"Why would anyone send a doll to a dump like this? The rats on Staten Island live better than this," Danny muttered, kicking a box out of his way. A plump rat scurried out, making him jump, which drew an amused smile from Jack.
Staten Island was the least developed of New York's five boroughs and once hosted the world's largest landfill. Most New York apartment buildings had basements or semi-basements, and though renting these out as living spaces was technically illegal, nearly all were occupied because of the city's ever-increasing rents.
The address Jack and Danny received led them to such a semi-basement apartment. They stepped down a street-level stairwell, wading through a cluttered yard filled with garbage and debris, stopping in front of a rusty metal door.
Danny knocked while Jack stood back against the wall, one hand hovering over his Glock—better safe than sorry.
"Who's there?" a voice answered, the thumping bass of music echoing from within.
"Police. Open up!" Danny knocked harder.
After a moment, the door cracked open, and a cautious young white man in his twenties peeked out. "What's this about?"
Danny flashed his badge. "Oliver Peel?"
While they confirmed his identity, Jack's nose crinkled from the overpowering scent of marijuana filling the air.
"Step aside. I'll ask the questions," Danny said, pushing the young man aside and stepping in.
"What's going on? What do you guys want?" Oliver asked, clearly nervous and more confused than anything.
One look at the small basement room, and Jack realized they had the wrong guy. The space contained only the essentials—a bed and a fridge—and an assortment of dolls packed onto every wall shelf. Each doll was unique; Jack hadn't seen so many different types in his life.
"Aren't you a little old for this? Are you a collector?" he asked.
As a bit of a collector himself, Jack could understand, but doll collecting was an unusual—and frankly creepy—hobby. Dim the lights a little, and this place could double as a horror movie set. If they were collectible figures with more appeal, maybe Jack could relate.
Oliver blinked, half dazed, and finally shook his head. "I'm a reviewer for World Doll Magazine."
"Oh…" Danny drew out the word in an exaggerated sigh, "there's an actual job like that?"
Jack quickly located their target doll, picking it up and pressing a button. As expected, it chirped the familiar line, "Change my clothes; I had an accident."
"Doesn't seem to be him."
Danny nodded, but still asked, "A young girl went missing this afternoon. Do you know anything about it? Where were you at that time?"
Oliver, more focused on the doll in Jack's hands, protested, "I was here, haven't gone anywhere. And can you not take that? I still need to finish my review."
"Apologies," Jack said, handing the doll back, satisfied that Oliver wasn't their guy.
They exited the basement, Oliver muttering defensively behind them, "For your information, this is serious work. Lots of moms trust my reviews!"
Jack wiped his brow, pretending to clear off non-existent sweat, and called Jubal. They only had one remaining suspect; hopefully, that investigation was progressing.
Jubal came through quickly, sending over the details.
"Donald Benz, a local toy salesman. A convenient cover, hails from Florida, married to a local. We've got his photo and fingerprints, and we're digging up more."
"This could be our guy," Danny said, perking up as he rubbed his hands together, glancing at the Dodge Hellcat with a glint of excitement.
"If we need to chase someone, we're switching back. I don't want to deal with more trouble, understand?" Jack tossed him the keys.
Donald Benz's home was in Nassau County, Long Island. New York City had two Long Islands; Long Island City was a Queens neighborhood, while Nassau County's Long Island was suburban, with cheaper housing and less crowding than the city—like New York's backyard, full of new apartment complexes and the occasional bungalow.
Donald's home was part of a row of three connected two-story houses. They arrived past midnight, and it took some persistence to get the door answered.
"Mrs. Madeline Benz?" Jack asked, holding out his FBI badge since NYPD had no jurisdiction here.
The woman, a wary-looking white woman in her forties clutching a robe around herself, squinted at them, clearly unimpressed. "Can't this wait until morning?"
"Apologies, ma'am. This concerns a little girl's life. We need to speak to your husband, Donald Benz. Is he home?" Danny asked.
"No, he's not. What's this about? Did he do something?" She clutched the pearl-encrusted cross on her necklace, absently rubbing it.
"We just need to talk to him. Could we take a look around inside?" Jack asked, glancing past her into the house.
"Absolutely not." She responded with a hint of disdain. "To be honest, I'm in the middle of divorcing that jerk. I haven't seen him in months, and just yesterday I shipped off the last of his things."
Was this a motive—or at least, an opportunity?
Jack couldn't help but recall another case, where a divorce had driven a man to madness and murder. This kidnapper had left no trace evidence, suggesting he was likely experienced. Perhaps he'd kept his criminal impulses in check while married, only to resume after the split.
The thought passed quickly; Jack reminded himself he was no longer in the BAU, and serial killers weren't exactly common.
"Could you give us the address where you sent his belongings?" Danny asked.
"Wait here." Mrs. Benz didn't close the door, returning with a slip of paper.
"It's the Lincoln Harbor Motel near Inwood. I noted the room number and his phone number, though I don't know if he's still there. Haven't called him in months."
"Thank you, Mrs. Benz." Jack accepted the paper, noting her cooperative attitude. She showed no signs of deception or unusual behavior.
As they left, Mrs. Benz closed the door. However, a few minutes later, the Hellcat, now with its lights off, glided quietly to a stop across the street from the house.
"Didn't you say she didn't seem to be lying?" Danny asked, a bit on edge.
"We're running out of time. Theresa has Type 1 diabetes. Without insulin, she could go into shock and die at any moment."
"A few minutes won't make a difference." Jack remained calm. "Better safe than sorry."
Inwood was at the northern tip of Manhattan, meaning they'd have to cross nearly the entire city to get there. If they'd been misled, it'd cost them even more precious time.
Jack sent Donald's number to Jubal, asking for a location ping.
Time ticked by, and Danny was just about to voice his impatience when the bedroom light on the second floor finally went dark. The house looked quiet and still, and just then, Jack's phone screen lit up with confirmation.
The phone was indeed at the Lincoln Harbor Motel in Inwood.
"Ready for some Fast & Furious?" Jack grinned wickedly at Danny.
"Huh?" Before Danny could react, Jack had started the Hellcat and floored it.
"Fuuuuu—Jack!"
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Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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