Chain of Souls (Salem VI) by Jack Heath, John Thompson Page A
Authors: Jack Heath, John Thompson
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John opened his eyes to an empty bed and a blistering hangover. He slipped on a robe and slippers and stumbled downstairs to find Amy already in the kitchen cooking bacon and eggs. The smell of the food nearly made him lose whatever was in his stomach and he went to the front door, opened it, and stood in the cold morning wind, shivering and sucking in breaths of sea-scented air and telling himself he had to quit hammering the booze.
When he was fairly sure he wouldn't throw up, he stooped down and picked up that morning's copies of
The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal,
and
The Washington Post
and brought them inside.
He took the papers out of their plastic bags and scanned the front pages of each, seeing the world headlines but thinking they were wrong somehow, missing something huge, and that each paper should be trumpeting the terrible tragedy of the previous evening's kidnapping.
Back in the kitchen he collapsed into the same chair he had sat in the previous evening when he'd polished off his bottle of Basil Hayden's, then he fumbled his cell phone from the pocket of his robe and checked for missed phone calls, text messages, or emails. Nothing.
"I called Andrew Card last night, didn't I?" he croaked.
"And his boss."
John put his face in his hands. He so much wanted to believe that he could dial her number on the phone and hear her voice, but he knew it wasn't possible. He almost didn't move when his phone started to vibrate. He fished it again from the pocket of his robe, looked at the number, and saw that it was blocked.
He punched the answer button. "Hello?" he said sounding hoarse and excited.
"Mr. Andrews?"
"Yes?"
"This is Captain Steve Rothstein of the Massachusetts State Police. You called me last night on a matter of some urgency?"
"Yessir. I've been trying to reach Captain Andrew Card in your organization. I have some very important information to give him."
"What kind of information?"
"If you don't mind, I'd rather communicate it directly to Captain Card."
"I'm afraid that's going to be difficult."
A sudden cold dread rose up in John's stomach. "Did something happen to Captain Card?"
"Not that I'm aware of. The problem is that there is no one by that name in our organization. There was a person with that name, but he left the state police several years ago. Are you sure you have the right police force?"
"Massachusetts State Police. That's who he's with. I'm sure of it."
"And you say he's a captain?"
"Yes, I've got his card right here." John went to his wallet where it lay on the counter beside his keys. His hands shook from a combination of his hangover and his sudden fear as he opened the billfold, fished out the now wrinkled card, and read it out loud. "Captain Andrew A. Card. Massachusetts State Police."
"Who gave you that card?"
"The person who claimed it was his."
"I'm sorry to say that there is no such person as Andrew Card on our force at the present time."
John's throat was dry as sand. "Can you please check your records once more? Card may be with some sort of special unit. Maybe he doesn't show up on your roster."
"I checked the entire roster, sir. It sound like you've had someone impersonating a police officer, which is a very serious crime. Now why don't you tell me what this is all about."
John opened his mouth and then closed it again. "I can't," he said and hung up.
John sat in the chair for the next hour, nibbling at a few pieces of toast and then staring at absolutely nothing, his brain too stunned to even let him move. Amy worked around him in silence, cleaning up the kitchen until she finally dropped into a chair across from him.
"Okay, you're in shock right now. These people have hit you with a Pearl Harbor attack. Your daughter is gone and now you've found out that a man you thought was on your side was some kind of an impostor."
John shook his head and tried to focus his eyes on her face. He shook his head as the unorganized thoughts came tumbling out. "How
When he was fairly sure he wouldn't throw up, he stooped down and picked up that morning's copies of
The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal,
and
The Washington Post
and brought them inside.
He took the papers out of their plastic bags and scanned the front pages of each, seeing the world headlines but thinking they were wrong somehow, missing something huge, and that each paper should be trumpeting the terrible tragedy of the previous evening's kidnapping.
Back in the kitchen he collapsed into the same chair he had sat in the previous evening when he'd polished off his bottle of Basil Hayden's, then he fumbled his cell phone from the pocket of his robe and checked for missed phone calls, text messages, or emails. Nothing.
"I called Andrew Card last night, didn't I?" he croaked.
"And his boss."
John put his face in his hands. He so much wanted to believe that he could dial her number on the phone and hear her voice, but he knew it wasn't possible. He almost didn't move when his phone started to vibrate. He fished it again from the pocket of his robe, looked at the number, and saw that it was blocked.
He punched the answer button. "Hello?" he said sounding hoarse and excited.
"Mr. Andrews?"
"Yes?"
"This is Captain Steve Rothstein of the Massachusetts State Police. You called me last night on a matter of some urgency?"
"Yessir. I've been trying to reach Captain Andrew Card in your organization. I have some very important information to give him."
"What kind of information?"
"If you don't mind, I'd rather communicate it directly to Captain Card."
"I'm afraid that's going to be difficult."
A sudden cold dread rose up in John's stomach. "Did something happen to Captain Card?"
"Not that I'm aware of. The problem is that there is no one by that name in our organization. There was a person with that name, but he left the state police several years ago. Are you sure you have the right police force?"
"Massachusetts State Police. That's who he's with. I'm sure of it."
"And you say he's a captain?"
"Yes, I've got his card right here." John went to his wallet where it lay on the counter beside his keys. His hands shook from a combination of his hangover and his sudden fear as he opened the billfold, fished out the now wrinkled card, and read it out loud. "Captain Andrew A. Card. Massachusetts State Police."
"Who gave you that card?"
"The person who claimed it was his."
"I'm sorry to say that there is no such person as Andrew Card on our force at the present time."
John's throat was dry as sand. "Can you please check your records once more? Card may be with some sort of special unit. Maybe he doesn't show up on your roster."
"I checked the entire roster, sir. It sound like you've had someone impersonating a police officer, which is a very serious crime. Now why don't you tell me what this is all about."
John opened his mouth and then closed it again. "I can't," he said and hung up.
John sat in the chair for the next hour, nibbling at a few pieces of toast and then staring at absolutely nothing, his brain too stunned to even let him move. Amy worked around him in silence, cleaning up the kitchen until she finally dropped into a chair across from him.
"Okay, you're in shock right now. These people have hit you with a Pearl Harbor attack. Your daughter is gone and now you've found out that a man you thought was on your side was some kind of an impostor."
John shook his head and tried to focus his eyes on her face. He shook his head as the unorganized thoughts came tumbling out. "How
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