Demon Key

by David Brookover

  “I hope to God you’re right about this.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “Who’s the perp?”

  “Bo Swinson.”

  “Oh, Jesus. Mean as a rattlesnake.”

  “The one and the same. Want to hop on the arrest bandwagon?”

  He glanced at Teddi and Jackson, who were studying him intently. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good man.” Stark gave Dex the time-and-place details and hung up.

  “What’s the matter? You don’t look too happy,” Teddi asked.

  “That was Stark.” He rapidly related their conversation.

  Nobody spoke for a long minute.

  Finally, Jackson stood and paced the room. “Wilkerson’s making a mistake,” he said finally.

  “Ryan wouldn’t move on an arrest without solid evidence,” Teddi said softly. “It must have something to do with the chemicals the lab identified in the dead boy’s blood.”

  “Even so, he’s wrong,” Jackson persisted.

  “Maybe, and maybe not,” Dex added, “but I’m going to be out on Demon Key just the same.”

  Chapter 29

  “Something’s wrong with the whole scenario,” Jackson carped, his face beet red. He stood staring out the rain-streaked window at the empty street below.

  “What do you mean?” Dex asked, as he made sure his 9mm gun was loaded and ready for use.

  “My visions are normally accurate to a fault. I saw something at Crystal River High School that involved our kidnapper, not in a swamp . . . at your Demon Key.”

  Teddi joined Jackson by the window. “I hate to say this, but I know Ryan, and he’s very seldom wrong. He meticulously does his homework, and makes certain that all his t’s are crossed and i’s are dotted before he makes a move. If he says Bo Swinson’s our guy and can be found out on Demon Key, then I have to believe him,” she stated, with little enthusiasm.

  “Kills you to say that, doesn’t it?” Dex said, staring hard at her.

  “More than you know. Looks like he wins again.”

  Jackson stepped away from her. “I didn’t realize that FBI investigations were competitive these days,” he scolded her. “I thought that we all win when the bad guys are brought to justice.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t know Ryan.”

  “I guess I don’t know you, either.” He pivoted sharply toward Dex, who was reaching for the doorknob. “Dex, I know we just met a short time ago, but trust me when I say that Wilkerson is wrong about this. He will not find Swinson on Demon Key.”

  The sheriff shrugged. “Sorry, I gotta go. It’s my responsibility to follow up on all leads in my neck of the woods. Part of the small-town cop’s job, I guess. Everybody thinks that we don’t know a hill of beans about anythin’ but parkin’ violations and petty thefts,” he replied acerbically. “I’d like to be there to prove the public wrong.”

  “And your own instincts, Dex? What about those?” Jackson pressed. “You admitted that you had a hunch that the next kidnapping was going to happen at Crystal River High School this morning.”

  Dex opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “I was just exaggeratin’. That gold vein petered out a long time ago, Jackson. You coming, Teddi?”

  Her gaze darted between the two men. “I’ll be along. Go ahead, and I’ll catch up in my car later.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shut the door, leaving Teddi in a quandary.

  Jackson sighed. “I’m going out to that high school and search for our man before he can kidnap anyone else,” he announced resolutely.

  “I’d like to go with you, Jackson, but . . .”

  “But what? You’re afraid to skip the swamp gig, because your hated Ryan will claim all the glory? I think that before you go in either direction, you ought to get your priorities straight, Teddi. I was under the impression that you invited me here to help you find and arrest this vicious animal, not to assist you in winning a game of Red Rover against your ex’s team. You’ve allowed your personal vendetta to cloud your judgment. I don’t want you going with me, unless you have absolute faith in me and my visions.”

  Disappointed by her silence, Jackson snatched his Colt and a few spare clips from his duffel bag, and marched from the suite, leaving Teddi alone to reassess her misplaced principles.

  At five-thirty, the bloated clouds released another downpour on the already flooded Sawgrass Expressway west of Fort Lauderdale. The highway was closed to traffic, so Wilkerson ordered an armada of airboats. The watercraft, as well as three FBI helicopters, several Suburbans crowded with agents, and a host of Broward County SWAT vans awaited their orders. Sheriff’s deputies lined the high-and-dry shoulder running along the northbound side of the road.

  A tent was hastily erected, and now Wilkerson, Sheriff Stark, Dex, and the airboat and helicopter pilots stood on the soft ground, huddled over a enlarged Everglades map. After a short briefing, they nodded their understanding of the rendezvous point, and parted.

  The gunmetal eddies on the eastern horizon lightened as the helicopter blades spun to life. The throaty growls of the airboat engines sputtered and caught, their guttural racket hindering communications between the agents and deputies.

  “Where’s Teddi?” Wilkerson shouted in Dex’s ear, as they boarded one of the airboats.

  “Dunno.”

  “Is she coming?”

  “I haven’t heard.”

  “Teddi knows about this operation, right?”

  Dex nodded.

  “Strange,” he muttered suspiciously. He tightened the rain slicker hood against the outline of his face. He turned to speak with Dex, but the police chief wasn’t there. “Must’ve switched to one of the other airboats,” he said to himself.

  The helicopters rose in unison and cut through the downpour toward the bleak Everglades landscape. The airboat pilots heaved their anchors inside and sped across the highway’s swift currents.

  Wilkerson and his people were so intent on their mission logistics that they failed to notice a smaller airboat beached down the road. Its sole occupant was closely monitoring the activities.

  Satisfied, Bo Swinson leaped onto the muddy highway shoulder and strode swiftly toward a black pickup parked behind a thicket of cabbage palms.

  Chapter 30

  The rain let up as Jackson got out of the limousine and hiked the two blocks to the Crystal River High School campus. The expansive school layout included eight separate beige stucco buildings. Jackson whistled. It was a big place to cover, but he decided to start where the vision had dropped him — with a view of both the student parking lot and the football stadium.

  The murky dawn cast very little light on the small throng of students milling about the courtyard and bus ramp. Jackson wore blue jeans, an inexpensive white tee shirt, a light blue windbreaker, and white sneakers so that he would blend into the school setting. The students barely noticed him as he roamed the sprawling campus in search of his psychic vantage point; he figured that they considered him just another substitute teacher. That was the plan.

  Four more yellow school buses squeaked to stops, and a steady stream of loquacious students stepped onto the bus ramp and headed in different directions. Many had iPod earphone cords dangling from their ears, while others spoke animatedly into their cell phones. Jackson was especially interested in the heavy girls; they would’ve attracted Swinson’s attention. One probably already had. Swinson’s success wasn’t due to luck; he obviously scouted his victims well in advance. Therefore, Jackson calculated, the target’s daily routine made her an easy victim.

  Finally, he reached his objective. He had an unobstructed view of both the parking lot and the stadium. A grounds crewmember was mowing the football field, and several students began painting the gridiron lines in the mower’s wake. Jackson snapped his fingers. Dex’s hunch was on the money! This was the morning Swinson planned his next kidnapping.

  He earnestly scanned the oaks beyond the nearly empty parking lot and watched cigarette smoke mix w
ith the thin mist. Was the target out there? The students were hidden from view, so unless he walked out there and checked them out, he would never know before it was too late.

  But that would take him too far from the majority of students, and that was risky. His best chance to stop Swinson would be from his current position. The vision ensured that.

  Jackson also knew that Swinson would strike before all of the high school’s 3,200 students arrived. That left about a twenty-minute window. He anxiously patted the lump beneath his windbreaker; his Colt was ready for action. Now where was Swinson?

  The muggy air was stifling; sweat seeped into his cotton tee shirt and varnished his face, but he ignored the distraction. It was of no consequence. He had a kid to save.

  He checked his watch. Fourteen minutes left in that window. Where would the perp strike? He kept scanning the area. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. Just kids being kids. No sign of Swinson or his pickup. Wilkerson had either scared off Swinson with his small invading army, or maybe Dex was wrong about the date of the high school kidnapping after all.

  Ten minutes. A chink developed in his customary coolness. He told Teddi to have faith, and now he was suddenly losing his. Could his vision have been off the mark? Was Swinson kidnapping another woman somewhere else? And, why wasn’t he receiving his usual vibes from the predicted crime scene? It felt as though someone was blocking them, but who? Another psychic?

  Eight minutes. He forced the burgeoning trepidation from his mind and replayed the brief high school vision. He admitted that he hadn’t actually witnessed Swinson kidnapping a student. Hadn’t exactly seen the undercover cops around, either. Actually, the whole experience was annoyingly vague. But he had definitely sensed an evil presence at the school, and he knew Swinson radiated that malignant energy. Jackson had just put two and two together back at the motel, and . . . here he was.

  So where the hell was Swinson?

  Five minutes left in the window.

  Jackson surveyed the front of the school for suspicious activities or the large man, who would stick out like a sore thumb among the throng of students and teachers. Jackson tried to detect a panicked scream from the playful ones. No dice there, either. His senses strained to detect Swinson’s presence.

  Nothing.

  Three minutes.

  The student parking lot was three-quarters full, and the yellow buses lined the curving ramp, awaiting their turn in the unloading zone. The noise levels rose dramatically with each emptied bus. There were shouts, some friendly and some belligerent, and the clamor made it nearly impossible to hear a kidnapped student’s cries for help.

  Jackson kept pivoting and eyeing the boisterous scene. He felt helpless out there alone. He needed Teddy and Dex, and the Broward County SWAT team would’ve been welcome, too. But he was used to solitude. Most law enforcement officials were skeptical of his psychic gifts and refused to cooperate with him. Believe him. Even after his paranormal leads resulted in arrests, they wanted nothing to do with him.

  They were simply afraid of what they couldn’t understand. Couldn’t see for themselves. It was all hocus-pocus. A cheap trick. Hell, there were times when his psychic abilities even frightened him, and he needed a few cocktails to soothe the emotional ruffles.

  But Teddi and Dex weren’t intimated at all. They seemed to understand him, but even their beliefs had limits; otherwise, they’d be here with him right now.

  He pictured Teddi in the suite, struggling to decide who to believe. Dex or him. He knew it was tough; she’d just met him. But he had expected her to say something before he left. Make some crack or spout some pennywise philosophy. After all, she always was so outspoken.

  He managed a tense grin as he continuously scanned the area. Her insinuation back in the bayou that he was a bachelor by choice was far off the mark. His previous relationships with eligible women had always ended abruptly once they discovered his unusual talents. Finally, he waved the white flag and decided to dedicate his abilities to the FBI. At least they believed.

  Two lousy minutes left.

  Where the hell was the guy?

  He was about to call it a day when a small yelp snagged his attention. He heard it again and swiftly pinpointed its direction. It was coming from the west side of the stadium! He broke into a run and easily spied the large man holding a kicking, thrashing woman under his arm. Butterflies fluttered in Jackson’s stomach. The victim was a woman, not a high school girl!

  When he reached the edge of the stadium shadows, he drew his gun and froze. Oh no! God, no!

  The thrashing woman was Teddi!

  “Hold it, Swinson!” Jackson shouted. “Let her go!”

  The big man’s bearded face twisted with rage. “Back off, Psycho Man, or I’ll break the little lady’s neck!”

  Suddenly, Teddi went limp in his arm and ceased struggling.

  “What have you done to her?” Jackson demanded. He leveled his Colt at the bridge of Swinson’s nose.

  “None of your fucking business!” he spat. “Back off.”

  “Let her go, and I’ll let you escape scot-free.”

  Bo Swinson guffawed at Jackson’s proposition. “Do I look like I was born yesterday, asshole?”

  “I’m not kidding.” Jackson released his Colt, and it bounced once on the grass. “There, see? I’m completely on the level. Now I’ve kept my end of the bargain. Let her go.”

  “I never made no bargain, butthead.”

  Jackson felt students congregating behind him. He turned his head. “Get back, all of you. I don’t want anybody getting shot!” he yelled at them. Several teachers and administrators herded the students back to safety.

  “You’ve got too many witnesses this time, Swinson, to get away with this. And, we know where you live,” Jackson shouted.

  Bo considered that for a brief second. “It don’t make any difference now,” he claimed. “I’ve got ways to disappear.”

  “And what about your victims — sacrifices? If you abandon them, what will happen to you? You can’t quit, can you?”

  Swinson paled. “You don’t know shit, Psycho Man. I can quit whenever I feel like it.”

  Jackson stepped forward. “Then quit now and let her go.” When he saw that Swinson wasn’t going to budge, Jackson added, “What’ll happen if you stop kidnapping these women?”

  “Mind your own fuckin’ business!”

  “Will those orange eyes appear?” Jackson tested him.

  Swinson was stunned. “Shut up. You don’t know nothin’.”

  Swinson lowered Teddi’s limp form and wrapped his monstrous hands around her neck. “Now kick the gun over here, or this little chickadee won’t sing no more.”

  Jackson didn’t have a choice. He did as Swinson directed.

  “Good boy. Now back off!” Swinson dragged Teddi to the driver’s side of his pickup and vigilantly opened the door. He looked back at Jackson. “I said back off! Last warning.”

  Jackson deliberately peddled backward until he reached the asphalt of the bus ramp, but he maintained eye contact with Swinson.

  The big man turned away and shoved Teddi across the bench seat. As the kidnapper pointed his gun at Jackson, a single shot rang out — but not from Swinson’s gun. The big man stumbled, leaned heavily against the open truck door, and gawked at the red stain spreading on his plaid shirt. He shot Jackson a questioning glance before collapsing to his knees with a muddy splash.

  There was chaos behind Jackson as the students began screaming wildly and scrambling into the courtyard. Sirens whined in the distance. Jackson searched the school grounds for the shooter and recognized Dex crossing the lawn between the student parking lot and the stadium.

  Jackson and Dex reached Swinson simultaneously as he tumbled face first into the mud. Jackson rolled him, and Dex kept his gun trained on the kidnapper. Swinson’s muddied eyes blinked open like an awakening corpse. Bubbling blood leaked from the corners of his mouth as Jackson felt for a pulse. Weak and growing weaker. The ch
est wound bled like a breached dam; the bullet must have hit his heart.

  With considerable effort, Swinson’s hand closed on the necklace around his neck and yanked it off. A bamboo, flute-like whistle dangled from the tarnished chain. He stuffed it into Jackson’s open palm.

  Blood spurted between his brown teeth when he flashed Jackson a terrifying grin. “The responsibility’s all . . . yours now, Psycho . . . Man.” Blood gurgled in his throat as he attempted a laugh. “You won’t last . . . long.” His hand flopped to the ground. Broward County’s kidnapping horrors were over.

  Jackson glanced up at Dex. “Thought you weren’t coming,” he said mordantly.

  Dex pumped his shoulders. “Guess I found those instincts you were jawin’ about back at the motel. I reckon they weren’t as lost as I thought they were, after all.”

  Jackson thanked him with a fleeting grin, then sobered and gestured toward the open pickup door.

  Dex nodded. “Let’s get our Teddi to the hospital, pronto.”

  Jackson absently studied the odd necklace, shoved it into his pocket, and helped Dex tug Teddi’s flaccid body from the truck.

  When Dex hurried away to get his Impala, Jackson pulled out the flute-whistle again. The bloodied object was inscribed with strange symbols. What responsibility was the murderous bastard referring to? Jackson shook his head. He’d never know. Swinson was dead, and the secret had died with him.

  Suddenly, an unforeseen tremor raked Jackson’s spine and head. Those terrifying orange eyes appeared in his mind, followed by a whispered warning. Quit this assignment and go back home to the bayou. If you don’t, you will all die horrible deaths.

  He swooned, but quickly steadied himself against the side of the truck. Where had that message come from? And who was responsible for it?

  After his head cleared, Jackson looked at Teddi. She was still unconscious. He considered quitting for a second, and dismissed it. He was determined to locate the other psychic who had earlier blocked Swinson’s evil aura and delivered the warning.