Replaceable: An Alan Lamb Thriller Read Online Free
Author: J.W. Bouchard
initial report, it had been Nancy Sitka who had placed the call to 911 after arriving home to find her husband bound and gagged to their California King.
There were two other anomalies involved in the case as well:
Sitka’s silver Cadillac CTS hadn’t been in the driveway.
Meaning he had ditched it somewhere.
Since 2014, OnStar had come standard on a number of GM vehicles, the CTS being one of them. Even if the perpetrator had had the foresight to disconnect the battery, it had a 72-hour internal back-up power supply. Which meant they should have been able to locate it within minutes, but as of yet, local police hadn’t had any luck in locating the vehicle.
They hadn’t located the stolen money either. Security camera footage had shown Howard Sitka loading the money from the vault into a set of large black duffle bags, which he had in turn loaded onto a dolley. After this was accomplished, he had slipped out of the building via the rear exit door. Sitka’s house had been searched top to bottom, but the money hadn’t been located. Duffle bags of that size weren’t something you could hide easily. Sitka would have had to have dumped it an unknown location (probably the same location where he had stashed the missing Cadillac), and then hightailed it home on foot or by taxi.
Unless Nancy Sitka picked him up, Alan thought.
It made the most sense. It also accounted for how Sitka could have tied himself up, not to mention the blow to his head. Alan was thinking that Nancy Sitka had to be one cold bitch to do that to her own husband.
Alan drove the rental car down a long stretch of flat highway, his mind on auto-pilot as he went over what he knew about Howard Sitka.
The man was well educated.
He had carved out a respectable niche for him and his family.
He was well respected by the community in which he lived.
Motive?
Greed?
Discontent with his station in life?
If the man was going to snap, Alan figured it would have happened a long time ago.
None of it added up. But that still didn’t explain why the FBI had dropped the case into the GCB’s lap. Alan wasn’t a prognosticator, but it didn’t take one of Lucy’s psychics to see that this was potentially shaping up to be one giant cluster fuck.
Alan reached the Augusta city limits just after 5:00 P.M. He proceeded directly to the Richmond County Sheriff’s Department where Howard Sitka was being held for further questioning. At this point, he hadn’t been formally charged, but as far as the district attorney was concerned, this was what was otherwise known as a slam-dunk case. Sitka could maintain his innocence until the cows came home, but the security cam footage didn’t lie. They had the President of Mellencott Bank dead to rights.
Won’t be president of anything for much longer, Alan thought as Deputy Jason Defries escorted Alan down a long corridor and into a darkened room.
A large one-way mirror took up most of the east wall. Through it, Alan could see the small and dingy interrogation room. The room’s only furnishings included a table and two chairs, one of which Howard Sitka currently occupied.
Sitka appeared haggard, his clothes disheveled. He hadn’t been processed yet, so he was wearing his own clothes, which consisted of gray slacks, white button down shirt, and a navy tie. A detective was seated in the chair opposite him. Sitka seemed agitated, like he hadn’t slept for a few days.
Alan turned to Defries and said, “How long have they been at it?”
“Weathers has been in there with him for the last…” Defries checked his wristwatch, “…going on six hours now.”
“No confession?”
Defries looked at Alan as though he had just been asked a trick question. Finally, he shook his head. “Nope. He’s denying it all the way. We even played the footage for him. Says it wasn’t him. I tell ya, if it wasn’t for the security tapes, it would be hard to swallow. Guy’s a pillar of the community.”
“What’s his
There were two other anomalies involved in the case as well:
Sitka’s silver Cadillac CTS hadn’t been in the driveway.
Meaning he had ditched it somewhere.
Since 2014, OnStar had come standard on a number of GM vehicles, the CTS being one of them. Even if the perpetrator had had the foresight to disconnect the battery, it had a 72-hour internal back-up power supply. Which meant they should have been able to locate it within minutes, but as of yet, local police hadn’t had any luck in locating the vehicle.
They hadn’t located the stolen money either. Security camera footage had shown Howard Sitka loading the money from the vault into a set of large black duffle bags, which he had in turn loaded onto a dolley. After this was accomplished, he had slipped out of the building via the rear exit door. Sitka’s house had been searched top to bottom, but the money hadn’t been located. Duffle bags of that size weren’t something you could hide easily. Sitka would have had to have dumped it an unknown location (probably the same location where he had stashed the missing Cadillac), and then hightailed it home on foot or by taxi.
Unless Nancy Sitka picked him up, Alan thought.
It made the most sense. It also accounted for how Sitka could have tied himself up, not to mention the blow to his head. Alan was thinking that Nancy Sitka had to be one cold bitch to do that to her own husband.
Alan drove the rental car down a long stretch of flat highway, his mind on auto-pilot as he went over what he knew about Howard Sitka.
The man was well educated.
He had carved out a respectable niche for him and his family.
He was well respected by the community in which he lived.
Motive?
Greed?
Discontent with his station in life?
If the man was going to snap, Alan figured it would have happened a long time ago.
None of it added up. But that still didn’t explain why the FBI had dropped the case into the GCB’s lap. Alan wasn’t a prognosticator, but it didn’t take one of Lucy’s psychics to see that this was potentially shaping up to be one giant cluster fuck.
Alan reached the Augusta city limits just after 5:00 P.M. He proceeded directly to the Richmond County Sheriff’s Department where Howard Sitka was being held for further questioning. At this point, he hadn’t been formally charged, but as far as the district attorney was concerned, this was what was otherwise known as a slam-dunk case. Sitka could maintain his innocence until the cows came home, but the security cam footage didn’t lie. They had the President of Mellencott Bank dead to rights.
Won’t be president of anything for much longer, Alan thought as Deputy Jason Defries escorted Alan down a long corridor and into a darkened room.
A large one-way mirror took up most of the east wall. Through it, Alan could see the small and dingy interrogation room. The room’s only furnishings included a table and two chairs, one of which Howard Sitka currently occupied.
Sitka appeared haggard, his clothes disheveled. He hadn’t been processed yet, so he was wearing his own clothes, which consisted of gray slacks, white button down shirt, and a navy tie. A detective was seated in the chair opposite him. Sitka seemed agitated, like he hadn’t slept for a few days.
Alan turned to Defries and said, “How long have they been at it?”
“Weathers has been in there with him for the last…” Defries checked his wristwatch, “…going on six hours now.”
“No confession?”
Defries looked at Alan as though he had just been asked a trick question. Finally, he shook his head. “Nope. He’s denying it all the way. We even played the footage for him. Says it wasn’t him. I tell ya, if it wasn’t for the security tapes, it would be hard to swallow. Guy’s a pillar of the community.”
“What’s his
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