Page 24 of One Cry Too Loud (Coastal Crime Unit #9)

P reliminary research had told me that, due to some recent construction issues, the only way to the second floor of the duplex was through the first floor.

While that made it less of a duplex than a shared home, it meant that I would have to deal with the elderly couple who lived on the first floor.

My mind spun with ideas of how to do that as I made my way to the front door.

I didn’t want to tip my hand too quickly, and on the off chance that Joe actually did live here and I was able to get the jump on him, I didn’t want the couple to give him a heads up out of a sense of politeness for a neighbor.

I could have told them that I was a police officer and that I needed to see Joe about something confidential.

That didn’t sit right with me, though. In addition to it being a felony, there seemed to be something unethical about it.

I might have been a former police officer, but I wasn’t still working in that capacity, and now that the CCU was no longer backed by and connected to the government, it wouldn’t be right to insinuate that it was.

Unfortunately, telling someone that I worked for what amounted to a band of paid vigilantes didn’t seem like the kind of thing that would put much calm into a pair of elderly people.

I would have to come up with something else.

I’d have to say something that would elicit a bit of silence and cooperation from the couple.

Maybe I could say I was Joe’s friend. I could say I had come a long way and wanted to surprise him.

I could say I was his long lost cousin and I wanted to let him know about something private that happened to our grandmother.

Or maybe I could just tell them the truth.

I could tell them that I had just come from Alice Masters’s house and I might have information that could lead to the rescue of Joe’s kidnapped daughter.

It wasn’t a lie, and the fact that I left out the truth that Joe was very likely the person responsible for his own daughter’s kidnapping didn’t technically make it one.

As I neared the door, a voice in my ear brought my attention to something else, though.

“The front is slightly open,” Tag said. It sounded like his words were bouncing around directly in my skull. I hated that sensation.

“How on earth could you possibly see that from here?” I asked, still walking toward the building.

“You just looked at it. The contact in your eye allows me to zoom in on whatever it sees. The door is slightly open,” he explained.

“See anything else interesting?” I asked as my ears popped.

“Not yet,” he said.

“Well, then you’re not looking closely enough,” I said, spying the mailbox at the end of the driveway. It was overflowing with envelopes and packages. “Check out the mailbox.”

“Do we know which tenant that mailbox is designated for or is it shared?” Tag asked. “I’d try to look it up, but I doubt there’s much of a cyber footprint for that kind of thing.”

“Probably not, but it doesn’t really matter,” I said.

“It either means that one or more of the tenants aren’t here or they have the kind of relationship with each other that would make them uncomfortable checking each other’s mail.

” I shook my head. “It could also mean that Joe is here and is just being something of a hermit.”

“Too much of a hermit to walk out to the mailbox?’ Tag asked.

“If he has a kidnapped little girl in that home, then it would make sense that he wouldn’t want to leave here,” I explained.

“And we think that’s something the people downstairs wouldn’t notice?” Tag asked. “In my experience, children aren’t exactly quiet.”

“Maybe they don’t ask questions,” I said. “Or maybe they’re not around to ask questions.”

“You think Joe might have hurt them?” Tag asked.

“I don’t know what’s going on yet, but I know that-if the front door is open, that’s almost certainly not a good sign,” I replied.

I grabbed my gun as I made it to the front porch. Tag was right. The door was ajar, but only slightly.

“That’s some pair of eyes you’ve got,” I said, examining the sliver of space where the door was cracked.

“They’re your eyes. I’m just hijacking them,” Tag said. “Well, hijacking and improving.”

“Be careful, Jack. We still don’t know if this is a trap,” Charlie said.

His voice, however, wasn’t in my head. It was at my back.

Startled, I turned around to find the man standing behind me.

There weren’t many people in the world who could sneak up on me, but I suppose I couldn’t be too upset if it turns out the person who can is former special ops.

“I guess the suggestion to wait in the car fell on deaf ears,” I said.

“I told you I would come if I sensed things starting to go sideways,” Charlie explained. “The door was open. We weren’t expecting that, and as far as I’m concerned, being met with what you’re not expecting is the first sign of going sideways.”

“Happy to have you.” I nodded. “Now get your gun.”

Charlie did as I asked, pulling his firearm from its holster. Once he had it, I pushed the door open slowly.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to find on the other side.

I had been a part of the CCU for a while now and I had been a cop for a lot longer before that.

I knew to prepare myself for anything. There could be dead bodies on the other side of that door.

There could be people who are tied up or held captive.

There could be… a quaint looking home complete with a living room full of toys and a pool table at the right end.

“This looks normal,” I said. “It looks very lived in, and the air conditioner is on.”

“Either people are here or they were here very recently,” Charlie said, echoing my thoughts.

“The toys,” tag said directly into my eardrum. “They’re Smurfs.”

In my vision, a biography of the Smurfs appeared before me, complete with history and images of the little blue cartoon creatures. I blinked it away.

“Yeah, Sarah Jane used to love them when she was a kid,” I said.

“Me too,” Tag replied.

“Was that about fifteen minutes ago?” I muttered.

“That’s my point. The Smurfs have been around for decades, but these toys aren't new. They’re the old ones, like from the nineties or something,” he replied.

“God, is the nineties old now?’ Charlie asked.

“Usually, children like new toys,” Tag said.

“So why would someone have thirty year old toys scattered across a living room?” I asked.

“I’m not quite sure,” he muttered.

“That’s not the only weird thing about this place,” Charlie said. “Look over there.” I looked in the direction he motioned toward and saw an elevator against the back wall. “When’s the last time you saw an elevator in someone’s house?”

“Maybe this side of never,” I answered. “I wonder if it’s running.”

As if to answer my question,” the elevator dinged and the doors pulled open.

Inside, a person sat on the floor of the thing.

His hand was raised slightly above him, cuffed to the bar in the middle of the elevator.

He was bleeding. As he looked up, I saw that the person was none other than Eli, and above him, scrawled in what looked to be his own blood, read the words ‘Get in or he dies’.

“So,” I said, looking over at Charlie. “If it wasn’t a trap before, it certainly is now.”

Charlie nodded. “Yep. It definitely looks that way.”