"He's in there," said Perez in his hoarse Mexican accent. "He's been working on this job for the last two weeks, every day till six."
Angela grabbed her binoculars and made a quick scan of the grounds; it would make matters less complicated if she could locate Mark Phillips before stepping on site.
There were only eight men visible inside the hollow ribcage of the building. Three of them were poring cement near the back. The one who had his back turned was of average height, with a lean build. His pose resembled the slight leaning stance of the serial killer while his white work helmet gave the appearance of a mask.
"I think I see him," she said. "He’s pouring cement near the back." She set the binoculars on the seat and got out of the car. Perez came around and joined her.
"As soon as we step inside, the foreman is going to make a bee line toward us and tell us we need a helmet. I want you to play interference." They started across the street. "I don't want Mark to know we’re coming, so let's enter through that right door where the plastic is." She pointed.
They crossed the dirt parking lot, keeping an eye on the three men at the rear of the building, and entered through the right door. The smell of dust and dirt filled Angela's nostrils. In the surprising quiet of the construction site, she could hear the dirt crunching between her shoes and the cement floor. Some of the men were eating lunch, and two others were pouring over a blueprint laid out on a piece of plywood between two sawhorses.
One by one heads turned toward them, and soon all eyes were watching. Angela kept her eyes fixed on Mark Phillips. He set a bag of cement down in front of him, wiped his forehead with the back of his dirty grey hand, and looked up. His first expression was one of confusion, but when she held her badge up, it changed to fear.
"Mark Phillips, I'm Special Agent Angela Grant with the FBI. I need to ask you a few questions." Her voice reflected off cement and metal.
Mark took a step backwards, and Perez said under his breath. "He’s gonna run isn’t he? Tell me he's not gonna run."
With that, Mark bolted toward the rear door. Angela and Perez took off after him.
"I hate it when they run!" shouted Perez. He was a muscular Mexican with a little extra meat around the midsection; great for breaking down doors, but not so great for chasing criminals. Angela’s full bodied figure wasn't ideal for chasing down criminals either, but she tended to surprise her colleagues by how quickly she could move.
Angela cut through the center of the building in a dead sprint, then slowed at the rear door opening. The way was clear. Mark was sliding down the embankment immediately behind the building.
"Stop! We just want to ask you some questions!"
He continued to slide, so she slid down after him. The sharp gravel bit through her pants and into her hand. Perez ran along the bank and headed down to cut Mark off. There were only two choices, head toward the parking lot on the other side of the road that skirted the embankment, or run down the road and enter the residential neighborhood.
Mark Phillips got to the road and looked back. Agent Grant was halfway down the embankment. There was no way he was going to make it to the houses, so he jumped the guardrail and ran across the parking lot. At the far end was a fitness center, and beyond that a tree line. If he got to the tree line, he might lose them.
Angela hit the bottom of the embankment hard and regained her footing. As she ran her hand ripped the radio from the velcro on her belt and she brought it to her mouth. "Suspect is fleeing on foot to Boyd's Gym! We need backup!" She leaped over the guardrail. He was only one row ahead of her. If she dug in, she might be able to catch him.
Her heart pounded in her ears, her nose and lungs burned with each breath. Slowly the gap between them closed. But it wasn't enough. He made it to the gym and ran up the stairs and through the door.
Angela followed. She cut right and ran up two flights of stairs to see Mark running down a wide hallway with a Plexiglas view of racquetball courts on his left and tanning bed rooms on his right.
"Stop him!" she yelled as she pursued him past the check-in counter and down a tight stairway beyond. At the bottom she lost him briefly at the convergence of three large rooms and a hallway lined with lockers, but picked him up again after passing beyond a divider wall. He was headed to the back of a workout room, and a red door with a glowing exit sign above it.
"Stop that man!" she screamed.
A burly Italian man in spandex pushed backwards from his treadmill and slammed hard into Mark, sending him flying into the wall. He scrambled to get his footing, but the muscle builder was on him.
Angela gulped for air as she helped the Italian turn Mark onto his stomach. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say can be used against you in a court of law..."
Chapter 12
Jake stopped by Dan's and grabbed the laptop before heading over to his apartment building. There was no sign of the little girl out front or in the east wing of the old school house, so he headed back over to the west and caught the elevator just as it was starting to close.
Inside was a red-haired woman he recognized from his floor, and at her side was a strawberry blond girl with the greenest eyes Jake had ever seen. She smiled up at him.
He smiled back.
"Hi,” she said, blinking up at him. "I'm Abby, and this is my mom."
The woman looked up briefly and offered a weak wave. "Hey," she said.
"Hey, how’s it going?" said Jake.
He stepped on the elevator and stood sideways to them. There was an awkward quiet for a moment as the doors closed and the elevator launched upward.
"I've seen you around," said the redhead. "You're on my floor, right?"
"Yeah. Just up the hall."
Again there was silence. The elevator came to a stop.
"Well, maybe we'll see each other around." She was trying to be upbeat, but Jake could tell something was bothering her.
"I imagine we will," he said.
"Bye," said the little girl.
Jake gave her a little wave. "Bye."
They went left, and Jake went forward.
Rounding the corner, he saw the that the end of his hallway was filled with household items and moving boxes. The door across from his apartment was open, and a man with a box disappeared inside. Sitting near his door, on a milk crate, was an eight- or nine-year-old brown-haired girl, drawing on a tablet in her lap.
"Moving in?" said Jake as he approached.
She looked up from her tablet. Her eyes twinkled. "Yup. Just moved in."
Jake fished in his pocket for his keys. "What are you drawing?"
She tilted the pad to give him a better view. It looked like a bird rising out of the water, but it was unfinished, so he couldn’t be sure. The details were impressive. She had blended the pencil marks with her fingers, creating gradients in the feathers, which gave them a beautiful three-dimensional look.
"You drew that?"
"I'm going to be an artist," she said, matter-of-factly.
"Well, you're on the right track. That’s beautiful."
"Thanks." She turned the pad back, and continued to blend the colors.
Jake found his key and put it in the door. "Well, it was nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too," she said, scratching and rubbing the thick drawing paper.
"I'm Jake, by the way."
She glanced up. "I'm Aiyana."
"That's a pretty name."
"I'm named after my great grandmother. She was an Indian."
He chuckled at the blunt manner in which she said it. "Well, I'm sure I’ll see you around."
"I'll probably be right here," she said. "I like the way the sun comes through the windows and makes a pattern on the rug."
Jake had never noticed before, but Aiyana was right. It was rather spectacular how the dozen-or-so tiny windows laid a pattern of shadows and light on the dingy maroon rug. In spots, the sun warmed the color to a bright red.
"You notice things," he
said.
She looked up sheepishly. "I see more than I like."
It was an odd answer, but he didn't have time to pursue the questioning. It wasn't chance that brought him to his apartment, but rather nature reminding him that this might be his only chance to take care of business.
He entered his apartment and almost knocked Jenna over.
"I thought you were going to be at the theater all day?"
"There was an accident."
It took him a moment to digest her words. He was well past his quota for freak occurrences.
"Nothing bad," she added. "Mina rolled her ankle. The doctor thinks she has a fracture."
Jake could see the mixed emotion waging war on Jenna's face. She felt bad for her friend, but Jenna was Mina’s understudy, and this accident could mean a huge opportunity for her. She needed Jake to give her happiness a stamp of approval. "It's okay,” he said, "you can be happy."
Tears welled in her eyes. "I'm sorry. This is just so overwhelming. My life is changing so quickly, and I don't know how to process."
"Just take a deep breath, and tell me what happened." He was always playing damage control when it came to anything emotional.
She took a deep breath, as instructed, and said, "Mina came in this morning, and there was a lot of discussion about the scout showing up today, and the director decided to run lines with Mina instead of me. I was bummed of course, but happy for Mina. This scout is from a major touring company, and I would be happy if either one of us got called up.
"I stayed back stage and helped in every way I could. It was so exciting, Jake. We were all trying to get a peek out the curtain and get a glimpse of the scout. She was sitting with the director in the eighth row.
"Anyway, at the end of act one the director asked me to run lines for act two. I couldn't believe it, and Mina was so supportive. She helped me get dressed and prepped. She really is an incredible friend."
Jenna stopped for a second to regain her composure and wipe tears from the corners of her eyes. Mina was the closest thing Jenna had to a best friend, they hung out quite a bit, and Jake liked her too. The last time the three of them were together it was for dinner and karaoke at the pub downtown. They’d all laughed so hard his side ached the whole next day.
Jenna continued: "After act two we took a break and Mina and I went into the dressing room. That's when we met the scout face to face! She said we both did a wonderful job, and that we were way better than anyone she had seen this year, and if it were up to her, she would offer us both a contract but she only had one contract to give.” A conflicted look flashed in Jenna’s eyes. "She offered it to Mina. She has more experience than I do, and the scout was looking for someone who had shown the ability to handle the rigorous hours and crazy travel schedule. But..."
She stopped to catch her breath.
"But—she tripped over a prop and rolled her ankle in the third act. If the doctor says she needs a cast, not only will I get the lead in this production, but the scout says she’ll draw up a contract for me this week!"
Jenna’s shoulders slumped. "I'm so conflicted. I don't want to hope Mina broke her ankle!"
"It's not like you broke it." He lowered his eyes. "You didn't break it—did you?"
She smacked him. "No. I didn't break it."
"Then be excited for her if she recovers, and mourn with her if she doesn't."
"This is what I've always wanted, but I didn't want to get it this way, and what about..." She stopped and looked away.
"It is okay to be excited." He shook her by the shoulders, "This is a good thing. Super good."
"It's just such a big change in our lives. How will our relationship change?" The floodgates were threatening to open.
"Whatever happens, we're in this together. I'm not going anywhere."
"This could be the biggest thing we've ever had to face."
"We've had challenges before, we'll work through this one too."
She nodded stiffly. "You're right. I'm worrying for nothing." She dabbed the sides of her watery eyes. "I'm glad you were here. I feel so much better about this whole thing.” Her eyes flicked up. "Aren't you supposed to be buried in sales today?"
He avoided the topic of his job, figuring that pill would go down a lot smoother if she were to get the contract with the traveling theater company. He went straight to the crisis with his sister. "My mom called this morning. It's about Gabe."
She gave him a fragile look.
"You know the killer, the one on the news?"
She gasped.
"They think he has Gabe."
Her eyes looked like they were going to explode out of her head. "Why didn't you tell me? Here I am going on and on..."
"It's okay, Jenna. You didn't know."
"How? How does that even happen in Sunbury?"
"That's what I thought, but it's happening. I spoke with the FBI agent running the investigation. They're trying to piece the clues together and talk to suspects."
"Holly must be devastated."
"She’s well beyond that."
"So—what are you doing here?"
That question threw him off, but he recovered quickly. "I grabbed Dan's laptop from his apartment and stopped by here to use the bathroom and grab a couple things."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Not really. Are you done with the theater for the day?"
"We're supposed to go back, but this is way more important."
"Well, why don't you go, and if anything comes up, I'll call you."
"Are you sure? I wouldn't feel right abandoning you..."
"You're not abandoning me. There isn't much we can do except wait for the FBI to catch this guy."
"You’re sure?" Her lip trembled.
Jenna was not as good at suppressing emotion as Jake. Her body’s response to everything was to cry. She cried when she was happy. She cried when she was sad. She cried when she was frustrated. Jake wasn't sure why she started crying now. It could have been a feeling of helplessness, he didn't know, but he knew better than to ask. Jenna could never make sense of the plethora of emotions swirling around inside her. The best course of action for Jake to take was to wrap his arms around her and let her work through whatever emotions she needed to process.
So that's what he did. He held her tight, and looked toward the kitchen. On the counter, still sitting in the water glass, sat the little white rose, a stark reminder of what had happened that morning, and of what the mysterious old woman had said to him. Her words echoed in his mind. "Don't let the flower die, Jake. Don't let the flower die."
A single question formed in his mind.
Was Gabe the flower?
Chapter 13
Jake pulled out his phone as he got to the elevator at the end of his hall. He thumbed in Dan's number and put it to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Dan. Have you heard anything new?"
"There was a special news break on channel five a few minutes ago, but they didn't say anything we don't already know."
"What’d they say?"
"You know, standard stuff. On his fifth anniversary the Cape murderer strikes in Sunbury, Maine, blah blah blah. They mentioned Holly, but it was obvious they don't have a clue about what's going on. You should see all the activity out front. It's a circus."
"How’s Holly doing?"
"She's been making calls. It sounds like she’s trying to figure out if any of her friends know anything." Dan spoke low into the phone. "She keeps calling this one girl, Stacy. I get the impression she knows something."
Jake didn’t know much about Stacy, but what he did know wasn't good. Stacy was plugged into the drug scene. She was one of Holly’s suppliers, and for a high school drop-out, she sure knew a lot about chemistry.
The elevator made a ding, and the doors opened. A man stepped out with a box. Jake gave him a nod and stepped on the elevator.
"What do you think she knows?"
"I don't know for sure, but I get the impre
ssion from Holly's side of the conversation that there are a lot of people who have hung around Gabe in the last year. She's trying to figure out who he would trust enough to go somewhere with."
Jake looked up. The red-haired woman was stepping onto the elevator with her little girl trailing behind. Both had somber looks, and the woman was red around the eyes, like she’d been crying. Her daughter clung to her leg.
"Well, tell Holly to be careful what she says on that phone. If you know what I mean."
"You think it's tapped?"
"I'm sure it is. That’s probably the first thing they do."
"Hold on a sec, she just got off." Jake listened.
Ding. Slowly the elevator doors crept open. The woman moved quickly, pulling free of her daughter’s grip, and headed off down the hall. The girl quietly chased after her. Jake thought it was odd, but he had enough on his plate to think about.
He stepped off and looked down the hall toward the east wing of the schoolhouse. He decided it would be wise to check one more time for the ghost-girl before heading back over to his sister's apartment.
"Jake?" That was Dan.
"Yeah, I'm here."
"Your sister’s not happy."
Jake heard her screaming in the background. There was a shuffle with the phone, and Holly came on. "They tapped my phone?"
"I don't know, Holly. I'm not a police officer, but I think it’s standard procedure for them to tap the phone in a kidnapping case."
"What am I going to do, Jake?"
"Well, who did you call, what did you say?"
"I called everyone I could think of that's been here in the last year, everyone I had a phone number for."
"Did you talk about anything illicit?"
"No. I told them what was going on, and asked if they’d seen anything—or asked for phone numbers."
"You told them Gabe had been taken?"
"Yeah. I wanted to see what their reaction was. I wanted to see if they acted suspicious. They're going to kill me. The FBI's gonna break down their doors and dig through their stuff. I'm dead, Jake, dead!”
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