The Investigators—Chapter 2

This work is copyright Amanda Mayne November 2011.

Young came into the office with a box of doughnuts, "The Penshaws are coming in a few minutes, they're going to bring us the photos they said they had."

When Ackerley didn't respond, Young set the doughnuts on the counter and looked into the backroom. It was empty.

"Ackerley, where are you?" Young grumbled to himself. He checked his watch, wondering who would arrive first, his partner or his clients.

Sure enough, the Penshaws arrived even before Ackerley called in and said he would be late.

Young sat across from them at a cheap card table on cheap folding chairs that didn't match each other, let alone the table. And as ugly as they were, Young had to admit he was a little bit glad when Ackerley brought them over from the thrift store across the street. Eventually that would have a nice executive- looking wooden table, oak probably, with padded wooden chairs, but since they couldn't even pay the rent from one month to the next, Young and Ackerley would have to wait. And if this case went through that day might be sooner than later.

Derek and Lydia Penshaw looked hopeful. No that was an understatement, they looked excited. Young didn't want them to get their hopes up too soon in the game, but the excitement was contagious ad he thought of all the things he and Ackerley could buy with the promised reward money, $40,000, if they cracked this case, plus $150 a day they worked on it until then.

Mr. Penshaw pulled out a thin folder from his fat, full briefcase. Written on it in pen was only one word, the name of their daughter, Tara. He opened it and held up an official looking document.

"This is what the tip- line sent us that said our daughter may have been sighted in this town."

He put the paper back when Young reached over to grab it, and handed him a wallet- size portrait in its place.

"This is a photo of our daughter at four years old, it was taken the same year she went missing, was kidnapped."

He then handed over a 4x6 photo. The face was of a woman in her late- 20's to early- 30's. Her face looked strikingly familiar to Young, but he couldn't place where he'd seen her.

"This is the woman that our daughter was last seen with. We'd find her ourselves, but she's probably changed her name and look. That's why we're hiring professionals, that's why we're hiring you."

Young merely nodded, not wanting to admit that Torchlit was probably premature, and the familiarity of the suspects face was still nagging him in the back of his brain.

"I know two photographs aren't a lot to go on to find our daughter, but we're paying you enough that you shouldn't have any problems." It was the only thing Lydia had said the whole duration of their consultation.

The Penshaws got up to leave, their doughnuts untouched on the counter. Young then realized he did know that woman. She walked her dog past his house a few times a week. He knew her by look, but she'd probably never seen him. That could be an important asset in their investigation. He was about to tell the Penshaws that he thought he recognized the woman his sudden realization, but a feeling or thought, almost like a voice in his head, told him to keep the information to himself for the time being.

As the bell above the door signaled that the Penshaws had gone, Young was suddenly glad that Ackerley hadn't been there. He would have recognized the baker immediately and would have told the Penshaws so. Even though he didn't understand it, Young was glad that the Penshaws didn't know where to find their only suspect.

Young stood at his front door, looking out the small round window. He was waiting for the girl whose picture the Penshaw's had showed him. He finally remembered where he had seen her. She jogged past his house everyday, sometimes with a golden retriever, but most the time she ran alone. He didn't think she had ever seen him, because usually when he saw her he was in his car ready to leave for work, or getting his mail, and she always seemed in her zone. He imagine she had earbuds in and just let the whole world fade away. It was just her and her excercise. At lest that's how it was when he worked out.

The problem was, this woman wasn't like clockwork. Sometimes she ran past at 9am, sometimes it wasn't until he was coming home from work at almost 7pm.

But today Young didn't have to wait more than 15 or so minutes before the blonde woman came jogging past, today with her cocker spaniel. He waited until she reached the end of the block before he stepped outside himself. Good thing it was a nippy day. He pulled on a beanie as he started at a steady pace.

He would jog slowly, or speed walk while she was in sight, he decided, and when she turned a corner he'd sprint to catch up.

This plan worked for a good half hour before Young completely lost the woman. He wasn't in as good a shape as he thought he was. He never missed a workout, but he had to admit that he was a slacker when it came to cardio and aerobics.

Young walked back to his home, cursing himself the whole way. Now what was he going to do? Would he try again tomorrow? Certainly even she would notice she was being followed if it happened two days in a row. Or maybe he hadn't been as careful as he thought and she had seen him and did know she was being followed and purposely lost him. He couldn't say. And speculating about how he lost her or if she had seen or would see him wasn't actually helping him formulate a plan to find out who she was and where she lived.

No, he wasn't going to run after her tomorrow. He'd already been humiliated that he couldn't catch up. He'd have to follow her in his car, but he'd have to be very careful about it. It would be easier to notice being noticed by a car than by a man on foot. Because even at top running speed, a car driving that speed would look suspicious. How was this possibly going to work?

When he arrived at his house, Young stomped through the living room, pulling off his jacket and hat, kicking off his shoes, just leaving the articles in the middle of the living room floor. He stormed down the stairs where he went to brood. The room was a vacant bedroom, that still had the bed and a lot of the items that belonged to the last occupant of the room. Many times he'd fallen asleep on that bed after a bad day like today. He looked at the minnie mouse clock across the room it wasn't even noon yet and he'd already made up his mind that today was a lousy day.

He couldn't just let this kidnapper jog out of his life, not when there was an innocent little girl involved. He sat up, with a new determination. Brooding was over. This wasn't about him being a fast runner or a good detective. This was about a little girl who had been taken away from the parents who loved her. No parent should have their child, their little princess taken away from them at such a young age.

She was only eight, he thought, thinking far away thoughts. Then he corrected himself. Tara Penshaw was four when she was kidnapped, she'd be eight now. Eight years old.

He had to find this girl no matter what it would take.

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