Without a Trace

The day was long, Abel hovering in his office like an expectant father outside a delivery room, praying beyond hope for good news. While there was news, it wasn’t quite what he was hoping for. The extensive hunt through three states and the Capitol District turned up a deceased John Doe near the banks of the Potomac River. It wasn’t Gil. Of his partner there was no trace and he feared the worst.

To her credit, Penny remained in the office, staying hours after her day should have come to a close and periodically checking in on him while citing she was getting acquainted with the case load.

He told her to go home while he busied himself with the ins and outs of the Red Hand file. He wasn’t sure how long he had been scouring through the files when his personal cell phone vibrated on the desk.

Looking at the phone and seeing Albert’s number, he rolled his eyes. He supposed he shouldn’t be too upset given how Albert had actually remained fairly quiet throughout the day. “Abel,” read the one word message.

Grabbing the phone, “What is it?” he typed back, autocorrect fixing the words he misspelled in his irritation.

“Just checking,” read the reply, ending in a smiley face emoticon.

Abel looked at it for a moment, frowning. There was no copy at the end of the message. “Albert?”

“Unfortunately little Albert was swallowed up by something more pressing,” came the response.

Staring at the phone long and hard, Abel slowly shook his head. “Lily?”

“You are a natural born detective,” answered the person on Albert’s phone.

“Listen, you scheming bitch, why don’t you just sit tight and I will be right there and we can have ourselves a nice little face to face chat like where the hell is Gil,” he texted back, getting up from his desk and grabbing his jacket as he hurried out of the building,

“Scheming bitch? Such epithets are hurtful and can undermine a woman’s self esteem,” Lily answered, adding a crying face.

“The time for niceties is over. Where the fuck is Gil?” he typed and sent.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know, I really don’t.”

“Are you at Albert’s?” he queried. 

“Not anymore, I’m in your bedroom, on your bed texting you with my right hand. Do you want to know where my other hand is right now?” she supplied, adding a winky face emoticon.

Abel frowned, “I want to know where Albert is?”

“He’s here with me,” she sent back. 

“Alive?” he typed, hurrying through the parking lot to get to his car.

“For the moment, though for how much longer I can’t really say. He is struggling deliciously so,” she answered.

He suspected there was little point in getting the cops to go there as she would undoubtedly be gone by the time they got there once again making him look like the boy who cried wolf. “I’m on my way, alone, if you got the jam to face me one on one,” he sent, jumping in the car and firing it up.

There was no response.

Flicking on the red and blue lights built into the charcoal grey Crown Victoria ghost car, he raced back toward his apartment, shutting them off as he pulled up in front of the building. Moving quickly, he entered the building, stabbing a finger into the elevator call button panel and foot tapping as he waited for the elevator car to come to the lobby. Watching the numbers decrease as the lift descended, he reached into his jacket, fingers curling around the grip of his pistol, there was a ping and the doors opened. It was empty.

Taking the elevator back up to his floor, Abel exited and moved quickly but cautiously along the wall, stopping at the side of Albert’s door. Knocking, “Albert?” he called out.

No response. Testing the handle, the door was unlocked. Opening it, he glanced in, “Albert?” he repeated, using his foot to prevent the door from closing completely.

Easing his weapon out of the holster, he flicked the safety off and stepped into the apartment, controlling the door’s passage to prevent it from making a loud noise when it closed.

He had been in Albert’s apartment on a couple of occasions and the man was a hoarder, so  it was hard to tell if anything was truly amiss, except the fact that the omnipresent house coat Albert always wore was lying in the middle of the floor.

Growling under his breath, he checked the remainder of his neighbor’s abode, finding nothing else that suggested anything sinister save Albert’s absence and the disposition of the discarded housecoat.

Returning to the door, he stepped out and walked to his apartment. Further down the hall a door opened and the young woman Albert had identified earlier as doing laundry, Amy Wilkerson stepped out, dressed like she was going out for the evening. Walking toward him, she fussed with her purse before meeting his gaze and smiling shyly. Though they not yet had a chance to say anything more than a passing greeting in the hall on a couple of occasions.

Smiling, “Hello,” she said, shifting her purse over her shoulder and tucking a loose strand of dirty blonde hair behind her ear.

Smiling back, he nodded, “Hi,” he replied, hastily moving the hand with the gun around behind his back so as not to alarm her.

“Abel right?” she asked.

He smiled and nodded, “Yes,” he replied. “You’re Amy. Going out for the night?” he inquired.

She grinned and nodded back. They both lingered a moment, an uncomfortable silence in the air before he bid her a good night and she made her way down the hall toward the elevator.

He watched her walk to the elevator before opening the door to his apartment, greeted by a hint of perfume in the air that confirmed Lily had indeed been here earlier. Checking the place, it was now was empty. No sign of either Lily or Albert. Nothing.

“Fuck,” he muttered, sliding the pistol back into the holster and pulling out his cell phone. “Pussy!” he typed, sending the message to Albert’s phone before calling Tom and sharing the contents of the dialogue.

The only thing left to do now was wait for the forensics team.