Bring the Heat

by Jo Davis

  “Thanks, guys. In that case, let’s try going through this again.”

  It was going on six in the morning before Shane and Tonio made it back to the station. Austin’s exhausted brain snapped to attention when Shane entered holding a large evidence bag containing Laura’s purse and related what they’d found out.

  “There wasn’t much in the car, and these were left behind.” He laid the bag on the table. “We’ll check for prints besides hers, but that won’t help much right now.”

  Austin wanted to yell or hit something. “Were you able to learn anything?”

  “We did find a patch of flattened grass off the road, a few yards from where her car was found. I think he planned her abduction in advance and had a van or something out there waiting. He makes her drive, then ditches the car and retrieves his own vehicle.”

  “Makes sense.” He checked the time. “Fuck! He’s had her almost eleven hours. What are we missing here? What?”

  “Well,” Chris said slowly, “I can think of one thing missing from this list: women.”

  Austin stared at him. “The killer is a man. We know this, even though he dressed as a woman at least once, when he lured Matt Blankenship.”

  “Yeah, but what about the person he’s avenging? My bet is it’s a woman. Probably a wife or girlfriend.”

  Austin stood, brain whirling. “You’re right. He would avenge his woman, and he blames me for something that happened to her while he was in prison.”

  “But none of the viable suspects lost anyone as far as we’ve been able to determine,” Tonio said.

  Shane blew out a frustrated breath. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  The answer, when it hit Austin, almost took him like a bullet to the brain. “The killer is male. But what if he wasn’t the one in prison—what if she was?”

  The guys stilled, their eyes widening. Chris whistled through his teeth. “Holy shit. That could be the angle we need.”

  Austin’s mind raced. “Yeah, it could. Let me go through my case files from the last few years, and this time I’ll list the women I’ve put away. There weren’t nearly as many, so it shouldn’t take long.”

  Leaving them, he retreated to his office, booted up his computer, and got to work. Time was critical.

  “Hang on, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m going to find you.”

  She and his baby had to survive. He wasn’t going to accept any other outcome.

  • • •

  The first thing she became aware of was the awful pounding in her head.

  Memory returned in pieces. The stranger jumping in her car. Forcing her to drive away. Then he made her pull over . . . and what?

  She’d felt a sting in her neck and everything had gone dark. The bastard must’ve drugged her. The question was where he’d taken her.

  The floor beneath her was cold, hard, and unforgiving. Listening, she caught the faint sounds of outdoors. Wind rustling in the trees, a few birds singing. Was it morning?

  With an effort, she opened her eyes and blinked the room into focus. Well, not a room, really, so much as a dank space filled with junk. Rolling to her back, she looked around and groaned. Several feet above her was a small window she might be able to crawl through—if her hands weren’t bound behind her back and if she could get some leverage to hoist herself up there. The dim light filtering through the dirty glass indicated the sun was just coming up, and a quick calculation in her fuzzy brain told her that if it was dawn she’d been missing almost eleven hours.

  Austin would have the entire force looking for her. Of that she had no doubt. But she knew he’d been stymied by the identity of the killer, and he’d be searching blind. If she was going to get out of here, she couldn’t wait.

  She had to save herself.

  Just then a door opened somewhere above with an ominous squeal of rusty hinges. Footsteps descended and the murderer Austin knew as Chandler sauntered over to her, looming large, a satisfied smile on his face.

  He’d be handsome, she thought, if he wasn’t a vicious killer.

  “Well, good morning,” he said cheerfully.

  She eyed him warily, trying not to show her fear. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt thick, thanks to the drug. “Better for some than others.”

  That made him laugh. “You know, I like you. It’s going to be a shame to kill you.”

  “Waste not.”

  “True. But if I let you live, then your captain won’t learn his lesson,” he said, as if this were the most reasonable line of thinking in the world.

  What a lunatic. “He’s already learned it,” she said in a soft appeal. “You took his wife and child from him. He’ll never be the same, and killing me could never be worse than that loss.”

  Anger suffused his face, erasing all traces of his good looks. “That fucking murderer won’t be paid up until I say so. He took everything from me, so I’m not going to stop until I return the favor,” he finished, shouting, jabbing his finger down at her.

  “Austin is no murderer.” She glared up at him. “He’s a police captain who does his job putting criminals in jail. You’re the murderer.”

  For a horrible moment, she thought she’d gone too far. The very real desire to strangle her was simmering in his eyes, in the clench of his hands.

  “He took my woman and child from me, and I won’t rest until I’ve destroyed his whole world. By the time I kill him, he’ll beg me to do it.”

  “How did he take them? What do you mean?”

  But her captor had spun on his heel and was already stomping back up the stairs. Immediately she went to work on her bonds. They were tight, not much give in the ropes that bound her wrists, cutting into her skin. She’d need something sharp to saw them against.

  Eyes skimming the basement, she searched for something—anything—that could be used as a tool. Mostly there were boxes overflowing with discarded household items, old clothing, cans of pesticides, and the like. Disappointment settled over her—until she spotted the handlebars of something sticking out from behind a pile of boxes in one corner.

  Please let that be what I think it is.

  Before she pushed to her feet, she listened intently for any sign of “Chandler” returning. Hearing nothing, she got up and crept over to the corner and pushed at the boxes. They slid out of the way with a noisy scrape and she cringed, ears trained for the killer’s footsteps. So far, so good.

  One more push at the boxes, and her pulse leapt. An old lawn mower, the push kind that started by pulling a cord, sat there like a beacon of hope. She didn’t think her captor knew it was down here, or he would’ve removed it. Now she just had to get it turned on its side, without making a racket. No small feat with her hands tied.

  First, she sat on the filthy floor next to the mower and tried to use her feet, levering her toes underneath the metal frame to try to flip the thing. That was a no-go; it was just too heavy. The mower barely budged.

  Next she tried backing up to the same spot and lifting the metal frame with her fingers. But the frame was sharp and the weight caused the edge to cut into her flesh. No dice.

  “Dammit!” Gathering herself to her feet again, she glared at the object. “One way or another, you’re going down.”

  This time she used her upper body to lean on the handlebar. As soon as she did, the motion caused the mower to essentially pop a wheelie, front half sticking up. A bit more of a push downward and she could upset its balance, toppling it. Which wasn’t going to be quiet, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Finally, the mower fell over. It rolled to its side with a terrible clang, and for a few awful, heart-stopping moments she stood frozen. But as minutes passed and Chandler didn’t appear demanding to know what she was doing, she started to relax. He either was deaf or had left the house for a while. It was surely the latter.

  Sitting once again, Laura backe
d up to the mower’s blades. After some maneuvering to get the right leverage, she started to saw at the ropes.

  And she prayed that time, and a bit more luck, would be on her side.

  • • •

  In his office, Austin scrubbed a hand down his face, rubbed at his tired eyes. He’d lost track of how many cups of coffee he’d consumed, but it was well past doing him any good and now was just making him jittery and sick to his stomach.

  Midmorning. Time was running out for Laura, and going through the list of female offenders was a tedious process, even though the names were considerably fewer than the men. The stories were pretty much what he’d expected, except one woman on the list who had actually turned her life completely around and had become a social worker. A couple of the women had died after their prison terms, one from drug use, one beaten to death by her boyfriend. Others were still serving their time, or had been released and rearrested, but after all his research, he hadn’t found a single one whose fate might inspire deadly revenge, or who even had a likely connection on the outside who would commit murder for her.

  Then he came to a name that stopped him cold: Violet Johansson. As he recalled, a cold, hard bitch who was anything but the pretty flower she was named after. Violet was a dangerous criminal, a crack addict and drug runner Austin had arrested numerous times. The last time was enough to get her sent away for a long stretch.

  Sitting back in his chair, he remembered that Violet was mean as a snake. The word on the street was that she’d cut the balls off a man who hadn’t paid for his cocaine delivery, and then cut his throat. They’d found the man—the rumors about what she’d done to him were true—but had never been able to prove she’d done it. No, it was the drug charges that got her, and that wasn’t nearly enough.

  Picking up the phone, he made a call to the warden of the prison where Violet Johansson had been incarcerated. Fifteen minutes later, he hung up, grabbed the file, and jogged to the conference room, heart in his throat. He burst into the room, startling the exhausted detectives inside, who were instantly on alert.

  “Violet Johansson,” he said, slapping the file on the table. “Dangerous repeat offender. She died in prison after a fight with another inmate. And she was pregnant. The baby didn’t survive.”

  Shane let out a curse. “This could be the link we’re looking for. Who was the father?”

  “She wasn’t married, but her common-law husband was a guy named Douglas Bristow. I didn’t have any dealings with him, never met him. The warden said he was extremely loyal, never missed a visit. He was also enraged when they informed him of her death.”

  “Motive,” Chris said. “He snapped when she died.”

  Austin nodded. “He vowed to get revenge for her death, but the warden didn’t put much stock in the threat. If he’d just picked up the phone . . .” There was no point in agonizing over that now.

  Shane’s gaze was sympathetic. “All of us in law enforcement get threatened constantly. It’s easy to tune it out. Criminals are always running their mouths.”

  “Yeah,” Austin agreed. That didn’t make it hurt any less. “Anyway, Douglas has a minor record. Seems he left the heavy-hitting stuff to his lady.”

  “You got an address?” Danny asked. “A photo or description of him?”

  “No, I came straight in here after I got off the phone.”

  Excitement shone in Danny’s eyes as he woke up the screen on the laptop they’d been using. Austin and the others gathered around as he began a search for a current address. It took a few minutes of perusing city and county records, but the lieutenant got a hit.

  “I think I found him. He’s got a place just outside the city limits.”

  Austin noted the address. “It’s out in the country a ways, but not too far. Let’s check it out, but I want to find a picture of Bristow first.”

  Thanks to arrest records logged online, the mug shot was easy to find. And when Danny pulled it up, Austin sucked in a sharp breath, reeling in shock.

  “Goddamn! That’s Chandler, the bartender from the Waterin’ Hole! That’s what he said his name was.”

  “Well, he lied,” Chris said. “He’s probably been watching you all this time.”

  “Yeah. He started with a man who looked like me, then escalated to a woman who hit on me. Then he graduated to stalking the people I care for. He almost killed Taylor, and now he’s got Laura.” Rage boiled inside him, and his soul demanded justice. He had to find her.

  “Everybody grab your vest, and let’s move. We have a snake to catch.”

  • • •

  Just a few last threads. She moved her wrists quickly, hoping she didn’t slice her skin on the rusty blade, and the ropes were cut at last.

  Rubbing her wrists and hands, she coaxed the circulation back into them. The pins and needles had barely started to abate when she heard the slam of a door from somewhere above. Shit.

  Pushing to her feet, she wasted no time moving a large box underneath the window. Then she scrambled on top of it; it was sort of flimsy, but it would hold her weight well enough. Immediately she went to work unlatching and lifting the window. It was old, and perhaps had never been opened. Sweating with the effort of trying to force it open, she was considering breaking it when finally it started to inch upward.

  And none too soon. Footsteps crossed the floor overhead—and the door to the basement opened. The clang of the killer’s shoes coming down those stairs was the most frightening sound she’d ever heard.

  “What the fuck?” he shouted, and took the last of the steps at a fast clip.

  With a last shove, the window gave and she hoisted herself up. She was halfway out when she felt him grab her leg and try to drag her backward. Kicking, she managed to shake free temporarily and get in a good hit, hopefully to his face. His howl of pain gave her a spurt of satisfaction as she emerged on the other side and fell onto the grass.

  Gathering herself, she turned and saw his enraged face in the window. He was simply too large to fit through. She took off running, having no idea where she was or where she was going. The house was totally surrounded by rolling, forested countryside. Just before she lost sight of the house, she looked back to see that his face had disappeared from the window. He was coming after her.

  She ran as fast as she could, watching out for logs and holes hidden by foliage so she didn’t twist an ankle. As she fled, she scanned the area for any sign of another house, somewhere she could beg to use a phone, get some help. There wasn’t anything. She was completely alone.

  Except for her pursuer, whom she could now hear crashing through the woods behind her. He shouted something, but she didn’t care what. She kept moving.

  A few steps later, a crack sounded from behind. A searing pain tore through her right shoulder and she stumbled, falling to her hands and knees, crying out. Her entire shoulder and arm felt as though they’d been lit with a torch. Looking down at herself, she was shocked to see the front of her blouse stained with red, and she touched the growing wetness with shaking fingers.

  He shot me. Oh God.

  The killer was closing in. His maniacal laugh drifted through the trees, getting her up and moving again. If she stopped, she was dead. And so was her child. This lunatic would deliver her body to Austin without one smidge of remorse.

  A ridge with a cliff loomed ahead, and her heart sank. She could try to skirt it, in which case she’d probably get caught. Or she could go up. She opted for climbing. Maybe she could send a shower of rocks down on the killer’s head.

  Heart in her throat, she ran for the base of the ridge.

  17

  Austin and his men parked their two unmarked cars a short distance down the road from Bristow’s house.

  This place really was in the middle of nowhere, nothing but forest all around, bisected only by the old rutted gravel road. Keeping to the cover of the trees, they approach
ed cautiously, guns pointed downward but at the ready.

  All appeared to be quiet at the house. Interestingly, however, there was a truck parked at the side of the structure with the passenger door open. Austin and Danny crept up to peer inside while the others kept an eye on the house and started looking into windows.

  “Groceries,” Danny said, pointing to the few plastic bags that had been left inside on the seat. “Something interrupted his task of unloading them.”

  Leaving them, they joined the others. Chris had found a side door not far from the truck that was unlocked, probably the route Bristow had been using to unload the groceries. This was confirmed as Austin carefully eased the door open and looked inside. The other bags were sitting on a small table in the kitchen.

  They stood for a moment, listening. No sounds reached their ears, and the house had an empty feel. Still, they had to search everywhere. Austin moved forward and motioned the others to follow.

  Creeping out of the kitchen, he moved about a small living room, noting the signs that the house had been occupied. Magazines and newspapers littered the coffee table, along with a couple of fast-food wrappers. Austin walked over to the newspapers and his pulse sped up as he motioned for the others to take a look.

  The papers were the issues that reported the killings, from Blankenship on to each victim. They were arranged in order by date, front to back. This was definitely their guy. Forensics would prove it. If they could find the knife he’d used on Blankenship or the gun he’d used on Taylor, even better.

  “Bedrooms and bathrooms are clear,” Tonio said.

  Shane spoke up. “Hey, guys? There’s a door off the kitchen. Looks like it leads to a basement.”

  Austin hurried past them all. If Laura was being held here, this was where she would be. He practically ripped the door off the hinges in his haste to get downstairs. At the bottom, however, he was met with an empty room.

  Wait. Not quite empty. On the floor near a lawn mower that had been tipped on its side were some ropes that had been sliced through. And there was a big box sitting under an open window.