An act of deception!

My wife has been kidnapped! You’ve got to help me!” Detective Joan Brown held up a hand. “Now, hold on a second. First, who are you, and second, how do you know that your wife has been kidnapped?”

“My name is Jack Wilson.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My wife is the famous actress Jewel Carmichael. I’m sure you’ve heard of her.” Brown certainly had. Jewel Carmichael had appeared in movies and television shows in the late 1990s and early 2000s. She hadn’t been seen much in the past 10 years or so.

“Now, very calmly please, tell me what happened.”

The man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “On Tuesday morning, Jewel went out shopping. Around five that evening, I received a call from her phone. A man’s voice said he had her and demanded $100,000 or I’d never see her again.” Brown nodded. “Go on.” “Then the man said he would call back Wednesday evening with instructions where to leave the money. Oh, and he warned me not to go to the police.”

“But you came to us anyway.”

Wilson nodded. “Because it’s Thursday afternoon—and he never called back. So now I’m worried.”

Brown thought a moment. “You say this man used your wife’s phone. That’s actually good news for you. We have people in IT who may be able to track down your wife’s cellphone.”

Wilson gave Brown the necessary information, and she turned it over to her department’s tech team. Several hours later, Sergeant Henry Murphy came to her.

“We traced Ms. Carmichael’s phone to an address on the south side of the city,” he said. “According to our records, it’s an abandoned storage building.”

“Let’s go,” Brown said.

It wasn’t long before several police cars pulled up in front of a windowless cinder block building. The police removed a new-looking Yale lock from its door with bolt cutters, and the contingent entered. Quickly discovering there was no electricity, Brown turned on her flashlight and assessed the 10-by20 room that was empty except for a chair and table in the center. On the chair sat Jewel Carmichael, duct tape over her mouth and around her wrists and ankles.

Next to her, on the wooden table, sat an empty bowl with a spoon and a cellphone.

“Thank God, you came,” the actress said when she had been freed. “I was afraid he’d kill me.”

Do you feel up to telling us what happened to you?” Brown asked.

Carmichael nodded. “I had just come out of Harrison’s Department Store and was getting into my car when someone grabbed me from behind and stuck a cloth over my mouth and nose. I struggled but passed out.

“When I came to, I found myself here, taped to this chair. A man was here also—a big man, dressed in black, wearing a ski mask. He told me if I behaved myself I wouldn’t get hurt, but I didn’t believe him.”

“So, you never saw his face?”

“No, but he had piercing blue eyes, and I think I noticed a moustache in the mouth hole of his ski mask.”

“What else can you tell me about him?”

“Not much. Since been here, he came four times with soup for me. He freed one hand and uncovered my mouth so I could eat, but he always warned me not to scream or I’d regret it.”

Murphy stepped over to Brown.

“I think our only chance to get this guy is to hope he left his fingerprints on that lock and that they’re in our data base.”

Brown surveyed the interior of the cinder block building.

“I disagree,” she said. “I have a pretty good idea who’s behind this.”