At that moment, Julie Finn hurried in, handing over a fingerprint comparison report.
"Nick found a complete fingerprint on the bloody note. Here's the comparison with the ones from the headboard and those provided by T.C. Riordan."
Russell, curious, took the report. "I thought all the computers and devices were down due to the power outage. How did you manage the comparison?"
Julie Finn smiled wryly and handed him a magnifying glass. "We used a basic method to identify the fingerprint types. Don't overestimate us. No one here can do a full fingerprint comparison by eye anymore."
"Hmm." Russell pursed his lips, nodding in understanding before passing the report to Detective Bryce.
"The fingerprints on the headboard and the bloody note are of the same rare tented arch type. Here are the fingerprints we collected from T.C.'s ten fingers—plain arches, radial loops, and whorls—but no tented arches."
The old detective sighed, "Alright, alright. I'll arrange for T.C. Riordan's mother-in-law, Patricia, and that medium Karen to be brought to the station."
He paused, still trying to cling to his earlier judgment. "The golden three hours for a missing child case have long passed. Shouldn't we be preparing for the worst—"
Suddenly, a police officer rushed into the office, looking excited. "The kidnapper called."
The old detective threw up his hands. "You guys were right. Forget what I said."
The kidnapper's call had gone straight to T.C. Riordan's phone, using a common voice changer.
At that moment, T.C. Riordan was brought into a real meeting room. When the others arrived, they heard the kidnapper's altered voice being played aloud.
"Mr. Riordan, please get some paper and a pen ready to write down what I'm about to say."
Russell grabbed a notebook and pen from a nearby desk and handed them to him. He also grabbed one for himself, quickly scribbling a few words on a torn piece of paper.
"Ask him to prove the child is still alive."
T.C. Riordan's hands trembled as he held the phone. Struggling to control his emotions, he asked in a shaky voice, "I need to know if my son is okay first."
The voice from the changer remained emotionless, "Who wants to know, you or the police?"
It was clear the kidnapper knew about the situation on their end, at least that they had reported the case.
The old detective stood silently beside T.C., raising his index finger and pointing at T.C. as a cue.
"It's me. I want to know," T.C. quickly replied, catching on to the signal.
A child's voice immediately followed from the phone, "Daddy!"
"Hubble!" T.C. breathed a sigh of relief, as did everyone around him.
"Daddy, I'm scared." The child was obedient and didn't cry.
Russell continued to write swiftly on the paper, "Ask him a question."
T.C. nodded, understanding it was to further verify the identity. "Sweetheart, tell me, what's the name of the planet between Jupiter and Uranus with the big rings?"
"It's Saturn."
"You're so smart, sweetheart. Are you okay?" T.C. was relieved, his voice choked with emotion.
But then the altered voice returned, "Palermo Parking Garage, third level. Bring all the jewelry from the safe. Eight o'clock in the morning. The contact will be wearing a red hat."
The kidnapper then hung up.
"Eight in the morning?" The old detective checked the time. "We have four hours."
"Mr. Riordan, may I ask how much jewelry you have in that safe?" Jack asked, curious.
Though he wasn't sure of the wealthy man's exact net worth, the attention from the media years ago suggested it was at least in the millions.
The ransom demand was odd. Anyone who'd seen a couple of crime movies would know to ask for cash, preferably unmarked bills. Jewelry was hard to offload, and stolen goods often sold for much less than their value, with a good return being just a fraction on the black market.
T.C., distracted, responded with a number that left everyone stunned.
"Mr. Riordan, did you say there are over two million dollars' worth of jewelry in your home safe?" Even Russell's tone seemed to change.
"Couldn't you find a better place to store them, like a bank?" The old detective was incredulous. Were the rich really this reckless?
T.C. looked at everyone, still somewhat dazed. "Yes, most of it belonged to my wife, Natalie. I just wanted to keep her things close. Sometimes at night, I take them out to look at them."
For a moment, even the old detective began to doubt his previous conclusions. Could T.C. Riordan really be a sentimental man? Or were the rich just this eccentric?
"Alright, does anyone else know about this? I mean, that you kept so much valuable jewelry in the safe?" Jack asked.
"My mother-in-law, Patricia—Patricia Leidke."
Jack glanced at the old detective, indicating he had no further questions.
"Mr. Riordan, I'll arrange for officers to escort you home to retrieve the jewelry. After that, I'll need you to provide an inventory and an approximate value of the items."
Detective Bryce then looked at Russell. "I'll need a CSI to accompany our officers to verify the authenticity of the jewelry when it's taken out of the safe."
"I'll handle it," Julie Finn volunteered. "I have some experience with jewelry."
Russell nodded and gave a final instruction to the old detective, "We need to speak with Patricia Leidke and that medium as soon as possible."
"You'll see them within an hour. They're already on their way," the old detective said, checking his watch before hurrying off to arrange the teams.
"To save time, shall we split up for the questioning?" Russell suggested to Jack.
"Okay, which one do you want?" Jack agreed easily.
"Do you think the kidnapper could be among them?" Russell hinted that his choice might indicate who he thought was more suspicious.
"You go first. I don't have a strong lead yet; there's too little information," Jack replied, yielding.
"I'll question Patricia Leidke. You take the medium. I hear people in the psychic business are pretty good at reading minds. You might have something to talk about."
Russell's joke was lighthearted. If scientists had their amateur enthusiasts, then fortune-tellers and mediums could be considered the wild psychotherapists of their field. And unlike the pseudo-scientists with dubious claims, these wild psychotherapists often had some pretty effective psychological tricks up their sleeves.
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Hello, if you enjoy mythology novels, I invite you to check out "I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother", a story inspired by Norse mythology