by L. T. Ryan
“And what happened on Friday night, Detective?” McCree asked.
“I went back to ask Roy Miller, or Michael Lipsky as we know him now, a few more questions. On the way out, I noticed some blood on the hedges that wrapped around the porch. He’d followed me out, stood in front of the door. I guess he knew what I saw. When I turned, he’d bolted. I followed him through the house, the backyard, a few more yards. He ran inside an old abandoned water tower. I chased him up to the top.”
“And he threatened to kill himself, didn’t he, Detective?”
I felt Mr. Holland’s stare burning a hole through me. Tears dripped off his wife’s chin, their tracks staining her cheeks. “He climbed over the railing, but I had no idea if the intent was to jump or to get me to back off. I had no intentions of allowing him the easy way out, not after he murdered his wife.”
“He was scared, Detective. And angry and depressed. He’d just lost his wife. I’m sure you can relate.”
I didn’t reply. McCree had done his homework on me and was trying to get me to bite.
“And he had cold feet about what we were going to do,” McCree said. “I firmly believe that he left the evidence out there for his wife to find.”
“What’s this got to do with the boy, McCree?” I asked, tiring of the game he was playing.
“You can find the boy in the same place you found Michael that night, Detective. You’d better hurry, though. A child as weak as him, and with a broken arm nonetheless, no telling how much longer he can hold on.”
Chapter 44
I had the image of Bernard Holland, struggling to maintain his balance at the top of the water tower, burned into my brain. McCree’s heavy breathing through the speaker was the only sound in the room. I grabbed Bridget by her wrist and dragged her out of the house. Behind us, I heard McCree start to laugh. He sounded exactly like his brother.
We exited the house with the Hollands right behind us. They bombarded me with questions. I tuned them out.
“Give me your keys,” I said to Bridget.
“Where are we going?” she asked
“Just give me your keys,” I said.
She pulled them from her pocket and tossed them to me. “Now will you tell me?”
“Get in the car.” I stood outside the driver’s side and pointed at the Hollands, who’d stopped halfway down the driveway. “You two coming with us?”
They didn’t need to be asked twice. Mr. Holland opened the rear passenger door and ushered his wife into the backseat. The car dipped to the right as he sat down behind Bridget.
“Where’s the lights and sirens?” I asked, dropping the shifter from Park to Drive.
Bridget leaned over, reached across me and turned them on. “How far is this place?”
“About ten minutes or so. I’m going to get us there in less than five.”
“What was all that about? On the phone?”
“Miller led me up that water tower and out onto this rickety walkway. I mean, it was decrepit. Every step I took, I thought it was one more step closer to my death. And not to mention, I hate heights.”
“Hard to believe,” she said.
“Right, anyway. The guy climbed over the railing, like he was about to jump. I pulled him back over. He landed on his head. That’s how he ended up in the hospital.”
“So this guy,” Mr. Holland said, “could have taken his own life. Instead, you save him and he takes my son?”
“Sir, with all due respect, that was going down one way or another. Miller is nothing but a patsy. You heard the way the guy on the phone talked about him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turns on Miller and gives us his location after the money hits his hands.”
Holland glared at me through the rear-view mirror. I ignored it and focused on the road. I was there to help them, dammit. At the same time, I understood their anger and frustration. How many times do we lament a lenient sentence handed out to a repeat offender and then have to watch as he returns to the street and kills? This situation had plenty of similarities. A few minutes later I slammed on the brakes and jerked the car into the water tower parking lot.
“Where is he?” Bridget said, getting out of the car.
“I don’t see him,” I said.
“He said he might not be able to hang on much longer.” She started to run. “Please don’t let him be on the ground.”
I started after her when I heard a small voice. I shielded my eyes with my hands and looked up. “He’s up there,” I shouted. “Clutching to the rails.”
Bridget met me at the door that led inside. “It’s locked.”
I kicked the door three times before the deadbolt snapped. Then I plowed into it with my shoulder, breaking the door from the frame. I took the stairs two at a time, full speed, until I reached the top. “Dammit,” I shouted.
Bridget was a few paces behind me. “What is it?”
“Chain and padlock,” I called back.
She appeared a few moments later with her gun drawn. “Stand back, Mitch.”
Shooting a metal lock inside a building with corrugated steel walls wouldn’t be considered the best idea. We didn’t have the luxury of choice or time though. General fatigue could set in and cause the boy to lose his grip. A solid gust of wind could blow by and knock Bernard off the platform, sending him sailing to his death.
Bridget fired four rounds before declaring victory over the lock. She unhooked it from the chain and let it fall. A few seconds later it banged against the ground floor. The chain slithered through the door handle and an eye bolt on the wall. She pulled the door open. A heavy gust of wind blew inside. Bernard’s cries for help rode the gust and echoed throughout the hollow building.
I stepped out ahead of Bridget, proceeding along the weathered planks with caution. “Don’t move, Bernard.”
He only glanced in my direction to acknowledge me. His skin looked ashen, his right arm grossly disfigured and dangling by his side. He wrapped his good one around the railing. If he slipped, it was sure to snap as well.
“Hurry, Mitch,” Bridget said from behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder at her. Her face was drawn and pale. She nodded at me. I turned and pushed forward. Every fiber in my body told me to turn around and get off that deathtrap of a platform. I railed against it, repeating a simple mantra of I will not allow myself to fail this child. I kept going, and soon I stood behind Bernard. I reached out and placed my hands under his armpits. He didn’t weigh much, and I easily lifted him and pulled him over the railing. Shifting Bernard in my arms, I pulled him close to my chest. He draped his broken arm across his stomach. I stepped back cautiously, until my shoulder blades touched the side of the building. He started to cry, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. I could only imagine the harrowing situation he’d been through. And even then, I’m sure I hadn’t scratched the surface.
I took one step after another, making sure I had secured my footing before moving on. Those fifteen feet might as well have been fifteen miles. The wind blew into me, threatening to knock me back and send both of us tumbling over the railing. Bridget stood at the door, holding it open and urging me forward.
I stopped moments after passing through the doorway. Bridget closed the door behind me. The wind rush faded, and the interior of the tower fell silent.
Bernard’s cries quieted. Halfway down the stairs, he asked, “Have you found Debby?”
I didn’t say anything.
“They took her away a couple days ago,” he said.
Bridget glanced back at me. I wondered if she shared my fear that we’d never find Debby Walker. Deep inside, I had a feeling that the girl might already be dead.
“We’re working on that, Bernard,” I said.
“Bernie,” he said.
“Okay, Bernie. We’ll do everything we can for Debby.”
When we reached the bottom, Bernard’s parents were waiting for us. Behind them were two paramedics.
“He’s got a broken arm,” I said. “Mr. and
Mrs. Holland, I know you want to wrap your son up in your arms, but he needs to be seen by those paramedics right there.”
“That’s fine,” Mr. Holland said, ignoring what I said and taking his son from my arms. Who was I to stop him? He looked me in the eye and said, “Thank you, Detective. I mean that.”
I shook my head. “Not me, sir.”
They headed through the door. I watched them long enough to see the paramedics take over and then I collapsed on one of the bottom steps. My hands shook, and my stomach ached, and my chest tightened. I forced air in and out, inhaling deeply and exhaling loudly.
Bridget came over, stopping a few feet in front of me. “You okay?”
I glanced up, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Concern spread across her face as she knelt down.
“It’s still not over,” I said.
She nodded. “I know. We’ve got to find that girl.” She rose, turned and took a few steps away. Then she returned, standing over me. “They’ll slip up, you know. Sooner or later they’ll spend a large chunk of that money, brag to someone, and then we’ll find them.”
“It was marked?”
“Of course.”
I looked around the barren room. The place looked different with daylight filling it up. “A little risky, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.”
“This place looks different when it’s dark.”
She shrugged. She hadn’t seen the inside of it before. Probably not the outside, either. “It’s abandoned right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Why?”
“All the rattling sounds. That’s all.”
“Old pipes, old steel,” I said. “Trapped water and sludge. Humidity and temperature changes cause expanding and contracting. Same kind of thing you hear in old houses.”
She nodded and said nothing as she stared up toward the top of the building. A tiny pinprick of light shone through at the top.
“What if the girl can’t wait long enough for the guys to slip up?” I asked.
She looked away, shaking her head. “What other choice do we have, Mitch? We notify everyone we can and hope they show up somewhere.”
I rose and reached for her hands. “What do you think about taking a trip to Savannah, Georgia with me?”
Chapter 45
Bridget’s eyes flicked back and forth, and she shook her head slightly. She must’ve thought I’d lost my mind asking her to go to Savannah.
“Before you answer,” I said, “hear me out.”
“Mitch, no,” she said, turning toward the open doorway. “We’ve got to catch these guys and find the girl. I can’t run off with you right now.”
“Bridget, listen to me.” I reached for her elbow. She stopped and turned. “There’s a woman who lives down there we should go see.”
“What woman? Why?”
“A few years back she helped Sam and me on a case we’d made little traction on. She… I don’t know how else to put this other than saying she talks to the dead.”
“What? Are you kidding me, Mitch?” She lifted her hands about shoulder height, palms out, and backed away from me.
I followed her through the doorway, pulling my sunglasses over my eyes to shield them from the sun. “I know it sounds crazy, but dammit, she led us right to the killer. Call it whatever you want, and believe me, I’ve wrestled with this over and over. But I was there. I saw it with my own two eyes, Bridget.”
“How’d you find about this woman?”
“She came to me.”
“She could have had advanced knowledge of the murder, Mitch. She could have known and acted only because her conscience got the best of her.”
I shook my head. “I had her checked out. Talked to some of the detectives down in the Savannah PD. She’d helped on over a dozen cases.”
Bridget looked toward the paramedics loading Bernard into the back of the ambulance. One jumped out and helped Mrs. Holland into the back. Vinson and Braden escorted Mr. Holland to their car. I presumed they’d take him to the hospital.
“Look, it can’t hurt Bridget. Worst case, we lose six hours.” I reached out and touched her elbow again. She pulled away. I added, “If we leave for the airport now, we’ll be in the air maybe by two o’clock. That’ll put us in Savannah no later than four.”
“This is crazy. Six hours is a lot of time, Mitch.”
“I know, but we’re running on nothing right now. Not a single lead.”
She glanced at me, then away. Her eyes rolled up like she was thinking. Finally, she said, “I can get us on a jet.”
“No,” I said forcefully. “Don’t invite the Feds. I don’t want them harassing this poor woman. She told me once she felt like a victim trapped inside a hell she can’t escape. You let them know about her, and they’ll be busting down her door looking for help.”
“Not likely.”
“Yes, likely. Once she produces results they can’t deny, they’ll be all over her.”
Bridget stood there, staring past me and biting her bottom lip. I knew it sounded crazy. If she were the one telling me that we should do this, I’d have called her nuts and told her we’d be wasting time. The fact of the matter was that time was running out and we didn’t have a single lead on the whereabouts of Debby Walker. If we didn’t find the men, we’d never find her. While everyone else worked to track them down, maybe my Savannah contact could help us find Debby.
“Okay, Mitch. How can we do this without letting anyone know?”
I pulled out my cell and called Sam. He picked up after the second ring. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Anything. What do you need?”
“Cover for Bridget and me.”
“Where are you going?”
I cleared my throat. Bridget watched closely. I turned away from her. “Savannah.”
“Mitch, no.”
“Sam, yes.”
“Come on, that woman is crazy, man.” Sam grunted a couple times and I heard a slapping sound, like he hit his steering wheel or the dash with an open hand. “She’s certifiable.”
“She led us right to that man, Sam. You can’t deny that.”
“No, I can’t. But you can’t tell me with one hundred percent certainty that she didn’t have some kind of previous knowledge. She could have met a guy in a bar who confessed the whole thing to her and then she used it to her advantage. I mean, they give shows out to people like this now. Not fictional shows, that reality TV crap.”
“He thinks you’re crazy, too. Doesn’t he?” Bridget said.
I waved her off. “Sam, we’re doing this. Anyone asks, we’re with you, but can’t talk.” I hung up and turned toward Bridget. “Let’s go.”
It took twenty minutes to reach Philadelphia International and another ten to park and get inside. Our badges got us to the front of the ticketing counter, and then through the security checkpoint. We had fifteen minutes from the time our boarding passes were printed to get to the gate. We made it in fourteen. The plane was only half-full. Bridget and I bypassed our seats and sat in the middle of a section of empty rows toward the rear of the craft. We spoke infrequently, usually after I tried to initiate conversation. I figured she thought I was a crazy person now. I didn’t blame her. But the fact was, I considered myself one of the most sane people I knew. I didn’t believe anything most would consider hokey.
Except for the woman in Savannah. I’d seen the results.
Eventually, I gave up trying to talk to Bridget and fell asleep. I awoke an hour later, during our final descent.
Before the plane had stopped, Bridget was up flashing her credentials to the stewardess. It worked and we departed before anyone else on the plane.
“I’m going to get us a car,” I said. “See if you can scrounge up some coffee.”
“Where from?”
Savannah Hilton Head International was a smaller airport with only fifteen gates. It looked like it had been recently upgraded. It had a southern feel to it. Almost like yo
u’d stepped into a small town rather than an airport. “I figure in a small place like this, there might be a coffee pot sitting out for anyone to use.”
Bridget disappeared on her quest for coffee, and I found a car rental counter. When the guy asked what kind of car I preferred, I told him one than ran. Made it easy on the guy. By the time I’d finished signing papers, Bridget returned with two cups of coffee.
The sweltering September air hit us with full force when we stepped outside. The humidity levels matched the temperature, which hovered in the low nineties. We walked to the rental car lot, where a compact Ford awaited.
“You know where we’re going?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Been there before?”
“Once.”
“And you still remember how to get there?” She looked at me out of the corner of her eye without turning her head all that much.
“Won’t ever forget it.”
She got in the car on the passenger side. When I opened the door and took a seat, she said, “Care to elaborate?”
“Nope.”
And that ended the questioning. She didn’t say another word until I slowed down and pulled to the curb in front of the house. We waited there for a minute, both staring at the small bungalow style home. The gray exterior was lined with red trim. There wasn’t much of a front lawn, but the grass that did exist was deep green. Small Mediterranean style shrubs wrapped around the house.
“Huh. I figured a psychic would live in a creepy old house with boarded up windows and cobwebs on the front porch. Surely they have plenty of those down here.”
Bridget opened her door, stepped out and walked toward the gate that crossed over the perfectly lined pavers leading to the front door. I joined her a moment later.
“She’s not a psychic,” I said. “She’s a medium.”
“Like there’s a difference?”
“Apparently there is.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Google it.”
Bridget jumped when the front door opened. I almost walked right into her. I glanced down and saw her hand hovering over her weapon.
“Detective Tanner,” the woman said, stepping onto the porch. “What are you doing down here?”