But what about his medication? Without any identification he’d never be able to get any. As bad as he was with his meds, he was much worse off without them.
Sighing deeply, he rolled to his feet and went inside the hut. The last half of the chicken was still where he’d left it, wrapped securely in the grocery bag. He undid the knot and removed the meat, spread the bag out on the floor, and laid the chicken on top. He wasn’t all that hungry, but he knew he must eat to keep his strength up.
He ripped apart the carcass and frowned at a small plastic bag inside the bird. He pulled it out, unzipped it, and removed a folded piece of paper. When he flattened out the note, he recognized his mother’s handwriting.
“Adam,” the note began. “Meet me in the morning, Thursday, at the old Cochran house. You know where it is. It’s been empty now for some time but you’ll be able to get in the side door. I’ll leave it open for you. I’ll be waiting for you at nine. Be careful and watch out for the police. They’re in the area all the time now and they’re also watching my house.” The note was signed, “Mother.”
Adam folded the paper and laid it on the shelf. She would likely bring him some clean clothes, maybe some more food, and whatever else she thought he might need. He looked forward to seeing her, and he knew the house she mentioned, but he would have to be careful.
Food was what he needed most, and an idea came to him. If he ran low, the grocery store where he used to haul the carts around wasn’t far away and he knew the place well. If he was careful, he might be able to slip in the back door and help himself to the rows and rows of food and supplies he knew were there. He would keep the idea in mind for the future should it become necessary.
He’d have to be careful and watch out for Paul Patton, though. The bully who had tortured him at school worked there, stocking shelves, but was often the only one who ventured into the storeroom. Paul was kind of dumb anyway, and it wouldn’t be hard to get around him.
The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. But it presented a problem. He would have to go during the day when the store was open, and that increased his chances of being seen by the cops in the neighborhood. If only he could disguise himself in some way, something they would never suspect, like a woman, maybe pushing a baby carriage.
He laughed at the idea, the first time he had laughed in a while, and it made him feel better.
Then as if his rare outburst caused an eruption inside of him, in his mind, he felt himself slipping into a panic attack. He looked around fearfully. He heard them outside the hut, creeping in on him. They had him surrounded. He dashed from the hut and spun around, straining his eyes in all directions. They were well hidden, but they were coming for him. They were going to take him away and lock him up forever.
“You’ll never get away,” a voice said. “You have to fight for your freedom.”
Then another voice. “If you hide, they’ll leave. Just hide.”
“No. You must bury yourself in the swamp. They’ll never find you there.”
Adam covered his ears, let out a roar, and fought to keep his sanity. The voices were in his head. There was no one in the swamp with him. They were inside him, torturing him, goading him on, attempting to drive him to his own destruction.
“Go, Adam. Release your pain. Go into the swamp. It’ll take care of you.”
“No,” Adam shrieked. “No.”
“You must, Adam. It’s the only way. Trust me.”
“Don’t listen to him, Adam. Don’t listen. Hide, Adam. Hide.”
Adam clenched his fists, dropped his head back, and howled, “Leave me alone.” He raised a fist, punching himself in the side of his head, over and over. “Get out of there. Go away.”
“You must listen to me, Adam. You’re injuring yourself. You’re not hurting me. If you want me to go, then bring me some blood. You know where to find blood, Adam. Just one more time and I’ll leave you alone. It’s what you need.”
“Adam, no. Don’t listen. You must hide. Run and hide.”
Adam roared again, then turned and dashed into the hut. He fell down on all fours, resting on his elbows, pulled the blanket over his head, and screamed. He would drown out the evil voices with his own. He wouldn’t listen to them anymore. They brought him nothing but despair and pain.
He continued to scream, his mental anguish increasing, his voice growing hoarse, his lungs bursting.
And still, he screamed on.
Chapter 32
Wednesday, 7:21 p.m.
HANK YAWNED and snapped his briefcase closed. He had been in the habit of taking files and reports of ongoing cases home with him, and this case was no different. It continually weighed on his mind, and he never knew when a thought might strike him, often in the middle of the night.
Besides, he seemed to have a habit of working himself to sleep every evening. The anguish of victims, and the suffering of their families, became his cross to bear, and he found it hard to set a case aside when the lives of innocent people depended on him.
That commitment was to blame for his minimal social life, specifically his love life. When he’d met Amelia a few months ago, it had been a turning point. At that time, he vowed to himself he would keep his job separate from his personal life; however, he found that resolve not only difficult to keep, but impossible at times, especially when he was involved in a case like the current one.
He would have to make it up to Amelia when this was all over. He owed her that much for her undying patience and understanding. Perhaps a week or two away—far away—would be exactly what he needed. What they both needed.
Hank sighed. The problem was, she’d heard that before and the time never came. Something always got in the way. Yet she still loved him in spite of—and perhaps because of—his dedication. But for how long? He prayed he would never have to look back on this day, filled with regret because of the wonderful woman he had let slip away.
He pushed back his chair, stood, and looked around the quiet precinct. Callaway worked on. Three or four officers chatted at the watercooler, soon to be on their way home. The night shift would arrive soon, a bare skeleton remaining in the precinct, others patrolling the streets. Perhaps one of them would turn up Adam Thorburn tonight.
He picked up his briefcase, crossed the floor, and poked his head into Diego’s office.
The captain sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, absorbed in some papers. He looked up at Hank and motioned for him to come in. “Sit down a minute.”
Hank stepped inside, settled into a chair, and set his briefcase on the floor beside him. “What’s up, Captain?”
Diego slid the papers onto his desk, gave a long noisy stretch, and dropped his elbows on the rests, clasping his hands in front of his rounded belly. “I’ve been going over what I have on the Thorburn case,” Diego said. “Are you making any headway in finding this guy?”
“Some, Captain. We know he’s still in the area. He had a run-in with Jake Lincoln earlier, but unfortunately, he got away.”
“Lincoln? What happened? Why didn’t he nab him?”
“They had a chain-link fence between them and he couldn’t get at him. Jake tried to chase him, but no luck.”
Diego folded his arms. “So nothing solid on Thorburn’s current whereabouts?”
“Only that he’s close by,” Hank said. “It’s just a matter of time. The public’s on the lookout as well. We’ve fielded several calls today from people pointing us toward someone who fits Thorburn’s description. Officers have checked them out, but so far, all false alarms.”
Diego frowned and adjusted his cap. “How much longer can this guy elude us? I don’t want any more bodies.”
“It’s only been two days, Captain, and we’ve laid a lot of groundwork. Cops all over the city are watching for him. Everyone Thorburn knows has been alerted and warned. Whether or not they take the warning seriously, I can’t tell, but we’ve done all we can.”
Diego’s head bobbed up and down knowingly. �
�Okay, go home, Hank.” Diego dismissed him with a wave. “We’ll get him tomorrow.”
Hank picked up his briefcase, stood, and moved toward the doorway. “I hope so, Captain. Goodnight.”
“Oh, Hank.”
Hank turned back.
“How’s it working out between you and King?” Diego asked, stroking his mustache. “I realize he’s a little rough around the edges.”
Hank shrugged. “He has his uses. He lacks finesse, that’s for sure, and I have to prod him from time to time, but I’ve pretty much learned how to handle him. He’s still a slob, but I think he’s gotten over some of his arrogance. Gets along with the Lincolns better now. Not sure what he had against them at first. Maybe he saw them as some kind of threat. I don’t know.”
Diego grunted and observed Hank closely.
“He’s not such a bad cop when he gets his butt in gear. Good on the streets.” Hank chuckled. “But if you’re thinking of transferring him, it won’t break my heart in the least.”
Diego gave a short laugh. “I’m sure it wouldn’t.” He waved Hank out again, then leaned forward at his desk and picked up his paperwork.
Hank left the precinct, rounded the building, and got into his car. He hoped Diego was right about finding Thorburn tomorrow.
He drove from the lot, heading home. He was concerned about the third victim Thorburn claimed to have killed. Hank was keeping an eye out for any incoming reports, but no bodies had been discovered. If Thorburn was telling the truth, that made three victims in three days, and Hank dreaded what might happen tomorrow. Perhaps a fourth?
His cell phone rang; it was Teddy White again. Hank filled him in on their latest findings and assured him they were making good headway and he would catch his wife’s killer soon.
He parked in his usual spot behind his apartment building, made his way inside, and laid his briefcase on the kitchen table. After a quick snack, he would browse through the evidence again in the hopes something would jump out.
Then he would retire early. Perhaps he would be awakened in the night with the good news that Thorburn had been apprehended. If not, he would get a fresh start in the morning and do his best to stop the killings and bring the murderer to justice.
Chapter 33
DAY 4 - Thursday, 8:45 a.m.
ADAM THORBURN had been wide awake since the sun had come up over the tops of the thick bushes and stalwart trees surrounding his hut in the swamp. He sat outside enjoying nature, lounging on the rich, spongy grass near his rosebush. It’d been another fitful night’s sleep, with only the quiet sounds of the bog to lull him into the peace he yearned for.
As much as he loved the calm tranquility of the swamp, he couldn’t picture himself staying here forever. He wasn’t much for social interaction, but he looked forward to a visit with his mother. Since his father died, she was the only one he could talk to—the only one he cared to talk to. Nobody else understood him like she did.
Sure, his shrink understood him, but only in a clinical way, not on a personal level. Adam suspected Dr. Zalora cared more about collecting his fees than anything else—fees his mother couldn’t afford. He wasn’t sure how they got by with only his occasional paycheck and her meager earnings from the bar.
He looked at his watch. It neared nine o’clock and his mother would be waiting. It would take him a few extra minutes to get there, especially now that the streets were littered with cops sure to be on the lookout for him.
He hoped that Lincoln guy wasn’t around. He was big, and Adam wouldn’t stand much chance against the guy’s long legs. And God forbid he ever got into a physical altercation with him. He’d be toast, that’s for sure. He would need to be doubly vigilant from now on.
Rising to his feet, he started off. He was deep in the swamp, but he’d been in and out of there so many times he knew exactly the best route to take. He walked across spongy ground, eased across fallen trees, and hopped over muddy areas, finally making it to the edge of the wetland.
He faced a wide open and unused field, and the steel mill beyond it. His destination was the corner house of the next street—the same street his mother’s house was on. Hardly a safe zone to be venturing into, but he was confident and determined.
Crossing the field to the back of the mill’s property, he strode along the fence line to the corner, then turned and headed toward the street. A car drove by as he drew closer, and he ducked down into the long weeds, waited until it was clear, and then proceeded to the sidewalk.
He was at the intersection, a block away now, with no more weeds to hide behind. He could make out the Cochran house at the end of the block. Glancing around, he studied the area and chose his path carefully. There were lots of trees to duck behind, but that’s all that offered any hiding places should one be necessary during his long walk up the short block.
A police car nosed around the corner by the Cochran house and Adam dove backwards, dropped to the ground, and wormed his way into the tall weeds. He watched the car come toward him, then turn and head down the street. It was a close call, but if the cruiser rounded the block continually, Adam should have enough time before the vehicle made its next round.
Stepping back to the sidewalk, he looked in both directions. The coast was clear, at least for now. He darted across the street, kept a close eye ahead of him, and raced up the block. He jumped a hedge and landed on the grass at the rear of the Cochran house.
He crouched down to catch his breath, out of view from anyone on the street, and then looked toward the side door of the house. His mother had said it would be unlocked. He glanced at his watch; it was just past nine o’clock.
He looked toward the neighbor’s house. The windows were darkened and he couldn’t tell if anyone was inside. More than likely not. They probably worked at the mill, and anyone at home would be lounging in the living room.
Crossing the lawn carefully, he climbed onto the small wooden porch and pulled on the screen door. It was unlocked. He eased it open and turned the knob on the inner door. It turned, clicked, and then squeaked as he pushed it open.
He stepped into the bare kitchen and smiled at his mother, sitting at the kitchen table, a look of relief on her face as she glanced toward him.
“Sit down, Adam,” she said, motioning toward a chair.
He looked at the chair, wondering if it would hold him. Two of the others were broken, and the table was chipped and worn. It was no wonder it had been left behind when the Cochrans moved out. He dropped carefully into the only remaining solid chair and laid his arms on the table. “It’s good to see you.”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t make it,” she said, laying a hand on his. “How have you been?”
Adam shrugged. He was mentally exhausted, afraid, and uneasy about the future. “Given the circumstances, I’m doing okay,” he said, forcing another smile.
“Have you been taking your medication?”
He nodded.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t get my note,” she said. “I assumed you’d take the roast chicken. I left it for you.”
“I got it,” he said, glancing around the kitchen. Newspapers littered the countertop. A green garbage bag, half full, was tossed in a corner. The room smelled musty, dirty, and long overdue for a scrubbing. “How safe is this place to meet?”
“It’s safe enough,” she said. “The police have already been here. I doubt if they’ll come back.”
“What about the owners?”
“It’s been empty for a long time. It’s for sale, but nobody wants to live in this neighborhood.” She laughed. “It should be safe for a while.”
“Maybe I could stay here sometimes. In the winter.”
“If you’re careful coming and going, you might be fine here,” she said. “The police are watching my house all the time now, and a couple of cops are hidden in the garage. Whatever you do, don’t go home.”
Adam looked closely at his mother. She had taken a big chance in meeting him here. “You could get in a lot of trouble
for this,” he said. “Aiding and abetting a fugitive.”
“You’re my son,” she said, as if that settled the matter.
He nodded. “But I’ll have to leave the area eventually.”
She looked worried at that. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I might have to.”
“I brought you some things,” she said, reaching for a bag on the table. She opened it and looked inside. “There’s some more food in here, a cap, and some money.”
“Thanks. I don’t know how I can spend the money, but I can always use the food.”
She reached into the bag, paused and looked at Adam, and then pulled out something wrapped in newspaper. “I brought you this.” She pushed it across the table toward him. “You might need it.”
He lifted the heavy package, then frowned, peeled back the paper, and recoiled in horror at the sight of a pistol.
“I don’t want this,” he said, pushing it away.
She pushed it back toward him. “Just in case,” she said soothingly. “You don’t have to use it. It’s only for protection.”
He stared at the shiny weapon. He couldn’t trust himself with it. He was dangerous enough without a gun. How much worse would he be with one?
“It’s okay,” she said. “I want you to be safe.”
He nodded. He decided to take it with him, but if he got any crazy ideas, he would toss it deep in the swamp. He looked back at his mother, his eyes narrowing. “They said I killed Mr. Ronson.” He leaned in. “Did I?”
She nodded and sighed deeply. “Yes, you did, Adam. But remember, it’s not your fault.”
“I don’t want to kill anyone else.” He rocked himself back and forth in the chair, wringing his hands, looking toward his mother for help.
She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. “You won’t. I talked to Dr. Zalora about you, and he thinks you’ll be fine now. As terrible as it was, it was something you had to get out of your system. I didn’t tell him I saw you. He would have to report it if I did, so I have to be careful what I say to him.”
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