A dim light shining up from the foyer served as a beacon as she crept along the dark hallway toward the staircase. On either side, black, gaping doorways enhanced the image looming in her mind of a pouncing stranger that wanted to hurt her again. The unseen threat made her small body tremble as she ran the last few yards. She stopped to search the shadows before slowly descending, and her heart was nearly bursting by the time she reached the front door and pulled hard on the knob.
When the door refused to open, her choked whimpers began to build. Her small fingers fumbled to release the locks and as the last tumbler jarred into place, the door sprang open aided by a blast of frigid, stinging wind.
A man eased a van down the street and parked, then cursed when he saw the door of Shear Gallery standing open. Suddenly, blue lights flashed toward him and the wail of sirens grew in volume. Too late, he threw the vehicle in gear and tried to make his escape.
Winward stared at the ceiling above his bed listening to the gusting wind outside. He had always found the sound soothing, but tonight the sleep he longed for eluded him. Instead, his mind churned with the events of the past few days.
His stomach knotted as the telephone suddenly shrilled. He took a deep breath and answered.
“Winward.”
“Detective Winward, it’s Alan Johansen from dispatch. The security at Shear Gallery just went wild. We’ve tried to make contact, but got no answer. I’ve already dispatched a couple of cruisers to check it out.”
Winward was already pulling on a pair of jeans. “Call Detective Hayes and tell him to meet me there,” he barked. “And tell the responding officers not to touch anything until I get there.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Scattered snowflakes glistened in the flashing blue lights of several cruisers as Winward pulled to a stop and got out of his car. Hunched beneath the hood of his parka, he showed his badge to an approaching officer.
“Are you the leading officer?”
“Yes, sir. Name’s Hendricks.”
“What have you got, Hendricks?”
“A man was apprehended fleeing the scene in that van,” the officer said, pointing to a black commercial type van at the curb. “He maintains his innocence of any wrongdoing.” “ID?”
“The name on his license is Robert Manning. He had a bag containing everything he would need to complete a successful break-in.”
“Where is it?”
“Over there, in the trunk of that cruiser.”
“Did you find anything in the van?”
“No, sir. The van was empty. Its registration said it’s owned by a company named Marcel Enterprises. We’re running the plates.”
“Good. What else have you got?”
“When we arrived, we found the front door standing open. There’s been no movement within the house that could be seen and no one’s gone in per your instructions. The exits and perimeter have been secured.”
Winward tilted his head toward a handful of pedestrians braving the elements to watch the commotion. “What about those people? Have they been interviewed?”
“No, sir, not yet.”
“Get someone on it. If they’re curious enough to withstand freezing temperatures at eleven o’clock at night, then one of them might’ve been curious enough to have seen something.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Has Mr. Shear, the owner, been notified?”
“Not yet.”
“Good,” Winward said, moving toward the police car where Manning was being detained. “I’ll take care of it once we find out what we’re dealing with.” He lifted the trunk lid and searched the bag’s contents.
“Tell the men you have at the exits to stand ready. We’ll go in through the front to secure the inside. And stress extreme caution, Hendricks. There’s already been an attempt to stage a gas explosion at this location. To find some sort of booby-trap wouldn’t surprise me a bit.”
“Yes, sir.”
Winward turned to approaching headlights as Officer Hendricks began speaking into his walkie. The car pulled to a stop, and Detective Hayes got out, pulling the brim of his fedora low and the collar of his coat more snugly around his neck. Hayes rammed his gloved hands into his coat pockets and surveyed the scene.
“What’s going on?”
“That guy over there was apprehended while fleeing the scene. His name’s Robert Manning, and apparently, he’s not your average burglar. He had a bag containing an assortment of burglary devices. I found a set of security system deactivators that would’ve impressed James Bond.”
“Was anything taken?”
“The van’s registered to Marcel Enterprises, and it was empty. No one’s been inside the house yet. Only the outside’s been secured.”
“Have you talked to the guy?” Hayes asked.
“Next on my list.”
“Let’s go.”
Winward opened the back door of the police cruiser and gave Manning an amiable smile as he crowded him over to the middle of the backseat. He pulled his door closed enough to block the wind, but not enough to engage the one-way lock. As Hayes did the same on the other side, minus the amiable smile, Winward detected the faint aroma of vomit underneath the pine scented air-freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror on the other side of the Plexiglas partition.
“Mr. Manning, I’m Detective Winward. The man on your left is Detective Hayes. We’d like to talk to you for a minute, if you don’t mind.”
Manning had expertly trimmed dark brown hair and a long, slim nose above thin lips. The first thought that came to Winward’s mind was aristocratic. He couldn’t tell the exact color of his eyes in the dim light, but decided on a gray.
“I’m not saying anything without my attorney.”
The man’s speech was articulate. Winward thought he detected a slight British accent. He also noticed the man was dressed entirely in black.
“All right. Obviously, you’re a man who knows his rights. So, I’ll tell you what. You just sit there and listen. I’m going to lay it on the line for you, Mr. Manning. Detective Hayes and I happen to be conducting a serial murder investigation. And guess what? You just jumped in with both feet.” Winward took a second to let his comment sink in.
“You probably already know this,” he continued, pretending not to notice the man’s widening eyes, “but this just happens to be the scene where we suspect the murders took place. You also probably know that someone tried to blow the place up the other night. You look like a smart man. You know anything about explosives? Or maybe you could give us a hint as to the location of the bodies. That would be a tremendous help.”
Winward tilted his head and staged a look of remorse. “Oh, sorry. I forgot. You’re not answering questions, are you?” He waved a dismissing hand. “That’s okay. Hayes and I have great imaginations. We’ll figure something out.”
Winward eyed the sullen man with interest. “You know, with the way you’re dressed and your little bag of goodies, I bet you could get in and out of almost anywhere undetected. And then there’s your choice of vehicles; a van that size would hold quite a bit of loot. A certain collection of paintings would be no problem. You do know the collection I’m talking about, don’t you?” he asked, leaning close. “It’s a collection of portraits. Portraits of the same little girls we’re looking for.”
Winward’s brow furrowed in thought. “What do you think, Don?” he asked, looking across Manning. “Don’t you think that collection would make one hell of a trophy for the killer?”
“Now, wait just a minute,” Manning erupted. “I don’t know anything about any murders. You’re not going to pin your mess on me.”
Winward feigned surprise. “Oh, sure we will. Besides, we have to pin it on someone, don’t we? You’re just as good a candidate as anyone else.”
Hayes grunted affirmation and compressed Manning with his stare. Cold sweat glistened on the man’s forehead, but he quickly regained his composure.
“Look,” he said calmly. “I know what
you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work. I had nothing to do with your murders and you’ll not find any evidence to prove otherwise.”
Winward gave a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. But you shouldn’t underestimate our abilities, Mr. Manning. If we can’t get you for the actual murders, we can always charge you with accessory. Either way, you’ll be in a shitload of trouble.”
Manning clamped his mouth shut and fixed his eyes on the seat in front of him. Winward sighed and shook his head.
“You know, it’s too bad, really. All you have to do is tell us who sent you. Was it someone from Marcel Enterprises, or someone else? Just give us a name.”
When no reply came, Winward gave another shrug. “Okay. Have it your way.” He pushed the door open and moved to get out of the car. “Officer Hendricks, could you step over here a minute?”
“Wait.”
Winward turned back at the command and met Manning’s unflinching gaze.
“When I pulled up, that door was standing wide open. I didn’t even get out of the van. I was leaving when the police stopped me. That’s all I know. I swear it.”
“It’s obvious you came for the paintings. Who sent you?”
Manning shifted his gaze back to the seat in front of him. “I refuse to say anything further until I’m advised by my attorney.”
“Fine,” Winward replied and got out of the car. He shut the door on Manning’s stoic profile. “Hendricks, call backup. I want this man taken to the station and booked; charges pending.”
“Yes, sir.”
Winward looked up at the dark house and his gut tightened with apprehension. Reaching beneath his parka, he removed his Glock from its holster and released the safety with his thumb.
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Hayes asked.
Winward heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I do.”
Hayes surveyed the scene once more. “I don’t like it, Mark.”
“Huh, neither do I,” Winward said. “If we had our damn surveillance teams, we might at least know what we’re dealing with.”
Hayes pulled his 9mm from his hip holster and pointed it down in the traditional two hand hold, resting his right fist in his left palm. He kept his eyes on the house.
“Maybe it’s time we found out,” he said.
Winward was the first inside, followed by Hayes. Hendricks entered next, trailed by four other officers. All had guns drawn. Winward motioned for Hendricks to send his men upstairs. Within minutes, each room was cleared, the house declared secure. An inspection of the premises was soon underway.
“Detective Winward?”
Winward stopped in the foyer and turned to face two approaching officers. Hendricks was behind them giving each man a gimlet eye.
“What is it Hendricks?” he asked.
“Robert Manning’s gone. Somehow he escaped.”
“What! How?”
“We don’t know, sir,” one young, red-faced officer answered looking Winward in the eye. “While the house was being cleared, we arrived to transport the prisoner to the station. When we approached the first cruiser to make the transfer, we saw that it was empty. I opened the back door to make sure, but there was no one inside.”
Winward heaved an exasperated sigh and stepped to the front door. When he looked out, he saw the cruiser that had contained Manning sitting at the curb. The back door was open.
He turned to the young cop. “Did you leave that door open?”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
“Are you sure both doors were secure before they arrived?” he asked Hendricks.
“Yes, sir. Both doors. The prisoner was secure,” he answered.
Winward heaved another sigh and shook his head. “He didn’t just vanish,” he said, throwing up his hands. “Make a search. Put out an APB. That’s all we can do for now.”
He sucked in a deep breath to curb his frustration and turned away to continue his search. After scanning the rooms of the first and second floors, Winward found himself in the attic studying strips of discarded duct tape. His expression remained drawn as he stood and turned at Hayes’s approach.
“Anything?”
“Not yet,” Hayes said.
Winward huffed in disgust. “No forced entry, no sign of the place being searched, nothing stolen. If it was, it was something very specific, nothing we would notice.”
“Maybe it’s time to call Shear. If anything’s missing, he’d be the one to know.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not? He could tell us if anything’s been disturbed.”
“Oh, something’s been disturbed, alright. I have no doubt about that. And it’s here in the attic,” he said, looking over the attic more closely. “I’ve got a feeling in my gut that I’m missing something.”
Suddenly, he realized what had been bothering him. “It’s the shutters,” he said. “They’re closed. They were open when we were up here the night of the break-in. Apparently, someone wanted privacy. Another thing is these paintings,” he continued. “Shear was very meticulous about keeping them covered.”
Winward pointed to the strips of used duct tape lying on the floor. “And take a look at those. They have smears that look like blood. A couple of drops are on the floor in the corner as well. There’s colored fiber attached to the adhesive on a couple of strips. And it looks to be cloth, not paper. On one of the shorter strips, I found strands of blond hair. I also found what appears to be facial hair; like eyelashes, or maybe hair from a brow.”
“They were used as bindings,” Hayes stated.
“That’s my guess. And if we’re right, maybe whoever set off the alarm wasn’t coming in, but going out.”
Hayes squatted to examine the tape and his scowl deepened. “Could be. That would explain the front door being left open. If someone was in distress, the last thing they would worry about is closing the door.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Winward met Hayes’s speculative gaze before calling down for Hendricks.
“Were any of the people outside able to tell us anything?” he asked when the officer appeared.
“Just one. A man who lives down the street said he’d just stepped outside to walk his dog when he saw Manning pull up in his van. He swears the guy never got out before the police arrived. Other than that, they all reported the same thing. They all came out when they heard the sirens. No one saw anything before that.”
“Then we’ll have to do a door-to-door of the immediate neighborhood. If there is a witness, he or she was smart enough to stay inside.”
Winward’s concentrated gaze surveyed the attic once more. When he returned his attention to the officer, there was a crisp decisiveness to his instructions.
“Call in and see if there’ve been any reports of missing persons or abductions. Start with little girls. Next, bring Jenkins in with his kit. I want fingerprints, and I want this tape and the front door tested first.”
Winward lingered thinking. “I assume the upstairs windows have been inspected for forced entry?”
“Yes, sir. No glass has been broken and all of the locks are secure.”
“Do it again. And make sure they’re given more than a cursory glance. The person we’re dealing with isn’t stupid. He’d find a clean way in. He’d also want privacy, so focus on the ones that would give him that.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hayes watched Hendricks hurry from the attic before turning to study his partner. “What are you thinking?”
“I think we’re dealing with two different crimes. Someone was in this house tonight, but it wasn’t Manning. He just happened to come to the right place at the wrong time.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because of the timing. It’s all wrong. It’s obvious Manning’s an expert at his chosen trade. There’s no way he would’ve come here knowing the police were on their way.”
“Meaning we have more than one person interested in the Rage collection.”
Winward nodded. “
But for different reasons.”
“Okay,” Hayes conceded. “I’ll buy that. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really change our current situation. I still consider Shear our main suspect.”
“Of course. But I can’t stop asking myself, ‘Why would he do it?’ Why create such an elaborate hoax?”
“To redirect the blame.”
Winward shook his head. “I just can’t believe it’s that simple.”
“Mark, listen to me. If there’s no evidence of forced entry, a key would’ve had to have been used. Who else besides Shear would have a key? Not to mention the security code. Why won’t you just admit the possibility that Shear’s guilty?”
“I’m not marking Shear off our list, Don. I’m just exercising other possibilities.”
“Such as?”
“Consider this. After the first break-in, Shear had his security upgraded to a topnotch system. The thing is, because the foundation and high ceilings put the upstairs windows twenty feet off the ground, he only beefed up security on the first floor. He knew the chance of someone using an upstairs window as a route to gain access was slim. So, he gambled by placing security stickers in every other one with hopes that the stickers along with the sign posted in the front would be enough to deter anyone from trying an unlawful entry.
“Now,” he said, holding up a finger, “if the silent alarms and motion detectors weren’t triggered by someone coming in, but by someone going out, the question is, if it wasn’t Shear, how’d that person gain access in the first place? If they had no key or deactivation code, the only logical answer would be an upstairs window. And that means they knew enough about the system to call his bluff. How else would they know the upstairs windows were vulnerable?”
“That’s all fine and dandy,” Hayes said, “but I think you’re overthinking things. There are no obvious signs of forced entry, no destructive surprises were found, and nothing was stolen.”
“Maybe he didn’t come here to destroy or steal. Maybe he wanted to leave something.”
Hayes glanced at the tape on the floor before his eyes focused on his partner. Winward could see the calculating thoughts flying and waited on Hayes to make the next move. He didn’t have long to wait.
Portrait of Rage (The Marcel Experience Book 1) Page 29