From her side, Lennie Dakers nodded in approval. ‘You got him angry enough to reveal more than he wanted to. I’m sure most, probably all, of what he told us was genuine.’
‘Thanks. I was worried a couple of times that I was pushing him too far. We’ll contact the State Hospital at Carstairs. See if they’ll tell us about anyone that fits his profile. They only admit around thirty patients a year. Cally, I hope that his line about Garland hating change and loving the Los Angeles that he grew up in is of some use to you.’
‘Already on it. We’re getting closer’
*
They were. Just as the young man chained in some unknown location was getting closer to death.
CHAPTER 31
Igloo. Messages. Vikki, 32.
Ryan: So how long have you been on this site?
Delivered, 12.05
Read, 12.06
Vikki: A few weeks now. I’m ready to quit it to be honest. I’ve pretty much given up on thinking I’ll meet anyone decent.
I know what you mean. This place seems to be full of crazies. Some nice people too though.
Yes. Some.
I hope you don’t leave though. Not yet anyway. There are some decent guys, honestly.
You do seem nice. So tell me stuff about you.
Okay. I’m a teacher. Primary kids. Love it. Been doing that for six years now. It’s tough at times but really worth it.
Cool. Must be fun. Tell me more about you.
I’m into movies, old stuff more than new stuff though. They make too much crap these days. All those superhero films.
Agreed! So what’s your favourite movie?
Hard to choose. But I’d say maybe Some Like It Hot.
No way! That’s MY favourite!! I love that movie. Okay, what else?
To Kill a Mockingbird. Bringing Up Baby. And okay, corny maybe, but It’s a Wonderful Life.
Are you kidding me? I love those. I watch Wonderful Life EVERY Christmas. Okay, what about music?
All kinds of stuff. Soul. Pop. Blues.
Soul is cool. Name your top three.
That’s tough. Nina Simone. Curtis Mayfield. Otis Redding.
Two out of three ain’t bad. I’m not crazy about Otis. Anyone who was in the charts after I was born?
Kendrick Lamar? Lauryn Hill?
Yes!! This is spooky. Have you stolen my Spotify or something? You could be my music twin.
That’s got to be a good thing, right?
Maybe Okay, ask me about me.
So what do you do? And what are you doing tonight? It’s Saturday after all.
Slow down, mister! One question at a time. I work in a bank. Customer service. Been there three years. Did the same thing in another bank before that.
Can I open an account?
If you keep my interest.
I plan to. How long have you been single?
Two years. You?
A bit over a year. About ready to dip a toe back in the water. With the right person.
Me too, I guess. Finding the right one is the hard bit. I’m really wary. It’s easy for a guy but women have to be careful. You know? People aren’t always who they say they are on here.
I guess that’s true. You do have to be careful. I hope you wouldn’t rule out meeting someone though.
No.
Good to hear.
Okay, I need to go make lunch. We can talk again later if you’d like that.
Oh, I would. Okay, I suppose I better let you go. Bye for now Vikki x
Bye Ryan x
CHAPTER 32
The decision to release two photographs of the kidnap victim was taken way above the heads of Salgado and O’Neill. Their lieutenant, Annie Burns, told them it had got as far as one of the deputy chiefs before anyone had the cojones to make a call in the time needed. Adam Berkovic was the one who finally put his on the line and said that, quite simply, they had no choice. They did it or the man died.
Few doubted that he was right, but the chaos was inevitable, immediate and sensationalist. A kidnap victim is always grist to the media mill, and they didn’t waste the opportunity to scare the shit out of viewers, readers and listeners. Every news station in southern California led with it, every newspaper in the state splashed it. The photographs, poor quality but enhanced as much as technology would allow, were in front of eyes from Crescent City to San Diego.
The department had said as little as they could. They wanted the public’s help in identifying the young man in the pictures. They were concerned for his welfare. It was a matter of great urgency. All calls would be treated in confidence.
It was never going to be enough and they knew it. It was like throwing a lamb to a pack of wolves and telling them they could play with it for an hour.
Who is he? Where is he? How did you get the photographs? Who set up the video? What are you doing to try to find him? Is the public in danger? When will he die? When will he die?
If the mainstream media were wolves then their online counterparts were dragons and vampires. Conspiracy theories were rampant and instant. The photograph was a fake; the man was already dead; it was the “real” movie star who’d been replaced by a lookalike; it was a scam by the cops to flush out patriots; the man had been kidnapped by aliens, democrats, Russians and Muslims.
Once unleashed, none of it could never be reined in again.
The photographs were two of the few shots they had of the man awake and looking at the camera. His suffering and failing health were all too obvious and they were inundated with complaints that they were too distressing and should never have been released. Many of the ardent objectors seemed more bothered about the release of the photograph than of the man.
Salgado and O’Neill were cussing the whole circus when the call came through. It had been less than an hour since the photograph was made public. A shout from the other side of the incident room, urging one of them to pick up the phone immediately. O’Neill took the call.
‘LAPD, Detective—’
Salgado could hear the rapid, urgent voice leaking from the receiver. O’Neill wasn’t getting a word in.
‘Slow down, ma’am. Please.’ She nodded at Salgado to let him know they were on. ‘You’re sure it’s your son?’
It wasn’t. In the next three hours, their kidnap victim was Paul Weiss, Aaron Hope, Bradley Jansen, Fred van der Hoorn, Jack Arnold, Ricky Lessing, Michael James Green, Cody Welsh and Justin Greenhaugh. He was also a dozen other young men whose names never got as far as Salgado and O’Neill. But they kept coming.
‘LAPD, Detective Salgado speaking.’
No one spoke but Salgado knew the line was live. He could hear someone breathing nervously.
‘LAPD, can I help you?’
‘The photographs. On TV and online. I know who they are.’
Okay, this time. Salgado thought. Make it this time. The voice was female, frantic and certain.
‘Okay, ma’am. Can you give me some details, please? Who do you believe the man in the photograph is?’
‘I don’t believe. I know. It’s my son. Dylan Hansen. It’s Dylan.’
She was crying, and the words were choking her.
‘Okay, who am I talking to?’
‘Steph Hansen. My name is Steph Hansen. My phone number is 213-637-9242. I am Dylan’s mother and I know that’s him in those photographs. But I don’t understand. How can he be there? Who did this?’
‘We’re working on that, Mrs Hansen. I’m going to need some information from you though. Tell me about Dylan, when you last saw him, when he was reported missing.’