The Third to Die

by Allison Brennan

  “How many corporations are we talking about?”

  “We’re now up to five, and have to run each one. We’re not going to have most of the information until tomorrow.” He slid over another folder. “Those are phone records. We traced his cell phone. It’s in Tacoma, and it’s clear he hasn’t used it since the end of February. We found another phone under one of the corporations, different carrier, and we’ll have those records in the morning.”

  “And his employer knew nothing about this? How did he keep his job for so long if he was never around?” Matt asked, half to himself.

  “Our agents in Seattle followed up with his employer there. They indicate he always did his work on time and several of their employees work from home. No one knew he wasn’t in Tacoma, but that wouldn’t matter—he’s been working from here. He’s a programmer and apparently very good at his job. I think that’s another reason he set up these corporations—if he has the skills, he could easily move money around as needed.”

  “What’s taking so long on the phone records?”

  Ryder gave him a sly look. “Not everyone works 24-7. We put in the request this afternoon as soon as we identified the phone, and they promised within twenty-four hours. It’s either off or disabled, however, because we haven’t been able to trace it.”

  Matt rubbed his eyes. Ryder was right. There were people in the world who only worked eight hours a day. Businesses that actually closed at night.

  He started looking through the files when Michael Harris called.

  “We’ve secured Hamilton’s house,” Michael said, “and we found something—in the trash a receipt from a hardware store for a dozen mason jars, cotton rags, wire and a forty-five-foot portable chain ladder. Paid cash yesterday, and none of that stuff is in the house.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Molotov cocktails. A variation. Punch a hole in the lid, put gasoline or lighter fluid inside, soak the rag. They don’t have to be thrown. He could have bought candles elsewhere if he plans a slow burn, or he could be using them as grenades if he’s holed up somewhere.”

  “And the ladder? Planning on scaling a wall?”

  “More like getting down something. He’d have to attach it to a roof or ledge to use it.”

  “Maybe his Plan B is to force Maddox out of the station, but I don’t see these grenades doing it. That building is solid. And I can’t imagine what he would do with the ladder, unless he has a completely different purpose for it.”

  “Considering the structure of the police department, and the fact that it’s a blizzard out here, he can’t do much damage. He could have intended to use them at Maddox’s house if he returned—thrown through a window they would do serious damage. The initial explosion is minor in the scheme of things, but depending on the accelerant he’s using, the fire can easily spread.”

  “Thanks—I’ll get the word out.”

  Matt hung up, relayed the information to Ryder, and sent a message to the team leaders in the field, plus Maddox and Packard.

  “Where are you?” Matt whispered as he scoured the financials looking for anything that could direct him to where Glen Hamilton was hiding.

  * * *

  Kara had spent the last two hours going over the security footage from the hotel. She’d started with today’s tape and moved back. They were busy, and the manager said they were completely full because of the storm.

  “Can you show me the footage from Saturday?” She thought back to when she and Brian had drinks in the bar. “Evening. Start at eight and we’ll go forward from there.”

  The manager found the right video files. Kara had already figured out how to change from camera to camera, and she located the lobby feed. She watched it in triple speed until she saw Matt Costa walk in. He made a beeline for the staircase, bypassing the elevators. Glen Hamilton followed five minutes later. He was wearing a dark gray trench coat and hat, not suspicious considering that Saturday night had been cold. But it took her a minute to recognize him.

  He looked around, then walked over to the bar. She found the security feed from the bar. Located where she and Brian had been sitting in the corner, both with eyes on the entrance. Hamilton clearly spotted them, hesitated, then went to the bar. Ordered a beer. Chatted with the bartender a bit.

  “Is this guy on duty tonight?”

  “No, he’s a grad student, only works weekends.”

  Kara watched as she and Brian got up and left. She remembered they chatted in the lobby for another few minutes. Hamilton sat at the bar for three or four minutes, then got up.

  She switched back to the lobby feed and watched Brian leave and Hamilton look after him. Her stomach twisted as she realized how easy it would have been for Hamilton to follow and kill Brian then. But he didn’t. He watched as she went up in the elevator.

  Then he left.

  Was that it? She sped up the video, and almost missed it.

  Five minutes after he left, he returned and approached the reservation desk. He now had a black backpack with him.

  Leaning forward, Kara flipped through the feeds until she found the reservation area. This camera was different in that it was behind the employees in both corners, providing a clear view of the customer’s face.

  Hamilton talked to the employee, then handed over a license and credit card.

  “Holy shit!” She nearly jumped out of her seat. “He got a room here? Is he still here?”

  The manager frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “But you know when people check in. What name. This was...nine-thirty-four Saturday night. I need to know what room he’s in and when he checked out.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  The manager left the room.

  She had looked at all the footage from the entrances and hadn’t seen Hamilton again, but she hadn’t been able to clearly identify each patron. What if he changed his appearance again? What if he came in with a group? Pretended to be with someone?

  She called Matt.

  “Are you back? At the hotel?”

  “I’m with Ryder,” he said.

  “Hamilton got a room here on Saturday night. After I saw him in the bar, he got a room. The manager is checking to see under what name and if he checked out.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. I’m looking at the security feed now.” She switched over to the entrances and ran through them triple time. “He left by the side exit an hour later.”

  “He got a room here...shit shit shit. Where are you?”

  “Security room. Behind the reservation desk.”

  “I’m coming down.”

  * * *

  Glen had made a tactical error by returning to the hotel. He watched from his window as Matt Costa, the fed, entered through the front door. There were three police cars outside, each with two officers. He was confident that he could slip out—they didn’t know about this identity or his second car. He had altered his appearance a bit. It wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny, but at a glance he didn’t think anyone would realize it was him.

  He didn’t see Brian Maddox come into the hotel. The snow came down at an angle because of the steady winds, and driving in this weather would be difficult, at best. He wanted to stay the night, come up with a plan in the morning, but he was itchy. Itchy to act.

  He wouldn’t be able to get to Maddox before midnight. The realization irritated him, like fingernails on a chalkboard, but once he accepted that Maddox was scared and in hiding, a certain peace fell over him.

  He would, eventually, get to the old cop. He wouldn’t know when. Next year? Three years? He would live his life in constant fear that he would die.

  And then Glen would kill him.

  Glen breathed in, breathed out. Calmed and focused himself.

  If he had difficulties driving, then so would the police. They might have four-whe
el-drive vehicles, but it was dark, helicopters couldn’t track him, and he would have an advantage of getting out first.

  You should have left this afternoon. You should never have come back to the hotel, you idiot.

  His father’s voice echoed in his head. Glen scowled, drowned it out by hitting the side of his head until his skull hurt.

  His father was dead, long dead.

  Glen had everything ready. The jars, the accelerant, the locations. He’d studied enough science to know that the top floor—since there was no basement—was the best place to start the fire. Everyone would leave. He would be waiting. In the chaos, he would take as many trophies as he could before he slipped away. And by the time anyone realized what had happened, he would be gone.

  It had to be chaos. Chaos was his only chance to fix this.

  Fix? Maybe he hadn’t screwed up. Maybe it was always supposed to be like this. Bring all the FBI agents into one building and destroy it. Destroy them. They were the ones who caused all these problems. If the FBI hadn’t arrived so quickly, Glen would have killed Brian Maddox and disappeared. No one had acted so fast in the other two cities he hit. How they had found him now—and got his name... He took a deep breath before he got angry again.

  So he’d made a mistake. He hadn’t made many. He’d killed for the first time fifteen years ago and he hadn’t made any major mistakes after that. He’d learned from that first time—don’t kill in a rage.

  What happened today? You lost it with that interloper in your house. You killed him, you killed those cops, you got shot yourself—all because you were angry.

  That wasn’t his fault, not really. The man should have just let him in the house to look around. He didn’t have to be a dick about it. And the cops—they were in the way. They would have stopped him. He had no choice.

  But anger would get him in trouble. It made him stupid. Anger caused mistakes.

  He was calm now. He had everything set up. Now that the head FBI agent was in the building, it was time to start the show.

  And in the chaos, he would disappear.

  * * *

  Glen Hamilton had checked into room 460. It was in the front north corner of the hotel, next to one of three staircases. The second staircase was next to the elevator, and the third on the opposite end of the long hall. Sixty rooms each on three floors, and twenty-four rooms on the first floor. They were at full occupancy, every room reserved, with a total of 387 guests and twelve staff members on-site. They couldn’t confirm that all the guests were in their rooms.

  Matt called in SWAT. Their ETA was more than twenty minutes because of the weather, but they were already geared up and ready, on call at SPD. Harris was only five minutes out. They had six uniformed officers on-site, and Matt called them into a conference room, along with the manager. Kara was still going through the security feeds putting together a timeline, and Ryder was tapped into the live feeds. The hotel had cameras only at the elevators above the first floor, but the lobby, bar, and all entrances were covered. They hadn’t confirmed that Hamilton was in the building, but they confirmed he had registered under the name Glen Montclair—his mother’s maiden name—and the company GAM Computer Systems.

  “Our number one priority at this point is to evacuate the fourth floor as quietly as possible. SWAT will be here shortly, and they will take the tactical lead, while we will assist in bringing all the guests on the fourth floor into the conference rooms. One officer will be with the guests in each room, at the door. Hamilton is armed and dangerous. May be wounded. We get the civilians out of harm’s way and then we can engage the suspect.”

  Matt drew out on a whiteboard the rough diagram of the fourth floor. “Under no circumstances are we to use the north staircase. SWAT will position two men outside this door in case he attempts to escape. All guests need to be taken out via the southern staircase. SWAT will be there directing them.”

  Michael Harris walked in and Matt was relieved. It was situations like this that he had wanted Harris on his team. “Agent Harris? Comments?”

  “Suggestion that we also evacuate the rooms immediately below Hamilton. If there is gunfire, they would be the most likely to take collateral. We can do that before SWAT arrives.”

  “Excellent. Let’s do it.” Matt ordered the six officers—two each—to stand guard at each of the staircases. No guests would be allowed upstairs until they cleared the building. There were some grumblings, but the hotel provided everyone with free drink coupons.

  Matt and Michael went to the third floor and quietly spoke to each of the guests in the four rooms in the northern corner. Two were businessmen traveling, and another room was a young couple. The room directly below Hamilton was a family—parents and two young kids, including an infant. They had all been sleeping.

  Michael said quietly to Matt, “Take those four down, I’ll help the family out. This is starting to get noisy, and we don’t want to alert him.”

  Matt agreed, left Michael with the family and escorted the other guests to the southern staircase and downstairs.

  He was about to go back up to assist Michael when Kara called.

  “He’s here,” she said.

  “When?”

  “He walked in with a group at two-thirty this afternoon. Blended right in. Could have been waiting outside until he found the right way to enter. I missed him the first time. He wore a brimmed hat, but the same trench coat he had on Saturday. It’s the only way I noticed him. Went straight to the elevator and hasn’t left.”

  “Excellent. Ryder is monitoring the live feeds. SWAT is here, I told them to set up in the back in case Hamilton is looking out his window. If you’re done, we can use help with the evacuation and keeping everyone calm.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Matt pocketed his phone and went back up to the third floor. Michael was still standing outside the door that housed the family. Michael held up his hand to have Matt stay where he was, then Matt got a text message from him.

  These people don’t know the meaning of be quiet. I’ll get them out but be alert.

  Matt was about to confirm when an explosion shook the hotel. He looked down the hall and saw dust falling on Michael as Michael ran into room 360.

  Then another explosion sounded, and suddenly, one came after another, the lights went out, and the fire alarms wailed.

  50

  Spokane

  11:35 p.m.

  Kara froze when the lights went out, then a generator kicked in and emergency lighting engaged.

  She ran back down the hall to the security office where Ryder was going through the video feeds. They were all black.

  “They’re gone,” he told her, shouting over the piercing alarm. “Emergency power isn’t going to run the cameras.”

  “That was six explosions,” she said.

  “His makeshift Molotov cocktails. He could have six more, based on the receipt.”

  “We have to get these people out.”

  They left the security room and people were coming out of the stairs in various states of dress. SWAT rushed in through the side doors.

  “We have to contain this,” Kara said. “He could slip out with the crowd.” Which was probably his intention.

  Ryder ran to the main doors and whistled loudly. “I need your attention! I am Ryder Kim with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We need to evacuate in a calm and orderly manner. We need to verify that everyone gets out safely. I will take your name and your room number as you exit.”

  “It’s freezing out there!” a woman said, her arms around a young girl. They had grabbed coats, but the girl only had socks on.

  Shit shit shit! Could this get any worse?

  Kara said to Ryder, “They can sit in their cars. If they don’t have a car, someone will share. I’ll look for Hamilton. Just keep them exiting single file.”

  Ryder nodded, r
elayed the information by shouting over the alarms. There were grumblings, but Ryder was doing a great job dealing with it. SWAT headed up the stairs.

  “What happened?” someone cried out.

  “Is it the boiler?”

  “It was on the top floor,” another person said.

  “I saw smoke in the staircase.”

  “The elevator, too.”

  Kara kept her attention focused on the people leaving. SWAT had the other exits covered. Glen Hamilton was not among these people.

  She sent Costa a text message.

  125+/-people have been evacuated, mostly from the first and second floors. Hamilton not among them.

  Another group of people came running down the main staircase.

  “There’s fire on the top floor!” one of them said. “It’s spreading, I didn’t think that could happen.”

  Another explosion caused several people to scream. Kara itched to run upstairs and help with the evacuation, but right now she was the only one who had recently seen Hamilton.

  And he wasn’t among these people.

  Three more explosions sounded. They sounded a lot closer.

  Ryder frowned. “I think he set them on each floor, at the north end.” He hooked on an earpiece. “Costa, it’s Ryder Kim, you there?”

  Silence.

  “Dammit,” Ryder mumbled. He looked at Kara. “Coms are down.”

  She tested hers. “No they’re not,” she said. “It’s just Matt, isn’t it?”

  “And Michael. They were on the third floor.”

  That’s where she needed to be. But Hamilton was creating a diversion so he could escape—which meant she needed to be here to spot him.

  Shit. She felt helpless to help her team, but no way in hell was she letting Glen Hamilton walk out of this hotel free and clear.

  * * *

  Matt ran down the hall to where Michael had disappeared. The emergency lighting was on, and the hall was filling rapidly with smoke.