Colt Crawford - Chapter 5 (Wednesday)

The security tape showed a relatively empty section of the parking garage with a silver Mercedes C300 sedan parked in the lower left corner of the screen. The images were grainy at best, and given the limited screen size, it was difficult to make out the details, but the events caught on tape corroborated Samantha’s earlier statements. She could be seen approaching the car just after 5:00. Given the season, the sun was nearly set but the lights in the garage had not yet taken their full effect. It was the worst possible lighting for capturing usable video footage.

“I hate watching these kind of videos,” Malone said. “Especially when I know something creepy is about to happen. At least in the movies, you know it’s fake, but this is a real person we are about to see getting hurt.”

“I know how you feel. It can be creepy, but it just might help us catch a creep,” Colt responded.

“That’s what keeps me going everyday,” Malone said, her eyes riveted on the iPhone. The two sat side by side watching the crime occur, doing their best to notice the smallest of details. It was the nuances of the situation that would solve the crime. The attacker’s face was shielded from the cameras by the poor lighting, sunglasses, and a dark blue hoodie.

Given the subtle disguise, the crime was probably planned ahead of time. Most criminals who look for a crime of opportunity don’t take the time to hide their faces. This guy had a plan. Colt watched as he approached the car and then walked on by, seemingly pacing the floor of the parking garage. Was he actually waiting for Samantha ? Did he know her schedule? It was a holiday, she wasn’t working a normal schedule. If someone knew she was coming, they had to have been tipped off in advance.

“Is he waiting for Samantha or just any victim that walks by?” Detective Malone wondered aloud.

“Could be either, but he is definitely waiting,” Colt said, still watching to see what would happen. A few minutes later, Samantha approached from the top right corner of the screen. She was dressed in the same jeans and sweatshirt she had been wearing when Colt found her on the side of the road. As she neared the car, the man in the hoodie circled a neighboring car and came up from behind her. He grabbed the keys out of her hand as he unlocked the car in one swift motion. Seconds later, still wrestling with her he seemed to force something into her mouth. Colt and Malone watched as he held his hand over her mouth until she collapsed into the back seat.

“He had to be targeting her,” Malone said. “What was that he put in her mouth?”

“Something that knocked her out and didn’t leave any evidence,” Colt replied then added after a short pause, "I suspect that she blacked out from a lack of oxygen before the drug kicked in."

“Roofies?” Malone asked, though she knew the answer. The medicinal value o served to treat insomniacs, but to the underworld, the ability to get a victim to fall asleep was a powerful weapon.

“Had to be,” Colt responded. “This wasn’t a random car jacking. I’m meeting Samantha’s parents for lunch today. I’ll see if there was anyone that might be upset with her for any reason.”

“I need to talk to her anyway, so I’ll head over to the hospital from here,” Malone said.

“Where’s a good place for lunch?” Colt asked. “I need to let Mr. and Mrs. Woods know where to meet.”

“Try Aldo’s. That fancy phone of yours should tell you how to get there,” Krissy said with a slight smile that almost hinted at flirtatious. Rising to her feet, scooped her keys off the table and added, “Call me with any new info.”

Colt found himself momentary alone in the crowded coffee shop. Sipping his coffee, he rehashed what he knew. Samantha assumed she had been a victim of a car jacking, however, she had clearly been targeted. What was buried in her past, or maybe even her present, that would cause someone to violently attack her, drug her, then dump her from a moving car? As usual, there were more questions than answers at this point in the investigation.

There had been something in his gut that had not reacted well to what he knew of Creighton Ford. It was time for a drive back to L.A.