CHAPTER 55
Looking back towards the flaming building, where Brian’s body lay, I asked Medora, “What the fuck was Brian doing up here? Didn’t you cuff him to my car?”
Medora, groaning from the pain in her head, nodded. “I don’t know. I did. To the steering wheel. He must have had something on him that he used to undo the cuffs. Idiot.” She put a hand to her head, feeling the purpling bruise tenderly.
Shaking my head at Brian’s stupid determination to be involved, I looked back down and shook my head at Medora. “Goddammit, what a shitshow.”
Then, not waiting for Barnes to reach me, I left Medora and hastened towards him, with my head still on swivel and my Glock in an iron grip.
Barnes, seeing me approaching, stopped to catch his breath, and bent over with his hands on his knees. The two FBI agents, who I could now see were indeed Walsh and Cabot, flanked him, both with their guns out, Walsh staring at me while Cabot watched the other officers advancing around the clearing’s perimeter. In the distance, I could hear the approaching siren of a fire engine, echoing through the trees.
Reaching Barnes, I decided to take the offensive, rather than waiting for the inevitable tirade that I knew would be forthcoming.
Pointing at Cabot, I said, “My partner is over there.” Nodding back towards where I came from. “She’s injured and needs help.”
Turning to Walsh I said, “Walsh, I need to borrow your jacket, now.” Walsh just stared at me for a second, then snarled, “Excuse me, detective?”
Barnes, having caught his breath, straightened up and glared at me. Here it comes, I thought.
“Detective!” Barnes yelled. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even know where to begin!” He paused. “Yes I do! First, you are not in charge here! You aren’t even supposed to be here! You’re supposed to be home, cuddled up in bed! Instead, I find out that you withheld information and went off cowboying---”
“Chief!” I cut into his rant. “You can yell at me all you want later, but can you put your damn ego aside for a minute and focus on the sitrep?”
Momentarily stunned, Barnes just stared at me, while Cabot was trying to hide a smile. I wasn’t sure if Barnes was shocked because of my balls or if he simply didn’t know that sitrep was a military term for situation report.
Not wanting to wait for him to gather a head of steam again, I plunged on. “Jericho is in the wind, possibly wounded. My partner is up ahead, also wounded. Brian McCole is up by the shack. Dead.” I took a breath. “And Angie is alive, hiding in the woods. She’ll only come out for me. Which is why, “I turned and glared at Walsh, “I need to borrow your damn jacket!”
Barnes gaped at me a moment longer, then appeared to compose himself. Turning to Cabot he said, “Check on his partner.” Then he looked at Walsh, who hesitated a moment, then holstered his gun and began shrugging out of his FBI windbreaker.
This task force thing is really just peachy, I thought sarcastically as Walsh tossed me the jacket. Just what we need.
Barnes then spun to me. “Brian McCole? The producer-boyfriend?” When I nodded, he said, “What the fuck did you bring him for?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Barnes just shook his head. “Never mind, that’s for later. Are you sure he’s dead?”
“Pretty sure.” I replied. “He had a knife in his chest and was down, not moving. I checked for a pulse, didn’t feel one.”
Barnes nodded silently, processing. “What the hell was he doing in close combat with this guy?”
I shook my head as I started off toward the opposite side of the clearing where Angie was hiding. “Not close combat. Throwing knife.” Barnes’ eyes got wide when I said this. “Army Ranger,” I continued “standard training.”
His eyes traveled the perimeter quickly, then came back and fastened on my retreating back. “When this is over, we have lot to talk about!” He called. “Fucking cowboy.” He muttered as he turned to greet the fire truck, which was now making its way into the fire-lit clearing.
Striding quickly towards where Angie had run into the woods, I kept a grip on my holstered gun. As good as this guy was, if he was still watching, he might still try and make a play.
Reaching the edge, I called out, “Angie! It’s Harper! It’s safe!”
Immediately, there was an explosion of movement in the bushes to right, and before I could react, Angie had flung herself at me, hugging me tight.
“Jesus!” I muttered, stumbling slightly backwards, “I told you to hide deep in the woods, not at the edge!”
“No, you didn’t.” She said in a tiny, muffled voice, her head buried in my chest. “You just said run into the woods.”
I rolled my eyes as I gently pried her away and wrapped the windbreaker around her bare shoulders. “Well, I certainly didn’t mean right here, where he could easily find you.”
She looked up at me, long hair disheveled and full of twigs, a wan smile on her sweaty, dirt-streaked face. “Communication was never our strong suit I guess, huh?” She said quietly.
Holding her intense gaze for a moment, I abruptly broke contact. “Yeah, “I said gruffly, “I guess we’ll have to work on that.” What the hell was wrong with me? Get a grip!
I gently reached for her arm, and steered her towards the clearing, which was now a bustle of activity. The firemen were actively hosing down the pyre that had once been the logging foreman’s headquarters. Now, it was just a pile of flaming wood covering any destroyed evidence we might have been able to glean. Fortunately, the fire had not quite reached the woods edge, so they were able to keep it from spreading into a disaster.
An ambulance had also made its way into the clearing, and the EMTs were gathered around Medora, preparing to roll her onto a gurney. Looking to the left, I could see Walsh and Barnes standing over where Brian lay, and from their lack of excitement, I could guess that he was indeed dead.
Not wanting to expose Angie to Brian’s body, I instead led her over to the back of the fire truck, where I was able to have her sit for a moment. Motioning towards a beefy gray-haired fireman who was controlling the water flow from the truck, I said to her, “Stay here, I have to go talk to my boss. He’ll keep an eye on you.”
As I turned away, Angie reached out and grabbed my hand, squeezing gently. “Thank you.” She whispered.
Turning back, I returned her squeeze, and met her eyes silently for a moment. Then, let go, and strode off towards Barnes. What the hell am I doing? I wondered again.
CHAPTER 56
About a quarter mile from the clearing up in the woods, Jericho paused and looked down. The pyramid of fire was still raging as tiny figures of firemen darted around the conflagration, holding bucking hoses that sprayed water in a desperate attempt to quell the tempest. He wondered briefly if the reporter had been rescued, or if this was her funeral pyre, like his mother’s twenty some years ago.
It had been another rousing afternoon of listening to his inebriated mother hosting her favorite “friend”, Darnell. Through the thin wooden closet door, He could hear them alternately laughing, moaning in ecstasy on his mattress, and cursing at each other as the scorching afternoon gradually faded to the thankful cool of early evening. Shortly after the front door slammed and Darnell’s booming voice receded in the distance, his mother threw open the closet door and stumbled inside.
Crouching down in front of the cage, she fumbled with her ring of keys, working the padlock on his cage door until her trembling fingers were finally able to open it.
Standing up unsteadily, she slurred, “C’mon. No lessons tonight, I’m too tired.” Then she smiled slightly, “Darnell done me good!”
Too cowed to answer, he crawled awkwardly out of the cage. Now a young man of sixteen, the cage was getting increasingly cramped, and despite his quiet pleas for release, his mother hadn’t relented, demanding his obeyance instead.
Standing up was a relief, as his joints welcomed the exercise after having been confined in the cell since early morning. Timidly, he followed his mother’s swaying form as she led him out to the kitchen.
“Darnell got us some chicken nuggets and French fries!” She announced proudly as they entered the kitchen. “And look, he got me a present too!” She indicated a full liquor bottle. “He was nice tah us t’day!”
Colton studied the liquor bottle as he gingerly sat on the creaky folding chair and grabbed at some fries. The bottle contained a dark amber liquid, and it had a fancy looking label which read “Jericho Brandy 100 proof”. He didn’t know what brandy was, but if it made his mother happy and kept her from teaching him his lessons, then he was okay with it.
His mother was humming quietly to herself as she fumbled for a glass in the dusty cupboard. Then, as he chewed on a cold chicken nugget, she grabbed the Jericho brandy and poured herself a healthy shot. After taking a sloppy swig, she whooped “Dayum, that’s some good shit!” Then, looking blearily at him, she seemed to be considering something, and apparently reached a decision, and stumbling over to the dishrack by the sink, and grabbed another glass.
Falling into the chair opposite of him, she uncapped the bottle again and poured a small shot, then slid it to him.
“Here’s un for you.” She slurred. “We had a good day. ‘N fact, Darnell gonna get us outta here, let us move in with him! Ain’t that good news!”
Colton stared at her. He remembered the creepy looks Darnell had given him when they first met. Since then, his mother had kept him locked up, away from his leering eyes. But now, in her state, she seemed to have forgotten those creepy looks.
“Go on, drink up!” She stuttered, finishing off her glass. “This Jericho iss good stuff! Fiery”
Colton raised the glass to his lips and took a cautious sip. The caustic liquid burned like fire going down his throat. Gagging, he turned his head and almost threw up the nuggets. His mother cackled loudly as she poured herself another. “Ha ha! See, you ain’t a man jess yet! Y’ still got some lessuns to learn!”
Colton felt a brief flash of fire in his belly. That small ball of emotion that he had begun to feel years ago had gradually grown into a simmering anger that he had so far successfully managed to control. So now instead of lashing out, he just put his head down, and paid attention to eating his nuggets and fries. Colton deliberately chewed slowly, savoring the meager time out of his dark confinement. He wanted to escape, to run away, but he was afraid. He knew his mother would find him, chase him down. And if she caught him, in her rage, he worried that she would let Darnell punish him with a lesson all his own.
As the sun slid below the windows, the house darkened, lit only by a naked yellowed bulb hanging from the ceiling above. His mother had drank half the bottle of brandy by now, and wanting to save it, had pulled a full bottle of whiskey out from under the sink and started in on that. She was mostly muttering to herself, but occasionally directed a comment to him, and he just nodded and continued to stare down at the table, lost in his own thoughts.
Finally, as outside completely darkened, she took a final swig and blearily looked at him and said, “Okay, ish time to go to bed. Less go.” And she heaved herself to her feat, swaying dangerously.
He led the way down the hall, passing his bedroom. He took a quick glance inside, and saw the chains splayed out over the stained mattress. Shuddering, he kept on to the closet, thankful that he had no lessons today.
Taking one last stretch, he bent down and crawled into his cage, taking comfort in knowing that he was safe in here. His mother staggered into the doorframe, and leaned against it, breathing heavily, her long greasy red hair covering half of her face. After a minute, she gathered herself and stumbled forward, nearly crashing into the cage. Kneeling down, she grabbed the metal door and pushed it shut. Then, she took the rusted padlock and hooked it through the hasp, preparing to lock him in for the night. Suddenly, a fit of spastic coughing overtook her, and he was momentarily afraid that she would vomit into his home.
The coughing gradually subsided, and she gathered herself and rose on her wobbly feet. “Gettin’ sick. “She muttered to herself. “Think I need some more o that brandy.” She then gave him a sheepish smile and turned away, steadying herself against the wall as she went out the door.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he began to arrange himself as best he could when his eye caught the dangling padlock. It wasn’t fastened! In her coughing, she had forgotten to push it closed! He listened and could hear her bumping around the kitchen, swearing at the furniture in alcoholic exasperation. Colton was both excited and scared. He could wait until she fell asleep and then escape. But where would he go? Wouldn’t the police just bring him back? And then she would be furious. And Darnell…He shook, not sure what to do.
About thirty minutes later, while he was still in the throes of his agonizing decision, he heard his mother bang into their bathroom, which was right next to his closet. After a minute, he could hear a flush, and then water running.
A moment later, he suddenly he heard a brief shriek and a sickening thump. Then nothing, silence except for the running water. “Mother?” He called out tentatively. After several more tries and no response, he screwed up the courage to move. Reaching for the lock, he threaded it through the door quietly and opened it. Crawling out slowly, he called out again tentatively. “Mother?”
Hearing nothing, he got to his feet and cautiously approached the closet door. “Mother?” he called out again. He reached the door and stepped out into the deserted hall. Ten feet down, the bathroom door was open, it’s weak light spilling out into the darkened hall. Calling out one last time, he reached the entrance to the bathroom and peered around the corner.
There, splayed out in front of the sink on the chipped tile floor was his mother, her head wreathed in blood. The faucet was still running, overflowing now onto the floor, rivulets of water snaking between the tiles towards her unconscious form.
Colton’s eyed widened as he shouted “Mother!” and ran to her inert body. Turning off the faucet, he looked down. On the corner edge of the ceramic sink was a smudge of blood, undoubtedly where his mother’s head had hit when she slipped.
Reaching down, he shook her gently. She was unconscious but seemed to be breathing slowly. The gash on her forehead was wide and angry and still pumping blood profusely.
Looking down at her, Colton could suddenly feel the fire in him rise again as he realized his situation. He was free, and his mother was…, he looked down at her silent form, and the fire inside suddenly became a mash of feelings that he hadn’t ever experienced before. Resentment. Hatred. Rage.
Impulsively, he reached down, grabbing her two flaccid wrists. His large hands completely enveloped her thin bones, and he began dragging her limp body towards the door, leaving a trailing streak of blood. Dragging her into the hallway, he then turned into the bedroom and hauled her onto the dirty mattress.
Reaching down, he arranged her so that she was spread-eagled, and then snapped the cuffs into place. He didn’t know where she kept the keys, and at that moment, he didn’t particularly care. He looked down at her, her straggly red hair splayed out on the mattress, the wound on her head still pumping out red sludge, her thin emaciated form barely covered by her threadbare nightgown. He was riding a tide of angry excitement, and these new emotions were washing over him like a cleansing air. Gone was his trepidation, replaced by this overwhelming feeling of power. She was breathing slowly and erratically in her sleep now, but when she woke…he glanced over at the table where her “teaching tools” were. Screwdriver. Pliers. Steak knife, lighter, scissors, among others, and the worst, the broomstick. Now, he thought grimly, it would be her turn to have a lesson.
Making sure she was secured, he left the room and went into the kitchen. Opening the door to the fridge, he peered in and pulled out a pack of deli meat. Using his teeth, he ripped it open and pawed out some slices, immediately stuffing them in his mouth. Delicious! Looking around, he spied the half-full bottle of brandy on the table. Reaching over, he grabbed the bottle, and looked at the label again. “Jericho the Best of the Best” was its slogan. Snorting, he took a healthy swig. This time, prepared for the taste, he swallowed, and then took another. The liquor burned his throat as it went down, adding to the fiery excitement he felt at his newfound freedom. And now, at last, he was the one who would give the lessons!
After fifteen more minutes of devouring lunchmeat, pickles, more chicken nuggets, sour cream, and brandy, and feeling lightheaded from the alcohol’s effects, he decided it was time for his mother’s first lesson. Putting the bottle down, he made for the bedroom, now weaving slightly himself.
Looking at his mother as he entered, he saw that her eyes were still closed. Still asleep, he thought, as he crossed to the table, well, it’s time for her to wake up. Selecting a pair of needle nose pliers, he turned to the mattress. Looking at his mother closer, he suddenly felt that something wasn’t right. The wound had stopped pumping blood, but more importantly, her chest didn’t appear to be rising and falling.
Dropping the pliers, he fell to his knees and shook her quiet form. When she didn’t respond, he began to shake her frantically. “Mother” he shouted, “wake up!” Then, when she didn’t respond, Colton began to feel a strange transformation come over him. What initially began as panic for his mother’s well-being began to turn into anger, then rage at being denied what he was due. “No!” He screamed, “Wake up! You have lessons to learn!” He began pounding on her frail chest as the rage began to overtake him. “No! No! No! No!” he shouted over and over. Finally, the realization that she wasn’t going to wake up reached his brandy-addled mind, and he slumped back, exhausted. His anger though, was still white hot. He had been cheated his revenge for the years of lessons that he had been put through. It wasn’t fair!
Gradually, his anger subsided, forming back into the ball in the pit of his stomach. It was replaced by fear and uncertainty. What to do now? He glanced at the form of his now dead mother. He couldn’t just leave her here like this. There would be questions. Impulsively, he got up and searched the room. Then he searched the kitchen, and finally found the handcuff keys in a flowerpot with a long-dead plant draped over the side. Returning to his mother, he undid the cuffs and tossed them in a corner. Then, he grabbed the lighter and went back into the kitchen, and grabbed two bottles of whiskey from under the sink. Then, he went outside and walked around the small house, proceeding to pour the whiskey along the wood near the foundation. After emptying both bottles, he went back up to the dilapidated porch, pulled the lighter out of his pocket and whispered softly, “Goodbye mother.” After glancing around to make sure he was alone, with a quick flick of his thumb, he produced a lick of flame. Bending down, he held it to the liquor-soaked wood until it caught, then stepped back.
The alcohol caught quickly, and within minutes the dry, aged wood of the only house he ever knew began to be consumed by hungry flames. As he retreated from the front porch, he was suddenly startled by the deep blaring of a horn. Looking towards the back of the house, he could see the glaring headlights of the oncoming train on the tracks that ran behind their property. The alert engineer had undoubtedly seen the red glow of the flames and was raising the alarm.
As the train thundered by, Colton retreated to the head of his dirt driveway, and sat down, preparing himself for the authorities.
Ten minutes later, a fire truck screeched to a halt at the end of the driveway, followed by two police cars. The firemen immediately began to unravel their hoses, but by this point, everyone could tell that it would be too little too late. The house was now completely engulfed in flames, the heat from the conflagration radiating all the way to the road.
A policeman had pulled him away from the driveway and let him sit in the back of his patrol car with the door open. Then the officer had gently but insistently asked if there was anyone still in the house. Colton had nodded his head silently as he manufactured tears for his mother, his tormentor for his entire life up until now.
As the officer continued to ask questions about what happened, he began to feel the boiling fire in the pit of his stomach again. What had started as rising anger over the years of torture and abuse and lessons was now turning into something else. Revenge. His mother in death had escaped the lessons he had wanted to give her. The boiling fire began to bubble, to consume him. He needed revenge. Retribution. Mother. And he would get it.
“Son? Son?” The police officer asked, shaking his shoulder gently. “What’s your name son?”
He looked into the officer’s concerned face as his newly realized feelings warmed him like the shots of brandy had done earlier. “Colton,” he responded. “Colton Jericho.”
From this distance, he could see that the scene was crawling with people now. Cops, EMTs, firefighters, he even spied an FBI jacket. No, make that two FBI jackets, as he squinted, looking closer at a long-haired figure perched on the rear bumper of the fire truck. Definitely a second FBI jacket, but it sure didn’t look like an FBI agent. Not when it appeared that the figure wasn’t wearing any pants. So, she survived, he thought happily. Good.
Switching his attention to the EMTs, he could see that Medora was being loaded onto a stretcher, undoubtedly heading for the hospital. Also good, he thought. There was no way that he would be able to get to her in the hospital, but it would give him time to recover, and to make a new plan. He winced as his shoulder ached from the bullet wound. He had his knives, his phone, and most importantly, her gun. He’d started with less.
Turning from the scene below, he slipped back into the darkness, the chirping crickets silenced by the malevolence in the air as he moved through the brooding trees. The now familiar fire burned fiercely in the pit of his stomach. I will have my revenge he seethed silently, and I will finish the lessons.
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I reached Barnes and Walsh, who were standing over a now clearly dead Brian McCole. Barnes was talking on his phone to what sounded like Maya, the Medical Examiner. Walsh was squatting next to Brian, with surgical gloves on, looking at the knife protruding from his chest.
I squatted down next to him and looked closer at the knife. “SOG throwing knife.” I said quietly. “Good knife, used by special forces. Navy Seals like them. And Rangers.”
Walsh looked at me. “And how do you know that?”
I just returned his stare stonily. “It’s funny.” I said, “I just happen to know a lot of things.”
Barnes finished his phone conversation as we stood up. “Medical Examiner is on her way.” He announced, looking down at Brian. “Not that we necessarily need a cause of death.” Then he looked back up at me. “Where’s Angie? She ok?”
I nodded towards the fire truck, where Angie was sitting. An EMT had peeled off from Medora, and was now bent over Angie, taking her pulse and saying something to her. “Obviously shook up. Banged up, but not injured. It looks like he hadn’t had time to do anything to her.” I looked back at Barnes with a hard stare. “Good thing I got here as soon as I did.”
Barnes returned my hard stare with one of his own. “I guess it is. But that conversation we were going to have about communication skills? That’s gonna be a good, long one, because you need to seriously work on them.”
“Yeah.” I muttered, glancing over at Angie, “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”
But Barnes wasn’t done. “And procedures. Protocols. Teamwork.” He was ticking off on his fingers. “Attitude. Impulse control. Chain of command.”
“Can we talk about this later?” I asked, suddenly feeling exhausted. “How’s Medora?”
“Cabot’s with her.” Walsh answered, as we both turned to look at the ambulance where she was being loaded. “They think she has a concussion. Taking her to the hospital. CAT scan and MRI. She’s awake but dazed.”
Barnes interrupted. “There’s another ambulance on its way for Ms. Renfro. Should be here any minute.” He looked over at Angie, who was leaning against the truck now, shoulders slumped, as the EMT was taking her blood pressure. “We’re gonna hold off on taking statements until the morning. It’s late, Medora is concussed, Angie’s exhausted, and you, “he glared at me, “I’m too pissed to talk to right now.”
As I opened my mouth, he continued, “I don’t think Jericho will try anything else tonight, especially if he’s injured.” Again, I was about to say something, and Barnes cut me off. “Yes, I’m posting officers outside of their rooms, and I’m increasing patrols for the night. Detectives Riley and Sears are on there way here from the beach. They’re gonna take over this scene so we can all get some rest. It’s been a long day.”
Barnes then turned to Walsh. “Agent, why don’t you and Agent Cabot meet us at the station at eight tomorrow. We never really had a chance to hash out this whole task-force thing. Then after, get statements from Detective Dunning, Ms. Renfro, and Detective Jones. How’s that sound?”
I shut my mouth in muted surprise. Barnes actually sounded organized. Damn.
Agent Walsh looked slightly surprised, then nodded. “OK. You have this under control here?” And he turned slightly to look at me.
Barnes gave a small smile. “Yes Agent. I’m staying until Riley and Sears get here. Detective Jones is going to be leaving now with you, if you would be so kind as to make sure he gets to his vehicle.”
Walsh gave a quick bark of laughter. “Sure. Let’s go Jones.”
“And Detective Jones?” Barnes asked as I turned to go. As I raised a tired eyebrow in question, Barnes said “In thirty minutes, I’m going to call the landline at your house to make sure you made it. And if you don’t pick up, among other nasty things, I will chain you to your desk for a month. If you’re lucky.”
I gave him a weary smile and a mock salute. “See you at eight Chief.”
CHAPTER 57
I couldn’t help myself. I had taken a longer route home to arrive forty-five minutes after leaving Abbot’s Trail, and sure enough my home phone was ringing when I opened my door. When I reached to pick it up and give Barnes a sarcastic reply, all I heard was a muttered curse and then the click of him hanging up.
Which was fine with me, as I was exhausted, and in no mood for any more verbal sparring. As I lay down in a messy heap, I felt something nagging at the back of my mind. Something was off that I should have noticed, but try as I might, my tired brain couldn’t drum up the thought. It would just have to wait until tomorrow.
Next morning came entirely too soon. My body was no longer used to the exercise that came with creeping around mountain jungles and bursting through burning walls with a damsel in distress slung over one shoulder.
Groaning with anticipation of another long day, I swung my legs out and got dressed. I checked my phone, and thankfully, there were no messages. I tried to call Medora, but it went straight to voicemail. In addition to checking on her, I was particularly interested in how she survived close combat with a trained Army Ranger.
Heading out to my car, something was still tickling my detective senses. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, like trying to grasp at a wisp of smoke.
I reached the station at five til eight, and nodded at Turk as I went upstairs. Turning into the conference room, I was surprised to see that it was again full. Barnes was at the head with his trademark coffee mug. Walsh and Cabot were on the far side, and Detectives Riley and Sears were sitting right in front of me, looking up over their shoulders at my entrance. Glancing quickly at my watch, it read two to eight. I raised my eyes and met Barnes’ gaze at the head of the table.
“Don’t say it.” I warned him. “I’m on time.”
“There was a robbery at a house out on Padula Road last night.” Barnes replied grimly, without preamble. “The house was ransacked but the owners are alive. They were found by their son this morning, tied up and gagged in the walk-in closet. He was coming over to take them to breakfast.”
Shit, I thought, as I circled to the empty seat at the far end of the table. Padula was a back road about five miles or so from Abbot’s Trail, where the houses are about a quarter mile apart, large plots where people cherish their privacy. “Any doubt this wasn’t Jericho?” I asked, taking a seat and looking around the table.
Walsh, again impeccably dressed in his blue suit, shook his head as he answered. “Doubtful. Mr. and Mrs. Keeling weren’t able to identify their assailant, he had a hooded sweatshirt and a bandanna covering his face. But based on his size, and the fact that Mrs. Keeling thought he was favoring his right shoulder, I think it’s safe to assume it was him. Also, aside from kitchen, the other area of the house that was looted was the main bathroom. Medicine cabinet was raided, and there was some bloody gauze and surgical tape left that had been used. Pretty sure the blood will come back as Jericho’s.”
“Why didn’t he just kill them?” Detective Sears asked aloud, her voice betraying the fatigue that she was trying to hide.
Agent Cabot spoke up. “If I had to guess, it’s because he didn’t have to. Our man was in the Ranger Special Forces, a highly trained and regimented group. Very structured and highly focused. Rangers are taught to be efficiently effective. No wasted energy, no unnecessary distractions or complications. Complete the mission and get out. Then after that, similar structure with the state police force. Rules to follow, standards to maintain. His psychopathy causes him to maim, torture, and kill his selected victims, but his ingrained discipline and control precludes him from killing indiscriminately. In short, he didn’t have to kill the Keelings, so he didn’t. He just needed their supplies.”
Walsh nodded at his partner. “Agent Cabot works with our Behavioral Science Unit in DC. They do behavioral analysis, come up with target profiles. That’s the short version of what we have for Jericho.”
I nodded shortly to myself. It was him. Wolf Hollow had a track record of a low violent crimes tally. Recently, only Alison and my partner Anders. Then Kenny. Last night, Brian and the Keelings. All related back to Jericho except Anders. And he was killed at Alison’s crime scene, which was making me wonder…
“I’m gonna keep this short.” Barnes deep voice boomed in the small conference room, shaking me out of my reverie. “This man is a trained killer with a twisted, psychopathic streak. The FBI has been after him for years, with no success, so we clearly need all hands-on deck to bring this man to justice.” He paused to look around the table.
Where Agent Walsh looked like he stepped out of an FBI recruitment brochure, his partner, Agent Cabot, looked like she had gotten no sleep. Her dark hair, in a tight, neat bun yesterday, was loose, tumbling down over her shoulders. She wore no makeup, and her eyes looked worn and baggy as she focused on the steaming cup of coffee she had her hands wrapped around. Detectives Riley and Sears likewise looked rumpled and tired, undoubtedly from staying late up at Abbot’s Trail.
“So, we are forming a task force with the FBI.” Barnes continued. “Agents Walsh and Cabot will be working with Detectives Riley and Sears.” I opened my mouth to object, but Barnes raised a finger at me, overriding my imminent objection. “And Detective Jones, you will be taking a back seat. The only reason you are even in this meeting is because of your…contributions… to the rescue of Miss Riley. And in addition, given you past relationship with her, I cannot have you letting emotions rule your actions.”
Again, I began to protest, and again Barnes cut me off, his voice rising. “And that’s not even considering your maverick activities over the past two days, which have resulted in destroyed a bank door along with an impending lawsuit against the city, an illegal bonfire at a logging camp, an injured partner, an escaped psychopath, and not to even mention, a dead civilian!” Barnes concluded, his voice thundering, as the others around the table shrank back.
I snapped my mouth shut. This wasn’t how I had expected this meeting to go. But all things considered, Barnes wasn’t entirely wrong.
“So, here’s what you’re going to do.” Barnes lowered his voice back to normal level. “When we’re done here, you’re to go back to your desk and write your statement of events from yesterday, starting from when you arrived at the beach. Then, you are going to re-open the case of your murdered ex-partner, Anders Kaplan. It cannot be coincidence that he was assassinated at Alison’s crime scene. And now that we know Alison’s back story, there has to be some connection to Jericho. Now, don’t say anything, but nod if you understand.”
I considered protesting again, but Barnes’ stern stare and the stony silence from the rest of the table convinced me otherwise. Barnes had to assert his authority in front of the other detectives and the FBI. This was his moment to shine, unfortunately at my expense. So, meeting his eyes across the long table, I kept my trap shut and gave a short, quick nod. Like hell…
“Good.” Barnes said quickly. “Now that that’s settled, tell us how Barnes ended up dead on that mountainside, because I’m going to have to tell the press something.”
I quickly recounted the events at the media station after I had left the bank. Barnes already knew most of this after talking with Kitty, but he wanted it officially on the record. I then lied slightly and said that Brian had blackmailed me into going along by threatening to write a story that night which could quite possibly incite a city-wide panic, instead of his real threat of marching right across the street to squeal to Barnes. It didn’t really matter, and Barnes would have torched me if he knew the truth.
I got to the meeting at Abbot’s Trail where Medora and I were planning our assault and what to do with Brian, when it hit me. That tickle I had felt in the back of my head instantly exploded. I had told Medora to cuff Brian to my steering wheel. I thought suddenly. In the clearing, she told me she had, and that he must have escaped. If he escaped, then where were the handcuffs? They weren’t still on one of his wrists on his corpse, and they weren’t hanging from my steering wheel when I left the scene. He didn’t escape, I concluded, Medora lied to me. Why?
“Detective?” Walsh asked, looking at me curiously. I had stopped mid-sentence as the revelation had hit me, and everyone around the table was staring at me, waiting.
I snapped out of it and hastily got back to my recounting. I stayed with Medora’s story, that she had cuffed him to my wheel, and he had escaped. The FBI agents looked doubtful and Sears had her eyebrows raised, but they couldn't dispute my story, and I was fairly certain Medora wouldn’t change hers.
As I finished my report of the events from last night, my mind was racing independently of my mouth. She lied. Why? Did he have something to threaten her with? Did he escape her and run up on his own? Was she embarrassed? Or did she deliberately bring him up with her? And if so, why? Goddamit, I now had questions, and I had been sidelined, relegated to a different case. Then I winced to myself as a pang of guilt surged through me. Anders’ case was important, I admitted to myself grudgingly, and Barnes was right. The circumstances of his murder were too much of a coincidence to not be linked with Jericho.
I realized that I had stopped talking again, and silence permeated the room except for the sounds of Agent Cabot and Detective Sears tapping notes into their iPads.
Barnes was staring at me as he took a sip from his steaming mug. He never broke eye contact, as if trying to decide whether I was telling the truth. Finally, he put his mug down and smacked his lips.
“Okay, I think we’re done here.” Barnes said, heaving his bulk out of the protesting chair. “Agent Walsh, why don’t you pair up with Detective Sears, and go to the hospital and get statements from Miss Renfro and Detective Dunning. They should be available by now. Agent Cabot, why don’t you go with Detective Riley to the Keeling’s house, see if Jericho left anything that might indicate where he’s going or what his plans are. Then, work with Sargeant Ross who’s out there coordinating the search. See if we can pick up this asshole’s trail.”
And finally, Barnes turned to me. “And you, Jones, go write up your statement. Then, get to work on Kaplan, see if you can find a connection. But above all, “he locked his eyes on my own, “stay away from Jericho.”
Well, it could’ve been worse, I thought as I stood, I’m not suspended or on administrative leave, and I’m not chained to my desk. And technically, I smiled to myself, he told me to stay away from Jericho. Just Jericho.
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CHAPTER 58
Medora rolled over and groaned as the pounding of her head introduced her to the morning light. The soft swish of her curtain being drawn back had started her from her troubled sleep. Opening one eye, she saw a short nurse with her auburn hair pulled back in a French braid bending over her arm as she was about to wrap a blood pressure cuff around it.
“Oh!” She said, startled and drawing back “I didn’t realize you were awake!”
“I wasn’t.” Medora grumbled, closing her eyes as the events of last night came flooding back.
After Harper had left her in the clearing, she was, despite her vociferous protestations, loaded into an ambulance and taken to the Wolf Hollow hospital. Jericho had whipped the police baton right into her forehead above her left eye, and the EMTs had insisted she be taken in to test for a concussion. At the hospital, still dizzy and with an elevated blood pressure, the doctors had run their tests, then admitted her overnight for observation. The last thing she remembered slipping into unconsciousness was seeing Angie being wheeled into her room and transferred onto the second bed. Good, she had thought dazedly. They’ll have guards stationed at the door for Angie. I’m safe for the night.
Now, she opened her eyes, and through the slightly ajar door, she could see two police officers in uniform sitting outside. Not the most exciting job in the world, but Medora was damn glad they were there.
“How do you feel this morning?” The nurse, whose nametag read Delia, chirped as she took the blood pressure reading.
“Great.” She lied. “How soon can I get out of here?”
“Well,” Delia said breezily, removing the cuff, “your blood pressure looks like it’s back to normal, and your scans showed that you sustained a mild concussion.” She gently touched the bandage over Medora’s left eye. “It’s not my call, but I’d guess when Dr. Watson makes her rounds and sees you, she’ll probably discharge you with some bedrest orders.”
Dr. Watson again? Fantastic, Medora thought as she recalled her visit to the emergency room yesterday. This should be fun.
Medora glanced over to her roommate’s side, where the curtain was still closed. “How’s she doing?” she asked the nurse, nodding towards Angie’s bed.
“Better, I think.” Delia whispered. “She suffered traumatic shock and stress. I don’t know what happened to her last night, but she has guards out front.” She pointed towards the door.
“She’s just fine!” Angie growled from behind her curtain. “You can stop your whispering, my ears work perfectly well.”
Delia stood up quickly, a red flush spreading over her cherubic features. “I’m so sorry ma’am, I didn’t realize you were awake!” She hurried over and pulled back Angie’s curtain.
Medora could see Angie, dressed in a hospital gown staring at the ceiling, her face and arms still grimy from dirt and soot, her dark red hair tangled and spread out over her pillow.
Seeing the curtain pulled back, Angie turned and looked at Medora. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice still raspy from inhaling the fire’s fumes.
Suddenly realizing that they had never officially met, Medora smiled. “Detective Medora Dunning.”
Recognition immediately dawned on Angie’s face as Delia began taking her blood pressure. “Harper’s…I mean Detective Jones’ partner!” She whispered. “You rescued me!”
Medora smiled again, the pain in her head receding slightly. “Not exactly rescued you, that was mostly Harper. I managed to get clocked in the head and let your kidnapper escape.” She admitted ruefully, tenderly touching her forehead.
Angie smiled slightly as if reminiscing. “Well, yeah, he did pull me out of the fire, but…” Angie’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “You’re beautiful!” She suddenly stated.
Startled, Medora wasn’t quite sure what to say, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Hardly.” She responded awkwardly. “I’ve definitely seen better days.”
Angie continued staring at her for a second while Delia unwrapped the blood pressure cuff. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I knew Harper had a new partner, I just didn’t expect…” She paused, seemingly at a loss, “I didn’t expect, well, you.” She suddenly gave a small smile. “But thank you for being there. You and Harper both saved me.”
Medora paused, then replied gravely. “Well, you’re welcome. But Jericho is still out there, and he might come back for you.” Actually, Medora thought, as the wheels in her brain began spinning, maybe I can arrange that. She quickly glanced over to her bedside table, and saw her possessions that were on her when she was brought in, sealed in a plastic bag. Along with her handcuffs, taser, pen, notepad, and other assorted items were her two cell phones. One that was her personal phone, and the other, her private one. Reaching quickly for the bag, she took the private phone out and hid it under her pillow. She didn’t want to have to explain the extra phone when Barnes and whoever came in to take her statement.
“Can I use a phone?” Angie asked Delia as she was about to leave. “I need to call my boyfriend. I was supposed to meet him for dinner last night when…this…happened. He must be worried sick.”
“Of course.” Delia replied. “I’ll bring one in right away.”
Instantly, Medora felt a pang of guilt. That’s right, she doesn’t know. But her regret began to melt away though as she thought about a plan to get to Jericho. Maybe I can use this.
Delia re-entered with a hospital cell phone. As Angie began to dial, Medora said quietly, “Angie, put the phone down for a minute.”
Angie looked up, a look of confusion on her face. “Excuse me? Why? I’m calling Brian, my boyfriend.” The cell phone began ringing.
Medora conjured up a sorrowful face and said, “Angie, I have something you need to know.” She paused as Angie looked at her questioningly, the phone still ringing.
“Angie, Brian wanted to help save you. He was with Harper and I on the mountain. But Harper wouldn’t let him come up the trail. He had me handcuff him to his car.” She paused. “Somehow, Brian escaped the cuffs.” The phone began to go to voicemail, and Brian’s recorded message echoed in the small room. “He ran up the trail on his own when he saw the fire, trying to save you.” She paused dramatically. “Angie, he took a knife to his chest. I’m sorry, he didn’t make it.”
Angie just stared, her green eyes growing big and round. Brian’s robotic voice suddenly ended with a beep, which seemed to jolt her back to the present. “What?” she whispered hoarsely, dropping the phone on the bed. “Are you saying Brian’s dead?”
Medora looked down, then back up, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry Angie, yes. He died trying to rescue you.”
Angie put a hand to her mouth as her eyes began to water. A muffled sob came up from her lungs as the realization of Brian’s death hit her. Brian was gone, and it was her fault.
Medora watched her as she processed the news, looking for the perfect moment to pounce. After about twenty minutes, Angie began to compose herself as she came to terms with Brian’s death.
“Angie.” Medora began. Angie looked over at Medora, her emerald eyes rimmed with red. “This man, his name is Colton Jericho. He is an extremely dangerous, sick man.” Angie just kept looking at her. “He’s been kidnapping and torturing women like you for over eight years out west.”
Angie’s eyes widened in fear. “Why is he here? Why like me?” She asked in a trembling voice.
Medora paused before answering, letting Angie’s fear build. “Alison Newton the other day? You remember that? The unearthed grave in Great Oaks cemetery?” Angie nodded slightly, nervously pushing a red lock of hair behind her ear.
“Alison was a victim of his from eight years ago, who managed to escape.” Angie gasped. “He never gave up, and tracked her down after all this time.”
Angie covered her mouth with her hand. “He killed her too? Last year? Then did…that?”
Medora shook her head. “We don’t know if he killed her. But there were certain…characteristics of the gravesite that led us to believe it was him. And now, of course, with him kidnapping you, seeing as you’re his victim type, we’re pretty certain both crimes have been Jericho.”
Angie just stared. “His victim type?” She whispered.
Medora nodded, her eyes fixed on Angie’s. “Young, late twenties to thirties, attractive, long dark red hair. All of his victims have shared those traits. And so far, only you and Alison have been fortunate enough to escape him.”
Medora watched as Angie processed this, and then her mouth formed a silent O as she realized that she was still a target. Fearfully, she looked at Medora.
“So what happens now?” She asked quietly.
And set the bait, Medora thought. “Well, they’ll probably offer you Witness Protection like they did Alison,” Medora could practically read Angie’s thoughts, and how did that work out for Alison? “That will take a few days to set up. But until that happens, they’ll probably stash you in a hotel…”
Despite her obvious fear, Angie immediately shook her head. “No hotel,” she said firmly. “Can’t they protect me at my house?”
Medora paused for a moment, then shrugged theatrically. “Possibly, you’d have to ask the Marshals. But they’d have to set up a car outside your house on the street, and have one or two security people inside the house with you-“
“Can you be one of them?” Angie interrupted. “One of the people inside? You’ve already faced him, right?” She rushed on. “Please, I want you there to protect me!”
Bingo! Medora thought triumphantly. She pretended to think about it, then replied carefully, “I suppose so, but that would be up to my boss, Chief Barnes.
“I’ll talk to him!” Angie asserted forcefully. “If he wants a good news story, he’ll do it.” She paused. “And I’m going to ask him to have Harper be the other person inside too.”
What? No! Medora thought wildly. Harper was a wild card, and he was smart. And obviously skilled. He might get in her way and then he would have to be dealt with. “I don’t know if Chief Barnes will allow that, “she said slowly, “Harper hasn’t exactly followed orders the past few days, so…”
“Chief Barnes will do it.” Angie said firmly. “Harper saved me. If there’s even a chance of this Jericho coming for me, I want Harper there. And you.”
Oh, there is more than a chance, Medora thought. In fact, I’d call it a certainty. “OK,” Medora said reluctantly, “If you think Barnes will go for it.”
Angie’s eyes grew hard. “Oh, he will. Brian died because of this man. In fact, I almost hope he tries to come for me!”
Medora pretended to think, nodding slowly, while inside her heart was racing. The bait was set. When Jericho found out that both Angie and she were in the same place, he would be unable to resist the opportunity. She gently caressed the hard black case of the phone under her pillow. But this time, she would have the advantage.
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