Young Writers Society

Peter "Viggo" Carlsen, a disgraced cop, has escaped from jail with the help of Nyssa, an old friend. Russel Pierce, Nyssa's fiancé and the cop who framed Viggo for a murder he didn't commit, is trying to wriggle his way into the manhunt.

To know more, read Chapter 8.2.

“Alright, guys, I would like you to meet Marshal Terry Rotwell and FBI agents Liam Jenks and Lara Mavrici. They're in charge of the search for Linred and Carlsen. Marshal, agents, I would like you to meet Detectives Flores, Reims and Pierce. The three of them were part of the Defoe investigation and they all knew Carlsen. They've been notifying everyone involved in his trial and arrest.”

Cordello stepped back, leaving the three detectives ample opportunity to stare at the federal agents. Rotwell, the Marshal, was the youngest one. He looked like he was coming straight out of college. He casually waved at them. Jenks was a wiry fifty-something black man who didn't seem to have a smile left in him. Mavrici's, kind and open, somewhat made up for that. A good decade younger, she had prematurely gray hair and warm chocolate brown eyes.

She gave the detectives her hand to shake. “So nice to meet y’all. I’m so glad we can count on your expertise and inside knowledge.”

When his turn came, Reims asked her, “Why are you here? You believe Carlsen or Linred are coming to San Francisco?”

The look in her eyes became sharp again, “It's likely. We think they’ve left the Saint-Paul area. We got a bit of a late start on that one. We had hopes of getting Carlsen, since he was injured and probably suffered from hypothermia, but a search of the nearby habitations, hotels and motels in the immediate area has turned up nothing. Lots of guests paid cash, but nobody saw a man fitting his description.”

Mavrici glanced at Jenks and he picked up the explanation where she had left it, “It's time to change our focus. We're removing the manhunt from the immediate area.”

Reims asked again, “Why San Francisco?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why are you here in San Francisco?” he insisted. “Linred is from San Jose, right? Have you decided, to hell with him, or what?”

Jenks kicked the ball back in Mavrici's court. Clearly, those two had been partners for a while.

“No,” Mavrici replied. “Not at all but fact is, Linred was a drifter, a loner. He's got no ties to anyone or anywhere. We're going to find him – eventually – but it won't be someplace from his past. He doesn't care about places any more than he cares about people.”

“What about Carlsen?” Flores asked, clearly itching to get on topic.

“Hard as it may be to admit, our profilers agree that Carlsen isn't a sociopath. Now that he’s out there on the run, he'll be tempted to return to places and people that once made him feel safe.”

“Why would he feel any safer here? Don’t tell me it’s his fond memories of San Francisco.”

Russ nodded to Flores' statement. “That's true. We've been visiting people he used to know. He’s got no friends left in town.”

Even Carlsen's mother had been horrified by the news of his escape. Snobbish bitch. She had shoved them out the door.

“You can't be sure of that. I've been studying up on Carlsen's file.” Mavrici's dark eyes sparkled with intelligence. “He never confessed, correct?”

Flores answered, “That's right.”

“Which is the reason why, although he is famous for being a dirty cop, Carlsen only went down for the Defoe murders.”

“So?” the idiot retorted, looking defensive.

“So, you might have put him behind bars, but you didn't get his network. You've got no idea who he might have been involved with. You've got no idea how much money he made or what he did with it. As I see it, we've got two options. We can either pick up your investigation where you left it eight years ago or we can determine what Carlsen's current objectives might be.”

Flores silently bristled at the idea of the feds going over his investigation again. Russ didn't want the Feds to dig into the past, but he'd rather be involved in this new mess, beginning to end. “How do you propose we do that?”

“Let's divide and conquer. Detective Flores, you were in charge of the investigation, right? Let's work together.” Marvici smiled kindly. “You can go over everything with me and we'll see if any new leads might have surfaced. We've got means you didn't have at the time, but your insights would be priceless.” Flores nodded. He still looked offended, but she was playing up to his ego like a pro. “Thank you. I'm sure we will make a good team. Marshal Rotwell, you…”

For the first time, the young man spoke up, “I'm going to organize systematic visits to all his old haunts: old houses, old apartments, old workplaces, old CIs, etc.”

Cordello stepped in, “We've put a list together for you.”

They had expected something like that. Search-parties were a very methodical process. A big part of the job was compiling lists of places and associates.

“Thanks. Which one of you knew him best?” Rotwell asked.

Reims and Flores immediately looked Russ's way, which was perhaps to be expected. The captain nodded approvingly, “Pierce was his partner, he can help you with that. And Pierce, maybe Malik could…”

“No,” he said, shutting her down drily. “Leave Nyssa alone.”

“But, Pierce…”

“No,” he repeated more forcefully. He always got a kick out of playing protective alpha male around Nyssa. Females cooed every damn time. “She doesn't know he’s out yet, and I don't want her to find out.”

Of course, Rotwell wanted to know, “Who is Malik?”

“Nyssa Malik,” Cordello said. “She is a crime tech. She was very close to Carlsen.”

“She's also my fiancée,” Russ told them. “She hit a rough patch after Carlsen's arrest. Almost drank herself into an early grave.”

The captain inserted rather forcefully, “But she’s fine now, and Captain Levowsky tells me her work's been flawless.”

Russ had to turn away and hide his smirk. Levowsky still didn't trust her. He wouldn't trust Nyssa ever again. Russ had made sure of that. It had been so much fun – ruining her self-confidence, getting her drunk before she had to testify in court, sneaking into her computer when she was passed out in bed, watching her break, bit by bit by bit. He had enjoyed ruining her career as much as he had enjoyed ruining her sex life.

“Maybe, but she's still very fragile. I refuse to involve her in this.” He met their eyes, each pair in turn. “I know more than she does about Carlsen. She was even angrier, even more hurt than I was after his betrayal.” He looked Rotwell squarely in his youngish face, “I’ll help you, Marshal, but you leave my girlfriend alone.”

The kid nodded.

“Good. Well, that leaves you and Jenks, detective Reims. I’d like you two to look into the last eight years of Carlsen’s life.”

“How are we going to do that?” Reims asked. “Isn’t everything under the rubble on Saint-Paul Island?”

Jenks cleared his throat. “Not everything. I thought we could start out with a couple of former inmates I’ve tracked down. Past cellmates of Carlsen’s, prisoners who came in contact with him.”

Reims made a face, then shrugged. “That’s a starting point, I suppose.”

To know more about the manhunt, read Chapter 9.2.