by Robin Mahle
He didn’t know what he was looking for that they hadn’t already found when he and Gibbons were there the other day and the FBI had already done a sweep too.
He meandered in the gloom, finally finding some light as he flipped the switch near the kitchen. The living area lit up. It looked no different than before. Had he expected it to? Shalot had been in holding for the better part of a week. No one had been here since then.
Marshall figured he had a couple of hours in which to work. Once all the paperwork was through the system, he assumed Shalot would come here first. Where else could he go?
The laptop was gone. A few items appeared to be laid in a haphazard matter. The FBI had done their job, by all accounts.
He moved toward the bedroom and stood at the threshold. A full-sized mattress lay on the floor. A sheet and blanket were crumpled and rested on it. The pillow had formed to the shape of Shalot’s head.
Marshall walked in, now standing inches from the mattress. He surveyed the room. An old oak dresser in need of repair sat in front of the bedroom window. A flat-panel TV rested on top of a shoddy-looking stand and there was the small desk where they found Katie’s files.
The closet ran along the east wall. Marshall approached it, pulling the bi-fold doors open. To his surprise, Shalot’s clothes were meticulously placed in order of type and color. For a man who believed in chaos, this struck him as peculiar.
He inserted his hands between the articles and began pushing them aside, peering behind them, again looking for something he wasn’t sure of yet. Marshall moved down the line until he reached the jackets that hung at the far end of the closet; they were difficult to reach.
But when Marshall began shifting them, pushing the hangers closer together, he noticed something unusual. “What the hell?” He pressed the clothes as far as he could to expose what appeared to be a safe inside the wall. A small one to be sure, but it was a safe. The Feds appeared to have missed it, and he had too the first time, but here it was and he needed to know what it contained.
A keypad served as the locking mechanism and Marshall hadn’t a clue as to how to get inside. But he was sure he would find something worthwhile and so he began to hunt for any tools Shalot might have.
On the balcony beyond the living room, he’d spotted a door. Storage room. The heavy sliding glass door leading to the balcony resisted, but Marshall was able to push it open enough to slip out.
The handle was locked, much as he expected, but this was a simple privacy lock. The kind one would find on a bathroom or bedroom door. A large rock rested against the outer wall of the balcony. It must have been used to prop open the storage room when it was in use. He reached for the rock that was about the size of his hand and held it on top of the doorknob. Retrieving his gun, Marshall began to use the butt of the handle as a hammer against the stone. A few hard hits and the knob broke, dropping to the ground. He placed his gun back into its holster and pushed the other side of the knob free, leaving only the latch to push back and the door would swing open freely.
The storage room appeared to be no larger than about a six by eight space. The inside contained several shelves mounted to the walls, each displaying various cans of paint, most of them having been opened. Brooms and a mop rested against the back wall and a shop vac sat on the concrete floor. But he could find nothing else that might be of use. “Damn it.”
Marshall returned to the living room, leaving the storage room door ajar. The idea that he might lose his badge over this mattered little to him now and so leaving evidence behind of his visit was of no consequence. Besides, he thought Captain Hearn would understand. He knew what Katie had been through. Maybe that would be enough to get him to turn a blind eye to this quest to find something that would put Shalot away before he ever got a chance to be set free.
He’d spent too long now in search of a tool with which to open the safe. With no other way to get inside it, Marshall would need help. The only person he trusted to keep this quiet was Agent Scarborough. Detective Gibbons was a good man and a great detective, but Marshall saw how he looked at him earlier today as he stood frozen, watching Laura Kempt bleed out. There was a slim chance Gibbons might turn on him; slim, but he just couldn’t risk it.
He removed his cell phone from his inner coat pocket and made the call. The line rang for too long and just as Marshall was about to end the call, the agent picked up. “Scarborough, it’s Avery. I found a safe in Shalot’s apartment, in a closet. I need your help to get inside. I know there’s something there that will give us what we need to put the bastard away before you release him.”
“Oh Christ, Avery. Are you there now?” Scarborough asked.
“Yeah.”
“We turned him loose thirty minutes ago. Get the hell out of there, Avery.”
“Goddammit! You couldn’t find a way to keep him? Laura Kempt just killed herself because of Shalot. Shit. What about Branson? What about Hudson?”
“She admitted to killing Lindsay Brown; you said so yourself. Detective Gibbons bagged the knife and had your lab compare it to the ME’s report. It’s a match, Avery.
“As much as I didn’t want to let that son of a bitch go, I got nothing else. I need more than Branson and Hudson saying that he’s put together some sort of brotherhood that’s going around killing people. I need proof of it!”
Marshall wanted to hang up right then and there, but he knew Scarborough was right, which made his presence here, in Shalot’s apartment, even more critical.
“The guy’s been in custody for almost a week under charges that he killed Lindsay Brown,” Nick continued. “Now we find out that he didn’t. After this, my boss is going to want more than hearsay because the media’s going to tear us a new one for this. Shalot will make sure of that. Look, we’re already tracking down one of his followers. Hudson gave us Hayden Jennings’ name and we got a match in the system. We’re already working to locate him in Virginia. Once we do that, we’ll get what we need from him to put Shalot away for good. Avery, we’re putting a team together. They’ll keep tabs on him from here, but you need to get out of there.”
The sound of a key turning in a lock grabbed Marshall’s attention. “Shit. He’s here.” He didn’t wait for Nick to reply, only dropped his phone back into his pocket and placed a hand on his holster, unsnapping it and ready to pull it on whoever was about to open that door. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. It was the second time today he’d been faced with drawing down on someone. Not since Hendrickson had he been confronted with that choice.
He recalled the broken glass on the ground beneath the front window of the apartment. It would be easy to spot and would alert anyone outside that someone had forced his way in. Marshall had left the sliding pane open too so he could get back out. His eyes were fixed on the door, then the window, then the door again. Someone was waiting out there and he knew who it was. He suspected Shalot knew who was inside as well.
Finally, a push on the front door, slowly, cautiously. “Detective Avery, you have no right to be here. I could have your badge for this. I saw your car in the parking lot, but I didn’t know you had it in you to break into someone’s home,” Shalot said. “I’m unarmed, detective, and I’m coming in now.”
This son of a bitch was behind all of it. Everyone knew it and yet here he was, a free man. He’d been tracking Katie down for a year and Marshall couldn’t bear the thought of him sitting near her in class, thinking about how he could have, at any time, followed her out into the parking lot and taken her. He could have taken her the way Hendrickson had. The man was crazy; believing in some crazy damn cult, demanding that his followers kill innocent people to prove what? Loyalty to him over Branson? Or was it just his own brand of control because he had none in other areas of his life? Whatever the reason, he indirectly perpetrated those brutal murders under the guise of a perverted belief that chaos was the rule of law.
Marshall’s hairline began to drip with sweat. The hand that rested on his gun felt clammy. He w
aited for Shalot to come inside, but had not drawn his gun. Not yet. Not unless the man gave him a reason.
Shalot’s foot appeared in the opening, his leg, then his body, but he continued to hold the door in front of him. “I’m unarmed, detective.”
“Put your hands up, then,” Marshall replied, his nerves fully on edge. Was he prepared to do it? Was he prepared to kill someone? If it meant keeping her safe, then there was no question in his mind.
Shalot finally emerged from behind the door, his hands held firmly above his head. “See? All okay here, Detective Avery. Everything’s fine. The FBI let me go. I told you I didn’t kill Lindsay Brown.”
“You might not have, but you sure as hell ordered the deaths of other innocent people. Your followers? Is that what you call them? What’s in the goddamn safe, Shalot?”
A smile that seemed to teeter along the lines of being amused and pissed off appeared on Shalot’s face. “The FBI couldn’t even find that. You are very good, detective, but as you can see, I am now a free man and you have no right to be in my home. You might want to consider leaving before I decide to press charges. What would Kate think?”
Marshall was the only person that called her Kate. A memory flashed before him as he reflected on the moment he and Scarborough stepped down the stairs into that basement where Hendrickson had her, holding a knife to her throat. Threatening her as this man would surely do, given the chance.
Rage began to build inside him now. The idea that Shalot presumed to know Kate. Presumed to call her Kate. Marshall would not see her hurt again. She’d been through too much, more than anyone should ever have to suffer. He knew Shalot would be a constant presence if the FBI couldn’t press charges. He would never go away, much like Hendrickson hadn’t until they finally put a stop to him. They would always be looking over their shoulders.
Shalot stepped inside, moving just a few feet closer to Marshall, as if testing him. “You’re not going to shoot an unarmed man. You’re a cop. Cops don’t do that.” He moved a little closer now. “I’d like to sit down on my couch and rest for a while, if you don’t mind. The past several days have been quite an ordeal. I believe you can show yourself out.”
“Tell me what’s in the safe and I’ll leave.”
“Nothing but my passport, a watch my father gave me, and a few bucks.”
“You’re lying,” Marshall said.
“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, though, is it?” Shalot had grown flushed with color, appearing aggravated. “I’m innocent, okay? I didn’t do shit to that Brown girl.”
“Shaun Hudson says differently. He says you wanted to bring Lindsay into your sick little group. But then, she wasn’t that type of girl, was she? I bet you didn’t count on Laura Kempt. She wasn’t very happy that you spurned her affections. Instead, working to take a woman who had already been taken by another. Branson saw that and turned her against you. They put a great big shining spotlight on you, didn’t they? Making Lindsay appear as though she’d been killed like the others.”
Marshall took a few steps forward and noticed Shallot stiffen with alarm. “Hudson says you needed to prove your power over Branson, demanding that your loyal followers kill innocent women, carving their bodies with a ‘V,’ putting flowers in their hands, showing the world that there would be more coming, that the Law of Five demanded it. Then you had them tossed on the side of the road where the animals could gnaw away at their flesh.”
“It’s a five, you fucking idiot, not a ‘V’! You know, the Roman numeral?” There was no question of the look of regret on Shalot’s face now. He’d revealed too much.
Marshall knew he had him, but still needed something concrete. “Open the safe. Now.”
Shalot stood still for a moment longer.
“Now!”
He flinched at the raised voice and began to move toward his bedroom, Marshall following closely behind, his hand still on his gun.
They reached the closet. “I told you, there’s nothing in there.” Shalot’s back was turned to Marshall as he spoke, facing the opened closet. He shifted the clothes aside.
“Do it.”
Marshall stood less than a foot behind the man, watching as he pressed the numbers on the keypad. The sound of his gun withdrawing from its holster caused Shalot to stop cold.
“Keep going.”
Shalot did as he was told. The safe door clicked and swung open automatically.
Marshall took a step back, raising the gun from his hip, and waited for Shalot to move aside. Instead, Shalot thrust his forearm and struck him square in the face. In a burst of searing pain, Marshall’s eyes exploded with stars and he rocked back.
As he struggled to regain balance and clear his vision, a blow struck his gut. Shalot was attempting to take the gun as Marshall doubled over in pain.
The comprehension of what was happening knocked Marshall almost as hard as Shalot had. The man wanted his gun.
The two fell to the floor, wrestling for control of it. Marshall belted him in the jaw. He reeled back, but quickly recovered. Shalot worked to pry Marshall’s hand from the butt of the gun, but Marshall held firm.
He knew what would happen if Shalot took it. His thoughts turned to Katie. “You won’t hurt her. I swear to God, I’ll see you dead before I let that happen!”
They thrashed around on the floor, limbs entangled, but Marshall still had the gun. Shalot’s hands clasped over his, scratching and clawing away, trying to get a grip. There was only one thing Marshall could do now.
He released the safety and tried to gain a foothold on Shalot, giving him room to point the barrel and shoot, but Shalot was strong and in a better position.
The gun turned, Shalot the one gaining control. Marshall fought with every modicum of strength he had. He needed to put this man down. Much longer and he’d lose his strength. The barrel began to turn back to Shalot.
A crash sounded from the front room, startling both the men. The gun fired.
“FBI!” Scarborough heard the gunshot and ran toward the noise. Jameson was with him and followed.
Shalot scrambled to get up and was covered in blood.
Marshall lay still and placed a hand on his stomach. He raised his palm and saw that it was shrouded in blood, his blood. He’d been hit.
Shalot stood on shaky legs, trying to make it to the door.
Marshall spotted his gun a few inches away and listened as the agents rushed nearer. “Kate.” He turned toward the gun, his face twisting with pain, but he couldn’t make a sound. His fingers reached the tip of the gun, enough to get a hold on it. It was all he could do to raise it, but he pointed the gun at Shalot’s head and fired.
The bullet struck him in the back of the neck, immediately severing his spine. Shalot fell to the ground, landing face first.
The agents, with weapons drawn, emerged from the hall.
Scarborough held his gun firmly, pointing it at Shalot, unsure of what exactly was happening. He looked at the men, both covered in blood, both lying on the ground. “Avery! Christ’s sakes.” Scarborough rushed to his side.
Jameson quickly tended to Shalot, checking for a pulse. “He’s dead.”
“We need to get Avery to the hospital, now!” Nick pressed on the wound in Marshall’s stomach. “It’s all right, man. Hang in there. Help’s coming.”
“The safe.” Marshall’s tone was weak, barely audible. “Check the safe.” His eyes peered beyond Nick’s, toward the closet where the door to the safe remained open.
Nick looked back. “Jameson. Bring me a towel and then check that safe.” He continued to apply pressure to Marshall’s stomach, but the blood kept coming.
Agent Jameson returned with a towel and stepped over the body of Edward Shalot. Blood pooled at his head and Jameson was careful not to step in it. He handed the towel to Scarborough and moved to the safe.
Nick pressed the towel against the wound and it quickly soaked with blood. “What the hell’s in there?” he asked Jameson.
; A look of dread masked his face as he turned back to Scarborough. “Pictures.” He held photographs loosely in his hands. “It’s the victims. Four of them.”
They looked as though they’d been taken by cell phone, grainy and slightly blurred, perhaps having been captured by shaky hands. The photos showed each victim on display, posed. Jameson knelt down to Scarborough to allow him a better look.
“Goddamn it. You should have told me you were coming here, Marshall,” Scarborough said.
“I had to find a way to keep him behind bars. He was after her.” The weakness in his voice prevailed with each word.
“Katie.” Nick shook his head and turned to Jameson. “Where the hell is that damn ambulance?”
Marshall knew Scarborough was pissed that he’d risked coming here. “I had to protect her.”
The sound of sirens brought relief to all of them.
“Have you found the missing woman in Nevada?” Marshall asked.
“No. Not yet,” Nick replied.
Marshall’s eyelids began to lower, threatening to close.
“Keep your eyes open, man; come on.” Nick tapped Marshall’s cheek lightly to rouse him. “Help’s almost here. Just hang in there.”
Jameson waited at the door. Several footsteps sounded on the metal staircase as the EMTs made their way to the apartment. Nick had also radioed for backup after Marshall’s call, discovering that he was in Shalot’s apartment. Detective Gibbons arrived behind the ambulance.
“He’s in there.” Jameson pointed to the back bedroom where Shalot’s body lay over the threshold and into the hall.
“Goddammit! What the hell happened here?” Gibbons demanded but did not wait for a reply, instead moving in the direction of the bloody scene. He locked eyes with Scarborough, although he seemed to offer no assurances as to the state of his downed colleague.