by Anne Frasier
Major Hoffman broke in: “Before you start, I want to welcome you back, Detective.” She stepped front and center. “I also want to address the issue of Tremain’s escape from the hospital. The department is getting a lot of negative press about this, and one officer was accosted in his patrol car yesterday. He’s fine, but the assailant took a ball bat to the vehicle, causing a lot of damage. I want you to know that our officers are in no way to blame for what happened. This shameful turn of events falls on a budget that’s collapsing under us. We can’t afford to put enough officers on the street, and we certainly can’t afford to pay them to stand guard over a comatose patient. I could point fingers at the doctors who said Tremain would most likely never regain consciousness, but I think that would be unfair. Let’s move forward. Let’s catch this guy or these guys, and in the interim I plan to make the press fully aware of our fiscal situation. I hate to use this latest tragedy as a way to drive home the funding issue, but there it is. I can’t deny it. If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s our mayor’s, who continues to cut department funding.”
People clapped and Major Hoffman took a seat, giving her suit jacket a sharp tug.
Elise picked up where she’d left off. “In the first pages of the material, you’ll find a profile of Tremain. White male, forty-five years old. His given name was Joel Francis, but he changed it to Atticus Tremain when he was twenty-two. Lived in Savannah a large part of his life, moving back and forth between Florida and Georgia. Attended Mercer University where he aspired to become a doctor. Lasted two years before he was kicked out. School records give no indication of why, but we’re looking into that. He took gross anatomy, where he probably became a bit experienced with the scalpel. Raised by a single mom, Ella Francis, who lives outside Atlanta. We know she visited him in the hospital, and we’ve requested help with the local department up there, asking that they question her. But anyway, somewhere along the way, Tremain became interested in root work and spells. And somewhere along the way, he became interested in tattooing.”
“That’s pretty ambitious for a scumbag,” someone said.
“That’s why his profile steps outside the norm. He’s an artist. A very good one. If you look deeper into your packet, you’ll find an example of his work.”
Officers dug. Paper rustled. The room was in agreement about the good part.
“Nice work,” an officer said.
“Nice back,” someone else said.
David coughed into his hand.
“One more thing you should probably know.” Elise straightened to deliver the punch line: “The back? It’s mine.”
Gasps.
“Oh, sorry,” said the cop who’d mentioned the nice back.
Avery and Mason were whispering to each other, probably figuring out what had really been going on in Tremain’s house when they’d caught Elise half dressed.
“Still a nice back,” someone said.
People laughed, lightening the mood.
One of the officers, a young female in the front row, spoke up: “I’m confused. Are you saying you two knew each other before you were abducted? You went to him for tattoo work?”
“I’m saying he gave me the tattoo when I was being held against my will.”
An officer whistled. “That’s a lot of ink for three days.”
Elise wrapped up with the autopsy report on the Gage boy, and threw the most recent theories out there. “I might be proven wrong, but my feeling is that Tremain is the key to all of this.” She looked around the room. “Anybody have any thoughts or additions?”
Hands shot up. Elise pointed to a young male officer seated in the front row.
“You’ve given us a fairly thorough bio on Tremain,” he said, “but I’m wondering about his emotional makeup. What makes him tick.”
It was a question Elise had hoped to avoid because she’d worked so hard to create a work persona far removed from her background, but if she faced this thing head-on, which she’d decided to do, there would be no sidestepping. “Tremain is obsessed with root work. With spells and conjuring. I think that obsession became more fully realized once he abducted me.” It was hard for her to admit to the connection between her own history and Tremain’s obsession, but there it was.
The officer didn’t back down. Young. Smart. Foolish. Enthused. All of those things. Elise checked his name tag. Felix Taylor.
“In your opinion, is he insane?” Felix asked. “Evil? Or is he on a journey? A quest? Does he think he’s doing something that needs to be done?”
How many nights had she spent drinking and talking to fellow detectives and officers about the line between sanity and insanity? How did you differentiate between evil and a person who gave in to sick compulsions?
Strata Luna said evil was everywhere, and it didn’t need a reason to exist. Maybe that was true, but Elise had yet to meet a criminal who seemed one-hundred-percent evil. They all had a soft spot somewhere. And as twisted as it seemed, she believed Tremain had demonstrated a soft spot for her. Otherwise he would have killed her. And by branding her with ink, he’d made her truly his. In his mind, anyway.
She’d sworn to be straightforward, but all of these thoughts bordered more on confession than on the sharing of pertinent information. Or at least that’s what she tried to tell herself.
David picked up on her discomfort and joined in. “At the core of it all, it appears that the murders are for profit. And like all happy freelancers, he was able to combine his obsession with work. We think he believes he’s providing something necessary and important.”
The officer nodded. “Justification.”
“Exactly. We all do it.”
“But wouldn’t you expect him to leave town?” someone else asked. “I don’t get this new murder, right here in Savannah.”
“He’s probably feeling cocky and untouchable right now,” Elise said. “After his escape. Our records show that he lived in Savannah off and on his entire life. He always came back here. This is his town, and he knows the streets and alleys, and probably the tunnels. I don’t think it seems that odd. If he’s going to commit crimes he’ll want to be on familiar territory.”
“One more thing,” David added. “I’m not convinced this last murder was for profit, because I’m guessing his contacts are lying low and avoiding him. He’s definitely escalating, and I think he did it for attention. He’s thumbing his nose at us.” He looked at Elise. “And he’s showing off to Detective Sandburg.”
“If that’s the case, what about you?” Felix asked, addressing Elise. “Do you expect him to come after you?”
Elise was quiet a moment. She glanced at David, then at the young officer. Now was the time for honesty. “Yes,” she said. “I do.”
CHAPTER 34
The bad thing about putting out an all-points bulletin and scrolling the tip line number across local and national television? So many false sightings. It always happened, and the officers sitting at desks fielding calls were burning out. Four days had passed since Tremain vanished from the hospital, and in those four days his face had been plastered on the front of Savannah Morning News and all over the Internet, plus local and national television. The phones hadn’t stopped ringing, and two extra officers had been assigned to the tip lines to try to keep up.
Most calls were from people who desperately wanted to help, so much that they’d convinced themselves they’d spotted Tremain at the gas station, or the discount store, or walking down the street. But there were also the nut jobs, the people who wanted to connect themselves to someone famous, even if that famous person was a cold-blooded killer.
All leads couldn’t be followed. Officers manning the phones needed to be astute. They needed to be able to read people without the aid of visual contact. Elise and David had gone on four false leads so far. And now they were probably heading for the fifth: a report of a theft from a small used-car dealer who’
d caught the perpetrator on camera.
“Wanna make a bet?” David said as they headed down Abercorn in the direction of the car lot. He was at the wheel, a chocolate chip cookie in one hand. Elise was eating from a bag of potato chips, both snacks grabbed on the way out the door.
Elise had spent the past few days sleeping in her office on an air mattress, and she had to admit that Strata Luna’s invitation was sounding better all the time. A comfortable bed. High thread-count sheets, a shower that hadn’t been used by off-duty officers. Maybe some privacy, not to mention clean clothes. She’d been wearing the same black pants and top for the past three days, and as soon as she got a second of free time she planned to stop by her house to pick up a fresh outfit.
“I’ll bet the person on the security footage looks nothing like our guy,” Elise said.
David agreed, but a visual was a lead they had to follow.
They located the dealership and talked to the owner, who took them into his cramped office to view the video.
“Look at the time stamp.” Elise pointed.
David leaned closer to the screen. “Yesterday, five a.m.”
The footage was of such poor quality that there was no way to know if the thief was Tremain, but David and Elise collected the information about the stolen car, a silver Chevy Malibu.
“Dealer plates?” David asked.
“No.”
Didn’t matter. The thief would most likely have changed dealer plates for stolen ones anyway. They thanked the shop owner, then headed back to headquarters, grabbing carryout on the way.
Avery poked his head around the corner just as Elise and David sat down in their office with sandwiches and sweet tea.
“We got somebody on the phone you’re gonna want to talk to,” he said. “We’d put the call through to your desk, but we’re afraid we might lose her.”
David and Elise shot him a question-mark expression, then both glanced at the sandwiches in their hands.
“Says she’s Tremain’s mother. And we have confirmation that the call is coming from north of Atlanta.”
Sandwiches dropped. Elise and David scrambled to their feet and hurried down the hall, talking as they went. “If Tremain stole the car yesterday—” David began.
“Then the timeline fits,” Elise finished.
In the command center, a blond uniformed officer was talking into a black desk phone. Her name tag read “Meg Cook.” She spotted Elise and David and her eyes widened. “Just a minute, Mrs. Francis. I have Detective Sandburg here with me right now.” She passed the phone to Elise, and whispered, “She specifically asked for you.”
Elise spoke into the receiver, introducing herself. Her voice sounded normal to her ears, but inside she was shaking.
The woman was nervous, whispering into the phone. Elise imagined her sitting in her bedroom, or some corner of an eighties kitchen clutching the receiver while casting terrified glances over her shoulder.
“He’s here,” she said, her words broadcasting to the room through a speaker on the desk while a tech made certain it was all being recorded. “He got here late last night.”
“Have you been injured in any way?” Elise asked.
“No.”
“Has he threatened you?”
“No.”
“Where is he right now?”
“He’s asleep. When he got here, I cooked for him. I made him pancakes and sausage. He used to love that. He ate, and then he went to his old room. His bedroom, and shut the door. I haven’t heard anything since. Well, I heard him snoring, and I heard him turn over in bed.” She let out a trembling sob. “What should I do?”
Elise wanted to tell her to leave. To get the hell out of there as fast as she could, but if he woke up and found her gone, he’d run. Better to keep things as normal as possible. But that put Tremain’s mother in danger.
Everybody in the task-force room was focused on the phone call. Elise’s heart had been pounding before, but now it began to slam in her chest. “Mrs. Francis,” she said. “You can leave right now. You can put down the phone and walk out the door. Nobody would fault you for that. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Or you can stay, and when your son wakes up you can act as if nothing unusual is happening. Make him lunch. Talk to him about little things. Try to avoid topics that might upset him. But it’s your choice. Leave now, or stay.”
After a brief silence, the woman said, “I’ll stay.”
Elise’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. We just want you to try to keep him there. Just keep him from leaving until the police arrive.”
“When will that be? When will they come?”
“As soon as possible.”
“How long?”
From research, Elise knew the Francis house was in a remote area of Lumpkin County, north of Atlanta. It was a different world up there. Even under the best of conditions, it would take time to put together a group of professionals, which would be composed of a SWAT team.
Most police work was stymied by bureaucracy, but thank God SWAT team units were set up to respond quickly. But getting to the remote location . . . Elise would guess it would take several hours at best. Plus it wasn’t their jurisdiction. They would have no control over how Tremain was captured. Regardless, Elise wanted to be there when it went down.
David handed Elise a note. Ask about the car.
“Mrs. Francis, how did he get to your home?”
“He drove.”
“Do you happen to know the make and model of the vehicle?”
“Just a minute.” Elise imagined her pulling aside a curtain. “A silver Chevy Malibu,” the woman said.
Elise looked up at David and nodded.
“I have to go,” Mrs. Francis said in a frightened whisper.
Before Elise could reply, the woman hung up.
David squared his shoulders and checked his watch. “We can catch a flight to Atlanta, rent a car, and be at the house four or five hours from now.”
Elise and David were heading out the front door of the police station when Elise’s phone rang. She checked the screen, recognized the country code, and answered.
“Elise?” A woman’s Swedish accent. “This is Sonya.” She sounded on the verge of hysteria, and Elise froze in the middle of the sidewalk.
“It’s about Audrey.”
Elise’s world shrank. She forgot about Tremain. She forgot about the woman she’d just spoken to on the phone in the command center, and she forgot about her need to catch a man who was still murdering innocent people. She forgot about the police station and Savannah and the sidewalk and the street and the airplane that was supposed to carry her and David away. She almost forgot about David, whom she sensed beside her.
“Audrey?” Elise said. “What’s happened to Audrey?”
Here she’d sent her daughter to Sweden to keep her safe. “Is she hurt?” Please let her be hurt. Hurt was better than dead. “Is she okay?”
“Oh, Elise, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”
Elise didn’t want to know. She couldn’t bear to hear Sonya’s next words.
She let out a sound of anguish, and her legs went weak. She didn’t recall walking, but she found herself behind the police station, in the cemetery. She groped blindly and sat down on one of the aboveground burial vaults.
David was still there. Hovering. She couldn’t look at him. There were his black shoes. Plain black shoes with skinny laces. And the green grass. The green grass was there too. And white blossoms that had blown from a nearby tree.
“What happened?” Elise said, her voice flat and emotionless. She hadn’t thought about turning herself off. The psyche just did that. How fast it could build a protective shell around a person, shutting you off from the crushed blossoms and the black shoes.
“It’s all my fau
lt,” Sonya repeated in her heavy accent that up until this moment Elise had loved. Now it was threatening. Now it represented something bad.
“She told me she was staying the night with friends. I gave her permission to do that, but then she didn’t come home the next day.”
“And . . .?”
“I went to her room, and on her desk was a letter for me. Right now she’s on a plane heading home.”
Elise struggled to comprehend. “What did you say?”
“She caught a train to Stockholm yesterday, and she’s flying back to the States. I’m so sorry. I should have watched her closer. I should have asked more questions.”
“She’s alive? She’s okay?”
“She’s perfectly healthy. I fed her well. I took care of her.” Now Sonya was beginning to sound irritated. “You know how she is. So headstrong. So emotional. She was a lot of work.”
“I know. She is. She can be.”
Alive. Okay. Elise couldn’t be mad. Maybe later, but now she was basking in the good news. The wonderful news.
“She was worried about you,” Sonya said, her voice taking on a placating tone. “She kept wanting to come home.”
“That’s okay, Sonya. I understand.”
Elise wasn’t exactly sure what was said from that point on. Some more sentences, followed by a good-bye and a promise to let Sonya know when Audrey was back safe and sound. And then they disconnected.
For a moment Elise stared at David. And then the past weeks, days, and minutes swamped her. Her capture by Tremain, her escape, Tremain’s escape, the phone call with Tremain’s mother, and then this. Audrey.
Elise had never broken down on the job, but she broke down now. She burst into tears. Horrified, she pulled herself together in less than a minute, sniffling, wiping her nose with the back of her hand while David sat beside her, waiting. Once she calmed down, she told him what had happened, and how Audrey was on her way home. David laughed. He laughed!
He shook his head, but he was smiling. “She’s got a mind of her own.”
“She’s fifteen.”
“I’ll bet you were just as stubborn at her age.”