Kidnap, Part 1 | |
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Kidnap slimv2001@yahoo.com Part 1 Peter fought valiantly with the locked door as raindrops pelted his head and rolled down his cheeks. He shoved the brass key deep into the hole and twisted it with finesse. Eventually the tumblers gave way and the deadbolt retreated. He gripped the doorknob and threw his shoulder against the wood. The phone still screamed from the kitchen. How many times had it rung- four or more? His muddy shoes yielded little traction on the hardwood floors and he slipped but kept his balance. The phone still rang even as he lifted it from its cradle. "Hello!" he yelled into the phone. "This is Pete Torrance." The sound of the dial tone mocked him. He hung up the phone in angst and wiped the rainwater mixed with tears from his eyes. He took a Bud from the fridge and cracked the top as he picked up yesterday's mail from the kitchen counter. The phone rang again, beckoning and teasing him to answer. He gathered his composure. "Hello, this is Peter Torrance. How can I help you?" His phone manners had become more formal since Linda's disappearance. He felt the formality kept the bullshit to a minimum and helped free up the line. "Mr. Torrance", said a scratchy male voice. "My name is Detective Ferguson. I've been assigned to your wife's case." "Yes", said Peter. "Have you found out anything?" "Not yet Mr. Torrance. I'm sorry. Actually, I was hoping you could see me tonight. I have copies of the police report, but I find it helps to ask the questions first hand. Would you mind?" "Not at all. I'll be here all night. Come when you can", said Peter. He stared at the black twisted cord dangling on the phone. Linda had always hated it. She had wanted him to get a cordless but he never got around to it. He threw the mail back on the counter and took a seat on the couch. He flipped around the TV with the remote control and sipped his beer in quiet reflection. Some time later the doorbell rang. He got up from the couch and retraced his muddy tracks on the hardwoods. He shook hands with Detective Ferguson and offered him a beer but wasn't surprised when the detective declined. Peter asked the detective to take a seat while he got himself another beer. Detective Mark Ferguson had been with the Atlanta Police Department for nine years and had been a detective for the last two. His job intrigued him but he didn't enjoy it. He had seen over a dozen Peter Torrances since his promotion to detective. Some had lost wives. Others had lost children. Few were ever found alive. Some times it was the Peter Torances who were the killers. Peter Torrance cracked open his second Bud and took a seat. "Where should we start?" Detective Ferguson opened his brief case and removed a manila envelope marked Torrance. He opened the envelope and held up a photograph for Peter. "Is this the most recent photograph of your wife Mr. Torrance?" Peter took the photo from the detective and examined it closely, not because he didn't recognize it but because he loved it. His father took it six months ago at Christmas. He was standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her small waist. She looked so beautiful in the photo, so young, vibrant and healthy. They were both health nuts and often jogged together on weekend mornings. He smiled as he thought about her long blond hair tied up in a ponytail bouncing off her ass as she trotted down the street. "It is", he told the detective. "My dad took it at his house last Christmas." "She's a beautiful woman Mr. Torrance. How long have you two been married?" "Seven years next month", said Peter. "We met in college and dated for two years after graduation. And then Linda got pregnant. Naturally, we decided to get married." "Is the child living with you now?" Peter shook his head and took another swig. "Nope, not while this is going on. Tammy is at my brother's house in Alpharetta. As a matter of fact, I need to call her before it gets too late." "I won't take up much more of your time- just a few more questions. How old is your wife, Mr. Torrance?" "Linda turned 31 three months ago. I'm 32 and Tammy is 6." "Does your wife have any distinguishing marks, scars or tattoos on her body?" "Not really", said Peter. "At least nothing noticeable." "How about habits Mr. Torrance. Does your wife, smoke, drink or use drugs of any kind?" "Are you suggesting she had a scrap with her pusher detective, and maybe he's holding her hostage until I pay off her drug debt?" "I'm sorry if the questions sound insensitive, but I assure you I wouldn't ask them if they weren't important." "I'm sorry," said Peter. "I know you're trying to help. I'm just angry and it tears me apart to be so helpless. She needs me and I can't help her." "I understand Mr. Torrance and I assure you that we're doing every thing possible to bring your wife back safely. Can you answer the question though? Does your wife have any bad habits?" "None", said Peter. "She loathes smoking as much as I do. She hates going to my parent's house because my mom smokes. And she's not much of a drinker. She'll have a glass of Champaign on New Years or a beer at a baseball game, but she's not a regular drinker and she would never do drugs." "I have one more question Mr. Torrance. During the last three days have you been able to think of anyone who might have played a part in your wife's disappearance? An obsessed grocery clerk or neighbor perhaps?" "I wish I could", said Peter. "It would give me some one to hate while you checked them out, but the truth is, I don't know any one who would want to hurt Linda." Detective Ferguson nodded and thanked Peter for his time. Peter got up and showed him to the door. They shook hands and the detective promised to call him on a regular basis regardless of the news. |
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