Christmas Eve, around 5:30
Deputy chief John Lettur rubbed a hand across his exhausted face and then reached for his mug. Lifting it up, he realized that it was empty again, and he sighed. It was only ten minutes to 5:30 p.m., but it had been a little over forty-eight hours since John had been able to call it a night and he was running low on energy. Not that he would be able to sleep even if he tried to right now.
“How do twenty-three people just disappear?” He groaned, leafing through one of the dozens of cream-colored files on his desk. Finally, he snagged a photo and dragged it out. Ripping off a piece of tape from his dispenser, he attached it to his crowded whiteboard.
His once clean board was now occupied with a mass of different photographs. The only things that all of the photographs had in common were the date that the pictures had been taken and that they were all of the residents of New York City.
Other than that, the pictures varied greatly. One of the pictures was of a bright, five-year-old girl that had been kidnapped, while another was of an elderly man and former marine who had been snatched from his house. Some of the other victims on the board were teenagers, some were single men and women, and still more were parents.
And the worse part was that none of the cases had been solved. Nearby police precincts, sheriffs, PIs, and even the local FBI were all trying to help, but every lead was a dead end, and no one was getting anywhere with finding out where all the missing people had disappeared to.
No ransom notes or explanations of revenge had been received by any of the twenty-four different families who were beginning to panic and wonder if they would ever get their loved ones back. And of course, it was extremely grating to have to tell the families over and over that there were no advances in the cases, but what was John supposed to do about it?
Almost all of the crime scenes or the places where the people had been missing had been investigated so thoroughly, that not a fingerprint on a fork at a diner had been overlooked. Somehow though, the abductors hadn’t left behind a trace of themselves, which had John thinking that he was dealing with professionals. Professional kidnappers. What had the world come to?
“Deputy?” There was a knock on the door of John’s office, and Captain Base appeared in the doorway. Her expression was grim, and John had a feeling he knew what she was going to say, even before she said it. “There’s been another one.” She grimly announced, confirming his suspicions.
And there was the number 24.
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