Grim measures, p.1
Grim Measures, page 1
Table of Contents
Grim Measures
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
"A gripping and gut-wrenching thrill ride, as we experience the horrors of kidnap and the terse action David has become known for. Get your copy of Grim Measures today!"
– Lt. Colonel Rip Rawlings, New York Times, USA Today and Amazon Bestselling author.
"Brilliant, tense, and filled with action!" ★★★★★
– Jonas Saul, International Bestselling author of The Sarah Roberts Series and The Drowning.
"David Darling’s trademark crisp writing and lightning-fast pacing is once again on display in Grim Measures. Even with the reduced word count of a novella, there is enough physical action and psychological intrigue to keep readers engaged to the very end."
– Todd Wilkins, Best Thriller Books reviewer.
Months after Ava was taken, the abductor offered John a chance to get his young daughter back, but he must follow instructions.
First, he must kill FBI Special Agent Robert Rothman, lead investigator on the case.
Without his little girl, nothing else matters. John Weland clings to hope as he prepares to darken his soul and commit murder.
Grim measures await.
Grim Measures, by David Darling. Copyright © 2022
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and specific other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at the email address below.
author.david.darling@gmail.com
www.daviddarlingbooks.com
Cover Art: ndesign.studio.com
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Suicide Prevention
While I mention suicide within the novel for a fictional character, many struggle daily with such decisions. If you or someone you know has suicidal thoughts or tendencies, help is available. If someone is in IMMEDIATE danger, do not hesitate. Call your local emergency number (for example, 911 in Canada or the United States).
United States
Emergency: 911
Suicide Hotline: (800) 273 – 8255
Canada
Emergency: 911
Suicide Hotline: (833) 456 – 4566
Other Novels by David Darling
The Noah Hunter Series
The Tipping Point
Grave Choices
Course of Action (Spring 2022)
Hunters Gambit (Forthcoming)
Serve in the Shadows: Recruitment
Grim Measures
A novella by
David Darling
Pop! Goes the Weasel
All around the cobbler’s bench
The monkey chased the weasel
The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun
POP! Goes the weasel.
A penny for a spool of thread
A penny for a needle
That’s the way the money goes
POP! Goes the weasel.
The painter needs a ladder and brush,
The artist needs an easel;
The dancers need a fiddler’s tune
POP! Goes the weasel.
I’ve no time to sit and sigh
Or to tell the reason why
Kiss me quick, I’m off, good-bye.
POP! Goes the weasel.
18th Century song, creator unknown.
American Version.
Chapter 1
J
ohn kicked the snow off his steel-toed boots with four double-taps that echoed inside like a heartbeat. He brushed the tan work jacket and pants clean and wiped the melted water off his thick beard while entering the single-story building. John stood a few inches under six feet and had the barrel chest and arms from a decade of heavy construction. The physical job kept him in good shape but working in the elements had taken its toll. The lines on a permanently tanned face were deep and made him appear a decade older than his thirty two years of age. Streaks of white hair had started at the temples and chin did nothing to help.
With his education, there was not much choice for employment in St. Joseph, and he couldn’t afford to move. Not now. Jobs were hard to find. Regardless, he had always had construction or contract work. Especially with modified hours so he could look after his daughter.
The foyer to the Little Ducklings Daycare was filled with benches and coat hooks. Above each was a small cubby where the children had extra mittens and hats, indoor shoes, and a change of clothing. A dozen small winter boots were placed in a line on a black rubber mat along the wall, with puddles of water underneath.
New artwork decorated the wall. Various types of uncooked macaroni were glued to construction paper with the child’s name underneath. John scanned the display and quickly found the best one. His daughter Ava made a shape that resembled a log with four sticks protruding, holding it up.
“Nice try, kiddo.” John couldn’t help but chuckle. She had been after him to get a dog for months now and brought up the subject at least twice a day. He had no doubt she would keep trying. Ava was stubborn, and it made him smile as much as it caused him troubles.
The foyer was separated from the main classroom by a waist-high red gate. Inside, the kids sat on the colorful playmat while the teacher read a story about numbers and letters. Ava was in front with her legs crossed. She held the hand of another girl. Her long brown hair was still in the braid he had made this morning. Another thing he had to learn from watching a video, but John was pleased with the result. She was not wearing the black leggings and pink shirt he had dressed her in but wore a blue unicorn T-shirt and jeans. Ava took after her mother with her delicate features, to which John thanked God daily.
He pulled out a cell phone and snapped a quick picture. The moment was too precious, and Ava was growing fast. Elaine looked up from reading and flashed him a quick smile.
Twelve small faces turned to see John leaning over the red gate.
“Daddy!”
Ava ran around the group of kids, and her braid flopped side-to-side. He easily scooped her up over the gate.
“How’s my baby doing?”
“I’m not a baby, Daddy!”
John closed his eyes and hugged and kissed her, enjoying the moment. This was the best part of the day, and it gave him a warm glow inside every time. “I’ve missed you, Ava. Did you have a good day?”
Her small arms tried to squeeze him in half. “All good. I’m hungry.”
He could not help but chuckle. She must be going through a growth spurt again.
“You can have a snack once we get home. Okay, sweetie?”
Elaine’s assistant Joan came over and handed him a plastic bag. “We had a little accident today. Make sure to bring a few extra clothes on Monday.”
“Will do. Thanks. We got out of work early. Any other problems?”
Joan shook her head, and her white curls bounced. She was a retired school teacher that wasn’t ready to quit working. “Ava’s an angel. All good.”
“I need Rocky!”
There was not a chance he could leave without her favorite stuffy.
“Just a second.” Joan found the bunny rabbit in the play kitchen with the other stuffed toys around the table.
John soon had his daughter dressed and buckled into the child seat of the truck. The gray toy sat in her lap. He left the snowsuit hanging in the foyer. She could not wear it in the car seat (another video he had to learn on child safety and dangers of the compression ratio of the suit versus the harness), but he had dressed her in several layers to stay warm. There was also an extra blanket in the backseat in case Ava was cold.
St. Joseph lies on the eastern shore of Lake Michigan at the mouth of the river of the same name. When the wind shifted, the lake effect snow would blanket the small town in several feet, and unless you had a 4x4 vehicle, you were not getting around until the roads were plowed.
So far, the winter had been mild, with only a little snow in November. But, now that it was the fourteenth of January, Mother Nature had decided enough was enough. Winter was here.
By one o’clock in the afternoon, the skies had grown dark enough they had strung lights inside a project to see. An hour later, the howling winds had started. The first few flakes made the town look like a post card, and then the temperature dropped to twenty-six Fahrenheit. Within ten minutes, an inch of snow covered the hood of his truck.
“Okay, boys. Wrap it up. We’re cuttin’ out early.” Don was acting project foreman for TRICOR Construction. “Bring everything inside and tarp it up.”
John was not one to disagree, and neither were the others. Everyone was glad to start the weekend early.
“Can we have McDonald’s? I’m hungry.”
John had picked her up early from daycare. Right about now, they would have had snack time. “I think we can do that.”
“Rocky! We’re going to have McDonald’s!” The toy bounced in her lap, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Can I have a toy, please, Daddy?”
“We shall see.” John tried to hold back a grin but failed. Ava had him wrapped around her little finger, and she knew it.
St. Joe’s was considered a small town with just under nine thousand, but only a few fast-food places. However, the golden arches were an American staple and had found their way here when he was a kid.
A sudden strong gust of wind rocked the Ford truck, and the visibility dropped to fifty feet as John focused on the road. White knuckles gripped the steering wheel. When the street lights turned on at three o’clock in the afternoon, they were in for a brutal storm.
“Sorry, honey, we’re going straight home. It isn’t safe out here.”
John felt bad for the sudden change of plans, and when Ava started to cry, his heart broke. However, when the visibility dropped yet again, he knew it was the right choice.
Chapter 2
U
nder the blankets, Ava clutched Rocky around the neck and lightly snored. John had surprised her by taking the main railing off and turning the structure into a single bed. As Ava grew, the wooden crib slowly transformed over three and a half years. The bedroom set had been a gift from his in-laws, probably one of the only good things they had ever done. The instructions had recommended going from the day bed to a single when the child was four years old. However, John figured Ava was close enough in age—her birthday was in May.
John lightly kissed her forehead and moved several toys to the side. Ava liked making a nest with all her stuffed animals until there was no room to move. In case she fell out of the newly formed bed, he placed a few on the floor. He didn’t worry much, though, as she rarely moved. He could vacuum beside her, and Ava would not wake up.
It didn’t take long for him to fall back on the couch, exhausted, and scan the living room. Ava’s toys were still on the coffee table from their after-dinner tea party. John did not have the energy to clean up. Tomorrow morning would be good enough for him. Not that there was anyone else in the small two-bedroom house to complain. The Taliban insurgents took care of that detail with a rocket-propelled grenade twenty-five months ago.
John looked at the unopened can of beer on the table and sighed. The days of having a six-pack and sleeping in were over. No matter how late she went to bed or how tired, Ava always woke up at six o’clock in the morning—every single day.
The howling winds battered against the living room’s bay window, and John groaned at the work that awaited him. It would take a few hours to shovel the driveway and sidewalk. The snowblower died several years ago, and they never had the money to replace it. A new one was less likely now, especially when a shovel was only nine dollars at Walmart.
“Time for bed.” At nine o’clock at night, he was ready to crash. John set the coffeemaker for five-thirty and turned off the lights. After brushing his teeth, he crawled under the covers. A day filled with cartoons and playing awaited.
At four o’clock in the morning, the first thing John noticed was that the storm had stopped. The constant pelting of snow on the windows was gone, and he thought it was the silence that had woken him.
Until he heard the noise again.
The familiar jingle of an ice cream truck playing Pop Goes the Weasel drew closer. The distorted notes echoed off the homes in the neighborhood, and John could not help but chuckle. The thought of anyone buying ice cream in the middle of a January snowstorm was hilarious.
“Good luck, man,” John mumbled into his pillow and easily fell back asleep.
Moments later, he sat upright in bed.
The screen door slamming on the side of the house sent a chill down his spine. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the music faded.
“Ava?”
John threw the blankets back and slipped on a T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he opened his daughter’s bedroom door.
Her bed was empty.
“Ava?” he called out as he checked the bathroom. Nothing.
When he ran to the side door off the kitchen, John’s heart bottomed out. The wooden door was left open. Turning on the driveway light, he had trouble catching his breath, and his hands shook. Small footprints in the deep snow headed down the driveway.
John darted outside and yelled. “Ava!”
The driveway was empty except for his truck.
Barefoot, he followed her prints, but after a dozen feet, he spun around in circles. Ava’s trail had disappeared. As the blood thundered in his ears, John could not feel the cold as he ran barefoot to the road.
Lakeshore Drive was covered in almost two feet of pristine snow. It hadn’t been plowed, and no one had driven past in several hours.
“Ava!”
He screamed until his throat was raw and the police finally arrived.
Chapter 3
S
uddenly, John Weland found his life turned upside down, and he could barely recall the week that followed, let alone the morning of January fifteenth. The state highway patrol had arrived and assessed the situation. Vehicles quickly blanketed the area, but every officer noted the lack of tracks in the snow. Fifteen minutes later, the FBI and county sheriff were notified. Everyone on scene had a presence of mind to leave the footprints undisturbed. As the sun rose on the winter landscape, the coast guard began patrols along the eastern shore for the next eight hours.
While the local law enforcement looked around the town and along the coast, the FBI tore the home apart, searching for the slightest clue or hint. One agent suspected the father, but one look at the distraught man quickly dispelled that notion. Despite two dozen men descending on the scene, the little footprints disappeared fifteen feet down the driveway and were not picked up again. Three hours after the first officer arrived, the Amber Alert went out statewide. The picture of Ava wearing a tiara hosting a tea party was taken the night before by a doting father and shared millions of times—but no results.
The FBI brought in a K-9 unit for tracking by nine o’clock in the morning. They asked for a personal item for the dog to pick up Ava’s scent, and John ran into the bedroom for Rocky. However, he couldn’t find the stuffed rabbit and settled for her pillowcase.
Despite the collective effort, Ava was not found. John’s cell phone was monitored in case of a ransom demand, but after a week, that was abandoned. He did not need the FBI to tell him the statistics. The odds dramatically decreased if his daughter was not found within the first twenty-four hours. Ava did not have much chance against the elements, dressed only in a nightgown and weighing only thirty-eight pounds.
Ten days later, John opened the front door to find Special Agent Rothman. Bobby had checked in with John daily, despite the lack of progress on the case.
“Mind if I come in? We need to talk.”
John froze. “Is she ...?”
“Not that we know.” The agent stepped inside and removed his winter parka. The senior agent wore a suit and tie no matter the time of day. Bobby had mentioned that he was not about to dress down after thirty-five years. When his glasses fogged up, they were tucked into a breast pocket as they sat around the kitchen table.
“Coffee?” John wore his pajamas and housecoat and couldn’t recall the last time he had dressed in normal clothes. Even when KQTV news had interviewed him, John had just slipped on a coat.
“I’m good. Thanks.” Rothman cleared a place at the table and steepled his fingers under his chin. When John sat across from him, he started. “At the moment, there are no leads. All the calls to the tip line have been followed up and proven false.”
