by Willow Rose
“Crazy as a bat, you mean,” she said.
“The Unabomber was a mathematics professor, and if you asked him, he wasn’t crazy. He never pleaded insanity for that very reason.”
Isabella leaned back in her chair, mumbling under her breath. “I’ll be…”
“That’s my profile; you can do with it what you want,” I said. “I know the so-called experts might call you insane, but…”
“No, no, no,” she said. “That’s not why I’m so surprised.”
“It’s not?”
She shook her head. “Before you got here, I just spoke to one of our technicians. They’ve gone through all the recordings of the calls that came to dispatch from the night of the bombings.”
“And?”
She took a deep breath. “Well, there’s no doubt that it was the same voice. He was using a modulator app to make it impossible to recognize, and to fool our recognition software, but they analyzed the voice, the audio patterns, the emotions, the stress to his voice, and the syntax to locate any accent to identify where he could be from, and his breathing pattern and all that. There’s no doubt it was the same man who made all seventeen calls at once. We haven’t been able to locate a single phone number connected with any of the seventeen calls. They believe he used a computer and some software that can hide your identity. How that is possible is beyond my understanding. I’m not very tech-savvy, as you probably know.”
“He must have used recordings, then,” I said. “He must have pre-recorded each and every message with the address and high-priority incident. They must have been automated calls that he timed. You can find software for that online; it’s no big deal. Like they do for schools when they want to send a message to all the parents at once. That’s the only way that this is possible.”
Isabella nodded. “That’s what Tom, the tech, said too. But it being the same voice fits well with your theory, now, doesn’t it?”
I nodded, leaning back pensively in my chair.
“It sure does.”
Isabella looked at me. “The question is where the heck he is now and what’s his next move? That’s where you come in. So far, you’ve been the only one who seemed able to predict his patterns. I need you to do that again, so we can catch him. And please do it fast, before anyone else dies.”
Chapter 88
They gave me a small office to sit in, and I logged onto the computer and into the system. It was so strange being here again, yet it felt so familiar. The only thing that had really changed was me, I realized.
As I sat there staring at the screen and the empty wall behind it, I felt tears well up in my eyes. Everything there reminded me of the time when I was still married to Chad, when we had been a family. A quite dysfunctional one, one that only survived because we forced it to, but we had still been one.
Now, all that was gone.
And so was Chad.
He wasn’t just a cheater who had run out on the children and me anymore. It wasn’t just a divorce. He was dead and gone.
Oh, dear God.
And right there, it finally happened. I finally realized that Chad was definitively gone, that I could never call him for advice about the children anymore, nor could we laugh about them or be proud of them together. Realizing that he was completely gone felt so definite, and it overwhelmed me with a deep sadness. I hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself, but I missed him. I missed him terribly. Realizing that did the trick. The tears that had been piling up inside of me, that I had refused to let out, came gushing out, overpowering me completely. I leaned forward and just bawled my eyes out, sobbing, my torso in spasms while finally getting it all out.
And it felt amazing.
Afterward, I felt lighter than ever. It was like this huge knot growing inside of me had finally burst and all the pressure lifted. I was still sad and realizing that I was never going to get the man I had loved, the father of my children, back, hurt like nothing else, but facing it made me feel better.
I stared at my phone, wondering if I should call Matt, then put it down. I knew he would be there for me; I knew he would talk to me and be understanding as he always was, but for some reason, I just didn’t want to.
I had to handle this grief on my own.
I found a pack of Kleenex in the bag Matt had packed for me and brought to the hospital, then dried my eyes. I then found the FBI files on the bombings and opened the first one. There were almost a hundred files that I needed to read through, so I was planning on making it an all-nighter. We were running out of time. I was determined to get through everything, combing it meticulously for details—anything, no matter how little and seemingly insignificant—that had been overlooked. I was desperate for anything that could lead me to the Swatter’s identity. So far, I had nothing. Not even a lead suspect.
“Who are you, you ugly bastard?” I mumbled as I opened the first file on the bombing that I had witnessed myself and began to read. It wasn’t easy to read about, and I had to get my Kleenex out now and again as I read through the reports and interviews with the few that survived, among them Officer Steinberg, who I had spoken to in front of the building before it happened. There was also my testimony and Liam’s. I read through them as well, just in case. A note was attached to the report, and I opened it. I wrote down a number on a post-it note and did a search.
Then I froze.
Could it really be? Could it really be this easy?
I shook my head and looked down at the screen again, making sure I had read it right. I had. There it was, right there on my screen.
The answer to who the Swatter was.
It had been right there all this time.
Chapter 89
It had been a long day. Officer Ben Ross drove his patrol cruiser down the main street of town. He spotted a couple of teenagers from the high school by the ice cream shop, goofing around, punching each other jokingly, then slowed the car down and looked at them through the window. Seeing this, the teenagers scattered, disappearing behind the building.
Officer Ross continued, taking a right and going around the corner, driving toward the bar areas. It was getting dark out, and soon the drunks would gather here, maybe get themselves into a fight. Some of them had been drinking since happy hour started at four. After almost five hours of drinking, they’d be toasted by now and ready to get themselves in trouble. And he’d be right there, waiting for them.
He parked his vehicle on the street in front of the parking lot of the Sports Bar, where most of them would hang out. Placing himself there would work to hinder both the drunks and people speeding on the road.
He opened his computer and started writing his report from earlier. He had been down on the beach where someone had called about a bum sleeping in a tent several nights in a row. Officer Ross had told the bum to get off the beach, but the guy had been drunk and wanted to put up a fight. He had called him all sorts of names and curse words, getting in his face, threatening him. Ben Ross was already in a bad mood as it was because of Ilene, his wife. She had told him she wanted a divorce this very morning and handed him the papers to sign. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that they weren’t doing well; of course, he did. He just thought they’d be able to work through this, especially for the sake of Bryan, their seven-year-old son. But Ilene had met someone else, and she wanted to be set free, as she put it.
Whatever that meant.
Not only was she ruining his life, but she was also destroying their son’s life, and that made Ben Ross angrier than anything.
“Attention all units,” the radio scratched. “We have a possible 10-32 at 121 DeLeon Road; it’s a private residence. Any units available?”
Ben grabbed the radio. “This is 46. I’m less than a minute out. En route.”
He put the car in drive, then put the siren on. He rushed down the side street behind the Sports Bar and across the parking lot, then drove onto the small street behind the building and approached the main street of town, flooring the accelerator. A 10-32 was a
man with a gun. The address was residential, so it was possibly a domestic dispute gone awry. Ben took a deep breath and felt for his gun in the holster. Two other units were coming up behind him now, and he felt more reassured. It was less than a year ago that he had made a traffic stop where the driver had pulled a gun on him from his glove compartment. Staring down that barrel into the face of death had made it hard to sleep for months afterward; heck, he still woke up bathed in sweat from time to time. Ben had ended up drawing his gun and shooting the guy inside his car. It tormented him to this day, and he often thought he could still see the guy’s mad eyes, especially when he closed his eyelids to go to sleep. To this day, Ben still didn’t know whether the guy would have shot him or not, or if he was just high on drugs, trying to get away from the police. But he couldn’t really take any chances, could he?
“It was him or you. It’s as simple as that,” his chief had told him afterward when he had addressed his concerns and worries.
Ben Ross turned down DeLeon Road, four patrol cruisers following on his tail, then parked in front of the mailbox carrying the number 121, heart throbbing in his chest.
Chapter 90
It was late, but luckily, Publix was open till ten. Matt pulled down toilet paper and then ten big bottles of Dr. Pepper that he placed underneath the cart so they wouldn’t squash all the bread and meat. His mother was addicted to those things and had been since he was a child. It was all she drank. How she had lived this long and never gotten sick or even overweight was beyond him.
Matt had stayed late at the station today but promised to grocery shop for his mother on the way home. She had strained her thumb while walking the dog. The dog had seen another puppy across the street and suddenly yanked the leash so hard her finger got twisted, and now she couldn’t carry anything. Matt was used to shopping for her, so it was no problem to drop by on his way home. Except he hadn’t known that it would be this late. Chief Annie had him on a case of ATM-fraud. A group had placed fake skimmers on ATMs several places in town and copied people’s credit cards. He had spent most of the day and evening interviewing the victims and then talking to the neighboring police departments in the towns of Satellite Beach and Cape Canaveral, who had experienced the same.
In cases like these, it wasn’t very likely he’d ever catch them, which was extremely dissatisfying.
Matt paid for the food, then rolled the cart to his car and placed the bags in the back, then went to the driver’s seat. He took off, driving through town. He was in his mom’s car since his police cruiser had to go to the shop this morning.
As he stopped at a red light, he thought about Eva Rae. He had called her at lunch, but she hadn’t picked up.
Probably busy with catching terrorists.
He wasn’t jealous or anything, but he did miss her. Like crazy. He didn’t like how they were always away from one another and how he constantly felt like she was drifting away from him.
He called her again while the light was still red. She picked up.
“Hi there,” he said. “You busy?”
“You could say that,” she said, sounding distant.
“So, I take it you’re still working even though it’s nine o’clock at night?”
He could hear her tapping on her computer. She sounded agitated.
“Listen, I’m really busy…”
He held the phone between his shoulder and ear as the light turned green. “Are we okay? You seem really far away. Like you’re drifting away.”
“Matt, seriously. I can’t do this right now. I’m just about to break op…”
Matt heard the sound of sirens, then looked up in the rearview mirror. He pulled the car to the side of the road to make room for the police cruiser, and as it passed him, sirens blaring, he saw it turn down a street ahead of him. Seeing this, his blood froze.
“Eva Rae?”
She answered with anger. “What, Matt?”
Matt followed the police cruiser down DeLeon Road, and as he saw the blue blinking lights in front of Eva Rae’s house, his heart stopped.
“Something is going on here; what the heck…?” he mumbled, still holding the phone between his jaw and shoulder.
Hearing his voice change, Eva Rae suddenly shifted too.
“What? What’s going on, Matt? Is something wrong?”
He parked behind one of the cruisers.
“I’m afraid so, Eva Rae. Your house, it’s…”
“My house is what? Matt? What’s going on here? What’s going on with my house? Are the kids okay?”
“There are police everywhere,” he said and got out of the car. He saw four officers approach the house, wearing Kevlar vests, weapons drawn. He knew all four of them and yelled out to one.
“Officer Ross, don’t…”
But it was too late. Matt saw them kick down the front door, while Eva Rae yelled at him on the other end.
“Tell me what’s going on. Why are the police at my house!”
Matt ran toward them, yelling out their names, but they were already inside. His heart throbbed in his chest, threatening to explode. The phone was now in his hand, and Eva Rae was yelling in the distance while sweat sprang from his forehead as he ran through the driveway and stormed up toward the entrance. Just as he reached the doorstep, he heard yelling from inside, a child screaming, then an officer yelling:
“Hands up!”
“Sir, there’s no need to…” a voice said.
“Keep your hands where we can see them!” an officer yelled.
“Get down! GET DOWN!” another officer yelled.
“STOP!”
Matt screamed at the top of his lungs and stormed inside the living room just as the panic erupted. Loud voices were yelling at one another, and then a shot was fired.
Chapter 91
I wasn’t breathing. I stood in my small office, yelling into the phone, but receiving no answer.
“Matt? Matt? What’s going on, Matt?”
But there was nothing but yelling and screaming. And then came the shot. The terrifying sound of a gun going off.
Inside my home? Inside my house where my children were?
I screamed into the phone and fell to my knees.
“NO!”
I heard scrambling and realized the phone had fallen to the ground. Matt had dropped it, and now I could hear him whimpering in the far distance, and then he screamed again.
“No! No! No!”
“What happened?” I said, feeling more confused than ever, fearing the worst. Had any of my children been shot? Had my mom?
“Someone, tell me, please; what’s going on!” I yelled into the phone, feeling desperate, crying in fear and worry. I imagined the most horrifying scenarios.
My poor children. My poor, poor kids.
“Please,” I said, sobbing. “Please, just tell me what happened. Is someone hurt? Who was hurt?”
It was eerily quiet on the other end—only the sound of someone sobbing loudly. After a few minutes, I realized it was Matt. He was crying, and I could also hear a child crying. It sounded very much like Christine.
Was Christine hurt?
Please, say it isn’t so.
“Hello?” I said, fumbling nervously with the collar of my shirt, pulling it till it almost ripped while tears were gushing down my cheeks.
“Hello?”
“Oh, dear God,” Matt said. “Why? Why?”
I heard more sirens now and figured it had to be an ambulance approaching.
Someone in the distance mumbled, “I thought he had a gun; I really did.”
He? Could it have been Alex who was hurt? Oh, dear Lord, say it isn’t so.
“Please,” I said. “Please, say it isn’t so.” I bent forward in anguish, crying heavily when there was scrambling on the other end, and a small weak voice spoke.
“Hello?”
I almost screamed. “Christine!?”
“Mom?” she said, her voice shrill and wailing. “Mo-om? Oh, Mom, it’s terrible.”
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br /> “What happened, Christine? Tell me what happened.”
She was speaking through sobs, making it hard to understand. “I…I was in the living room; the police came, they thought…Grandma…she…”
“Was someone shot?”
“Yes,” she said. “Grandma came out as the police burst into the house screaming and…and…yelling and then…”
“Was Grandma shot?”
“No,” she said, sniffling.
“Then what happened?”
“Irvin…was here,” she said.
“Irvin, Grandma’s boyfriend?”
“He was here for dinner, and he came out too, and they just went berserk when they saw him, pointing their guns at him. He was holding a baseball bat in his hand because he and Alex had been outside playing ball, and they thought…they must have thought it was something else because they yelled and screamed…and…and…then he tried to calm them down, but then they asked him if he was armed, and he…he said…yes, he was carrying, but he had a license for it and to calm down, but they didn’t listen, oh, Mommy, they wouldn’t hear what he said. They just yelled at him after that, and then they fired a shot.”
“Was Irvin hit? Was it Irvin?”
Christine whimpered again. “No. He…he moved, and they missed him, but the bullet, it hit someone else.”
Oh, dear God!
“Who, Christine? Who did it hit?”
She sobbed, trying to speak, but hyperventilating too heavily. I was crying so badly now that my stomach was cramping.
“Please, Christine, tell me who it is.”
“Elijah. It was Elijah.”
Chapter 92
“I’m coming home, Christine. As soon as I can, okay?”
I sat on the floor for a few seconds, gathering myself, tears gushing down my cheeks, unable to comprehend what had just happened. An ambulance had arrived, Christine said, and they were taking Elijah to the hospital. Matt was going with him. I asked her if Elijah was breathing or even moving, but she said that she didn’t know. She couldn’t get close enough to see.