Chapter 13 #2
Ding-dong! My eyes light up. This is getting exciting.
“Thanks to my impeccable talents, I was able to follow his movements all the way through the city to, you guessed it, an abandoned warehouse where he is seen dragging the man inside. Then hours later, dragging him back out. But the most peculiar thing happens. He tosses our missing person into the front seat of his car and slaps a bucket hat onto his head. In fact! This was just before he hit you in the street. Same fucking night, Parker.”
I should tell you guys. We never know the people who bring the warrants to the agency, or the names of people they involve.
It’s overall irrelevant, really. Although, if we didn’t hunt for information, we would know none of this.
I like the backstory, the important details to help capture, if we can get it.
Just like now. Information is power and I want it all, for hunting, of course. I’m not some crazy person.
“I’d beg to differ. You have started talking to yourself more in recent days.”
Rolling my eyes, I flip the camera currently watching me, the bird, and smile. “Thank you for your input, Connor.”
“From what I can tell, this wasn’t random. Douche canoe appearing on the side of his car and this guy being taken coincide. I just don’t know how they intertwine yet. But I will.”
Because Tac in hyper-focusing case mode is a fucking legend.
“From what you can see on the CCTV, did it seem like Holden had done this before, or was he sloppy?” O questions.
“Oh, no. This guy was quick and slick. No hesitation when wrapping his arms around buddy’s neck.
This was not an amateur hour. His confidence at the end was slightly alarming.
Just throwing him in his front seat, I assume dead or drugged out of his mind.
That part is highly bizarre and very confusing. ”
Oh my God.
Then it occurs to me.
With a racing heart and wide eyes, my fingers start snapping. “Get eyes on my parking garage.”
“Why?” Taco questions in confusion. Rightfully so. My thoughts rarely come out in full sentences.
“I promise this isn’t a random outburst. I have an endgame here. Just, please.”
More clicking of the keyboard echoes in my ears before my parking garage is live on the big screen. Of course, Holden’s collection of obnoxiously expensive vehicles are the farthest away, making it nearly impossible to get a good view of the inside. Dammit.
He had a bucket of water, rubber gloves, and a smock the other day. Holden doesn’t come across as the type of man to wash his own car. So why have it in the hallway? We have cleaners for common spaces. None of this is making sense, unless… could it be?
“P, care to share with the class?” O rudely interrupts my train of thought.
“Soon. Let me finish putting the pieces together first.”
I’m not questioned following my statement. They know there is always a method to my madness. It always comes together when it should. The same way as a ten-thousand piece puzzle. Each piece is moving to its correct spot and is nearing completion.
“Known things that make him tick for four hundred, please.” I like to spice it up sometimes, like we are playing a game show. I need a couple more clues to sort my final thoughts, and complete this masterpiece in my mind.
“Holden saw a child psychiatrist for years. Once he turned of age, he stopped, likely because he was going begrudgingly.” That’s one way to put it.
“Most notes are handwritten, kept under lock and key. However, I was able to find a few emails from the child psychiatrist to Alan Hughes, his grandfather.”
“You are a fucking wizard!” I praise Tac like the good boy he is.
They generate on the screen. My eyes scan them. They are all brief and to the point, without violating the confidentiality of the sessions. It’s impressive.
I implore you to take this seriously. Left untreated it could only lead to more serious situations in the future.
Holden lacks empathy, has difficulties behaving acceptably in a social situation, and has shown his restraint with me when frustrated.
His eyes turn dark when he wants to argue a point.
Early intervention only works if the entire family is willing to participate.
You cannot just send him here and think I can work a miracle, Mr. Hughes.
We need you and your wife’s involvement, at the very least. Conduct disorder will only lead to bigger things if not treated with due diligence.
“This was the most telling of the correspondence sent between the two. I couldn’t find a response.
Perhaps they spoke in person, perhaps it was never discussed again.
But Holden had a standing Tuesday and Thursday appointment with Doctor Barnes every week from age four to eighteen.
Not a single one missed, in person or via video conference. ”
Tapping my chin, I ponder out loud. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, this wasn’t his first rodeo the other night. We assume it wasn’t based on the CCTV. How has he gotten away with it for so long?”
“Precisely. I firmly believe that this is only the first time he’s been caught.
Holden’s face was nearly covered the entire time.
He had his shoulders hunched, face down.
All it took was one bad angle he didn’t account for that landed him here in our hands.
He didn’t waver on the way to the warehouse, no hesitant turns or erratic driving besides from his actions afterward, which you may remember.
Holden knew his destination the entire time.
He had been there before. And so had his mother.
I just looked it up. They found her dead in the exact alleyway of the exact warehouse that he drove to. None of this is coincidence.”
Taco continues. “And for your next question. What makes the man tick? It appears to be you. We have ample evidence of that. Along with people, in general. His conduct disorder escalated into antisocial personality disorder by eighteen, it seems, the same age he stopped going to the good doc. The man has a complete disregard for social norms and behaviors. He does what he pleases, when he pleases, while also being very particular in everything he does. There is purpose, but the purpose only serves him and fuck anyone else who may get in the way or disagree. He is meticulous. And impulse control lacks only when he is on edge, so please, this goes without saying, be careful when you poke the bear, Parker. Please.”
A long pause follows. No one tries to speak. We absorb.
“It’s important to mention they also diagnosed him with OCD. This could benefit us when it comes to his routine,” Tac adds to lighten the mood slightly.
Clapping my hands once, hard enough that the sting from the impact hurts my palms, I declare to the team, “This concludes our meeting. End time thirteen hundred hours and some odd minutes.” Tac cheers and whistles like a pro. He seems to be the only one delighted by my new formalities.
Jumping with enthusiasm once I realize my accomplishments, I praise our meeting master. “And I didn’t attempt to scroll once! A job well done, Taco Bell!”
“You two are fucking ridiculous.” O huffs at us, but we don’t care. To have fun at work is to be productive. Fuck the haters and rule followers.
Although, with that, I suppose I should start on the recon work.
I love a good snooping moment. I hate stakeouts.
Loathe.
This better not have one of those or I will pull my hair out of my head, one by one.
And before I can further emphasize my displeasure for a stakeout, Connor jumps in deciding this will be his bossy moment of the day.
“Ah. Not so fast. I need you to work on your kickboxing for a couple hours. That throat punch the other day was completely amateur. Fucking embarrassing to watch, actually. I trained you better than that, Presley!”
Fuck, as much as I hate to admit this, I love when Connor gets firm with me. In a non sexual harassment in the workplace way, of course.
Acting like I am hard done by, I sigh. “Fine. O, have the sparrows on him if he leaves the building, please.”
“Already on it.”
An evil cackle erupts from deep within my gut. The tips of my fingers tap together, adding to the ambiance.
May the hunt begin and puzzle pieces resume the quest, we are nearly there.