by James Hunt
Allie walked to the door, bypassing the pills, and then stared at her reflection in the mirror in the door. She stood there for a long time, and she knew that if she were going to get out, she would have to do it herself.
I stared at her through the window for a long time. The one-way glass prevented her from seeing me of course, but we had locked eyes for so long that I suddenly forgot the glass existed. It was like the girl could really see me, but when she finally turned away, I realized that was a lie.
I watched her for a little while longer and then saw her return to the door with her shoes in her hand. She studied the hinges for a minute and then started hammering away at the bolts. I smiled and shook my head. She was smarter than most. But I knew that she couldn’t get out. The heels would break long before they managed to dislodge any of the steel pins of the hinges. That or she’d get too tired.
The soundproofing of the room didn’t allow me to hear her pound against the door, which I was thankful for. I didn’t need any distractions. I still had work to do.
If the police only knew what I was trying to do, if only they understood my purpose. I was really trying to help people, I was really trying to be the one who made a difference.
But the girl might be my ticket to ending their chase. At the very least it would stop that bitch cop from coming after me. The death of the girl would break her to the point to where she might even quit. Because she was one of those girls that had all of those walls built up around her to keep her safe.
I was good at tearing down walls. And I would down her walls too.
30
Foster didn’t live far from the shelter, and even with traffic, it only took Palmer twenty minutes to get to Foster’s house.
Before they arrived, the pair had decided that should the warrant not be approved by the time they showed up, they would just inform Foster that they had a couple of follow-up questions.
“It’s right up there,” Palmer said, slowing down before they approached, and pulling off to the side a few houses down.
“Looks like there’s another car in the driveway,” Susan said, then squinted. “Let’s run the plates and see who’s visiting.”
While Palmer couldn’t read the plate numbers from this distance, Susan was able to squint and read off the numbers.
“Looky what we have here,” Palmer said, shifting the screen around on the computer so she could see. “The vehicle is registered to a Mr. Kevin Marsh.”
Susan raised one eyebrow. “Think he brought his friend some chicken soup?”
“He brought him something, that’s for sure.” Palmer reached for the radio. “This is Detective Palmer, I need a backup unit to 27 Maker Street.”
“Copy that, Detective. I have a unit five minutes out.”
Palmer hooked the receiver back onto the radio and then shut off the engine. “Let’s go see how Mr. Foster is feeling.”
Susan followed Palmer up the street, keeping eyes on the house. The curtains were drawn, but Foster had to be home with both those cars in the driveway. The only question was if he was going to answer when they knocked.
Susan peered into the windows of both cars as they walked up the driveway. She didn’t see anything suspicious, but if they were smart, they’d be keeping items in the trunk. They would most likely have to get a second warrant to search the vehicles if it came to that.
Susan hung back, letting Palmer take the lead, and drawing her weapon. The fact that Marsh had come here after being released from custody screamed alarm bells in Susan’s head.
Palmer knocked, the door rattling from his massive fist. “Seattle Police Department.” The greeting triggered a howl from a neighboring dog, but there was no movement inside the house. Palmer knocked again. “Seattle Police Department. Mr. Foster, are you home?”
Susan glanced toward the front living room window with the closed curtain and looked for any movement in the window, but she saw none.
Palmer knocked again. “Mr. Foster, if you can just—”
The gunshot popped from inside the house, and both Palmer and Susan ducked. Susan cleared the line of sight from the door, making sure that she wasn’t in the path of any bullets that decided to fly through.
Palmer tried to shoulder open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “I’m going to head around back. Keep an eye on the front.”
Susan didn’t have time to protest as Palmer flew around the left side of the house. But she inched closer, gun in both hands. From inside the house, Susan heard the echoes of a struggle.
One of the neighbors stepped from their home and onto the front yard, trying to see what the commotion was about.
“Ma’am, go back inside, now!” Susan barked the order with authority, and the old woman slunk away. Susan returned her focus to the house just as more shouting echoed from inside and she heard Palmer barking orders as well.
Another gunshot popped, followed by more shouts, and Susan sprinted toward the back of the house, knowing that she couldn’t sit there and wait for Palmer to get himself killed.
Susan found the sliding glass door that Palmer had used to enter the home, and just as she approached, a body collided into her shoulder, spinning her around and knocking both her and the assailant to the grass.
The contact from the collision cost Susan the grip on her pistol, and it flung from her hands. When the world stopped spinning from the hit, Susan saw Kevin Marsh scrambling back to his feet.
“Stop!” Susan barked the order, quickly jumping into pursuit, picking up the pistol from the grass as she managed to catch him by the fence, and as he stopped to open the gate, she charged him, slamming him into the wooden boards and knocking him back onto the ground. “Don’t move!”
Kevin threw his hands up as Susan aimed the gun at him.
“Get on your stomach and put your hands behind your back!” Susan barked the order, keeping her finger on the trigger, hoping that she wouldn’t have to squeeze.
Kevin remained frozen for a minute, but finally complied with her request, and she slapped the cuffs on him, then bound his feet with some zip ties so he couldn’t move.
Once Kevin was secure, Susan moved toward the house. “Palmer?” She paused at the open door, growing more anxious when he didn’t respond. “Palmer!”
“Yeah!” Palmer answered, his voice faint. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” Susan answered, relieved that he was okay. She glanced back to Kevin, who was still on his stomach on the ground and then entered the house.
A few pictures had been knocked from the walls, the glass shattered on the ground, and she followed the heavy grunting and breathing all the way to the living room where she saw Palmer wiping his upper lip and Foster in cuffs.
“Bastard almost knocked my teeth out.” Palmer examined the blood from the hit and then holstered his weapon.
“I want my fucking lawyer!” Foster shouted.
“You’ll need a pretty fucking good one, pal,” Palmer said.
Susan let Palmer deal with Foster, and she quickly searched the rest of the house. “Allie!” She screamed the girl's name as she explored the bedroom, finding clothes strewn about the bed and floor, along with an open suitcase that had yet to be packed. But no girl.
Susan then found the second bedroom, but it was filled with nothing but old furniture and boxes. “Allie!” She checked in the bathroom, the living room, and the kitchen. She hurried into the garage and turned on the light, expecting to find the girl on a steel slab wearing that same floral dress that Katy and Ginny wore.
But there was nothing.
Susan returned to the living room and saw that Palmer had moved Foster to the couch, his hands still cuffed behind his back.
“Where is she?” Susan's breathing was labored, and she couldn’t calm herself down no matter how hard she tried. She walked over to him, the gun at her side but still gripped in her hand. “Where is Allie?” She hovered nearby, but Foster kept his head down, blubbering to himself.
“I didn
’t fucking do anything,” Foster said.
“Hey,” Susan reached for his collar and forced his eyes up toward her. “Tell me where she is, Foster, and I’ll go easy on you.”
“Susan.” Palmer stepped closer toward them, his tone foreboding.
Susan knew that he wanted her to stop, but she was going to get an answer from him. “Where is the girl?” She cracked the pistol against his face, and he dropped to the floor. Susan flipped Foster onto his back, aiming the gun between his eyes. He sported a bloody lip and nose, either from his confrontation with Palmer or what happened with Marsh. “Where is the girl?”
Foster bunched up his face like he was in pain. “What are you talking about? What girl?”
Susan jammed the barrel of the pistol into Foster’s cheek. “Allie! Where’s Allie?”
“Susan, enough!” Palmer came over and peeled Susan off. He glared at her, standing between the justice she wanted. “Enough.”
Susan finally relinquished the fight and let Palmer do his job.
Palmer knelt by Foster, his voice calm. “Help us, and we might be able to help you.”
Foster’s eyes were red, his cheeks puffy from crying. “I told you I didn’t do anything.”
“Then tell us who did,” Palmer said.
Foster trembled, and he wouldn’t look Palmer in the eye. “W-what do you mean?”
“You said that you didn’t kill anyone,” Palmer said.
“I didn’t!” Foster looked Palmer in the eyes, but the confidence was fleeting as he quickly turned away. “I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t kill those girls.”
“Did Marsh kill those girls?” Palmer leaned closer, building his intensity. “Who else was involved?”
Foster wouldn’t stop trembling, but this time he didn’t look away from Palmer, holding the detective’s gaze. “He’s dangerous. He’s… He’s the one who started all of this. He’s the one who approached me and told me that we wouldn’t get caught.”
Susan leaned closer. She knew this was it.
Foster lowered his voice to a whisper. “He can do things to you.”
“What kind of things?” Palmer asked, his own voice dropping to a whisper.
“He gives you things that make you crazy,” Foster said. “Drugs. Strange drugs. Powerful drugs.”
Susan knew the man Foster was talking about, but she needed him to say it out loud.
“What’s their name?” Palmer asked.
Foster was quiet, his lower lip quivering. He opened his mouth to try and speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Who is it, Foster?” Palmer raised his voice a little, unable to conceal the eagerness to know the truth. “Give me a name. I want the name.”
Foster’s trembling worsened, and he shook so violently that Susan thought he might disintegrate into nothing, his knowledge vanishing with him.
“Give me a name!”
“Winger!” Foster screamed. “Jerry Winger!” He turned his eyes up toward Palmer, who had stood, and he shook his head.
Palmer glanced back to Susan. They had what they needed. Palmer stood, and he and Susan stepped out of earshot from Foster.
“How soon can we get a SWAT team ready?” Susan asked.
“They always have a unit on standby,” Palmer answered.
“We need to hurry, Palmer,” Susan said, her voice shaking. “We’re running out of time.”
31
The shakes had begun. They rippled through Allie’s body in frigid waves. Her skin was slick with sweat, clammy to the touch. She had curled herself into a ball on the cot, pushing herself all the way to the back corner, and her eyes never left the bottle of pills on the floor.
It was a staring contest that Allie knew she couldn’t win. She had lost all track of time, and every fiber of her being wanted to ease the growing sickness in the pit of her stomach. It was like something was eating at her from the inside out and she didn’t know how to stop it no matter how hard she tried.
The disease that was killing her was the same disease that could end the pain she was putting herself through. All she had to do was walk over and pick the pills off the floor. It was that simple.
But the man who had taken her, his words echoed through her shaky memory every time she thought she had enough of the pain. Because there was no way for her to really know what was in the pills, and what would happen if she were to take them
It could be a relief. It could be death. But it was getting harder to tell the difference between the two.
Allie groaned, the verbal dissent born from the struggle of her choice as much as it was the physical pain of the withdrawals. She was reaching a breaking point, and she knew it. She had never been strong. Growing up, she had always drifted. Her father had called her tumbleweed when she was little. He called her other things as she got older. Hateful things. Things that she only started to remember when her mind cleared.
Because Allie didn’t just take drugs to escape the present and to sleep, she used them to help drown out the past.
Another wave of crippling pain ripped through her body, and Allie crawled to the edge of the cot, vomiting what was left in her stomach onto the concrete floor where it splashed with the rest of her innards. She caught the brief, foul, and warm stench of her own bile, but then flung herself back on the cot to avoid looking at the mess.
She didn’t think that she had anything left to eject from her body, but there was always something left in the tank. The smell of the vomit had stopped bothering her, as she had gone numb to everything but the pain in her own body. It was festering and boiling like a disease, and no matter how many times she thought that she’d overcome it, it came back with raging fury.
That was how life worked for Allie. Whenever she got close to being free of all the things that bound her to the world, something else would pull her back in, and she’d be right back to where she started. That was the problem with tumbleweeds. They had to go where the wind took them.
And that was why Allie slowly moved off the cot and stepped around the vomit on the floor. It was why she slowly walked toward the bottle of pills that had been placed on the ground. And it was why she picked the container from the floor and removed the cap.
32
Chatter over the radio had increased dramatically on the ride to Winger’s residence. Palmer kept the channel keyed into the SWAT unit that they were following. They knew that Winger wasn’t at the pharmacy, confirmed by a pair of officers that went to investigate.
The warrant Palmer requested was approved the moment they left Foster’s house. They were good to go.
“Two minutes out,” Palmer said.
Susan stared at her pistol. She wondered what she’d do to the old man if Allie were already dead. Maybe put a bullet through his eyes. That would be his justice. That would be the cost he would pay for his crimes. But they had to catch him first.
“Thirty seconds,” Palmer said.
Sirens and lights had been disengaged on their approach into the affluent neighborhood. The last thing a raiding party needed was to lose the element of surprise. Susan had done a few simulations with SWAT during the academy. It was a way for the unit to identify any potential candidates, and also a way to show recruits that they’re the real badasses of the department.
It was always a flashy show of force, what with their body armor and military grade weapons and formations. It was a full display of machismo that Susan had seen reflected in all elite fighting forces she’d ever witnessed in action.
But the SWAT units were efficient, and they were excellent.
Palmer slowed the vehicle as the SWAT van continued forward. The SWAT unit had a strict no-sharing policy when it came to the execution of their raids. Unless you were in the group, you stayed back until the mission was over.
However, Williams had approved them to be keyed into the communications device and the radio frequency that the team used on their approach. It had been mostly quiet on the ride over. But when the van approached the house,
the chatter came alive.
“Command, Alpha Unit is in position.”
“Copy that Alpha, Command has approved deadly force.”
“Copy.”
The back doors of the van flooded open, and the SWAT members poured out. All of them were dressed in their tactical gear, masks covering their faces to protect their identities, and Susan understood the need for anonymity.
The unit of six officers split into groups of three, one group heading toward the front door of the house, and the second snaking around the back.
The first unit paused at the door, waiting for the second unit to move into position around the back. Even from a distance in the car where Susan sat, she could tell that the lights were off in the house. And because the garage door was closed, there wasn’t a guarantee that Winger was home.
What if the man had taken Allie to a different location? What if this wasn’t the site where he made the killings? It would make sense that he would have a secret location, a place separate from his normal life as to not attract attention to himself and the dark deeds that he was doing.
“Bravo Company set.”
“Copy that, Bravo.”
The lead officer of the unit at the front door motioned for the man in the back to come forward.
“Brace for breach. Countdown of three, two, one.”
At zero, the door was broken down by the heavy battering ram. Bits of wood flew off from the frame, and the three uniformed officers hurried inside, the radio exploding with confirmation as the pair of units moved through the house.
“Seattle PD! Show yourself! Seattle PD! Show yourself!”
The orders were repeated several times as they cleared the living room, then the kitchen, a spare bedroom, and then finally what Susan had been waiting to hear.