Although it wasn't clear how Dick Reed had managed to evade NYPD's surveillance to appear at a dive bar late at night, one thing was certain: Danny's monitoring plan had a flaw.
By the time Danny and Jack arrived at Dick Reed's mother's house on Long Island with an emergency search warrant, the detectives assigned to watch the property were still clueless.
"He's definitely still inside. We've got people stationed at the front and back of the house—he couldn't have slipped away," one of the detectives assured them with confidence.
Danny didn't bother responding. He simply drew his sidearm and moved toward the front door. Jack stepped in front of him, locking eyes with a stern glare. "Stay calm. If you lose control, I'd rather go in alone."
Taking a deep breath, Danny exhaled heavily and nodded. Gripping the door handle, he glanced at Jack. "I'm ready."
Jack drew his Glock. As Danny opened the door, Jack quickly slipped inside, and the two began methodically clearing each room on the first floor.
From the living room, the sound of a loud television blared. Jack hugged the wall near the doorway, peeking inside. Sitting in a single recliner was an elderly white woman in her late sixties or seventies, completely absorbed in the television.
Jack motioned to Danny with a subtle nod, signaling that the room was secure. They holstered their weapons and approached the woman cautiously. She remained utterly unresponsive, seemingly oblivious to their presence.
"Ma'am, ma'am, we need to talk about your son," Danny said, giving her a gentle shake. She still didn't react. Concerned, Danny checked her pulse. "She's alive?"
Jack nodded and whispered, "Severe Alzheimer's." He recognized the late-stage symptoms—she had likely lost all language and motor function.
After thoroughly searching the first floor and confirming no one else was there, the two carefully ascended the stairs. As they reached a bedroom door, faint sounds of a woman crying came from inside.
Jack tested the doorknob but found it locked. Signaling Danny to cover him, he stepped back and kicked the door near the lock. The door burst open.
Danny rushed inside, weapon raised, but froze in his tracks. Jack followed, and the scene before them made even his hardened nerves falter. A naked middle-aged woman was bound to the bed, her body covered in bruises and marks from abuse.
When the woman saw them, she let out a weak cry for help. "Please... help me..."
Danny snapped out of his shock and quickly moved to the bathroom to ensure no one was hiding inside.
Jack holstered his Glock and pulled the bed's blanket over the woman's exposed body. As he began untying her wrists from the bedframe, he asked, "Are you alright? Was this Dick Reed's doing?"
What the hell is going on? How had that bastard managed to abduct someone and bring them home right under the NYPD's watch?
The woman's trembling voice gave Jack pause. "H-he's my brother..."
Danny's face twisted in disgust. "That animal did this to you..." he growled through gritted teeth, pulling out his phone to call 911 for an ambulance.
"Where is he now?" Jack asked as he helped the woman sit up. Thankfully, while the bruising looked severe, her injuries didn't appear life-threatening.
"He usually stays in the basement..." she murmured, grabbing Jack's arm with a pleading look. "I know this sounds crazy, but he's normally so good to me. I said the wrong thing, I made him angry... It's my fault... It's all my fault..."
Both men froze, their minds struggling to process her words. It felt like they'd been force-fed a fly—it was revolting, and their worldviews felt shattered. What kind of twisted family was this?
Jack, at a loss for words, instinctively withdrew his hand from her. He and Danny exited the room, silent and visibly shaken.
"You might need to rewrite that psychological profile," Danny muttered weakly.
"Shut up!" Jack snapped, unsure if his anger was directed at Danny, the situation, or himself for being so blindsided. This level of depravity was something he'd only ever seen in fictional Japanese exploitation films—nothing he could have predicted as a psychology student.
The two headed downstairs and quickly located the basement entrance. Descending into the cluttered space, they found no sign of Reed.
It was a typical New York-style semi-basement, filled with junk and featuring a mattress for sleeping. Small windows designed for ventilation and natural light faced the street, but they were securely barred.
Jack tested the bars, confirming they were intact. While an adult could theoretically fit through the window, the metal grates were undamaged. How the hell had a grown man just disappeared?
As Jack was about to focus his enhanced perception to investigate further, Danny made a discovery. Moving a pile of junk in the corner, he toppled an old wardrobe, revealing a hidden door.
"Son of a bitch... there's a tunnel here."
"You've got to be kidding me," Jack muttered, shining his tactical flashlight. Behind the door was a narrow tunnel leading toward the neighboring property.
An ambulance arrived shortly after to take the injured woman to the hospital. Jack and Danny stood outside, trying to piece together what they'd just witnessed. Their awkward silence was broken by a patrol officer emerging from the neighboring house.
"No one's home. The property's been vacant for years. There's a World War II-era bomb shelter beneath it, but there's no sign of the suspect," the officer reported.
Danny rubbed his temples, his sanity slowly returning. "Let me think... Who would he go after next? Becky Swartz, the only survivor. We need to find her before he does."
"You don't have officers assigned to protect her?" Jack asked, incredulous.
"Eileen said she refused to testify, and she also declined police protection. I've got her address—time for you to show me what this car of yours can do," Danny said, climbing into the passenger seat of the Hellcat.
"Today just keeps getting worse," Jack muttered, flipping on the sirens and flooring the gas pedal. The Hellcat's tires screeched in protest, leaving twin trails of smoke as it tore down the street.
"Bang!" The door to an apartment in Queens flew open as Danny kicked it in. He stormed inside, yelling, and tackled a figure to the ground.
A knife clattered to the floor. Jack flipped the light switch and found Becky Swartz cowering in a closet. He gently helped her out. "It's okay, you're safe now. I'm Agent Tavola. Remember me?"
The girl let out a sob and clung to Jack tightly, refusing to let go.
Meanwhile, Danny was pummeling the man he had pinned, landing blow after blow until something didn't feel right. He grabbed the man's hair and yanked his head up, revealing a grotesquely familiar but wrong face.
"This isn't Reed. It's his copycat, James Richard. Goddamn it!" Frustrated, Danny landed another punch to the man's ribs, making him yelp in pain.
"At least we got here in time," Danny said, glancing at Becky, who was still shaking in Jack's arms. He let out a long sigh of relief.
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