Detective Nolan Hudson snapped his fingers several times in an attempt to get the attention of the man standing before him, and then said testily, “Hey, pal, can you stop ogling my footwear and answer the question?”
Clarence Eugene Garvey slowly looked up from Detective Hudson’s expensive brown boots, smiled coyly. “I’m sorry, detective, but I really like your boots. Are they Hush Puppies?”
Nolan’s eyebrows went up. “How did you know they were Hush Puppies?”
Garvey cocked his head and smiled even more. “I have a bit of a boot fetish, if truth be told. Weird? Yeah, I guess, but I’ve always loved when people wear boots.”
Nolan tried unsuccessfully not to roll his eyes and said, “Any possible way you can tear your thoughts away from my boots and answer my question?”
“What was the question again, Detective Hudson?” Garvey asked sincerely.
Nolan sighed in exasperation. This weirdo was doing the river dance on his very last nerve. All the young detective wanted to do was finish this interview and get back to the station. Hopefully, the information he had subpoenaed from Carter Bannon’s internet service provider would arrive sooner rather than later, because, finally, after almost a week of investigating, Nolan had finally started making some headway on the missing person’s case. Not a lot of headway, but definitely some forward momentum.
“Are you sure you never met a newspaper intern or college student named Carter Bannon?” Nolan repeated as he showed a picture of the nineteen-year-old kid.
Garvey shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve never heard of or met Carter Bannon. Should I have?”
Nolan shrugged unconsciously. “Not sure. He’s a college kid who went missing about a month ago. He was investigating the Hunter case for the paper and interviewing witnesses who were listed on the police report. He never talked to you?”
Garvey glanced at Nolan’s boots quickly and that back at the detective. “Nope. He never interviewed me. One of your detectives talked to me a couple times back in January or February about the missing detective. You said the kid was doing a story on the detective’s disappearance and now he’s missing too?”
Nolan nodded. “Yeah. Apparently around the time he was conducting follow up interviews with all the listed witnesses.”
Garvey looked surprised. “That’s creepy. Do I need to get a lawyer or something?”
Nolan looked at his notes again, saw that he had written down Gavey’s information and that his date of birth was February 29, 1996 – a leap year baby. He looked back up and saw Garvey was gawking at his boots again.
Nolan snapped his fingers. “Mr. Garvey, up here!”
Garvey looked up slowly and gave Nolan a sheepish grin. “Sorry officer, I really like boots and I really admire your style. Those are sharp boots. Bet they cost you a pretty penny.”
Nolan nodded. “They weren’t cheap. But regarding your question, I don’t think you need a lawyer, but it’s your right to retain one if you wish.”
“Any luck on finding this Carter kid?” Garvey asked.
Nolan cocked his head. “I’m starting to get a little traction so hopefully something breaks soon.”
Before Garvey responded, Nolan’s cellphone buzzed in his pocket. He excused himself, fished it out and answered, “Detective Hudson.”
“Detective Hudson, this is Emily Dester,” the woman on the other side of the line said.
“Hey, Ms. E,” Nolan said. “What’s up?”
Emily Dester was the Jacksonville Police Department’s administrative assistant assigned to the Missing Persons Unit. She said, “A gentleman from the Echols County, Georgia, Tax Collectors Office just called for you. He said he found the information you wanted and emailed it to the address you provided him.”
“Thanks, Ms. E,” Nolan said happily and disconnected the call. Because of some stupid state regulation, employees could not receive work emails on their personal phones. So, he would have to go back to the office to get the information. Still, the chance that he could have a name and then they could go check out the property in Georgia, at least filled him with a little hope.
“Was that good news, Detective?” Garvey said.
Nolan put his phone back in his pocket and started heading for his vehicle. “Hopefully, Mr. Garvey. We will soon see.”
Garvey followed Nolan back to his car saying, “If I can be of any other assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask. Good luck in finding the kid…and the cop too!”
Nolan nodded as he jumped into the running Ford Taurus unmarked police cruiser, put on the seatbelt, put it in reverse and backed out of the space faster than he had intended. He unintentionally spun the tires as he pulled out of the Department of Transportation lot and turned toward Interstate 95.
Nolan Colt Hudson was a twenty-three-year-old detective and had only been working with the Jacksonville Police Department for a little over two-and-a-half years. He was assigned to Missing Persons when Brian Hunter went missing and the administration assumed the missing detective was not coming back anytime soon. Nolan’s uncle was the Chief of Detectives and used his position to get a relatively inexperienced Nolan into that vacated slot. Therefore, most everyone in the Missing Persons Unit assumed Nolan was only there because of nepotism, but if they had paid him any attention, they would have noticed that he was a gifted investigator with a keen sixth sense and a dogged mentality that pushed him to exceed all standards.
Nolan had, since his arrival in the unit almost four months previous, had an exemplary record. He had tracked down several missing adults and children – one of the children who was in the custody of a sexual predator – and was not afraid to tackle the tough cases. Unfortunately, his exemplary work went unnoticed by his peers and superiors. Not only because of the nepotism belief, but because of his personality.
Nolan was a little aloof at times and a bit narcissistic. Everyone in the office said he was a fashionista, but Nolan disagreed with their assessment. He thought he was more of a metrosexual. He liked to look good, took pride in his appearance and always outshined his peers in effort, work product and fashion. On the typical day when everyone in the office was wearing button-down shirts and khakis, Nolan was wearing an expensive, tailored suit and tie. Even on this particular day, what was known as a Dress Down Friday, while his co-workers were all wearing Levis, Jacksonville Jaguar polos and sneakers, he was wearing a State and Liberty white, cotton-spandex blend, short-sleeve button-down shirt, a dark blue Selvedge stretch jeans and dark brown Hush Puppies Hoyt Boots. His entire “dress down” outfit cost more than the Glock 17, two spare magazines, handcuffs and badge he wore on his limited edition Castano Polo belt!
Nolan stopped at a light, thought about activating his emergency lights and siren, decided against it and thought of the case he was working. He had been assigned the Carter Bannon disappearance on this past Monday and had made a little – be it not very much – headway. Carter had been interning at the local paper and was working with a reporter named Tom Dean. Carter was researching information on Detective Hunter’s disappearance the previous January by reinterviewing witnesses. According to Tom Dean, Carter had interviewed the three highway troopers to last see Hunter on the side of the interstate back in January. All three state troopers verified this to be true. The only other witness listed on the original report was a DOT employee that one of the troopers mentioned had been on the scene when he arrived, but Dean was adamant that Carter never reinterviewed the DOT employee. In fact, Dean said he told Carter not to interview Garvey.
Carter’s parents, who lived in New Jersey, contacted the Jacksonville Police after two weeks when they could not get in touch with their son. A report had been filed, but it took almost another week before it made its way to Nolan’s desk.
Nolan had subpoenaed Carter’s cellphone records, email, GPS and internet search information. These types of companies were notoriously anti-law enforcement and took their time on turning over the required data. On Wednesday, Nolan had received the email information, but there was nothing there to assist the investigation. The next day, Thursday, he was informed that the cellphone provider could no longer provide location information on their customers because of a change to their software. This sounded like a bullshit excuse at best to Nolan, but nothing he could do about that in the short term.
This morning, the cellphone provider had emailed him a list of calls that Carter had made during the month of July, up until the day he disappeared. Also, Carter’s internet service provider has emailed a list of sites that Carter had visited on the day he disappeared.
Nolan discovered that the last call Carter had made was to the Jacksonville Police Department’s Missing Persons Unit. Ms. Emily Dester remembered taking the call and said the caller wanted to talk to the detective in charge of the Brian Hunter missing person case. She added that she forwarded the request for a call back to Detective Salazar, who was the lead detective on the Hunter case. Salazar told Nolan that he tried to call the number back a week later but no one answered. Nolan did inquire why it took him a week to call Bannon back, and Salazar claimed he had been busy. Nolan thought that was a bullshit excuse as well, but he bit his tongue.
Carter’s ISP had emailed the sites he had visited on the day he went missing, but only a general list. The last several sites he had visited were every possible social media site and then county tax records of Jacksonville, every surrounding county and then outlying counties. The last search was Echols County, Georgia. Unfortunately, this list was not specific in that it did not show exactly what Carter was looking for, but rather it was only the sites he visited.
Fortunately, Nolan found a helpful woman, after twenty minutes of talking to robots and playing phone tag, at Carter’s ISP. After he explained he was working on a missing person case with the possibility of foul play involved, she broke company protocol and looked up the specific information that Carter had been researching. She told Nolan that Carter Bannon had been looking up tax records for an unincorporated area near the town of Needmore, and she even provided Nolan with the address.
Next, Nolan contacted the Echols County Tax Collector’s Office and found another helpful person. An older gentleman looked up the information and discovered the property in question was owned by a limited liability company called Cool Protege, LLC. There was absolutely zero information about Cool Protege, LLC on the internet, and the tax collector employee stated the property appeared to have been recently transferred from private ownership to that LLC within the last few weeks. The gentleman promised to look up the previous owner’s name but it might take a couple hours.
Nolan gave the man his cell number, the office number and his email address. He promised to expedite Nolan’s request and had apparently come through in only two plus hours.
Nolan had decided to interview Clarence Garvey to ensure he did not talk to Carter Bannon. He traveled to the DOT yard and had to have the DOT dispatcher radio Garvey to return. It took almost an hour, but he arrived and, unfortunately, did not shed any light on the situation. Not that Nolan thought Garvey would, but he was just trying to keep the case moving forward now that he had the slightest momentum.
Also, because he had always believed the Bannon case was linked to Detective Brian Hunter’s disappearance – a theory that Nolan’s superiors and peers in the Missing Persons Unit vehemently disagreed with – he had asked for and received,from the DOT dispatcher, Clarence Garvey’s work schedule over the past two years. He wanted to see if Garvey was working on the nights that the seven men – the seven men that Detective Hunter thought were a pattern and had pushed his lieutenant and sergeant to conduct proactive deployments to apprehend a possible serial abductor and/or killer – had disappeared. Nolan also figured he would check to see if Garvey was working the dates that Hunter and Carter Bannon also went missing, just to officially scratch him off the list of potential suspects.
Nolan glanced at the papers on the passenger seat that annotated Garvey’s work schedule over the last two years. He figured it would be a waste of time, but better to check all the boxes. Garvey was definitely an oddball, but Nolan did not get a bad vibe from the guy. The light finally turned green, and Nolan sped off toward the I-95 on ramp.
He pulled the Taurus onto the interstate, heading toward downtown and laid down on the accelerator. He was driving faster than he should, wanted to get to the station as quickly as possible, when a warning light illuminated on his dashboard. It was a horseshoe-shaped light with an exclamation point in the center. Then, before he could do anything else, the vehicle dipped to the left and the steering wheel began to shake in his hand.
Nolan slowed the Taurus, put on his flashers and made his way to the left shoulder. Nolan knew he had a flat. He put the car in park, shut down the engine and exited the vehicle. Sure enough, the front driver’s side tire was completely flat.
The August morning was already turning brutally hot, so Nolan decided not to waste any time. He popped the truck lid, emptied out all his assigned equipment and placed it on the side of the car away from the interstate. Once the trunk was empty of all his police gear, he pulled up the floor, revealing the spare tire. One of the only good things about vehicles that were purchased with a “police interceptor package’ was that they had a full-size spare.
Nolan began manhandling the jack out of a side compartment in the trunk that came with the vehicle, when a DOT Road Ranger truck pulled in behind the Taurus and activated the yellow emergency lights. Nolan could see that the man behind the wheel was Clarence Garvey. The light board in the truck bed extended up warning drivers to move over a lane.
Garvey exited the white pickup and said, “Fancy meeting you here, Detective? Flat?”
Nolan nodded. “Yeah.”
Garvey nodded. “Let me get my hydraulic jack. Don’t mess with that silly little thing that Ford pawns off as a car jack.”
Nolan smiled as he placed the ineffectual jack back in the side compartment in the trunk and pulled out the spare tire. Garvey walked over with a large hydraulic jack on four wheels and a long, steel handle. He also was carrying a four-way lug wrench.
“You’re a life saver, Mr. Garvey,” Nolan said.
Five minutes later, the unmarked polce vehicle was jacked up. Three minutes after that, the flat tire was removed. There were nine roofing nails all in one area of the flat.
“There’s your culprit,” Garvey said. “Probably fell off a work truck or maybe in the DOT yard.”
Nolan just wanted to get this done. He was starting to sweat and ready to get back into the air-conditioned interior of the Taurus.
He grabbed the spare, squatted down, started getting the tire on the lugs and said, “I appreciate the help.”
“No problem, Detective Hudson,” Gavey said from behind Nolan. “It’s truly my pleasure.”
Nolan had started to put the lug nuts on by hand when he thought about the roofing nails. How had so many gotten into the tire? He had seen a nail or two in one of his tires in the past, but never as many as nine.
It was like someone intentionally put those nails…Nolan thought.
Then his fingers stopped turning the last of the lug nuts, as he thought about what Garvey had said about the nail.
“Probably feel off a work truck or maybe in the DOT yard.”
Roofing nails in a DOT yard? Why would there be roofing nails in a DOT yard?
That’s when Nolan felt a slight prick behind his right ear. He reached back with his right hand, rubbed the area and then looked at his fingers. In the grime from changing the tire, he could definitely see a tiny spot of blood. Then, his sweating dramatically increased, his hands began to tremble, he became very confused and was overwhelmed with fatigue.
He slid onto his rump, spun around slowly and awkwardly and leaned his back against the front quarter panel of the Taurus. He looked at Garvey, who had a syringe in his right hand and a malicious smile on his face.
Nolan’s vision blurred and he tried to say something, but only was able to moan.
Garvey looked at the empty syringe, shrugged and said, “Insulin. I injected you with insulin. Probably not enough to kill you but enough to make you, shall we say, compliant.”
Nolan tried to reach for his sidearm, but his right hand would hardly obey his brain’s commands. Garvey put the syringe away in the pocket of his reflective jacket and knelt next to Nolan. He relieved the detective of his 9mm service weapon and placed it in the waistband of his work pants. He also took the two spare ammunition magazines and put them in his jacket pocket.
Garvey turned Nolan’s drooping head in his direction and said, “The dispatcher radioed me and said you had requested my work schedule. I’ll make it easy for you, my young, handsome detective. All the dates you will compare will match up to the nights that I was working. I’m very impressed with your deductive reasoning.”
Garvey then rolled Nolan onto his stomach and straddled him by sitting on Nolan’s rump. Nolan’s face was lying on his left cheek and looking at the new tire he had just started to affix to his police vehicle. His head was swimming and he felt like he had on his twenty-first birthday when he had gotten fallen down drunk.
“Sorry to ruin your nice, white shirt in the dirt and gravel,” Garvey said pleasantly. “It looks very sexy on your athletic frame, Detective Hudson.”
Nolan tried to bring his hands under his chest and push himself up, but his arms felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds each.
“But don’t worry,” Garvey continued. “You won’t be needing that shirt much longer. And, I could hear the other end of the conversation you had in the DOT yard. Your volume was somewhat loud, and I already know what information is waiting for you back in your office. Your hunch on Echols County, Georgia would most definitely lead you in the right direction.”
Nolan felt Clarence Garvey grab each of his wrists and pull them behind his back. His palms were placed together and held in Garvey’s left hand while he pulled the handcuffs from the case on Nolan’s belt. Garvey wrapped one of the steel cuffs around Nolan’s right wrist and ratcheted it tightly closed. He then repeated the process to Nolan’s left wrist, securing the detective’s hands in the small of his back with his own handcuffs.
As Garvey spun around and faced Nolan’s feet, he said, “The good news is that you will soon crack your case, Detective Hudson. In a matter of hours, you will know exactly what happened to Detective Hunter and young Carter Bannon.”
Nolan felt his immobile legs forced together as Garvey removed two plastic cable ties from a pocket in his reflective jacket. The cable tie was zipped around Nolan’s ankles and then directly below his knees. Then, Garvey watched the oncoming traffic. When he got a break in the approaching vehicles, he hoisted the bound and drugged Nolan over his shoulder and deposited his newest captive the now empty trunk of the Taurus.
Garvey glanced around again, ensuring no one saw what he had done, and then pulled a third cable tie from his jacket pocket. He threaded the plastic tie between the cable tie securing his captive’s ankles and bent Nolan’s knees back toward his rump. Garvey then threaded the ziptie around the chain connecting the handcuffs and zipped the tie tightly closed. Nolan’s cuffed wrists were now secured to his bound ankles – putting him in a constricting hogtie. Garvey then threw all the items that had previously been in the trunk, into the back seat of the Taurus. Once that was completed, he closed the doors and returned to the open trunk.
Garvey removed a wad of cloth from his pants pocket and crammed it into Nolan’s mouth. Then he pulled a roll of duct tape from his jacket pocket and wrapped the adhesive several times around the lower portion of the incapacitated detective’s face, effectively securing the gag.
He pulled off one more strip of duct tape, and before he applied it over Nolan’s eyes, said, “I’m going to drive my truck to an area it can be hidden for several hours. Then, I’ll returnand we will drive your car to my place. Until then, you going to have to sweat it out in the trunk.”
Nolan was barely holding on to consciousness but he continued to look at Garvey with unfocused eyes and moaned quietly into the gag.
“You might survive,” Garvey said, “and I hope you do, because you are quite a specimen and I can’t wait to play with my new toy. But, if you die from the excessive heat, you most certainly will have to deal with while in the trunk, that will most likely ensure your knowledge of me dies with you. I mean, if you thought I was actually the suspect you were looking for, you most certainly would have taken a backup to come and interview me, right?””
Garvey placed the tape over Nolan’s eyes, conducted a search of the detective’s pockets, removed the keys, cellphone and wallet and then slammed the trunk shut. Nolan was in utter blackness and his mind was beyond foggy. He slowly rolled onto his side and realized it was getting uncomfortably hot in the closed trunk. Nolan pulled sluggishly at his bound wrists and ankles. Even with his entire body slick with all the sweat, he could not slip his limbs free of the handcuffs or plastic restraints.
He realized that Clarence Garvey was the person who had abducted both Detective Brian Hunter and Carter Bannon – and probably many more. He also realized that he had ignored the evidence that was right in front of him – specifically how odd Garvey acted during the interview. Nolan stopped fruitlessly pulling at his secured limbs, exhaled a defeated sigh and drifted off into unconsciousness.
As Nolan came to, the first thing he comprehended was how cold he was. He was shivering from the cold that ebbed into his core. Then, the pain in his wrists flared and caused him to moan in discomfort. Through the dull, throbbing pain, he realized his hands were still secured, but they were no longer behind his back. Instead, they were held firmly above his head. He was still blindfolded and gagged, but he had been repositioned. His mouth was no longer packed with cloth and tape was not wrapped around the lower portion of his face. Instead, a large round object filled his mouth and seemed secured with a thick strap. There was no longer tape over his eyes, but he seemed to be wearing what felt like a skin-tight nylon hood over his head which completely cut off all light and sight.
His wrists were still cuffed together and pulled upward tautly. With all his unconscious weight pulling on his suspended handcuffed wrists, that discomfort caused Nolan to get his feet under him to take the pressure off his wrists and shoulders. Once the pain subsided to a level that did not make him feel like his hands were about to be ripped from his arms, he realized his ankles were still bound together as well as the area just below his knees. Even standing, Nolan’s arms were still suspended above him with almost no ability to move in the slightest. Nolan rolled his head and unknowingly moaned again into the restrictive gag.
Without any notice or fanfare, the hood was quickly pulled off. The room Nolan found himself was dank and dim. In the gloom, he could ascertain he was in the center of a room with a poured concrete floor. Nolan looked up and saw his wrists were indeed still secured in his own handcuffs. A thin metal chain was secured to the connecting chain between the cuffs with a silver ring buckle carabiner with a screw hook lock and the thin chain disappeared upward in the darkness.
Nolan looked down and saw that his ankles and knees were bound with white rope. The cable ties had obviously been replaced. He was no longer wearing his shirt, but he still had on his tight jeans and boots. As he scanned the area he was hanging, he realized the walls were just far enough away to be hidden in shadows.
A hand touched his back and tenderly moved from his shoulder to his waist. Nolan knew he was not alone in the room when the hood was pulled off, but the touch still startled him and made him shudder.
The hand pulled away and Nolan could hear footsteps echoing as Clarence Garvey walked around his right side. Garvey walked forward, grabbed a barstool, placed it directly in front of Nolan and sat down. Garvey looked Nolan up and down slowly. Then he looked into his eyes and smiled a devilish grin.
“I’m glad you’re still alive, Detective Hudson,” Garvey said. “I was so worried that either the insulin or the heat would have done you in. I’ve lost a couple over the years that I used the insulin on. It’s difficult getting the dose right, and I always error on the side of caution. Can’t have my prospective new toys less than compliant during the abduction.”
Nolan did not react to Garvey’s words. He figured it would be a waste of time and energy to mumble into the gag.
“You might not remember much from the roadside incident we shared,” Garvey said. “You were pretty out of it, but I surmised that you were on the cusp of figuring out our little enigma, Detective Hudson.”
Nolan tried to swallow but his painfully dry throat was uncooperative. Even the big, hard ball jammed into his mouth was mostly dry. Nolan figured that he was, at a minimum, extremely dehydrated, and he needed water badly.
“I most certainly was responsible for your dear co-worker’s, Detective Brian Hunter’s, disappearance,” Garvey said with an amused chuckle. “Would you believe that idiot was out there on the highway, doing a one-man undercover operation, trying to prove there was a serial abductor in the area?”
That explains why Hunter was on the side of I-95 and gave conflicting stories to different state troopers, Nolan thought.
“And I also was the one responsible for young Carter Bannon,” Garvey continued. “He somehow figured out that I might be involved, but instead of going to the police, Carter decided to snoop around my property. Unfortunately for him, he got tangled in one of my many traps.”
Nolan pulled at his cuffed wrists and quickly determined that his handcuffs were expertly applied.
“If you’re wondering, Detective Hudson, what happened to your co-worker,” Garvey continued, “I’m sorry to inform you that he is no longer functioning properly. He’s stored with my other toys that are no longer in working order.”
Nolan assumed Garvey was telling him that Brian Hunter was dead.
“Young Carter, on the other hand, is fully functional,” Garvey said with a smile. “The young lad is quite resilient and we have been having a wonderful time getting to know one another and playing my games.”
Clarence Garvey stood up and walked directly in front of Nolan’s secured form. He gently placed his right hand on Nolan’s naked chest and lightly pinched his left nipple. “Carter is one of three working toys I have here presently, Detective Hudson. You were about to be my fourth toy, but after reading through your case notes, I’m afraid I’ll have to change course.”
Garvey rolled Nolan’s nipple between his thumb and index finger while slowly applying more pressure. The action caused Nolan’s nipple to stand erect. Garvey repeated the action to Nolan’s right nipple with the same result.
Garvey smirked. “I sincerely wish you hadn’t figured most of my little scheme out, Detective Hudson. How I would have loved to play with you for the foreseeable future.”
Garvey stopped playing with Nolan’s nipples, reached into his work jacket and removed a bottle of water. “Are you thirsty, Detective Hudson?”
Nolan nodded.
Garvey unbuckled the gag and removed it. Nolan was shocked a ballgag that big could fit into his mouth. He flexed his sore jaw prior to Garvey opening the plastic bottle and slowly feeding the tepid contents to his prisoner. Nolan drank down the entire 20-ounce bottle in seconds. Garvey recapped the empty bottle and put it back in the pocket of his jacket.
Clarence Garvey retrieved the barstool and sat in front of Nolan again. He eyed his secured captive up and down slowly.
Nolan sighed a ragged breath and said in a raspy voice, “Garvey, are you saying Brian Hunter is dead?”
Garvey smiled. “Dead is such a permanent term. I prefer non-functional or broken.”
Ignoring Garvey’s statement, Nolan continued. “You said you have to change course instead of playing with me. What did you mean by that?”
Garvey cocked his head slightly, smiled again and then jammed the ballgag back into Nolan’s mouth. Once he had the gag positioned correctly and tightly buckled, he stood up and began to slowly caress Nolan’s chest. His hands made their way to his waist and then to his thighs over the tight jeans.
“I figured if young Mr. Carter Bannon could figure out that I was the person responsible for the rash of disappearances, it was only a matter of time before the authorities caught on,” Garvey said as he tenderly explored Nolan’s body.
“I changed ownership of my property over to a made-up LLC,” Garvey continued, as he circled Nolan and began caressing his ass, “but apparently that did not have the desired effect. Once you had gotten back to your desk and read the information you had requested, you would have known it was me. Add to that, the dates of the disappearances all lined up to nights I was working.”
Garvey squatted down and lovingly touched the Hush Puppies Hoyt Boots. “Boy, oh boy, Detective Hudson. I love these boots. I usually strip my new acquisitions as soon as I get them into my playroom, but I just want to admire you in those boots. Sexy as hell, Detective!”
Garvey took one last look at the boots and the stood. “I’ve always had an exit strategy, but never thought I would have to implement it so quickly, but alas…”
Garvey stepped back and admired his captive. “You are a handsome and sexy specimen, Detective Hudson. Now if you will excuse me for a minute. I have someone I want you to meet.”
Garvey spun on his heels and walked away into the gloom. Nolan could hear his step echoing off the concrete floor as he moved further away. He had no idea how long he had until his captor’s return but tried to calm his racing heart and quell his mounting anxiety. He pulled his arms downward as hard as his numb limbs would allow, but they hardly moved. He studied the screw hook ring buckle carabiner that connected his handcuffs to the chain suspending him in this position. Nolan knew that if he could get his fingers on the screw lock, he might be able to unscrew the lock and open the access to the carabiner. Once he accomplished that major feat, he thought he should be able to get his cuffed wrists free from the chain. Unfortunately, he knew he needed time free from Garvey’s watch and a lot of luck to accomplish that task.
Garvey’s echoing steps grew louder and he came into view with a naked and bound person over his shoulder. More light automatically illuminated as Garvey carried the bound person deeper into the room. He stopped and placed the person on his bound feet approximately 20 feet in front of Nolan.
The bound person was Carter Bannon. His wrists were cuffed behind his back and he was bound with white rope at the ankles and knees. He had a similar ballgag in his mouth that Nolan wore and was completely naked. He appeared to have no body hair from the eyebrows down. His white skin was marked with red welts and black and blue bruises. He looked at Nolan with fear-filled eyes and almost seemed to be begging for help.
Garvey lowered a chain from the ceiling, attached it to the handcuffs securing Carter’s wrists behind his back and raised the chain. This caused Carter’s arms to raise straight upward and forced him to bend forward at the waist. When he was completely immobile in the strappado position, Garvey walked to the closest wall and removed a riding crop.
Carter began wailing into his gag and shaking his head. He seemed to be begging his tormentor to not do what he was going to do.
Garvey looked at Nolan and said, “Young Master Bannon has been such a treat, Detective Hudson. I’m going to soften him up and then he will pleasure me. This is what awaited you, but like I said, plans have changed.”
With Carter still begging and pleading, Garvey walked behind the bent over young man and slapped the back of his thighs with the leather crop. Carter screamed into the gag and tears flowed down his cheeks.
Nolan yelled for Garvey to stop, but the ballgag prevented any words to convey.
The beating went on for five full minutes, and when Garvey stopped, he was covered in a sheen of sweat. Then he dropped the crop, walked around to the front of the crying Carter and removed the ballgag. Without missing a beat, Carter opened his mouth as Garvey unzipped his fly, pulled out his engorged cock and shoved it into the young man’s open orifice.
Carter appeared to eagerly work on the blowjob, thrusting his head up and down, but Garvey still grabbed him roughly by the hair and fucked his face angrily.
Nolan tried to look away but was transfixed at the sight before him. Mercifully, the act did not last long as Garvey blew his load into Carter’s mouth. He grabbed the back of the bound man’s head and forced his dick deep down the captive’s throat. When he withdrew and zipped his manhood back in his pants, Nolan could see sperm all over Carter’s lips, chin and even coming out his nose. Garvey shoved the ballgag back into Carter’s mouth, secured it tightly around the back of his head.
Garvey walked back toward Nolan saying, “It took no time making this fine young man into my willing cocksucker…among other things. I would have done the same to you, but…”
Garvey sat on the stool in front of Nolan again. “I mentioned my exit strategy earlier. I have an alternate site. Nowhere near here, I’m afraid. Because of young Carter’s snooping around in my affairs and your investigation, it’s only a matter of time before your clueless coworkers figure out my involvement. I will have, of course, been long gone by then.”
Garvey looked longingly at Nolan’s boots and sighed. “I wish I could bring you, young Carter and my other two toys with me, but the logistics of moving four captive men across the country is too daunting. Unfortunately, you will all have to remain here with my collection of non-functional toys.”
He looked up from the boots and into Nolan’s eyes. “I’ll have to render all four of you non-functional as well, but I do have enough time to play one last game with my toys.”
Garvey stood up and walked to the wall with items of torture and bondage hanging from hooks and pegs in the wall. He retrieved a set of leg shackles and walked to Carter. He knelt down, untied the ropes around his ankles and knees and snapped on the cuffs around each of Carter’s ankles. The two-foot chain between the cuffs would allow Carter to walk but not very quickly.
Next, Garvey removed the strappado tie and let Carter stand. He spun the young man around so that Nolan could see his cuffed wrists.
“See the handcuffs, Detective Hudson?” Garvey asked with a smile. “Those were Detective Hunter’s handcuffs. I cuffed Brian with his own handcuffs – much like you are secured with your own cuffs right now – until he became non-functional, of course.”
Garvey walked out of sight into the gloom again, but his footsteps could be heard clearly. He obviously was still close. Carter looked at Nolan as if begging for help. The fear in his eyes was palpable. Nolan nodded his head as if to say Don’tworry, but even Nolan knew that was most likely a pipe dream. They were all most likely going to die and there was little Nolan could do to stop the madness, unless…he looked again at the screw lock on the carabiner.
Garvey returned holding a Remington pump-action model 870 shotgun in his hands. He racked a round into the chamber, looked at Nolan and said, “This is the shotgun you had in your trunk, Detective Hudson. I’m going on safari. I’m going to take young Carter outside and give him a ten-minute head start. Then I’m going hunting for him. Once I’ve bagged my trophy, I’ll repeat the process with my remaining two toys. Doesn’t that sound invigorating?”
Nolan could see the absolute fear on Carter’s face.
“When I’m done big game hunting with my three toys,” Garvey continued, “I’ll finish by hunting you, Detective Hudson. Then, I’ll say goodbye to this place, relocate to my new facility and start my collection yet again.”
Garvey prodded Carter out of the room with the shotgun. Carter was staring at Nolan until he disappeared into the gloom, begging him with his eyes to be saved. The echoing of Garvey’s footfalls finally ended and Nolan was alone.
He had always kept a hidden handcuff key in his wallet in case he was held hostage in his own cuffs, but that key was obviously long gone. He looked in the direction Garvey and Carter had disappeared and then at the carabiner securing his cuffs to the chain above his head. He reached his fingers toward the screw lock and attempted to turn it. Unfortunately, his fingers were so numb he could not feel the screw lock.
Nolan stood on his toes. The action actually gave him some relief from the pressure exerted on his wrists from his body weight. He started to get a pins and needles sensation in his fingers.
Better than nothing, Nolan surmised, as he once again began to attempt and screw open the carabiner’s lock. At first, several minutes passed and Nolan found that he was unable to turn the lock. Maybe Nolan’s fingers were too numb and uncoordinated to properly grasp the lock, or possibly Garvey had applied superglue or torqued it down so tight that he would be incapable to screwing it open with his fingers.
Nolan groaned into the ballgag and cussed at his own ineffectiveness, when he saw, more than felt, the screw lock turn slightly. He stopped and looked to make sure he had not imagined what he thought he just saw, and then attacked the screw with renewed vigor. It took almost 20 minutes, but Nolan finally unscrewed the lock. He held the lock open with his tingling fingers and jumped up while pulling his wrists forward. The handcuff chain disengaged from the open carabiner and Nolan collapsed to the floor in utter exhaustion.
For some reason, the only thing Nolan could think of was that Garvey’s boot fetish, and him not completely striping Nolan naked, had assisted him. There was no way he would have been able to stand on his toes for that amount of time without the boots still being on his feet. There was no possible way he could have done that in bare feet.
Ripping his mind out of his revelry, Nolan internally screamed at himself to get moving. He was on the clock and could not waste time lying on the floor and patting himself on the back for his ingenuity. He sat up, got the ballgag unbuckled and removed it from his mouth. Next, he began to attack the rope binding his ankles. With his arms no longer suspected above his head, his hands quickly began to get feeling back in them. His dexterity was still clumsy but quickly improved. He got the knot untied and pulled the tight rope free. Then he repeated the process on the rope binding his knees together.
On shaky legs, Nolan stood up and staggered in the direction Garvey had led Carter Bannon away. He found himself in a darkened corridor with two heavy wooden doors on the left side and one on the right. The floors were poured concrete, the walls were cinderblock and the ceiling appeared to be heavy railroad ties.
He made his way down the corridor, ignoring the closed and apparently secured doors and entered another passageway similar to the one he just left. There was only one wooden door to the right and left, but other than that, it was exactly like the one he had come from. The archway at the end of the passageway led to a gloomy room. Upon entering, lights activated and Nolan saw sturdy shelving along every wall. On every shelf, there was a bundle wrapped in heavy duty plastic.
Nolan was about to continue making his way to a doorway on the far side of the room, when he looked at the bundles again.
“Holy shit…” Nolan muttered to no one.
Bodies! Nolan realized. All the bundles were bodies wrapped in a tarpaulin and cinched down tight with straps. The faint smell of rot could be detected, but the wrappings apparently were borderline airtight. There were nine bodies on each wall. Thirty-six in all!
“Mother of God…” Nolan said slowly.
Shaking, he brought his cuffed hands to his face unconsciously. Remembering the restraints shackling his wrists broke him out of his stupor. He took a deep, ragged breath, held it for several seconds, and then released it.
“Fuck!” Nolan whispered to himself and he ambled out the opening into another corridor. He followed the passageway and found himself in a 12×12 room. A single dim light fixture was on the ceiling and there were two chairs in the room – a comfortable looking padded chair and a stool. On the far side of the room, Nolan saw a steel prison-style sliding cell door and behind that he could see wooden staircase that led upward.
Nolan crossed the room quickly and attempted to slide the cell door but it was secured. He then saw the keypad mounted to the side of the cell door frame. It was the typical pad with 12 buttons – one through zero with a star and hashtag – and Nolan cursed quietly in frustration. There was a red light illuminated and what appeared to be a green light which was dark.
He hit buttons one through six and the red light flashed.
“Fuck me,” Nolan hissed.
He was about to go back into the passageway to search for another exit, when he stopped and looked back at the keypad. Nolan knew from several investigation courses he had taken that most passcodes, even passcodes for dangerous and demented criminals, were something easily remembered by the owner. Then, he remembered something that made him take notice when he first started looking into Clarence Garvey.
Nolan went to the keypad again, moved his cuffed hands to the numbers and pressed zero, two, two, nine, nine and six. The red light went dark as the green light lit and the locking mechanism disengaged. Nolan grabbed the steel handle and slid the cell door open with a loud clang.
Smiling in spite of his situation, Nolan muttered, “Son of a bitch!”
He could not believe that Garvey would make his passcode the numeric equivalent of his birthday, February 29, 1996.
“Psychos are people, too…” he said as he ran through the open cell door and up the creaky wooden stairs.
At the top of the stairs, a wood door, one much flimsier looking that the doors in the passageways, blocked Nolan’s path. Without much thinking, he turned the knob and it squeaked open into a dark room. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but then he could see he was in a sparsely furnished living room. The windows had the blinds down, but even with that, Nolan could tell it was dark outside.
He listened for a few seconds, heard nothing but his own breathing, and then walked into the room. He saw a kitchen off to his right and ran to the sink. He turned on the faucet and, using his handcuffed hands, he shoveled in handfuls of cool water. He continued drinking, seemingly unable to get enough, when he heard a report from a shotgun in the distance.
Nolan froze, silently chastised himself for his inactions, turned off the faucet and went to a door. He swung it open and found he was on a front porch which seemed to be old and in disrepair. He ran down the steps and into the barren front yard.
The grass was patchy and unkept and a worn dirt road led down a hill. The area was surrounded by pine trees in every direction. Having no idea where the shotgun blast had originated from, Nolan stood and listened to his surroundings. A minute later, he thought he heard something deep in the woods to his right. He started walking in that direction, listening intently, when another blast from the shotgun sounded somewhere in the pine forest directly in front of him.
Nolan took off in a run toward the echoing sound of the shotgun report. His hands being cuffed in front of his body did not allow him to run at his fastest pace, and the uneven terrain and trees impeded his progress, but his adrenaline helped him ignore the stiffness and pain in his arms and legs and move at a fast clip.
He made his way deeper into the woods and heard someone yell something unintelligible up ahead which made Nolan surmise he was heading in the correct direction. His tactical sense was telling him to slow down and make less noise, but he knew he had to throw caution to the wind. Any delay might prove fatal to Carter Bannon.
Nolan came into a small clearing and saw Carter slumped against a tree. He was still naked, his hands still cuffed behind his back, ballgag still in his mouth and ankles still shackled in the leg irons. Clarance Eugene Garvey stood in front of Carter – his back to Nolan – with the shotgun leveled at the young man’s torso. Garvey was saying something that Nolan could not hear, and he continued at full tilt toward Garvey’s back.
Just before they impacted, Garvey heard something behind him and glanced over his shoulder. He saw the shirtless detective just feet behind him and closing fast. Garvey surprise slowed his normally fast reflexes and was unable to maneuver out of Nolan’s way completely. Nolan lowered his shoulder into Garvey’s upper back and sent the man stumbling to his hands and knees.
Nolan stopped as quickly as he could, pivoted, and closed on Garvey who was in the process of getting back to his feet and unfortunately still had the Remington 12-gauge in his hands. Nolan threw his cuffed arms over Garvey’s head and pulled the handcuffs tightly against Garvey’s throat. He pulled back with all his strength in an attempt to strangle his captor.
Garvey threw his head back and connected with Nolan’s nose. It didn’t break, but the young detective saw stars and loosened his grip slightly. Garvey then brought the butt of the shotgun back past his body and impacted into Nolan’s belly. The impact caused Nolan to lose his breath, and Garvey slid out of the chokehold.
Nolan tried to press the attack, but he could not draw a breath and was hampered in his movements. Garvey buttstroked Nolan across the cheek with the stock of the Remington, causing the detective to crumple to the ground.
Nolan’s mind was screaming at him to get up and fight, but he was unable to breathe, exhausted and half-unconscious. He tried to stand but collapsed and rolled onto his back staring at the sky. Garvey stood over the fallen man and smiled.
Breathing hard, Garvey said, “You are full of surprises, Detective Hudson! I have no idea how you got free of your predicament nor out of the cellar, but you are obviously much more resourceful than I gave you credit for. Bravo, Detective!”
Nolan rolled onto his right side and pushed his upper body up with his planted elbow. Garvey aimed the shotgun at Nolan and chuckled.
“I would have loved to hunt you down last,” Garvey said. “I’m sure you would have been more sport than poor young Carter and his two other friends I have downstairs.”
Nolan rolled onto his hands and knees as he was finally able to take a deep breath.
Garvey shouldered the shotgun. “But all good things must come to an end, Detective Hudson. Goodbye, my young friend…”
Carter Bannon slammed into Garvey’s back, tossing him violently forward. The shotgun boomed and the buckshot round impacted the ground a foot from Nolan’s head. Garvey fell over Nolan’s body and cartwheeled near a big pine tree. As he came to rest, a loud metallic tinging sound echoed throughout the small clearing. In an instant, the pine needles littering the ground around Garvey erupted as the snare trap he had set months prior was tripped.
Garvey’s left ankle was caught in the thin metal cable, and he was dragged violently across the ground and then into the air. He screamed in shock as he slammed into a tree face first and went silent.
Nolan was in shock by the sight before him. He continued to stare at the hanging, unmoving Garvey and trying to process what had just happened. Carter grunted into his gag, which caused Nolan to look at the young man standing close to him. He was still naked, ballgaged with his hands cuffed behind his back and wearing leg irons.
Still on his hands and knees, Nolan cleared his throat and said, “Thanks for the help, Carter, but I had things well in hand…”
Then he threw up all the water he had drank while in Garvey’s kitchen.
Three hours later, the hilltop where Garvey’s house was situated was a beehive of activity. Nolan sat on the push bumper of one of the many sheriff’s office cruisers while drinking his sixth bottle of water and holding a cold pack he had gotten from one of the paramedics against his swollen cheek. He was still wearing his tight jeans and Hush Puppy boots but had procured an Echol County Sheriff Office windbreaker from one of the many responding deputies. He watched as paramedics check on Carter Bannon in the back of one of the ambulances. The two other captives had been found and released. They were both on their way to a local hospital. One was a 19-year-old US Navy sailor who had been considered AWOL for the past four months. The other was a 26-year-old man who had been traveling from Universal Studios in Orlando back to his home in Savannah, Georgia, when he went missing six months ago.
Garvey had been removed from the snare trap when they discovered he was still alive, but the prognoses was not good because of the massive cranial trauma he received when his head slammed into the tree trunk.
An Echol County Sheriff’s Office lieutenant walked up to Nolan and said, “Need anything, Detective?”
Nolan looked at the almost empty bottle of water in his hand and titled his head slightly.
The lieutenant smiled. “I’ll get you more water. You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”
Nolan nodded. “I’m fine.”
”You’re going to have one hell of a shiner,” the lieutenant said while gesturing toward his swollen and discolored cheek under the ice pack.
“I’m lucky that’s the worst of my ailments,” Nolan said. “Have you heard back from Jacksonville?”
The lieutenant nodded. “They said their sending a contingent of detectives out tonight. They should be here within the hour.”
Nolan nodded again.
“How many so far? Nolan asked.
“We’ve counted 56,” said the lieutenant. “Fifty-six human remains so far, but we’re pretty sure there’s more we haven’t found down there…”
Nolan just shook his head. “Un-fucking-believable…”
“Carter Bannon wants to talk to you before he is transported to the hospital,” the lieutenant said. “Do you want me to tell him it’s not a good time?”
Nolan gave the supervisor a look but held his tongue. Instead of chastising the man, Nolan said, “No. I’ll gladly talk to him.”
Nolan walked to the open rear of the ambulance Carter was in. The young man was on a gurney, with an IV in his arm and a blood pressure cuff on his other arm.
“How are you feeling, Carter,” Nolan asked.
Carter let out a ragged breath. “Better now, I guess…listen, I wanted to thank you…”
Nolan waved him away. “Not necessary. We were both in the same boat. You saved my bacon too. I’m just sorry it took me this long to find you.”
“The important thing is that you did,” Carter said. “I was able to call my parents. They’re flying down first thing tomorrow. Needless to say, they were very upset but ridiculously happy to hear from me…”
Both young men were quiet for a long while, lost in their thoughts and emotions. Nolan, feeling a little awkward, slapped the door lightly and mumbled that he would see Carter soon.
“Detective Hudson?” Carter said.
Nolan smiled. “Carter, I think we’re past the formalities. It’s Nolan.”
Carter nodded. “Yes. Of course. Nolan, when things settle down, can I buy you a beer?”
Nolan smiled and nodded. “I’d love a beer. But fair warning, I don’t drink the shitty beer you college kids drink. No Bud Light or Coors Light or any other shitty American legacy swill. I like the expensive craft beer from a local tap house.”
Carter almost cracked a smiled and said, “Well, Detective…um, I mean Nolan. I’m just a poor, unemployed, college student, but I’m sure my parents will give me a loan so I can satisfy your snobby drink demands…”
Nolan snorted and said as he closed the rear door of the ambulance. “Sounds like a plan. Looking forward to it. And remember one thing.”
Carter cocked his head. “What’s that?”
”You beat that sick son of a bitch,” Nolan said. “No matter what has happened over the past month, you won. You might be the toughest, bravest person I’ve ever met.”
Before Carter could reply, Nolan closed the rear door of the ambulance and waved goodbye.