No Way Out

by Kristi Belcamino

  When she got close, the boy actually blushed.

  “Looking for a toy for your kid?”

  “Oh, do you think I’m that old?”

  He blushed more.

  “I actually came to talk to you,” Tommy said.

  The boy shifted uncomfortably.

  “I was hoping you might help me. I’m looking for a guy who is really, really into Jack Sparrow. You know from the Pirates of the Caribbean?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. We sell lots of stuff from that movie.”

  “Well, this would be a grown man who was especially interested in the coins.”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Are you a cop? The cops were already here asking me about this. I don’t know nothing. I sell those coins all the time.”

  “Oh no. I’m a photographer at the paper,” Tommy said, holding up her camera.

  “Oh.” The boy still looked a little suspicious. “I still don’t know anything. I don’t think we’ve sold those coins for at least a year.”

  Tommy scrunched her face, thinking. What else would a guy who called himself Jack Sparrow buy at a place like this? She looked around at the store and the answer was so obvious she smiled broadly.

  “How about this? Have any men bought the Jack Sparrow costume in that year you’ve worked here?”

  The boy exhaled loudly, relieved that he could help. “Totally. This one weird guy just bought one last month. He was freaky. Kept looking out the window to see if anyone was watching him. Acted like he was James Bond or something.”

  Tommy’s heart thumped madly.

  “Can you describe him?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  HOLY SMOKES, TOMMY said.

  It couldn’t be. Or could it?

  The man the clerk described seemed very familiar.

  And the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to click. Hard to swallow, but not unbelievable.

  The kid had described the pathologist, Mark Dickinson.

  He said the guy who bought the Jack Sparrow costume was a tall, gangly man with long, unfashionable hair and small wire glasses.

  The victims had been poisoned with a substance that only Dickinson had found and identified despite other pathologists who had initially done the autopsies.

  In fact, the more Tommy thought about it, the more sense it made. Except the reason why he would do this? And then her blood ran cold as she remembered all the calls she had received.

  Tommy was out of breath by the time she raced up the police department steps and into the station.

  “I need to see the chief,” she panted to the snotty clerk who’d never liked her.

  “Sorry, he’s not available,” the pert clerk said without looking up.

  “Goddamn it then find him! This is a matter of life and death.”

  “Settle down. I’ll make a call.”

  After a few seconds of mumbling into the phone handset the woman turned to Tommy.

  “He’s up at the cabin at Mille Lacs this week. Costello is filling in.”

  “Then get me Costello!” Tommy was irritated she even had to ask.

  A few seconds later the woman hung up the phone and taking her time looked over at Tommy.

  “He’s at court right now.”

  “Kelly, then. Now.”

  While the woman called back to Kelly’s desk, Tommy tried his cell phone again. She had tried calling him a few times on the drive over but her call had gone straight to voice mail.

  The clerk hung up the phone.

  “Detective Kelly is out of the office.”

  “Then you better find out where he went, right now or I’m driving up to the chief’s cabin in Mille Lacs and telling him what I know after I tell him about your incompetence.” Tommy was fuming.

  The woman picked up the phone and dialed in a hurry. After another mumbled conversation, she hung up the phone and as slow as she could, turned to Tommy.

  “Detective Kelly is at an appointment at the morgue.”

  Tommy’s heart raced and she tore out of the office without a backward glance at the clerk.

  He was meeting with the killer and he didn’t even know it. She had to warn him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  TOMMY SPED OVER TO the downtown morgue running through yellow lights and leaving a string of honking, angry drivers behind her. She kept one hand on her Jeep’s steering wheel and the other was hitting re-dial on her cell phone.

  “Pick up!” She murmured each time, but her call kept going straight to Kelly’s voice mail.

  She skidded into a spot on the street in front of the morgue and raced to the front door not bothering to put money in the meter.

  Tearing through the front door, she was brought up short by the startled looks of the secretaries working the morgue’s front desk.

  “Hey, Tommy? Got a meeting here today?” The clerk looked confused as she took in Tommy’s windblown hair and the frantic look on her face.

  “Kelly. Detective Kelly is he here?”

  The clerk looked even more confused.

  “No. We haven’t seen the detective since last week. Was he supposed to meet you here?”

  Now Tommy was confused. “Uh, no. But I was told he had a meeting here.” Then she thought of something. “Is Mark Dickinson, the forensic pathologist here today?”

  The clerk frowned. “No. He doesn’t usually work downtown. He’s usually up at the Blaine morgue. I think they just brought him down here for that,” and here she lowered her voice to a whisper. “River Killer.”

  “Yeah, right,” Tommy said and then thought of something. “Hey, maybe I’ve got the location wrong. Can you call the Blaine office and ask if Kelly and Dickinson are meeting up there? Maybe I got my signals crossed.”

  After a few minutes, Tommy walked out of the morgue, more confused—and more concerned—than ever.

  The Blaine office said it knew nothing about a meeting. In fact, Dickinson was on vacation this week, spending time at his cabin in Wisconsin.

  Walking to her Jeep, Tommy saw something that made her heart stop. A few cars behind hers was Kelly’s small red roadster. Empty. He had been here.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  TOMMY PACED THE HALLS outside the courtroom waiting for a break in the trial. Peeking through the glass doors she’d seen Costello up on the stand testifying. It was some meth case that was putting one of the big dealers behind bars.

  Finally, the judge ordered a break and Tommy waited impatiently for Costello to come out. She grabbed him, dragged him into a corner and told him what was up.

  “Good grief, St. James, are you sure about this?”

  “Yes. He won’t answer his cell phone. They never saw him at the morgue and his car is out on the street. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Costello said in a whisper, eying the other people filing out of the courtroom. “I believe you. I don’t know why. But for some reason, I do. Let me make some calls.”

  “We need to find where his Wisconsin cabin is,” Tommy said urgently. “I know he took Kelly there. He’s holding him prisoner. Or worse. Please.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Call me when you know something. I’ll get gassed up and ready to go.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Costello said looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

  “He’s my boyfriend. You have to let me go.”

  “I’ll think about it. Go back to your place, lock the door, and wait for me to call. Deal?”

  Tommy sighed. She had no choice. She was at his mercy. He was the only one who could find out where Dickinson’s cabin was.

  “Fine.”

  But after she got in her Jeep, she decided to make other plans. She’d swing by her apartment and grab Kelly’s extra pistol out of the gun safe and then start driving toward the border of Minnesota and Wisconsin. Even if she didn’t know where the cabin was right then, at least she’d have a head start.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

&n
bsp; DICKINSON HAD BEEN turned down when he pledged a fraternity in college. Killing frat boys was his idea of the ultimate revenge on those who rejected him.

  His delusions of grandeur came to fruition when he saw the attention Tommy St. James had received by her grand foul-up in covering the Sunset Hill murder case.

  Watching her on TV, he’d become obsessed.

  He knew just how she felt. To be ostracized. To be an outcast. To make monumental mistakes that would haunt you forever. All he’d done was try to kiss a girl at a Halloween party at the frat house. She was a cute little redhead dressed up like a pirate’s wench. He was dressed up like a pirate. They were perfect for one another. Turns out she was the sister of the head frat boy. Turns out after she slapped him, and he pushed her back, the hot oil from the stove had burned her face so badly she was disfigured. It was all a horrible mistake. Just like Tommy had made a horrible mistake.

  At a loss as to how to capture Tommy’s attention so he could tell her they were soul mates, meant to be together, he merged his two obsessions into one—murdering frat boys and gaining Tommy’s attention. It was the perfect plan. He needed to do it undetected for a while to make sure he wouldn’t just end up some nobody in jail. He needed it to be sensational once his serial killings were exposed. He’d accomplished just that, he thought.

  The bonus plan, the unbelievably wild coincidence and fated meeting happened earlier than he had planned, had even dreamed, sending him reeling. When Lt. Costello asked him to meet at the morgue he could hardly believe his luck when he found Tommy St. James there.

  It was a sign. They were destined for one another. That just proved it. He could barely stop himself from confessing his plans to her right then. His hand shook wildly throughout the entire autopsy and every time he looked at her, his heart raced. He had to will himself to not meet her eyes. He was afraid if he did, he would turn to ash.

  Then, he began following her. He couldn’t get enough. Every waking hour he wasn’t working, he was watching Tommy from afar. From the skyway across from the newsroom he could see her at her desk in photo. His love for her grew.

  At the same time, his jealousy of Detective Kelly grew into a great, fanged monster seeking blood. He could barely stop his hands from closing around the man’s neck every time they were within a few feet of one another.

  Now, with Kelly tied up in his basement apartment, he could finish the job. He would have his way with the redhead and then leave the country forever. By the time someone found Kelly, probably investigating a rank odor, it would be too late for the handsome detective.

  He had done what he wanted. He had left a journal that outlined every move. That explained everything down to the most minute detail, such as how he had lured the college boys to the geocache’s with promises of free iPads and free stock in Apple computer. Greed was their downfall. Just like those frat boys from his college days who were more interested in what a guy looked like, what kind of car he drove, and who his parents were. But they didn’t realize that what he had inside was worth more than all of those hand-me-down assets.

  He waited, quietly, palms sweating. Any time now.

  Then, he heard it. The key turning in the lock.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  TOMMY THREW OPEN THE door of her apartment and raced to the closet where Kelly kept his gun in her small safe. She was twirling the dial on the safe when she got a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye.

  A man, in the corner, standing perfectly still, staring at her behind his glasses.

  Mark Dickinson.

  Tommy’s heart stopped and she froze, panicked. She knew she should run or scream, but the lightning flash of pure terror that raced through her body only made her choke a little on the bile that had suddenly filled her mouth.

  For a few seconds, his stillness frightened her more than anything else she could have ever imagined. Their eyes locked and his gaze paralyzed her even more. Then, he was at her side in a flash, a knife held to her throat.

  He was looking over his shoulder at the door to the hall she had left wide open. As he did, she furtively twisted the dial on the safe to the last number of the code and gently gave it a tug.

  Before she could grab the gun, he’d dragged her to the couch and was quickly ripping her clothes off. She gasped and clutched at her blouse as he tore it down the middle, buttons flying everywhere. She glanced at the safe, He did not notice the door had swung open. The door of the cabinet hid it from his view. He was too intent on his goal.

  “The bag. Get the clothes out of the bag. Now.”

  She was confused, looking around wildly but not seeing what bag he meant.

  He slapped her and then dragging her by her hair, pushed her nose into the big plastic bag on the floor. “Put the wench clothes on now.”

  Trembling, she fished a tiny skirt and white blouse out of the bag and tried to put them on without him seeing her getting undressed, but he stood, panting and watching her, sweat glistening as it dripped down his face from his hair, eyes crazed.

  Once she was dressed, he threw her back onto the couch and turning his back to her, started undressing. She was confused. She darted a glance at the safe. She could see the black handle of the gun sitting there.

  She watched his thin white back as he bent over, pulling on cut-off black pants with ragged edges and his own billowy white skirt. He leaned over to the bag, but jerked upright when he saw her rise. “Sit!”

  Think fast, St. James, she told herself.

  “I see we’re playing dress up. I think that’s a great idea, but I always do better with cos play when I have a little music to put me in the mood,” she gestured at the radio that was above the cabinet containing the safe. “Do you mind?”

  He was between her and the door. He obviously realized she couldn’t escape and he nodded, bending back over to fish in the bag. She crept over to the safe, watching as he extracted a long black wig and stood in front of the mirror by the door arranging his hair with shaking hands.

  Tommy’s own hands were trembling madly as she held the gun in both of them, pointed right at him. He didn’t notice until he heard the click of the safety being released and then, startled, he jumped.

  But within seconds, he’d calmed. He began laughing madly.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice turning high-pitched and nasty, just as she remembered the voice of the caller on her phone. “I don’t intend to live through this. Or at least that was incorporated into the plan. Either I escape to a foreign country, boring since I would have to remain in hiding, or I die here in glory and my name goes down in history. Jack Sparrow. Not the River Killer. Jack Sparrow. Shoot me. But make sure the newspaper gets my name right.”

  Tommy pointed the gun at the table near the door.

  “I’m not going to shoot you—unless I have to,” she said. “Hand me my phone. Now.”

  Within seconds, Dickinson grabbed her phone and flung it against the wall so ferociously it shattered in four pieces.

  “No. It’s just you and me. Shoot me. If you don’t, I have other plans for you. Plans I’ve fantasized about for a very, very long time.”

  Tommy wracked her brains.

  “Listen. Knock that shit off. I don’t want to kill you. Don’t you understand.” Her hand holding the gun was shaking.

  How would she possibly get him out of the apartment and in custody? Her neighbors. That’s it. She screamed, “Help. Someone help me. Call 911.” Then she remembered what she had learned in her rape prevention class. “Fire! Fire! Someone call 911.”

  Before she’d finished, Dickinson had charged at her, holding her grandmother’s heavy vase over his head.

  The blast of the gun, threw her onto the couch and she watched in horror as a crimson blossom spread across Dickinson’s chest before he toppled sideways.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  BEFORE THE AMBULANCE had even come to a stop in the driveway at Hennepin County Medical Center, Tommy had leaped from her Je
ep and was rushing to the back doors just as they wheeled Detective Kelly out on the gurney. He was sitting up, pulling at the restraints and pleading with the EMT’s to let him out.

  “Come on, Joe. It’s me Kelly. I can walk in. I mean I’m fine. Just a scratch.”

  Tommy gasped when she saw the bandage across Kelly’s forehead.

  “Oh, my God. What happened?”

  He smiled. “Mr. Dickinson in the basement with a candlestick,” he said.

  “Very funny, detective. What the hell happened?”

  “As soon as you called, Costello barged into the apartment and untied me. It’s a good thing, too. Our friend the pathologist had turned on the gas stove so I was too sleepy to even realize what was going on.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Tommy was still furious that the homicide detectives had kept her in her apartment for questioning when she was itching to go see Kelly.

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  Kelly wrapped her in his arms.

  “It’s okay, Scoop,” he said. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  EPILOGUE

  THE SUN WAS SETTING on the horizon lighting up the sandy beach and turning the turquoise water blood red.

  Kelly put an arm around Tommy. They both kept their gazes trained on the horizon as the golden orb of the sun touched the water.

  “This isn’t so bad, is it?” Kelly said.

  Tommy turned. “It’s all right, I guess.”

  He’d talked her into coming to Hawaii for Christmas to meet his children.

  They were playing on the beach behind her.

  Tommy had loved them the instant she met them. Kelly’s ex-wife wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, either.

  “I was thinking,” Kelly said, his voice hesitant. “How about we make this an annual trip? We could come here every Christmas and spend time with the kids?”

  “That sounds pretty long term, detective.” Tommy said and smiled.