Chapter Ten

Glen Buxley, P.I.

 

Detective Ripley had just gotten to the station and, reviewing notes at his desk, noticed the incoming line button on his phone had started to blink red.  He picked up the receiver and hit the button, “Ripley.”

 

“Detective Ripley, this is Glen Buxley.  We spoke at my apartment yesterday afternoon.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I need to meet with you right away.  I have some information that may help you find the person who ran Jessica Stearns off the road.”

 

Glen studied the frames again, holding the strip up to the light in his kitchen.  He saw images of Rachel, jogging along the shoulder of a road.  Land had apparently been built up underneath the road before it was paved, as there were steep hills lining both sides beyond the guardrails.

 

“You mean to tell me you know more now than you did 18 hours ago?”  Ripley asked in his usual taunting, sarcastic tone.

“Yes.  I met someone who witnessed the scene of the collision just after it happened.  I was able to get a partial license plate number from them.”

“And how, exactly, did that happen?  What did you do, canvas the whole city door to door?”

 “No, sir,” Glen feigned politeness, hoping the detective would take the information seriously.  “I was talking about the crash, telling them how upset I was about it when they told me that they had seen an accident that sounded the same as the one I was talking about.”

“Why are you telling me this, instead of the party who has the information?”

“They told me that they didn’t want to get involved.”  

 

Growing impatient, Ripley sighed in disbelief and asked, “What’s the plate number Mr. Buxley?”

“They didn’t get all of it, but it started with KMB-3.”

 

Glen heard Detective Ripley shout, obviously holding the phone away from his face, “Petersen, I need you to run a partial for me, Kilo Mike Bravo-3.  Let me know what makes and models come through.” 

 

Glen squinted back at the film, trying to determine what type of vehicle he was seeing.  The car was a large coupe, and looked quite old.  He couldn’t quite make out the color, but it had racing stripes, obviously a restored classic.  The front right fender of the car was jammed against the mangled guardrail, and the reverse lights were on.  A glare obscured the rest of the plate.  In the distance, he could barely make out Jessica’s car.  It was blurry, but definitely upside down.  It had jumped the guardrail and was tumbling down the hilly roadside. 

 

“Mr. Buxley, did this person give you a description of the vehicle?”

“They said it was big, two doors, with racing stripes.  They thought it may have been one of those older cars that some guys restore as a hobby.”

“Hmm…give me a moment Mr. Buxley.”  Glen heard the phone bump into Ripley’s desk as he put it down.  “Petersen, we’re looking for something older, a classic maybe.”

 

Glen could overhear the officer relaying the information.  “I’ve got a 68 Dodge Coronet, KMB-348.  It’s registered to a local business; Stowe, Buchanan and Associates.”  Glen quickly jotted down what he had heard on the back of the card Ripley had given him earlier. 

“Did the party disclose any other information, Mr. Buxley?”

“Not really, they said that they were jogging and heard a crash.  When they got around the bend in the road, they saw a small car rolling down the embankment, and a much bigger car backing up from the guardrail.”

“Then what happened?”

“The bigger car sped off.”

“Did the jogger report the incident, perhaps anonymously?”

 

Glen peered at the last frame, showing Rachel on a cell phone.  “Yes, they said they called 911 from their cell immediately.”

“All right Mr. Buxley.  Thank you for getting this information to me, and please call again if you determine anything further from this witness.”

“I will.”

 

Glen still had the receiver to his ear when Ripley abruptly hung up.  He pulled the yellow pages from the drawer under the microwave and found the address for Stowe, Buchanan and Associates.  It was a psychiatric office on Broadway.  He assumed that the detective would head to the offices right away to question people about the car, so he waited a couple of hours before driving over himself.

 

When Glen arrived, he saw the car from Rachel’s memory in the parking lot.  It had been backed in to one of the spaces closest to the building.  The right front fender and door were damaged and both appeared to have been recently worked on.  Swirl marks bit into the paint, in some spots leaving strips of bare metal.  The car was completely white, except for the two red racing stripes decorating the hood, roof, and trunk.  He drove to the back corner of the lot and parked, making sure to keep a clear view of both the entrance and the car.  Then he waited. 

 

Several men and women had entered and exited the office, but no one had approached the car.  Glen checked the time display on his radio and realized that it was nearing noon, lunchtime.  At about 5 minutes after twelve, there was a mass exodus from the building.  Glen closely examined as many of the people as he could, but no one stood out.  Ten minutes later, a large, heavyset man emerged from the entrance alone, carrying a briefcase.  He must have been about six-foot three, and well above 200 pounds.  He was dressed conservatively in a polo shirt, Khakis and boat shoes.          

 

Glen eyed him carefully, trying not to forget anything about his appearance as the man headed straight for the car and slid in.  Just as he fired the ignition, Glen’s periphery started to turn black.  The pain in the back of his head was intense, unbearable.  His head bounced off the steering wheel on its way down as he eventually fell to the side, unconscious on the passenger’s seat.

 

When Glen finally awoke, he scanned the parking lot.  Most of the cars that had left for lunch were back, but there was no sign of the big white car or its driver.  He still felt far too uneasy to drive, so he stayed there a bit longer.  Half an hour later, with still no sign of the man he was looking for, he started his car and headed home.

 

Glen knew that he would never be able to make out images on film in broad daylight.  There would be far too much glare and reflections to make out anything, so he hadn’t bothered to even try. But when he noticed that his pocket was bulging out obtrusively, he reached his hand in and, accounting for the bulk, thought that he had forgotten to take the last strip out.  Either that or he had just acquired far more film than he ever had before. 

 

He circled the block a few times before finding a parking spot on the street about 100 yards from his building.  The anticipation was almost too much to take.  He leapt from his car, not bothering to lock it and took the steps two at a time up to the 3^rd floor.  He remembered that Rachel had never given him her home number, so there was no way for him to call and cancel their lunch.  He needed to be quick.

 

He was shocked as he pulled the film from his pocket on the way up the stairs.  Still, he unlocked the door to the apartment and headed in before daring to look.  There had to be 25 or 30 frames there, at least.  He actually needed to unravel the film in order to examine it.  It was so long that as he held it up to the light, he could only check about a quarter of it at a time.  Glen’s hands began to shake as he looked.  His face went pale.  The film dropped as he released his grip, falling onto the kitchen table. 

 

He decided he was too shaken up to drive, so he walked to the restaurant to meet Rachel.  For the first time in his life, he felt an overwhelming need to share the knowledge of his ability with someone else.  He decided that he would explain everything to Rachel over lunch.  He would have to.  He couldn’t get the images out of his head.  They started to haunt his every thought.  He had never seen such horrifying atrocities in his entire life.      

 

      

 

Reviews

[J.K. (Not Rowling)]

Ah, everything is starting to come together now. It's one of those impossible possibilities that happen every day. I like how Glen keeps everything plausible with the cops, no funny business, just trying to help. Now he's going to meet with Rachel, who he has this instant connection... the plot thickens. I'm assuming we see all the torture that Kevin inflicts on the 25-30 frames Glen collects. This is most definitely a necessary chapter, and I like how you transition seamlessly from one location/idea/story to another. I can't wait to see what happens at lunch, and what happens to Giulia when Kevin finds out she tried to escape. More horror awaits, I'm sure.

[Alexander W. Quinn]

Hmmm.... You've got the pacing and drama set...sounds like things are about to fall into place. I'm very excited!

[AlleyCat34]

OOOOooooooo Freeeeeeeky! Nice job with this one. I wanna know what is on that film and I wanna know now!!!!!!! LOL Great work! Let me know when the next chapter is up!