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Chapter 67: Six Hours to Glory
10:10 PM.
The Blue Parrot Motel stood ready, a carefully orchestrated trap. All police cars had been moved out of sight, leaving only the silent waiting for prey to appear.
Johnson, however, never showed up.
The detectives holding search warrants reported back one after another, their voices crackling through the radio. Without exception, they all came up empty-handed, no trace of the kidnapper or his victim.
The Senior Police Supervisor glanced at Theodore, expecting to see panic or mounting unease. Instead, he found the young detective's expression unchanged, still radiating quiet confidence.
At that moment, the detective stationed at the hospital checked in. Donald Moore was awake, looking dazed and disoriented. The attending physician had examined him and concluded he was badly startled but otherwise physically unharmed.
Theodore keyed his radio and reminded them that Carl Sullivan might be seriously injured when found, and the hospital needed to prepare trauma protocols in advance.
This time, even Chief Weideke, Deputy Inspector Burton, and Wenner couldn't help but stare at him. As the minutes ticked by, hope seemed to dwindle, yet Theodore remained unshakably confident. How could he be so sure?
...
Johnson was trembling violently, his entire body wracked with tremors like a patient suffering from advanced Parkinson's disease. His withdrawal symptoms had intensified dramatically, his mind fragmenting into chaos as hallucinations began to dance at the edges of his vision.
He parked the stolen car at a distance, roughly stuffed Little Sullivan into the trunk, and fumbled for his pistol with shaking hands. Then he stumbled toward the Blue Parrot Motel like a man drunk on desperation.
The motel appeared quiet, its windows dark and uninviting.
Johnson's shambling approach immediately alerted the deployed detectives, but they couldn't get an explicit visual confirmation. The hunched figure walking with an unsteady, intoxicated gait could be anyone. They chose to let him enter the motel grounds.
Johnson successfully made it inside the Blue Parrot's courtyard. The sight of nearby Room 208 made him relax his guard; the finish line was within reach. He rushed toward it with renewed urgency.
The moment his fingers closed around the doorknob of Room 208, more than a dozen officers erupted from concealment. They swarmed the thin, weakened man, overwhelming him in seconds.
Bernie burst from the room and shouted over the scuffle, "Where is Little Sullivan?"
Johnson twisted in their grip and smiled at Bernie, a knowing, defiant expression. He might be addicted to amphetamines, but they didn't completely consume his mind. He recognised Bernie immediately and understood his situation was hopeless.
Bernie returned the smile grimly and sprinted from the motel.
Not far away, a detective had already popped the trunk and was carefully lifting Little Sullivan out. After a quick assessment, the officer nodded and gently placed the boy in a waiting police car.
Everyone on the scene exhaled in a collective sigh of relief.
"Go quickly," Councillor Santos appeared from the shadows, patting Bernie's shoulder. His eyes were filled with unmistakable envy.
...
"Johnson has been arrested, and the hostage has been recovered and is being transported for medical treatment."
The report from the scene was repeated twice over the radio for absolute clarity.
The large office immediately erupted into a sea of celebration. Led by the Senior Police Supervisor, applause thundered through the room.
The detectives from the Violent Crimes Unit were overjoyed. They laughed and applauded, embraced everyone within reach, and planted congratulatory kisses on cheeks and foreheads.
Wenner quietly slipped away to the waiting room, where Mrs. Sullivan had already risen anxiously from her chair. Seeing the celebration through the glass, she desperately searched the faces for answers.
Wenner gently informed Mrs. Sullivan that Little Sullivan had been rescued and was being escorted to the hospital by Bernie. He then called over a detective to drive her there immediately.
After handling this delicate task, he quietly returned to stand beside Chief Weideke. Watching the Senior Police Supervisor beam at Theodore, he whispered, "Didn't I tell you? He's worth our focused investment."
Chief Weideke wore a subtle smile, humming his agreement. "Your judgment of people has always been impeccable."
Having witnessed the entire investigative process firsthand, Theodore had indeed delivered quite a shock to his expectations.
Wenner felt a surge of pride in his protégé.
On the other side of the room, the Senior Police Supervisor was grinning so broadly he couldn't seem to close his mouth.
Kidnapping case solved in six hours! Kidnapper apprehended, hostage rescued safely! There couldn't possibly be a more perfect ending than this.
He had never fought such a victorious battle in his entire career. If every media outlet in Felton didn't cover this case for a full week, he'd personally arrest and eat Johnson on the spot.
The Senior Police Supervisor was thoroughly satisfied with Theodore's performance. He gestured toward the door and invited the young detective to face the waiting reporters together.
Theodore politely declined. He wanted to get to the hospital immediately to check on Little Sullivan's condition.
For most people, the case ended here. For Little Sullivan, perhaps everything was beginning.
In the Senior Police Supervisor's eyes, Theodore had become a precious asset; whatever he chose to do was automatically the right decision. He greatly appreciated this kind of partnership loyalty and made a mental note to mention it when addressing the press.
The Senior Police Supervisor strode from the West District Branch with renewed vigour, positioning himself at the entrance with a triumphant smile.
A modest group of reporters clustered around him, perhaps a dozen in total. It was pretty late, and many journalists had already departed for the evening. Based on their experience with kidnapping cases, they'd expected developments to take at least two or three days.
"Just moments ago, we apprehended the kidnapper, and Detective Bernie Sullivan's son has been successfully rescued. He sustained some injuries and is currently receiving medical treatment at the hospital."
"The little fellow showed remarkable bravery throughout this ordeal..."
The Senior Police Supervisor announced the results in measured, serious tones. Seeing the reporters' shocked expressions, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction. The more surprised they appeared, the calmer he became.
He methodically provided a brief overview of the case, ensuring the reporters understood this had been no amateur prank kidnapping, but a genuine professional criminal operation.
The news broke in the late hours of the night. Radio stations immediately broadcast the story and launched into extensive discussion segments. Television stations inserted breaking news bulletins into their late-night programming.
The real suffering fell to the newspapers. Their printed editions were now completely obsolete, and less than four hours remained until morning distribution.
The entire newspaper industry descended into chaos.
Only a few major publications, with their extensive printing plant networks and resources, managed to redesign, print, and deliver revised editions on schedule. Ninety per cent of smaller newspapers faced varying degrees of shortages.
Some papers couldn't secure printing facilities at all and had to distribute yesterday's obsolete editions. Of course, there were also unscrupulous publications that required no revisions whatsoever; what they printed wasn't news anyway, but fabricated stories masquerading as journalism.
...
Theodore remained at the hospital for only thirty minutes before departing.
Little Sullivan had been badly frightened and showed signs of alcohol consumption, leaving him in a lethargic, semi-conscious state. The attending physician performed a comprehensive examination and confirmed that while his injuries appeared alarming at first glance, they were actually superficial.
Learning that his internal organs remained undamaged and his ribs showed no fractures or cracks, both Theodore and Bernie felt somewhat incredulous at the boy's fortune.
Mrs. Sullivan continuously kissed Little Sullivan's forehead, convinced this outcome was divine intervention.
After the medical team cleaned and bandaged Little Sullivan's wounds and prescribed appropriate medications, they declared him stable enough for home care under parental supervision.
Mrs. Sullivan thanked Theodore repeatedly, unable to contain her grateful sobs.
After bidding farewell to the Sullivan family, Theodore drove home alone, mentally reviewing every aspect of the case from beginning to end.
He didn't particularly like this case and had no intention of including it in his investigative notes.
More significantly, while the Senior Police Supervisor and others celebrated solving the case in six hours, Theodore felt no such satisfaction.
If Samuel had been present, he would have identified the amphetamine connection immediately, just as he had in case 600528 (Prostitute Joan).
Thinking of Samuel led inevitably to thoughts of the FBI, which in turn brought his mind to D.C., to Hoover, and to that looming July agreement.
July was already half over...
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Hello, so I am back here. This is not dropped. Okay, don't worry; there's a lot more waiting to come.
This will not happen again, so do not fear.
Hope you are all doing well.Â