Night Sun

by Tom Barber

  ‘Just told the deputies here, only for signals, not including when we broke down. No stops at stations. We ain’t a passenger service.’

  ‘So how many stops for signals?’

  ‘Three after Cleveland until we broke down for the night. First between Ohio and Erie, second between Rochester and Syracuse, third between ‘Cuse and Utica. You been talking with the Marshals here?’

  ‘Not recently.’

  ‘They told me their deputies are sending people to the New York State locations with dogs. Two of your boys come from around that area, I heard.’

  ‘So you didn’t stop at stations, but did you go slow or just barrel through them?’

  ‘Depends. Went slow through Cleveland.’

  ‘Slow enough for someone to climb on board at the West 117th stop in Lakewood?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘You see anyone?’

  ‘If I did, I would’ve called it in. Company don’t tolerate train hoppers. They fall onto the tracks or under the wheels, we can get sued for negligence.’

  With a train weighing so many tons under his control, Archer knew the man’s attention would need to be on the track ahead, not on the carriages behind him. ‘How long is it from Cleveland to New York City on your schedule?’

  ‘Should take twelve hours. Five to Syracuse.’

  Would they have risked staying on the train for five hours? ‘Between Cleveland and Syracuse, you think of anywhere they could have jumped off?’

  ‘Yeah, the times I slowed for signals.’

  Archer recalled his leap off the bridge in West Virginia on Friday night, doing what he had to in order to survive. Sounded like Marshals had the second two locations covered. ‘Where was the first spot again?’

  ‘In Pennsylvania. Not far from Erie.’

  ‘Thanks for talking to me. Appreciate it.’ Archer ended the call, hit the indicator and pulled over onto the shoulder to study the map.

  Looking at it, he felt a pulse of adrenaline. The Lakeshore train tracks snaked through the northwestern edge of PA. The Gatlin boys could’ve taken the opportunity when the train slowed to leap off; according to the map, much of the area was wooded, just the sort of the place the Loughlins would choose. This would have been last night, but they’d been running non-stop ever since they broke out of prison on Friday morning so they’d need to rest.

  If they’d found somewhere to hole up there was a very good chance they were still in the area.

  Archer looked up at the highway ahead. The road he was on, I-90, split later on to become I-86 south but both paths led into New York State. The two highways now had roadblocks in place in certain locations and all trains were being searched, including ones with long chains of freight cars. They could hide out, he remembered Glick saying at the Robbery/Homicide division HQ, looking at the large areas of greenery on the map, knowing it translated to many hundreds of square miles of forestry. Not hard to go to ground out there.

  But he knew Frank well and was becoming familiar with how these brothers operated. They’d broken out of federal prison, attacked the extradition bus on the bridge to free Lupinetti, shot their way through another roadblock to get out of West Virginia, then escaped with a safety deposit box after killing two CHPD officers and stealing their car. They’d steamrolled over anything that got in their way, totally unconcerned about how many people they killed in the process. Even though they’d know cops and federal agents would be looking out for them in their hometown near Syracuse, Archer guessed they were cocky enough to head to the area regardless, particularly with their run of success since they’d broken out of Gatlin. They’d be feeling confident and would want to get to familiar territory to hide themselves away, but money or not they’d need support from friends or family soon if they were going to keep evading capture. Investigators were doing the logical thing by checking the areas where the train had stopped yesterday in New York State, but Archer didn’t feel that those three would have risked going all the way there on the rail-line just yet. Two of them at least were way too smart for that.

  Which meant they needed a vehicle. They’d already demonstrated they’d kill without a second’s hesitation, but this was Sunday daytime traffic; the main interstates out of PA would have too many potential witnesses, some of whom would be armed, as well as there being roadblocks in place too heavily reinforced for the fugitives to try and risk blasting their way through. Archer scanned the Pennsylvania-NY State border on the map. South of I-86 was Station Road, presumably a much quieter route, plus it seemed closest to the Amtrak rail line the brothers and Frank could’ve jumped off the train from.

  His eyes stayed on that strip of road. He knew PA State police would be stretched pretty thin covering every route into New York right now, so most likely didn’t have too many troopers left to spare for the country routes, especially as no-one had any idea where the five fugitives were at this moment. They could show up anywhere.

  He tossed the map back onto the seat before signaling and getting back onto the highway. He started speeding towards the turn off to Station Road and as he drove, called Shepherd.

  ‘Think we need to make sure Pennsylvania authorities have got people on a certain route into New York State if they haven’t already,’ Archer told him once he’d answered.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Station Road,’ Archer said, seeing a sign for the turn-off was coming up. ‘South of I-86. I’ve got a theory.’

  ‘Oh man, here we go. Tell me.’

  Archer was correct in that all the major highways leading into NY from Pennsylvania now had strategically-placed roadblocks set up, the two States’ authorities having been alerted by the US Marshals and Ohio police that there was a strong likelihood the five wanted fugitives were heading their way. Some key minor roads also had either local cops or troopers stationed on them, the deputies who knew the area concerned that their marks could slip through on the less-congested highways, and four local cops on Station Road had just checked a car before letting it through when a Winnebago campervan appeared in the distance.

  Less than a minute later, the vehicle reached the barriers and stopped. Two of the officers walked forward, taking a side each, one going to the driver as the other checked the outside of the Bago and dropped to take a look at the underside. They’d heard a rumor one of the men they were after had escaped from prison in Virginia by hiding himself under a laundry truck.

  ‘Afternoon,’ the officer on the driver’s side said, seeing two young men sitting up front. ‘You boys are going the wrong way from campus,’ he said, seeing one was wearing a Penn State football t-shirt, the other a ball cap with the university’s lion logo on the front.

  ‘Wanted to get some fishing done at the lakes up north in New York, sir,’ the driver said.

  ‘Why’s the road blocked?’ the other passenger asked quickly.

  ‘Looking for this man and woman,’ he said, showing the pair a mugshot of Nicky and Kat. Their old prison photos; his from Gatlin, hers from ORW. ‘They robbed a truck in Cleveland yesterday.’

  ‘Never seen them before,’ the driver said.

  ‘You?’ the cop asked the passenger, who shook his head. ‘What about these three?’ the officer asked, showing the Loughlin brothers and Lupinetti on another paper.

  ‘No, sir,’ the driver said, shaking his head vigorously. ‘Never.’

  ‘You alright, son?’

  ‘Fine, sir,’ he replied quickly, as he looked at the other two cops standing by their cars. ‘Been in the sun all morning.’

  ‘Mind if we come aboard?’ The driver nodded. ‘You do mind?’

  ‘No, I mean I don’t,’ the student replied quickly before glancing at his friend. The officer studied the young man for a moment before turning to the two cops at the roadblock; he made a V with his fingers pointing to his eyes then at the campervan as he moved to the side door out of the driver’s view.

  Lifting his rifle, he pulled open the door, the officer who’d scoped out the other side o
f the Winnebago joining him with his own carbine raised, the two students sitting rigidly in their seats staring ahead.

  Something was making them very nervous.

  The cop stepped up to check out the interior of the van, then saw a couple of coolers on the floor; he reached in and opened one of them. ‘Thought you said you boys were going fishing?’ he asked.

  ‘We are.’

  ‘You got catches here already.’

  ‘We-um…we stopped at a lake on the way. Wanted to test out the bait.’

  The lead cop glanced at his colleague, who shook his head; they both looked at the toilet door, which was closed.

  The first officer nodded to the second, who raised his rifle as the lead cop stepped to one side and reached for the handle.

  One of the two policemen still standing outside yawned, the effect of standing for over an hour on a quiet road in the morning sunlight, before his radio suddenly chirped.

  ‘Unit 12, you there?’

  ‘Copy,’ he said. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Warning just came in the Loughlins and the ex-cop might’ve jumped off a train in Erie County and could be coming your way.’

  As the man listened, his gaze suddenly sharpened.

  There’d just been movement behind the van.

  Inside the Winnebago, the officer checking the interior was about to twist the handle when an explosion of shouts and gunfire shattered the quiet outside.

  The two officers inside the van swung round, but before they could react, the toilet door was thrown wide open and the lead cop took three rifle bullets to the head from Brooks Loughlin, the other cop killed a second later too. Outside, the officers by the cars were firing at Billy and Lupinetti, who’d quietly slipped out of the back of the van from the rear window moments before the cop opened the door and stepped on board.

  Shotgun shells, rifle bullets and pistol rounds tore both vehicles apart, Brooks unloading with his rifle from inside the van at the two cruisers. Eventually, the smoke settled, as did the echoes of the gunshots and shotgun blasts. The silence held, as Brooks reloaded his magazine quickly.

  ‘BILLY, YOU GOOD?’ he shouted.

  ‘I’m good,’ he called back. Brooks looked down the van; the two college students had been hit in the crossfire, blood on the console and what was left of the windshield in front of them. Both were dead. Brooks gathered up the dead cops’ rifles and handguns, throwing them out of the open door, then jumped out, the campervan springing back behind him, his rifle raised again as he looked down the sights.

  The two squad cars had been chewed up, pieces of them all over the road. Behind him and on the other side, he saw his brother and Lupinetti appear from around the back of the campervan, both having just reloaded. Neither had been hit.

  He advanced on the two cruisers to see the pair of officers beside them were down too, then looked at the road in both directions. It was still clear. Brooks opened the door of the nearest car, reached in and tried keying the engine. The cruiser started but the body was spattered with bullet-holes and he knew they wouldn’t make it very far without someone reporting the shot-up vehicle.

  ‘That noise could get someone local on their phone,’ Lupinetti warned, looking at the road behind them. ‘Or calling 911 if they roll up on this. We gotta keep moving.’

  ‘We take the next car that comes,’ Brooks said quickly, whistling at his brother and waving him over. The two of them gathered up all the dead officers’ weapons, magazines, cuffs and radios, then dragged their bodies to the edge of the clearing, dumping them out of sight like they’d done with the old woman near Gatlin and the young couple in West Virginia on Friday night. ‘Get the van off the road,’ he ordered Lupinetti.

  ‘The engine’s cooked.’

  ‘Then push it! Just get it outta sight!’ he snapped; the former NYPD lieutenant looked at him for a moment, then turned and did as instructed.

  ‘Unit 12, did you receive last, over?’ the radio on one of the officer’s belts asked, but the brothers ignored it, looking at the road behind them and waiting for the next unsuspecting driver to roll up.

  THIRTY THREE

  ‘Can I help you?’ a woman in her late twenties asked, standing just inside the door of a plush-looking home in Pepper Pike, Ohio. It was an eastern suburb of the Greater Cleveland area, and one which clearly required a substantial bank balance to live in.

  ‘I’m a cop,’ Marquez said, showing her badge. ‘Wanted to talk to Blair O’Mara.’ She quickly assessed the woman in front of her, who was clearly too young to be Kat’s stepmother; she was in sweatpants and had her highlighted blonde hair swept up in a loose topknot, Marquez having caught her on a lazy Sunday it seemed. ‘You can’t be-‘

  ‘Mom,’ the girl called, cutting Marquez off. An older woman appeared a few moments later in jeans and a shirt, and the younger one turned and left. ‘Keep it down, I’m watching TV,’ the girl muttered to her mother as she walked into a room to her left.

  ‘Good morning,’ Marquez said.

  ‘Morning,’ Blair O’Mara replied. Marquez had found Blair’s address from the details she’d given Richie earlier and before she went to lie down for an hour, the NYPD detective had decided to go ask her a few questions, her curiosity once again getting the better of her. A taxicab had brought her out here, and she had the guy waiting just around the corner with the meter running. ‘You’re investigating the bank truck?’

  ‘Kind of. I’m from New York.’ Blair leaned forward to look more closely as Marquez showed her badge.

  ‘What brings you to Cleveland? It can’t have been Katherine and Nicky.’

  ‘One of the other escapees from Gatlin is ex-NYPD. He’s someone we want back in custody pretty bad.’

  ‘Did you find any of them during the night?’

  ‘Not yet, but we will. It’s tough to keep running.’

  ‘Especially if you’ve been shot.’

  Marquez nodded. She’d heard Kat lived in a poorer part of the city, but it had been clear as she’d taken the taxi out towards Pepper Pike that where this woman lived was just the opposite. Outside many of the impressive houses she’d passed, all of them spaced well apart, were sprinklers spitting water onto lawns so perfect you could hit a tee shot off them, expensive cars sitting in driveways, some of the properties with gates and fences to keep all unwanted visitors out. No lockdown or police checking door to door around here. ‘I’m having a hard time working out the family ties. Kat, Nicky, yourself. Can you explain them to me?’

  ‘Kat’s my husband’s daughter,’ the woman said, keeping her arm resting across the doorway. ‘We got married when she was thirteen years old.’

  ‘Who answered the door?’

  ‘My daughter. Alaina.’ Blair gave a smile. ‘We were a package deal.’

  ‘She lives with you?’

  Blair nodded. ‘And works for me.’

  ‘Is your husband here?’

  ‘He passed twelve years ago, I’m afraid. Unexpected illness. Happened when Kat and Alaina were seniors in high school.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that.’ Marquez noticed the woman wasn’t inviting her in, and it became clear the conversation was going to be conducted out here on the porch. ‘What about Nicky?’

  Blair’s face hardened. ‘His father worked for my husband. He was an alcoholic and drank himself into a car wreck when Nicholas was sixteen. For some reason, my husband decided to take legal responsibility for the boy until he turned eighteen. He had no family left to do it.’

  ‘Kind of him. Unusual too, right?’

  ‘My husband was a kind man.’

  So that’s why Gatlin had Kat down as Reyes’ sister in their visitor records, Marquez thought. No blood relation. ‘Why’d you move from your previous home?’ she asked, looking around.

  ‘Wanted a fresh start.’

  ‘Must feel pretty good, living around here.’

  ‘We’ve been successful. My husband made a lot of money.’

  ‘What was his business?’

/>   ‘Property development.’

  ‘And Nicky’s father was on one of the contractor teams?’

  Blair nodded.

  ‘This would be the same company you own now?’ Marquez followed.

  ‘The same.’ Blair’s expression was unreadable, but her eyes were cold.

  ‘How’d you meet?’

  ‘In a casino. My husband was on a quick vacation while Kat was away at summer camp. I worked there. We struck it off.’ She smiled. ‘He wasn’t very good at cards, but he kept showing up at the bar inside the place where I waited tables.’

  ‘Which casino?’

  ‘French Lick. Indiana. Alaina and I used to live out there.’

  ‘What happened to Alaina’s father?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions.’

  ‘It’s my job,’ Marquez retorted, but after seeing the expression on Blair’s face, she softened her tone. ‘I don’t wanna intrude; I just want to establish some clarity. A lot of people are dying right now because of these four Gatlin fugitives and Kat.’

  ‘Alaina’s father was a waste of time. Deadbeat drug addict. Left years ago and we haven’t heard from him since.’

  ‘Katherine and Nicky seem to share a real strong bond,’ Marquez said. ‘Looks like he broke out of prison to try to stop what she was planning on that truck yesterday.’

  ‘Don’t get taken in. He was serving twelve years in federal prison for killing someone. That young man is a dangerous criminal.’

  ‘Manslaughter, I heard. Not first or second degree murder.’

  ‘So? He still took a life.’

  ‘Kat seems to care about him. Aside from when she was in prison herself, she’s visited him regularly the whole time he’s been locked up.’

  ‘Water seeks its own level.’ Blair didn’t elaborate further but Marquez didn’t answer yet, nonetheless. Experience had taught her people tended to fill a silence if you waited long enough, and the momentum she’d built meant Blair was in the groove of answering her questions.