The clock on the nightstand had read five o'clock when the radio started blaring Karma Chameleon by Culture Club. Buckley rubbed his tired eyes and stared at the ceiling, into oblivion, wondering if the parents, his friends, of the young missing girl had slept the previous night, because he most certainly had not.
Wondering if the latter had drank and cried themselves to a slumber. If the girl had something to eat or to drink last night, had she slept on a mattress or a dusty floor, or had a filthy man taken advantage of her? Did she have to shade a room with other missing girls that had been toyed with? All of the scenarios gave him an unpleasant headache.
Buckley let out a heavy breath, seeing as all of the pondering of the 'what ifs' would lead to nowhere and moved to a sitting position with his legs now dangling off the side of the bed. Looking at the time on the clock again his attention got caught by a framed picture that captured a beautiful moment of two people he loves so dearly, even after death; his late wife with her long blond curls falling over her right shoulder, wearing a yellow summer dress and holding their son that was at the time he was 7-years-old, his damp light brown hair stood in every direction and a red swimming trunk dripping with water.
He remembered that day's picture clearly as if it was yesterday. Remembering the feel of the new camera his wife had given him as a Christmas present the previous year. Hearing the joyful laughter of the two sounded like the perfect melody to him. He just wished he could hold them and shield them from the evil and pain of the world. Wishing his son could stay the 7-year-old boy so innocent and happy with his two loving parents. Wishing his wife could have stayed healthy and alive. But death is no man's friend and not to be played with.
Taking a deep breath and promising to his wife to find and bring back the missing girl no matter the cost. To treat this case as if it were his son, to leave no stone unturned starting with the father's old and new cases, including the mother's. No one is deemed of the hook, no parent, no friend and none that cooperates.
Exhaling, letting his body relax went forth with his usual routine which was throwing on grey sweatpants and a long-sleeved sweatshirt with the rundown running shoes he had owned for decades and going on a run around the block. The sun was kissing the skies when Buckley had gone downstairs and out the front door.
The air was filled with a light breeze, the birds were starting to chirp and there was no roaring of car engines or the chatter of kids walking by on their way to school. The best time to get much-needed thinking and a few miles in before a few hours behind the desk - brainstorming - he knew so well, too well as a matter of fact.
The desk had three drawers on the left and none on the right. The top drawer had a bunch of stationery and loose change. The middle drawer had papers, notebooks and a stack of business cards with his contact details to give out when needed, and lastly, the bottom drawer where he keeps his whiskey and two glasses, one for himself and the other for a guest.
Halfway through his run, he came to a halt at the communal park where his son loved to play. The swings, slides and the merry-go-round formed a silhouette with no activity on or around them. The only thing that was left was the echoed laughter of the now grown-up children, it made him remember the good old days when his son swam in the pond of innocents with countless others.
As he continued on his walk, he looked for a place to stretch his cramped calves and take a breather, deciding to go with a red bench up ahead. The bench came more into detail as he approached it, the metal footing of the bench that was planted into the ground was rusted up to the seat making it unstable and unreliable to sit on and the red paint had started to chip off and fade at some places.
While leaning forward with his hands resting on the backrest and moving his body into a stretching position and about to feel the burning sensation in his legs, he was abruptly interrupted by the ringing of his phone.
Dusting the rust from his hands on his pants and plucking out the ringing phone to see that the abruptly was none other than Officer Davis. So, Buckley answered in hopes of hearing some sort of good news to fill his eardrums with the voice of the young man.
"So, per your request, the other day we had K9s track the girls sent. It led us deep into the woods and we came across a freeway. But wait there's more, the sent went up the road and stopped at a gas station with a diner. But wait there's more... You still with me, Buck-I mean sir?" Halfway through he had thought he had lost Buckley with him rambling on and on like a little boy who got a fire truck toy Christmas and is now driving his parents up the walls.
"For your sack get to the point Davis. Or I'll-" Buckley's tone was showing agitation so Davis had to intervene, for his one safety and the security of the job, that he had tried so hard to get.
"They have cameras. So, get your ass overhear." In a swift movement, Davis ended the call and hoped he did not meet his maker before his time, but that had to wait because the case comes first and foremost.
No hard feelings, he hopped.
***
The diner was emptied of its customers and staff waiting outside to be questioned as Buckley stepped over the threshold onto the checkerboard tile flooring, bringing out the 80's theme of the diner. Striding along the counter, chairs and booths his eyes scanned everywhere and yet nothing stood out to him.
Everything looked to the norm, nothing out of place and then he saw it. Coming to a halt under a camera letting his hands rest on his hips and leaning all of his weight on his right foot, Buckley turned to Davis who followed behind him and threw him a grin looking back at the camera and then again at the latter.
In a gesture of pride, Buckley slammed his right hand on the young man's left shoulder, "Looks like I can still make a detective out of you yet. Good job son" Davis smiled and looked down shyly at his superiors' pure words.
"Now lead me to the pot of gold you have found officer."
"Yes, right this way."
Davis led them past the kitchen to the back where a small windowless room had been converted into an office; it contained a dilapidated desk with a vintage computer monitor yellowed by age and an old office wheelchair. Buckley remembered so vividly the time when his son introduced him to laptops and forced him to swap his Nokia for an iPhone. The memory made him giddy inside and he missed his son ever more.
Christmas couldn't come any sooner, he thought.
The entire office was scattered with paper and files against the wall. Buckley did not know where to step and where not to step but eventually made it to the monitor where Davis was.
"So here she comes through the doors, looking around and then she saw the police officer sitting alone in the corner. Talked frantically and then they left."
"Do we know how the officer is? What unit is his form?"
"At this moment we do not know how he is yet. The image of him is running through facial recognition as we speak."
"Good. Notify Rex to put a rush on it and get me the info we have so far on the BOLO for James Roberts."
Davis pulled his buzzing phone out and sighted at the text he had just now received, "Sir, it doesn't look good." He breathed, knowing what was to come.
"Well..." Buckley was deadpan eager to know.
"We got a hit of the coffee cup the officer was drinking from.... The man is related to James Roberts. But it doesn't make sense," The young man said in one breath. He continued, "Could it be his son helping him?" But Davis already knew the answer to his question.
Buckley was fuming. He was mad and frustrated, so mad and frustrated that he swept the monitor and all the paper and clutter of the desk.
"Get me that BOLO update!" Buckley said with finality and stormed out of the diner and sped off in his car.
Authors note:
Thank you for your support. We made it to Chapter 5! Grateful for any feedback! 💬And remember to vote.
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Runaway (Slow Update)
Mystery / Thriller"Run. Keep on running. Don't stop and don't look back. Those words kept on repeating in my head as I ran through the forest that was being invaded by the darkness of the night. My heart was pounding in my chest. My breathing dramatically increased a...
