March Into Hell (12 page)

A few seconds later, he straightened and asked, "What do you think?"

She glanced at the blood on the floor and then over to the pillar before answering. "What I think...is that Mark didn't leave here of his own volition."

 "I agree, but who could have come in here and where could they have taken him?"

With a short laugh, Jessica shrugged. "Well, with Mark, who knows? A month ago, I would have said no one, but now? With everything that's going on in the media?" She sighed and shook her head, meeting Jim's worried look with one of her own. "We need to call this in and get an evidence team out here."

For some reason, he'd held out hope that she would have a rational explanation for this, something a lot more logical than what he'd seen in his dream. An explanation like Mark was a sloppy housekeeper or he had a new girlfriend he'd been staying with. Not that either scenario sounded like Taylor, but it was a lot more likely than what he had. He gave a short nod of agreement, and pinched the bridge of his nose. As stupid as it sounded, he had to tell her about the dream.

"Wait, Jessica. I came by because--damn, this sounds ridiculous--but I had a dream. A nightmare, really, and it involved Mark. Something bad was happening to him and it was as if I was right there watching it happen. Only it didn't feel like a dream." He hoped the last bit didn't sound as lame to her as it did to him.

 She stilled. "A dream? Like the kind Mark gets?"

"I don't know." He rubbed a circle on his temple as the images from the dream flashed through his mind. "Maybe. In the dream, he was in trouble."

"Trouble?" She moved towards him, her expression confused. "What kind of trouble?"

He hesitated as the sick fear that he'd felt in the dream claimed him again, forming a ball of dread that lodged in his throat. His tongue felt thick as he said, "Mark was...they had him in a warehouse, and there was a bonfire. There were at least a dozen people kneeling in front of him. I couldn't see them clearly because they wore some kind of dark robes or something with hoods." 

The next part was the hardest, and as she came right up to him, he wished he didn't have to tell her.

"Jim..." she pleaded.

"First, just remember, this was only a dream, so don't get too upset, okay?"

Her eyes narrowed.

He sighed. "He was on a cross."

She stepped back, her brows knit together.
"What?"

Jim fumbled for a way to explain it. It was too absurd to make it sound rational. "It was a cross, you know, like...Jesus."

"You mean he was
crucified
?"

The ball of dread dropped with a crash to his stomach. He nodded.

"Oh come on. That's
crazy
." Her mouth twisted into a sickly smile.

"I know. It's just that I've never had a dream like that in my life. I can recall it as clearly as if I just re-wound the tape and hit play."

Understanding dawned on her features. "Mark describes his dreams like that." 

"Yes, I know." Jim wandered to the window and rubbed his forehead. Behind him, he heard Jessica's footsteps approach, and he glanced over his shoulder. "I never dream. Not that I can remember anyway, but tonight, it was vivid-- like I was part of it."

Remembering how he'd been paralyzed in the dream, he added, "I was there, but nobody acknowledged me. I couldn't act on what I was seeing, but I could hear and see everything."

Jessica touched his arm, her hand tightening. "Was Mark alive?"

It was the one piece of good news he could give her. "Yes. At least, he was in the dream."

She released his arm with a shaky breath. "I'm going to call this in."

While she called 9-1-1, Jim tried to make sense of what he had dreamed and what they had found in Mark's loft. The time he had worked closely with Mark had been the Wrigley Field case, and Mark had been able to relate the details of his dreams in a straightforward manner. Plus, he had the photos to back up what he said. Jim had no photos so his dream was just that. A dream. A very realistic one, but the chance of it coming true was about as likely as Jim shooting fire out of his fingertips.

"I had a hard time convincing them to send a car. Only when I mentioned the blood did they consent to take a look." She looked around the room, and he saw uncertainty on her face. "You know, I should call Lily Martin. She might know where Mark is."

Jim did a double-take at the tone of her voice, and when her cheeks pinked, he understood. "Do they have a relationship? I mean besides that of business partners?"

She shrugged. "It's none of my affair, but it just occurred to me, he's probably there all snug as a bug in a rug, while we're here worrying about him because of a dream you had. That isn't exactly something I want to put in a report."

Jim  had to admit, the evidence of foul play was less than overwhelming, especially if someone didn't know Mark. A messy room and a few drops of dried blood. Taylor was a grown man and Jim had spoken to him less than ten hours ago.

"Mark sees the future in his dreams, right? So all of this should happen tomorrow, not now--if it's even true--which I highly doubt." It all sounded so preposterous he couldn't believe he was even discussing it.

"The problem, Jim, is that Mark is gone
now,
not tomorrow. We need to find him before what you saw in your dream takes place." She had her cell phone open. "I think I have Lily's number on here. Yeah, I knew it." She pressed a button and held the phone to her ear, but spoke to Jim, "I can't believe I'm hoping he's there."

He nodded and stopped suddenly when he spied the phone he'd issued Mark. It was half beneath the sofa, a scattering of coins around it, as though all had been knocked off the coffee table. From the worried look on Jessica's face, he guessed Mark wasn't at Lily's. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he strode to the sofa and snatched the phone and slipped it into his pocket. It wouldn't be a good idea for police to find it. Everything was encoded and scrambled, but they'd wonder why a guy like Mark had a secure phone.

"She hasn't seen him since he went up to his loft shortly before seven p.m."

Red lights flashed against the windows, and a minute later, two police officers entered the loft.

Leaving Jessica to explain the situation, he headed towards the door. "I'll go downstairs and get out of the way." The last thing he wanted was to be identified as a Fed. It was better to keep a low profile and let Jessica do all the talking. Within ten minutes, the studio was crawling with police officers. Within twenty, the media had gotten wind that something was up and a half-dozen news vans were parked around the building.

Jim walked through the office, noting that all looked in order as far as he could tell. He knew Mark kept his special photos in a file cabinet down here, but to anyone looking, they would appear to be just random photos, and not very good ones at that.

He opened the file drawer and flipped through the photos, checking the dates Mark had written on the back. There wasn't one dated today. That meant he hadn't used the camera today, or at least, he hadn't developed the film. It was a long shot, but maybe there was a photo depicting the horrifying scene  Jim had dreamed. He raced back upstairs and nearly crashed into a police officer coming down the steps.

"Whoa there, buddy. This is a restricted area now as a possible crime scene."

He had to get to that camera, no matter the obstacles. Not only could it hold the answer to where Mark was now, if it went into a police evidence locker, it could disappear forever. With a hard stare, he pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge.

Technically, this wouldn't be considered his jurisdiction, but there were ways around that. "I'm a Federal officer with an interest in this case. Right now, I have to get back in there to check for something."

The officer glanced at Jim's badge and hesitated. The guy wasn't a young rookie and Jim could see that the man wasn't intimidated, but probably just running through his options in his mind. Before he could come to some conclusion, Jim blew past him and ignored the call to stop.

Jessica was in the kitchen nodding to something a uniformed cop was saying, her arms crossed as she watched the activity in the apartment.

Jim motioned to her, his manner urgent. Her forehead knit in confusion as she waved off something the uniform was asking and crossed to Jim.

"What?"

"Where does he keep his camera?" The uniformed cop appeared at the top of the stairs.

She turned and pointed to the bed in the far corner. "On his bedside table."

Damn. The only thing he saw was a clock radio blinking at the floor. "Distract the cop coming in, okay?"

Jessica seemed to know the officer, and with her running interference, he hurried to the bed and knelt, not caring if he destroyed evidence. The comforter hung on the floor and he lifted it out of his way and almost shouted with relief. The camera appeared intact under the bed.  He snagged it and tucked it inside his coat, then tightened the belt, hoping the cut of the trench coat would hide the bulge.

Jessica pointed to the pillar and the cop approached it. While the officer's attention was diverted, Jim sauntered towards the door.

* * *

As Jim waited, he listened to the chatter of the cops as they hurried in and out of the studio and loft. The evidence team had found tire tracks in the snow behind the studio along with dozens of footprints. What had everyone really worried were the faint prints of someone who was barefoot. Measurement of that print corresponded to the size of Taylor's shoes up in his loft. That, along with the blood and hair had been ample enough evidence that the whole building was now cordoned off with yellow police tape.

A uniformed officer poked his head into the studio. "Officer Sheridan, there's a Lily Martin outside; says she needs to speak to you."

Jim glanced around, ready to have the officer bring Lily back, but then thought better of it. The fewer people who entered the room, the less chance of destroying any evidence that might turn up. He stood and circled the desk. "I'll go outside to talk to her. Could you let Detective Bishop know that I'll be in my car?"

The young cop nodded. "Yes, sir."

Walking through the studio, Jim exited the building, squinting in the glare of the bright lights from the television news cameras. Lily stood off to Jim's right.

"Excuse me, sir. Can you state who you are and what can you tell us about the disappearance of Mark Taylor?" A slew of microphones were shoved in Jim's face. He blinked against the lights and batted away a microphone.

"Do you think this has anything to do with all the talk about Taylor's claim to have divine powers?"

"Is it true that the police believe Taylor was kidnapped? What did you find?"

Jim held up his hands. "You need to direct your questions to the Chicago P.D. I'm not affiliated with the department."

"Is it true that you're with the CIA and why is the CIA involved in this investigation?"

Jim found the reporter who voiced the question and pinned him with a hard look. "No comment."

"Is there a government cover-up going on?"

Jim ignored the question and elbowed his way through the throng and moved towards Lily. The comment about divine powers bothered him. In all the articles he had read, and news stories he'd seen, never once had Taylor claimed anything and he just couldn't let that reporter's question pass as though it was fact.

He turned back and said, "One thing, though. You're wrong to say Taylor ever claimed to have any powers, divine or otherwise. It was all you guys...the media, who made up all that crap. If something has happened to Mr. Taylor because of all your speculation..."

Jim had wanted to end his comment with a bang, but instead, it petered out as what he said hit him. Something bad had happened to Taylor. He'd seen it already. Time was wasting and the reporters were just in the way.

He caught Lily's eye and inclined his head towards his vehicle, "Why don't we go sit in my car and talk? It's a zoo inside and it's not much better out here. Besides, I'm cold."

* * *

"...so that's pretty much it. Jessica and I called it in after that." Jim sighed and rubbed his eyes.

Lily brushed away a tear that raced down her face.  "All these...lies people have been saying about Mark have really had him down." She repeatedly wrapped and unwrapped her purse strap around her hand.

"Has he had any threats? Did anyone call or approach him? Anything?"

Lily shook her head and dug a tissue out of her bag, dabbing  her nose it. "Not really, but I did have to put the business phone straight to voice-mail. I'm not sure Mark knew about it though. He's been kind of busy the last few days."

 Jim noticed Lily shiver and so he turned the car on and cranked up the heat.

"Busy doing what?" From what Jim had heard the other day, most of the customers had been media and Taylor had been trying to avoid them.

"You know what he does so take a wild guess." Lily rubbed her forehead as though trying to ease the pain of a headache. "Besides, what does it matter?"

Jim looked out the front window, noting the arrival of even more news vans. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "It could matter a lot. We should know all of his movements from the time the story broke. I just have a feeling the story is connected somehow to Taylor's disappearance." He turned to her.  "Did he do anything unusual in the last few days?"

Lily let out a snort. "By Mark's standards, no. The only thing he even mentioned was the lunch he had yesterday with a family on the north side. It wasn't anything bad though. At least, that's not the impression that I had."

Jim rummaged in his glove box for a notebook and pen. "Do you have a name?"

"I think the man's name was Scott something...oh,wait, it was Palmer. Scott Palmer. But, like I said, Mark didn't say anything bad about them, just that they were nice people and I think they did ask Mark about the stories in the paper."

"Did you get the impression that Mark was afraid of him?"

"No, not at all. If anything, their questions seemed to make Mark wonder about something in his own life and how to handle it."