The Sin Keeper

by Gary Winston Brown

  “Consider us on the way.”

  CHAPTER 26

  BEN EGAN peered through a slit in the frame of the back door. Outside the factory, two police cars had pulled into the receiving area at the back of the building and blocked in the van. Through breaks in the old concrete walls and rusty holes in the metal roll-up door, the flickering of the squad car service lights cast a dizzying light show inside the factory. The older of the responding officers, a Sergeant as the triple bars on his shoulder lapel indicated, stood at the driver’s window of the van. Egan watched him remove his flashlight from his service belt, test the beam against the palm of his hand, shine the light inside the vehicle, then speak to his partner. The young officer walked to the front of the van and spoke into his radio. Egan heard the crackling response to the junior officer’s communication through the speaker of the police car:

  “Dispatch, Three Bravo Twenty. Be advised subject vehicle is a white panel van, registered to Pacific Floral Supply in Thousand Oaks, reported stolen. Exercise caution.”

  The officers drew their guns. The Sergeant trained his weapon on the side door of the van. His partner covered him from a safe angle as the Sergeant tested the door handle.

  Locked.

  They circled the van, tried to gain access to the vehicle through the rear cargo and side doors. Couldn’t.

  The Sergeant gestured to his partner to check the factory door. Egan stepped into the shadows. The band on his wrist began to glow, deep blue. He found another crack in the wall from which to observe the police officers.

  From behind him came a loud BANG!

  Egan looked over his shoulder.

  The hollow sound echoed off the walls of the factory. It was coming from inside the wooden kiln room.

  BANG!... BANG!... BANG!

  Outside, the young officer held up his hand, calling for quiet.

  The Sergeant walked to the squad car and turned the volume on the police radio down to a whisper. He returned to his partner’s side and listened.

  Bang!... Bang!... Bang!... Bang!

  Someone or something was inside the abandoned factory.

  Standing on the other side of the receiving door within feet of Egan, the senior officer spoke into his radio. Egan heard the reply.

  “Attention all units. Officers require assistance. American Heritage Furniture factory. Possible auto theft suspect on premises. Any available unit respond Code Two.”

  The police radio crackled. “Dispatch, Two Delta Ten. Show us responding, Code 2.”

  Another unit was on the way.

  Maybe more.

  Locating the stolen van at the back of the factory had given the Sergeant and his partner adequate reason to believe a suspect, possibly armed and dangerous, might be inside. They would wait until backup arrived before planning and executing their entry. Egan had no idea what level of response the police in this town were capable of. Perhaps a highly-trained tactical team was on its way, capable of executing a breach of the factory with military precision. No matter. The local authorities could send in a small army if they wanted to. They still wouldn’t be a match for him.

  His main concern was for Kevin and Lauren.

  Who knows how the police in this town would respond when they came face to face with him. The kids could be injured or even killed when at last they stormed the factory. There was no way he was going to allow that to happen. Kevin and Laura were innocents, drawn into circumstances not of their own making by a group of young psychopaths. Egan made a decision. He would protect himself, but also keep Kevin and Lauren out of harm’s way at all cost.

  He ran back through the factory. The teens had taken refuge behind the stacks of wooden pallets which had been his hideaway.

  “You two need to get out of here, right now. In a few minutes this place is going to be crawling with cops.”

  BANG!... BANG!... BANG!

  The pounding on the steel kiln door continued, each crash louder than the last. The yelling escalated.

  BANG!... HELP!... BANG…BANG!!... GET US OUT OF HERE!... BANG!... SOMEBODY!... BANG!... BANG!... BANG!

  “No way,” Kevin said. “We can talk to the cops. We’ll tell them what you did for us. How you saved Lauren’s life.”

  Egan put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “No, Kevin. You need to go. It’s too dangerous. Take your sister and get out of here. Go straight to your dad’s friend, Chief Kenton. Tell him your story. Just make sure you keep me out of it. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kevin replied. Lauren nodded.

  “Good. Come with me.”

  Kevin and Lauren stepped out from behind the wooden barricade. Egan pointed to a row of fifty-gallon plastic drums which stood against the wall of the factory. The dagger he had caused to fly through the air was lodged in a wooden column beside the empty containers.

  “There’s a hole in the wall behind those containers. It’s big enough for you to fit through.” Egan looked around, found a piece of cloth on the floor, picked it up, handed it to Kevin.

  He pointed. “See the knife?”

  “Yeah,” Kevin replied.

  “Don’t touch it. Wrap this cloth around the handle and pull it out of the column. Take it with you and give it to Kenton. It’s got Colin’s prints on it. Probably other fingerprints too. It’s your proof of what went down here. Explain everything to Chief Kenton. He’ll know what to do. Clear?”

  “Clear.”

  “Good. Now go.”

  Kevin grabbed his sister’s arm. Lauren resisted. She turned to Egan.

  “Thank you,” she said. She wrapped her arms around the Commander, held him tight.

  Egan smiled. “You’re welcome. Now get your asses out of here.”

  Kevin and Lauren ran to the wall. Lauren pushed the containers aside as Kevin wrestled the knife out of the column and wrapped it in the cloth. Egan watched the siblings scamper through the hole, free of the building.

  Egan ran back to the receiving door end at the far end of the factory and looked outside.

  A third police car squealed to a stop in front of the van. Two officers jumped out of the vehicle, their guns drawn. The Sergeant gestured. The men took up positions outside at opposite ends of the building.

  Egan watched the Sergeant nod to his partner. He knew what was coming next.

  Breach.

  He walked to the middle of the factory floor, knelt down, and waited.

  The receiving door to the factory burst open. As the Sergeant’s young partner rounded the corner he saw Egan and heard the voices.

  BANG!... GET US OUT OF HERE!... BANG!... BANG!... HELP!... BANG!... BANG!... BANG!

  “In here!” the officer yelled. “HE’S IN HERE!”

  Egan slowly raised his arms, interlaced his fingers behind his head, and stared at the floor.

  The rookie cop tried to suppress the anxiety in his voice. “Don’t you move, mister!” he yelled. “Don’t you dare fucking move!”

  “Relax,” Egan said.

  The cop’s hands trembled. “What?”

  Egan repeated himself. He spoke calmly. “I said, relax. If you keep shaking like that someone’s gonna get shot. My guess is that someone’s going be me, and after the day I’ve had that would really piss me off. I strongly suggest you calm down wait.”

  The young officer couldn’t believe what he was hearing from a suspect he was holding at gunpoint. “Wait… for what?”

  “You’re gonna need backup.”

  The cop looked bewildered and even more scared than before.

  Egan stared at the frightened officer. “Trust me, kid,” he said. “I’m the last guy you want to try to take down by yourself.”

  CHAPTER 27

  THROUGH HER hands, Jordan felt the intense heat building on the surface of the wooden wall under his touch, then watched it explode, hurtling splinters of wood and fiery embers into the darkness, leaving beneath his palms two near-perfect holes.

  Agent Hawkins ran back from the Rosenfeld’s bathroom carrying in his
hands two sopping wet towels. “Wrap her hands in these,” he said to Chris. “The cold will reduce the swelling.”

  Hanover gently folded the wet towels around Jordan’s hands. “What happened, Jordan?” he asked.

  “It’s called transference,” Jordan replied. “When a connection is very strong I can experience what the other person is experiencing. Sometimes it manifests itself physically, like this. It never lasts long. Ten minutes from now my hands will be fine.”

  “Ten minutes?” Hawkins said, “Those are second-degree burns,” he said, referring to the angry red blisters. “They’ll need at least a couple of weeks to heal.”

  Jordan shook her head. “That’s what you’d think, Hawk. But it’s not the case. I’ll show you. Chris, take off the towel.”

  “But…”

  Jordan insisted. “Really. It’s okay.”

  Reluctantly, Chris unfolded the wet towels. The agents watched in disbelief as the blisters stopped weeping and slowly began to reduce in size. The pinkness of her skin had started to return. Jordan wiggled her fingers.

  “See?” she said, “Just temporary.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life,” Hawkins said.

  “That makes two of us,” Chris said. He reapplied the towel to her hand. “You must be a blast at parties. Kind of puts the whole watch-me-hang-a-spoon-off-my-nose trick to shame.”

  Jordan smiled. “It’s a rare occurrence. But it happens.”

  “You called it transference,” Hawkins said, mesmerized by the fantastic display of rapid healing he had just witnessed. “How does it work?”

  “It’s different every time. It depends on the other person and the strength of their psychic output.”

  “So you feel what they’re feeling?”

  “Yes. But not normally to this degree.”

  “What made this experience different?” Chris asked. “Why so severe a response?”

  “Because I’d made a connection with him before. You might say we ‘crossed wires.’”

  “Are you talking about the energy signature you picked up from the railing downstairs? Our suspect did that to you?”

  Jordan nodded. “Yes. But I don’t think he knows that he did. It wasn’t an attack. If that had been his intention he could have done a lot more damage. I don’t think he knows that I’m aware of him.”

  “Try to keep it that way,” Chris said.

  Jordan smiled. “No argument here.”

  “Can you hide from him?” Chris asked. “Tap into his energy signature but not allow him to tap into yours?”

  “Possibly. Through remote viewing.”

  “How would that work?” Hawkins asked.

  “Every energy signature is unique,” Jordan explained, “in the same way the electronic serial number of one cell phone differs from the next, yet millions of them are capable of sharing the airwaves simultaneously. If I can feel his frequency, then there’s a good chance that I can connect to it.”

  “And you’ll be able to see what he’s seeing,” Hawkins said.

  “That’s right.”

  Chris removed the wet towels and inspected Jordan’s hands. The blisters were gone. Her palms were smooth. No physical evidence of the burns remained.

  Hawkins shook his head. “Incredible,” he said. “If I hadn’t seen this with my own eyes I’d never have believed it. How will you know when it’s safe to connect with him but not have this happen to you again?”

  “I won’t,” Jordan answered. “But over the years I've learned to make one critical distinction.”

  “What’s that?” Chris asked.

  “Whether the energy signature is emanating from this side or the other.”

  “Other side?” Hawkins asked.

  “Yes. The energy from those who have passed over is different,” Jordan explained. “It affects me differently. Its effect is almost magnetic and feels cold and constricting, like a band tightening around my chest. Sometimes the dead can make it hard for me to breathe. It isn’t that way with the living. Their energy strong, vital, animated.”

  “And this guy?” Chris asked. “Which side is he on?” He looked at Hawkins and shook his head. “I can’t believe I just asked that.”

  Jordan smiled. “Definitely on this side. He’s very much alive.”

  “Great,” Hawkins said. “Somehow I don’t feel better knowing that.”

  Chris examined Jordan’s hands. “How are you now?”

  Her skin appeared normal. “Good to go,” Jordan replied.

  “Feel up to taking that drive to see Verenich?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m going to do a little more poking around and see what else I can come up with on these codes,” Hawkins said. He stood up, rounded the desk, and sat in front of the computer.

  “Sounds good,” Jordan said. “Call us when you have something.”

  “You got it,” Hawkins replied.

  Outside, a noise caught their attention. Jordan and Chris walked through the Rosenfeld’s bedroom and looked out the window. The throng of reporters and news crews gathered at the front gates of the mansion were firing questions at Special Agent Lynch, demanding an update on the progress the Bureau was making inside the home.

  “I want to take this guy down,” Jordan said, “The harder, the better.”

  “Damn straight,” Chris replied.

  Jordan turned and looked at the blood-soaked bed. “Anyone capable of doing this doesn’t deserve justice,” she said.

  “The game will play itself out Jordan, one way or the other,” Chris replied. “And I have a pretty clear idea of how I want it to end for this guy. Especially after what he did to you.”

  “I can take care of myself, Chris,” Jordan said firmly.

  “I never said you couldn’t. What I am saying is I’ve got your back. When he goes after you he better damn well know he’s going after me too.”

  “I’m getting tired of being two steps behind with this guy,” Jordan said. “It’s time he found out what I’m capable of.”

  Chris looked at his partner. “Then show him.”

  Jordan nodded. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER 28

  PREOCCUPIED WITH thoughts of his conversations with both FBI Assistant Director Ridgeway and the guard at Dynamic Life Sciences about Dr. Jason Merrick, Chief Riley Jenkins jumped in the seat of his car when his cellphone rang. The Jeep jerked to the left. A loud vibration shook the vehicle as it caught the shoulder of the road. Jenkins corrected the Jeep and brought it back into the lane. The phone’s display read JACK POOLE. He took the call.

  “How goes the field trip, Chief?”

  “Interesting… to say the least. Tell me you’ve got something good for me, Jack.”

  “Looks that way. Doc Kent ran the thumbprint. LiveScan confirms it belongs to Labrada.”

  “How did Labrada end up with his fingerprints in AFIS?”

  “Some guy broke into his truck five years ago trying to steal his tools. Labrada caught him in the act. Took a lead pipe to him and beat him within an inch of his life. The guy ended up with a busted jaw, right parietal fracture and a collapsed lung. Apparently, this wasn't Labrada’s first time dealing with the cops. A restraining order had been issued against him six months earlier for knocking out his ex-wife’s teeth. Sad… I kinda wish this guy was still alive.”

  “Why?”

  “So that I could beat the crap out of him myself.”

  “I didn’t hear that, Deputy.”

  “Hey, any guy who’s pussy enough to lay a hand on a woman needs a good old-fashioned beat down in my book. Probably best if its calendar scheduled. Once a week would be good. You know, beer with the boys, burgers, fries, bowling… asshole beat down. Wednesdays would work for me.”

  “Sorry, Jack,” Jenkins joked. “I missed all of that. Your radio must have cut out. You were saying something about Labrada?”

  “Doc figures the pavement paste we found is probably all that�
�s left of him.”

  “Any news on the implant Button found?”

  “Yeah. It’s serialized, all right. Doc put a drop-whatever-the-fuck-you’re-doing call into Forensics. Told Odontology to expect Byers. Pat’s running it over to the lab now. We should hear something soon.”

  “Good.”

  “What happened at Dynamic Life Sciences? You talk to this guy Merrick?”

  “No such luck. The place is locked down. Merrick’s AWOL.”

  “You gotta be shittin’ me.”

  “I also got a call from the FBI.”

  “The Feds? What did they want?”

  “They’d asked the DMV to flag Merrick’s Porsche. Seems when we ran the plates we tripped an alarm with them.”

  “Did they say why they were looking for Merrick?”

  “No. They were more interested to know why we were.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “That something seriously messed up is going on. And that we’re still trying to put the pieces together. That’s not all. The DoD is working with the FBI on this, too.”

  “Jesus. The feds and the Department of Defense? Who the hell is this Merrick guy, anyhow?”

  “That’s the question of the hour, Jack. And I’ve got a feeling we’re going to know a lot more about him before the day is out.”

  “So what’s the next step, Chief?” Poole asked. “What do you want us to do?”

  “For now, sit tight. Keep the scene secure. Nobody crosses that tape without my say so. I don’t care what kind of credentials they present. This happened on our turf, Jack. We’re going to be kept in the loop. Whether they like it or not.”

  “Copy that.”

  The afternoon sun had started to set. Streaks of purple bruised the sky. “It’s going to be dark in a couple of hours. Have the boy’s tent and light the area. Make sure any evidence we haven’t yet processed is protected. And set up privacy barriers around the perimeter. I don’t want to see a reporter within a thousand feet of the scene.”

  “You got it,” Poole replied.

  “What’s Labrada’s current status, Jack? Does he have any family we can talk to?”