Triple Digits

Corey Strickland

The response from the citizens of Mid-City had been overwhelming.
Over twelve-thousand videos and photos of Triple Digits and previous rivals were sent in over the course of the day, Dunfield playing them in the briefing room, as well as assigning every officer available to watching through them, searching through clues.
Corey had been at his desk all day, having gotten in at three in the morning. Now, it was six at night, and he'd gone through thousands of videos and photos, his colleagues doing the same.
The news that Triple Digits was Claire Miles had shocked Dunfield. The Commissioner had been searching for the notorious racer for years. He'd never thought she was hiding right under his nose the entire time, driving a car with the license plate MLES19.
Mercifully, Dunfield had chosen to keep the knowledge from the other officers, until he could decide what to do with the information.
Now, Corey was watching a video where Claire couldn't have been older than fifteen. She was driving an A-Class Titan, wearing a lime-green jacket that was too big on her, and red lipstick that was smudged across her cheek, like she'd forgotten she was wearing it and swiped the back of her hand over her lips. The green contacts she wore glowed under the spotlights set up for the race, and she leaned arrogantly against the bonnet of her car, crossing her arms over her chest.
Her and her opponent for the night were out in one of the side roads that the farmers used.
The opponent was wearing a bright yellow jacket with an orange and red sun painted on the back, as well as the word 'Sol' painted underneath it. People were calling out taunts, placing bets. It was clear that Triple Digit was the more popular racer present tonight. Her fans mocked the boy relentlessly. 'Sol', he knew, meant 'sun' in some languages.
Corey sat up taller in his chair, gripping the edge of his desk in excitement. This could be it!
The boy was driving an A-Class car as well, and while Corey didn't recognise it in the dark, he had a feeling that Claire was going to win.
With a salute to the camera, she entered her car, Sol doing the same. Both of them revved their engines.
Triple Digit's fans cheered, and when Sol revved his again, they booed him, Claire grinning in the way that teenagers did when they knew they were put on a pedestal and worshipped. Corey winced at the arrogance on Claire's face as she blew a kiss to her fans.
None of it was her fault, or the fault of her young fans. They'd been dumb kids competing in a very adult sport.
They flashed their headlights twice. There was no announcer, but someone fired a flare gun used in the fields, and the cars took off, their wheels spinning dirt up.
He was right- Triple Digit brought back another win, and Sol was laughed and mocked all the way back to the starting line. A couple of his fans turned and walked away, throwing down their signs.
The person holding the camera laughed, exclaiming, "Another loss for Sol! That makes thirty-two, now!" Another person questioned, "When is he going to just give up?"
Sol seemed to hear their exchanges, scowling while fighting back tears, and he stormed toward the side of the road, and the field beyond, shoving his hood back.
The same black hair appeared, braided in just the same way, and the boy tore his gloves off. He even had the same tattoo! At that age!
Someone chased after him, calling out, "Devland!"
The boy turned, and Corey paused the video.
Devland. There was no first name, but it wasn't a common last name.
He opened a tab on his computer, typing the name into it.
The social media page of a young, seventeen-year-old boy opened up. One of the family members listed in his bio was his father, a name that Corey knew well.
Devland Importers.
One of Mid-City's only car importers.
That was where Eclipse- Devland- was getting his cars from. His father's importing business.
Printing out the information, as well as the address for the warehouse where the business was conducted, which was on the Docks, Corey rushed into Dunfield's office, too excited to bother knocking, shouting out, "I found him! I found Eclipse!"
He slammed the paper down on the desk, turning to head for the warehouse, and Dunfield read the page, calling out with joy, "Strickland, wait a moment!"
Wait?! He couldn't wait! He knew where Claire was!
"We need to approach this carefully," Dunfield warned, "Eclipse may be a teenager, but he has displayed an extraordinary amount of knowledge about explosives, IT, and mechanical engineering. He could have rigged the warehouse."
Dunfield was right. Of course he was right.
Pausing, his hand on the door, Corey asked breathlessly, "What do we do?"
"First, we will go to Devland's parents. We need to ask them about the whereabouts of their son, and ascertain whether we think they were involved or not."
Dunfield had twenty-eight years in the field compared to Corey's measly three.
"I'll put in for an emergency warrant to investigate the warehouse immediately. Once we've been to the family home, we will begin planning how to extract Miss Miles. It will take careful planning."
It was Wednesday night; the race was on Thursday, presumably around midnight. They would need to find more information about the race to plan it out properly.
Dunfield rose from his chair, nodding to the door, "Let's go to the Devland house and speak with his parents."
Corey went in the same car with Dunfield, so excited he could barely think straight.
He was going to get Claire back! She would be alright!
They turned up one of the higher-end streets of Mid-City's, approaching a gated community, and Dunfield reached over to where the security guard sat in his post, flashing his badge.
"Police business. Are the Devland's in?" It was eight-thirty at night. Where else would they be at this time?
The guard studied the badge, flashing his torch light into their faces before nodding, pressing a button on the desk that opened the gates. He said nothing to them.
The gated community, which was on Buckingshire Street, held four houses, but was as large as most of the neighbourhoods that contained thirty homes around Mid-City.
Devland Manor was one such house. According to the signs that led them past the various districts, it was at the very back of the gated community.
The road was made from a smooth, brand new concrete, and was lined by hedges cut into hollowed-out squares, each one holding a tall pine tree that bent over the path. Pine needles crunched underneath the car wheels while they drove. Lights illuminated the road perfectly, leaving not so much as a whisper of shadows. They passed the first of the Manor homes, hidden at the end of a long, shaded driveway. Corey could see the glimmers of house lights in the distance. Horses lazily ate grass at the edge of the fence, near the road. The mailbox stated that it belonged to the Haversham family.
Corey could only dream of living in a place like this. A paradise in the middle of Mid-City.
The next house, which belonged to the Woodsons, was a picturesque log cabin.
Dunfield drove on, passing the Stetsmoth house, and toward their destination- the Devland Manor.
When they approached the driveway to the Manor, Corey began to feel sick to his stomach. This was where the killer lived, sharing the home with his parents and older brother?
It was a two-storey home, the walls made from a decorated mucilage and painted a bright white. The pine trees stopped near their fence line, replaced by private streetlights. The grass was perfectly manicured and cut.
Windows lined the front of the house, looking like sentries in the night, and the front door was huge, with three marble steps leading up to it.
The house was surrounded by a hedge fence. Security cameras hung from the walls, pointed in all directions, but it was the upper right bedroom that caught Corey's attention.
There, a red light blinked, like something was recording them. Lights glimmered within the room, before going out. He could see no movement in the room.
The rest of the house was dark, except for the lights in what he assumed was the living room, where he could see a man and a woman, both middle-aged, seated on a lounge together, watching a giant TV that was mounted to the wall.
At the shine of Dunfield's headlights on the wall, they both turned to look out the window, the man rising and shielding his eyes, before turning and speaking to his wife. They both rose together, heading to the door, and Dunfield faced him in the car.
"Behave," he warned before stepping out, readying his badge. Corey took a deep breath. These people were innocent, even if their son was not.
"Jamie and Heidi Devland?" Dunfield said, striding up the steps and showing them both his badge. Corey followed behind, showing his own badge, but remaining silent. He peered subtly around their shoulders and into the house. Beyond the front door, he could see a set of stairs, and in front of them, a table set up to display family awards for their two children. Brandon and Damien Devland.
The former was older, in his twenties. His awards were all sports and university based. A diploma for physical education hung from a nail in the wall next to his portrait. For Damien, there were plenty of awards for his smarts, namely in IT, but there were a couple in mechanics. Nothing about racing, but there wouldn't be. It was an illegal activity, and Damien was still underage. His parents probably had no idea he was causing so much trouble.
"Yes? Is something wrong, Officer?" Jamie Devland questioned curiously, his wife sliding her hand into his.
Corey brought his gaze back to their faces. Beyond the expensive carpet and large archway that led to the living room, there was nothing of interest he could see without heading further into the house.
"We wanted to ask you some questions regarding your son, Damien."
"Why? Is he in trouble?" Mrs. Devland looked between the two of them and toward the police car, sighing in relief when she saw the backseat was empty.
"Damien is the troublemaker of the family," Jamie admitted bashfully, Dunfield nodding slowly, "Yes, well, we have some concerns about him. May we come in?"
"Of course! Can I get you anything to drink?" They stepped aside, holding the door open wider, and Dunfield led them in, declining the offer of refreshments.
Now that he stood in the foyer, Corey could see there was a library to the left of the house, where a desk covered in papers sat between two bookshelves. RGB lights were stuck to the wall above the desk, although they were currently off, and a high-end computer waited. On the wall, shrouded in darkness, were several printed out photographs and newspapers. Corey refused to give into the temptation to wander over and pick through the items. Dunfield was leading this subtle interrogation.
School books and a bag were strewn across the area surrounding it, and Mrs. Devland said, "Oh, that's Damien's workspace. I'm afraid we don't know where he is."
Jamie laughed, "We don't keep track of him much these days, given his age."
"May Officer Strickland look through his things while I speak privately with you both?"
Both parents agreed, leaving Corey free to rifle through everything on the desk.
When they went upstairs to an office room, Corey remained downstairs, approaching the desk.
The first thing he noticed when he shone his flashlight on the wall was the photo of Claire pinned there, taken from some kind of official portrait, like a license or university ID card. There were a series of pens slammed hatefully through the picture and into the wall beyond. The rage was so apparent, it hung in the air all around the desk.
Shining the torch onto the surface, he found documents detailing the private lives of all of Damien's victims. Jaivon, Veronica, and Claire. Damien had been tracking every aspect of them. Where they worked, who their family members were, the cars they owned, their wins and losses- This must have been going on for years.
There was a cry of anguish upstairs from both parents, the news having been broken. Strickland took photos of the desk, the wall with the photos on it, and the scattered books and school items on the floor before hurrying for the door, waiting there. Glancing back over his shoulder, he hurried back into the library, and tore the photo of Claire from the wall. Her eyes were gouged out with a pencil. A shudder ran along his spine, goosebumps rising on his skin. So much hatred, from someone so young.
Dunfield emerged only a couple minutes later. They left the gated community in silence.
When they were back on the highway, Dunfield sighed, "They had no idea he was killing people. The father has granted me permission to raid the warehouse, so I don't need a warrant. In exchange, they want their son to get a lesser sentence. I have arranged for Officer Higgins to go to the house and collect the evidence left behind by Damien." Dunfield's eyes fell pointedly to the photo Corey clutched in his hand.
"Lesser sentence?!" Corey snapped furiously, "He's killing people!"
"The courts will decide the sentence. It is our job to make sure Eclipse sees a courtroom, Strickland. Are you calm enough to help me stake out the warehouse? A new shipment of cars arrives in the early morning, which is when they believed Damien will return to choose his next car for the race on Thursday."
Corey nodded, Dunfield's words spurring something in his mind.
When they turned toward the Docks, he hesitated, a plan taking shape. He couldn't do it alone, though. Luckily, he knew just the person to help him.
"Actually, Dunfield, could you take me to the hospital? I want to let Maddison and Helix know that we've located Claire." He wouldn't have time to sleep tonight, but he hadn't slept for days anyway, not properly.
Corey doubted he would until Claire was back in his arms. Dunfield seemed happy to know that Corey wanted to do something other than relentlessly hunt down the killer, and took him to the hospital, leaving him in the parking lot. It was past visiting hours, but a flash of his badge at the desk, and the nurse was taking him to see Maddison Birchson...