Borrowed Time

by CJ Lyons

  No matter, he wasn’t quite ready for O’Hern. Not yet. Lightner was another story entirely.

  Blake got into his Chevy and stared at the glossy white square, turning it over and over in his fingers. Lightner. The world famous trauma surgeon, stealing the living from death, walking on water, changing water into wine—what was good enough for him?

  Shoot him and turn him into a trauma victim?

  No. It had to be slow, he had to show Lightner who was in charge, that Lightner was just another victim, powerless. Blake thought for a moment, turning the car engine on to warm him from the chill November breeze. What to do? Cut off his hands—that would be poetic justice for a surgeon.

  He pictured the scene, his fingers spreading wide in anticipation. No. Something even more primitive.

  Burn him alive; every human had an instinctive terror of fire. Lightner was so handsome, think of that perfect face blackened and charred beyond recognition.

  Blake laughed at the thought of it. Oh yes, this would be marvelous. Now he knew exactly how to get O’Hern’s attention.

  CHAPTER 29

  “I could care less who you sleep with, O’Hern,” Cohen began once the door shut behind Josh. “Your partner, your doctor, whoever—as long as it does not interfere with this investigation. Because we are going to get this bastard, and a wounded cop with problems of her own is not going to be any help to us. Do you understand?”

  The room went silent. Kate held Cohen’s stare and stood. Normally she never let idiots like Cohen or Turner bother her with their myopic vision and condescending attitudes. But nothing about this situation was normal. God, how she’d love to meet Cohen in the gym. One round, full contact—even with a bum arm, she bet she could wipe the floor with him. It would feel so very good even to try.

  Her fury made her face burn. Kate sent a glare in the direction of the FBI agent, ignoring the other officers as they watched the face-off. Cohen broke first, looking away as he shuffled some papers in front of him. Even that petty victory made her smile in triumph, which just showed how far she had sunk.

  “You’ve made yourself quite clear, Special Agent Cohen,” she said in a slow, deliberate tone. “Obviously you don’t need me, so I’ll be going now.” She started for the door.

  “Let us know where you’ll be sleeping tonight,” he called out casually, “so we can pick you up tomorrow.” Then he turned back to the other members of the task force.

  Kate went through the door, resisting the temptation to slam it shut behind her. It was a good thing because Anne Ramsey had followed her out.

  “Officer O’Hern, may I talk with you for a moment?”

  “Your partner made it clear that I’m at your disposal, Special Agent Ramsey,” Kate replied in a bitter tone. She concentrated on relaxing the hand fisted at her side. God, she hated feeling like this, out of control.

  “He’s not my partner, he’s a stuck up snob suffering from a severe case of short-man syndrome,” Ramsey replied, “and I’m not an agent.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I consult for the FBI. Now that more of their agenda is taken up with counter-terrorism, a lot of the Behavioral Sciences work is done by private consultants. I’m actually a psychologist, specialize in analyzing criminal behavior.”

  “And victims?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you analyzing me, Doctor Ramsey?”

  “Anne will do. Of course I’m analyzing you. It’s a lot like being a cop; you can’t turn it off at will. Tell me Officer, hasn’t anyone ever commented how you’re always looking, observing, never completely relaxed, especially out in public?”

  “Cops eyes, that’s what one of my dates called it.” Kate decided she liked this woman. Ramsey seemed a lot more human than the other representative of the FBI. “Call me Kate. What did you want to talk about?”

  “You said your car was still here?”

  “Parked out back. Green Explorer in the northwest corner of the lot. Why?”

  “Do you mind if we go take a look at it?”

  “No. Keys are in my locker.”

  Kate led the psychologist into the women’s locker room. She retrieved her car keys and her wallet from the pocket of the coat she’d worn to work over a week ago. She stood for a moment, staring at the jacket, at the jeans and sweatshirt hanging beside it. Somehow she was surprised anything had survived that night intact, but here they were, a small part of her life that was still normal, untouched by the bloodshed and madness.

  “The lot’s this way,” Kate said, closing the door on the last remnants of her normal life.

  Kate led the way out to the parking lot, pulling her jacket tight against the sharp November wind. She hesitated. Rob’s car was still parked beside hers. Of course, it was a partner’s job to take care of little things like that. She needed to find the courage to face Jenn. Soon.

  Cops were a superstitious lot. Kate’s Explorer was the only car left parked near Rob’s Camry. “Why do you want to see my car?”

  “Playing a hunch.”

  They reached the Explorer. Kate held the keys out to open the door, then paused. Something was wrong. She couldn’t see anything through the tinted windows, but even with the doors and windows shut, she could smell a rotten stench, the smell of death.

  Ramsey caught it too. They looked at each other, then Kate opened the door, using the key as a lever so that she didn’t touch the door handle.

  “How did you know?” The interior of the car had been converted to some kind of warped sacrificial altar. The half-burnt corpse of what appeared to be a large rat lay on the driver’s seat along with the charred remains of several newspapers.

  Kate could make out a few of the words, enough to tell her that they were articles about the killings. Her glove compartment door lay open, its contents strewn about. The tiny statue of St. Christopher her father had given her when she had first gotten her drivers license hung upside down from the rear view mirror, the saint’s head twisted almost completely off, dangling at a hideous angle.

  “I can’t believe it,” Kate whispered, unable to comprehend the destruction of the interior of her car. She sank back against the side panel. “He did it right here with cops coming in and out—what kind of freak is this?”

  Ramsey pulled her head out from her own inspection of the carnage. “Remember, he’s only a man. That means we can find him, stop him. He’s not invincible.”

  Kate glanced at the chain link fence surrounding the parking lot and shook her head. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Kate sat on the picnic table beside the precinct’s back door, watched the lab techs swarm over her Explorer. The flashes from their cameras and the reporters’ mingled together in tiny star bursts. Tony Martini came over after telling his photographer what shots to get.

  “Any comment, O’Hern?” he asked in his best reporter voice.

  She shook her head. He put his notebook away and once again became her friend. Kate had seen him do this many times, but it always amazed her, the schizophrenia they lived with on a daily basis. Without it, they couldn’t have remained friends. Right now she was grateful for everyone she could count on. With Rob gone, the people she could truly call friend were dwindling in numbers. At least she had met Josh.

  Looking past Tony to the station house, she found herself wishing that Josh was here now. Holding her hand, sharing his strength like he had earlier. Damn, she hated this feeling, this neediness. Never before had she leaned on anyone—what was it about Josh that made her want to start now?

  “You gonna be okay?” Tony asked. “What me to go get the doc?”

  Kate gave him a half smile. Tony always could read her mind. “No, he’s busy. I’ll be fine.”

  “I heard what happened with Turner. He’s saying he’ll have an announcement about the case tomorrow.” He paused and stared at her. “Even if the task force makes no progress.”

  She shrugged. She no longer had the energy to worry abo
ut Turner or his delusions.

  Tony turned serious, glancing over his shoulder before taking her good hand in his. “Let me talk to my source in Internal Affairs. Maybe I can find something. Meet me tonight, Thai House at seven, all right?” With a wave and one last concerned look at her, Tony got into his Mustang and drove past the crowd out of the parking lot.

  Kate shifted a little, the cold creeping through her jeans into her bones. Carter broke away from the crowd surrounding her Explorer and walked toward her, his face tight with worry. Great, Carter in full-blown Papa Bear mode. Probably wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Wouldn’t trust her not to get herself killed. Or someone else.

  “You notice anything missing?” he asked.

  She watched a tech pull the rearview mirror with the grisly remains of her St. Christopher statue from the car and drop them gingerly into a plastic box. Another tech was busy cutting the upholstery from her seat cushions.

  “Kate? You all right? Want me to get Lightner?”

  Jeez, why did everyone keep asking her that? When had Lightner been promoted to her guardian angel, anyway? She straightened, arched her eyebrow at Carter.

  “You think I’m going to swoon or something, Mel? Do I look that far gone?”

  There was a discernable pause before he answered. As if he had to think twice. “Course not. So, anything missing?”

  “Nothing I could see. I don’t keep anything in it except some tools, spare tire, there was an old blanket and a windbreaker.”

  “What about your backup piece?” She started to answer, but he held up a hand. “All I need to know officially,” he stressed the last word, “is if the killer got it.”

  “No, it wasn’t in the car.”

  He nodded, and his voice dropped. “You got it? You should be carrying. Long as this crazy is out there.”

  “I got it.”

  He looked around. No one was near. “You know that FBI guy isn’t as bad as he came off this morning with you. He really does know his stuff. Lightner ID’ed a possible. Right now Cohen is running it through the NCIC database. We may have our first real break on the case.”

  “That’s great.” She knew he shouldn’t be talking with her and appreciated his confidence.

  “I’ll pick you up at Lightner’s place tomorrow at nine. Word is out to the press not to disturb you because you’ll be at a family dinner, so you know it’ll get around.”

  “Wait until I tell Michael. I’m gonna owe him big time after this.”

  “Knowing Michael, he won’t let you forget it.” Carter chuckled. “Why don’t you go rescue the doc. Cohen must be about done with him. You look like you need some rest.” He placed a hand on her arm.

  “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t convincing either of them.

  Josh rubbed his eyes. He’d been staring at a computer screen all morning, but it had paid off. He knew he had the right guy. Cohen seemed to believe it too, from the way the agent was wearing the linoleum thin as he paced in front of the fax machine. Ramsey joined them, told them about what had happened to Kate’s car.

  “So why don’t they go out and arrest this Mason Blake?” Josh asked. He was rather proud of finding him. The computer link to the FBI database had allowed him to view photos of all convicted felons matching the physical description he had given them and who fit other parameters set up by Ramsey and Cohen. He’d been viewing almost two hundred faces an hour, culling and sorting until he was certain he had their man.

  “It would be nice to verify that he isn’t already behind bars somewhere.” Cohen paused long enough in his pacing to answer Josh. “In the meantime, why don’t you go back to work, you haven’t even finished the B’s yet.”

  “I know that is him,” Josh insisted.

  “You had sixteen faces on the possible list before you saw Blake.”

  “Right, before I saw Blake.”

  “Why don’t we all take a break,” Ramsey suggested. “Quantico should be back to us soon.”

  The door opened and Kate entered. “Any luck?”

  “Yes,” Josh replied, happy to see her.

  “Maybe,” Cohen said.

  “I found him. They’re just waiting for confirmation from the FBI.”

  Kate turned to the federal agents. “Who is it? Someone local?”

  “Not according to the information we have.” Cohen acted as if he was leaking state secrets by telling her that much.

  “Can you tell me his name?” she asked. Cohen was silent. “For chrissakes this guy shot me and my partner!”

  “May have shot you and your partner, and let’s not forget about Conrad and Dimeo,” Cohen said. “We don’t need any loose cannons around here, Officer. Bringing him in is going to be hard enough.”

  “Do I look like a vigilante?” Kate gestured to her arm swathed in the sling. Josh paid more attention to the dark circles under her eyes and the strain in her voice. She was exhausted. “I want this creep behind bars so that I can get on with my life. Is that so hard for you to understand, Agent Cohen?”

  “Blake, Mason A. Blake.” Cohen pulled a paper from the computer printer and handed it to her. She stared at it, the color draining from her. Now Josh knew for certain that he was right.

  “It’s him,” she said in a small voice. Josh went to her, and she allowed him to lead her over to the table, her gaze still glued to the photo gripped in her hand. “He was at the hospital. When I was in ICU.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Cohen snapped.

  “He had brown hair, must’ve been a wig. He was dressed like a security guard. I thought—” Her voice broke, grew hesitant. She looked at Josh, her forehead creased with worry, twin frown lines surrounding her mouth. “I thought I was imagining things.”

  Cohen waved a hand as if it wasn’t important. The fax machine alarmed and began to spew forth papers. Cohen grabbed them eagerly. He pulled each page from the machine, scanned it and handed it to Ramsey. They read in silence as Kate and Josh looked on.

  “What do you think?” Cohen asked his colleague when she had finished all the pages.

  “Definitely fits the profile,” Ramsey said, sipping at a cup of coffee. “Ex-Army, former MP, but dishonorable discharge, one conviction for felonious sexual assault—served two out of seven, several more arrests but no convictions. No known current location, though. Probably using a different identity.”

  “Let’s get the team together and get moving.” Cohen seemed energized. He grabbed for the phone, then paused and turned to Josh. “We’ll take it from here. Unless we track Blake down tonight, we’ll proceed as planned tomorrow, O’Hern.” He turned his back on them as he dialed.

  Josh sighed, for a brief moment he’d felt like part of the team, on the inside track of things, but now he was an outsider again. Ramsey was on the other phone, scribbling notes furiously as she listened, but took the time to wave farewell to them. Kate remained silent as they walked through the hallway and out of the building.

  Blake looked over his collection. God, how he loved Walmart. Remote car starter kit, battery, Coleman fuel, a small blow torch, and of course plenty of duct tape—what would a kidnapping be without duct tape?

  He fingered the glossy prayer card he had gotten from O’Hern’s SUV. The cemetery already had every thing else he needed, all very conveniently located for his purposes—almost as if this was meant to be. He smiled, satisfied that indeed, it was meant to be this way, and no one had the power to stop him.

  He glanced around the equipment shed. It was like coming home. Except that the shed that he had come to call home had been much smaller. And much colder. But the same hard packed dirt floor, same musty smell of earth combined with rust, same piles of tools.

  Blake began to re-arrange some of the equipment and debris so that he would have a clear space to work in the center of the shed. He paused as he lifted a canvas tarp, its underside stained with mulch and cobwebs. He rubbed it between his fingers, feeling the texture of the coarse cloth, the way it resisted him as he
tried to bend it. Then, ignoring the cobwebs or the dirt, he placed it over his shoulders like a prayer shawl and sat on the floor, huddled in the tarp’s cold embrace.

  A similar piece of cloth had saved his life once. He remembered shivering in the night, listening to a howling wind tearing at the fragile corrugated tin walls that were his shelter, waiting until the endless night was over and the Deacon came to release him. He remembered hating the Deacon, hating his mother. Hating God.

  Blake scowled, he wouldn’t think about that time, it was over and he had already taken care of the Deacon and his mother. Now it was time to concentrate. Killing was serious business.

  Even more serious was deciding where and when to push, how far to go. He’d never known or expected mercy; no one and no God had ever offered it to Blake. He felt sure he would have rejected it if they had.

  Shadows of angels and tombstones crowded through the windows. Mercy. Could that be the missing piece, the thing he needed to learn before he could complete his work here?

  Maybe. Maybe not. He’d know when the time was right.

  He removed the tarp, now merely a handy square of cloth, and used it to cover his collection of supplies. What else would he need? The caretaker was semi-retired and went home after the afternoon mass. The cemetery was his all night to do what he pleased.

  Blake smiled. Everything seemed to be ready. All he needed now was Lightner.

  There was an old saying, trial by fire. But this wouldn’t be one of those, Blake thought. In a trial there was always the chance for acquittal. Lightner would have no such chance, not unless there was some kind of divine intervention.

  Blake wasn’t expecting that to happen. In fact, by the time he was done, Lightner would be begging him, Blake, for mercy. Not some nameless, faceless god. The angel of death—that was him. And he was very good at what he did.