Ritson looked at Beth. “Your thoughts?”
“Finding Aaron and Pam Dorsey is our first concern,” she said. “That overrides everything else.”
Ritson nodded thoughtfully. “I’m glad you see it that way. You’ve both done excellent work. Unfortunately, the public and media have short memories. It all comes down to ‘What have you done for me lately?’”
“I still think we can crack this,” Beth responded.
“Professor?” Ritson said.
Jack took a deep breath then said. “If we’re going to catch him, the odds are increasing in our favor. Traditionally, serials go through several phases. The first is the buildup stage. After that, they’re often consumed by guilt or even horror at what they’ve done, on a subconscious level if nothing else. The second stage, which is typically more thought out and better planned, follows. Eventually, they reach the last stage.”
“Which is?” Ritson said.
“The time between the killings becomes shorter and shorter. The killer feels driven and compelled to act. Planning is more haphazard. Hopefully mistakes are made. I think we’re seeing that now with the abduction from Piedmont Park. It wasn’t exactly in broad daylight, but he’s taking chances. The video he sent is a prime example. There’s more information on it than he planned to let out.”
Ritson was quiet for a while. Seconds ticked by. From somewhere down in the street, the sound of a siren drifted up to them. “This is Monday,” he finally said. “Let’s keep working on those leads. Maybe we’ll get lucky and a few more will fall into our lap. I’ve authorized overtime and will give you more personnel if you need them. If we don’t turn up anything by the end of this week, we may have to revisit the situation.”
“We’ll catch him, Chief,” Beth said.
“You sound confident.”
“I am.”
“That settles it then,” Ritson said, standing up. “I’ll leave you to your work.”
Beth and Jack stood as well. Jack held the door open for her. Ritson waited until she walked through and then said, “Oh, Kale, give me another minute, would you?”
Beth’s eyes flicked to Jack momentarily. She kept going.
“Close the door.”
Once they were alone, the deputy chief informed him, “There are a couple of things I want to clear up. We haven’t had a chance to talk.”
Jack’s mind immediately turned to the incident outside Wellington’s. Noah Ritson was known for having his finger on the department’s pulse and everything that went on inside it. He assumed Pappas, the cops, or possibly someone at the Detention Center had let word leak.
“What’s on your mind, Chief?”
“Have you ever wondered why I asked you to consult with us?”
“I think we both know the answer,” Jack said. “If I don’t help clear the case, the department can hide behind my failure. If we’re successful, so much the better for everyone concerned, particularly the victims.”
“You’re a cynical fellow, Dr. Kale. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Jack didn’t respond.
“I assume you know who Janet Newton is,” Ritson said.
“My former boss—Deputy Director Newton, now,” Jack said.
“When I first heard that Detective Sturgis asked for your help, I made a few calls. Janet Newton’s a friend of mine. We spoke. Afterward, I talked to SAC Bennet Harbaugh. They both share the same opinion of you—brilliant but wasting your talents teaching at Georgia Tech.”
Jack had nothing to comment, so he kept quiet.
“Interestingly, I learned both invited you to rejoin the Bureau after you completed a detox program, if I’m using the term right. You never took them up on it. I’d like to know why.”
“I’ve moved on since then,” Jack said. “Besides, Internal Affairs wouldn’t be thrilled to have me back.”
Ritson held his eye for a long moment, then said, “I hear things now and then about people in this department. Most of it is none of my business, but every once in a while, something falls into my lap that bears looking into.”
Here it comes, Jack thought.
“A couple of nights ago, one of our mobile units noted a silver BMW parked after hours at a bar in a seedy part of town. They ran the plate and it came back belonging to you.”
“That’s true.”
“Normally, that wouldn’t bother me,” Ritson said. “A man’s entitled to take a drink when he’s off duty. But when you couple that with a passing motorist calling nine-one-one about nearly hitting a man staggering across Peachtree Road at three thirty in the morning, it raises some concerns. Was that you, Professor?”
“It was,” Jack said.
Ritson nodded, glanced out the window for a moment, and then turned back around. “My job is to protect the people of this city. I’ve been doing it for a long time. Sometimes that means putting our people in harm’s way. It doesn’t mean turning my back on a problem staring me in the face. You don’t strike me as an alcoholic. Why the detox?”
“Possible addiction to prescription medication. I suffer from panic attacks.”
The chief processed that for a moment. “I appreciate your honesty. What I really need to know is, can you do your job?”
“I can.”
“And not compromise the people working with you?”
“I can control it,” Jack said.
Ritson smiled at the comment.
Jack had had this conversation in the past . . . with Pappas, his wife, his father, his boss, even the DPR, FBI’s internal affairs unit. He was tired of explaining himself. Tired of being afraid. Tired of hiding the truth. He waited because there was no other choice. The possibility of being shut out of the case suddenly loomed very large. He didn’t know if he had convinced Ritson or not. He simply wanted to see it to an end.
Jack informed him, “I know that’s what every addict says. With the help of a psychologist, I’ve been trying to wean myself off the medication. I give you my word, the first minute I feel I can’t hack it, I’ll take myself out of the equation.”
“I think,” Ritson said, “the help you’ve given us has been substantial, possibly brilliant. According to Lieutenant Fancher, Detective Sturgis shares this opinion. Your efforts certainly saved that woman’s life at Underground Atlanta. Two minutes sooner and we might have done the same for Sandra Goldner. Not your fault, though.
“The one thing I won’t allow is for this department to be hurt, and by hurt I mean embarrassed. Continue with the investigation. Your colleagues like and trust you. That means something. If there’s a repeat of this behavior, you won’t have to worry about pulling yourself off the case. I’ll do it myself. Are we clear on that?”
“We are,” Jack said.
“You didn’t ask to be here. Maybe you were happy doing what you were doing. This is a chance for you to get back in if you want it. I know about your partner and what you must have gone through losing her like that. Unfortunately, it’s a dangerous business. Every time we go out there, we’re at risk. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I think so,” Jack said, fighting to keep his expression and breathing neutral. Connie Belasco’s face stared at him from inside a cloud drifting past the chief’s window.
Ritson went on. “Whatever led to that binge a few nights ago, put a cap on it and let’s catch this sonofabitch.”
*
Cold fingers touching her face caused Pam Dorsey to jump. She opened her eyes and was stunned to see her eight-year-old son leaning over her. Somehow, he had managed to free himself from the plastic restraints. He was trying to peel the duct tape off her mouth. Once that was done, he went to work on the ties securing her hands. But there was nothing to cut them with.
“I can’t get them off, Mama,” he whispered.
Pam struggled into a sitting position. “It’s okay, Aaron. Let me think for a moment.”
Across from her, atop a box on the wall, a digital timer the policeman had left was counting down to zero.
The display now read 178. Something bad was going to happen. She couldn’t understand why he had taken their shoes and socks and left them lying in four inches of water, but she was certain the two were related. She looked around again.
What was this terrible place?
A tunnel of some sort, but like none she’d ever seen before. Overhead, a single bulb revealed a series of colored pipes that disappeared into a dark opening at the other side of the room. Ten feet to the right of the box on the wall was a flat, gray door that was probably an access panel like the one in her garage that led to their crawl space. It was more than three feet high. Other than the tunnel, it seemed to be the only way in or out. There was no way to be certain if the policeman had used it because she’d been unconscious at the time.
“Where are we?” Aaron whispered.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“It smells weird in here.”
“I know.”
“Can we get out?”
“We’re gonna try,” Pam said. “See if you can open that door.”
Aaron crawled through the water and tried only to find it was locked. He wedged his little fingers in the opening at the frame and pulled as hard as he could. After several seconds, he gave up and turned to his mother, shaking his head.
There has to be another way, Pam thought.
She considered the tunnel again. No choice. The pipes took up most of the space, but if they walked single file, there was enough room. Even pipes have to come out someplace.
Aaron was back at her side looking at his mother hopefully.
“C’mon,” Pam said, keeping her voice down. “We’re leaving.”
Despite her hands still being secured by the plastic restraint, Pam Dorsey struggled to her feet, and together, mother and son started down the tunnel. They’d gotten no more than ten feet before Aaron said, “Wait.”
He scrambled back into the room and returned carrying his sailboat.
Chapter 49
Jack returned to his desk to find Beth and another man waiting for him. She introduced Steve Jamison, a supervisor with Georgia Power.
“We’ve just been going over the video the killer sent,” Beth said. “Steve has a couple of ideas.”
“Wonderful,” Jack replied. “We can use the help.”
“The picture quality’s not great,” Jamison said, motioning to Beth’s computer. “But I think there’s a chance that yellow area over the woman’s head might be one of our conduits.”
“I thought electricity’s delivered through overhead wires,” Jack said.
“In the suburbs it is. Inside the city, the grid runs through a series of underground tunnels.”
Jack’s attention sharpened. “Georgia Power has their own tunnel system?”
“Not really. Some we put in. Some are shared with other utility companies. Gas, electric, and telephone run side by side. Cable’s been leasing space from us for a number of years. Those green dots in the picture could be their wires. And I’m thinking the gray are gas lines.”
“You can tell from the dots?” Beth asked.
“It’s more the arrangement and combination of colors and the fact that they stretch across the screen. That’s just what they remind me of.”
“I wasn’t aware utility lines ran together,” Jack said.
“Better than tearing up the city every time you need to bring new services in,” Jamison said.
“Are they always together?” Jack asked.
“Whenever it’s feasible. But sometimes it’s necessary to create new infrastructure if none exists.”
“Meaning the tunnels where the pipes or whatever run,” Beth said.
“Exactly.”
Jack said, “I take it there are access points every so often for maintenance issues.”
“Of course.”
“Is the conduit Georgia Power uses always yellow in color?” Jack said.
“Honestly, the older stuff could be anything,” Jamison said. “We’ve been using yellow exclusively since 1983, particularly with any replacement work.”
Jack inquired further, “Did you notice both the woman and boy aren’t wearing shoes or socks?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Jamison said. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“There appears to be water on the ground where they’re lying,” Beth said.
Jamison’s brows came together and he looked at the screen again.
“Where? I don’t see that.”
Beth backed up the disc and replayed it. She pointed at the screen. “The camera pans across them quickly. But if you look close, you can see a water mark on the woman’s clothes. It’s the same with her son.”
Jamison studied the picture again and muttered, “Damn” under his breath. “That’s not good. If a water main’s leaking down there and it comes into contact with one of our transmission lines, whoever’s in the vicinity’s going to get fried.”
“Wouldn’t the water company know if there’s a leak?” Beth asked.
“If it’s large enough. But a small one, who knows?”
“Is there a master map that shows where all the utility lines are throughout the city?” Jack asked.
“Sure. The Planning Commission maintains one. When a contractor applies for a permit, they check to see where everything is located and then notify the companies. We have crews that go out and flag the areas to prevent accidents.”
“What about the water lines?” Jack asked. “Are there tunnels where they meet the other utilities?”
“There are probably a few left,” Jamison said. “When we run across a situation like that, we have to reroute.”
Beth and Jack exchanged glances.
“I need to know where they are,” Beth said. “There’s a good chance that’s where he’s holding that woman and her son.”
Chapter 50
Isaac Worley, the city engineer, was waiting for them in his office at City Hall. Next to his desk was a drafting table. On it was a large book showing Atlanta’s layout street by street. Worley responded to Jamison’s request for a meeting immediately.
He informed them, “There are probably a dozen or so places where the lines run together. Atlanta’s ordinances were amended in 1960 to require separate routing of water and electrical services.”
“Because of the danger of electrocution,” Beth said.
“Actually, it’s a little worse than that,” Worley said. “Did you ever hear of the old Crawford Hotel on Ponce de Leon Avenue?”
“Before my time,” Jack said.
“Mine, too,” Beth said.
“I was just a kid then, but I remember the fire clearly. It took about every emergency vehicle in Atlanta two days to put it out. People were jumping out of windows to escape the flames.”
“It sounds horrible,” Beth said.
“It was,” Worley said.
“The fire was electrical?” Beth asked.
“A burst pipe shorted out an underground junction box and caused an arc flash.”
“A what?”
“An arc flash. That’s where the electrical current running in the line jumps. Once that happens, look out. The result can be catastrophic, like a runaway train. A flash can travel along pipes or anything conductive. It’s even been known to jump across rooms.”
Jack’s face had assumed that intense look Beth was becoming familiar with when he was concentrating. He moved to the map book on Worley’s drafting table and said, “Show me where the electricity and water lines meet.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Worley explained. “I mean, there’s no index that points them out. Most everything was rerouted after the 1960 ordinance, but there are still some spots we come across every now and then. Usually it’s the case of a side line running off one of the mains. When that happens, we start digging and move the utilities.”
“But this map shows where everything is, doesn’t it?” Jack said.
“Sure, but you’d have to go through i
t page by page.”
Jack considered the book again. It was probably two feet wide and eighteen inches high. He shook his head in dismay when he saw how many pages there were.
Worley added, “That’s just volume one. We have three more books in the map room. I was working on that one when Steve called.”
“Jeez,” Jack said.
“It’s a big city, Detective,” Worley said.
Within an hour, Beth had assembled three teams of investigators at City Hall. Stafford and Mundas made up one team. Dave Childers and Jimmy Lee Spruell made up the other, while she and Jack composed the third. Dan Pappas put out a call to Corey Harrison, the patrolman who helped them at Underground Atlanta, and headed for the Fulton County Planning Commission where yet another set of maps were maintained. Technically a separate political entity, Fulton County’s jurisdiction took up where Atlanta’s left off. The recent census put the county population at more than two million people.
The detectives began going through the street maps one by one. Sometimes the lines were clearly marked and sometimes they found notations referring them to a supplemental map book. The process was painstaking and frustrating.
It was close to seven by the time they finished. Stafford and Mundas found six streets where the electric and water lines shared a common route. Beth and Jack found six, and Childers and Spruell located four. Pappas and Harrison were more fortunate. Having identified one quickly, they eliminated it as a possibility because the only point of access was through the basement of a fire engine company. The plan was to descend into the tunnels and begin searching for Pam and Aaron Dorsey.
Beth called everyone together to let Steve Jamison address them on the safety precautions.
“It’s important to understand what you’re dealing with,” Jamison said. “The average transmission line carries over two hundred thousand volts. A hair dryer with a hundred and ten volts can kill you. Heavy-duty protection gear should be waiting for you downstairs. It’s important that you wear it at all times.”
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