Without a Whisper

The third man I don't know, but I'll assume he's the FBI guy. He's wearing a grey suit that just screams he's a federal agent. He's trying to match Derek's intensity, but only looks like a little brother standing next to his older sibling.

"Let's get introductions out of the way. I know you two are acquainted, so I'll skip that," Chief Wu says, referring to Yvonne and myself. "This is Sergeant Appletree. She's second in command of our special investigations squad." Special Investigations used to just be a handful of officers. A glorified escort service for federal agencies and an overworked case audit unit. We've expanded thanks to a generous budget increase from our former Chief of Police Mayor.

"Assistant Special Agent in Charge Charles Levin," he says, and I shake his hand. "You and Yvonne have worked together in the past?"

"The Fredrick Aimer case," I say, and he nods. That case made some headlines. Destroyed the reputation of the former Mayor so thoroughly Derek won the election so soundly there wasn't even a runoff. You're welcome.

"I remember that one. Not every day the police find a case and get two men out of prison," Levin says.

"It was the strangest case I've ever had to work on," I say.

"It's going to get stranger today. Derek, do you want to take the lead?" Levin asks. Derek nods and unfolds his arms.

"I bet you two are wondering what's going on?" Derek asks. Neither of us reply. "We're working a missing person case. He's been gone nearly three-days."

"Statistically, he's dead," I say.

"I hope not," Derek says.

"I do too, but that's the cold numbers," I say, and he slowly nods. "So why isn't Missing Persons here? Why am I here and not Kaiser?" My old partner is currently dual hatting as a missing persons detective and the Sergeant for the Homicide section.

"It's one of our own. Chase Kramner is missing," Derek says. My predecessor in Special Investigations. He ran the lead on the Fredrick Aimer case after noticing something wrong with several investigations going back nearly fifteen years. Turns out five murders closed separately were committed by the same person. He lost his leg during a different case, medically retired, and married my half-Asian lieutenant before moving to the country with their son.

"I like Chase as much as anyone else," I say, knowing full well Chase is a hard person to like. I'm one to talk. "But why does he warrant an FBI task force?"

"Mr. Kramner's father is a federal appellate judge for the DC court of appeals," Levin replies. They're treating it like a potential kidnapping. "And we have reason to believe the circumstances of his disappearance travel through multiple states. State lines grants us jurisdiction. Derek and I go back a few years, I'm roping you in as a person who knows how Mr. Kramner operated."

"Alright, that makes sense," I say. "What was he doing when he vanished?"

"Working for me," Derek says, and the room turns to him. "I have an old file of missing person cases that went cold. I hired Chase to put his PI license to work."

"Since when is Chase a private investigator?" I ask.

"About six months ago he got his license. Last I knew he was working the disappearance of a teenaged girl named Katie Grossman. He called me last week to tell me he may have found some leads and was pursuing them. There was a trail I missed, back when I initially investigated it. Cases pile up, pressure is applied, and you know what it's like when your Captain tells you to let it go cold." Damn right I do. "New evidence came up in the case. A gun."

"A gun?" I ask.

"Katie Grossman stole some valuables from her parents before she disappeared. I recovered all of it at various pawn shops across the city, but the only item I never found was the gun. Didn't figure I would either, not exactly easy to fence, and no one would admit they bought it. A few months ago, that gun was discovered in an artificial pond that was drained for property development. Nearly ten years later."

"That's not cold: that's absolute zero," I say.

"Chase was looking into it. Searching for a missing person only to become a missing person himself. I don't like that kind of coincidence," Derek says. Neither would Chase. He would say he believed in coincidences, just not a dozen of them.

"Let me speculate," I say to begin, and watch Levin posture like he's about to listen. "Because of his dad, you're treating it like a ransom situation? You got audio techs, calls tracers, whatever, at his house, his dad's office?"

"All correct. A team of investigators are also going through his father's cases for the last few years for any leads. We also have an HRT unit on standby," he says. Hostage and Rescue Team. They are not fucking around.

"Where is the task force going to be situated?" I ask.

"Right next door. You guys have the entire conference room. Techs have already forwarded all calls to that room. There is already a team in there," Chief Wu says. "What I need for you to do right away, is head to Chase's house. Clear out his office, find out what he had found on the Katie Grossman case. His wife should be cooperative, but we got a warrant to cover all our bases."

I follow Chase's case, I follow his movements. I follow his movements, I find Chase.

"I got a child seat in the back of my car..."

"...take a van in case you're carrying more than you expect," Chief Wu says, reading my mind.

"Special Agent Grimsdotter is your partner on this. Play nice," Derek says, and looks at Chief Wu. "Sorry."

"What he said," Chief Wu says. He looks mildly irritated Derek forgot what his job was for a moment.

--

Friday - March 27, 2020: Two Weeks Before

-Chase Kramner-

It's a strange feeling to be on the hunt again. The feeling when I start closing in on something. When all the pieces start coming together, and the image of the puzzle begins to take shape.

There is no correct way to build a puzzle. The strategies are merely different. I like to start with the frame. The easy pieces first. The facts you know. The things that will hold the rest of it in place. From the frame, you can extend inward, until you reach the middle. At the middle is the truth.

I've been building the frame since October, when Derek gave me the puzzle. I retraced his steps, starting when the case landed in his inbox, and what he would have known from the start. Katie Grossman was a sixteen-year-old girl who stole her mother's jewelry, some electronics, other items of varying value, and her father's gun. Derek had found the missing valuables at three pawn shops throughout the city. In total, she could have had around $3000. A necklace from her mother was worth $700 by itself. The gun was not found at the time. Katie Grossman then simply vanished.

The gun was found in October of last year. Ten years after her disappearance. A Smith & Wesson Model 442 with a satin nickel finish and an ergonomic rosewood grip. A five-round revolver loaded with four rounds of .38 police special, and one shell. It had been fired at least once. There must be a story behind that.

The components of the gun were somewhat eroded due to being submerged. Even rust resistant materials are not rust immune. The nickel plating, aluminum alloy frame, stainless steel barrel, and carbon steel cylinder, are all relatively resistant. This helped preserve the serial number, even after someone tried to file it off. The different rates of corrosion due to the differing materials was beneficial for comparative analysis. The gun was sent to a metallurgist to determine how long ago it was thrown into the pond. Katie Grossman went missing on 10 July 2009, and they said the gun could have been in there for ten years. Not long after Katie went missing.

Covering my bases, I took a road trip out to the where the gun was found. The land was being used to build houses, and when I arrive, I see a new neighborhood taking shape. Various houses at different levels of construction. Some complete with families already moved in. Some marked only by a slap of freshly dried concrete. An artificial pond was here just a few months ago, where a gun had been hidden for ten years.

Early in my reinvestigation of the case, I was convinced I was looking for a body.

After the information on the gun came back, I dug into the available information on the rest of the stolen goods. One of the three pawn shops was no longer open, the former owner of another was deceased, and the third unsurprisingly didn't remember. He spoke to the police nearly every day about stolen items for years. Derek coming in about a stolen cellphone wouldn't even register in his short-term memory.

One interesting thing of note was that the pawn shops never reported anything suspicious about the items. Katie provided the shops with evidence of purchase in the form of receipts. Interviews with her parents revealed that her mother had retained nearly every receipt from every purchase going back over a decade. Katie simply found the correct receipts. Derek highlighted in his notes that this suggested Katie had been planning to runaway for some time. I agreed with him.

Derek had dug into her school and personal life as much as he could. Katie had a friend named Angela Dobbs who stated she didn't know why Katie would have run away. Derek had written in his notes about her demeanor being defensive and withholding. He was never able to go back and re-interview her because he was ordered to let the case go cold. Another friend named Leland Bach stated the same and she was also evasive. After the first interview, her parents hid her behind a lawyer. The girls knew something, so I looked deeper into them.

After Missing Persons shelved the case, an interesting development Derek wouldn't have had any sight on occurred; Leland's father filed a grand theft auto report to the police. Vincent 'Vinny' Bach is the owner of a used car dealership named Your Cousin Vinny. Vinny had reported one of his cars missing from the lot in September 2009. On the lot he had a refurbished 1964 Buick Skylark with metallic mint-green paint and a white convertible top. The same car from the film My Cousin Vinny, hence the name of his business, though the man isn't Italian. The car was proudly displayed in the front of the lot, but not for sale. Not only was it missing, it had been replaced by a refurbished 1963 Pontiac Tempest, also with metallic mint-green paint and a white convertible top. Another car featured in the film whose similar appearance causes the misidentification of Joe Pesci's cousins for a murder trial. Vinny Bach claimed he noticed immediately, but I believe he was saving face.

The Pontiac was eventually found to have been owned by Angela Dobbs's father, Alvin Dobbs, who had purchased the car from Mr. Bach some years prior. The investigator for the case was Detective Frank Blanchard, the old partner of my ex-girlfriend Lauren Hill. The investigation never found a hard connection, mostly due to Mr. Bach's insistence he noticed immediately. Because the timeline was so scrambled, no one could make heads or tails of it. My theory is simple: Angela Dobbs and Leland Bach helped their friend runaway by getting her a car. Whether they intentionally planned on creating a clusterfuck surrounding that aid, is up to speculation.

Local press, where most of my information came from, got a hold of the theft and it had developed into something of a local legend. The thief has never been identified. It is still known as the My Cousin Caper. Joshua Winters had written the original story and follow-ups when it happened but could never reach Frank Blanchard for comment.

My deal with Jenn was that this PI thing isn't a full-time job. I'm always to be a husband and a father first. Holding myself to that deal is why my progress on this case has been slow. After nearly six months, I've gathered enough facts to start asking the right questions to the right people.

--

The first thing I do in the morning is get my miles in. It's almost exactly a mile and a half to an intersection at the end of my street. Three miles round trip. I take the long walk up my dirt driveway to the house. We went with a ranch style home because stairs and a lower limb amputee does not mix. The only stairs are the porch. My water bottle is where I left it at the top of the stairs. I sit on the top step, and drink while catching my breath.

I look over my shoulder, and don't see Nathan. My son usually wakes up about this time, and knows he'll find me on the porch after my run. Not today. I finish the water and enter the house. Curious, I peek my head into his bedroom and see Nathan soundly asleep. He's named after my friend who died the same day I lost my leg.

Before showering I start cooking breakfast for Jenn and Nathan. I started cooking to stave off the boredom of my medical retirement from the police. I learned to love it and do it more for fun now. Jenn asked me to keep the menu a surprise, and I change it up every so often. I'm always on the lookout for interesting new recipes.

I feel Jenn behind me. Her belly pokes into the small of my back, and her lips kiss my neck. Turning around, I kiss her, and hold my hand over her pregnant stomach. When we were trying for Nathan, we had ovulation calendars and other aids. We got pregnant so fast we had a false negative. We would occasionally discuss a second baby and concluded maybe another year or two. Oops.

"Good run?" Jenn asks.

"Gets the day started," I reply. I would hand her a cup of coffee, but Jenn avoided caffeine when pregnant with Nathan, and is going through her old program. She has instructed me to not tempt her.

"You hear that?" Jenn asks, and I listen. All I hear is the sound of cooking, so shake my head. "Exactly." Nathan isn't awake. He's what I don't hear. "I don't remember the last quiet morning."

"We should wake him up, he's grumpy when he oversleeps," I say. Jenn closes her eyes to enjoy the silence, but nods to agree.

"You still planning on going into the city?" Jenn asks.

"Yeah. Starting to get some headway on that case. I've got a few people to interview. They didn't reply to calls, hoping to do some ambushing," I say, and she nods.

"We'll all ride up together, make a day of it. I'll hang out with some friends and do some shopping I can't do out here," Jenn says. Jenn loves living here, but she does miss some things about living in a city. The shopping choices being one of them.

--

Nathan is plenty grumpy when we wake him up for breakfast. So grumpy, he refuses to eat. He then complains about being hungry ten minutes after breakfast. I counted on that happening so kept his plate in the microwave for when he was ready. I shower before Jenn and soon the family is ready for a trip to the city. Jenn drops me off in front of the police HQ, and I kiss them both before she departs.

It's a professional courtesy for a private investigator to inform the local police that they are investigating in their jurisdiction. I report to the front desk to let the officer know, and while I'm there I feel a slap on my back.

"What are you doing here?" William Kaiser asks. My old partner. He finally lost his battle with hair loss and decided to shave it bald. Still has the mustache goatee. Everyone calls him The Kaiser like the old German kings. Cops are often endowed with a nickname, for good or bad. I was assigned Ivy League back in the day because my alma mater was Dartmouth.

"Working," I say, and we knocked knuckles. "You wouldn't happen to know if Frank Blanchard still works here?"

"Blanchard? Property Crimes?" The Kaiser asks, and I nod. "Nah, he retired a few years ago. I'll ask around on my way up, see if I can get you a number. What's it about?"

"Old case he investigated might be related to a case I'm working," I say.

"PI stuff?" he asks, and I nod. "I'll look into it. How's Jenn?"

"Pregnant," I say.

"Congrats man," he says with a smile. "Three girls between Abigail and I, we're done." I laugh. "You in town just for the day?"

"Gathering what I can, then heading home."

"Let's get some dinner. I know Abigail would love to see Jenn again."

"Definitely. I'll call you later," I say. We knock knuckles one more time before he heads to the elevators.

After checking in with the police, I take a moment to walk the line of heroes. A collection of retired badges to honor the service of officers who died in the line of duty, though dying isn't a requirement, it's just the most common reason. It takes only a minute to find the one I'm looking for. SWAT Sergeant Nathan White. My son's namesake.

"Looking good paratrooper," I say, and gentle touch my knuckles to his badge. He was Air Force Pararescue. I just called him a paratrooper to bust his balls.

I exit the building and look at my phone. I saved the last known work and home addresses for Angela Dobbs and Leland Bach and tried calling them again. It goes to voicemail for both. I leave messages and decide to go to their places of work. Both still live in the city, and according to social media, have remained in contact with each other.

I take the bus over to the financial district where Leland works at a brokerage firm. I'm the lone casually dressed man in a sea of young professionals. Her building is easy to find, and I approach the security at the front desk. They know by looking at me that I don't have an appointment with anyone.

"Looking for someone. Leland Bach. She should work here," I say. The receptionist states she cannot provide me with information about employees. I ask if she could make a call to see if she was willing to come down and meet me here. She asks me to have a seat, and that she will try.

The lobby has several couches and chairs to maximize the comfort of guests waiting on appointments. The magazines are up to date. The television is playing the news, and I watch it for a minute before my phone chimes. The Kaiser got me Blanchard's number.

"Yes?" I hear a voice ask, and I turn to it. I recognize her from social media. Leland Bach. She's somewhat overweight but is cute. Straight blonde hair that hangs just over her shoulders. Business professional clothing.

"Leland Bach?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Chase Kramner. I'm a private investigator," I say, handing her one of the cards I had made up. Chase Kramner, Investigator. I wanted to put my rate of a cup of coffee and a handshake on the card, but Jenn told me not to.

"Are you the one who has been calling me?" she asks, and I nod. "What about?"

"Katie Grossman," I say, and she flinches back. That name hit her like a bolt of electricity. "You got a minute?"

"I don't know where she is," Leland says.

"I didn't figure you would, but could I have a few minutes of your time?" I ask.

"Why are you looking into it? That was ten years ago."

"Someone asked me to," I say, and she blinks. She's deciding whether it's too suspicious if she doesn't talk to me. She wants to talk, because she doesn't know where she is, and wants to know what happened to her friend. Katie wasn't supposed to completely vanish.

"I got a minute," Leland says. I gesture for a chair, but she shakes her head. "Not here. There's a coffee place next door. I want to get someone else there too." Who could that be? A lawyer?

Leland noticed my leg as we walked to the café next door. She said she'd order so I could sit down. I wear modified pants where the bottom half is removed so my prosthetic doesn't get caught in the fabric. I tried to wear normal pants and jeans, but after too many faceplants, Jenn went full wife on me.

Leland returns with three drinks, and says the person joining us will be here soon. She asks if I've learned anything about Katie, and I shake my head, holding onto the gun being found for now. The reason I'm here is to hopefully get a few more pieces of the puzzle. The third person arrives within ten minutes. A woman with dyed platinum hair. She introduces herself as Angela Hertzberg, maiden name Dobbs.