by Ponzo, Gary
Bryant’s heart stammered in his chest as he realized the noise appeared to be coming from inside their room. He jumped from the bed and searched for the source of the sound.
There it was again. A scraping sound clearly coming from the door. He licked a pair of dry lips and approached the doorknob as if he were about to touch plutonium.
The sound became louder as he got to his knees and put his face just inches from the doorknob. That’s when he saw it move. He sucked in a quick breath. The scraping sound and the movement were synchronized. Someone was trying to get in.
Bryant hopped to his feet and glimpsed into the peephole. It was blocked. He grabbed the doorknob and felt it jiggle.
“Margo,” he called to her in a forced whisper.
She moved her legs.
The doorknob seemed to be on the verge of giving up its security.
“Margo,” he called again.
This time she bolted upright. She saw Bryant and immediately threw aside her sheets. “What’s happening?”
Bryant grabbed the cell phone from his pocket and pressed the on button. He tossed it to her while keeping his hand firmly around the doorknob. “Call 911.”
From the perimeter of the closed curtains a bright flash of lightning lit up the room with its brilliance. Almost simultaneously there was a crack of thunder. The room shook from the devastating explosion of lightning and night air. The window rattled so hard, Bryant thought it might burst.
“There’s no signal,” Margo said with a panicked tone.
Bryant was close enough to the window that he thought of moving the curtain aside, but something prevented him from doing it.
Margo dashed over to the phone on the nightstand and put it to her ear. While staring at Bryant with wide eyes she placed the phone back down. “No dial tone.”
Another flash of lightning lit up the room. The blast of thunder that followed was even angrier than the previous explosion.
The doorknob was turning now. Bryant had to look outside. While squeezing the round piece of metal with both hands, he leaned to his right and brushed aside the thick curtain with the side of his head. The rain pelted the window with a vicious drumbeat. As his right eye moved far enough for him to see outside, a bolt of lightning lit up the parking lot and Bryant’s entire body trembled with what he saw.
Standing in the middle of the parking lot wearing a black trench coat and a sinister grin was FBI agent Ron Turkle. He was staring directly at Bryant through the sideways assault of rain with his hands in his coat pocket and complete satisfaction on his face.
Bryant was in shock. His grip gave way as he processed what he was seeing. The doorknob twisted farther now and the door slipped open an inch before it snagged the safety latch.
“No,” Margo screamed.
A man’s face scrunched up into the one-inch opening, and he grunted like a wild animal. “I’m coming in, alien girl,” the dark face hollered.
Bryant took two steps back and rammed his shoulder into the door. He felt the force of the man’s body jolt backward as the door slammed shut.
Margo jumped up and began slamming her fist up against the wall. “Help!” she screamed, hoping there was someone in the next room to hear her.
Bryant kept his weight pressed against the door, hoping the guy didn’t have a gun. He felt the man push back, a shove which almost knocked Bryant off his feet. A streak of red light flickered between the curtains. While keeping pressure up against the door, Bryant moved the curtain enough to see a swirl of red and white lights flashing up against the window. He heard some shouting over the storm.
Bryant kept leaning against the door. He turned to see Margo standing between the beds chewing on a fingernail.
“Get down behind the bed,” Bryant ordered.
There didn’t seem to be any pressure on the other side of the door, but Bryant wasn’t falling for any tricks. He stayed firmly attached to the door.
“Mike,” a familiar voice shouted from out in the rain. “It’s Sam.”
Bryant kept his stance.
“Mike,” the voice said. “It’s okay. Turkle’s gone.”
Margo crept up to the window as if she were trying to keep a baby from waking up. She pulled the edge of the curtain away from the window and looked outside. Her face brightened as she spotted the source of the voice.
“It’s Detective Meltzer,” she said with a sense of joy.
Bryant pulled open the door but kept the safety guard intact. Through the narrow opening he saw the detective standing there with a gun by his side.
“I’m sort of getting wet out here,” Meltzer said matter-of-factly.
Bryant shut the door, then flipped aside the safety bar and reopened it all the way.
“You guys okay?” Meltzer asked, leaning into the doorway to find Margo hugging herself with a tear-streaked smile.
“We’re fine,” Bryant said, stepping outside and seeing Meltzer’s sedan with the emergency lights still flickering against the building from the front grill. In the nearest parking space, an overweight man in jeans and an Aerosmith T-shirt was flopping around on the asphalt with his hands cuffed behind him.
“I’m gonna get you,” the man barked at Bryant while fighting the handcuffs in the rain.
Bryant turned back into the room. “Are you alone?”
“I didn’t know I’d find any trouble,” Meltzer said, putting away his gun. “It was after midnight before I left Dr. Lipson’s office and found your note on my desk.”
Bryant pointed to the man out in the parking lot. “What about him?”
Meltzer glanced over his shoulder. “I have a cruiser on the way.”
Margo was still trembling. “What about . . . what . . .”
“Turkle?” Meltzer asked.
Margo nodded.
Meltzer frowned. “There was a black Expedition leaving the parking lot when I pulled in, but I saw that guy trying to break into your room so I dealt with that first. I called in Turkle’s Expedition. The force is out there looking for him right now.”
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.
“They won’t find him,” Margo said with a faraway look in her eyes.
Meltzer didn’t appear ready to challenge her on that. He pointed to the bed and said to Margo, “Why don’t you sit down.”
“Because you have a bunch of questions you want to ask me?”
Meltzer nodded.
Margo looked at Bryant with compassion. “Do I have to?”
“Are you charging her with something?” Bryant asked the detective.
Meltzer rubbed the back of his neck and sat down on Bryant’s bed. “Listen, do you know how long of a day this has been? I have an obese drunk lying in the parking lot, a wife who thinks the world is ending every time a cloud comes by, a rescue worker from Alaska who thinks Margo is an alien, and a rogue FBI agent who’s doing his best to destroy innocent people. Can I please just get some answers from someone?”
When no one answered, Meltzer continued. “Look, she’s got some kind of mental capacity that a normal person doesn’t have. I get it. I spoke with Dr. Lipson at length about her condition.”
“My condition?” Margo squeaked as her eyes widened. “I have a condition?”
Bryant took Margo in his arms and sat her down on the bed across from the detective. While Margo’s head rested on his shoulder, Bryant scolded Meltzer with a viscous glare.
“N-n-no,” Meltzer struggled to maintain his credibility. “That’s not what I meant. I realize now that you’re special, it’s not like you’re suffering from some disease or something.”
Bryant rolled his eyes while the skinny girl shivered in his arms.
“What I’m saying is . . .” Meltzer looked at Bryant as if to ask for some help.
“You want her to help you figure some things out?” Bryant said with his head cocked.
“Yes, exactly.”
“I see,” Bryant said. He looked down at Margo who was chewing on her lower lip.
“Would you like to explain to Detective Meltzer what Turkle is doing? Maybe go into his psychotic behavior and the irrational acts he’s been perpetrating on an innocent young girl like yourself? In fact, maybe you could explain psychotic behavior in general so we all could learn a little?”
Meltzer blew out a breath and hung his head. “All right. I’m putting you two in a safe house for a few days.”
“No,” Bryant said. “Not me.”
Meltzer looked up. “I wasn’t asking a question, I was making a statement.”
“You need to protect her,” Bryant said, his arm still around the fragile girl. “But I won’t be cooped up waiting for this guy to come after me.”
Meltzer glanced over his shoulder to see the round assailant still rolling around in the rain like a beached sea lion. When he turned back, there was determination in his eyes. “There’s a very dangerous man probably trying to kill you. Now, you may not have an appetite for surviving this ordeal, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you traipse around town until this guy finally succeeds. Not on my watch.”
Bryant’s face softened. “Look, I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m not crazy and I don’t have a death wish. I’ll be cautious and I’ll be smart.” Bryant held up his right hand to Meltzer. “I promise.”
Meltzer was about to say something when a second set of flashing red and white lights swept across their open doorway. He shook his head, slapped his hands onto his knees and pushed himself up from the bed. As he walked outside to greet the local police officer, he said, “We’ll continue this fun conversation in a minute.”
Chapter 27
Lieutenant Jacob Kilborn was four hours into his graveyard shift at the Chandler Police Department, and his eyes were beginning to droop as he leaned back in his chair behind his desk. He was scrolling through the latest reports on his computer when a pair of headlights glanced off the front window and immediately disappeared once the engine was turned off. There was normally a skeleton crew this time of the morning, an hour before the sun even came up. A crew that consisted of Kilborn and no one else.
When he worked by himself he typically locked the civilian entrance and watched the front door through a monitor hanging on the outside wall. A bright light illuminated the entrance where puddles were accumulating in the rainstorm. He paid close attention as a man in a black suit approached the entrance, looked up at the camera and held up a gold shield for Kilborn to see. He stood there with a bleak expression as the raindrops flattened his hair. Kilborn pushed a button and buzzed the door open. The man entered the reception area and made his way to the counter where Kilborn was already waiting. The man wore a white shirt and jacket with no tie. His shirt appeared disheveled and his jacket looked like he’d sat on it while driving over.
The man nodded to Kilborn in a professional manner. From the other side of the bulletproof glass partition, he held up a leather case with his credentials dropping down from the bottom so Kilborn could get a clear look. He leaned over to speak through the small opening in the partition. “FBI agent Ron Turkle.”
Kilborn had been with the Chandler PD for over a decade, and he’d never seen an FBI agent work past 6:00 at night unless there was something really serious going on.
“How can I help you?” Kilborn asked, carefully examining the man’s credentials.
The man’s face softened. He put away his shield and shrugged. “I woke up an hour ago in a sweat because I messed up. The SAC asked me to pick up Jeff Davenport and bring him over to the field office late this afternoon and I completely spaced it. When he shows up to work in a couple of hours and that kid’s not there, I’m screwed.”
Kilborn understood the concept. He’d been in a similar spot several times himself. He had nothing against helping a fellow officer of the law, but he needed to cover his own behind first.
“What do the Feds need with Jeff?”
“Well, apparently the bank is wanting retribution and the press is getting testy. Since he took prisoners in a federally-insured bank, it’s our jurisdiction. My boss doesn’t want this to coming back to bite us in the ass.”
Kilborn was going to ask for a warrant but then the FBI was one of the only departments which didn’t require one and this guy was correct about jurisdiction.
“Listen,” Kilborn said. “I have no problem with this. Just let me check with Detective Meltzer first. He was the one who took the boy in.”
Turkle nodded while pulling out his cell phone. He pushed a couple of buttons, then pressed it against the window for Kilborn to see the last person in Turkle’s recent call list. At the top of the list was an outgoing call just ten minutes ago to Detective Sam Meltzer.
“I just spoke with him about this,” Turkle said, his eyes wide with understanding. “He knows about my predicament. Don’t worry, I didn’t wake him up. Apparently he’s on the west side of town tracking down a criminal.”
Kilborn’s suspicions were calmed when he heard Turkle’s knowledge of Meltzer’s whereabouts. The detective was just in the office a couple of hours ago and said something about heading out to the west side.
Kilborn pushed a button under the counter and a hinged portion of the partition sprung open. “Come on in,” he said to the FBI agent.
The man walked through the opening and gestured down a long corridor. “He down there?”
Kilborn nodded, then grabbed a set of keys from a hook on the wall and searched for the one he needed. As he passed the agent he said, “I’m sure the kid’s asleep.”
“What kind of prisoner has he been?”
Kilborn found the key, then turned on the overhead lights in the corridor. “Jeff? He’s a model citizen. Just a little mixed up, that’s all.”
“Sure,” the agent agreed, sounding as if he wanted the conversation to end quickly.
They walked past a couple of empty cells until they got to the only one that was closed. Kilborn unlocked the door with a metal-on-metal scrape and swung it open. “Hey, Jeff, time to get up.”
The kid was curled up under a blanket and moved slowly, his hands covering his eyes to protect them from the sudden intrusion of light. “What’s going on?”
“We need to transfer you, is all,” Kilborn said, not wanting to spook the kid.
“Transfer?” the boy’s voice cracked from sleep, or nerves, or just lack of use. “Where am I being transferred to?”
“It’s okay, Jeff,” Kilborn said. “We’re just taking you over to the federal building where the facilities are a little more accommodating.”
Jeff rolled to the side of his cot and placed his feet on the ground, then looked up at the stranger in his cell. “Who’s he?”
Kilborn placed a hand on Turkle’s arm. “This here is Agent Turkle. He’s going to transport you.”
“Agent? What kind of an agent?”
“Don’t worry. He’s an FBI agent who will safely take you to a new cell. One with better air conditioning and better food too.”
Jeff scratched the back of his head, but kept a wary eye on the agent. “I like the food here. What if I don’t want to leave?”
“You don’t have a choice, son.” Turkle spoke in a voice which induced a clear sense of alarm in the kid’s eyes.
Kilborn could see the boy beginning to lose his cool. He’d pulled his feet under the cot and grabbed the metal railing which kept the mattress in place.
“I’m not going,” the kid stared at Turkle with pure dread.
“Listen,” Kilborn lowered his voice into a smooth paternal tone. “You’re going to be completely fine, Jeff. There’s no reason to be afraid.”
“But I am a-a-fraid,” the kid stammered. He leaned back and pointed at Turkle. “I don’t like him.”
“But, Jeff—”
“I want my mom!” the kid cried out. “Please call my mom and let her know what’s going on. I need her to come down here, right now.”
The FBI agent’s jaw tightened just a bit, and Kilborn could see a flare of heat emerge from his eyes.
Turkle withdrew the gun from his holster and pointed it directly at Kilborn. He held out his free hand and curled his fingers. “Give me your gun and your cell phone.”
Jeff Davenport squealed. “Don’t.”
Kilborn felt a surge of adrenalin rush through his veins. He considered his options.
“Are you really going to shoot me?” Kilborn said, putting the thought in the guy’s head.
Agent Turkle glared at the police officer with a fierce determination in his eyes. “You bet your sweet ass I will.”
The way the man leered at him, Kilborn understood he was dealing with an unstable personality. He slowly removed his gun and handed it handle-first to the agent. Then he reached into his pocket and handed him the cell phone.
Jeff had squirmed his way into the back wall as if he were trying to disappear.
Turkle motioned for Kilborn to move farther inside the cell. “Sit down.”
Kilborn didn’t move. This was the damndest thing he’d ever seen. An FBI agent stealing a prisoner from a holding cell. “What do you want with him?”
Jeff slid down the wall until he was on the floor, knees to his face.
Turkle grunted while pointing the gun at the kid. “Get up. Now!”
Kilborn could sense Turkle becoming unhinged and couldn’t predict what the man would do next.
Kilborn leaned over and touched Jeff’s shoulder. “Stay put. My partner will be here any minute and take care of this moron.”
Kilborn was trying to put the agent over the top and force him into making a mistake. Unfortunately, the insult seemed to ignite a rage that Kilborn wasn’t prepared for. Before he could even turn to face Turkle head-on, he caught the glimpse of something flashing his way, then a moment of hard metal impacting his head.
Then nothing.
Chapter 28
Bryant came down the hill from the cemetery with a quiet energy to his gait. Somehow visiting his girls gave him a sense of accomplishment. This time he remembered to leave a candy Kiss on Megan’s headstone and place flowers on Kate’s. Meltzer had dropped him off thirty minutes earlier, then left to take Margo to a safe house. Now he was back waiting for him on Warner Road, his car idling in the rain. When Bryant opened the passenger door of the large sedan, the detective had a bagel in one hand and a coffee in the other.