Fragmented by George Fong Page B

kidnapping, Lucy.”
    Marquez nodded, and held up a single finger. “The abduction, being grabbed. Big mistake. Go without a fight, won’t live through the night .”
    Jack nodded.
    “The transport to another location.” Marquez held up two fingers.
    “A very bad one,” Jack replied. “And….”
    “Three, the ritual. Rape, molest, hurt.” Three fingers straight up.
    “And four?” Jack’s voice grew edgy.
    Marquez’s lips thinned as she looked at the
TRAK
flyer photo of Jessica. “Without a ransom—the disposal.” Her hand fell flat on Jack’s desk, and she rubbed a small spot in a slow circular motion .
    Jack tapped a nervous finger on the face of his watch and stood from his chair. “Four hours, that’s the average length of time a kidnapped victim is kept alive. Based on the time and date of the photo image, if she is alive, Jessica Baker’s on borrowed time. ”
    No ransom, no demands. Nothing in exchange for her safe return. That only meant whoever had her was not intending on letting her go.
    “Let’s see what Jim has put together from the computer.” Jack slipped on a sport coat and reached in his desk drawer for his pistol. Marquez stood and slipped on her jacket. Marquez’s pistol was already on her side.
    The two hurried down a long green hallway to the CART examination room, where James Harrington’s back was still to the door. Hunched over an opened computer tower like he was conducting surgery, Harrington straightened up and let out a guttural sigh. Pain was radiating up his back after being bent over for an hour. As he twisted his stocky frame to relieve the tension, he caught sight of Jack and Marquez watching his exercise routine.
    “Got something for you,” Harrington said.
    They walked over and peered at the monitor on the examination table. Numbers, icons and squiggly lines spanned the length of the monitor. Harrington maneuvered through a maze of computer words and commands until small segments of images appeared. He pasted them together, overlaying parts onto the screen, refreshing and doing it all over again. Finally, Harrington clicked on an icon, a second rolled by before a full screen image materialized. Grainy at first, then the process started to bring the image into focus. A photo of a house, single story, tree-lined street. A large, light-colored sedan parked in the driveway. Jack recognized it as a late model Chrysler. The photo was taken from inside a car parked on the other side of the street, a reflection in the side view mirror. Jack stared sharply.
    “You can see an image of the person taking the picture in the side-view,” he said, pointing at the fuzzy mirror.
    “Not enough detail for an identification,” replied Harrington, who continued punching at the keyboard, drawing up additional images. “Look at the next set. I think this may answer some questions.”
    The second and third images began to appear. Another picture of the house, this time a man making his way to the car. A blurry shot of the vehicle driving past. Another of a woman walking from the front door, garage opened. The next, a woman backing an SUV down the driveway.
    “Looks like surveillance photos,” Jack said,
    “More like stalking photos,” Marquez replied.
    “Here comes the creepy ones,” Harrington said.
    The screen scrolled down revealing a blurry, off-centered photo of a house window, as if the photographer was jogging toward it as he shot the digital frame. The next picture was through the window into a bedroom. The next showed the backyard slider.
    “We’re watching a break-in,” Marquez said.
    Jack turned to Harrington. “How much more were you able to retrieve?”
    “There are several missing between this one and the next, but it’s one that will help identify your victim. It’s still a bit fragmented, but I think it serves its purpose.”
    A partial photo appeared of a bed with a young girl lying asleep and facing away from the camera. She was unaware that she was