Justifiable

by Dianna Love

  No, Riley would have to depend on Biddy for now and save the phone battery until he had a better plan and more information.

  “Thirty seconds are up, Walker.”

  Riley still hadn’t found a place to do a double U-turn yet either. “Is Enrique with Kirsten?”

  “The sooner you arrive, the sooner you’ll know.”

  Chapter 71

  Suburbia gave way to the countryside northwest of Philly. Ice formed on branches dripping with sleet along the Ridge Pike Highway. Riley watched for the next turn, noting a sign that indicated he was in the area of Evansburg State Park. He’d turned off the main road before reaching the park and now kept track of his trip odometer, as instructed.

  He had two minutes to make the noon deadline Lehman had set. Wasn’t going to happen. He’d let Biddy down big time.

  “Can’t hear you, Walker.” The killer wanted a steady stream of conversation in between giving Riley directions.

  “I’m on North Grange Road – ” Riley switched the killer’s cell phone back to his left hand again. “ – looking for the gravel road on my left. I see it. I’m turning left...now.”

  “Almost here. The road will curve in a half mile. Take a right on the first dirt road.”

  Sleet chattered against the roof of his truck.

  Riley drove around wallowed out holes in the rutted path and dodged low hanging branches in an ice forest. The road appeared used on a regular basis though. He slowed for a deer that bounded across an opening in front of him.

  Now was the time to give a call to J. T. so his team would at least get to this location. Riley would let the connection run for two minutes, unless his phone got taken away.

  He divided his attention between driving with his knees and juggling two phones to key in J. T.’s speed dial number and hit send. “Talk to me, Riley so I know we’re still on the line.”

  “I’m on the dirt road. How far does this go?” Riley checked his personal phone. The signal was good. The call connected, timer started, fifteen seconds...then nothing. Damn. Had J. T. even realized it was him? He shoved the phone in his coat pocket.

  “I see your truck coming through the woods.”

  Riley looked around until he spied the roof of a cabin on his right through the sparse woods. The road curled back toward the old dwelling and ended in what could loosely be described as a yard. Weathered boards sealed to remain natural looking held together the small structure that had a porch running the width. The compact size probably meant a one-room design.

  “I can see everything you’re doing,” the killer warned.

  Riley cut off the engine and climbed out still holding the phone to his ear. “Now what?”

  “Drop the tailgate of your truck. Empty all your pockets on the tailgate and take off your jacket. Then take off your boots and socks. Then you can put it all back on once I see you don’t have a weapon.”

  Riley did as told, first putting the cell phone on the tailgate. He removed his wallet and loose change from his pants pocket then reached into his jacket pockets. Clutching his cell phone in his hand, he grabbed a wad of the liner in each pocket and pulled them inside out to show he had nothing. He shoved the liners back in place, hiding his phone again and lifting the killer’s cell phone.

  “Okay. Now your shoes and socks, Walker.”

  Again, Riley carefully removed his shoes and socks to stand barefoot on the frozen ground, gritting his teeth when he stepped on a patch of ice.

  The front door opened and a man in a black robe over long pants stepped out on the porch. Seeing someone who looked like a priest at this point didn’t surprise Riley, but it wasn’t who he’d been expecting. This guy was older than Monsignor.

  “Put your shoes and socks back on.”

  Riley pulled socks over wet feet then shoved them back into the boots and palmed his wallet. “Who are you?”

  “Don’t play games. You know me. I have something to show you before we leave.” The priest backed into the cabin.

  The priest did look familiar. Had Riley seen him at the church or in Race Street Café?

  A million new questions hit him in the face, but he moved forward, too anxious to find Kirsten and Enrique to question what he’d missed in his theory about the monsignor. When he stepped inside the warm cabin – a one-room building just as it appeared from the outside – he smelled the propane gas heater and something recently cooked that could have been soup.

  His senses picked up a stronger sensation that caused the hairs on his arm to stir and lift.

  An intense wave of...fear.

  “Stop there,” the priest – if he really was one – ordered.

  Riley kept his attention on the .38 the priest held on him. From his peripheral gaze he could see a small kitchen ahead in the left corner and a rumpled bed in the far corner.

  A whimper reached Riley. He swung his head to the right.

  “Kirsten!” Riley started toward her.

  “Move and you’ll kill her,” the priest warned.

  Riley’s next breath froze with all the muscles in his body.

  Kirsten’s frantic gaze clouded with fear, desperation and...hope. She kneeled in a corner, gagged and tied up with duct tape wound around and around over her clothes, pinning her arms to each side of her body and handcuffing her feet.

  Twine had been secured around her neck then run in a taut line up to a small wooden table and continued across the surface to where it was tied to a thin wire protruding from a contraption with wires and...dynamite? A bomb?

  That would be Riley’s best guess, especially based on the situation.

  Could be bullshit, but he wasn’t a demolitions expert and Kirsten’s life depended on him not making wild guesses.

  Riley’s entire body clenched at the sight of her terrified and in danger. Every nerve demanded he lunge at this maniac and stop him from whatever insane plan he had. But doing so would likely end in Riley’s death.

  That would leave Kirsten defenseless and Enrique, wherever he was, with no hope.

  “You’ve seen her.” The killer wore a black down jacket over his black robe, similar to the one Riley had seen Monsignor Dornan wearing at the police range when they’d first met. The priest/killer reached over to a hook on the wall next to a dormant fireplace and snagged a set of keys. “We have to go.”

  Did Biddy’s tracking device work this far away? Could Biddy find this place? If so, he’d be here soon. If he’d figured out that Riley needed help.

  “Turn slowly toward the door,” the killer instructed Riley. “And don’t encourage her to do anything. If she so much as wiggles she’ll blow up. Massey is insurance for you to do your duty.”

  “I’ll do whatever, just don’t hurt her.” Riley cut his gaze sideways. When Kirsten’s wild eyes met his, he winked, hoping she understood he wasn’t abandoning her.

  Dammit, Biddy, where are you?

  Riley walked out to the porch then down the steps to the yard.

  “Stop there.”

  When Riley spun around, he watched as the killer carefully hooked the end of a string into place then gently closed the door the last inch. The killer smiled at Riley. “If someone walks inside who doesn’t know about that – kaboom.”

  Booby trap? Riley hoped if Biddy did make it here that SEALs were as indestructible as advertised. He couldn’t consider the alternative of losing both Biddy and Kirsten.

  “Go over there.” The killer waved his weapon to the far side of the cabin. “Just so you understand the importance of being on time, there’s a digital timer on the bomb. If I’m not back in ninety minutes, she’s history.”

  That got Riley moving. He consulted his watch while he walked. Twelve-fifteen. At the end of the building, he found an old green step-side Chevy pickup truck. Hadn’t this same truck been at the back of St. Catherine’s Outreach Center the other day with a guy in coveralls unloading materials from the bed of it?

  Riley stopped.

  A gun barrel hit him in the back. “Kee
p moving. Go around the other side. You’re driving.”

  The minute the truck bed was between Riley and the killer, Riley slipped his fingers into his jacket pocket. Working by Braille, he hit a preset number for J. T. and the send button on his cell phone. He hoped like hell the phone battery charge would last long enough for whatever was coming.

  Riley climbed inside the musty cab at the same time as his unholy passenger. He sat still, waiting to be told exactly what was expected of him. “Who are you?” Riley asked again.

  “Cut it out, Walker. You know I’m Monsignor Dornan.”

  This priest was not Monsignor Dornan. So he was delusional and a psychopath?

  Why was he emulating the monsignor? Did he think killing sinners made someone a priest with a higher calling or was he trying to please the monsignor, and God?

  The killer put the keys on the dash. “Crank the engine.”

  Reaching slowly, Riley took the keys and started the engine. He had to be careful how he handled this guy. Challenging this pseudo-priest could be dangerous since the guy clearly believed he was Monsignor Dornan.

  At this point, the killer could pretend he was the pope and do anything he wanted with Riley as long as Kirsten and Enrique lived. And Biddy.

  Riley hadn’t seen any other building or a place that might be hiding Enrique on this property so he hoped the child would be wherever they were headed.

  But what did this delusional priest want then? And if Riley returned to this cabin in time, would Kirsten still be there?

  Would the cabin still be there? He gripped the steering wheel with sweaty palms.

  Chapter 72

  “I’m tracking Riley’s truck and it’s gone off the reservation,” Biddy told J. T. “Have you heard from him?”

  “Yeah, but the asshole wasn’t on the line.”

  “Ah, hell. That’s a bad sign. Riley planned to call you as soon as he left me to let you know the backup plan if he got in trouble. We decided if he got somewhere he couldn’t talk he’d call you and let the connection run so you could triangulate his position.”

  “Fuck! I hung up on the damn call and I can’t find Massey either. Dammitall to hell.”

  Biddy beat the steering wheel of his Land Cruiser. “I’m headed to wherever his truck is just in case Riley’s there. Why don’t you – ”

  “Hold on. Got a call coming through.” J. T. came right back. “It’s Riley.”

  Chapter 73

  Riley forced every move he made with the steering wheel to be slow and easy. Sleet had changed to rain that beat across the old truck to the point he could hardly hear the directions his passenger issued at times. Riley took care to use his turn signals and stay under the speed limit. Drawing the attention of a cop right now would be dangerous for everyone involved. He drove a route through an even more rural area, headed east-northeast.

  “What’s this all about?” Riley asked, trying again to engage this priest-wannabe in conversation. Doubted he was a real priest. Probably someone who wanted to be in the clergy, but didn’t make it.

  “You’ll see when we arrive.”

  Asking the killer to repeat his directions once before had annoyed him so Riley dropped the question. He hoped the cell phone connection was still engaged, but doubted anyone on J. T.’s phone could hear the conversation over the loud rumble of the diesel engine. If the line was even connected to J. T.’s phone. He couldn’t exactly pull the phone out of his pocket to check it.

  Riley had tried to ask about Kirsten and the bomb earlier, thinking to feed information to J.T., but the killer shut down any conversation about her or anything else for that matter.

  “What am I looking for next?” Riley asked.

  “A four-way stop, then about a mile after that there’ll be a gate on your left. We’ll go in there.”

  A few minutes later, Riley spoke loud enough he hoped someone on the phone would hear. “Is it that rotten gate on the left?” Stupid question with no other gate within view, which drew a frown from the killer, but he nodded.

  After opening the gate, Riley climbed back in soaked to the bone. His teeth chattered from the cold inching into his bones. With the storm getting worse, his flipped on the headlights to counter the loss of light deep in the woods. The truck bounced and jostled, scraping between leafless branches that had encroached into the trail over time. This dirt road was in far worse condition than the one leading to the cabin where he’d left Kirsten.

  Was she still alive? What about Biddy?

  Worry about one person at a time. He had to focus on getting Enrique right now.

  “Just tell me one thing.” Riley used his most humble tone in addressing the killer.

  “What’s that?”

  “Will you release Enrique after this?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “If you report this story exactly the way I tell you.”

  Déjà vu hit Riley square in his chest. His heart took off at a loping pace. “Is Enrique really safe right now?” The vision of Kirsten tied to a bomb trigger rose to the forefront of his mind, suggesting Enrique might be in a similar situation.

  The killer ignored him, pointing to the left. “Turn here.”

  Riley spun the steering wheel exactly as instructed and the wheels bounced over muddy ruts and downed branches. There was a path, but not much of one.

  “Is he safe?” Riley pressed carefully for more information, even though nothing about this scene offered hope of him or the child escaping alive.

  “Enrique? Snug as a bug.”

  “Where is he?” Riley hoped like hell the child was not exposed to the elements.

  “Safest place he can be. Underground.”

  Chapter 74

  The child was underground.

  Tight-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, Riley looked straight ahead, trying to breathe. If he turned his head and saw that murdering bastard smiling, Riley would kill him with his bare hands.

  The only thing saving this killer right now was the possibility of still finding Enrique. If that went away, if Riley had any reason to believe that child was no longer alive, the beast of pain he’d kept chained inside since Detroit would unleash with a fury that would shred anything in its path.

  “Stop here.”

  Riley parked in the middle of the woods, black shadow from the storm closing in. His muscles vibrated with tension. Breathing came in short chops.

  “Get out.” The killer waited, not opening his door.

  Riley climbed out into ankle-deep mud. He slammed the door and heard the passenger door slam before he trudged around to where the killer waited in a drenched robe. When the guy waved his weapon toward a break in the trees, Riley marched forward.

  After something like fifty paces through a tangle of weeds, the killer ordered him to stop and don’t move.

  Riley had gone past cold to numb. He could hardly see where he was in the downpour until a powerful spotlight beamed on to expose the concrete foundation of a house. No framed structure, just the base of a foundation constructed of concrete blocks with five steps leading from the ground to what had been the main floor.

  “Go up the steps,” the killer directed.

  As soon as Riley’s foot hit the first step, he was able to see ragged boards two feet high and charred black at one corner. A fire had gutted the house many years ago.

  When he reached the surface of the foundation, Riley took in everything with a quick visual sweep. Bloodstains spread over one area of the concrete, as if something had been dragged. The only other thing on the slab besides a couple of trees that had fallen across one end of the foundation was a hump in the middle of the space with a black tarp covering the mound.

  Too big to be Enrique. He had to keep telling himself that.

  Forcing himself to play this game, Riley asked, “Where are we?”

  “This place? Used to be a halfway house until some heathen burned it to the ground. But he paid for taking our home.” The killer jabbed hi
s gun in Riley’s back again. “Go pull the tarp off.”

  Riley moved forward, repeating to himself that the shape couldn’t be Enrique. He ignored the obvious possibilities, that the shape might include more than one body, and reached down to grasp the tarp when the hump shook all of a sudden.

  He snatched his hand back.

  “Do it!”

  Riley forced his hand out, grasping the cold plastic slick from rain and ripped it away, letting go. The wind caught the covering and blew it off the foundation. He stared at the figure huddled in a knot with his arms bound with rope against his body, the business suit he wore saturated with water. His ankles had been tied securely then tethered with a length of rope to his neck. No way to move without choking himself.

  The figure lifted his head. “Help me!” he croaked.

  Took Riley a minute to realize he stared at Stan Myers, vice president of one of the top networks in Philadelphia. Riley knew that because he’d seen Myers on television this morning. Something to do with Stan’s wife getting arrested and threatening him about their daughter.

  Stan’s body shook hard, trembling from cold, fear or both. His face contorted with anguish. “Please, help me. He’s going to kill my little girl.”

  Another child.

  Riley turned to find the killer had shed his jacket and wore only the black cassock, but he’d produced a long white silk scarf from somewhere that now hung around his neck and down each side of his chest, very formal looking. A sharp gust flapped the tasseled ends.

  “Catch.” The killer kept his weapon pointed at Riley when he tossed a cell phone in a clear plastic bag. Riley caught the phone then the killer indicated a direction with his head, and said, “Move over there, about fifteen feet back to the spot marked on the cement.

  Wiping water from his eyes, Riley looked around until he found an X the size of his two feet in black on the concrete. He moved to the spot. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Open the phone to the camera. Use that to film and do the commentary. You show the world that I – ” The killer lifted his chin, proud and defiant. “ – am stopping the sinners who prey on children. They can depend upon the monsignor.”