Malpractice - 1. Chapter 1

In a sleepy little town just on the New Jersey side of the Jersey-Pennsylvania border, fall was settling in. The trees had the broadest spectrum of reds, yellows and oranges anyone could possibly see in one area. Children were playing in their front yards in piles of leaves, as they tried to squeeze every last drop out of summer that they could before their school work got serious. Young couples were walking their dogs in the park. Older couples were sitting in the park gazebo, or in rocking chairs on front porches enjoying their lives together. And in an old warehouse on the outskirts of town, near the Delaware River, the only person who could hear seventy-five year old Sadie Montague screaming in agony was the man who was causing her pain.

Only a few hours away, Sadie’s second of three sons was sitting in a Trenton apartment, trying to figure out who the man he was chasing really was. His cell phone rang, cutting through the silence and the bourbon he’d been drinking. He shifted the images of metal boxes being towed out of the Delaware River, and bodies lying on morgue slabs, clearly tortured and in different states of rigor. Names were at the bottoms of the photos. Names of a madman’s victims of terror and murder. Newspaper clippings littered the area as well as official police and F.B.I. reports. Finally, through all the paperwork and the haze of liquor, he found the shrieking device.

"Montague."

"Your mother is a truly beautiful woman, Agent Montague. A bit old for my taste, but she’s still got a lot of that Creole spice in her. For now." The voice on the other end of F.B.I. Behavioral Analysis Unit Agent Remmington Montague’s phone was that of a killer.

Agent Montague kept his tone steady. This bastard was not going to have the pleasure of getting a rise out of him. "Where are you keeping her, Burris?"

The modified voice on the other end laughed sadistically. "If you knew that, I would already be behind bars, Montague. So let’s give me a bit more credit. I’m not your typical, uneducated criminal. I went to Harvard. Or didn’t you know that already?"

"I’m quite aware of where you were educated, Dr. Burris. But tell me something. Why can I not find any record of you prior to your enrollment in Harvard?" Remi had to keep this guy talking. Alexa Maguire, Agent Montague’s co-worker and lover, would be home soon, and she could track this call in a second, and give Remi the address.

"Oh, come now, Agent Montague, surely you’ve figured out that Alexander Burris isn’t my true identity. Clever enough to fool the New Jersey medical board, but not my true name."

"I’d gathered that," Remi said sarcastically, "But since you’re so clever, I’m sure you have another alias for the place you’re renting, so what’s the harm in telling me your real name?"

"Nice try, Montague, but I’m not some uneducated little brat that you can just lure into giving you information. I’m your worst nightmare, Agent. I’m intelligent, and more brilliant than you could hope to be. Now, I’m going to end this phone call before your lovely girlfriend gets home and traces my location. Remember, Remmington, I know more about you than you think, so if I were you, I’d be careful about whom I insult."

Before Remi could respond the line went dead. When Alexa walked in the door a moment later, she found him sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. She knew immediately that something was wrong. He never let the job get to him.

"Remi? Baby? What’s wrong?" Alexa tried to be comforting to her boyfriend of two years. She’d seen him angry, confused even, but never upset. Their sprawling penthouse suddenly felt small as she sat next to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as if trying to hold his shattered world together.

"He has my mother, Als. That rat bastard has my mother, and he’s gonna kill her if we don’t catch him first."

Alexa kissed his forehead, and then moved over to the desk where her laptop computer was and said, "When did the call come in?"

"God, I love you," Remi smiled as he got up and moved to stand behind her, "I got the call at 7:53 PM. There was no name or number on the caller id."

Alexa’s fingers flew across the keyboard as she began tracking the call. Her brows knit together and her pouty lips pursed as the computer kept working and working but producing no results.

"I can’t get a lock on where the call came from, Remi. He used a signal scrambler, and I’m getting three different towers that are nowhere near each other. I’m sorry, Baby."

Remi didn’t get much sleep that night. When he did finally drift off in Alexa’s arms, his dreams were filled with nightmare images of his mother in a metal box at the bottom of the Delaware.