Steven James - Opening Moves

“No. I’ll take it.”

Radar accepted the package and the other officer returned downstairs.

Radar studied it.

The box was wrapped in what appeared to be the same type of butcher paper that was left in the boxcar where Adele Westin was found. Words on the top: “Attn. Sergeant Walker. Open at once.” No return address.

He flipped it over.

Another note, written neatly in black Magic Marker: “This is from the person on the phone.”

Radar blinked, looked around the room.

A moment later his desk phone rang. He stared at it unbelievingly, then at the words on the package.

The phone rang again.

He picked up. “Yes?”

“Did it arrive yet?”

“Did what arrive?”

“The evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“How serious I am.” The voice was muffled but somehow familiar. Radar tried his hardest but couldn’t identify it.

“Who is this?”

“I’m the one who sent you the box. Open it up.”

“First tell me who I’m speaking to.”

“Open the box, Radar.”

Radar?

He called you Radar.

He knows you!

Radar waved for Ralph Hawkins, who was seated at a nearby desk, to trace the call. He knew it’d take him a little while to get down to the tech room and put that into play, and he wasn’t at all sure he’d be able to keep this guy on the line long enough, but it was worth a try.

“Open the box,” the man repeated.

Ralph left, walking briskly down the hallway.

“What’s in it?”

“Something from your son.”

Radar felt a deep tremor ripple through him.

Thoughts, too many thoughts, raced through his mind. Thoughts of the case and what the abductor of the two women had done- he kidnaps family members, makes a demand of a loved one, amputates extremities of his captives.

A finger.

Hands.

He was about to cut off both Adele’s hands and feet when Pat and Ralph arrived at the train yard.

Radar stared at the box, then felt the edges of it for a clue as to what might be inside.

Yeah, he could tell. It was a shoebox alright.

He felt himself go weak as he positioned himself in his chair and placed the phone receiver between his shoulder and his ear. He flicked out the blade of the pocketknife from his drawer, then slipped it through the butcher paper, careful not to push it in too far.

This can’t be happening. This cannot be what it seems.

He slid the blade along the edge of the box’s lid.

Heart hammering, mind spinning.

A moment later he finished. The lid was free.

He stared at the box. All he had to do was open it up.

He set down the knife. Cradled the box gently on his lap. The man on the other end of the line was quiet, waiting for his reaction.

Radar felt a small sweep of nausea as he reached for the lid.

And opened the shoebox.

Inside was one of his son’s shoes. One of Tod’s shoes.

Just the shoe.

Only the shoe. That was all.

Oh, thank God, thank God, thank God.

But then, immediately, the stark and terrifying truth hit him hard. He has Tod. He took him.

“If you do as I say,” the man declared, “I promise I won’t harm him.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’ll have to believe me. Or you won’t like what’s going to happen to your son.”

Radar steeled his voice and tried not to sound shaken. “Let me talk to him.”

The line went silent for a moment; then Tod’s voice came on. “Daddy?”

“Tod, are you okay? Did he-”

“I’m okay.”

“Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?”

“No. But I wanna go home.”

The more you love someone, the angrier you’ll be when he’s threatened or attacked.

Well, Radar couldn’t think of a time when he’d been angrier than this.

Before he could ask his son any more questions, there was a shuffling sound as the man took the phone back from Tod.

All Radar could think of was the rest of his family-his wife, Gayle, his daughter, Angie. “What about my wife and daughter?”

“I don’t have them.”

He wanted to lash out at this man, curse him, threaten him, but from investigating the previous crimes, he knew how brutal and ruthless the guy was and he couldn’t bear to think of what might happen to Tod if he ticked him off. He managed to hold back for his son’s sake.

The man went on. “I don’t like the idea of hurting a child and I have no intention of doing so. You can either trust me or not, but if you choose not to do as I ask, I swear I will slice him apart one finger, one toe, one limb, at a time.” Radar realized he was saying this with Tod right there by his side and he felt a fresh gust of anger. “You know I’m serious,” the man said. “Do not test me.”

Rage. Yes. It was there, but there was also a shroud of fear.

Radar reminded himself that none of the other demands had been anything that put anyone in real danger-not digging up the corpse, not even abducting Lionel. The goal hadn’t been to hurt anyone, just to draw attention to another criminal’s previous crimes.

It’ll be alright.

Just do it. Do what he says. For Tod’s sake.

“What is it? What do you want me to do?”

Then the man told Radar his demands.

Radar’s heart seemed to freeze in midbeat inside his chest.

Stall-you don’t have to really carry it out. Just stall. Go to the bank, deal with things when you get there.

“And if this is not done on time,” the man told him, “I will kill Tod. I hope you’re taking me as seriously as you need to.”

“I hear you.”

Stay on the line, stay on the line. Maybe the trace will go through-

“I’m going to give you four phone numbers. Write them down.”

Radar got out a pen. “Whose numbers are they?”

“Cable news networks. Once you’re in the bank, I want you to call them and tell them where you are and that they need to be there, filming by four twenty-five. I want them recording it live when it happens. I’ll call you again when you’re at the bank.”

The man hung up.

Calvin cancelled his lecture for this afternoon so he could help us, a gesture that, as much as I appreciated it, definitely took me by surprise. I’d left him alone a few minutes ago so he could focus on his algorithms and now, as I headed to my desk, I saw Radar lowering his phone’s receiver. He was breathing heavily, staring at a shoebox on his lap. He looked shaken.

“Hey, you alright?”

He looked my way. “Sure.”

But he didn’t look sure. “Something up?”

He shook his head, then covered the box carefully with the lid. Stood. “Just Gayle. I need to step out for a bit. If I get any calls, take a message and have the dispatcher pass it along to me.”

“So everything’s okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it’s just, something came up with one of the kids. Tod.”

“Get sick at school?”

Radar looked distracted.

“I mean school’s not out yet. Did he get sick? I just didn’t know if-”

“Yeah, no. He’s at home. He’s safe.”

He picked up his keys. “I’ll be on the radio, okay? Call me if anything comes up.”

“Okay.”

He started for the hall.

“Hey, Radar.”

He turned and looked at me.

“Why did you put it that way?”

“What way?”

“You said, ‘He’s safe.’ Why didn’t you just say, ‘He’s okay’?”

“He is,” he assured me. “He’s okay. I’ll talk to you in a minute.”

And then, with the box tucked under his arm, he left for the stairs.