by L C Hayden
Manuel let out a pained yelp, but followed Bronson.
They dodged several leaping flames as the fire continued to dance around them. Bronson had almost given up hope when he spotted a window. He kicked the glass out, wrapped his jacket around his arm, and swept the shards away. He helped Manuel climb out, and then did the same.
They staggered a little ways from the burning warehouse before collapsing on to the ground. Bronson and Manuel swallowed large gulps of fresh air. “Are you all right?” Bronson asked.
Manuel nodded and made a gallant effort to control his whimpering.
“My car’s on top of that hill. I’ll take you home.”
“Can’t walk.” He pointed to his leg.
For the first time, Bronson noticed the deep cuts on the kid’s left leg. Bronson looked at the wounds. “Some of those may need stitches, but mostly you’ll be okay. I’ll help you get to the car.”
“We wait. Maybe pain go away. We wait one minute, yes?”
Bronson nodded. The building behind them crumbled as the fire consumed it. Bronson thought of Pete. “Who was in that building with us? Who tied you up?”
A chill covered Manuel and he trembled uncontrollably. “He said he name Carrier.”
“Anyone else there?”
“No.” Manuel placed his quivering hands over his lips. “Last time I come here is for party.”
“Yeah?”
“Me and Pedro, we stack boxes. We build—what you call it?”
“A maze?”
“Yeah, maze for little kids. They come, children and mothers and fathers from lab. They come have fun. Now it is trap. I made trap.” He lowered his head as heartfelt sobs escaped him. “I hate Pedro.”
“Why?” Bronson had thought they were best friends.
“He traitor. He take me to bad man.”
“Carrier.”
“No, Doc Ponce. He take me to Doc. Doc take me to Carrier.”
Bronson listened to the accent. He had pronounced doc like duck. “Who’s Doc Ponce? Where can I find him?”
Manuel shook himself and wrapped his hands around his arms. “He hurt my girl, my baby. I not say.”
The vacant look in his eyes warned Bronson that this wasn’t the best place or time to interrogate him. Let him calm down first. Take one step at a time.
Bronson scanned the area. “Are you ready to make the walk up the hill to my car?”
“You bring car here. Better, no? I wait.”
Bronson glanced at the steep cliff. No way he’d be able to drive the car down it. He also had to consider Carrier. By now he was probably miles away, but Bronson wasn’t willing to gamble. “I’d rather you come with me.”
“Can’t walk.”
Bronson considered carrying him, but the kid was big and Bronson’s age didn’t help any. He cursed time. His aging body showed him his limitations.
“You go get car. Please. I wait.”
Not much of a choice there. He’d have to find the road that led to the burning warehouse. From there to where Manuel waited was flat ground. Bronson nodded. He picked up a branch that could double for a baseball bat and handed it to Manuel. “I’ll be back for you as soon as possible.”
“I know.” He flashed Bronson a timid smile.
Bronson scanned the area once more, this time using the flashlight. Satisfied no one lurked nearby, he turned and stopped. He couldn’t leave the kid behind. “I’m sorry, but you have to come with me.”
Manuel frowned. “You go ahead. I follow.”
Bronson waited until Manuel joined him. They moved slowly and Manuel often fell behind.
Bronson detected movement ahead of him. He stopped, pointed the gun, and aimed the flashlight beam in that direction. He watched and waited. Nothing. From behind he heard his name called. A chill covered his body as he paused and turned.
Carrier held Manuel in front of him with an iron grip, the useless branch by Manuel’s feet. Carrier’s lips twisted into a sadistic, mocking smile that Bronson had seen before.
Bronson pointed the gun at Carrier’s head. “Release him and step back.”
Carrier crouched down behind Manuel, blocking Bronson’s clear shot. With a swift, practiced move, he broke his prisoner’s neck. “Message received,” he said as Manuel slumped to the ground.
He turned and ran into the dark.
Bronson fired three shots into the vast darkness, knowing full well the bullets would miss their target. Keeping the gun aimed at the darkness Carrier had disappeared into, Bronson squatted down by Manuel and checked for a pulse he didn’t expect to find. “Shiiiit,” he cursed under his breath. He broke into a run, pursuing Carrier, his flashlight beam scanning a wide scope of terrain. He looked for footprints but found none. Behind him, the faint glow of the dying fire did little to light the area. The night’s darkness protected Carrier.
A roil of despair hit Bronson, leaving him utterly defeated. If Carrier’s intent had been to make him feel like a failure, he had certainly done an excellent job. Bronson had been robbed of his sense of worth, marking him as Carrier’s next victim.
thirty-two
“Ms. Biebesheimer. Sit down.” Detective Gorman pointed to the vacant chair by his desk.
Ellen Biebesheimer gladly reached for the chair. She’d been flying all day, and a police escort had met her at the Rapid City Airport. Then it had taken two hours more to arrive in Custer. She had yet to check in at the motel.
She read the nameplate on top of the detective’s cluttered desk. It would have been nice if he had introduced himself. “What can I do for you?”
“Your job.”
Ellen sat up straighter, tilting her head slightly down. “I beg your pardon?”
Gorman’s fingers drummed his desk. His eyes narrowed and Ellen could feel him scrutinizing her soul. “Correct me if I’m wrong. At one time you were with the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, right?”
“That is correct, but I quit when I found out I can make more money if I freelance.” Gorman must have known that because he’d hired her, but for what? And why her? She looked away from Gorman’s desk and out toward the main room. She saw Mike Hoover standing by the entry door. That explained it. When their eyes met, he waved at her.
She waved back and focused on Gorman. “What’s he doing here? He’s the reason I’m here, I bet.”
Gorman looked past Ellen’s shoulder at Mike. “You know him? He’s a big-city cop and full of himself.”
Ellen smiled. Not quite how she’d describe him, but it’d do. Not that she’d know what to say about him if someone asked. In spite of all of her efforts to forget him, even after all these years, she still kept up with his whereabouts. She knew exactly which case he currently pursued and where each case led him. She shouldn’t have been surprised to see him standing just a few feet away from her. Still, seeing him had unnerved her.
If she were truthful with herself, she felt relieved to see him alive and well. She had heard Carrier had resurfaced. That thought made fear rise like a scream at the back of her throat. She remembered how Carrier had stalked him. She had lived with Mike through that ordeal. They’d been married then, but not any longer. “This is about Carrier, right? You want me to analyze him? If so, I’m afraid you wasted your money and my time. Carrier was one of Dallas’ most wanted criminals, and tons of reports exist about him. All you have to do is access them.” She scooted her chair back, getting ready to leave.
“Don’t get your feathers in a ruffle. It’s not Carrier I’m telling you to analyze.”
Ellen’s eyebrows knit slightly in puzzlement. “Then who?” She settled back in the chair.
“A new killer has surfaced in Two Forks. I’m doing this as a special favor to Captain Samuel Marshall from the Two Forks Police Department in Wyoming. This murderer has already killed a handful of people in Two Forks, and I know he’s been here too, so I’m doing it for myself as well. Marshall’s resources are a lot more limited than mine, so I offered to help.” Gorman leaned back in
his seat, a smile that said see-what-a-good-guy-I-am plastered on his face.
Ellen leaned forward. “You said he’s been here—I assume you mean he’s killed—both here and in Wyoming. If so, why hasn’t the F.B.I. been notified?”
Gorman’s features hardened. “We handle our own here. We don’t need any help from any of those fancy guys in suits.”
Attitudes like that always irritated Ellen. First thing she’d do is call the F.B.I. “Tell me what you know.”
“That’s why you’re here. I don’t know much, and I’m sure Marshall knows even less. The little I know is this guy is smart and devious. He knows all the tricks of the trade and won’t hesitate to use them. Marshall thought an analysis would be appropriate. I agree. It might help us catch this lowlife. Maybe your report will show us what kind of pattern he follows and that’s what we’ll use to catch him.”
“We’re talking about a serial killer, right?”
Gorman leaned back again. “Not quite, but he is a multiple killer. We feel that only you can provide us insight into his behavior.”
“Why me?”
“Because you know him.”
Something gnawed at her, perhaps nothing more than her inner voice warning her to leave. She shifted positions. “So who is he?”
“Harry Bronson.”
thirty-three
Shattered glass symbolized Bronson’s life. No matter which way he turned, he would cut himself on a sliver. Each cut deeper, more threatening. He couldn’t turn to the police, but he also didn’t want to leave Manuel’s body out here in the woods.
He called Mike. The message went to voice mail. Bronson told him about tonight’s events. “Call me as soon as you get this.”
He disconnected and checked messages received. The last call had come from Pete. Bronson wondered if he knew about his partner’s death, and if he had gotten a whiff of the rumors. Maybe Pete thought Bronson had killed Jay. Was that why he called? Had he sent Bronson to Mensa Enterprises knowing Carrier and Manuel would be waiting for him?
Only one way to find out. He punched in the number and pushed the send button.
Pete picked up on the second ring. “Bronson, I’ve been meaning to call you. There’s a whole bunch of nasty rumors circulating about you. We need to talk.” His voice came in clear and distinct, not robotic like before.
“Yes, we do, but let me first assure you I had nothin’ to do with Jay’s or Pedro’s or Mitch’s deaths.” He might as well add Manuel’s name to that list.
“I figured as much. I’m a good judge of character, but you have a lot of explaining to do. Why don’t we meet and talk?”
A cool breeze swept by, rattling the branches and swaying the boughs of the small nearby evergreens. Bronson zipped his jacket and remembered what had happened the last time he had made arrangements to meet Pete. “The expression goes, if you fool me once, shame on you. If you fool me twice, shame on me.”
“What are you babbling about? I haven’t talked to you since you left Jay and me to protect Eric and the baby, so how could I have fooled you?”
Something didn’t register. “Are you sayin’ you didn’t call me to tell me to meet you at Mensa Enterprises?” If Pete hadn’t made the call, who then? Carrier? The call had come from Pete’s cell.
“Why would I do that? I’ve never even heard of that place.”
Bronson decided to play his game. “Someone, using your cell and claiming to be you, called me to set up the meeting.”
“That’s not possible. I never called you.”
“If you didn’t, who did?”
“I have no idea. You sure it came from my cell?”
“Positive.”
“Somebody must have borrowed it without my permission. Let me think about that one. Maybe by the time we meet, I’ll figure out who and how that person used my phone.”
If he’d made the call, he would’ve had a solid excuse for doing so. Maybe he really didn’t know someone had used his cell. “When, where can we meet?”
“Hold on.” Pete returned to the phone a few seconds later. “Just as I thought. I’m here at home and I looked out the window. I saw a van parked two doors down. I’m sure it’s the police. They figure you’re going to contact me, and they’ll grab you when you come.”
Bronson rubbed the bridge of his nose. The world closed in on him. “Can you sneak out the back door?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. They’re probably watching the back door, too. Wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, of course.” His options narrowed.
“Tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to walk out the front door and make sure they follow me all the way to the movie house. They’ll see me buy the ticket, popcorn, and drink. They’ll watch me go into the theater. They’ll figure they’ll have maybe two hours. I’ll sneak out the back door. If I’m successful, we’ll meet.”
Pete’s plan might buy them the time they needed. Bronson liked the idea and his respect for Pete increased a notch. “Where?”
“I’ll think of a place. In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you?”
Yes, get me out of here. Lead me to Doc Ponce. Better yet, lead me to Carrier. Bronson closed his eyes for a second. He hadn’t realized until now how tired and hungry he felt. He couldn’t remember what or when his last meal had been. He could sure use a steaming cup of coffee. “Do you know Doc Ponce?”
A slight pause followed. “Yes. Why?”
Bronson noticed the hesitation. “He’s involved in this. I’m not quite sure how.”
“I would have thought this to be Carrier’s work, not Doc Ponce’s.”
“Carrier’s the killer, Doc Ponce the mastermind. What can you tell me about Doc Ponce?” Bronson realized he was pushing Pete, but he had limited resources and Pete, at least for the moment, seemed to be his best source of information.
“He’s one of the technicians at McGory and Stein. There was an article in the paper a while back about his work on that miracle anti-aging formula.”
Seemed like the anti-aging formula wasn’t much of a miracle. It brought death to everyone it touched. “I want to talk to Doc Ponce.”
“I can arrange that, but first we meet.”
If I can trust you. “Have you been with Doc Ponce?”
“Yes.”
“Any chance he made the call? Did you set the cell down somewhere, and he picked it up and used it?”
“Maybe.” A small pause followed. “Yeah. In fact, I did. This really bothers me. Let’s talk more about this when we meet.”
“I’ll wait for your call.”
Bronson closed his cell and looked down at Manuel’s body. Just a kid. God, he was just a kid. “I promise you I’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll get that bastard and help your gal and baby.” He placed his opened hand on Manuel’s chest and lowered his head.
Bronson’s cell jangled a tune, and he snapped it open. “Hey, Mike.”
“You’re in a hell of a mess.”
“You’re tellin’ me.”
“Where are you?”
Bronson looked at his surroundings. The giant pines and quaking aspen stretched out their arms, casting even darker shadows in the night. Beyond him, the ashes of the fallen structure glowed bright red like lava threatening to erupt. Every now and then he’d hear the angry pop of a fire refusing to die. “I’m still in the forest outside Mensa Enterprises. I can’t bring myself to leave the kid’s body alone.”
“I’ll call the police as soon as I hang up. I guess they’ll take maybe fifteen minutes or so to reach you. Get out of there before they arrive. Do you have somewhere you can go?”
Bronson looked at his watch. It read 10:24. He hadn’t even thought of where he’d be spending the night. Maybe Pete would help him. “Possibly.”
“Figure it out. I’ll call you back for details. I’m here in Custer but as soon as I talk to Ellen, I’ll leave for Two Forks. Hang on. I’ll be there.”
“Ellen? As in Ellen Hoover?”
�
�No, as in Ellen Biebesheimer. She went back to using her maiden name.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, me too, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Why’s Ellen there?” Bronson thought about it. “I’ll save you the trouble. She’s here to analyze my behavioral patterns, mental disturbances, and so on.”
A long pause followed. “Yeah, buddy, she is. I’m sorry.”
Bronson’s frustration became a lump in his stomach. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, I know, but still. Listen, Ellen’s getting ready to leave the grouch’s office, and I still have to make that call to the Two Forks police. Will you be all right?”
“Always.”
“Stay safe.”
“Yeah.” Like that was really one of his options. Bronson returned the cell to his pants pocket and pulled the lapels of his dark jacket up tight around his neck. Hopefully, that would keep the relentless chill from seeping into his bones.
Fifteen minutes, and then he’d leave. Fifteen minutes. He sat next to Manuel’s body and waited. The time had almost elapsed when his cell went off. The caller I. D. told him that Pete was on the other end. “Pete, that’s you?”
“Yeah. I did it. I snuck out and I even found us a place. A friend of mine is in Florida and I’m watering his plants. No one would think of looking for you there. I’ve got an address and instructions. I can meet you there in about ten minutes.” He gave Bronson the address and instructions.
Bronson took one last look at Manuel’s body and walked away.
thirty-four
When Mike saw Ellen head out of Gorman the Grouch’s office, he moved, blocking her exit. “You’re not really going to do it, are you?” he asked her once they faced each other.
Ellen looked to her right and left, perhaps searching for a way to bypass her ex. “Hi, to you too. It’s good to see you and all that jazz.”
Mike smiled, taking comfort in the thought that some things don’t change. The love of his life had as much spunk today as she did thirty-three years ago when he married her. “Ellen, you know how I feel. It’s always a pleasure to see you.”