by Roger Hayden
His driver’s-side door slowly opened. Gowdy stuck his head out and turned to them, confused and irritated. “The hell’s this all about?”
“Let’s see those hands!” O’Leary shouted.
Gowdy was startled, apparently not expecting a run-in with the law. He looked genuinely surprised, though Miriam wasn’t buying it.
Gowdy stuck his big, tattoo-covered arms outside the car and then stepped out. His hair was short, recently trimmed, and his beard had been shaved off completely. He wore a blue mechanic’s jumpsuit with an auto salvage patch over the chest.
“That’s it,” O’Leary said. “Nice and slow.”
He faced them with his arms halfway up and a face that was hard to read—blank and indifferent, as though he had been through this routine many times before, which he had. O’Leary then told him to walk toward them and get against the back of his car. Miriam kept a careful eye on his car, trying to see if there were any other passengers.
Gowdy leaned forward onto the trunk of his Dodge with his palms flat on its surface. O’Leary made his move and strode over to him with his pistol aimed.
“Not another move,” he said.
Miriam remained at her car door, taking O’Leary’s back. Gowdy was in her sights. Her finger inched toward the trigger, but she fought the urge. Shooting Gowdy would be satisfying, but it wouldn’t get them any closer to finding Emily. She moved closer to them while staying locked on Gowdy as O’Leary searched his pockets and patted him down. He pulled a wallet, cell phone, and car keys out and placed them on the trunk.
“Okay, now turn around.”
Gowdy lowered his arms and looked at O’Leary with an assured cockiness. “What’s this all about?”
“You know damn well what this is about, Gowdy,” O’Leary said, lowering his pistol.
Miriam kept a careful distance in case Gowdy tried anything. O’Leary pointed to her and then looked at Gowdy. “You remember Sergeant Castillo, don’t you?”
Gowdy looked at her and froze. O’Leary studied his face. Gowdy’s left eye twitched in his brief, catatonic state, then his eyes narrowed as he nervously looked away. He knew who she was. For that split second, he looked as guilty as any man ever could.
“Yeah, you know her,” O’Leary said.
Gowdy turned to him, angered. “What are you talkin’ about? I don’t know her at all.”
Miriam moved on him, raised her pistol, and pressed it against his head.
O’Leary freaked. “Miriam, no!”
“Where is she?” Miriam said, seething. “Tell me or so help me God, I’ll—”
“This is not the way!” O’Leary shouted.
She flinched and backed off, lowering her gun and taking a few steps away.
Gowdy looked at her, both astonished and afraid. “What’s this crazy bitch’s problem?”
O’Leary cut him off. “That’s enough. We want to talk.”
“’Bout what?” he said, leaning against his trunk.
“About what you know.”
Gowdy narrowed his eyes at O’Leary and shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“We’re close,” O’Leary said, holding two fingers together. “We’re this close to shutting down the entire operation. Whatever you’re up to, we’re going to find out. So why don’t you do us and yourself a favor and come out with it?”
Miriam circled back around and stood close by, waiting.
“I ain’t got nothing to tell,” Gowdy said. “I’m on my way to work. Is that a crime now?”
O’Leary smirked. “A guy with all your money still works. That’s pretty commendable.”
Gowdy shot him an angry glare. “A man needs to work. Builds character.”
“And we know all about your character, Mr. Gowdy.” O’Leary said.
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Gowdy snapped.
O’Leary continued. “If we were to search the salvage yard, we wouldn’t find anything illegal out there, would we?”
“Like what?” Gowdy asked.
“I don’t know. Guns. Drugs…”
“Children,” Miriam added.
Gowdy looked at them, shocked, as his face went flush. “Of course not. Have you lost your mind? Get your heads out of your asses and listen to me! We run a legitimate business!”
“Cut the crap,” O’Leary said. “We know all about you and that family. You’ve got your hands in some pretty shady stuff.”
Gowdy gave O’Leary a long stare then crossed his arms and tilted his head back. “If you know so much, you’d arrest somebody. You’d also know how crooked this whole county is and how they tried to ruin my life. I wasn’t afraid to take ’em to court back then, and I’m not afraid to do it now.”
“I’m aware of the history between you and the county PD. But I’m also aware of a lot of other things too.”
Gowdy rocked his head back and chuckled bitterly. “Hell. If you were so close to taking me down, I’d be in handcuffs right now.”
“Don’t press your luck. I can make that happen real soon,” O’Leary said, pointing to his chest.
Miriam stepped forward. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to ask.
“Did you kidnap those children?”
Gowdy stopped and looked at her, stunned, as the color drained out of his large, round face.
“Did you”—she stopped, looking down—“shoot my partner?”
“I’m not answering anything this crazy bitch has to say,” Gowdy said flippantly. “I don’t have to say a thing to either of you. I know my rights. In fact, I think I’ll just get my lawyer on the phone now and see what he has to say about all of this. County’s got deep pockets, and it looks like it’s time to cash in again.”
O’Leary’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. “It’s headquarters,” he said to Miriam. He pointed to Gowdy. “Watch him.”
“I will,” Miriam replied.
“Detective O’Leary,” he answered, holding the phone to his ear. He turned and walked away from them. “Yeah. Yep. No, we’re off Pine Road, out in the boondocks. Anderson country.”
Miriam stood with her eyes locked on Gowdy, an arm’s length away.
“Y’all got nothin’ on me,” Gowdy said, shaking his head.
“Shut up,” Miriam told him.
“I’ve been accused of a lot of things, but diddling kids. That’s about the lowest thing yet.” He spit between his teeth and looked away.
Miriam examined his body language. He appeared nervous and avoided eye contact, looking beyond her toward the empty interstate.
“You remember me, don’t you?” she said.
He turned and looked her up and down. “Yeah, I remember you.”
Her stomach burned. “I knew it.”
He spit again. “You’re that cop who got her partner shot. You could have got that child-snatching pervert, but you fucked up.”
An urge to shoot him rushed through her. She raised her pistol. Gowdy held his hands up defensively. “Wait, now! Don’t go doing nothing stupid. I’m not judging you. That’s just what the news said. Don’t shoot the messenger!”
Her face went stone cold. She gripped her side with one hand. A panic attack was in the works, but she did her best to stay calm.
A bullet was the only thing that could stop his poisonous words. She’d be doing the world a favor. Who would shed tears for such a monster? But then she thought of Emily and Jenny again, and her anger subsided.
“Just tell me where she is,” she said as tears welled in her eyes. “That’s all. Tell me, and I won’t shoot you.”
“You lost your mind? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” he shouted.
O’Leary was deep in his conversation, walking back and forth in the road. “What do you mean you got a match?” he asked loudly. “A DNA match?”
His words caught Miriam’s attention. She lowered her pistol and walked over to him. “What? What did they say?”
Holding the phone
tight against his ear, O’Leary looked over to her and held one index finger up for her to wait. A semi-truck appeared in the distance, heading toward them. Miriam turned back to Gowdy. He remained standing at the trunk of his car, arms folded. The semi grew louder the closer it got. O’Leary got out of the road and leaned against the side of his car, continuing his questioning.
“The fingerprints? What about them?” he asked, trying to talk over the approaching truck.
Miriam turned back to O’Leary, hoping to catch what was being said.
“We got a match?” he said. “Who? Who is it?”
Miriam turned back to Gowdy just as he grabbed his nearby car keys and pushed a button to unlock the trunk.
“Hey!” she shouted.
The semi-truck veered into the left lane as it passed by. Its engine rattled as it flew past them, sounding like a locomotive. A gust of wind blew Miriam’s hair into her face, obstructing her vision for just an instant. She aimed her pistol at Gowdy just as he pulled an Uzi from his trunk.
“Get down!” she shouted to O’Leary, firing two shots.
Gowdy leapt to the passenger side of the Crown Victoria and sprayed the air with bullets, shattering its windows.
O’Leary looked up in panic and hit the ground. Miriam fired back, blowing out the front left tire. She jumped to the driver’s side of Gowdy’s car for cover just as bullets came in her direction.
She looked over to O’Leary. He was lying on his back, bleeding from his leg. His pistol and phone lay in the road within his arm’s reach but seeming yards away.
“I’m hit! Take cover!” he shouted to her. His leg twitched and oozed with blood from below his knee. Shards of glass were all around him. Her eyes darted back to the car, where Gowdy had taken cover.
“Just stay down!” she said to O’Leary.
She couldn’t see Gowdy, but she knew he might strike at any moment. Crouched down, she inched toward the rear of his vehicle and looked under both cars to see where he was. Suddenly another hail of bullets rang out. She lowered herself to the gravelly pavement, hands on her pistol, and fired a few more shots toward the car. A gust of wind from another semi-truck blew past, apparently unaware of their predicament.
Miriam looked again under their car for signs of Gowdy, but his feet and legs weren’t showing. Must be hoisting himself up somehow, she thought, or possibly inside O’Leary’s car. O’Leary cried out in pain and tried to push himself up. His leg had taken some damage and was bleeding profusely.
“Son of a bitch!” he shouted. “Where is he?” He reached for his cell phone and managed to grab it by the tips of his fingers and make a call. “Shots fired! I’m hit. Need backup!”
Like a nightmare repeating itself, Gowdy was nowhere to be seen. Miriam got up just in time to see him running off, down alongside the fence that separated the road from the endless forest. Miriam sprinted ahead and fell on her knees at O’Leary’s side. She grabbed the phone from his hand.
“Hello? This is Sergeant Castillo. Is anyone there?”
She glimpsed Gowdy just as he jumped the fence and ran into the woods.
“Who got hit?” the voice asked. It sounded like Lou.
“Lou?” she said, too distraught to notice her own injuries: the torn pants, the cuts on her knees and elbows.
“Yeah. What the hell happened?”
“We’re out here by the Anderson property and need immediate backup. Gowdy fired at us. Dwight’s hit in the leg.”
O’Leary’s hand reached out toward her, bloodied from his leg, trying to take the phone.
“We’re on our way,” Lou said.
“Wait,” O’Leary said, coughing. His face had gone pale and was drenched with sweat. “Tell him to bring the warrant. Time to turn that place upside down!”
Miriam held the phone up as O’Leary spoke. She then put it to her ear. “You hear that?”
“Yeah, I got it,” Lou said. “We’re on our way.”
Miriam looked up. Gowdy was gone, but there was something she had to find out first. “Whose fingerprints did you find?”
“Fingerprints?” Lou asked, obviously rattled by everything going on.
“Yes!” Miriam shouted.
“Phil,” Lou said. “We got a match on Phil Anderson.”
His words were surreal. She was confused. It wasn’t the name she expected or wanted to hear. But the more she thought about it, the more it all made perfect sense. She placed the phone back in O’Leary’s hand and brushed his hair back, trying to comfort him, hoping he wouldn’t go into shock. His blood was everywhere now. She took off her jean jacket and wrapped it around his leg, propping it up with a block of wood nearby.
“I have to go,” she told O’Leary, trying to put on a strong and reassuring face. “You’ll be okay. Help is coming, but I can’t let him get away.”
“Don’t… go,” O’Leary said, shaking.
“You’re going to be okay,” Miriam repeated. “They’re on their way, and they’re going to take care of you.” He reached for her as she stood up. Any further delay, and she was sure Gowdy would disappear. She held O’Leary’s hand and squeezed it as tears welled in her eyes.
“I’ll be back. I promise.”
With that, she took off, determined to catch Gowdy, dead or alive. She ran to the fence and climbed over it, falling to the other side. Everything seemed like a repeat from before. The mosquitos. The palmetto bushes. The weeds and thick brush hampering her view. Her mind raced as her heart beat rapidly. She was tense and shaky. She might never make it out alive, but she pressed on.
Pistol in hand, she pushed aside branches while trying to hear anything beyond the crackling of leaves and sticks under her own feet that would alert her to Gowdy’s presence. She continued on, wrestling with the fingerprint revelation. What did it mean? What was Gowdy’s part? She was determined to find out.
She came to a clearing, sweaty and out of breath, with adrenaline pumping through her veins. A figure ran by in the distance. It was Gowdy. There was no mistaking it. He limped along as though he had twisted an ankle. She bolted forward, closing in.
He was close—about one hundred feet ahead. Miriam took a knee, raised the pistol, and steadied her breathing. She took the first shot and missed. Gowdy dropped to the ground. He rolled to the side, taking cover behind a tree. She kept her aim tight and waited. Then Gowdy, maybe feeling trapped and too eager, fled from the tree and tried to make a run for it. “Gotcha,” she said.
With one eye open, she locked on her target and gently squeezed the trigger. The gun blasted. A shell was ejected to the side. Gowdy collapsed immediately. She ran forward, staying low. Her insides were filled with elation and fury, and just then, she heard sirens blaring in the distance.
She stopped inches from Gowdy as he writhed on the ground, reaching for his Uzi. He was hit behind his right thigh and desperately struggled to crawl away, digging into the ground and clawing at the dirt like a madman. As his fingertips inched toward the Uzi, she fired another shot into the ground near him. A clump of dirt flew up into his face, and Gowdy froze. Miriam walked over to him and kicked the Uzi away. He ended his attempt to escape and fell back on his stomach, wailing in pain.
Miriam said nothing as she stood over him and pointed the gun at the back of his head. Gowdy grunted and then rolled to his side, holding one arm out in a helpless plea. His previous cockiness was gone, and only fear and desperation remained.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she said. “Why?”
Gowdy looked up at her and tried to speak, spittle flying from his mouth. “Kn-Knew what? That he’s royally fucked in the head? That he takes young girls and locks them up?” He cried out in pain after moving his leg.
“Spare me your tears,” Miriam said. “Just tell me where Emily is.”
Gowdy bowed his head, murmuring in exhaustion.
Miriam fired the gun, hitting the ground right by his head. He fell onto his back, terrified. She crouched down and put the hot barrel against his forehead. “
Here we are again, only this time, I’m not going to hesitate.” She looked him in the eyes. “Tell me!”
Gowdy opened his mouth and cried out. “He’s got a bunker out here! I take them food and supplies. He keeps them locked up.”
“The girls?” Miriam asked in wonderment. “They’re still alive?”
Gowdy paused, not wanting to answer the question. She couldn’t kill him now, and he knew it. Not with her being so close to the truth. Instead, she pressed the pistol against his other leg and fired. The blast was deafening. Gowdy fell back, screaming at the top of his lungs, a high-pitched, piercing squeal.
“You crazy bitch!” The open wound on the back of his thigh pulsated with blood as the fresh hole in his other leg started to bleed—slowly at first, then with a steady flow of dark red.
She pressed the gun back against his forehead while he cradled both legs in agonizing pain.
“I have one bullet left, and I’m not going to waste it trying to scare you. The next one goes in your head.”
“Two of them are still alive!” he shouted. “The others… well, they got sick of playing with him after a while, and he…”
“He what?” she said in a venomous tone.
“He had me get rid of them.” Seeing her finger on the trigger, he raised both hands defensively. “I’ll take you to them. Just don’t shoot me!”
“Where’s the bunker?” she asked.
He hesitated. She brought the pistol back and smacked him across the face. He cried out as a chunk of skin opened on his cheek, pouring blood.
“You’re standing on it!” he said.
She stopped and slowly stood up, looking around.
“Twenty feet underground…” he continued. She backed away as he cried to himself—one sad, helpless sack. She went to her knees and started digging, tossing dirt and debris frantically out of the way. The sirens in the distance got louder and louder.
After frenzied digging, she felt a metal surface. She brushed the sand away and found a huge latch. It was an entrance—that much she was sure of.
“See…” Gowdy said with bloodshot, tearing eyes. “I told you. There it is. The girl’s underground. I think she’s okay. I-I was gonna check on her today.”