Fragmented

by George Fong

  His phone rang. Colfax.

  “Where you at, Mark?” Jack asked.

  “Not too far away. Couple of blocks north. I’m with one of my Chico detectives. We’ll scope out around here.”

  “Okay. I got a vehicle here with a Van the Man Band jacket inside. I’m guessing it’s how they got in and out of Harlow’s.”

  Colfax told Jack he would be making his way south. After the call, Jack glanced over at Marquez.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Jack opened his mouth but it took a moment to find the right words. “Things have turned to shit and I got a bad feeling they’re about to get worse.”

  Colfax hung up the phone as he stepped from his car. His partner, Detective Bernard “Bean” Conrad, exited the passenger side and moved toward a row of thin two-story structures. He hooked two fingers in Colfax’s direction.

  “I heard you mention that Van Morrison cover band.” Bean pointed toward a row of buildings. “I saw two guys heading up the stairs of this old Victorian. One of them was wearing that band’s windbreaker.”

  “I’ll go around back,” Colfax said. “You check out the front. And radio the address to dispatch. Have them find out what they can on the place.”

  Bean nodded and broke toward the front of the building. Colfax peeled off down a perpendicular street, heading for an alleyway, searching for a back way into the house without being spotted. He turned left and lost sight of Bean. Colfax made the sign of the cross, a nervous habit. He wasn’t particularly religious, barely went to church except for the occasional wedding, maybe a Christmas service, something his wife made him do. Whatever the reason, Colfax wanted to make sure that if there was a higher power, it would be on his side today.

  Creeping along a side street lined with garbage cans and skinny trees, Colfax looked up at the Victorian and saw an open window, no blinds. He stood still for a moment, watching, listening for any noise. A second later, a man walked past. Youngblood. He was sure of it.

  Colfax pulled out his phone and called Bean. The phone rang three times before going to voicemail.

  He hung up the phone and clenched his teeth. The right thing was to call for back-up, but part of him just wanted to kick in the goddamn door.

  Then he heard the gunshot.

  57

  Thursday – 5:59 p.m.

  Bean stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the porch landing of the Victorian. He peaked in the window next to the front door. A good cop, Bean had just left a DEA task force. Drug cases are heavy in informant development and surveillances. Sneaking a peek at an old home for movement was routine. Bean pulled a pack of cigarettes, shook out a smoke, and placed it to his lips. He struck a match and cupped his hands. Bean had just turned to take another peek when he saw something move on the second floor. He looked left, then right, tossing the smoke to the ground and pulling his firearm. He leaned a hand on the door, giving it a slight nudge. It pushed open easily. Bean held steady, checking the interior stairs. He could hear voices. Bean carefully made his way into the living room, which was bare, shelves empty, dust balls crowding the corners. It was clear no one lived here.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he listened, trying to make out the voices above, what they were saying. Footsteps, something being dragged across the floor. He glanced at his watch. Time was precious. Bean checked to make sure he had an extra mag. He tiptoed up the steps. A single squeak could give him away.

  Bean kept his focus on the open entryway to his left where the voices emanated. He could see the bay window through the door but still couldn’t see the people talking. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, the conversation stopped. The quiet made Bean uneasy. He stood still. Then someone spoke. A whisper but he understood what was said. His eyes bulged. The words.

  Get the girl, now.

  “Freeze! Get your hands up where I can see them!”

  Cooper was caught off guard, his hands filled with notebooks and binders. Stopped dead in his tracks, he looked like he was weighing his options.

  “I said get your hands up!”

  Cooper flung the notebooks at his face, and Bean swung an arm to knock them away, trying to keep his gun level at his target. An immense force slammed into his body from the side, and Bean fell backwards, stumbling against the wall, his right foot giving way. He slipped off the landing and onto the stairs, tumbling with the weight of his body, the hardwood of each step assailing his ribs and head until he crashed in a heap at the bottom. His eyes opened to see the front door, and then he turned his head to see Cooper flying down the stairs. Bean squeezed his right hand, searching for his gun. It was empty. He struggled to push himself up but he couldn’t feel his legs, his head swimming, body feeling like it was filled with electricity. Then Cooper was standing over him.

  A voice came from behind Cooper. “Who the hell is he?”

  The man came into view. Their missing source, Youngblood. He had a surprised look on his face. Cooper bent down and picked up Bean’s service weapon. He checked the gun to see if there was a bullet seated in the chamber. Then he pointed it at Bean’s heart.

  “You don’t want to shoot me. There’s a lot of us just outside.” Bean turned his head toward the door.

  Cooper glanced at the open door, then back to Bean.

  “No, I don’t believe you.”

  “What are you going to do?” Youngblood asked.

  “Like you said, Eric, I’m going to fix the past.”

  Cooper pulled the trigger. A loud bang followed by the sound of spent brass casing clanging against the railing and then dancing across the floor.

  Misty red drizzled down the wall.

  Then there was silence.

  Colfax pulled his gun from its holster and sprinted back to the front of the house, grabbing his hand radio.

  “Dispatch, this is Nora 31. Shots fired. In need of assistance immediately.”

  The dispatcher responded, shutting down all radio traffic and sending every unit available.

  Colfax made it to the bottom of the outside stairs. In a single fluid motion he bolted to the half open door and kicked it in, his weapon drawn forward, front sights guiding his direction. Bean was lying at the bottom of the steps, upside down as if he had fallen from the top. Eyes open, neck contorted. His shirt soaked in blood.

  Colfax bent down on one knee and checked for breathing sounds. Nothing. He felt his carotid. No pulse. Colfax tore open Beans’ shirt and saw the gaping hole through his chest.

  Pointing his weapon up the stairwell, Colfax jumped up and took two stairs at a time. Before the top landing, he heard a noise below, around the back. Footsteps, running, the sound of a door being kicked open. Colfax rushed down. A fence gate was pushed wide. Over the radio, Colfax heard Jack’s voice.

  “Mark, we’re a block out.”

  Colfax grabbed his mic. “They killed Bean. They ran into an alleyway. Fifteen seconds ago. I’m going after them.”

  Sirens wailed in the background.

  “Be careful, Mark,” Jack’s voice crackled over the radio. “We’re coming up behind you.”

  *

  Youngblood had an awkward time trying to keep pace with Cooper, trying to run while wiping the sprayed blood from his eyes. Every time he looked up, Cooper, who had gathered up his precious notebooks before fleeing the house, had taken a turn down another alleyway. Why these journals were so important mystified Youngblood. The FBI already knew he had kidnapped Jessica Baker, and they had the evidence to charge him with the kidnapping and death of Grace Holloway. He was an escaped convict. What secrets mattered now?

  Cars streaked past in both directions on paved city streets. Cooper skidded to a stop, glanced each way, then dashed across the road. He waved an arm, beckoning Youngblood to join him in an alleyway sandwiched between two tall brick buildings. Youngblood breathed deeply and gave chase. A car slammed on its breaks, the driver laying a heavy hand on the horn. Youngblood didn’t bother to slow, just stuck out an arm like a halfback j
uking a tackle and kept running.

  The alleyway dark, sun descending beyond city skyline. Youngblood saw Cooper tugging on a large padlock across a metal latch. He yanked hard and tore the lock open.

  “Come on!” Cooper waved Youngblood into the lower level of the brick building. They entered a dark room, the air stale from the summer heat. Cooper tugged Youngblood forward as the door slammed shut.

  Youngblood waited for Cooper to flip on the lights but instead he walked down a black hallway. Youngblood could barely see, eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness. Cooper appeared to move in a blur. They turned into a room on their left. This time, Cooper hit a switch and a light flickered overhead.

  “What are we doing?” Youngblood asked.

  “We hole up here until the heat cools.”

  Youngblood tried to hold steady but his whole body was trembling. “No good, Alvie. I say we take care of the girl and get out of here.”

  “You fire off a gun in here and the whole world’s gonna come running.”

  Youngblood paused for a moment, digesting what Cooper had just said. “She’s . . . here?”

  Cooper stared at Youngblood, and their eyes locked, a few seconds of silence that felt like an eternity. Cooper just smiled.

  Youngblood had enough. He reached behind his back and drew the Smith and Wesson Magnum. He pointed it at Cooper’s head.

  “All right,” Youngblood said. “I waited long enough. Where is she?”

  58

  Thursday – 6:23 p.m.

  The Camry slowed but didn’t stop. Marquez pulled alongside Colfax, who was running full speed. He turned his head as Jack leaned out the window, screaming at him to jump in. Colfax piled into the back seat and Marquez gunned the engine.

  “Turn here.” Colfax pointed left at a long gravel road that paralleled the next major city street. “I think they went this way.”

  At this point, it was all a guessing game. Cooper and Youngblood had a head start and whichever direction they took, the two suspects would still be blocks ahead of them.

  “I saw him. Youngblood.” Colfax was angry, accusatory. “He wasn’t restrained. He’s working with Cooper.”

  Jack shook his head, his jaw tense. Had Youngblood been working with Cooper all along? Had Jack Paris been this badly played? The radio chatter grew heavy. A medic unit, in tow with SWAT, entered the building where Bean lay dead, patrol units cordoning off the area, as K-9s with tactical teams were dispatched. By this time, the media had fully descended on the operation after news of Bean’s death. The PIO—Police Information Officer—took advantage of the coverage by linking a description of Cooper and Youngblood as people of interest.

  Jack’s cell phone vibrated. An agent at the command post.

  “Just got a report of a guy running with a gun,” the agent said. “Matches the description of one of yours.”

  The agent gave Jack the location, an alleyway not more than three blocks away. Jack directed Marquez up a side street, where the Camry coasted to a stop. Colfax reached for car door, ready to bail.

  “Whoa,” Jack said, reaching for Colfax. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I think we should split up.” He punched a finger south. “I’ll take that route. You guys head down the one in front. We’ll cover more ground.”

  “You going alone is not a good idea.”

  “We don’t have time to argue.” He pushed the door open. “I’ll be careful.” Colfax took off across the street, down the back alleyway. Jack and Marquez didn’t have time to stop him. They had to get moving before Cooper had another chance to escape.

  Jack exited the car, Marquez following his lead. He pulled his weapon and pushed the barrel low and forward, quick-stepping ahead, as Marquez peeled off to track the other side of the alley, a few feet back. Jack came to a door on his right. He stopped and listened, before gently pushing the door open a few inches. Jack peered inside. Even with his face pressed close to the doorframe, it was too dark to see much. He spun around and saw Marquez coming his way. Jack nodded toward the entrance.

  Marquez drew her pistol. “Let’s go,” she said.

  “Why is it so important we kill the girl?” Cooper didn’t seem to care that Youngblood was pointing a gun at his head. He took a couple of steps and tossed the notebooks on an old dining table, then pulled a chair and sat down.

  Youngblood remained silent, gun fixed on Cooper.

  Cooper’s stare sharpened. “You’re afraid the cops are going to pin it on you, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not worried about that. You stalked her, you grabbed her, you jabbed that needle into her with the ketamine. If someone’s going to jail over it, it’ll be you, Alvie.”

  Cooper shook his head, crooked smile forming. “My, my Eric. You’re going to dime me out, aren’t you?”

  Youngblood didn’t feel like arguing. He’d spent the past couple of days trying to find answers to this predicament. He wanted to free himself from this mess and from Alvin Franklin Cooper. For good.

  “Just tell me where she is, Alvie.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell you. I’ll give you Jessica. But even if you kill her, who’s to say the cops are going to believe you over me?” Cooper rocked back in the chair, front legs lifting off the ground. “Or when I tell them you are responsible for the kidnapping and murder of the lovely Grace in Seattle?”

  Youngblood smiled. “They won’t believe you.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Just tell me where she is?”

  Cooper laughed.

  Youngblood’s stomach started to twist, head spinning, his blood ready to boil. His hands were shaking and Cooper could see it. “You got two seconds to tell me where that girl is.”

  “She’s safe, Eric. And she’ll stay safe.”

  Youngblood thumbed the hammer back. “Where?”

  Cooper kept on smiling. “Under the cross of God, Eric.”

  “You and your fucking games.”

  “Do you know what’s in these notebooks?” Cooper gestured toward the stack on the table. “They’re my memories. Yours too. Everything we did.” Cooper let the front legs of the chair fall flat. “Everything you did.”

  Youngblood glanced down at the notebooks.

  “I figured the day might come when you’d betray me. This is my insurance.”

  “You mean was your insurance.”

  Cooper shook his head. “No, I mean is. There are others. They’re with Jessica Baker.”

  Youngblood kept quiet.

  “The ones with Jessica talk about Grace Holloway, in detail. Jessica Baker. The others.”

  The others. That’s what Youngblood feared the most. The others. It was too much for him. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t think logically. All he wanted to do was to end this. To kill Cooper. Killing Cooper was supposed to bury the past, leave no one to speak about those memories. Now, the equation had changed. He trained his sights on Cooper. It was the only option.

  “I’ll find her on my own. But I can’t let you live. Goodbye, Alvie.” He’d started to curl his finger around the trigger, when another voice called out.

  “Drop the weapon or I’ll shoot!”

  Youngblood turned his head and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

  Colfax made his way down the alley, twisting every doorknob he saw. He pulled on three before coming to one that didn’t have a knob. It had a latch, which was flipped to one side the door closed. Colfax put his ear to it and listened closely, then gave it a push. It opened.

  The hallway was dark but there was a light at the end. Colfax heard some rumbling, then harsh words. An argument. Then came the names he knew. Grace Holloway. Jessica Baker. Cooper and Youngblood arguing over those two girls and other . . . murders. Weapon drawn, he crept forward. “Where is she?” one of them demanded to know. Cooper blamed Youngblood for the kidnappings. Then something about Jessica Baker being protected under the cross of God.

  Closer and closer he approached, voi
ces growing louder, bolder, clearer. He heard someone say “goodbye” and knew it had nothing to do with leaving—at least not alive.

  Colfax swung around the corner. He saw Youngblood and he was armed. That made him the most dangerous.

  “Drop the weapon or I’ll shoot!”

  Youngblood and Cooper stared at Colfax, whose eyes bounced between the two but his gun remained trained on Youngblood.

  Then Youngblood pointed at Cooper. “Shoot him, Colfax.”

  Cooper spoke, his voice calm and controlled. “That’s not a good idea.”

  Again Youngblood cried, “Shoot him!”

  Colfax looked over at Cooper. He saw Cooper was shaking his head slowly, his eyes shifting down toward his lap.

  “He wants you to shoot me so his secret about Grace Holloway dies with me.”

  “Don’t listen to him, he’s lying.”

  “Really?” Cooper said, voice rising. “I got it all here in my journals. The places we went, the people we met. It’s all here.”

  “Shut up!” Youngblood screamed. “Who’s going to believe a guy who killed his own family?”

  “I killed them because of the letter.”

  Youngblood froze.

  Cooper looked at Colfax. “I still have it.”

  Colfax didn’t understand what was happening but he needed to get control of the situation. He held his gun on Youngblood with his right hand and directed Cooper with his left. “Put down the gun, Eric. We’re all going in.”

  Youngblood lowered the Magnum to his side and walked toward Colfax. Colfax flipped two fingers at Cooper ordering him to stand up. Then, from the corner of his eyes, Colfax saw a glitter. A reflection of light off blue steel. There was a flash and Colfax felt the blow, powerful, crippling, like being struck in the chest with a baseball bat. Instinctively, Colfax’s hand swung toward the light. He squeezed the trigger and the muzzle exploded. The gun dropped from his hand, eyes falling to his chest and the gaping hole where crimson spread fast like brush fire. As he fell back, Colfax was blinded by another flash. People were running but it was too confusing to make anything out. Colfax had taken a bullet and lost control. He had no back up and no one knew where he was. His peripheral vision began to shrink. Even the pain started to fade. The last thing Colfax saw was Cooper leaping over his fallen body. He could not move, couldn’t feel anything. Everything slowed to a crawl. Then Colfax felt the inevitable, his heart stop.