The Investigators—Chapter 3

This work is copyright Amanda Mayne November 2011.

Young awoke at the usual time the next morning. Five am sharp. He didn't have any reason to get up that early, and he wouldn't call himself a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a habit he had picked up from sleepless nights. His biological clock would not let him sleep past 5, and now he had become used to it. But he still stood by what he had always believed: the worst part of everyday is having to leave your comfy bed, and your dreams, behind in the morning.

He wanted to get some thinking done before he called Aaron. He had no idea what time Ackerley woke up on Saturday, but he didn't care either. He would call him at 7 o'clock. It seemed a civilized time to assume one would at least be out of bed.

He had decided sometime last night that there was no one he could find this girl on his own. At least not with the method he had thought up, namely following her until she led him to her home. Ackerley was sharp, if not inexperienced. He had only been a detevtive for about, how long had Torchlit been in business? One month longer than that. He was in his late twenties where Young was in his mid- thirties and had ten years of detective work behind him. Not that it mattered. All he was worth now was the profits made at Torchlit, which at the moment were inching towards the negative numbers.

Once he had been a successful cop, working his way quickly through promotion to promotion. Being a detective is what he had dreamed of since he was a kid. He had loved to sit in front of the tv, a lot longer and more often than his mother liked, and soak in the cop dramas and mysteries. He remembered he had like Macgyver, though he, Macgyver, wasn't really a cop or a detective per se, but now, years later, for the life of him, the only thing Craig Young could remember about the show was what they recreated on mythbusters.

Ackerley was eager to join Young in this business endeavor. There wasn't room for him on the local police forse, and there wasn't enough money in the town to make room. So, when he heard about an ex- detective coming out of "retirement" and starting his own agency, Ackerley had jumped at the opportunity.

Young hadn't really wanted a partner. He hadn't wanted to rent an office. He didn't want his business to be named "Torchlit Investigations." But in the end Aaron rubbed off on him, and eventually so did all his quirks. Well, he still wasn't sure about the Torchlit thing, it sounded like some secret agency from some science fiction show. But it was a name, which was more than Young could come up with on his own.

Well, it was about 7, so time to call Aaron and bounce the ideas off him.

The phone rang six times before Young decided to hang up. Ok, he'd wait until eight o'clock.

Young slumped down on his sofa and stared blankly at his television, deciding whether or not to turn it on.

"I guess I could watch the morning news." He thought aloud.

He click on the tv and switched to channel 5. But after about ten minutes of that and still no weather the sports came on and he switched the tv off again.

Then he decided to make some breakfast. He pulled out the only cookbook he had left, he'd given the rest to good will after . . . a long time ago. The one he had left had been his grandmothers and many pages were falling out or missing. At least he assumed it was his grandmother's because no one in heck was it his mothers. He could remeber her cooking a meal that didn't come out of a box except maybe once or twice at a Thanksgiving.

He found a recipe for crepes that sounded esy, but turned out to be the hardest thing he had ever tried to cook in his life. He threw the batter out and looked at the clock. 7:25. Forget this! He would just show up at Ackerley's house. That way he'd have to get out of bed and answered the door instead of just letting his phone vibrate and roll over and go back to sleep.

Ackerley was twenty five years old. He'd gotten his degree in criminal justice two years earlier, but hadn't been able to find a real steady job that didn't require moving. He liked Colorado. That's where he grew up. Colorado was where his family was, and skiing and mountains and red rocks. Everything he had known or loved in his life was in Colorado and he wasn't about to leave it.

Aaron was very comfortable working alongside Craig Young, a man known around as Mr. Scrooge. To strangers it seemed Young hated everyone and looked down on them. But Aaron had discovered that Young was just deeply introverted. He didn't like to put himself out there. And he didn't like to let anyone in. Aaron wouldn't have been surprised to learn that he was Craig's only friend.

But the friendship was wearing thin, or so it seemed to Aaron when his doorbell awoke him at 7:45. Who on earth was waking him before 9 o'clock on a Saturday? Who ever it was was going to feel his wrath.

Aaron threw on some pants and slippers and headed for the door. The cold October air chilled him as he invited Young in.

"What are you doing at my house, Craig?"

"Ackerley, I've been doing some . . . reconassance, um without you." He eaxplained, llooking somewhat ashamed.

Then Craig explained how he had had that meeting with the Penshaws and how he had thought he knew the woman they claimed was the kidnapper.

"But I didn't tell them, because I had to be sure. And now I know I'm sure. It's the same woman. But I don't know who she is, where she lives, or how to find out. I tried to follow her this morning but--"

"Wait, slow down," his young partner interupted, "You followed who? I'm a little confused. You know the woman in the photograph, but you don't? You don't know where she lives, but you followed her? You aren't making any sense."

Young started over from the beginning.

"As I sat across the table from the Penshaw's looking at that photgraph I recognized her. She jogs past my house almost every day, sometimes twice a day. Sometimes with a dog. But I didn't tell the Penshaw's I recognized her."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't want to get their hopes up or . . . I don't know it's like . . . I felt like I shouldn't. It was almost like there was a voice inside me telling me not to tell them that I recognized her."

"Sounds a little nuts, to me."

"It is nuts. But when she jogged past my house this morning at 5:30, I knew it was the same woman."

"5:30?! What time do you get up man? It's SATURDAY!"

"That's not the point." Craig's patience was wearing thin. "The point is I don't know who she is or where she lives or . . . I don't know where to begin. I haven't had a REAL case in SO long, Aaron!!"

"Well, if it makes you feel anybetter, I've never had a REAL case, at least not by your definition of a real case."

"Somehoe that doesn't make me feel any better, but thanks for trying." Young paced across Ackerley's living room in long strides. "Do you have any . . . breakfast?"

"That depends. Are you going to promise to let me in on all details and activities going on in this case?"

"Yes."

"Fine. I hope you like cold cereal."

"I hate it. Where are the bowls?"

While they sat and ate Young pulled out the pictures for Aaron to look at.

"Sorry nothing is clicking."

"Ok, so the Penshaw's told me her name was Amelia, but that she had most likely changed it. Which makes sense and sounds perfectly plausible to me. What do you think?"

"Ya, sure."

Young rolled his eyes and began tapping his spoon on his bowl while he thought. She always jogged past his house, but not at any particular time and he couldn't catch her on foot. Tailing her in a car would be a lot harder to stay inconpiscous. She had a dog, but tracking that dog to a vet and then back to her would be much harder than just following her. They needed someone to help. Young wished more than ever now that he had connections, contacts, informations, whatever. Just someone who could do their reconnaissance.

But since he quit the force it was like the only person in town he knew was Aaron, and that was no good. In terms of being able to find this girl he was a step up from the blonde lady that worked at the bakery. Ok, so there was one other person in town that knew Craig was alive.

"We need to go to the bakery," He said suddenly, and he started hitting the spoon harder against the bowl.

Maybe there was a chance the blonde lady knew this woman, pretty much everyone in town went to the bakery. That's part of the reason Craig got up so eary. The bakery opened at 6 and by 7:30 all the good stuff was gone, namely the maple donuts. Maybe she'd recognize her. It was worth a shot.

Suddenly the bowl broke in three pieces and milk and cheerios spread out all over the table, down the sides, and onto the floor.

"You just broke my bowl!" Aaron exclaimed.

"Sorry, I guess I got distracted. Why do you have carpet in your kitchen?" He asked looking at the floor under the table.

"I don't know, but you're cleaning it up!"

"So, tell me again why we're going to the bakery?" Aaron was sitting in the passenger's seat of the "company" car, a red 2004 Ford Focus with little leg room for anyone over 5 feet tall, fiddling with the radio.

"I have a . . . hunch," Young cringed inwardly, he hated that word, and the whole concept behind it, "I think we need to talk to the blonde lady."

"Is she the cranky one who scolds you about eating too much?"

"Um, no. That's the cranky witch lady. We want to see the blonde lady."

Aaron finally found a station he liked and turned the volume up. But it didn't matter, because Young was almost to the bakery. He parked the car on the road in front of the small building, and turned off the engine. He reached for the door handle when Aaron stopped him.

"Hey, wait until the songs over!"

But Young opened the car door anyway and headed for the bakery front door.

"Well, at least wait for me, I'm coming!" He called as he tried to get out of the car while he was still buckled in. He unclicked the belt, and ran to catch up with Young.

Young said a few cuss words under his breath and then yelled at his partner, "Go back and close the door!"

"Oops."

"Idiot."

As Ackerley went back to the car, sheepishly, Young walked into the bakery.

"Back already, Craig?" For the first time ever it made Young feel bad that she knew his first name and he just called her the blonde lady at the bakery. "Didn't I give you a half dozen doughnuts yesterday? Maybe Charlotte is right, you do eat too much."

She laughed a light laugh.

Aaron walked in the shop and waved at the baker.

"I'll help you in a minute, sir," she called.

Aaron's cheeks turned red, "I'm actually with him. He's my partner."

"Oh, Craig," She said, her cheeks began reddening as well, "I had no idea. How long have you been together?"

"Four months," Aaron said, before Young could stop him, "It's hard to make ends meet now day, though, you know. We might not even be able to pay next month's rent, and he's buying baked goods at least once a week."

"Wow, four months. That's amazing. Congratulations. I'm sure you'll find a way to pull through with the finances without cutting back on your baked goods." She winked.

"So when did you move in together?"

Both Aaron and Young protested at this comment.

"We don't live together. It's nothing like that." Young said, angrily glaring at his partner.

"But you said . . . rent?"

"We're business partners. We're renting office space on main street. Torchlit Investigations. Which is actually why we're here."

"Ok, I'm listening, I'm not like a suspect am I?" She folded her arms across her chest and stared them down. When they didn't answer immediately she added, "I liked it better when I thought you were gay."

"You're not a suspect," Ackerley began.

"But we figured since you know everyone in town you might help us locate our suspect." Young finished.

Young pulled out the picture of the women with the short hair and slid it across the counter to the baker.

"What's your name, by the way?"

She pointed to her name tag: Jenna.

"Oh, Jenna. What a lovely--"

"That's Elle Bennett you got there." She slid the photo back. "Now you gonna buy something?"

"I bought half a dozen doughnuts yester--" But Young melted under her scowl, "Ok, maybe just a dozen sweet rolls."

"That's better."

The two detectives left the shop half an hour later with a bag full of groceries and a name: Elle Bennett.

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