A Long Night Cry 4-6

An Eli Ridge Novel

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Chapter 4

Eli walked the long corridor separating the jail from the Sheriff’s Office and entered the door with a homemade wooden sign hanging from it that read ‘Department K,’ the ‘K’ short for kill. The Homicide Division has a twisted-dark sense of humor.

“What’s it been a week, Ridge? Nice of you to grace us with your presence,” Sergeant Joe Mills, the ready-to-retire desk jockey, said. Mills was given the nickname ‘Run of the Mill Joe’ because of his underperformance as an officer. He wore a signature Doc Holiday mustache with waxed tips that reached halfway across his cheeks. It was his obsession to roll the tips of his mustache most of the day, only to be interrupted by an occasional booking or dispatch.

Ignoring Run of the Mill’s jest, Eli spotted Ace Wallace walking a woman with concern on her face into Interview Room Two. Preck was behind the glass in the lieutenant’s office on the phone, one arm flailing like an octopus trying to catch prey.

Eli checked his desk and found a stack of ‘Call Back’ memos next to his computer keyboard. Opposite Eli’s desk and one cubicle over sat Detective Terry Splinter. He was leaning back in his office chair, feet on his desk with his keyboard in his lap typing something. Eli wondered how he justified it as work.

“Terry, what’s the frenzy all about? Eli asked.”

Terry rolled his eyes up to Eli. “Do you not follow the news at all, kid?”

“I’ve been out, and not really . . . trying to quit it altogether.”

“Come around here,” Terry said.

Eli circled the cubicle arrangement and leaned an arm onto Terry’s desk lowering himself to the same eye level. After a few keystrokes, Terry’s computer filled with pictures and text. Eli recognized a series of cascading steps leading down from a large building. The main picture was of the Montgomery County Courthouse in downtown Conroe.

A mass of reporters held cameras, video recorders, portable lights and boom microphones toward a woman being embraced by a man. Beside them, a few professionals stood holding their palms out, attempting to create distance from the media and the couple at the center of attention. Eli assumed they were lawyers or politicians because they were well-dressed and held smug looks on their faces.

The notoriously slow internet finally populated a headline. ‘U.S. Senator Ted Cronin’s Daughter Abducted,’ with the subheading ‘leaving the family in a wake of fear and questions.’

“When did this happen?”

Terry tapped his computer screen and said, “You youngsters don’t like to read do ya?” For some reason he said it with a fabricated New York accent.

Eli read on that another girl, close in age and likeness, had been taken in a similar manner.

“So, we have two missing adolescent females in one weekend?”

Splinter held up three fingers and said, “Only two made the news.”

Terry shot his pointer finger toward Preck, who was still on the phone, nodding his head and jotting down notes. “Preck is taking down details on the third now. There was a delay in getting an interpreter. Family’s straight out of Mexico, no papers or identification.”

“Have we ruled out a group of runaways?” Eli asked.

Terry kicked his feet from his desk down to the floor and spun himself around to face Eli.

“Runaways? Are you kidding, rookie?”

“I am just running through the standard—”

“U.S. Senator’s kids don’t run away. They have people to prevent that from happening. In my humble opinion, there’s definite foul-play here, junior.”

Eli had questions but decided to spare Terry the inconvenience of answering them. There was an unsaid beef between the new and old guard. All the newbies, those with a decade or less of time-in-service, believed the seasoned ones with fifteen or more years in were coasting toward retirement and near drowning in their self-righteousness. All the old guard believed the newbies didn’t know shit and therefore needed to be fed a daily dose of verbal abuse. 

“Why’d you get assigned to the case, Terry?”

He answered with a smile that was more than a pleasantry.

“This one has you and Preck’s name all over it.”

Eli squinted. “But we’re homicide—”

“Ha!” Terry belted a singular laugh so hard that Preck heard it through the glass, noticing Eli had arrived.

“You are whatever the sheriff and the senator want you to be and for as long as they want you to be. The senator specifically requested the detectives who took down the Jigsaw Killer be assigned to find his daughter. And when I say requested—I mean—demanded in a politically-correct kind of way.”

“And Benderson just agreed?”

Preck tapped on the glass and called Eli’s name out. Motioning for him to hurry, Preck stared at him from inside the office holding his palm up and curling his pointer finger repeatedly. He looked like he was trying to tickle the window.

“Terry . . . always delightful,” Eli said. “Would you email that article to me?”

“Sure, kid. Best wishes on this one, and whether it was luck or skill, good work on the Jigsaw case.”

Passing by the department coffee, Eli stopped to fill his cup. Feeling it would be a long day, he took the rest of the pot of community coffee before it turned to burnt mud. As he placed the carafe back, Sheriff Benderson yelled out, “Lesss’go Ridge . . . vacation’s over!”

Eli entered the division commander’s office and was startled by Benderson, leaning against a countertop in the back left corner of the room. Preck ended the call and cradled the phone.

“How much have you heard about the case, Ridge?” Benderson asked.

Eli shifted his eyes from the sheriff to his partner.

“Welcome back, Eli,” Preck said, glancing at his wrist to read the time. “What’n’tha hell took you so long?”

Noticing Eli’s Starbucks cup, Preck rolled his eyes.

“Uhh, had some car trouble this morning . . . got held up at my house.”

“Ridge, how old is your duty vehicle?” Benderson asked.

Eli took a moment to ponder the question.

“Probably mid-nineties if I had to guess.”

Benderson looked to Preck for the answer.

“He’s got the b-model Impala, a ninety-six.”

Benderson nodded. “And you Preck?”

“Ninety-five Crown Vic.”

The sheriff dropped his folded arms, shook his head, and made a noise that sounded like an air hose being pulled off a tire valve. He shot his thick right arm toward the phone and said, “Get Run of the Mill on the line, and put him on speaker.”

“Sergeant Joe Mills, Montgomery County—”

“Mills, Benderson here.”

Run of the Mill began clearing his throat and said, “Sir, what do I owe the pleasure of—”

“Cut the shit, Mills.”

“Sorry, Sheriff.”

“Listen. I want you to contact fleet services and get two new Tahoes made ready for Detectives Preck and Ridge . . . how long do you think that will take?”

“Hhhhmm. If I had to guess, at least a couple spins of the Earth, maybe more.”

 Benderson released another burst of tire pressure from his face and yelled, “Why is there so much damn guess work going on here? Are we on a game show, gentlemen? And quit talking in riddles, Mills!”

All noise was sucked from the division. The silence broke with the creak of a chair. They peered out the interior window at Terry Splinter who was leaning back from his cubicle. Splinter creaked himself back into the cubicle. The air stayed dead for a moment longer.

“Call fleet services and tell them to have the vehicles ready by thirteen hundred hours. Understood, Sergeant?”

Benderson didn’t wait for a reply. He signaled Preck to end the call by swiping four fingers across his thick, tree-trunk neck and used his opposite hand to slam the office door closed.

“First things first, Ridge,” Benderson said. “You and Detective Preck are taking lead on the abduction of Senator Ted Cronin’s daughter—”

“Wait,” Eli interrupted. “Wouldn’t this case be better suited for Missing Persons Division? We’re homicide detectives. And, have we ruled out the possibility of a runaway?” Eli turned his palms up in question.

Benderson’s reaction was a slow build. He gripped the countertop he was leaning against. The tops of his hands resembled a bag of snakes, tendons and veins dancing. His eyes bulged, and his lips pushed together, like he was holding back from spewing a rotten bite of food. His face reddened and glistened. Knowing he’d triggered the sheriff, Eli looked to his partner for help only to see Preck had closed his eyes.

Much to Eli and Preck’s surprise, the sheriff took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out, making another hissing sound, but this one was longer, sounding like an espresso machine letting out a final gust of steam. Eli watched as the veins in Benderson’s neck went from full throb to half throb, to normal, his face changing color from medium rare back to eggshell.

“Ridge,” Benderson said, “I’ll let you know when it’s question-and-answer time.”

Preck coached Eli by nodding vigorously. Eli got the message.

“Preck, show Ridge the pictures,” Benderson instructed, turning his eyes to a legal sized manilla envelope on the desk at the center of the room.

Preck nodded, picked up the packet, and pulled out an eight-by-ten photo. He passed it to Eli who drew it close for inspection.

Eli’s face contorted in shock, nostrils flaring, eyes nearly closing. He pushed the photo away to get distance from it.

“What kind of sick . . . are these what I think they are?” Eli asked in disgust.

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Chapter 5

A gentle knock on the door pulled Eli from his shock. Benderson reached to the door and eased it open. Lieutenant Ruth Whyte waited for an invitation into her office the three men were using.

“Mind if I join you?” Whyte asked with raised eyebrows.

Benderson looked at his watch and then stepped aside.

“Car trouble,” she said as she passed the sheriff, taking a seat at her desk. “Your face says this is the first time you’re seeing the photos, Ridge?”

Eli nodded.

What’s the game plan, gentlemen?” Whyte asked.

Whyte had a way of bringing a calmness with her, something Eli appreciated since he was usually the lowest-ranking officer in the room.

“Well, now that we’ve all made it in Lieutenant, we can come up with one. Nice of you to join us,” Benderson reminded the room of his authority before laying out the plan.

“Very well, Sheriff,” Whyte said.

The sheriff turned his gaze to the detectives, “Senator Cronin wants to meet both of you at his house. That is where you will start. I’m sharing the senator’s contact information now,” Benderson said as he thumbed at his phone. “Preck, throughout the investigation, I want you to be the one who communicates updates to Lieutenant Whyte. She’ll relay them to me so I can get them to the senator directly.”

Eli’s phone vibrated. He pulled it up to scan the details.

“This guy lives in Caroline Woods,” Eli said.

“Ridge, let’s get in the habit of calling him Senator Cronin instead of this guy,” Benderson said.

Whyte began pecking at her keyboard to get her computer to wake and then logged into the TLO database. “The senator’s wife’s name is Elizabeth, but she prefers to be called Liz. Of course, you’ll need to start off with Mrs. Cronin until she says otherwise.”

Preck nodded and Eli copied.

“This one is serious, gentlemen,” Benderson added.

“What about the other girls?” Eli asked. “From what I understand we have three missing. Is that right?”

“For right now, I want you two homed in on the senator’s daughter. Time is of the essence on this one,” Benderson said. “Understand?”

The sheriff waited for the detectives to nod.

“Her name is Amy Cronin,” Whyte said. “And we need to find her, like yesterday, gentlemen. All resources are at your disposal. Ace and Ventura will back you up on this one, and if needed, we can pull in Detective Splinter to fill in where needed.”

“If you think the media hounds were hungry on the Jigsaw case, they are starving now and out for blood. We have two deputies at the Cronin’s around the clock until further notice. I will have Run of the Mill send their information.”

“Any questions for us?” Benderson asked with tall eyes.

Preck shook his head.

Eli began to shake his head but stopped himself from agreeing. “When is Captain Atkins coming back?”

The question irked Benderson, and his jaw muscles began flexing.

“I’m reinstating him next week.”

“That’s good,” Eli said, “because the way he was treated—”

Yanking the door open, Benderson shouted, “Get out!”

Eli exited the room wearing a smirk.

“You better wipe that shit-eatin’ grin off your face, Ridge,” the sheriff warned.

Eli never understood the metaphor but thought it wise to just nod. As Preck passed by, Benderson mumbled, “Keep Ridge on a short leash and get us an update by end-of-day.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door slammed behind them before Preck spoke up. “Eli, you ever hear the saying, ‘don’t poke the bear’?”

“Sure.”

“Then waddaya doin’ in there with Benderson?”

“Sometimes—”

“That’s a rhetorical question for you to ponder, Eli. Let’s head to my car.”

Before they could make it out of the office, Ace called them into the conference room. Ace Wallace was one of two department clowns. He and his partner, Vic Ventura, did their best to keep things light around the department despite the fact they all worked behind a door labeled ‘Department K’ and dealt in dead bodies for a living.

Preck poked his head in the conference room and said, “Watcha got, Ace?”

“Some interview notes to go over with you . . . just finished up taking a statement from the mom of the second girl who went missing,” Ace said, then kicked a desk chair out for Preck to sit on.

Preck and Eli took seats at the opposite side of the table from Ace.

Ace rattled off details, “Melanie Hedgewood, a seventeen-year-old, Caucasian female goes missing from Bentwater Estates Saturday, mid-morning.”

“Who reported it?” Eli asked as he pulled his green memo book from his back pocket and pen from his breast pocket to take notes.

Ace slid a photocopy of the report to across the table and said, “Hold your fire hot shot, I’m getting there, and save yourself a hand cramp. We’re in the twenty-first century.”

Ace continued, “A friend went by to pick her up at approximately ten-twenty and became concerned when she failed to answer the door. Apparently, they had plans to play on Lake Conroe on a friend’s pontoon boat that day.”

“Where were the parents?” Eli asked.

Ace looked up from the report and saw Eli had a tight grip on his Starbucks cup, then asked, “How much of that jet fuel have you had this morning, hot rod? I’m getting there . . . Melanie’s friend calls the boyfriend. Come to find out, he’d slept over the night before and had just left her house a few hours prior. They both freak out after he comes back and can’t get an answer at the front door. The boyfriend jumps the fence and finds the back door unlocked, so he searches the house. When he comes up empty-handed, the friend calls nine-eleven and then calls the parents who were boarding a plane to fly home from Vegas.”

“At that point, she had only been missing a few hours,” Eli added.

Ace nodded and continued, “A deputy went out and took a statement from the friend and boyfriend. It’s stapled to the back of the mother’s and is almost verbatim to the one she gave.”

“The mother got her story from the boyfriend and friend, so it should be identical,” Eli said.

Ace smiled, blinked a few times, and a look of surprise washed over his face before saying, “Preck you’ve got a modern-day Sherlock Holmes for a partner.”

“Kiss my ass, Wallace,” Eli said. “Get to it. We’ve gotta find these girls at some point.”

Preck placed a hand on Eli’s shoulder and said, “See that guy across the table” Preck tipped his head toward Ace “he’s on our side.”

“He’s got a funny way of showing it,” Eli said, sneering at Ace.

They heard a knock on the conference door, and it opened behind them. Vic Ventura, Ace’s partner, entered without an invitation.

“Did you guys hear that my house got robbed last night?” Ventura asked.

“What? How?” Preck asked.

Ventura continued, “Yeah, bastards stole my championship limbo trophy . . . how low can you go, right?”

A collective laugh erupted between the four, lightening the mood. Preck closed his eyes and shook his head. Eli split a smile for the first time all morning.

“Is that all, Ventura?” Preck asked.

Ventura smiled at all three of them and shifted his attention to his partner, Ace, then said, “We got a stiff one, buddy. Gotta go.”

Ace rose from his chair, shook the report over the table, and said, “Well, I guess you will just have to read this for yourselves, but call me if you have any questions.”

“Good luck with your case, gents,” Preck said as Ace and Ventura shuffled out of the conference room.

Ace hollered back, “It’s elementary my dear Watson . . . elementary.”

“What a couple of ass clowns,” Eli said.

Preck motioned Eli to follow him. “Come on.”

As they made another attempt to exit the department, Detective Splinter yelled out, “Hey, you guys are gonna wanna see this.”

Preck and Eli made their way to Splinter’s cubicle and zeroed in on his computer that was streaming a Channel 2 Breaking News segment. Senator Ted Cronin stood in front of his Caroline Wood’s mansion and a massive throng of media had gathered to hear him give his first statement since his daughter’s disappearance.

Shaking his head, Preck looked at Eli and said, “Not good. Let’s go.”

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Chapter 6

Twenty minutes later, Eli and Preck were headed west on Woodlands Parkway on their way to Caroline Woods, the most pristine gated community in Montgomery County, where CEOs and international power brokers resided. The master-planned community boasted the largest collection of million-dollar-plus mansions in the state of Texas.

The elaborate homes weaved around a magnificent golf course that had been a part of the PGA for seventeen years running. The Course at Caroline Woods catered to the ultra-wealthy, becoming a commonplace for international businesspeople brokering oil and gas deals while they sipped cocktails and played a round of golf.

From Interstate 45 to the main gate of the private community that separated the common from the elite, was a fifteen-minute shot straight down Woodlands Parkway to Caroline Woods Way. Preck pulled his wallet from the center console, flipped it open and showed it to the security guard who stepped out of a massive stone compound.

“This place is bigger than my house,” Eli said as the guard approached.

“Detectives Preck and Eli, Montgomery County Sheriff’s Office. Here to see Senator Cronin,” Preck said, arm splayed out of the driver’s side window showing his badge.

The guard squatted a bit, lowering himself to their eye level and lifted his dark glasses to his forehead. “Howdy, boys.” He spoke like he was seeing old friends. The familiarity confused Preck and Eli.

“You mind opening the gate?” Eli asked.

“Detective Thaddaeus Preck,” the guard said. “Don’t you recognize me?”

Preck searched the man’s face until it hit him.

“Sergeant Bill Tarkington?” Preck asked.

The guard, genuinely pleased at being recognized, pointed to the gold badge hanging from his uniform on the left side of his chest and said, “Captain now.” He smiled with a bit of arrogance.

Preck nodded and said, “Right. Should have noticed. It’s been a decade or so since you left the department.”

Tarkington’s smile grew wider as he nodded. He turned his palms toward the sky and shifted them side to side, like one of those Egyptian dancers, then said, “And now you see why. I make twice what I did on sergeant’s pay.”

It all came barreling back into Preck’s mind. He’d never liked Bill Tarkington—his arrogance, nonchalance about the importance of police work, and that stupid little Egyptian dance Bill did—it made Preck want to put a bullet through his kneecap every time he did it.

“So, you’re working Amy’s case. You guys already rule out runaway?”

Eli leaned over the center console so he could get a look at the man preventing them from doing their work.

“Hey Captain, what did you just say?” Eli asked.

Tarkington pulled his head back a little. He wasn’t used to being questioned. His smile faded and he said, “I asked if you’d ruled out the possibility—”

“No,” Eli said. “You mentioned a name. What was it?”

Tarkington paused to think about the question for a moment, composed himself and said, “I’m not sure I got your name.”

“That’s because I didn’t give it to you,” Eli said. “Now what name did you just say?”

Tarkington’s face soured and his cheeks flushed, resembling a kid who’d just spilled dessert.

“Amy,” Tarkington said, questions in his eyes.

“Amy who?” Eli shot back.

“Amy Cronin of course. The Senator’s daughter.”

“And why do you know her on a first name basis?”

The guard put his hands back on his hips and puffed his chest out a bit, then let out a brief laugh. With his smug look back, Tarkington shifted his eyes to Preck and asked, “Who is this guy?”

Preck gave Eli a look. It told him to settle down. He turned back to the former deputy and said, “This is Detective Ridge, my partner.”

Tarkington looked back to Eli and said, “I know her name because it’s my job to know it. I can recite every family member’s name in my community.”

Eli nodded and thought for a moment. “Are your security checkpoints equipped with video cameras?”

“The HOA decided against them for privacy reasons.”

Eli nodded and said, “Tarkington. We need you to do us a little favor.”

More arrogance filled the captain’s face now that the ball had shifted to his court. Tarkington took a moment to let tension fill the air between them, signaling he was in charge. He jutted out his chin and began nodding slowly. “I might be able to do you a favor, depending on what it is.”

“Very good Captain,” Eli said. “Now do that little dance you did earlier but do it on your way back to your guard compound. Then hit the button to open the gate, would ya?”

Tarkington furrowed his eyebrows and curled his lip at Eli. He lowered his glasses back over his eyes then walked to the back of Preck’s Crown Vic and jotted down the license plate number. He took his time walking back to the guard compound then finally opened the massive gate.

“Eli, you ever consider we might need him in the future and want him on our side?” Preck asked.

It was another one of those questions put out there for Eli to ponder.

“Come on, Preck. I could tell you didn’t like the guy. Who trades in his mission to serve and protect for a job like that?” Eli asked.

“That’s not the point, Ridge. We need as many allies as possible. Do you think Tarkington would pull over to help you on the side of the road if he saw your vehicle broke down? Le’me answer that for you, Eli. Not a chance in hell.”

Preck pulled up to a four-way stop, then made a right-hand turn next to the expansive-plush-rolling green hills that made up the par-five ninth hole, the centerpiece of the golf course.

“You’ve got something inside you, Eli, something that could take you a long way in this line of work, but you have got to understand that you need others to help you. You can’t do it on your own—no one can—never has been a detective who does it solo. There’s always a team working together to fight evil, and the larger the team, the faster justice is served.”

Eli nodded, buying a little of what his partner was saying.

“Right now,” Preck said. “You’ve got this ‘me against the world’ mentality, and do you know who it reminds me of?”

“Who’s that?”

“Your buddy, Detective H. H. Huntsman,” Preck said checking his partner’s face to gauge his reaction.

Eli’s face contorted when he heard the name of the man he’d laid out cold and almost lost his badge over just a few weeks prior. His gut bunched up, and a knot formed in his throat. He wondered if there was any truth in his partner’s words, but he held his response and gazed out the passenger window. Mansions swelled in size as they drove further into the private community. He wanted to ignore his partner’s comparison, but he lacked the discipline to do so.

“How do you figure, Preck?”

“Let me ask you something. Of all the cops you’ve worked with over your years as a deputy and detective, who else—besides you—would you guess has it in them to throw a punch on a fellow officer?”

Eli wrestled with the question wishing he could offer up a name other than Huntsman’s. He ran through the memory of his years on the force trying to dig up a better answer than the one his partner was fishing for. No amount of mental Jiu Jitsu could defeat Preck’s setup. Anger swelled in his chest, but Eli quickly suppressed it. He knew Preck was trying to help him, but he was still reluctant to say the name ‘Huntsman’.

“You can’t just lower your head and barrel through every wall you come across, Eli. I hope you believe I’m trying to help you.”

He let Preck’s words fill the cab and sit there. His ego had him in a one-handed Hulk Hogan choke hold, preventing him from speaking.

Disappointed, Preck nodded his head slowly and asked, “Eli, you ever hear the saying, ‘When the student is ready, the teacher appears?’”

Eli nodded and announced, “This is our right,” pointing to the street sign that read ‘Player’s Point Way’.

Preck made a hard right barely clearing a median with a large monument with the words ‘The Grand Reserve’ etched in stone. Apparently, they had entered the crème-de-la-crème of Caroline Woods. They passed a grove of tall Magnolia trees separating the reserve from the rest of the community. The first home they noticed was a colossal Spanish style home swallowing up the lots of ten regular homes. Eli counted at least two dozen windows on the front of the three-story mansion.

“Who the hell lives in something like that?” Eli asked.

“We are looking for 419,” Preck said.

Eli dipped his head to the Google Map application on his phone that was guiding them to their destination. “Go right, then all the way to the end.”

As soon as they turned, they noticed more than a dozen news vans lining the street along with a black and white parked in front of them. A gang of people had clustered together at the end of the cul-de-sac. Eli made out the two sheriff’s deputies wearing all black uniforms at the far corners of the crowd, radios at their faces communicating with each other.

Preck parked as close to the crowd as possible. Nearing the crowd, they waved at the deputies who waved back. At the front of the crowd, made up of reporters and neighbors was Senator Ted Cronin, who had a half dozen microphones jammed close to his mouth. He wore a somber look as he answered questions hurled his way by the story hungry media.

“We gotta get him to stop talking,” Preck said, pushing his way through the reporters, splitting them like the wake of a boat. As soon as Cronin noticed the detectives, he immediately stopped answering questions.

“Senator Cronin. What else do you know about the disappearance of your daughter?” One reporter shouted trying to lure him back in.

Eli pushed his way in next to Preck, elbowing a camera crew to move them aside.

“Senator,” Preck yelled above the ramblings of the media. “We need to get you inside where it’s quiet and ask you a few questions, so we can begin our investigation.”

The senator looked at the detectives, questioning if he should end his press conference. After a few beats, he said, “That will be all for now,” into the closest microphone.  

Two men, Eli assumed were private security, began clearing a path to Cronin’s large mansion behind them in a plush tree lined estate.

“Make a hole!” One of the security guards yelled at an over eager reporter trying to pry one last answer from the senator.

“Back door, sir?” one security guard asked the senator as the reporters scampered.

The senator nodded, turning his eyes to avoid the front of the home. Preck and Eli followed to a side gate where a code was entered and a buzz sounded off, releasing the gate from its magnetic security feature. They entered a side door that led into a garage larger than most homes. Eli made out six vehicles: a Mercedes G Wagon and S65, a Ferrari, a blacked-out Denali, a Cadillac V series, and a Porsche GTS-3. Quite the collection for a government employee Eli thought.

The security guard trailing the group said, “I’ll secure the outside perimeter and wait for the media to disperse,” as he closed the garage door behind them.

Preck, Eli, and the senator were led through the interior garage door into the home, down a large hall, through a large set of ornate oak doors, and into a sitting room that was large enough to host at least a fifty-person cocktail party.

“Will this be fine, sir?”

 The senator nodded his approval to the lead man.

“I’ll be right outside the door, sir. Let me know if you need anything.”

The senator walked toward the rear wall of the expansive room to a built-in bar, walked around it, and pulled open a door the detectives could not see. He lifted a chilled bottle of Fiji water from it, held it high, and asked, “Would either of you like one?”

They shook their heads.

“You’re the detectives who solved the Jigsaw Killer case, correct?”

“That’s right,” Eli said, straightening up with pride.

“That was exceptional work,” the senator said as he spun the blue cap off his water. “I requested the two of you for our case because I need to be able to count on you to find our little girl.”

The senator’s voice cracked. Eli noticed his eyes had glassed over with tears. He lifted his water and took a long pull from it. Taking a deep breath, Cronin cleared his throat, and continued, “I need you two to catch whoever did this before he hurts my little girl any further.”

Eli knew the ‘any further’ part of the senator’s statement was related to the pictures he’d seen in Lieutenant Whyte’s office.

“We will do our very best to find Amy, Senator,” Preck said.

 The two detectives watched the senator’s reaction to his daughter’s name being used. Eli knew the reason Preck used the girl’s first name was so they could gauge how the senator would respond to hearing it. The name seemed to cut into Cronin, pushing the air from his lungs. He used his forearms to brace himself against the bar in front of him. From a distance, they could see the man’s back rise and fall as he wept out loud.

The three men were startled, cranking their necks to identify where the agonizing screams that echoed through the mansion were coming from.

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Commentary:

I love a hard-boiled detective novel. Something about the mystery pulls me into another world where I get carried away by the story. A few of my favorites include the Bosch TV series and Michael Connelly novels.

The origination of my writing crime novels began when I was asked to audition for an acting role in the TV series Breaking Strongholds. I went deep into character development mode and started writing a complex backstory. This is how Eli Ridge was born.

This particular novel was influenced by a few of the detectives I interviewed while researching and building the character I play in the show, Ethan James. In fact, I first heard about Cartel Woods – a nickname for Carlton Woods, a high-end community in The Woodlands, from a few of the detectives I interviewed.

The same neighborhood has been fictionalized in this novel as Caroline Woods.

Somehow, all of the worlds collided and inspired A Long Night’s Cry. I hope you’re enjoying the read.

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Read the next chapters here

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Check out the first two Eli Ridge novels below.