Cold Case Pursuit

by Dana Mentink

  Randall stepped forward with the rope, mouth caught in a grimace. Moisture gleamed in his eyes. “After everything I did for you, you turn out to be a backstabbing double-crosser just like your parents. I’m going to kill you and your brother, like I should have done all those years ago.”

  “No,” she said, forcing out the word. “You’re going to prison. Like you said, it’s just a matter of time. They know it was you, and they’re closing in.”

  A slow, thin-lipped smile formed. There was no warmth in it, no humor—only the promise of death. “Then I’m going to make sure you both die before they put me away.”

  She screamed and lunged again for the door, but he loomed over her, holding the rope and reaching for her throat.

  TWO

  As he pulled up to the curb in front of Penny’s Sheepshead Bay home, Detective Tyler Walker marveled at his partner’s—Dusty’s—unflagging energy. The golden retriever had been through a strenuous training session the day before to keep her tracking skills in good shape, and still she was looking at him in hopes that there would be a game of fetch in the offing. Humans should have such energy.

  He could sure use a dose, more so now that his thirty-second birthday was looming ever closer. Why did ear infections suddenly strike his eighteen-month-old daughter, Rain, in the wee hours? The answer didn’t matter. Four hours in a Brooklyn emergency room until the doc stuck an otoscope in her ear and prescribed a course of antibiotics. Feeling the usual stab of single-parent guilt, he’d kissed her sleeping cheek and tucked her into the cot in his mother’s apartment, tiptoeing out to head to the station at 5:00 a.m.

  Yawning, his mind returned to the question that had plagued him for six months. Was the killer clown who’d orphaned Penny and Bradley McGregor also responsible for the death of four-year-old Lucy Emery’s parents? Or was it a copycat killer using the clown-mask MO? The Emerys had been killed on the twentieth anniversary of the McGregor murders, which provided juicy fodder for the media. Randall Gage or a copycat? The copycat notion was favored by the cops.

  Lucy was just too young to provide the police with much to go on. Tyler and Dusty had been beating the bushes trying to locate Lucy’s “friend,” some brown-haired guy named Andy, who might be a key witness. Recently, out of nowhere, the little girl had said she missed “Andy.” But no one knew to whom she was referring. So far all Tyler had accomplished was to waste countless hours.

  He got out and knocked on Penny’s door, which was decorated with a wreath of fall leaves. Didn’t surprise him. Penny was the one who made sure the fall decorations were up at the office and the “pumpkin spice” creamer was stocked in the fridge. The quiet redhead was relentlessly cheerful, and her optimism mystified him. She, above all people, had every reason to be hardened toward the world.

  While he waited, he chucked a ball for Dusty. It rolled behind a garden pot bristling with rosemary. He knocked again and checked his watch. Five minutes past her typical time. Unusual for the rigidly prompt woman. He texted her and waited for a reply, but he got none.

  A wisp of tension rolled through his stomach. He eyed the adjoined property. All quiet with the neighbors. He gently tried the handle. Securely locked, just as it should be. She might have taken a phone call. The cop on patrol had reported an all-clear from his earlier drive-by. Dusty had finally got the ball and pranced into her spot at his side as he headed down the alley between Penny’s place and the next building. Overhead, a leaf-filled gutter dripped. A drop of cold trickled down the side of his neck. He wiped it away.

  Dusty brushed against his leg. Work time? she seemed to say.

  “Just a routine check,” he told her. He left the typical parade of cars and dog walkers behind as he plunged deeper into the alley. Side door secure. One frosted bathroom window, high up, small, was closed tight, as far as he could tell.

  That left the rear corner.

  Penny’s bedroom window faced the alley. It wasn’t a scenic view, but you took what you got in Brooklyn. He’d listened to Bradley tell his sister in no uncertain terms to keep her window closed and locked, and the curtains drawn. The autumn glow trickled between the buildings, dazzling his eyes as it reflected off the white paint. Shading his brow with one hand, he looked again. And then he heard it, the faintest muted scream. Alarm bells clanged in his mind, and he grabbed his gun and let himself into the gated backyard.

  He tried the window and found it locked. He could not see anything through the drawn curtains. The screams continued, curdling his blood as he radioed. “Requesting backup at the McGregor house.” He raced to the patio and grabbed a heavy metal chair.

  “Stay,” he told Dusty. The dog whined but obeyed, plopping down on the grass. Dusty was a tracking officer, not equipped to attack, and wasn’t wearing body armor—he would not put his partner in harm’s way.

  He lifted the chair, adrenaline pumping. No time for stealth. With all his strength, he heaved the chair into the window, praying it would not hurt Penny in the process. Then he swung it in a wild spiral to break out the remaining glass. He gripped his gun and darted a quick look over the ruined windowsill. Randall stood facing the window, holding a rope around Penny’s throat. Penelope’s fingers clawed at Randall’s as she struggled to breathe.

  “Police. Let her go, Randall,” Tyler shouted. He took aim, but he could not risk hitting Penny. Randall walked backward toward the bedroom door, dragging Penelope with him. When he reached the threshold, he threw her down and sprinted into the hallway. Penny fell to her knees, gasping. Tyler vaulted through the broken window.

  He radioed an update and dropped to his knees next to Penny. He had one eye on the open door, his gun still in his hand. “It’s okay, Penny. Try to breathe slow and easy.” Settling her on the floor with her back against the bed, he raced to the front window in time to see Randall disappearing through the gate, headed for the alley. The rope he’d used to choke Penny was on the entry tile floor. Everything in him wanted to run after Randall and chase him down like the useless vermin he was. Right now, though, his task was to keep her safe until help arrived in case Randall tried to circle back to finish what he’d started. Gritting his teeth, he sent another radio update and a request for an ambulance. Then he turned back for Penny. She’d drawn up her knees, and was hugging them with her arms. Every part of her was trembling violently.

  “An ambulance is coming.” He eyed the red marks on her throat and rage prickled through his body. “Can you talk?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He cupped her chin in his hand and gently tipped her face to his. “Are you hurt anywhere besides your throat?”

  Finally she shook her head. “He was going to strangle me.” She blinked, gulped. The whispered words held more terror than he’d thought possible. It infuriated him. No one should be able to terrorize anyone else, especially a decent person like Penny McGregor.

  “We’ll get him.”

  She didn’t answer. Why should she believe him? Randall Gage had remained at large for twenty years. Even her adoptive father, Terry Brady, the lead detective on the case back then, hadn’t been able to flush out the McGregor killer in spite of his dogged commitment. But now the cops knew exactly who the killer clown was, and the net was tightening. They would capture Randall Gage, no matter what it took. He squeezed her arm when a precinct cop arrived, hand on his gun.

  Tyler filled him in. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Ambulance is rolling.” As much as he wanted to stay with Penny, he couldn’t take another moment to soothe her. Randall Gage might be slipping out of their grasp with each tick of the clock.

  He hustled into the hall. Calling to Dusty, he let her sniff the rope before he jogged out the front door and charged into the alley. Dusty immediately put her nose to the ground and zoomed along, confirming for Tyler that Randall had indeed come this way. He might be able to fool his human pursuers, but he could not escape Dusty’s relentless nose. No one could
.

  The alley was silent, a tidy corridor between the McGregor backyard and the set of nearby shared houses. It was empty save for a bike chained to a water pipe and three garbage cans hugging one wall. There was no other cover here. If Randall was hiding behind the cans, Tyler would just have to hope he wasn’t armed.

  He gripped the gun. This time, Randall wasn’t going to get away. He was going to pay for what he’d done to Penny, Bradley and their family all those years ago. If he’d killed the Emerys, he’d pay for their murders, too.

  Showtime.

  * * *

  Penny sat huddled on the small throw rug, shivering. This is what shock must feel like. The terror was so close to the surface it had sent her nerves into a kind of spastic pattern. A stupor took over her body, interrupted every few moments by a spasming of her muscles as her mind flashed through the details.

  Randall Gage. His image was distorted and grotesque, like a fun-house mirror. She’d dreamed so often about his return and now that it had happened, she felt only gnawing disbelief. But this really was her home, and she truly was huddled into a ball on the little hook rug she’d made. Her neck ached where the rope had bitten into her skin.

  It was a mistake to let you live.

  You first, then your brother.

  She tried to breathe slowly through her mouth to quell the rising panic. I’m not a victim, she repeated, but now the words rang false. Randall Gage was back, and he would have killed her if Tyler hadn’t intervened. Maybe she really was a helpless child again, her life in the hands of the same horrible clown. Her throat throbbed and she fingered the abrasion as the fright bubbled anew.

  “Penny,” a voice thundered from the hallway.

  “It’s my brother,” she told the cop.

  Bradley pushed through, his Belgian Malinois, King, shoving in beside him, ears erect and nose quivering. He put the dog in a sit and crouched to hug her. His grip was so tight it almost hurt as he peered into her face.

  “Are you injured?”

  She shook her head. “Not badly.”

  He scanned the marks on her neck, his expression darkening to fury. “I heard the call and turned around. It was Randall? Positive?”

  She nodded, gulping down a breath.

  His grip on her forearms tightened. She saw her own tortured expression mirrored in his brown irises.

  “He’s angry that I called him a monster to the press. He—he believes we should be grateful to him for killing Mom and Dad.”

  Bradley jerked, his mouth flattening into a hard line. “This is going to end,” he insisted and she could see the pulse throbbing in his throat. “He’s not going to hurt you again.”

  His radio chattered. As much as she wanted to be consoled, to hug her brother tight, she knew the passing moments were crucial.

  “Tyler went after him.”

  Bradley got up, squeezing Penny’s hand one more time as another uniformed NYPD officer appeared in the doorway. She was followed a moment later by Sgt. Gavin Sutherland. He immediately took a knee next to Penelope, brow furrowed. “You okay, Penny?”

  She forced her head to nod up and down at her boss, but she didn’t think it was very convincing since her whole body still quivered with fear.

  “You’re safe now,” he said. “Just try and keep breathing slowly, okay?”

  She complied as best she could.

  He maintained his reassuring touch. “The house is secure. Ambulance will be here in a minute.”

  She shook her head, mortified that the sergeant, a man she respected and admired, would see her in a puddle on the floor. “I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “Her throat...” Bradley protested. “He tried to strangle her.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, barely managing to get out the words. “Tyler interrupted him before... I mean...”

  “I’m going to back up Tyler,” Bradley growled as he released King from the sit. The dog gave off as much energy as Bradley, pulling at the leash to speed their departure. King, like his master, lived to chase.

  Gavin shot Bradley a look. “We have a team in place. Leave it to them.”

  Bradley’s eyes blazed. “Is that an order? Are you commanding me to lay off pursuit of the man who killed my parents and almost murdered my sister?”

  Gavin squeezed Penny’s arm and rose to his feet. “No,” he said calmly. “I won’t make that an order...at this time, but Tyler’s the lead on this so you’ll follow his direction.” There was a touch of steel in his voice.

  Bradley jerked his chin and blew out a breath. “Fair enough. Thanks, Sarge.”

  Penny could keep the panic inside no longer. “You should stay here. Randall said he’s going to kill us both. Let the other cops track him.” The words seemed to hang in the air. Bradley cast one glance at her. His expression was caught somewhere between ferocity and love.

  “I’ll stay with her,” Gavin said quietly.

  Bradley turned and ran out, King right behind him.

  Penelope wanted to scream at him to come back. What if Randall killed him? Her only blood family, the person who had been her rock since she was old enough to remember?

  Gavin spoke again to the other cops before he returned his attention to Penelope. “It’s okay. We’ve got a dozen of New York’s finest out there, including Tyler and your brother. They’ll get him.”

  She could not answer through the crush of fear. All she could do was follow his advice and force her lungs to keep working.

  “Front is secure, Sarge,” said another officer from the doorway. “The house next door is unoccupied, family away on vacation. There’s an elderly neighbor on the other side and we’ve got an officer with her. We’ve alerted Detective Walker. He radioed he’s in pursuit via the alley.”

  Pursuit. She gulped. Please, Lord, let them be safe.

  Sarge nodded. “Get the crime-scene team in here.” He turned back to Penny. “Do you think you can stand?”

  “Yes. I’m really not hurt,” she said, trying to sound confident.

  He grinned. “That’s what your brother said after he got hit by a cab running down a purse snatcher. Must be a family trait. I’d like to have a medic check you out, anyway. You can wait in my vehicle.”

  Somehow she rose to her feet, leaning on Sarge’s comforting arm. With every step her fear increased.

  What if Randall Gage was lying in wait for Tyler and Bradley?

  * * *

  Tyler heard someone behind him. He jerked a look. At the mouth of the alley, Bradley and King were beginning their approach. He gestured for the pair to circle the block and cut off Randall’s escape at the other end. They about-faced and disappeared. He followed up with a radio message. With dozens of cops, armed and amped to capture Randall Gage, communication was crucial.

  Though he strained to listen, he caught nothing but the sound of the wind and the typical hum of Brooklyn traffic.

  Tyler put Dusty in a stay and crept forward, weapon drawn. Inch by inch he got closer to the trash cans until he’d drawn alongside them. The metal sides were dappled with moisture and rust. He held his breath against the feral stink. An image of Rain flickered in his heart, tiny, so full of wonder at the world, so completely vulnerable and perplexing. She was his heartbeat, twined into the fabric of his soul, and he prayed God would give him another day to be her daddy. Right now, duty came before daddy—it was the most difficult part about wearing a badge.

  One slow breath to clear his mind, and a count of three. He plunged around the cans, nerves firing on all cylinders, weapon cocked.

  No one.

  Breathing hard, he scanned past the garbage cans, spending only one more moment wondering before he called to Dusty.

  The retriever leaped up, nose glued to the ground as she raced over.

  “Track,” he said, needlessly.

  The vomeronasal organ i
n the roof of her mouth allowed her to “taste” certain smells. It took her less than fifteen seconds to solve the mystery. Pressed right up to a low basement window, she sat, bottom waggling. He surmised the window had been left unsecured by the vacationing family and Randall had used it to his advantage.

  “Good girl, Dusty,” he whispered. “We’ll have playtime in a minute.”

  He radioed the update, and the first-in NYPD commander made a plan to seal off the perimeter. Tyler jogged with Dusty to take up a position at the rear of the house while a team alerted SWAT and prepared to make entry in the front. In spite of the cool temperatures, Tyler was sweating. Dusty barked as they approached the back corner of the house.

  Tyler’s mind raced. There was no way Randall could sneak through this police net. Not this time.

  As he cleared the corner, some deep-down instinct screamed at him, but he did not have time to deflect the blow as Randall Gage swung a baseball bat at his head.

  * * *

  Penny didn’t even remember the ride to the hospital. Her only thought had been that Tyler was hurt—to what degree she did not know. The waiting room was crowded with cops and dogs. Everyone was on pins and needles waiting for the doctor’s prognosis.

  Bradley leaned against the wall, King at his side. The anger blazed off him like a beacon, so different than his normal easygoing demeanor. He hadn’t needed to tell her Randall had escaped the police net. That was clear from the barely contained rage emanating from him and all the officers gathered around waiting for word about Tyler. More trickled in with each passing moment. Raymond Morrow with his springer spaniel, Abby, and Noelle Orton whose accomplished yellow Lab, Liberty, was under threat from a drug smuggler who had a bounty on the dog’s head. The team was a solid family, even though they were newly established. Her heart swelled at the thought.