He shimmied on his belly through the drainage pipe under Hamblin Road and climbed out into the trees on the opposite side of the roadway. His pursuer was still up somewhere on the forested hillside. Judd sprinted for his car.
A gray-haired lady in a housedress and floppy sweater stood on the porch of her home as Judd raced by. Though he doubted Cohen would fire at him before a witness, there was still a chance the woman was at risk.
“Get in the house!” he yelled, knowing he must appear a wild man, his clothes covered with dirt. The elderly gawker squeaked and retreated indoors.
Judd piled into his car. Blood from the wound on his left arm had soaked his shirt, and it was still seeping. He tore the right sleeve off with his teeth and quickly made a tourniquet. In the rearview mirror, Truman Cohen was sprinting toward him with surprising speed. Judd jammed on the ignition and threw the car in reverse. Cohen barely jumped clear, then thumped the hood of the car and screamed through the windshield at Judd. Judd threw on the brakes and turned the big car on a dime. Half expecting to hear a shot aimed at his tires, he burned rubber.
His only thought as he sped down the hill was to reach Karen before Cohen did. Truman had no way of knowing Judd had regained his memories of the murder just minutes before; in his paranoia, Cohen was sure to assume Karen knew more about the murders than she did. He was ruthlessly eliminating everyone who suspected him, and Judd was sure his love was number three on that list.
Judd had to slow for the stop sign at the foot of Hamblin; he was just turning as two sheriffs cars streaked down Highway 18 from the direction of Silver Creek, their lights flashing, and made to go up Hamblin Road. Judd sucked his breath in and prayed they’d be too preoccupied to recognize his car. He pulled onto the highway at a normal speed and checked his mirror. The deputies were making a Uturn.
“Damn.” Was this where his luck would run out? He prayed for just one more break, for Karen’s sake, and pushed the accelerator to the floor.
Judd had chosen the Impala as an unassuming surveillance vehicle, but he’d also modified its powerful V-8 engine himself, to enhance its pursuit capability, and he’d kept it in perfect tune. He called up every ounce of available horsepower as the patrol cars tracked him toward Silver Creek, sirens wailing. Just short of the city limit, a third sheriffs car pulled out from a side road to join the chase. The chances they would cause a wreck and hurt an innocent bystander warred with Judd’s certainty that Karen’s life was in danger. He slowed as much as he dared as they hit downtown.
The first traffic light was green. A woman unlocking her car on the street froze when she heard the sirens and looked up to see Judd bearing down on her. He swerved into the empty oncoming lane to signal her presence to his pursuers.
Two blocks up, the eye of the light was a stubborn, fiery red.
Judd leaned on his horn. From the middle of the intersection, a teenager in a foreign compact saw him coming. The boy leaned forward and put on speed just in time to avoid the oncoming juggernaut.
Judd exhaled in relief as he swept by. Then he saw the truck.
The driver of the logging truck seemed oblivious to other traffic as he slowly pulled across Main Street. The trailer, stacked with unmilled logs, filled Judd’s view through the windshield. He shouted as he crushed the brakes and raised his injured arm in front of his face.
FOUR BLOCKS BACK, Truman Cohen saw the massive truck and heard the frantic squeal of locked tires leaving their tread on asphalt. He smiled with self-justification as he turned off Main Street and swiftly threaded his way through the residential section toward Karen Thomas’s house.
KAREN REMOVED the little silver Beretta from her handbag and set it gingerly on a place mat on the dining table. A moment later, she moved the gun to the coffee table, stood back and looked at it, then slid the sports section of the newspaper over it. She frowned, moved her hand to her stomach and rubbed. How tired she was. Too tired to sleep. Too upset to sleep.
She had this instinctive feeling she couldn’t let herself lose consciousness until the world had righted itself, if just a bit. But when would that be? How could life possibly ever feel normal again?
She knew she’d go crazy if she didn’t get her mind to rest, if she couldn’t think about something else for a while.
“You’re unusually quiet this morning,” she said, turning her attention to Trouble in the wrought-iron cage. The cockatiel paced on his perch but refused to greet her. His topped-off food bowl was untouched.
Karen leaned closer. His tail didn’t look right.
“Trouble, what’s the matter?” Karen opened the door and extended her index finger toward the bird, who stepped warily away.
“Come on, sweetie,” Karen coaxed. There was a pinkish, bare spot in the feathers over his heart. Trouble allowed her to press his stomach with her hand, then finally raised a hesitant foot and climbed on. Karen carefully withdrew the parrot from the cage.
“What happened to you?” His graceful, V-shaped tail was truncated by a good three inches and ended in a blunt stub. A handful of downy breast and tail feathers lay on the floor of the cage, one long plume tipped in blood.
“You’re pulling your feathers out. Oh, Trouble!” Karen wanted to comfort the bird, but had no idea how. She stroked his head as tears filled her throat. “I know you miss Judd, but he’s not worth it. I promise, I’ll take care of you from now on. We don’t need him, neither of us do! You’ll see.”
The bird gave a sad little cheep, obviously no more convinced by her words than she was.
THE REAR OF JUDD’S CAR skidded forward in an arc; the left rear fender slammed into the rear axle of the logging truck. The three police cars were almost on top of him. Judd hit the accelerator; the tires spun free, miraculously unimpeded by the twisted fender, and the Impala shot back down the street the way Judd had come.
The braking cop cars fishtailed past him and piled into the truck like dominos. Judd slalomed past shocked motorists who had come to a standstill, and disappeared down an alley.
KAREN SLOWLY STIRRED a teaspoon of honey into her tea. A sudden pounding sound made her jerk; hot liquid spilled over the kitchen counter.
Judd stood ten feet from her, on the sunporch, hammering on the glass door to the living room. “Karen, let me in!”
“Oh, no.” Karen flattened herself against the counter, trying in vain to disappear from his line of sight behind the kitchen door frame. It took her a moment to remember the phone on the wall beside her, to reach for it and punch in 911. When no one answered, she finally realized there was no dial tone. She flicked the button, but the line was dead.
The pounding and shouting stopped abruptly. Karen looked; the sunporch was empty. Should she make a break for it? Judd had probably anticipated that and would catch her the moment she stepped outside! On unsteady legs, she raced to the coffee table, grabbed the little automatic pistol and ducked into the central hallway. She closed the doors to the bathroom and bedroom, held the gun against her stomach and strained to hear above the rasp of her own breathing.
There was a sound of breaking glass from behind the bedroom door. Every muscle in her body froze in terror. Would she be able to move, to fire? She forced her arms out in front of her, squared her body to face the bedroom door. The light was dim here in the center of the house. Her eyes stood out in her head, fastened on the old brass door handle in the gloom.
Was the knob turning? Maybe…yes? As if in slow motion, the door swung open. It was him.
“Karen.”
Karen shut her eyes tight.
“No!” They spoke the word simultaneously, and their voices were in turn drowned out by the deafening report of the gun.
Karen stumbled back against the wall, and her eyes flew open. Judd was staring at her with wild disbelief. His arms flew up to his chest, spasmed across a ghastly red stain on his shirt, then he fell forward onto the carpet.
In horror, Karen screamed and dropped the automatic. She had been forced to stop him, but she couldn�
�t go on if she had killed him. Half-afraid he was still conscious and might suddenly come alive to grab for her, half-afraid he was dead, she started toward him with one shaking arm outstretched. He didn’t move, and both her fear of him and her hope dwindled. She hesitated only a second longer before falling on her knees beside him, her life shattered along with Judd’s body.
“I must say, Karen, you did that rather well.”
She looked up. Truman Cohen stood, a gun in his hand, at the entrance to the hallway. He’s come to help me, she thought.
“I’m glad I took the time to cut your phone line. It was a fortunate delay.”
Karen’s mind felt fuzzy with shock. “Wha—what?”
“I was afraid Judd was going to escape both me and the police—I never dreamed you’d be the one to finish him off, my dear. Very convenient. It will look as though you and Maxwell shot one another as he broke in. Get up, please.” When Karen didn’t respond, he barked, “Get up!”
Though Karen’s mind was too tortured to comprehend all that he said, she realized he meant the gun for her, not Judd. She rose unsteadily to her feet.
“Around here, come past me.” Truman herded her by and backed himself up to where Judd lay. “I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.”
A shadow shot up from the floor behind Truman Cohen and slammed into his arm. The gun flew to the floor; Cohen gathered his wits with remarkable speed and dived after it. Simultaneously Judd lunged past him and reached for the revolver.
Karen backed out of their way as the two men wrestled on the floor for the gun. She couldn’t see the pistol between the two grunting, cursing men. Then a muffled shot cracked out.
Judd’s body slammed against the wall. A long, drawn-out moment later, Truman Cohen rolled from his side onto his back, unconscious.
Judd got up on all fours and shook his head as if to clear it. Elation broke through the fog of Karen’s mind, and she rushed to help him to his feet Somewhere in her subconscious, pieces were falling into place, giving her the signal that everything would be all right now.
“Thank goodness,” she gasped. “Are you hurt?”
“No, you missed me completely. Lesson number one, Karen, never attempt to hit a target with your eyes closed. The blood is from my arm, but it’s just a flesh wound Cohen gave me.”
“Thank goodness. But if I didn’t hit you, why did you fall down?”
“If I’d kept coming, you could hardly have missed me at point-blank range. I knew the best way to keep you from firing again was to play possum. That, and I thought I saw a movement behind you that could be Cohen. Letting him think I was out of the picture gave me the advantage of surprise.”
Karen looked down at Truman. “Is he dead?”
“No, he’s still breathing.” He bent to inspect Cohen’s chest more closely. “He killed Marlene and at least two other women he met while on lecture tours in Los Angeles and Seattle. And—I’m so sorry, sweetheart—when your uncle got onto him, Cohen killed him, too.”
Karen gasped and pushed her fist into her mouth; Judd rose and quickly wrapped his good arm around her shoulders. “It’s over now. Come on, let’s find a phone that works and call the paramedics.”
As they stepped into the entrance hall, Karen got another shock. The front door exploded inward, and two men in suits with guns at the ready flew into their faces. “Freeze, FBI!”
The man in front lowered his gun. Incongruously, his face relaxed into a wreath of smiles. Karen thought she must be dreaming. “All right, Special Agent Maxwell,” he boomed, “where in Hades have you been for the last nine days?”
Chapter Sixteen
“You’re an FBI agent?”
“Yes.” Judd grinned down at Karen. “Something I forgot to tell you, along with a lot of other things. I got my memory back, up at Marlene Hall’s place this morning. That’s where I ran into Truman.”
The agents were busy with Cohen. One did an examination while the other called for the paramedics on a cellular phone.
“Nasty shoulder wound,” the lead agent said. “Here, Arthur, you better keep some pressure on it until the ambulance arrives.”
Judd introduced her to Special Agent Bob Engels from the Los Angeles field office.
“When you didn’t check in for so long, and we couldn’t raise you on the phone, we got worried,” Engels explained, “so I decided I’d better come looking for you myself.”
“I’m sorry I alarmed you, Bob, but I’ve got one heck of a reason, if you’re able to believe it. Let’s sit down, and I’ll tell you.”
They settled in the living room, Karen gratefully leaning back on the cushions while Judd sat forward and laced his fingers.
“To begin with, Cohen struck again,” Judd began. “His wife owns a restaurant property outside of Silver Creek where the victim, Marlene Hall, worked. I was having trouble finding any evidence in town against Cohen, and had almost decided I was on the wrong track, when I learned he was secretly seeing Marlene. The afternoon of the sixteenth, I got a bad feeling, so I decided to warn Marlene about Cohen. I scraped together enough cash to send her safely out of town for a few days. Unfortunately I arrived just moments too late.”
Judd cleared his throat before continuing. “As you know, I’ve worked my share of crime scenes, but for some reason this one really got to me. I was trailing Cohen on his way to dispose of the body when I blacked out. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital in Granite with amnesia.”
Bob Engels’s chin hit his chest. “Holy Toledo. You are kidding?”
“No. This is one for that Bureau memoir we keep threatening to write. And what’s more, I’ve been the sheriff’s prime suspect ever since the murder. My wallet and my briefcase—with my badge and all the case paperwork in it—were stolen from the front seat of my car while I was unconscious. Remember, Karen,” he said, looking at her, “when you drove me home to my apartment, I said I thought something vital was missing, something that would help me remember. It was the briefcase.”
Karen nodded, and Judd turned back to his fellow agent. “Still, the local authorities should have known as soon as they saw my name that I was the undercover Fed working in their jurisdiction.”
Bob shook his head. “They had no idea, and I’ll tell you why. You remember our supervisor had a heart attack right after you were assigned here? Well, he wasn’t feeling well for some time before that, I guess he had trouble concentrating, and he never set up the liaison with the local authorities.”
Judd looked startled, but he said, “Well, that explains a lot of things.” He turned to Karen and picked up her hand. “Unfortunately Marlene Hall wasn’t Cohen’s only victim. This morning—”
“Bob,” Agent Jones called from the hall, “I think the medics are here.”
“Okay.” Bob jumped up and motioned to Judd to join him. “Will you excuse us, Miss Thomas? Thanks.”
Karen had listened to the two men, too stunned, too relieved that Judd was alive and well to say anything. She remained on the couch, out of the way, while the paramedics worked on Truman, and then the Granite detectives and some other police officers arrived and Judd went out to meet them.
When they had carried Truman out on a stretcher, Judd ran back inside. He zippered his suitcase and plucked his leather bomber jacket off the chair. He was clearly preoccupied as he slapped his pocket for his keys.
“They’re taking Cohen to St. Mary’s in Granite,” he said to Karen. “I’m going to follow the ambulance and have a doctor look at my arm while I’m there. Special Agent Jones will stay with you for a while. Will you be okay by yourself tonight?”
Things were moving so quickly, Karen felt she didn’t have time to think, but she answered, “Yes, I’m fine.”
“I’ll call you later, and I’ll come by tomorrow and get the rest of my things. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind watching Trouble for me for a few days.”
“Judd, we’ve got to haul!” Bob Engels yelled from the doorway.
Karen trie
d to smile as Judd left her with not so much as a backward glance.
KAREN BARELY SAW JUDD for the next five days. She was kept occupied making the funeral arrangements, briefing one of her co-workers who offered to take her appointments for the week and receiving condolence calls and visits from friends.
Judd couldn’t get away on Monday, so he left a message on Karen’s answering machine asking how she was and saying he would send a police clerk to collect his storage boxes. The murderer’s wound, though serious, had been treated in time and was not life threatening. Because Cohen was expected to make a full recovery, Judd as the lead investigator was responsible for building the case against him and filing the necessary paperwork to have him indicted. This required him to shuttle between Silver Creek and the major cities where Truman Cohen’s other victims had lived.
Tuesday, two days after the shooting, Karen shared a brief cup of coffee with Judd at the Granite County Hall of Justice following her making a formal statement.
It seemed almost surreal to her to be sitting in the same crowded cafeteria that had been deserted only a few nights before while she waited for Judd during his interrogation. Then he had been a suspected murderer; now he was a respected FBI man, responsible for apprehending an elusive killer.
Judd’s mind was clearly on the case as he absently sipped his coffee. Karen didn’t know how to begin, but there was something that needed saying so badly, she couldn’t put it off any longer.
“Judd.”
“Yes?” His gaze came around to focus on her.
“I have to tell you how sorry I am…how embarrassed and ashamed, that I lost faith in you last Sunday. Trying to shoot you was the most insane mistake I ever made.”
Judd’s brows lifted in surprise, and he raised a hand to stop her. “You don’t have to apologize, Karen. You did the right thing. If I’d been in your place and the police had presented me with the same evidence, I would have shot in self-defense, too.”
Only A Memory Away Page 19