Touched By Blood

by Craig Buckhout

  A noise drew his attention to the back porch, off the kitchen. It was a dragging sound, as if something was being pulled across a floor, but it wasn’t close-by. At the same time he heard a siren coming his way. The officer who had been out front must have called it in, he thought.

  Nick crossed the kitchen to the back porch. The back porch was also where the steps down to the basement were. He eased through the door and to the top of the stairs. He heard more noise coming from the basement area.

  Just before starting down the steps he heard back-up stop out front, the car door slam shut, and the sound of boots pounding up the front porch. On the second step down, the floorboard squeaked loudly and the noise in the basement fell silent. Nick paused with his pistol out and pointing down.

  “Who’s there?” came Ellen’s voice. “Is someone there?”

  Ah shit, Nick thought.

  “It’s me Ellen. I thought …”

  She stepped into view, pepper spray in-hand, and saw Nick with his pistol down at his side.

  “What’s wrong? Has something happened?” she asked.

  “No, everything’s all right.” He holstered his weapon. “I just thought …I was afraid …Hang on a second, I have to straighten something out.”

  Nick turned around and practically bumped into the officer who had just arrived.

  “What do you got?” the officer asked.

  “Nothing. Everything’s all right. False alarm.”

  The uniform put out the all clear using his lapel mic and went out the door to inform the first officer who was securing the back yard.

  “Did someone see something?” Ellen asked.

  He moved back to the top of the stairs. “No, it was just me. I knocked and called your name and got worried. I guess he’s getting to me a little.”

  She smiled and climbed the stairs. Two steps from him she reached out and grabbed his waistband at the belt buckle and held on until she took the next step that brought her one below his. She then slid her arms around his waist and pushed the side of her face into his chest while he rested his hands on her shoulders.

  “This is an interesting position,” she said looking up at him. “It might even be fun to experiment a little with it, but unfortunately I have to get ready for tomorrow’s job, including picking up a few things at a photo supply place on Lincoln. You have time to drive me? I’m not going to be able to do it tomorrow morning.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Nick slouched in a wood back kitchen chair with one leg stretched out and his right index finger curled through the handle of a thick, plain white mug, exchanging eyeballs with Max, who lay at his feet with his head firmly planted between two big, fat, hairy paws. For all his size and power, the huge dog wouldn’t meet Nick’s look, but instead shifted to and away like a nervous child about to be found out.

  “I don’t want to be at my place any later than noon,” Ellen said. “I need to go over my equipment one more time just to make sure I have everything.”

  “Okay,” Nick said. He pulled the Saturday morning paper towards him, yawned, glanced at the front page, and shoved it aside.

  His less than enthusiastic response earned him a check glance from Ellen and Ann both. They were ganging up on him again. He wished he was still in bed and would be, too, if Fanucchi hadn’t called and said he wanted to stop by. The lack of sleep had finally caught up with him.

  “If it’s a problem, I’m sure Ann can drive me.”

  She pulled some plates from the cupboard and set them on the kitchen counter.

  “Of course I will,” Ann said.

  “No, no, I’ll do it.”

  Max let out a low, deep groan as if their conversation was annoying him.

  Nick heard a car pull into the driveway and a door slam shut. Through the window he could see the top of Fanucchi’s new hat moving towards the back door. He lifted himself out of the chair and went to meet him as Ann sliced bread and Ellen pulled things from the refrigerator. It struck him how quickly these two fell to friendship.

  In addition to his new hat, Fanucchi was wearing a brown checked sports coat over an open collared shirt, and tan pleated slacks that topped a pair of tasseled loafers. For his part, Nick was unshaven, barefoot, in a pair of frayed and faded Levis, and wearing the same tee shirt he’d gone to bed in.

  “So, did you have any luck with the plane?” Nick asked as he led him to the kitchen.

  Fanucchi walked straight to the coffeemaker and started opening cupboard doors. Nick dropped back into his chair again.

  “They’re in here,” Ellen said opening a different one and removing a cup with saucer and handing it to him.

  “Have you eaten breakfast?” Ann asked.

  While pouring coffee, Fanucchi said, “Coffee’s fine, thanks.”

  “How about a piece of toast with some nice strawberry jam? I’m about to make some for the rest of us.”

  “That’d be nice. Got lucky on the plane. It’s a pretty small airport they got there in Why. Weird name for a town, huh. Supposedly it’s because the town sits on a Y in the road, or so they say. Makes sense, though. Anyway, the place is so small that they pretty much remember who comes and goes.”

  “So they ID’ed his plane then?” Nick asked.

  Fanucchi set his cup and saucer on the table, removed a piece of paper from his inside coat pocket, and set it in front of Nick.

  “This it; this his airplane?”

  “Sort of. It’s not the exact one, but it’s what it looks like; everything but the number. Got it off the net. Their website has a button to select the color. This guy I talked to in Why said it was a Piper Archer III with red wing tips and red on the underside of the fuselage. So I printed it out for you.”

  “How about the number; anything, even a partial?” Nick asked.

  “Nah, no luck there.”

  “Better get this out to the cops who work around the airports.” He suddenly felt energized. “There aren’t that many of them.”

  “Three or four in reasonable driving distance but there are also private landing strips. That’s always a possibility, too,” Fanucchi added.

  “Yeah, but what are the chances of him landing on private property and then having access to a car?” Nick said.

  “He’d also be stupid to land at San Jose International, too many people around to recognize him.”

  “Well, we have Reid Hillview on the eastside and that one down south near Morgan Hill.”

  “There’s also one in Palo Alto,” Ellen said.

  “You want me to call Al?” Fanucchi asked.

  “Ah, yeah, I guess so. He’ll want to help. Can you call the others too; Rene and Carla? Have them meet us at the office say around noon. I’ll get there right after I take Ellen to the party she’s photographing.”

  Ten minutes later Nick was in the shower, washing his hair, when Ellen knocked and entered in the room.

  “I brought you some toast and a fresh cup of coffee,” she said.

  “I was hoping you were joining me.”

  “I wash yours and you wash mine? It can be arranged.”

  Nick turned and faced her, then spouted a mouthful of water on the glass.

  She glanced down, “My, you do have big ideas don’t you? But first, your phone is beeping.”

  “Can you see who it is?”

  “It’s probably one of your many girlfriends. Ah, it’s a text message. …It’s from him.” Her voice trembled slightly as she said it. She immediately set the phone down on the counter as if somehow by touching it, she was also touching Moby.

  “Go ahead and read it to me,” Nick said.

  Ellen picked it back up, holding it with two fingertips. “I’ve been calling. You afraid to answer? Just letting you know I haven’t forgotten. …When is he going to stop this? This is crazy.”

  “When he’s caught or killed. That it? Nothing more?”

  She set the phone back down and crossed her arms across her chest. “That’s all he wrote; you want me to read
it again?”

  Nick shut the shower off and stepped out.

  “No, that’s okay. Can you tell Fanucchi? Also, tell him I’ll call Rene to see if they were able to pinpoint his location while he gets started with the airports.”

  She turned to leave and he stopped her. “I’ll drop you off at your place. Would you mind driving yourself to the hall? I’ll make sure when you leave there isn’t anyone following. Maybe I’ll stop by later depending …”

  “Sure Mikolaj, not a problem, but you owe me a shower. By the look of things your mind is somewhere else right now anyway.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Nick was just parking his car when Rene called.

  “He screwed-up Nick, just like Malone. We got him. He’s in Monterey, at a hotel. The sheriff’s office down there is sending an undercover in to locate his room and set up a surveillance. They want to know what we want them to do.”

  Nick got out of his car and started towards the back steps. He thought about the earlier photo that Moby sent to his phone. It showed the coast. Monterey is on the coast.

  “You told them he’s dangerous, right?”

  “Yeah, I told them. The undercover won’t engage without back-up.”

  “Where are you now?” he asked.

  “In your office with Al and the others.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, did Fanuch get the information out to the airports? …Never mind, never mind, I’ll be right there.”

  “Okay, but the answer is yes and he gave them your cell number.”

  “Good, okay. Are they sure it’s his phone?” he asked as he went in the back door at a fast walk.

  “Yeah, it’s his; they GPS’ed his ass. They have a continuous read on him.”

  Nick could hear Fanucchi talking in the background.

  Rene said, “He’s at the Hanover Suites which is close to the airport.”

  He was near enough to the office now to hear their voices without the phone, so he just closed it up.

  As he came in the door he said, “It’s less than a hundred miles from here to Monterey. With lights and siren we could be there in maybe an hour.”

  “We better take two cars, in case we gotta split-up,” Al said.

  “You’re not going,” Nick said.

  “The hell I’m not. I owe him.”

  “Navarro is going to kick our ass if you go. You’re on light duty …

  “What’s he going to do, write us up? If nothing happens, he won’t know. If we get Moby, we’ll be on CNN and they won’t touch us.”

  “Oh, screw it. Who’s got a car with gas?”

  “I just filled mine up,” Fanucchi said.

  “I’m about three quarters. That’s enough to get us there no problem,” Carla added.

  “Okay, five minutes at the bottom of the stairs.” And then as everybody started to grab their gear, “Vests, everyone bring your vest,” Nick said.

  “Ah, I hate that thing,” Al groused.

  Rene looked at him. “You got to be kidding me, right?”

  “I’m just sayin’ it feels like I’m in a cardboard box, that’s all.”

  “Better a cardboard box than a wood box.”

  “Okay, okay, I give.” Al threw up his hands.

  Nick placed a call to Nesbit, got his voicemail, and left a message telling him they got a read on Moby’s cell phone in Monterey and were on the way.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs his phone rang. He could see Carla was already waiting with Al and Rene, and Fanucchi was just pulling up. Nick didn’t recognize the number, figured it was Nesbit calling him back, and so stopped to answer it.

  “Zajac.”

  “This is Palmer with the S.O. You the one looking for that plane?” “Monterey S.O.?

  “No, Santa Clara County.”

  “Yeah, what’s up? You find it?”

  “No, nothing like that, but it used to be kept here.”

  “Where’s here?” Nick asked.

  “Out here at the South County Airport, down by Morgan Hill. You know, the one just off of Highway 101.”

  “How do you know that; that it was kept there?”

  “Well, I showed that picture you sent around to the guy who does the fueling, and he id’ed it. Then I showed him the photograph of that guy Moby, and he thinks he remembers him, too. He checked his log and sure enough, he had several entries for the plane under the name Roger Templeton, the last one about a week ago.”

  “It’s not there now?” Nick asked.

  “Oh no, we checked. The fuel guy says he hasn’t seen it for several days.”

  “You got a plane number for me?”

  Nick walked to the hood of Carla’s car and fished out his notebook.

  Palmer gave him the plane’s number.

  “Thanks, I’ll need a report. This a number where I can reach you later?”

  “Yeah, it’s my personal cell.”

  “Nice work.”

  “He killed a cop. I want him, too.”

  Nick touched bases with Carla and then ran to Fanucchi’s car.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Nick set his cell phone on the dash and got out of the car before stripping off his coat, tie, and shirt. He shrugged into his Kevlar vest and snugged the Velcro straps across his chest. He stopped when he heard the radio crack and hiss but nothing followed. Nervous fingers on the mic button, he thought. He then re-dressed and returned to his seat in the car.

  Fanucchi took his hat off, twisted around, and carefully set it on the back seat. His watch showed 2:05 PM. In front of him, in the other car, Al, Rene, and Carla sat motionless like ground zero mannequins waiting for the flash.

  Six black clad and helmeted Monterey County sheriff’s deputies stacked up along the wall outside of room 413. The team leader, gripping a blue steel Colt .45, cocked and locked, signaled the first man in line to cross in front of the door and position himself on the opposite side. He was to provide cover fire, should it be necessary. He was armed with an H & K, 9mm, submachine gun. Once the cover man was in position, the team leader nodded to the next man in line, who moved up closer to the door, extended his arm, and quietly inserted the house key into the lock. Once it was in place, he returned the nod to the team leader who pointed at the second man in line, who in turn moved up next to the first.

  The team leader then made eye contact with each member to make sure they were ready and finally nodded and pointed at the door. The first man turned the key, turned the knob, and pushed the door open a couple of inches. The second man pulled the pin on a flash-bang grenade, kicked the door all the way open, and pitched the baseball sized device into the room before stepping back out of the line of fire.

  Upon hearing the explosion, Carla and Fanucchi started their car engines and accelerated across the parking lot, stopping just outside the hotel’s side entrance, the closest to room 413. They all got out and half walked, half jogged into the building.

  As soon as the grenade detonated, the four deputies in line quickly entered the room in the manner they had practice, just moments before, on a different but identical room. The team leader and cover man waited outside. Another deputy was in the parking lot watching the balcony.

  After not even two minutes of silence the team leader heard one of the entry team shout, “clear” and then, “coming out.” The entry team then filed out and told the team leader, “He’s not there. Maybe the perimeter team will pick him up.”

  The team leader made the announcement over the radio and signaled the San Jose detectives who had stepped into view at the end of the hallway.

  The bed had been slept in, a tray with dirty dishes sat on a round table, the toilet seat was up, a wet towel was in the tub, and a cell phone lay on the floor near the big sliding glass door leading out to the balcony. Underneath the phone was a note that read: Dear Nick. Fuck you – again. M

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Nick scanned the parking lot and the people making their way into the banquet room at the H
ayes Mansion and Convention Center, while pressing the phone tight to his ear. After a few moments he folded it shut, slipped it into his coat pocket, and hurried towards the building with Al’s last words chasing after him like some wild eyed dog, touched mad.

  There was no logical reason to assume Moby was here. He could just as well be in Why Arizona or Timbuktu Mali or Bumfuck Egypt for that matter. But Nick knew better; the bastard was nearby all right, maybe already inside. He felt it in his gut, that’s why he hadn’t gone with the others.

  He tailgated a white shirted kitchen worker in the back door, earning barely a glance for his trespass, and stood flat back against the wall. He tried to recall the details of Moby’s face to compare them to the features of the people moving around him. He would be here in disguise.

  The simple thing to do was to hustle her ass right out of here, he thought. She’d be madder than hell but she’d also be safe, for now at least, until the next time. And that was the problem. He’d just be putting it off. The man was coming for them no matter what; to get Ellen, then Al, and finally him. Moby said exactly that. It wasn’t guess work. So to avoid it today would mean facing it tomorrow, or the next day, or next month, or next year. At least today he had a halfway decent chance because today it wouldn’t be a surprise.

  Nick watched a male, about the right height and weight, picking up pitchers of water, three in each fist, to take out into the main room. The man was keeping his back to him. Intentional he wondered; could be?

  He grabbed the man with his left hand while his right rested on his belt near his pistol and turned him. Water sloshed onto the floor.

  “What’s your problem?” the man said.

  “Sorry, thought you were someone else.”