The Specter (2 page)

If it wasn’t for the fact that his sister was missing and the only lead was Gary Weeks in the back of the van, Aaron would’ve conceded defeat and walked away. Guns were something altogether more serious. The kind of serious that Aaron wasn’t normally willing to tangle with.

But his sister
was
missing, Gary Weeks
was
in the back of the van, and Aaron didn’t like being threatened.

Aaron’s left hand shot out, grabbed the man’s right wrist—the one that would unholster the weapon—yanked it down and twisted. At the same moment, his right hand released the van’s door, hit the pressure point at the base of the man’s throat, and applied the exact amount of force to cause prolonged choking, but not enough pressure to collapse the trachea.

It was times like this he was glad he’d spent his entire youth working out, exercising, and doing his katas. Being a second dan black belt in Shotokan karate and an instructor in his own dojo had been a lifelong dream. Having almost killed one of his students a month ago with his bare hands in a fit of rage had been bad for business. But it was times like this that his extreme skill wasn’t put to the test, it was put to task.

The man slumped to the ground, clutching at his throat, gasping and choking, his face reddening.

The driver’s side door slammed shut. Aaron spun and addressed the driver, who now stood beside the van’s grill.

The driver had a cocked pistol in his hand.

“Step away, or I will shoot you in the iris of your left eye. You have one second.”

The man’s voice gave nothing away. He sounded colder than the air conditioning in the terminal. Like shooting someone in the face was as routine as eating ice cream on a hot day.

That voice convinced Aaron to ease back, his hands raised chest high.

The driver helped his friend up into the passenger seat, the whole time keeping the gun trained on Aaron.

What the fuck is happening here?
Aaron thought.
Who are these people?

“Turn around and start walking,” the driver ordered. “Do it now.”

Aaron did, but not before scanning the terminal windows. At least a dozen people watched from the relative safety of the building. No way would the guy shoot an unarmed man in the back when his hands were raised. Not with that many witnesses.

The van door shut and the wheels bit the grass as the vehicle raced away, headed for the ferry.

As they left, Aaron memorized every feature of the two suited men and the little he saw of Gary Weeks.

“Shit, now what?”

Chapter 2

Aaron didn’t have much experience with law enforcement until just recently, but he could tell they weren’t cops. They were something else entirely. Something dangerous.

He needed to find the detective in charge of his sister’s disappearance and tell him what he just witnessed, and how it was connected to Joanne and her cryptic message.

Once on the mainland, he jumped in his black Nissan Altima and drove along Lake Shore Boulevard toward Mississauga, where his sister lived in a high-rise building. The police station handling her missing persons case was the same one that booked him on the attempted murder charge months ago.

Now on bail after his arraignment, he had certain terms he had to comply with. One of which was to stay out of trouble. Having a gun pointed at his face and smacking a guy around wasn’t staying out of trouble.

He was also supposed to not use his hands. That was exactly what the judge had said, “Don’t use your hands … they’re lethal.” After what happened to one of Aaron’s students, he had decided to sell the dojo to the Russians that had been pressuring him to sell for over a year. Whatever form of martial arts they wanted to offer at the dojo was their business. Aaron knew he couldn’t teach anymore after what happened. The money he got last week from the sale, which his lawyer had pushed through seriously fast, saying it would look good for him, was enough to allow him to stay unemployed for at least a year. After that, maybe he’d look into bouncing at a club or private security or something along those lines.

He hit the Dixie Road access and started north, wondering what crackerjack cop would wind up listening to Aaron’s theories. He only hoped the cop would take him seriously, because he was through doing it on his own. As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, having a gun in his face really shook him up. He would prefer to never have that happen again.

Just south of Eglinton, he pulled into the Peel Regional, Twelfth Division office and parked in visitors. It was just after seven in the morning. He had no idea when detectives came on duty or if anyone would see him without an appointment, but he had to try, or at least get the name of the officer who was handling his sister’s case.

If the cops would’ve contacted me for a statement already, I would know who to see.

A pretty blonde police officer in full uniform sat at the front desk, her hair done up in a bun. She looked all business.

“Excuse me,” he said as he came closer.

She moved papers aside without looking at him. Then she picked up her coffee mug, took a sip and set it back down before addressing him. She didn’t say a word, only took in his tank top and open collar shirt, no doubt assessing him as someone who broke the law. Who else would come in this early in the morning?

I guess you looking at me means I have the floor?

“My sister is missing. It was reported a couple days ago. I have information for the detective handling the case.”

“Name.”

It didn’t sound like a question.

“My name is Aaron Stevens.”

She looked up at him. “No. The name of the missing person.”

You could have said that, bitch.

“Joanne Stevens.”

The officer lifted her coffee mug again and sipped louder this time, her right hand dancing on her keyboard.

“Detective Folley has the case.”

“Could you let him know I’m here?”
Pulling a toenail off with pliers might be easier than getting you to help me out here, Cruella.

“He’s not seeing anyone at the moment.”

“Just ring him up and tell him that Aaron Stevens, Joanne’s brother, needs to talk to him. He hasn’t even taken a formal statement from me yet.”

The expression on her face made it clear, she heard his exasperation.

“When I said that he’s not seeing anyone at the moment, that’s what I meant, as in he’s free. No one else is in his office.”

Egg and yoke on my face.

“Sorry, I thought you meant that he
wouldn’t
see me,” Aaron said, his soft explanation not removing the scowl from the cop’s face.

She lifted a phone, dialed three numbers and waited. Two uniformed officers exited a side door and walked out the front with Tim Horton’s coffee cups in their hands. Numerous jokes about cops and donut shops raced through his mind. He stared at the woman behind the desk to take the smirk off his face.

She set the phone down.

“You don’t have an appointment,” she said. Then she grabbed a pen and paper and began jotting down Folley’s name and a number. “Call this number and book something with him for next week. He’s pretty busy this week.” She handed him the paper and lifted her coffee cup to her mouth.

“You’ve got to be joking?”

She stopped mid-sip. Only her eyes lifted to meet his.

“I mean, this is a joke?” He schooled himself to exercise caution, but school was out. “I’ve got information that might help in finding my sister. Why doesn’t anybody want to hear what I have to say?”

“Sir, you’re going to have to calm down.” She stood up. “Call the number I gave you, after you leave the building.”

“What’s your name and badge number? I know that is something, by law, that you have to surrender upon being asked. When this is all over, I will report this. I will tell them that I knew pertinent information about a missing person and that I just witnessed a kidnapping not thirty minutes ago, and you refused me. The guy had a gun and threatened to kill me. You told me to exit the building and book an
appointment.
” He said the last bit in a snarl. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he did.

Her face softened. After being arrested himself, held in jail overnight until the arraignment, standing before the judge and being let out on bail, regular cops didn’t intimidate him anymore. They were just doing their jobs, and as long as he wasn’t breaking the law, he had nothing to worry about.

A male voice behind him said, “Did you say you just witnessed another kidnapping?”

Aaron spun around, lowered into a half crouch. A moment before, no one had been there. Whenever someone crept up on him, his training took over. Years of training with a blindfold had fine tuned his reflexes to lightning quick.

The man wore a plaid suit and an expression that went from morose to serious when Aaron spun toward him. His hand twitched toward his holster.

Aaron stood to his full height, resting his hands down to his side. “Yes, I did.”

“You’re going to need to calm down,” the man said. “Can you do that?”

“Of course I can do that.”

“Why are you so on edge?” the man asked, setting his jacket right now that the tension had eased out of the air.

Aaron couldn’t explain his training. It would take too long, and even then, not many people would understand. For years, he had sat in the center of a circle of martial artists, wearing a blindfold, waiting for his sensei to tap the shoulder of one of his sparring partners, who would then quietly step closer and grab an arm or wrestle a leg out from under him. Aaron would have to fend off the attacker by feel and by hearing, fighting in the dark. His sensei had called it
alley training
. He always said he had to prepare his students for being jumped in a dark alley where there would be limited movement. Aaron remembered him shouting, “You have to learn to fight with your hands and your feet, not your eyes.”

“I’m on edge because I just had a gun pointed at me. The man said he would shoot me in the
iris
if I didn’t move away from him and his partner.”

The man leaned over to the cop behind the desk, who gave a crooked smile.

“It’s not a joke,” Aaron said.

“Shoot you in the iris?” the man repeated.

“Who are you?” Aaron asked.

“I’m Detective Folley. I’m handling your sister’s case, along with a few others.”

“A few others?”

“It seems two other people went missing that same night. I’m checking to see if they’re connected.”

“What?” Aaron felt lightheaded. Had they made progress? How aggressive had they been? What’s been discovered so far?

“Come with me. Let’s talk in my office.”

Detective Folley led the way down a corridor, to the right and down another corridor. He opened a door that had a plaque on it with Folley’s name printed in gold.

Inside the office were a simple desk and two chairs facing it. Aaron was surprised to see a MacBook Pro on Folley’s desk.

“Department funding must’ve gone up in recent years.”

“Why do you say that?”

Aaron pointed at the Mac. “Those aren’t cheap.”

“That’s mine. I don’t use department computers. PCs break down too much. But you didn’t come here to talk computers, did you? Tell me what happened.”

Framed certificates and achievements hung on the wall behind his desk. To the right of his large white desk calendar sat a Rubik’s Cube.

“You ever solve that?” Aaron asked.

“No, but I keep trying. I can get one color and sometimes two, but that’s it.”

Aaron picked the chair that kept him out of the morning sun’s glare coming from the window. He crossed his legs, ankle to knee. He wanted this first meeting to be casual, even social, so he could get to know Folley, feel him out, see how invested he was in his job.

“Start anytime you want,” Folley said.

Aaron told him about the recording from his sister on his voice mail and how it led him to go to the island airport that morning. “I’m surprised this is the first you’re hearing of it.”

“Doing a little investigative work yourself, are you?” Folley asked, completely ignoring the comment about prior knowledge of the recording. “I have to caution you away from doing that.”

Aaron nodded in an
I understand what you’re saying
way and continued. He told him about seeing Gary Weeks being pushed into the white van and that as he got close, the two guys in suits pulled weapons and threatened him. He didn’t mention that he took one of the suits off his feet. If it came up later, he’d deal with it then.

Folley was jotting notes. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair and tapped the pen against his lips.