“We found Leroy Burton,” the officer in the hallway informed them as they stepped out of the makeshift interview room. “Some officers went to the address on his personnel file, and found him there, packing up his things. We’ve got a unit bringing him back here for questioning.”
While they waited for the waiter to arrive, Paula checked in with Michaels. “Any news?”
“Oh, yeah, a whole lot of news. Leroy Burton isn’t his real name. He was just hired last week. Generally, running someone’s prints is par for the course, especially to work on the VIP level, but in the rush to get enough employees to work the game; some of the details got overlooked. The prints they’ve got on Leroy come back to a Jason Thibodeaux, who has a long rap sheet. Interestingly enough, he’s from the same town as Senator Clay. I’ve also been looking at his phone records,” Michaels replied. “Most of the calls are from his mother and what appears to be a girlfriend. But there are several recent ones from a prepaid cell phone. I haven’t been able to track it down yet. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks, Michaels.”
Paula stepped back into the interview room where the waiter had just arrived. She pulled Detective Turner to the side and gave him the information from Michaels.
Detective Turner started the interrogation. “Why did you leave work early, Leroy? Or should I say, Jason?”
The waiter’s face hardened into a scowl. “My shift was over. I went home. Is that a crime?”
“Your shift was over in the middle of the third quarter?” the detective asked. “And you’re telling me you didn’t want to stick around to watch the rest of the game—one of the biggest events of the year?”
“I don’t like football,” the waiter replied.
“Yeah, right. And I suppose you were just rearranging your apartment in the middle of the night, as well. Not packing to go somewhere else?”
“I did my job and went home. What I do in my house ain’t none of your business.”
“When was the last time you saw Senator Clay?” Paula asked.
“I served him a drink just before I left.”
“According to the personnel office, you never clocked out tonight. Why were you in such a hurry?”
“I told you. My shift was over and I ain’t working for free. That’s all I got to say.”
Paula handed him a piece of paper. “Tell me, Jason, whose number is this?”
The waiter looked at the paper but did not reply.
“Look buddy, you better start talking,” the detective said. “Senator Clay went missing at the same time you left the stadium to go home. You and I both know it’s not a coincidence. You had something to do with his disappearance. Kidnapping is a federal offense. Couple that with using a false identity and your hurry to pack up and get out of town, and things aren’t looking too good for you, Jason. We know you weren’t working alone. Now maybe if you give up your partners and tell us where we can find the senator, the D.A. will be lenient with you. But you’ve got to talk now.”
“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
“Whatcha gonna do? Arrest me? If you had any evidence, I’d be on my way to the parish jail right now. You got nothin’, and I ain’t giving you nothin’. Ain’t nobody got time for this.” The waiter scowled and refused to say anything else.
Paula left the interview room. She saw Stella Flynn waiting for her, and attempted a quick getaway. It didn’t work.
“Agent Davenport, may I speak to you?”
Paula wondered how the woman had gotten her name, but made an effort not to let her surprise show on her face. She couldn’t let the reporter have the upper hand.
“I still have no comment,” she replied.
“A source I spoke to in Senator Clay’s office informed me that he has been missing since the power outage. How long are you going to keep this information from the public?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that report,” Paula answered. “Look, Ms. Flynn, I was an investigative journalist for ten years. I know you have a job to do. But I have a job to do as well, and you’re keeping me from it. When we have something to report to the media, we’ll do it. For now, I have no comment.” In spite of her irritation with the interruption, she was impressed with the woman’s tenacity. She reminded Paula of a younger version of herself.
Paula’s phone rang, and she walked out of earshot of the woman to answer it.
“What’ve you got, Michaels?”
“The FBI techs just finished going through the Senator’s office.”
“Did they come up with anything?”
“Not sure yet…I’m scanning his computer files as we speak. Nothing looks out of place.”
“Okay, what about the rest of the office?” she asked.
“He cleaned up after himself well. Everything looked to be in order. The shredder and trash can were both empty…Hold on, I think I got something.”
“What is it?”
“A paper they found balled up in the corner behind the trash can.”
“So will it help us?”
“You won’t believe what it is…”
“Agent Davenport,” Detective Turner interrupted. “Come quickly. Mrs. Clay just received a phone call from the kidnapper.”
Paula hurried back into the suite. Detective Turner was barking orders into his phone to trace the call. Another officer was instructing Mrs. Clay to keep the conversation going as long as possible. Paula stood near the woman, trying to hear the conversation.
Mrs. Clay was crying. “Are…are you okay, dear?” she asked.
Paula could hear a desperate voice on the other end of the line. She assumed it was the senator. The woman continued crying. “Okay, I’ll do whatever he says. Yes…I’ll get the cash from the safe at your office. The combination…yes, okay…our anniversary date…I’ll get it…oh please, I hope you’re okay…”
Paula continued to listen as the voice on the other end changed. The kidnapper was apparently talking to Mrs. Clay again.
“One hundred thousand dollars? I…okay, I’ll get it. Just please, please don’t hurt my husband.” The woman’s voice was strained with obvious fear and desperation.
Paula was surprised the call lasted so long. Most kidnappers would have disconnected long before now to ensure that the call couldn’t be traced. This seemed to be an amateur job—something they could use to their advantage.
While Mrs. Clay continued to plead for her husband’s safety, the officer on the line signaled to Detective Turner that they had completed the trace. The detective quietly told her she could safely wrap up the call.
“Okay, sir, I’ll be there, right where you asked…” The line went dead. Mrs. Clay collapsed into the chair, sobbing, but immediately sat up straight. “I’ve got to go get that money.”
“No, you don’t,” Detective Turner replied. “We traced the call to the exact location. We’re going there now.”
“But what if he kills Davis?”
“He won’t, ma’am. You have to trust us.”
Detective Turner assigned an officer to stay with Mrs. Clay, and he and Paula headed to his squad car. The game had ended, and the streets were even more packed than when Paula had arrived.
As they drove through the throngs of people back to the French Quarter, Paula remembered that Michaels had something to tell her. She dialed his number.
“Wow, really? Are you sure?” Paula listened intently as the computer tech explained what he’d found. “Okay, thanks, Michaels.”
Paula turned to Detective Turner. “I think Michaels solved the case.” She told him what she had learned.
“Unbelievable. I guess we need to be ready for anything when we get there.”
A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of a crowded French Quarter bar. Paula’s partner, Gerald Gordon, was waiting outside.
“Nice of you to make it, Gordon,” she said.
“Sorry for the delay. Michaels filled me in on the
details. Now let’s get this guy.”
“The call came from inside this building,” Turner said. “He’s most likely being held somewhere in the back of the bar, maybe in a storeroom. We’ve got some officers inside for crowd control if the situation gets out of hand, but I think it’s best to use the element of surprise for now.”
Paula drew her weapon and followed Turner through the front door of the building. Gordon and several SWAT team members circled around to the back.
They moved slowly through the bar. The loud and boisterous patrons didn’t seem to notice or be alarmed by their presence. With nothing amiss in the front, Paula pushed the door open to the back room. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the senator, crouched in the corner with his hands tied and duct tape over his mouth. His eyes widened when he saw them enter. Paula and Detective Turner swept the room but no one else was there.
Detective Turner approached and pulled the tape off.
“Hurry!” the senator said, struggling to stand. “Get me out of here before he comes back!”
“Don’t worry, Senator,” Paula said, as she untied the rope from his hands. “We know exactly who’s responsible for the crime, and he will be brought to justice.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” the senator exclaimed. “I just knew the Governor’s office wanted to shut me up for good. When the waiter took me—”
“Yes, that’s exactly what you wanted us to think,” Paula replied, snapping handcuffs on him.
“Wha…what are you doing? I’m the victim here! I was kidnapped.”
“You thought you could get all the support you needed for your bill if it looked like the Governor was trying to silence you.” Detective Turner said. “Nice touch staying on the line with your wife long enough for us to trace the call to this location. Your timing was bad though. Did you really think the news of your dramatic rescue would even be noticed in the midst of the other events of the night?”
“I don’t understand,” the senator stammered. “I thought...”
“You did a good job of destroying most of the evidence. But you need to work on your basketball skills, Senator,” Paula said. “The receipt for your prepaid cell phone never made it into the trash can. You were the one who hired Jason Thibodeaux to kidnap you. Once our detective confronted him with the evidence, he confessed to everything.”
“But I…”
“Don’t worry, Senator. You’ll have plenty of time to practice your jump shot in prison.”
About the Author:
Rena Burgess is a Jesus follower, wife, mother, writer, Chicago Bulls fanatic, Greenville College graduate, misplaced Midwesterner, chocolate lover, and exceedingly imperfect. This is her first published work.
*****
Website
https://renaburgess.com/
Publishing Company
https://temporarymidnight.com/
Facebook:
Rena D. Burgess
Twitter:
@renadeann
My husband Erick writes mysteries and thrillers and his books are terrific. (And I’m not just saying that because I sleep with him.) Check them out!
Books by Erick Burgess
Michael Drake Series:
Under Abnormal Conditions
Mask of Shadows
Carter Williams Series:
Darker Than Night
Short Story Collection:
Paved With Good Intentions
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