by Robin Mahle
Shalot stepped inside, moving just a few feet closer to Marshall, as if testing him. “You’re not going to shoot an unarmed man. You’re a cop. Cops don’t do that.” He moved a little closer now. “I’d like to sit down on my couch and rest for a while, if you don’t mind. The past several days have been quite an ordeal. I believe you can show yourself out.”
“Tell me what’s in the safe and I’ll leave.”
“Nothing but my passport, a watch my father gave me, and a few bucks.”
“You’re lying,” Marshall said.
“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, though, is it?” Shalot had grown flushed with color, appearing aggravated. “I’m innocent, okay? I didn’t do shit to that Brown girl.”
“Shaun Hudson says differently. He says you wanted to bring Lindsay into your sick little group. But then, she wasn’t that type of girl, was she? I bet you didn’t count on Laura Kempt. She wasn’t very happy that you spurned her affections. Instead, working to take a woman who had already been taken by another. Branson saw that and turned her against you. They put a great big shining spotlight on you, didn’t they? Making Lindsay appear as though she’d been killed like the others.”
Marshall took a few steps forward and noticed Shallot stiffen with alarm. “Hudson says you needed to prove your power over Branson, demanding that your loyal followers kill innocent women, carving their bodies with a ‘V,’ putting flowers in their hands, showing the world that there would be more coming, that the Law of Five demanded it. Then you had them tossed on the side of the road where the animals could gnaw away at their flesh.”
“It’s a five, you fucking idiot, not a ‘V’! You know, the Roman numeral?” There was no question of the look of regret on Shalot’s face now. He’d revealed too much.
Marshall knew he had him, but still needed something concrete. “Open the safe. Now.”
Shalot stood still for a moment longer.
“Now!”
He flinched at the raised voice and began to move towards his bedroom, Marshall following closely behind, his hand still on his gun.
They reached the closet. “I told you, there’s nothing in there.” Shalot’s back was turned to Marshall as he spoke, facing the opened closet. He shifted the clothes aside.
“Do it.”
Marshall stood less than a foot behind the man, watching as he pressed the numbers on the keypad. The sound of his gun withdrawing from its holster caused Shalot to stop cold.
“Keep going.”
Shalot did as he was told. The safe door clicked and swung open automatically.
Marshall took a step back, raising the gun from his hip, and waited for Shalot to move aside. Instead, Shalot thrust his forearm and struck him square in the face. In a burst of searing pain, Marshall’s eyes exploded with stars and he rocked back.
As he struggled to regain balance and clear his vision, a blow struck his gut. Shalot was attempting to take the gun as Marshall doubled over in pain.
The comprehension of what was happening knocked Marshall almost as hard as Shalot had. The man wanted his gun.
The two fell to the floor, wrestling for control of it. Marshall belted him in the jaw. He reeled back, but quickly recovered. Shalot worked to pry Marshall’s hand from the butt of the gun, but Marshall held firm.
He knew what would happen if Shalot took it. His thoughts turned to Katie. “You won’t hurt her. I swear to God, I’ll see you dead before I let that happen!”
They thrashed around on the floor, limbs entangled, but Marshall still had the gun. Shalot’s hands clasped over his, scratching and clawing away, trying to get a grip. There was only one thing Marshall could do now.
He released the safety and tried to gain a foothold on Shalot, giving him room to point the barrel and shoot, but Shalot was strong and in a better position.
The gun turned, Shalot the one gaining control. Marshall fought with every modicum of strength he had. He needed to put this man down. Much longer and he’d lose his strength. The barrel began to turn back to Shalot.
A crash sounded from the front room, startling both the men. The gun fired.
“FBI!” Scarborough heard the gunshot and ran towards the noise. Jameson was with him and followed.
Shalot scrambled to get up and was covered in blood.
Marshall lay still and placed a hand on his stomach. He raised his palm and saw that it was shrouded in blood, his blood. He’d been hit.
Shalot stood on shaky legs, trying to make it to the door.
Marshall spotted his gun a few inches away and listened as the agents rushed nearer. “Kate.” He turned towards the gun, his face twisting with pain, but he couldn’t make a sound. His fingers reached the tip of the gun, enough to get a hold on it. It was all he could do to raise it, but he pointed the gun at Shalot’s head and fired.
The bullet struck him in the back of the neck, immediately severing his spine. Shalot fell to the ground, landing face first.
The agents, with weapons drawn, emerged from the hall.
Scarborough held his gun firmly, pointing it at Shalot, unsure of what exactly was happening. He looked at the men, both covered in blood, both lying on the ground. “Avery! Christ’s sakes.” Scarborough rushed to his side.
Jameson quickly tended to Shalot, checking for a pulse. “He’s dead.”
“We need to get Avery to the hospital, now!” Nick pressed on the wound in Marshall’s stomach. “It’s all right, man. Hang in there. Help’s coming.”
“The safe.” Marshall’s tone was weak, barely audible. “Check the safe.” His eyes peered beyond Nick’s, towards the closet where the door to the safe remained open.
Nick looked back. “Jameson. Bring me a towel and then check that safe.” He continued to apply pressure to Marshall’s stomach, but the blood kept coming.
Agent Jameson returned with a towel and stepped over the body of Edward Shalot. Blood pooled at his head and Jameson was careful not to step in it. He handed the towel to Scarborough and moved to the safe.
Nick pressed the towel against the wound and it quickly soaked with blood. “What the hell’s in there?” he asked Jameson.
A look of dread masked his face as he turned back to Scarborough. “Pictures.” He held photographs loosely in his hands. “It’s the victims. Four of them.”
They looked as though they’d been taken by cell phone, grainy and slightly blurred, perhaps having been captured by shaky hands. The photos showed each victim on display, posed. Jameson knelt down to Scarborough to allow him a better look.
“Goddamn it. You should have told me you were coming here, Marshall,” Scarborough said.
“I had to find a way to keep him behind bars. He was after her.” The weakness in his voice prevailed with each word.
“Katie.” Nick shook his head and turned to Jameson. “Where the hell is that damn ambulance?”
Marshall knew Scarborough was pissed that he’d risked coming here. “I had to protect her.”
The sound of sirens brought relief to all of them.
“Have you found the missing woman in Nevada?” Marshall asked.
“No. Not yet,” Nick replied.
Marshall’s eyelids began to lower, threatening to close.
“Keep your eyes open, man; come on.” Nick tapped Marshall’s cheek lightly to rouse him. “Help’s almost here. Just hang in there.”
Jameson waited at the door. Several footsteps sounded on the metal staircase as the EMTs made their way to the apartment. Nick had also radioed for backup after Marshall’s call, discovering that he was in Shalot’s apartment. Detective Gibbons arrived behind the ambulance.
“He’s in there.” Jameson pointed to the back bedroom where Shalot’s body lay over the threshold and into the hall.
“Goddammit! What the hell happened here?” Gibbons demanded but did not wait for a reply, instead moving in the direction of the bloody scene. He locked eyes with Scarborough, although he seemed to offer no assurances as to the state of
his downed colleague.
The paramedic quickly attended to Marshall, pushing Scarborough away. “His pulse is weak; he’s lost a lot of blood,” the man called to his partner at the doorway. “We need to get him out of here now.”
The EMTs did what they could to stave off further blood loss, but Marshall was in dire shape. They loaded him into the ambulance and headed for the hospital just ten minutes away.
Scarborough followed behind, insisting Jameson and Gibbons wait for the CSU and secure the scene. Now, he had to tell Katie. He took a breath and prepared for the difficult phone call. “Katie? I need you to meet me at SD Medical Center. It’s Marshall.” He wasted no time in getting to the point.
“What? What’s happening? What’s wrong with him?” Her voice cracked with panic and confusion.
“Just get down there, Katie. I’ll explain later.” Nick knew she would need to leave fast and talking on the phone, asking questions, would only delay her. This was bad. He knew it was bad. Shalot might be dead, but they still hadn’t tracked down the whereabouts of the final victim and Nick couldn’t let another one die. Nor could he lose Marshall Avery.
He quickly placed a call to Agent Myers. “Shalot’s dead. Do we have anything more from Branson?” he said, squeezing the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Everything seemed to be falling apart and he was losing control. Marshall went off on his own and got himself shot, killing the one man who was pulling the strings. Now they had another woman missing. Number five. And they needed to find her. Pressure was coming at him from all angles. His ASAC, the media, and police departments hounding him for information when he had virtually nothing. He prayed that Richmond police had at least located Hayden Jennings. Maybe he would know where the next murder would be.
Nick slammed the wheel. The call to Myers was coming through weak; he didn’t have much of a signal along this narrow stretch of road that had been cut through the hill. He couldn’t hear her.
“Say again? I think I’m losing you, Georgia.”
“Sherriff’s office said they’re doing all they can, but can’t find the woman.”
“We gotta find her, damn it.”
“They’re doing everything they can, Nick. They’ll find her. Where are you?”
“Pulling into the medical center. Marshall Avery’s been shot. He killed Shalot. The dumb bastard went off on his own.”
“Oh God. I’m sorry, Nick. Is he gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I gotta go now. Katie’s probably here and I need to tell her what happened. You call me when we find that woman!”
“Will do.”
Nick ended the call and cut the engine. On his approach to the emergency entrance, he spotted Katie just inside and she wasn’t alone. Captain Hearn and half a dozen officers waited in the lobby. When a cop went down, everyone rallied.
He stepped through the sliding glass doors and caught her attention.
Katie ran towards him. “What happened, Nick? Please, tell me. They said he’s in surgery for a gunshot wound. I need to know. Please.” Her breaths were shallow and her forehead, once smooth, now lined with concern for the love of her life.
Nick took hold of her arms in a gentle but firm manner. “Katie. You need to calm down. I’m sure they’re doing everything they can for Marshall.”
She yanked her arms from him. “Don’t you treat me like a goddamn child. That’s Marshall in there. Tell me what happened!”
Heads began to turn in response to her raised voice. Captain Hearn was now making his way over.
Nick saw the look in Hearn’s eyes, demanding an explanation. “Marshall went to Shalot’s house to find anything we might have missed that would prove he instructed his followers to kill those victims. He didn’t know Shalot had been released.” He paused, working to find the right words. “I don’t know exactly what happened, Katie. Except that there was a struggle. Shalot reached for Marshall’s gun and, somehow, during the altercation, pulled the trigger and hit Marshall in the stomach.”
Captain Hearn turned away, rubbing his head in the same manner that Marshall always did when he was trying to process information. He said nothing, only shaking his head. His eyes shut tightly.
Tears fell from Katie’s face in a thick stream, running down her now pallid cheeks. Her heart was breaking right in front of him. “Marshall took him down, Katie. He took Shalot down because he wanted to protect you. Don’t give up on him now. Not when he needs you the most.”
Katie buried her head inside Nick’s embrace. “I can’t lose him. I can’t. I’ve lost too much. Please don’t take him from me.”
Her words were not meant for Nick, but seemingly for God himself.
“Captain Hearn, can you find someone who knows what the hell is going on?” Nick asked, still comforting Katie. He would do so until she was ready to let go.
Agonizing minutes had passed before Hearn returned with a doctor. “Katie? Dr. Patel would like to speak to you.”
She finally raised her head. Her hair was damp with tears and clung to her face. She tried to brush the strands away as she returned her weight to her own two feet.
Nick still held on, making sure she was steady.
“Yes?”
“I’m Dr. Patel. Marshall Avery is your boyfriend?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I’m so sorry, but he lost just too much blood. I’m afraid we did everything we could to help him.”
The doctor’s words echoed in her ears. Her head grew light and her body faltered. Not again. Please God, not again.
“Oh, Katie. I’m so sorry.” Captain Hearn tried to rest his hand on her shoulder.
She pulled away. “No. No. He’s not dead. Tell me he’s not dead!” Her knees buckled and she started to fall.
Nick quickly reached out for her. “I got you, Katie. It’s all right.”
“I’m so sorry,” Dr. Patel repeated his distant apology.
“Thank you, doctor.” Nick continued to support her. “Can you get her some water or something?” he asked Hearn. “Come sit down, Katie.” He had to virtually carry her to the lobby chairs.
“I can’t breathe.” Katie gasped for air, her eyes flooded with tears, clouding her vision. “Oh God. I can’t do this again. Please, help me.” Her breaths grew shorter and faster. Her cries sounded as though she was standing squarely in front of death itself, begging it for mercy.
Her pain spread to everyone, gripping them as it had her. The other officers, Captain Hearn; it was too much for them to witness. Most turned away, trying to hide their own emotions.
“Calm down, now.” Nick smoothed her hair. “Shhhh.” His own voice had wavered. “You have to slow your breathing, Katie. Slow down. I don’t want you to pass out.”
“He can’t leave me. I’ll be left with no one.” She sat up, reaching for a tissue on the table and began wiping her face. It was red and swollen and full of grief. “I have to see him. I need to see him. Please, Nick.”
He had known the condition Marshall was in. He knew it was a bad idea to let her see him that way. “I—I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Katie. They need to take care of him first, okay? You’ll be able to see him soon.”
Nick’s cell phone rang. He wrangled his hand from behind Katie and felt for his phone in his front pocket. It was Myers and he prayed for some good news.
***
The officers swarmed the building, a small house tucked away in the hills on the edge of town. It appeared to be abandoned, but a car was parked beneath a makeshift overhang fastened to the side of it.
“This is the police; open the door,” Officer Nealy shouted. He was the man leading the charge. “Go around the side; check the other exits,” he said to one of his men.
“We’re coming in.” Nealy pushed hard against the door, but it would not budge.
Squad cars lined the front of the property, lights flashing. The paved road was narrow and only a few houses occupied either side. It was one of a few older neighb
orhoods, sparsely populated as people took to moving closer to town and hopefully jobs. It seemed that it wasn’t the only abandoned house either. Several were boarded up, a result of a continuing failing economy.
“Step aside, sir. We got this.” Two officers with a battering ram pushed through the door with ease.
The house reeked of rotting food. The advanced state of disrepair suggested the dwelling was barely inhabitable at all. Gold shag carpeting, grossly stained and worn out in several areas. Dark wood paneling on the walls and heavily curtained windows that allowed for little light to enter. But what was on the walls brought great concern and possible assurance that this had been the right place. Spray painted Vs marked the panels in a dark red paint, meant to look like blood.
A sound emanated from one of the rooms. Officer Nealy raised his hand to quiet the others. “Sparks Police. If anyone’s here, come out with your hands where I can see them.”
A young man in a dingy white tank top and baggy jeans appeared from beyond the dining area near the kitchen, his hands held above his head. “Don’t shoot.”
“Down on the ground! Down on the ground!” the officer shouted.
As the man lowered himself to the floor, officers hurried to restrain him. His arms were pulled back and placed in cuffs.
“Where is she?” Nealy demanded.
The man looked down the hall and Nealy immediately stepped in that direction, aiming his gun along the way, another officer following closely behind.
Nealy lowered his weapon at sight of the horrific scene. The man behind him turned away, sickened and almost gagging. He rushed to the woman, the plastic lined floor crumpling under his feet.
She lay on the small bed, her arms hanging over the edge and covered in streams of blood. Officer Nealy had never before seen anything like this and worked hard to contain his own reflexes. He placed two fingers at her neck and checked for a pulse.