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At that moment Sonny gave up the fight. He was too big of a coward to kill himself. He didn’t know what prison was like, but he was guessing he was about to find out. If it had not been for Charlie Dodge and that Wyrick woman, his game could have gone on forever.
The officers knocked again.
He glanced out the kitchen windows one last time and then walked through the house and opened the front door.
One officer asked, “Are you J.J. Burch?”
He nodded. “What’s all the ruckus about?”
“You’re wanted for questioning by the Dallas PD.”
“What on earth for?” Sonny asked.
“Regarding the assault and kidnapping of Rachel Dean, and for the attempted kidnapping of Jade Wyrick. Put your hands behind your back.”
And so he did. Without argument. Without demanding a lawyer, or to see a warrant for his arrest. Rachel Dean had taken away his power, and Wyrick had defeated him.
The cuffs were hard and a little tight on his wrists. After he was cuffed, they began to pat him down for weapons.
He cried out when they roughed up his chest and cried out again when they patted him down below the waist, checking the inside of his legs for concealed weapons.
“Be careful,” he yelled. “I’m hurt.”
One of the officers pulled up his shirt and saw the scratches.
“A friend’s cat,” he said.
“Your friend has fingernails,” the officer said.
“Would you please pull the front door shut?” Sonny said. “I don’t want the property damaged.”
One officer turned the lock inside the door then pulled it shut, while the other one put Sonny in the back of the car and then drove away.
Detective Floyd still had a passkey to the apartments, and since they hadn’t been able to find Burch to serve the search warrant, they notified Allen Carson of the search.
Allen was shocked about the request.
“Is Sonny Burch the man who abducted Rachel?” he asked.
“He’s a suspect in the case,” Floyd said.
“Lord. Do I have to be there?” Allen asked.
“No, sir. We’re just covering our bases by letting you know we’re on the property and about to search his residence,” Floyd said.
“Then search away,” Allen said. “I will be so glad to see the guilty person behind bars, and my renters safely back in their homes and unafraid. I also want to give you a little backstory about the property. I spoke to a woman from the historical society, and then the last living relative from the original owners, asking them about that passage. The historical society didn’t have much to go on, but the relative told me something that made things fit. Back in the old days, after the original owners had passed, one heir actually turned it into a gentlemen’s club for a time, with a secret access into the property without being seen, which might explain the tunnel. As for the secret doors in the building itself, at the time they weren’t secret, and the women inside were high-class prostitutes, waiting to service whoever came through that door. Then he died, some relatives from Boston inherited without knowing the details of the place, and through the years that knowledge was likely lost from one owner to the next.”
“Wow,” Floyd said. “Interesting, and explains the whole mess. Well, happy renovating.”
“Oh, have no doubt,” Allen said. “That’s about to be gone.”
“Okay, thanks for the info,” Floyd said and disconnected.
He and Mills were waiting in the hall in front of the office when Charlie and Wyrick arrived.
Floyd first saw them walking across the drive toward the entrance. Looking at Charlie Dodge made Floyd wish he worked out, but it was Wyrick who held his focus. No hair, no boobs, and she was, without doubt, the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. And from his partner’s comment, it was apparent that he agreed.
“Damn,” Mills whispered. “Charlie Dodge is one lucky son of a bitch.”