by Roger Hayden
Slater gasped and wheezed as Knight lifted his head slightly and placed the coat underneath. He was fading fast but still breathing. Knight unfolded the letter and placed it on the ground, careful not to smudge it with blood. The typed font looked like the one used in the letters sent to him recently by some unknown character. The letter gave times, locations, and detailed instructions for Slater to follow to “solve the case.” He was repeatedly reminded that large sums of money awaited if he completed the tasks. Knight focused on the third request listed on the page:
Provide me the name and address of your partner so we can watch him as well.
He continued to the last of the instructions at the bottom.
You will meet a contact at Clayton Bridge. Your contact will provide further instructions from there, including directions to your last location.
From there, the letter ended. Knight crawled toward Daniels’s now-lifeless body a few feet away and rolled him onto his back. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was open and red with blood. Knight unzipped his jacket, opening it fully, and searched the inner pockets. Inside, he found a letter and quickly unfolded it. He found instructions specifically addressed to Daniels, including meeting Detective Slater on the bridge at a specific time. Then at the very bottom were directions telling Slater how to proceed.
Walk two hundred and forty-six paces past the bridge and head northwest at 285 degrees. You will be provided a compass to assist you.
Knight stopped and quickly patted Daniels on both sides, discovering a small bulge in his right pocket. The realization that Daniels had been shot unarmed had yet to fully weigh on Knight. He pulled a compass from Daniels’ pocket and stood up, knees cracking. Fields spun around from the railing on the other side of the bridge, demanding a status.
“Slater is just barely hanging on,” he said, frantic and shaken. He glanced beyond the bridge and into the woods from where they had come. An array of bar lights flashed from behind the trees. Backup had finally arrived, sirens blaring. Knight then turned the other way and continued across to the other end of the bridge. Fields called out to him, asking where he was going.
“Not far!” he shouted back. “I’ll be right back.”
She wanted to follow but was clearly hesitant. Someone had to stay behind and explain the situation to the arriving officers. Once across the bridge, Knight drew his pistol and continued down a winding path and into the trees. He maintained a steady pace count, careful not to go under or over the letter’s required two hundred and forty-six paces. For all he knew, he could be walking right into a trap, but Knight had to know. He was on a mission. He held the compass and letter in one hand and his pistol in the other, moving quickly.
He veered off the path and into the forest, with the compass as his guide and alert to anything in his path. He pushed branches aside and moved around sprawling bushes in his way, going deeper into the dark, woodland surroundings. Fields called for him, voice ringing through the air. He was too far, too focused to respond. He had already reached two hundred paces. His eyes darted from one side of the forest to the other. His heart raced with his intensified breathing.
“Come out and show yourself!” But the only footsteps moving through the forest were his own. As he neared just over two hundred and thirty paces, he saw an object through the trees. It looked like a vehicle. His pace quickened, and he saw the long red body of a classic car. The Cadillac!
He sprinted ahead and nearly tripped, consumed by pure adrenaline. He pushed through thorny branches and neared the car that had plagued him the entire week, simply parked in the middle of the forest. But just as he closed in, an ominous, unseen ticking got louder, followed by the ringing of a timer and a blast that launched him backward. Knight hit a tree and fell to the leafy ground as heat flowed over him in a deafening blast. The car exploded into an instantaneous fireball. Metal and glass flew all around him as Knight shielded his head with both arms. The blast left a ringing in his ears as searing heat wafted over him. Smoke soon filled the air around him. Agent Fields shouted for him in the distance as she approached.
Knight lifted his head up, squinting. The classic 1980s Cadillac he had been searching for was ablaze. Flames consumed its scorched metal frame. Knight had been less than twenty feet from the car when it exploded. As he lay on his stomach between the trees, he tried to make sense of the situation. Someone had rigged the car to explode. Car bombs took a variety of types. The big question was, why?
Knight attempted to push himself up from the ground. His entire body ached from the fall, but he knew how lucky he was to be alive. A few more seconds and it could have been fatal. Hurried footsteps approached from behind as Fields continued to shout for him.
“Over here!” Knight said, pushing himself to his knees.
Fields reached for him and helped him up as they stared at the dancing flames ahead.
“What happened?” Fields asked, astonished and out of breath.
Knight leaned against a tree and coughed as smoke thickened. “The Cadillac… it’s the one we’ve been looking for.” He turned around, frantic, as he tried to find the letter. “Daniels was supposed to give Slater a letter before we intervened. It-it was supposed to lead him here.”
“What’s that?” Fields asked, pointing.
Knight turned to the tree beside him and saw another letter pinned to the trunk. He grabbed it immediately and read as the fire continued. He assumed that it was meant for his partner. Its amused, confident tone was similar to the taunting character of the letters he had been sent. Fields looked over his shoulder as he held up the letter, reading the typed font.
Detective: The Cadillac is loaded with ten pressure cookers, timed to explode in unison. Hurry up and dismantle it before they blow! The timers are in the trunk. The keys to the trunk are in the glove box. Will you take the risk? This is the car I used to kidnap my girls. I heard about it all over the news. The most wanted car in America, and now it’s yours. If you fail to dismantle the bomb in time, you’ll lose one significant piece of evidence. Best of luck.
I appreciate the information you shared with me about the case. It certainly helped me stay a step ahead of your department. Your partner, Charles, is a real stiff. You could do better. Alas, I’m retiring. I’ve got three lovely girls, and they’re a part of my family now. Don’t try to find me, because you won’t. Take the money and run, as they say. Speaking of which, there’s a hefty sum in the trunk, if you can open it in time. About the car. I was ‘borrowing’ it from Chet’s mother. Or Chet was borrowing it for me. His mother knew nothing of our transaction, as she’s got dementia. See ya.
Knight re-read the letter, unable to take his eyes off the page. Fields leaned closer from behind him to get a better look. He snapped out of his shock and spun around, clutching his pistol.
“We just missed him,” he told Fields. “The son of a bitch was here.”
She took the letter from his trembling hand as he paced forward, scanning his surroundings through the haze of smoke. “He couldn’t have gotten far.”
Agent Fields noticed him straying from the scene and called out for him. “We’ve got paramedics and police here. We need to let them know what’s going on.”
Knight ignored her and continued through the smoky clearing, toward the woods and past the fire.
“Detective Slater might still have a chance!” she shouted. But her words didn’t register. All Knight could think about was finding the man responsible for terrifying his town and destroying lives. He saw some movement deep within the woods and sprinted ahead, fleeing the burning car.
“Detective Knight!” Fields said, chasing after him. “Don’t do this on your own.”
He moved around the trees and dense brush in his path, widening the gap between them, but not for long. Fields was closing in, the limp in his leg slowing him down. He thought he saw something move ahead, but the blurred vision of his watering eyes could be deceiving. He fired three shots in succession straight ahead, cursing to himself.
His shouts rang through the air as the gunshots faded into a distant echo. He halted suddenly and fell against a tree, gripped by an intense pain. His breathing was labored and wheezing. His forehead dripped with sweat. His hand clutched his chest as he coughed. Something was wrong with his heart. He had pushed himself too far. Fields soon caught up and rushed to his aid.
“Are you okay? Speak to me, Detective.”
He nodded as he slid down the base of the tree and unbuttoned his shirt. Fields remained at his side despite the rising sound of sirens in the air. Knight rocked his head back and tried to steady his breathing. He didn’t have it in him to continue the hunt any further.
Fields radioed in their location, requesting medical personnel for Knight. He turned from the tree and tried to raise his pistol, aiming with great difficulty. The pistol fell to the ground as he sighed in exhaustion. “How did I get so old?” he asked with a faint chuckle.
Fields laughed and squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll all get there soon enough. You just take it easy.”
He sat and waited as she left his side to signal the approaching backup team. Knight watched as flames danced through the trees. The Cadillac continued to burn like a pyre, almost as though the car had never existed.
13
Bus Stop
Five Years Later
Melville County, Florida
Tuesday, October 23
Quaint suburban homes sat serenely along the neighborhood street. It was late afternoon, and school had let out. As always, children would soon populate the yards and nearby park, riding their bikes or playing sports as they always did. Drivers had to be alert in case one of those same kids darted out into the road, as they were known to do. For the time being, things were quiet.
A long yellow school bus drove down Anderson Street and stopped at the bottom of a hill, opening its doors. Several children stepped off the bus, eager to be free. The ten or so of them dispersed in different directions and groups. Some continued past the front of the bus and down the road of the next adjacent street.
Twelve-year-old Crystal Parker hopped off the bus and followed her two friends, Erin and Amy, going the opposite way from the others. They walked toward the rear of the bus as its doors closed and it shifted to drive on. Their stop was one of the last ones on its route. Crystal’s house was right down the street from her bus stop and she had no problem getting there in just a few minutes. Her friends lived on the next street over. They usually got together later in the day, ideally when homework was completed. Crystal walked beside her friends, recapping the day.
They laughed together as the bus drove off, exhaust trailing in its wake. Crystal looked up and saw the slow, steady advance of an old car in the opposite lane. At first glance, she thought it was somebody’s parent, come to pick them up. The idling car neared them. The other girls didn’t seem to notice it, but it was on Crystal’s radar.
“Who’s that?” she said, trying not to stare.
Erin and Amy looked up, noticing without much care.
“I don’t know,” Amy said with a shrug. “Just some weirdo.”
A glare across the windshield blocked Crystal’s view of the driver. The windows on all four doors were tinted enough to conceal whoever was inside. It soon rolled beside them to a stop as the driver’s side window came down. Crystal and her friends continued without acknowledgment. She felt vindicated in her earlier concern that had been so easily dismissed. A sudden chill passed as the driver called out to them, asking for directions.
“You girls seen an Irish Terrier around here?” a man asked. He had a calm, friendly tone that Crystal found suspicious. The girls waved him off and veered onto the sidewalk off the road where they felt safer. The man turned his head, calling to them. “His name is Buster. He loves children. Thought you might have seen him.”
The girls slowed and turned to look at the man, shifting the backpacks strapped over their shoulders.
“No, mister. Sorry,” Erin began.
“We haven’t seen any dog,” Amy added, finishing her sentence.
The man watched them from behind the wheel. He wore sunglasses and a ball cap. He had a thick mustache and the collar of his jacket reached up to his chin. To Crystal, he was the textbook example of the kind of stranger she had been told to avoid. A strange smile jetted up both sides of his face as his arm came out the window, dangling a dog leash. “The little bugger escaped, and now it’s time for his walk.”
“I’m sorry,” Amy said, more forcibly than before. “We haven’t seen him. We just got off the bus.”
The man pulled the leash back inside the car, smile dropping. He then seemed to zero in on Crystal, who stood between her two friends. “Haven’t heard anything from you. And I know that Buster has walked past your house plenty of times.”
Crystal had never seen the man before or his dog, but it chilled her nonetheless that he might know where she lived. “I haven’t seen him,” she began. “Like she said. We just got off our bus.” The man suddenly looked forward, seemingly distracted by the other group of kids who were turning onto an adjacent street ahead.
“Thank you, girls,” he said, shifting a lever on his steering wheel. “Please keep your eyes open.” His car abruptly jerked forward and raced away, tires squealing against the pavement. And just like that, the strange man was gone. Amy grabbed Crystal’s hand as she walked faster. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get home before he comes back.”
“If he comes back,” Erin added.
“Maybe his dog’s really missing,” Crystal said, trying to loosen Amy’s grip.
“Don’t be stupid,” Amy said. “Guy’s got creep written all over him.”
Crystal’s house was a straight shot down the street, though she still had a bit of a distance to go.
Amy and Erin veered off the sidewalk and toward their street on the opposite side. Erin looked back. “You okay?” Crystal had pulled away from them and remained in place. “I’m good now, thanks.”
Her two friends stopped in the middle of the road. “I thought you were coming over to my place,” Amy called.
“After my homework,” Crystal said. “My mom was clear on that.”
Amy and Erin exchanged glances and snickered. “Someone’s a mama’s girl,” Amy said.
“I’ll call you later,” Crystal said, turning away.
She continued past the next house, sticking to the sidewalk. Most of the driveways in her path were empty. The adults were at work, their homes sealed fortresses. She saw a few elderly neighbors in their garages or outside on their front porches. One offered her a wave, which she returned.
She swung her head back and saw Amy and Erin venture down their street, heading home. She didn’t know if she even felt like hanging out with them. Her parents had been fighting a lot lately. They never seemed to be happy, and their arguments were escalating. Her dad would sometimes hit her mom, her mom sometimes hit her dad, and nothing ever seemed to change.
As a result, Crystal stayed confined to her room, where she felt safest. She saw her house up ahead on the right. Its blue stucco siding and arched roof was a welcome sight. The garage door was closed, and there were no vehicles in the driveway. Her brother, Jeremy, didn’t get home from high school until later. Both her parents were working. Crystal liked the idea of having the house to herself, for at least a few hours when things were at their quietest.
Her pace quickened, nearing number 2455, the only house she had known. She avoided a fallen branch on the sidewalk, lying under the shade of a looming oak tree. Three houses down from her destination, Crystal heard the engine of an approaching car. She glanced quickly behind her and noticed that the car was driving fast. They were wasting no time.
She did a quick assessment of her surroundings as best as a twelve-year-old girl could do. There were tall bushes to her immediate right and a fire hydrant to her left. The only place to run was straight ahead. She’d reach her driveway if she was lucky, maybe even make it inside, but the car
was speeding at a ferocious rate. As its familiar burgundy shape came into view, her legs froze in fear.
Where was he going to in such a hurry? Was he trying to scare her? Crystal didn’t know.
The car sped closer and then stopped directly beside her, tires skidding to a halt. Crystal flinched and readied herself to run. Her young instincts told her that it was no ordinary car and that its driver was no ordinary man. The passenger side window quickly rolled down as the car idled, spewing exhaust into the air. He looked to be the only person in the car. He smiled at her from behind his sunglasses and shouted over the rumbling engine. “Hey, I think I found Buster!”
Crystal cautiously nodded. She looked for a neighbor who could help her and then realized that she was completely alone. There were no cars driving by or curious glances or waves from her elderly neighbors. Time seemed to have stopped, leaving only the strange man and his mysterious dog as her guide. “Wanna hop in and go see?” he asked.
Frozen with fear, Crystal shook her head. The man seemed to revel in the opportunity to engage her further. “Come on!” he said, patting the red vinyl seat next to her. “Just a quick drive to the park.”
“No thanks,” she said, just above a whisper. Her throat was dry, and she felt overwhelmed with the situation. No stranger had ever made such an offer to her in all her life.
“Get in the car!” he seethed, teeth gnashing.
It was just the alarm bell she needed. Crystal backed away and saw a clearing between the bushes that ran along both neighbors’ lawns. She turned to run with her adrenaline on overdrive. The car engine revved as though he was trying to scare her. She darted for the path between the bushes and directly into someone who blocked her way. Gloved hands suddenly grabbed her by the throat and hoisted her into the air. Crystal gasped, eyes closed and arms flailing as the driver shouted for them to hurry up.