“My way is better for you,” Dara replied, sitting up on the cot.
The urge to kill her seized him. He fought it down but allowed himself to unsheathe the hunting knife he always wore on his belt. He studied the blade and waited for her to continue. He wanted to know exactly how many details she had worked out.
“Somebody already placed a bet on the ending you wrote. You’ll lose money if you don’t write a new one.”
“How do you know that?” Ryker stopped playing with the knife long enough to open the cell door. He needed to be closer to gauge the truth in her.
“I snuck in and saw Reuben’s computer.”
He enjoyed the flicker of fear that entered Dara’s eyes as he slowly approached. Then, without warning, he exploded with movement, propelling her back against the cell wall and pressing the knife against her neck.
“Why didn’t Reuben stop you?”
“I drugged him. He always drinks Mountain Dew.” She kept as still as humanly possible but the slight movement of speaking opened a thin cut on her throat.
“Why do you want to die?”
“I don’t want to die,” Dara corrected as a tear escaped her left eye. “I want to be free, but I want my father and Karen and the others to go free more.”
Ryker flipped the knife around so the flat edge caressed her neck instead of the serious one. He pressed harder until she winced.
“You have two minutes to convince me. Go.” He stepped back and let her slump onto the cot.
Dara wouldn’t look at him.
“People are going to know the ransom’s been raised. They’ll see the actual count when the timer expires. I programed it that way. You must let Karen go. You don’t need my father. He won’t work for you once I’m … gone, but you can get another doctor. You won’t need one for a while if you release the current captives.”
“Not an option, but go on. What keeps me from killing your father for the trouble you’ve caused?”
She looked at him steadily.
“I have a friend who will watch over him.”
“Where is this friend? Why don’t they watch over you? Why don’t they keep you from throwing your life away?”
“I made a deal.” Dara’s eyes became unfocused, and she spoke slightly louder than a whisper. “A bargain for the lives here.”
“You can’t save them!” Ryker screamed. Rage clouded his vision. “They’re not yours to save!” He didn’t recognize the voice as his own. Before he knew it, his knife was buried in her side.
It was over in seconds.
The last gleam to enter her eyes before they faded to lifeless dark had been triumph.
The captives in the nearby cells collectively screamed as if his knife lay buried in them rather than the girl. The only one to say nothing was the strange, unconscious girl Hank and Phil had picked up along the way. The children’s anguish frightened and exhilarated Ryker. Phil and Wayne entered at a run as Ryker realized why Dara appeared so victorious in that last moment.
She really was worthy. The child had proven the point by provoking him into killing her.
“Collect Dr. Surhan and the girl in Dara’s room,” he instructed, as they gaped at the scene before them.
Ryker had other tasks for these two to accomplish today, but he would have them fulfill part of Dara’s last wish. It was the least he could do for the valuable lesson she had taught him. He also decided to hand-paint a thief miniature in her honor. He looked down at his bloody hands.
I’ll need to clean up.
He cocked his head to the right and studied the body.
Death is … messy.
Chapter 21:
Discoveries and Deadlines
House for Sale on Maple Drive
Edinboro, Pennsylvania
It took Baker two minutes to drop the camera off at the Edinboro police station and extract a promise from Officer Stanley to print relevant pictures. He spent about an hour more stopping by Patrick’s hotel for fresh clothes, picking up deli sandwiches, and getting back to Maple Drive. Baker had chosen another blindingly white shirt and a dark blue one for variety to accompany the first dark suit he had seen in Patrick’s closet. He remembered frowning at the bland tie collection.
Concluding the man needed to get away from monochromatic ties, Baker held out the change of clothes.
“I picked out your boldest tie,” he said, referring to the black tie with pale blue strips running down it diagonally. “Which do you want first, food or clothes?” He drew back the clothes and held up the bag containing lunch.
Patrick pushed himself off the front stoop and held out both hands.
“I’ll take both, thanks.”
“Don’t be greedy,” Baker scolded.
“This from the guy who ate on the way here.”
“Fair point. Hope you like ham and cheese. I ate the roast beef and give backs are kind of gross.”
“Ham and cheese is fine, but I choose clothes first,” Patrick said, snatching the suit jacket, white shirt, and striped tie from Baker. He turned toward the house to find a place to change. “I take it you don’t approve of my tie collection.”
“It could use more flare.” Baker shrugged and followed Patrick to the bathroom like a lost puppy. “I’m surprised your wife lets you get away with that blandness.”
“I’ll let her know your complaints when I speak with her.”
“You didn’t call her yet?” Baker asked, surprised.
“I never got through,” Patrick corrected. “She must have turned off her phone. I got a message saying she was following a lead and might be unavailable for a while.”
Baker’s right eyebrow shot skyward.
“Does she always turn off her phone to follow leads?”
“Not always, but she does if she wants to concentrate,” said Patrick, closing the door in Baker’s face.
“I’ll be upstairs,” Baker called through the door. Noticing the blue shirt still draped over his left arm, he added, “After taking your neglected shirt back to the car.” He eyed the sandwich and soda and decided not to drag it upstairs or out to the car. Tying a quick knot to seal the bag into a small bundle, Baker added, “I’ll leave the food right outside the door here. Don’t take too long, or I’ll find the good stuff without you.”
Eager to make case-breaking discoveries, Baker sprinted out to his car to drop off the shirt and bounded up the stairs two at a time. His enthusiasm dampened as he entered the creepy room. Despite his threat to continue searching without Patrick, Baker spent several minutes studying the pictures lining the walls. It was weird to see himself talking, jogging, entering the police station, and running errands. He wondered if somebody had taken his picture entering this house a few moments ago. Patrick’s capture of one snooper didn’t preclude others. Baker spared a thought and prayer for the kid who had been shot. Suddenly needing to hear Joy’s voice, he called her cell to listen to the voicemail message.
“If you don’t know who this is, you’ve probably got the wrong number. Leave a message if you like. I’ll get back to all relevant parties.”
“Hi, love, just called to hear your voice,” Baker said, after the beep. “I know you’re at work. I’ll try to call again later. If the case stays boring, maybe we can do dinner at a sit-down, pay-later place. I also still owe you a pizza.” He hung up and returned his phone to the belt holder.
“That’s not likely,” Patrick commented.
“A guy can dream,” Baker responded. “Some cases solve themselves around you. Maybe if I stick close enough the luck will transfer.”
“This is one case I won’t miss when it’s over,” Patrick said, taking a good look at the spread of pictures.
“Should we report this?”
“We have to,” Patrick confirmed. “I doubt Morgan will pull us for conflict of interest. The Tyler case is too time sensitive, and it would be a waste to bring new agents up to speed.”
“I’m not worried about Morgan, but Taggert’s a politician th
rough and through. If she thinks I’m compromised, I’m out.”
“We can worry about that later,” Patrick replied, pulling on rubber gloves and throwing another pair at Baker. “Let’s see what that mattress holds.”
Patrick held the mattress steady, while Baker attacked it with a pocketknife. The thick layer of duct tape slowly yielded. Inside, he found three shoeboxes secured with more duct tape. Holding his breath, Baker reached deep into the guts of the mattress and pulled out the treasures one by one.
“This guy needs another hobby besides playing with duct tape,” Baker commented, placing the last shoebox on the floor by Patrick’s feet. “Which should we open first?”
“Doesn’t matter. We need to check them all.”
Mentally working his way through eeny, meeny, miny, mo, Baker reached for the middle box.
“Eeny, meeny, miny, mo; really, Baker?”
“How did you know?” Baker wondered, impressed.
“Your twitching pointer finger gave it away.”
“It’s a perfectly valid way of decision making,” Baker insisted. He picked up the middle box and starting sawing at the tape with his pocketknife.
That’s going to need some serious sharpening after this workout.
Patrick refused to debate the issue. Instead, he took the nearest box, pulled a tiny knife from an ankle holster, and sliced the tape from one side with an easy swipe. He made short work of the other three sides and lifted the lid clear before Baker had finished with the first one.
“I’m officially jealous.”
“I know.” Patrick reached for the box Baker had been working on and gently pried it free.
“Where did you get that beauty?”
“It was a wedding gift from Ann’s father.” Patrick dealt with the tape sealing the second box and set it down next to the first.
“Odd wedding gift,” Baker mused, handing Patrick the final box. “Do you think he’ll give me one when I tie the knot?”
“I never guess at gifts,” Patrick murmured, distracted. He stopped midway through the first cut and put his knife down, his eyes fixed on the open first box.
Following his line of sight, Baker studied the contents. It looked like somebody’s junk drawer. Hotel pens, a dozen random buttons, a nice Rolex watch, part of a roll of wintergreen mints, a few action figures, a silver bracelet, a few RPG miniatures, a deck of cards, a rubber ball, three necklaces, and a small stuffed animal filled the box. Baker could tell at least one object upset Patrick, but he couldn’t tell which so he fired a questioning look.
Patrick slowly picked up the delicate bracelet bearing six small charms and displayed it for Baker.
“This belongs to Rachel Parker.”
***
Tyler Residence
Edinboro, Pennsylvania
The deadline passed.
The ransom counter stood steady at nearly nine hundred thousand for most of the final hour, but as the timer ticked down the last twenty minutes, it jumped to $1.3 million. Despite everything looking up, it took every ounce of self-control Rebecca Tyler had to sit still and not cut off the circulation in her husband’s arm. Even so, he would have a fine red patch from where her worry manifested itself.
When will he call?
Rebecca had never felt such anticipation and dread. She wanted to hold Ellie, but the child had been sent to Mrs. Yancy’s again so the Tylers could deal with the kidnapper without worrying about her reaction. The less he thought about Ellie, the better.
Zachary Tyler’s glare never left the three phones sitting on the coffee table. They weren’t sure which number the kidnapper would call. The last few times he had called the cell phone delivered to Rebecca, but the houseline and the cell phone sent to Zachary were also present.
The FBI man, Special Agent Baker, stood in a corner fiddling with an empty Snapple bottle.
When the phone finally rang, Rebecca flinched. She felt better when Agent Baker dropped the bottle in surprise. He snatched it up and rushed to activate the tracing devices hooked to each phone. He nodded at Zachary when ready.
Zachary picked up the phone on the third ring.
“Tyler residence. Who is this?”
By straining her ears, Rebecca barely heard the man’s reply.
“Hand the phone to your wife.”
Rebecca held out her hand for the phone.
“Why won’t you speak to me?” Zachary demanded.
“If you want Karen to survive the next few minutes, give Becky the phone.”
Trembling at the thought of talking to the man, Rebecca took the phone from her husband’s tight grip.
“I’m here,” she rasped.
“Have your personal feddie disconnect the recording devices then send him and your husband out of the house. I’ll call back in two minutes. I don’t have to tell you what will happen to Karen if you don’t follow my instructions, but I will. I’ll stick a knife—”
“Please don’t!” Rebecca interrupted with sudden force. She wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks and drew three shuddering breaths. “I don’t need the description. I understand, and I’ll follow your instructions.”
“Two minutes,” the man repeated.
The line went dead.
“What did he say?” asked Agent Baker, looking puzzled.
“We have to leave,” Zachary said gruffly. “Take off the tracing and recording equipment.”
Understanding came into Agent Baker’s expression.
“He threatened her again.”
Rebecca swallowed hard and nodded.
“Please. Just take the devices off and go.”
“He won’t even know it’s there,” the FBI man protested.
Fire, brimstone, and hot magma had nothing on the look Zachary threw the FBI man.
“You will not endanger our daughter.”
Agent Baker didn’t look happy, but he complied with the order to remove the equipment attached to each phone. He placed a pen and a fresh notebook on the coffee table.
“Try to take good notes,” said the FBI man. “I’ll return later to question you about the conversation.” He took out one of his cards, jotted down a number, and scrawled: Call me any time, day or night. His sympathetic expression almost made Rebecca cry more.
Zachary hustled the FBI man out the front door as the phone rang again.
Fearing she might lose her nerve, Rebecca answered immediately.
“I’m here. Alone. No tracers. No recorders.”
The man chuckled.
“Good. I wanted to personally deliver the good news. You win. I will have Karen delivered sometime soon.”
“When?” Rebecca asked, not letting her hopes rise yet.
“Very soon. Perhaps even tomorrow. I have another task for you to perform first, but we’ll have to keep it a secret. No police. No husband. No feddies. Just you and me.”
You took my daughter, my peace of mind, and my faith in justice.
“What more do you want from me?”
“I mean it. No more contact with the police or FBI. When they ask questions, tell them you want nothing more to do with them. Wait for further instructions and do not speak to your husband about this other matter. If you ignore any of these commands, you will be childless within the week. I will call again tonight. Be alone.”
The man hung up.
Rebecca wept.
***
House for Sale on Maple Drive
Edinboro, Pennsylvania
While Baker went to see the Tyler family through what would hopefully be the last kidnapper contact, Patrick supervised the processing of the stalker’s haven. Trying to stay out of the way of the evidence technicians, he stepped outside and called Jon to warn him about the bracelet. The call went straight to voicemail. He left a brief, urgent message for Jon to call him and dialed Ann’s number. When that call also went to voicemail, he called the Davidson’s houseline and reached Ann’s mother.
“Hello, Patrick. How are you?”
; “Fine, Mrs. Davidson. May I speak to Ann?”
“I’m sorry. You missed her by about ten minutes. She spent most of the afternoon in her father’s study and stepped out for a run. Is everything all right?”
“I need to discuss the case with her,” Patrick said, wishing his mother-in-law was less perceptive. “When do you expect her back?”
“It’s hard to say. Her usual runs when she’s here range from forty minutes to an hour, but she might cut it short. I think she has some work she wants to finish before dinner.”
“Would you have her call me as soon as she gets in?”
“Of course. Have you found Malia?”
Guess that means the locator hasn’t worked yet.
“We’re still working on that. The swiftest way to recover Malia is to wrap up the Tyler case.” Patrick could tell the answer didn’t satisfy his mother-in-law, but he refused to give her any false hopes. As soon as possible, he ended the call.
Gazing intently at the fluffy white clouds, Patrick prayed for Malia and Karen then begged God for wisdom.
Lord, where is Malia?
His interactions with the petite child had been limited, but she seemed resilient. He hoped the Gifts the child mentioned in her letter protected her until they could mount a rescue.
Who can help the Parkers?
After a few more minutes of peaceful cloud watching, two names popped into mind. Digging out his wallet, Patrick found the phone number Detective Wickerman had given him before taking his family to California. It took much persuasion, but Wickerman finally agreed to the plan Patrick outlined. The next call connected Patrick to Special Agent Cory Lawson, who eagerly agreed to take a few days off to help with the case. Even though Lawson had volunteered to forego the Tyler Task Force, Patrick had sensed his deep disappointment.
After another unsuccessful attempt to reach Ann, Patrick tried Jon again. To his surprise, his friend picked up on the second ring.
“Are things falling apart without me already?” Jon quipped.
“Jon!” Patrick exclaimed, letting surprise dominate his voice but also including a hint of frustration. “You’re a difficult man to get on the phone.”
“Me? I called you back three times and got voicemail. You certainly haven’t been waiting for me to return your call.”
The Keres Case (Heartfelt Cases Book 4) Page 15