Captive Justice: A Private Investigator Mystery Series (A Jake & Annie Lincoln Thriller Book 4) Read online

  About This Book

  When a woman is abducted and the self-proclaimed “Merchant of Life” demands strict adherence to his impossible terms, the police are perplexed.

  Private investigators Jake & Annie Lincoln are drawn into peril when the kidnapper demands Jake deliver the ransom money. The exchange takes place as planned, but when the abducted woman’s body is discovered brutally murdered, the search for an unpredictable madman begins.

  As the kidnappings continue, the Lincolns’ own lives are put in jeopardy as they scramble to unweave this baffling puzzle before the treacherous murderer can claim more victims, among whom may be the Lincolns themselves.

  CAPTIVE JUSTICE

  Rayven T. Hill

  Published by

  Ray of Joy Publishing

  Toronto

  Dedication & Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Merry Jones for her hours of editing and proofreading. Many thanks to my beta readers, whose comments, suggestions, and insight, have helped streamline this story and smooth out a few bumps. And not least, thanks to my wife for her patience. (1010)

  Connect with the Author

  You can go to my Web Site to contact me, or sign up for my newsletter to get updates on future releases.

  Follow me on Facebook, Twitter or contact me by eMail at [email protected].

  Even though this book has been thoroughly edited, typos or factual errors may have been missed. Please eMail me if you find any errors.

  Books by Rayven T. Hill

  Blood and Justice

  Cold Justice

  Justice for Hire

  Captive Justice

  Justice Overdue

  Justice Returns

  Personal Justice

  Silent Justice

  Web of Justice (Coming Next)

  Table of Contents

  About this Book

  Dedication

  Connect with the Author

  Books by Rayven T. Hill

  CHAPTERS

  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 55 | 56 | 57 | 58 | 59 | 60 | 61 | Epilogue

  Also by Rayven T. Hill

  Coming Next

  About the Author

  Tell Your Friends About Captive Justice

  Chapter 1

  Tuesday, August 30th, 5:12 p.m.

  LINDA GOULD juggled her purse in one hand and a stack of papers in the other as she pushed open the door to the underground parking garage. Another weary workday had ended and she wished only to get home for some much-needed rest.

  She stumbled through the doorway and peered across the large space. The light near her vehicle was out again. It always took them days to replace a blown bulb and it was difficult enough to see in this dungeon, even with a full regiment of the low-watt bulbs they insisted on using.

  As she trudged across the concrete floor, she fumbled in her purse and removed a ring of keys. She pressed the unlock button on the key fob and heard a distinct click from the direction of her vehicle.

  A car thundered past, barely missing her as its horn filled the vast area with an echoing scream. She cursed the driver as she stepped back between two vehicles and watched him go out of sight.

  She managed to open the driver-side door of her car and climb behind the wheel without dropping the paperwork. She deposited her burden on the passenger seat and pulled the door closed.

  But it didn’t close.

  It swung back open.

  She turned her head and gasped, her eyes frozen on the muzzle of a pistol pointed at her face.

  “Get out of the vehicle,” a man’s voice said.

  Her eyes drifted upward, away from the pistol and onto the shrouded face of the gunman. He wore a ski mask, so she couldn’t see his face, but his dark eyes were unmoving, fixed impatiently on her, waiting for her to comply with his demand.

  The keys slipped from her right hand and jangled to the floor of the vehicle. “What … what do you want?” she managed to ask, her voice barely a whisper.

  A gloved hand gripped her shoulder and, impatiently this time, the voice repeated, “Get out of the vehicle.”

  She reached for her purse.

  “Leave the bag.”

  She hesitated, and then obeyed, and the man stepped back, allowing her to exit the car. He seized her and spun her around, her arm wrenched behind her back.

  She smelled old leather and tasted the pungent flavor of cowhide in her mouth as a gloved hand cut short her attempt to scream. She struggled against her attacker in vain as she was prodded forward and shoved into the back of a windowless van.

  Her abductor leaped in behind and forced her to the floor as the vehicle backed from the parking spot.

  He rolled her over and pulled her arms behind her back, her face nuzzled against the cold steel of the van floor, stifling her attempt to scream for help. She felt the vibration of the vehicle as it pulled ahead and heard the zip of a cable tie as it tightened about her wrists.

  His knee dug into her back and held her down as a cloth was tied around her mouth. It felt, and smelled, like fresh linen. At least it was clean and she could breathe. She struggled as a sudden panic swept through her, her hysterical screams becoming an unheard whisper, muffled by the rag around her face.

  They traveled for several minutes, the van jostling over manholes and potholes, and then came a screech of brakes as the vehicle ground to a stop and the motor died.

  The front door slammed, the side door squealed, and then a voice said, “Grab her feet.”

  “I can walk,” she tried to say, but she couldn’t be heard as strong hands seized her legs. Her face scraped against the rough steel as she was dragged halfway out of the van. Other hands gripped her shoulders and lifted her free.

  They carried her into a building. She counted the steps, one, two, three, and then across the floor and down a flight of stairs. A musty smell was in her nose, stale, like old oil and rotting concrete.

  They set her on her feet, twisted her around, and pushed her into a chair. She looked up at her captors. The second one, the driver, was a little shorter than the first and also wore a black ski mask.

  They stood back and watched her a moment as she whimpered and begged with her eyes to be set free.

  They ignored her silent pleas and she dropped her eyes a moment and allowed the tears to come. They ran down her face and soaked the cloth she clenched between her shivering teeth.

  She raised her head and focused her eyes past her tormentors. She was in a basement somewhere, an old forgotten basement. Piles of rotting junk lined the walls. The floor was of pitted and worn concrete, dead, damp, and decaying. The walls were of a similar state, made of outdated cinder blocks, remnants of another age.

  Forgotten habitats of long-dead spiders smothered the overhead beams, with new webs taking their place, expertly woven to the walls and ceiling.

  A single naked bulb cast a glare from overhead, the lone ray of light in the windowless room.

  The stairs were made of heavy wooden planks, probably repaired sometime in the recent past, the only way to freedom and beyond.

  She focused her eyes back on her captors as the tall one pointed and said, “Tie her legs.”

  The shorter man pulled a pair of cable ties from his pocket and leaned down. She kicked at him but powerful hand
s held her. The plastic ties bit into her bare ankles and caused her to wince in pain as they held her to the chair.

  “Get the rope.”

  He swept up a yellow nylon rope from the floor and wrapped it several times around her chest and the back of the chair. He tied a knot behind, tested it and grunted. “That should hold her long enough.”

  The tall man removed a cell phone from his shirt pocket and held it up. “Smile for the camera.” She heard a click and then he tucked the phone away.

  “Let’s go. We have work to do.”

  She watched as they turned and climbed the steps out of sight. She shivered in the cool, stale atmosphere as a door slammed somewhere above, and then all was quiet except for the thumping of her heart and her frantic breathing.

  Chapter 2

  Tuesday, August 30th, 7:35 p.m.

  ANNIE WAS SUNKEN into a comfortable armchair, her feet tucked under her, studying a book on family law. She looked briefly at Jake stretched out on the couch, his head supported by the padded armrest as he watched television. At six feet four inches long he barely fit on the full-sized sofa.

  She glanced toward the picture window. A few dark clouds had gathered and a slight wind caused the branches of the large oak out front to dance in the gathering dusk.

  “Looks like it’s going to rain,” she said.

  Jake paid no attention.

  Matty lay on the floor, a pillow under his head, reading a comic book. He turned and looked outside and then buried himself back in his reading.

  She yawned. “You guys are boring.”

  Matty spoke up. “Mom, you can’t be catching bad guys all day long. You need to rest sometime.”

  Her eight-year-old son was right, of course. They’d had so much excitement recently, much more than they’d ever expected as rookie investigators.

  When Jake had lost his job as a construction engineer at one of Canada’s largest land developers due to downsizing, they’d decided to expand Annie’s part-time research business into something more lucrative. Her experience was a natural progression into their current enterprise and the couple became Lincoln Investigations.

  However, unlike most private investigators, whose job usually involves little more than research and the occasional surveillance job or background check, they’d had more than their fair share of frightening experiences.

  And so, she was glad to have some rest, and as much as Jake loved their new vocation, she knew he needed a little downtime as well. Even though they often had to work at odd hours, and sometimes in the evening, she wouldn’t trade their line of business for anything. She was pleased to be able to work alongside her husband and was now thankful for the day he’d lost his job.

  Jake flicked off the TV, sat up, and looked at his wife. “Did you say something?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t remember.”

  Jake grunted, stood, and wandered from the room toward the kitchen.

  She dropped her book on the stand beside her and went into the office off the front room. She sat in the swivel chair and pulled it a little closer to the desk. Her iMac came to life when she touched the keyboard and she settled in to do some online banking.

  Annie was confident in the future of their agency and though money wasn’t as tight as it had been, thanks to some recent work they’d done for clients, they still needed to be careful.

  The contents of the small office weren’t much more than a used desk, a couple of chairs, a bookcase bulging with research materials, and the odd picture on the wall. A filing cabinet, rescued from somewhere, sat beside the desk, a printer perched on top.

  Jake wandered in, a chicken drumstick in one hand and a Coke in the other. The guest chair groaned under his two hundred and ten pounds of muscle and bone but held as he settled into place.

  Annie leafed through a small stack of papers, slipped out one page, and handed it to him. “Possible insurance fraud. A typical case where a guy claims to have a bad back from a car accident and can’t move. The insurance company isn’t so sure and wants us to look into it.” She pointed to the report. “It’s all there.”

  Jake set his drink down, held the paper with his free hand, and studied it briefly. “It shouldn’t be a problem. These guys always mess up, every time. They think they have a new scam nobody has ever heard of before. I should be able to look into it tomorrow.” He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. “What else do we have on our plate?”

  Annie waved toward the stack. “I have enough here to keep me going awhile. Nothing pressing, mainly research.”

  “No killers to catch?”

  Annie laughed. “Not right now.”

  Chapter 3

  Wednesday, August 31st, 9:40 a.m.

  ARTHUR GOULD had been up most of the night. His wife, Linda, hadn’t come home and he’d spent the evening and into the wee hours of the morning distraught and calling everyone they knew.

  No one had seen her or heard from her.

  He was dead tired and though he’d been able to get a couple of hours sleep earlier camped out on the living room couch, he didn’t feel rested.

  This was unlike Linda. In fact, he’d never known a night in their twelve years of marriage when he hadn’t known where she was at just about any given time. The only occasion she’d ever been out all night without him was a few years ago when she’d gone to Montreal for a friend’s funeral and had to stay at a hotel.

  He picked up the phone once more and called her work. She still hadn’t shown and no one at the office had heard from her.

  He was overcome with dread; something was definitely wrong. He wanted to call the police but knew they couldn’t help until she’d been missing for forty-eight hours.

  He felt helpless.

  He’d called the clinic and told them he couldn’t make it in. A family emergency had come up and they would need to get one of the other doctors to cover walk-in patients and reschedule the ones with appointments.

  Though he’d missed dinner the evening before and hadn’t wanted any breakfast, he didn’t feel especially hungry. He drifted into the kitchen, started a fresh pot of coffee and made a slice of toast. That was all he wanted.

  He sat at the kitchen table, the steaming cup in front of him, and nibbled at his snack. Where is she? Something is terribly wrong.

  When the phone rang, it startled him, and he sprang from his chair and swept up the receiver. He expected to hear Linda’s sweet voice on the line explaining what had happened and that she was okay.

  He knew something dreadful was taking place the moment he heard his name spoken through a voice changer.

  “Dr. Arthur Gould?” the freakish voice asked in a deep, disguised tone.

  “Yes, this is Dr. Gould.”

  “I have your wife.”

  His nightmare was coming true. “Where is she? Is she all right?” He spoke in a frenzied tone.

  “Relax, doctor. Your wife is fine.”

  “Why do you have her? What do you want?”

  “Well, Dr. Gould, I’m glad you asked.” The manufactured voice chuckled. “I want money, of course.”

  “You mean, like ransom?”

  “Now you’re catching on. Exactly like ransom.”

  “How … how much?”

  “How much do you have? Doctor.” He emphasized the last word.

  Arthur Gould was silent. What kind of game was this guy playing?

  The voice continued, “How much is your wife worth?”

  What was he supposed to say? How could he answer a question like that?

  “You’re hesitating, doctor. Is she of no value to you?”

  “No, no, of course she is,” Dr. Gould said. “I just don’t know what to say.”

  The weird voice laughed and then said, “I’m not greedy.”

  Dr. Gould was silent.

  The unnatural voice became more ominous, more serious. “I want one hundred thousand dollars. Is your wife worth that much, doctor?”

  “Yes, yes, of c
ourse she is.”

  “Then we don’t have a problem, am I right?”

  “No problem,” the doctor said carefully. “We don’t have a problem.”

  “Wonderful. I knew you’d see it my way.”

  Dr. Gould waited.

  “Now, I have some simple instructions for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Obviously I want cash. And you have until this afternoon to get it. Is that a problem?”

  Arthur Gould paced back and forth in the kitchen. He knew he could arrange it easily. He said, “It’s not a problem.”

  “Good. Good.” Breathing rasped over the line and then the voice continued, “Do you love your wife, doctor?”

  “Yes, yes, of course I do.”

  “Then you won’t call the police, am I right?”

  The doctor’s mind was whirling. He had to get his wife home safely and wasn’t sure what he would do, but right now he couldn’t afford to disagree with the kidnapper. He said, “I won’t call the police.”

  “Excellent. Then everything should go smoothly.”

  “How can I be sure my wife is okay?”

  “I thought you might ask. I’ll send you a picture of her. Give me your cell phone number.”

  Dr. Gould gave him the number and then ran to his office for his cell. In a minute, a picture appeared on the screen. His wife was tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth, and her frightened eyes seemed to be pleading to him. He fought back his anger and tried to remain calm. He couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong.

  “Are you still there, doctor?”

  “I’m here.”

  “So, you can see your wife is fine?”

  “Yes, yes. Please, don’t hurt her.”

  “I have no plans to hurt her. However, her ultimate fate is in your hands. If you follow my instructions perfectly, then your wife will be fine. Otherwise …”