A distant voice echoed inside his head. “Don’t run.”
CHAPTER NINE
Oak Street was long and straight, with dense pine and poplar trees on both sides. The only sign of habitation was the occasional mailbox. If David tried, he could almost imagine himself somewhere in the backwoods of New Hampshire or Maine, but the illusion was broken now and then by a thin or open patch in the trees where he could see the Interstate and suburban sprawl just beyond.
He and Karen didn’t speak of Canary or Alex. She left him to his brooding, and he left her to scheme about how she might turn this new information into another national news story.
“Here we go,” said Karen. The police roadblock came into view as they rounded the corner. Karen slowed and rolled her window down.
The officer stood stiff on the side of the road. “The road’s closed off, ma'am, except for local traffic. You can turn around in that driveway right there,” he said, pointing.
“I’m with Channel Seven,” she said.
He gave an incredulous look as if to say, Duh, I can read the logo on your car. “Ah, yeah. No media is being allowed in at this time.”
“I’m Karen Watson,” she said strategically. “Captain Jackson said we could get a shot of the outside of the home.”
His rigid formality seemed to melt off. “Oh, hey, I didn’t recognize you. I saw you get shot during the story on the dirty bomb! We had the television at the station set to Channel Seven through the entire thing. Good coverage.”
Karen shrugged. “We were just doing our job. So do you mind if we grab a quick shot? We won’t get in the way.”
“Captain Jackson didn’t mention you were coming,” he said, furrowing his brow.
“I can get him if you like,” she said, holding up her phone.
He looked down the road, then back at Karen. “Nah. I believe you. I bet you got lots of friends in high places after covering that nuclear scare.”
“A couple,” she said, with a sheepish smile.
“Go ahead.” He waved to the officer behind the wooden blockade. “Hey! Let them through.”
“Thank you, officer, we appreciate the help.”
He tipped his hat and resumed his rigid stance as they crept past the roadblock and continued on toward the house.
David looked back over his shoulder. “Good thing you have friends in high places.”
“Good thing,” she said, looking ahead at the house on the hill.
Off to the right, the trees gave way to an open field. Official vehicles lined the road leading up to the house which, unlike the rest of the houses on the street, sat right on the edge of the road. As they approached they saw activity in the front yard. Karen slowed the car and found a place to park on the left bank. “Grab the camera,” she said, hopping out.
As Karen stood on the road surveying the situation, David went to the back of the car and flipped up the hatchback. He slung the camera strap over his head and grabbed the remote mic.
“What are you doing?!” shouted a male voice behind him. David craned his neck to see a man, with a large, bushy mustache, wearing brown suit pants and a light green dress shirt, break free of the group that was mulling in front of the house. “Who let you in? Get that camera out of here!” The temperature in his face was clearly visible all the way across the road.
Karen straightened her posture. “We’d like to ask a few questions.”
“This is a closed crime scene!” He strutted across the road. A uniformed police officer followed.
“I’m Karen Wat...”
“I know who you are!” He shoved a finger of warning at David. “Put that camera back in the car, son.”
Karen stepped in front of him. “Do you mind if I ask who you are?”
“I’m Captain Jackson, and this is my crime scene.”
Friends in high places, huh, Karen? David thought to himself as he moved toward the back of the car to put the camera away. She was going to get them both thrown in jail.
“We have a source who says the young man is innocent, could you make a comment on that?”
Captain Jackson looked as though he might pop a vessel in his neck. “Who let you in here?” he growled.
“Please, just a few quick questions. A young man’s life is at stake.”
Jackson looked at the officer who had taken a position on his right side. “Escort this young lady back to the perimeter and find out who let her in.”
The officer gave a nod. “Yes, sir.”
“And,” he said, looking at Karen, “if I see you on my crime scene again, you’ll be doing your next broadcast from county lockup. Do you understand me?” His bushy mustache twitched. David assumed it was in response to a snarl of his lip, but it was impossible to know for sure. The Captain reminded him of his neighbor Frank, only thinner and more angry.
“Captain?!” A man in a blue jacket called out from the group on the lawn. He strode toward them.
The police officer directed Karen and David to get back in the news car.
“Please,” said Karen, “we have information that can help you.” Her plea fell on deaf ears.
“May I speak with you a moment, Captain?” said the man. He was tall, clean cut, had thick brown hair and striking blue eyes. From the no-nonsense look on his face, David would have guessed he was from the FBI, even if it hadn’t said FBI on his jacket.
The police officer held his arms out, blocking Karen. She swatted at him.
David grabbed her arm. “C’mon. We’re in enough trouble.” This was the side of Karen he didn’t care for, the side that felt the world owed her free and uninhibited access. Apparently because she had the title of Reporter, she figured the whole world owed her an explanation. If they weren’t willing to give one, well then, they were hiding something from the American public, and in her mind, that was an unpardonable sin.
The FBI agent whispered something to the captain, and the captain’s hand rose into the air. “Wait.”
Everyone froze.
The agent looked at David. “You’re David Chance, right?”
“Yes?” he said.
“I’m Special Agent Collins.”
David recognized the name. He’d spent hours at FBI headquarters in Boston in the aftermath of the bomb threats. Agent Collins had been mentioned many times.
“I’m here with Agent Cooper. I believe you two are acquainted.”
That was an understatement. Agent Cooper had made several visits to his house, not all friendly, as he tried to piece together David’s involvement in the terrorist threat on Boston.
“Yeah,” he said, “we’re acquainted.”
“Are you here because of those messages you claim you see?”
David’s pulse quickened. The FBI had made it abundantly clear what their position was regarding his so-called ability. As far as they were concerned, he was in need of psychiatric treatment, treatments they would be more than happy to arrange. In fact, admittance to a psychiatric hospital had been suggested on more than one occasion.
“I’m here,” said David, with a glance at Karen, “because my associate likes to stick her nose in places it doesn’t belong.”
She looked aghast. “You’re throwing me under the bus?”
“For lack of something larger,” he said, matter of factly.
“Look,” she said with wild eyes, wagging a finger at him. “If you want to be a coward and hide your little head in the sand...”
“Enough!” barked the captain. He turned to the agent. “You want ‘em, you got ‘em, but they’re your responsibility! And,” he added, “when you’re done with them, I want ‘em turned over to Officer Shaw so we can figure out where our breach in security is.” With that, he turned and stomped back over to the group on the lawn. The uniformed officer followed.
Agent Collins put his hands on his hips and slid his coat back, revealing his gun and credentials. “What are you doing, David? Aren’t you in enough trouble?”
“Apparently not,” David muttered.
&
nbsp; He came in closer. “I can’t say I’m surprised, though. From everything I read, you can’t resist these things, can you?” His blue eyes were intense.
He didn’t bother to reply.
“Well, you can relax,” he said. “You don’t know it, but I fought for you at the Bureau.”
He remembered hearing something to that effect. Collins had come up from D.C. to debrief the agents involved in the bomb threat, and the day he left, the investigation had simply ceased.
“I looked at the same evidence Coop looked at, and I believe you. Truth be told, Cooper believes you too, but he has to do everything by the book or his superiors will roast him over a fire.”
“I thought you were his superior,” David said. He certainly looked the part. Under the jacket was a grey three piece suit with stylish striped tie, and his height and posture gave the impression that he was someone in charge.
“No. I work in a specialized agency, slightly higher on the food chain, that’s all.”
“What agency is that?”
“You wouldn’t have heard of it,” he said, shifting the topic. “Look. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you’re here. Weird and paranormal seem to be your thing.”
David’s mind locked onto the words ‘weird and paranormal.’
“I’m just curious what your messages are telling you.”
Karen sensed an opportunity and seized it. “Do you need David’s help?”
Collins gave a half shrug. “If it will give us some insight into this case, yes, I would be interested to hear what he has to say.”
“How about a trade? David gives you the message, and you let us take a peek inside the house.”
David had to give her credit, she knew how to play the game. She never missed an opportunity to leverage her position.
“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. Local law enforcement have jurisdiction here. Even if I wanted to, my hands are tied.”
“Then can you at least tell us what’s going on?” she said.
Collins acquiesced. “All right. I’ll tell you what we know so far, if you’ll tell me what you know. Deal?”
They both nodded.
“As you know, this is a murder investigation. The suspect, Ross Blake, came home drunk last night. During an altercation with his girlfriend, he claims to have blacked out. When he came to, his son was exiting out the side window of his bedroom.” He pointed toward the right side of the house. “And Mr. Blake’s live-in girlfriend, Sandra, was lying dead on the living room floor. Mr. Blake claims to have checked for a pulse and breathing when he heard his son exiting his room. That’s when he gave pursuit. He chased his son through the woods. The boy circled back and made his escape in his father’s truck. Mr. Blake claims to have reentered the house and, in the shock of the moment, realized his girlfriend’s blood was all over him. He began washing his hands in the kitchen sink and that’s when authorities arrived on the scene.”
Karen said, “Why was the FBI called in?”
“We are here to observe. It is part of a Homeland Security initiative.” He put his hand up to stop what was sure to be a flurry of questions. “I told you what I know, now I want to hear what David knows.”
David’s eyes flicked between them. “Ah, Karen made more of it than it actually is. I only have one sentence, and it doesn’t offer much. The message said, ‘Tell Karen Oak Street, innocent.’”
He saw the same disappointed look on Collins that he had seen on Karen.
“I wish I had more to give you.”
Collins’ response was contemplative. “That’s the entire message?”
“Yup,” said David, happy to receive his rejection and get going.
“And on that, you came here?”
“Karen looked at the news wire, and this was the only Oak Street she found. When we saw that a young man had been accused of something, we figured this was the place.”
“Well, I appreciate your honesty, but as I’m sure you know, we’ll need more than that. We need evidence.” He shifted his weight backward, as though he intended to move on.
Karen wasn’t ready to give up. “There’s more to the message,” she said.
That pulled Collins back in.
“There’s always more. But David needs to get in there to find it. If you can pull some strings and get us in, it’s likely you’ll get the rest of it.”
David started to object, but Collins spoke first. “Do you believe you’ll get more if I can get you inside the house?”
The fact that Agent Collins was curious at all about the messages surprised him—but this bordered on bizarre. Was Collins actually willing to put his own reputation on the line to hear the next message?
David let out a nervous breath. “I don’t know, maybe. I don’t have any control over it. They come when they want to.”
There was a subtle pause as Collins processed the situation. Then, as though a hypnotist had snapped his fingers, he looked at David with a detached professionalism, and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
CHAPTER TEN
Bruce cowered in the corner next to the sink, repeating one phrase over and over. “I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it...”
Jon crouched in front of him. “Pull yourself together, man!”
“I can’t. I’m transparent, like glass. They’ll see right through me.” Perspiration was forming on his brow.
There was no way he was going to gain his composure before the police came to the door; they had to be halfway up the front walk by now.
Jon clutched his friend by the t-shirt and dragged him across the floor, struggling and crying, around the corner and into the living room. “Just shut up!”
“I don’t want to go to jail,” he whimpered.
“You won’t! Just shut your mouth.”
“I don’t look good in stripes.”
“Bruce!”
He cowered down.
Jon looked at the front door in the kitchen. If the police peeked in they would easily see them. He grabbed Bruce by the legs and pulled him farther into the living room.
“What if they come in?” whispered Bruce.
“Then I’ll meet them at the door and turn myself in.” It was more likely he would make a run for the back door, but he kept that fact to himself as he lay on the rug next to his shivering friend.
“Why haven’t they knocked?” whispered Bruce, his erratic eyes surveying the room. “Maybe they’re surrounding the house.”
“Maybe you should keep your mouth shut.” Jon spoke low through clenched teeth.
“I’m not good under pressure. I’ll probably pass out.”
“Be quiet, Bruce, or I’ll knock you out myself!”
A muffled squeak caught their attention.
“That’s the porch door!” said Bruce in an exasperated breath.
Jon felt something move underneath him and jerked away from it.
“What?! What’s the matter?” said Bruce.
Jon let out a breath. “Nothing, it’s just Julius,” he whispered.
“Not the back porch?” said Bruce in a daze.
“No, ya big baby. I was crushing my hamster.”
Bruce looked down at Jon’s pocket, and a light came on in his eyes. “Oh thank God!”
They both slipped into a quiet apprehension, listening for the police on the front steps. Jon wanted to peek around the partition and look at the kitchen window, but he didn’t dare. “They should have knocked by now,” he whispered. “What are they doing?” He got on his hands and knees and crawled through the living room to poke his head up and look out the side window. Through the thin, white curtain he saw the police officers standing on the neighbor’s porch. They weren’t coming to Bruce’s house, they were talking with his neighbor! A wave of relief washed over him, but more than that, a wave of gratitude. If he had made a run for it, they would have seen him and given chase. The voices had saved him again. Whoever, or whatever, they were, it seemed he could trust them.
“They’re next door. They’re not even coming here.”
“They’re not? Oh thank God!”
Jon twisted around and sat back against the wall. “When they go, I’m outta here. I don’t want you in any trouble.”
Bruce offered no argument, though the expression on his face gave hint of his inner conflict. He wanted to rise to the occasion and be there for his friend, but there was no denying the stark reality that he was a coward. When it came to matters of espionage or deception, he was perhaps the worst choice ever. To use a playground kickball metaphor: if the CIA lined everyone up against the wall and picked teams, Bruce would be the last chosen, and grudgingly at that. But this wasn’t kickball; the stakes were much higher.
For both of them, Jon needed to cut the cord and leave his friend behind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Karen leaned against the news car, studying the men scouring the yard and woods across the street. Her thin, tanned fingers slid repetitively down a tuft of silky brown hair she had pulled to the front.
David’s brows lifted. “You still with me, Karen?”
She continued to stare absently. “What do you think he meant by paranormal?”
“I don’t know.” David crossed his arms. “I was wondering that myself.”
“I should have asked him when he brought it up.”
“Yeah. Why didn’t you? I’d think you would jump all over that.”
“Do you know what an elevator pitch is, David?”
“Uh—no.”
“When you jump in an elevator and realize there is someone in there who can make or break your career. You only have a minute and you don’t have the luxury of following every rabbit trail. You get right to the point, make every word count.”
“Okay.”
“When I realized he had an interest in the message, however small, I knew I had to jump on it.”
“Well, it worked.”
“It hasn’t worked yet.”
Agent Collins started back toward them.
“Are you going to ask him about the paranormal thing now?”
“If the opportunity presents itself.”
VOICES: Book 2 in the David Chance series (Suspense, Mystery, Thriller) Page 5