stared at me.

“Let’s go inside. I need a full statement from you. Every second is crucial.”

As we were going in, my phone rang. It was Bernie.

“Stone!”

“We’ve located her phone.”

“Where?”

“Headed north on I-95. Our techs are talking to your techs, and there’s an agent talking to your captain right now.”

I said to Andersen, “Talk to the captain!” I ran for my car. “Bernie, I am in pursuit. What channel do I need?”

He told me. I fired up the Jag and took off toward the I-95 like a bat out of hell. I tuned the radio as I went and checked in.

“Detective John Stone, headed east on the Bruckner Expressway in pursuit of suspect vehicle headed north on I-95.”

The voice came back over the radio.

“We have an eye in the sky, Detective. What is your vehicle?”

“1964 Jaguar Mark II, burgundy, doing one hundred MPH.”

The radio crackled. “I see you, Detective. Suspect vehicle is about two miles ahead of you doing fifty miles per hour. You should be on him in a little less than two minutes, Detective.”

I was weaving in and out of the traffic trying to keep the needle at 100. I was pissing a lot of people off, but I didn’t give a damn.

“Describe the suspect vehicle? What am I looking for?”

“Dark seven-seater, smoked windows. Could be a Chrysler.”

A big SUV pulled out in front of me. I braked, swerved, almost hit a truck, switched lanes, and hit the gas. I watched the needle climb to one twenty, which was about as fast as she’d go.

The radio crackled again.

“You are approaching your target, Detective. He’s about a quarter of a mile ahead of you, and you are closing fast. He is in the slow lane just going under the Country Club Road bridge now. He’s about eighteen or twenty cars ahead of you.”

I kept going, swerving, weaving, jumping lanes. I switched the channel and barked, “Dispatch! Where is my backup?”

More hiss and crackle and, “We have four cars about to intercept at Pelham Bay Park.”

I switched channels again and started to slow.

Crackle. “He is ten cars ahead of you on your right. Nine cars… eight… seven… You should have visual now, Detective. Dark Chrysler, seven-seater, smoked windows…”

“I see him.”

I pulled into the next lane and eased up behind him. I figured if he looked, he’d catch sight of me in his mirror, and that suited me fine. I wanted this son of a bitch to panic. He could see me, but he couldn’t see the four patrol cars that were about to descend on him and box him in.

They came in behind us as we passed the junction. The guy didn’t accelerate. He maintained his fifty miles per hour and stayed in the slow lane. Two of the patrol cars pulled ahead and slipped in, one in front of him and the other in front of me. Meanwhile, behind us, the other two cars did the same. He didn’t try to squeeze out or ram us. He didn’t panic.

The other drivers on the road could see something was going down and were giving us a wide berth. The squad cars had their lights flashing now, and the car behind blasted his siren and hailed him.

“Pull over to the side of the road! Kill your engine. Put your hands out of the window and remain in your car.”

The Chrysler indicated right and began to slow, then pulled onto the hard shoulder and stopped. The uniforms were climbing out of their cars and drawing their weapons. I didn’t wait. I didn’t give a damn about procedure. I jumped out and ran. He was opening the window to show us his hands. I wrenched open the door and dragged him out.

He was about five eleven, two hundred and twenty pounds, dark and swarthy. I had never seen him before in my life. I slammed him against the side of the van. Patrolmen were running up, pulling open the other doors, shouting, “Clear!” “Clear!”

I didn’t