Mallory shook her head. “He or she got away clean. There are cameras in the lot. I have men going over them now. Strange though.”
“What is?”
“One of the custodians demanded to speak to an officer. He seemed pretty shook up. We thought it had to do with Grant’s attack, but it didn’t. Someone wrote a note on the back door of one of the washroom stalls. Said she’d been kidnapped and to call the police.”
Chris and Penner joined Jordan as she spoke to the trooper. “What did the note say?”
Mallory removed her notepad, read back the notation: “Lacey Chastain. Kidnapped. Silver Range Rover. Call police. No joke.” She closed the book, shook her head. “We told him not to worry about it. Unfortunately, that kind of nonsense happens more times than you’d care to know about. Some people get their kicks in the weirdest ways.”
Jordan was angry. “That’s no joke, Sergeant,” she said. “Lacey Chastain is why we’re here. And I strongly suspect it was the Scroll Killer who attacked your officer.”
“Jesus,” Mallory said. “I didn’t think…”
“That’s right,” Penner interjected, chastising her. “You didn’t think. Look, I’m sorry as hell that one of your officers went down in the line of duty and I pray to God he’ll be okay. But not taking that note seriously? What the hell were you thinking?”
“I’m sorry, agents,” Mallory said. “I truly am. I won’t ever let it happen again.”
Jordan nodded. “All right. Take me to that stall. I want to see it for myself.”
“Follow me,” Mallory said.
Jordan stepped into the washroom and ran her hand over the message scratched into the metal door. Lacey entering the restaurant… the knife to her back… her unbridled fear at the thought of being caught by Schreiber while leaving the note… fighting for emotional control… don’t panic... Montauk… Montauk…
The connection, a flash of images presented to her instantly, was lost.
“It’s legitimate,” Jordan told Chris, Penner and Sergeant Mallory. “It’s not a prank. Lacey left this message. She and Schreiber were here.”
“The BOLO,” Chris said.
Penner nodded. “That’s why Trooper Malone was attacked,” he agreed. “He heard the ‘be on the lookout’ call, recognized the plates. Schreiber must have caught him off guard. I’m surprised he didn’t kill him.”
“He sure as hell tried,” Jordan replied.
Knock-knock.
A police officer stood at the entrance door to the restroom. “Excuse me,” he said. “Are you the agents with the FBI?”
“We are,” Jordan replied.
“There’s a woman out here who wants to talk to you. A waitress. Name is Mabel. She says it’s important.”
“We’ll be right there,” Jordan said.
“We’ll need someone from maintenance to remove this door,” Penner instructed Sergeant Mallory. “It’s evidence. I’ll need your people to secure it and have it couriered to the FBI New York field office.”
“You’ve got it,” Mallory said. “The woman asking for you is the one Trooper Malone was coming to see, Mabel Barillo. I need to break the news to her about Grant. She’ll be crushed.”
“Very well,” Jordan said. “We’ll speak to her first. Perhaps you can arrange for her to go to the hospital, wait for him until he comes out of surgery.”
“She’d appreciate that,” Mallory replied.
Mabel Barillo was nervous. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I hope I’m not wasting your time.”
“We’re happy to speak to you, Ms. Barillo,” Jordan said. “What did you want to tell us?”
“I was waiting on a table earlier before this whole situation happened outside. A group of men had come in for a drink. Bikers, plus a couple who weren’t.”
“Go on.”
“One of them showed me a picture on his cell phone of a young woman.”
“And?”
“He said they were looking for her. That she had been kidnapped, and they were trying to find her.”
“What did this man look like?” Penner asked.
“Tall… muscular… handsome… African-American. One of the men mentioned him by name… Anton.”
Penner turned to Jordan and Chris. “Anton Moore.”
“He’s going after Lacey,” Chris said. “If he catches up to them before we do…”
“Schreiber will kill him,” Jordan finished.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Penner said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
The agents turned to leave.
Jordan watched Sergeant Mallory take Mabel by the arm and lead her to a nearby table. “Ms. Barillo,” she heard her say. “I think you better sit down. I’m afraid I have some very bad news to tell you.”
175
MIKE DEGARIO DROVE behind the bikers as they traveled east along the Interstate. Anton sat in quiet contemplation, staring out the window. Finally, he spoke. “You think we’re wasting our time?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Mike answered.
“This whole pursuit is a roll of the dice,” Anton said. “We don’t know what kind of car Lacey is in, whether they’re still on the highway, nothing.”
“You’re right,” Mike said. “But here’s what we do know. We just missed her. The waitress confirmed it. Yeah, they’ve got a head start on us, but not by much. And we’ve got dozens of guys from three clubs out looking for her covering everywhere from here to Jersey, all of them with orders to find Lacey. We might be up against the wall, but it’s temporary. We’ll find her.”
“You think the police activity back at the restaurant had something to do with this?”
Degario shrugged. “Dunno. It would be one hell of a coincidence if it hadn’t. The action was centered on the cop on the ground.”
“You think Scroll attacked him?”
“If he did, that would play in our favor,” Mike said.
“How do you figure?”
“If Scroll took him out the cops are going to pull out all the stops to find him. They’ll throw up a perimeter, set up roadblocks, the works. He’d have to be one lucky sonofabitch to slip past them.”
“Assuming they even know who they’re looking for,” Anton said. “He’s been able to avoid capture for years. I don’t think a few roadblocks will stop him.”
Ahead, Sam Chapman waved his hand, pointed to the side of the road.
“Looks like Sam wants to talk,” Degario said. He followed the bikers off the Interstate, pulled in behind them.
Chapman spoke with his men, then walked back to the car. Degario lowered his window.
“We may have something,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“I got a call. Two of our guys spotted a silver Range Rover about fifty miles from here. A man and a woman are in the vehicle.”
“Did they recognize Lacey?” Anton asked.
Chapman shook his head. “They can’t confirm if it’s her, but they believe she’s in trouble.”
“How’s that?”
“Someone wrote ‘9-1-1’ in the dust on the door panel. They were going to approach the car and challenge the driver but decided it would be better if they stayed back and kept an eye on the car for the time being.”
“Where are they now?” Degario asked.
“Got off the Interstate five minutes ago at Brentwood. They’re passing through Brightwaters. Looks like they’re headed for Highway 27.”
“Tell them to stay with them,” Anton said. “Wouldn’t you want to get as far off the highway as you could if you thought the cops were looking for you?”
“In a heartbeat,” Chapman said.
“Makes sense,” Degario said. “That’s the Sunrise Highway. There will be minimal traffic on that route. He would want to go someplace with little police presence. Montauk could offer that. And it’s at the end of 27.”
“He’s hiding in plain sight,” Degario said.
“Exactly,” Anton agreed.
“Want my guys to s
top the car and check on the girl?” Chapman said.
Anton shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. Tell them to hang back and keep the car in sight. Let them know we’re on our way. We’ll follow you.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks, Sam,” Degario said.
Chapman spoke to Anton. “Told you we’d find her,” he said.
Anton nodded. “Inform your men we’re taking him down the first chance we get. As soon as Lacey’s safe, he’s mine.”
“Everyone wants a piece of this guy,” Chapman replied.
“They’re welcome to play,” Anton said. “But not before I’ve had my turn.”
176
OTTO AND LACEY traveled east on Sunset Hwy 27 from Brightwaters. In Eastport, traffic was reduced to a single lane. Many car lengths ahead, police lights flashed.
Speedy’s, Otto thought. The dead cop.
The manhunt was on.
Otto removed his knife from its sheath, opened the blade and rammed its tip into the driver’s door armrest, keeping the weapon within arm’s reach should the police stop him and instruct him to lower his window. At close range, the knife would easily penetrate the officer’s bulletproof vest. The cop wouldn’t stand a chance. The strike, center-vest and directed upward toward the heart, would kill him instantly.
Cars whizzed past in the opposite direction. Otto considered doing a U-turn and finding an alternate route that would take them into Montauk. No, he thought. Play it out. If the police stopped the Range Rover, he would take the fight to them and put his extensive killing experience to work. Overpower the closest cop. Cut his throat. Take his weapon. Open fire. Press the attack. Drop them all. Disable their vehicles. Confiscate their bodycams. Make clean his getaway. By the time backup arrived he and Lacey would be long gone. No one would be left alive to inform their fellow officers of the direction in which they had fled.
Lacey sat forward in her seat and stared at the sea of emergency lights up ahead.
Otto issued a warning. “You want to see another cop die today?”
Lacey looked at Otto. “Don’t,” she replied.
“Then sit back and shut up. I’ll handle this. Remember what I said earlier. You make a sound, you die. You don’t want a cop’s death on your conscience, do you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Twenty cars ahead, an officer spoke briefly to a driver, then waved him through.
“How long until we get to the yacht?” Lacey asked.
Sixteen cars.
“An hour and a bit,” Otto said. He wrapped his hand around the knife handle. “Why?”
Fourteen cars.
Distract him, she thought. “Can we stop before we get there?”
“Why?”
Twelve cars.
“I’ll need to shop, pick up a few things.”
“Everything you’ll need is on the yacht. I’ve seen to it.”
Nine cars.
“How could you possibly know—”
“Your clothing sizes? I’ve been watching you for a very long time, Lacey. Everything else I picked up from your apartment.”
You’ve been in my fucking apartment? Lacey thought.
Seven cars.
“There are… other things,” Lacey continued.
“Such as?”
“You know.”
Five cars.
“Women-specific products.”
Four cars.
“On the yacht. I’ve thought of it all.”
The cop waved two vehicles through, spoke to the driver of the third, sent him on his way. He waved at Otto, instructing him to pull ahead, motioning for him to lower his window.
Otto pulled the knife out of the armrest, held it tight, readied the angle for a quick attack.
“Please,” Lacey said. “Don’t.”
Otto lowered the window as the officer approached the car.
Ahead of the police cars, two vehicles lay twisted and entangled in the middle of the road. The traffic accident had been catastrophic, likely fatal for one or both parties.
“Remember,” Otto whispered. “Utter a sound and he dies.”
The cop leaned over and spoke. “Good day, sir.”
“Afternoon, Officer,” Otto said.
“Be careful for the next quarter mile,” the cop said. “Slow it down. Keep a close eye on the road. The debris field is extensive. You don’t want to blow out a tire.”
No manhunt, no blockade. Just a traffic accident. Otto let go of the knife, raised his hand, waved.
“Much appreciated, Officer,” he said. “Thanks for the warning.”
“All right,” the cop said. “Drive safely.”
The policeman stepped away from the car, directed his attention to the vehicle behind Otto, motioned for the driver to pull ahead.
Lacey looked at the accident scene. Tarpaulins lay over the driver’s doors of both cars. Twin fatalities, no doubt.
Otto eased the Range Rover around the pieces of broken plastic, metal, and glass scattered across the road. “Just think, Lacey,” he said. “Judging by where we were in the cue of cars ahead of us, that could well have been us.”
Lacey wanted to say she wished it had, that such a terrible death would be welcome right now, a blessing compared to the thought of spending another second in the company of the man seated beside her. Instead, she said, “Maybe you have your mother to thank.”
“What do you mean?” Otto replied.
“Perhaps she’s looking out for you, for us. Maybe we were meant to stop at the gas station, to be delayed long enough that we would avoid being in an accident.”
Otto nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Her spirit is with us, watching over us. Yes, that must be it. It was divine intervention.”
“What other reason could there be?” Lacey said.
“That was very insightful,” Otto said.
“Thank you.”
“It means a lot to me that you would think of that.”
“Like your mother, Otto, I have only your best interests at heart.”
“I wish you had known her.”
“Me too,” Lacey lied. “She’d have been proud of you for not killing that policeman.”
Otto nodded in agreement. “Yes, she would have.”
“Can we stop soon?”
“We’ll be in Montauk shortly.”
“Just for a minute?”
“Sit back, Lacey.”
“But…”
“The next time we stop we’ll be at the yacht.”
“But I need…”
“Nothing,” Otto said. “You need absolutely nothing.” He raised his hand. “Now be good. Don’t make me discipline you again.”
Lacey stared at him. Discipline her? She wanted to dive across the seat, grab the knife, yank it free of the armrest, plunge it repeatedly into his body before he had time to react, then throw open the passenger door, dive onto the roadway, roll, roll, roll free of the car and watch as it careened out of control, flipped over and over and over until it exploded and burst into flames, consuming Otto Schreiber in the process and taking him back to the Hell from which he had surely come.
Instead, she acquiesced, did as she was told.
Shaking with silent rage, Lacey sat back in her seat.
His death would have to wait.
177
AIRBORNE ONCE AGAIN, the FBI helicopter followed the Interstate in search of the silver Range Rover.
“You sure about Montauk?” Chris asked Jordan over the communications headset.
Jordan nodded. “Positive. That’s where they’re headed.”
Penner had been patched into an outside line. He ended the conversation. “That was Pallister. NYPD found Schreiber’s second car, the Bentley, abandoned in a convenience store parking lot. Forensics is going over it now. There are bloodstains in the trunk.”
“Courtney Valentine?” Chris asked.
“And others, no doubt,” Penner answered, “plus some weird shit. A bla
ck cape, masquerade mask, vocal synthesizer, rope, zip ties, garbage bags… the list goes on.”
“Melinda and Victoria said he kept his appearance and voice disguised,” Jordan said. “The rest sounds like the makings of an abduction kit.”
Penner nodded, then added. “I called Bellevue. Bonnie Cole’s husband made it to the hospital. He’s with her now. The docs say she’s stable, out of the woods. It’ll take a while for her wounds to heal but they expect she’ll make a full recovery.”
“Physically, anyway,” Chris said. “It’ll take years for her to get over the psychological trauma of her ordeal.”
“Bonnie’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met,” Jordan said. “She’s a survivor. If anyone can get through this she can.”
“NYPD also found Father Frank, or should I say his body,” Penner continued. “He was shot twice, once in the chest, once in the head. Body was left in a Dumpster. A sanitation crew watched it fall into the back of their truck. Shook them up pretty good, poor bastards.”
“Schreiber’s tying up loose ends,” Chris said.
Penner nodded. “Or someone associated with him.”
From his pocket Chris removed the wedding band he had found beside the taxicab at the Conroy Apartments and examined it.
“Can I see that Chris?” Jordan asked.
“Sure,” Chris replied. He passed the ring to his partner.
The psychic energy the band exuded was stronger now than during the previous connection and centered on Schreiber. He had kept it with him for as long as he’d been watching Lacey, waiting for the right time to present it to her. Water… the campus at NYU… water everywhere, as far as the eye could see… sitting in the darkest corners of the Odyssey, watching her perform… Ava’s Dream, motoring along the Atlantic coast… stalking her in the grocery store… the back seat of the Bentley… Lacey in the strappado… breaking into her apartment…
Water… there was something significant about the water.
“Agent Penner,” Jordan said, “you said earlier that if Schreiber was headed to Montauk, he’d have trapped himself.”
Penner nodded. “Unless he plans to disappear at sea there’s nowhere left for him to go.”
The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series: Books 1-3: The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Boxset Book 1 Page 67