by David Archer
“I just texted you his address, Pete,” Josie said. “I’ll see if I can get anything else on him that might help and let you know.”
"Thanks, Josie," Pete said, and cut off the call. "Alright, let’s go," Pete said. “We have the chance to save Angela and Jake, so let’s not blow it.”
"You heard the man," Chance said. "Let's go find Jake." Taking his jacket, he turned towards the door, but stopped mid-stride. A pair of figures had suddenly appeared in the doorway, and Chance froze as his mind registered what his eyes were seeing.
"Jake?"
In the doorway stood Jake, pale and bloodied, his left arm wrapped around Angela as she clung to him for dear life.
"Hi, guys," he said shakily.
* * *
The drive back to town had been arduous. Jake was glad that the Charger had an automatic transmission, because the pain in his arm meant that he was driving with one hand.
When they made it back into the city, Jake headed for the one place he knew he would feel safe; the Southeast Substation, where Pete and the others would be working. When he turned onto the right street, he looked ahead, then suddenly stopped the car and groaned.
He had forgotten about all the reporters. They were still gathered around the building, held back by several deputies. They were keeping a walk path to the substation clear, and that’s where Jake saw his chance. Trying to look inconspicuous, he drove slowly along the street, and then, at the last possible moment, he turned, driving up the path. Luckily it was wide enough, designed to make room for emergency vehicles if they were needed. He parked the car with the passenger side towards the front door and got out. Several of the deputies were running towards him, guns half-drawn.
One of them was calling to him, "Hey, you can't stop there!" He skidded to a halt a few feet away from Jake, bewilderment clear in his eyes. "Mr. Claridge?" His eyes moved to the car, where he saw Angela. "Is that…?"
"Yes," Jake answered. "Just keep the press away from her, would you?"
"Yes, sir." The deputy's voice was trembling with respect as he turned and ushered his other colleagues back towards the barrier where the reporters' excitement had increased ten-fold.
Jake ignored the press as well as he could as he walked around the car. He opened the passenger side door. Angela had already unfastened her seatbelt and was reaching out toward Jake again. Jake tried to hide her behind his own body as well as he could, to keep the reporters from being able to take her picture.
The reception area was almost empty, so Jake headed straight for the command center. Over all the other noises, Jake could hear Chance's voice.
"You heard the man. Let's go find Jake."
He stepped in through the open doors, stopping at the threshold, taking in all the surprised stares of his friends, as they realized who was standing there.
"Jake?"
"Hi, guys."
For a second, Chance wondered if he was hallucinating. Then Tina and Gabriella came rushing toward him. They took hold of Angela and helped her walk further into the building while Jake stood there watching.
He began to tremble, so Pete had pulled up a chair, carefully took hold of Jake by his arms and guided him as he sat down. Chance was suddenly at his side.
"So, no rescue needed, huh?"
"Not this time,” Jake said with a wry smile, “but thanks for being willing, anyway."
Pete, however, took in Jake's appearance and said, "My god, Jake, what happened to you?" He knelt down next to the chair and took hold of Jake’s chin, turning his face from one side to the other. "Did anybody call him an ambulance yet?"
“Ambulance, my ass,” Tina said. “I'm taking him to the hospital myself!”
Pete, Chance and Tina all helped Jake out through the back door, where Tina’s car was waiting. They put him into the passenger seat and Chance leaned in to help with the seatbelt as Tina got behind the wheel.
“Alan Batts,” Jake said. “He’s the killer. He should be at work right now…”
“We know,” Chance said. “We’re going after him, you just let Tina get you to the hospital. We’ll be by to see you later on.”
Jake managed to nod, then leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes as Tina put the car into gear and backed out.
* * *
He should have known. People like that Jake Claridge, they always have some kind of trick up their sleeves. Alan had worried that he might be able to escape, which caused his headache to get even worse throughout the day. At two thirty, he had finally decided he couldn’t take anymore and told Ms. Cargill that he had to go home.
He saw the Charger about half a mile before he would’ve gotten to the dirt road. The car was not moving as fast as it could have, and Alan managed to throw his arm up as they passed him, so that Jake didn’t even notice. He waited until they were well past, then weakly turned his car around to follow.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. Jake drove directly toward the substation, and there was no way he could stop them. The bastard had managed to take Angela, the one thing in life that Alan truly cared about, and the insanity that had been driving him suddenly took on a new focus.
Jake Claridge had to pay, and he had to pay with his life. It may take a while, but Alan had every intention of seeing to it.
He parked his car a block away, then watched as Jake got Angela out and past all the reporters.
Yes, he was going to pay. No matter how long Alan had to wait, Jake Claridge was going to pay. Then Alan could figure out how to get Angie back.
* * *
Somebody had thought to check on whether Alan was at work, only to find that he had left a half hour earlier. Josie came up with the address to the ranch house he had inherited from his mother, and nobody was surprised to find that it was less than a mile from the Lambert home.
It took almost forty minutes to get to the address, which was down a rough desert road. The house itself was about forty years old and rather small, built back in the eighties during a short housing boom. When they got there, they flooded out of their cars like an invading army. Pete, Chance and Agent Roberts were followed by Lewis, Jason and Floyd, and then the Station Commander and three more deputies as they hurried toward the front door.
Pete nodded at the rest before making his way to the front door with Chance and Roberts by his side. Each of them had a gun in hand, held low until it was time to use it.
"It's creepy how normal this house is," Chance said quietly as they walked.
"The fences are too high," Roberts said. Chance raised an eyebrow.
"Sheri, we're not exactly shopping for houses. Who cares if the fence is too high?"
"No, I mean they are legally too high," Roberts said. "Two feet over the legal limit."
"Maybe he just wanted to keep people or stray animals out," Chance tried.
"Or maybe he wanted to keep people in," she said. A chill crept up Chance's spine and he quickly shook it off. They had a job to do.
The three of them crouched by the front door as Lewis, Floyd and Jason went around one side of the house, and Commander Motley led his deputies around the other. Pete and Chance exchanged a look, and knocked on the door.
There was no response, so he tried once more. When there was still no answer, Chance leaned back and kicked the door in. They rushed inside and searched through the house, but there was no sign of Alan anywhere.
When they had cleared the entire house, they gathered in the front yard.
“I’ve already got a BOLO out on him,” Motley said. “We know who it is, now, so he isn’t going to get far.”
Pete and Chance nodded. “Let’s hope not,” Pete said. “If we miss him now, that poor girl will never be able to recover.”
Chapter 2 5
Tina and Jake were headed directly to Las Vegas General, and she wasn’t worrying a lot about speed limits. Getting to the hospital from where they left the substation meant taking a shortcut on Warm Spring Road, which had at one time been a highway between Henderson
and Las Vegas. Since Las Vegas had expanded to take Henderson into itself, it was still one of the few roads that hadn’t been overwhelmed by modern construction. It was a nice drive, at least when you weren’t in a hurry.
There were also some curves on the road that required slowing down, and that was when Alan made his move. He waited until she was approaching the next sharp curve, then floored the accelerator in his car and watched his speedometer climb. He knew that he might not survive, but that wouldn’t matter as long as Jake Claridge died.
He’d seen it on TV many times, the maneuver the police called a “tip-out.” It consisted of tapping the left rear corner of a clean car with the right front corner of the police car. This maneuver would cause the fleeing car to spin out of control, and it worked perfectly. Alan had to slam on the brakes to control his own car, but the one Claridge was in went into a spin and then shot off the edge and plunged into the ravine.
Allen’s car screeched to a halt and he jumped out, ran over to the edge and looked down. The late model Chevy was laying on its side and smoke was rolling from the smashed front-end. There were no signs of life, and Alan felt a rush of satisfaction.
He headed back to his car. He needed to get different wheels, because there was no doubt in his mind that every cop in the area was looking for him. He couldn’t go home, and he couldn’t return to the old ranch house, either. The only thing he could think of was to go to the only other place he knew well in this godforsaken city.
He needed to pull himself together, and then he needed to find another form of transportation. Angela thought she had gotten away, but it was not so simple.
After all, they were meant to be together.
* * *
Someone had called an ambulance at the substation, and it didn’t go to waste. Angela was hurried into it as soon as it arrived, and it took the more conventional route toward the hospital. Everyone who wasn’t involved in going after Alan followed it, but there was nothing they could do when they arrived at the hospital but wait.
A half hour after the unsuccessful raid on Alan’s house, Angela's father, stepfather and brother finally arrived at the hospital. Upon checking in with reception, they found out that Angela was in the Intensive Care Unit, which terrified them. They knew she was in pretty rough shape, but they were shocked to find that she couldn't have visitors right away. Only five minutes later did Station Commander Motley and Steve Winters arrive. They joined the others in the waiting room and asked a couple questions, but didn't get much information. After that, the waiting room was silent as the five men sat there twiddling their thumbs.
Lewis, Jason and Floyd were then allowed into Angela's room as visitors, but she was still unconscious. Jason and Lewis sat by the window, happy to watch over her from a distance. Steve Winters sat by Angela's bed, holding her hand. Floyd sat on her other side, his elbows on the bed and his head in his hands. None of the men even seemed to notice Pete walk in, so he knocked on the door. The detectives looked up then and turned toward him.
"How is she?" he asked softly.
"Stable," Lewis answered. "They’re running IV saline solution to rehydrate her, but Dr. Peterson says she’ll be okay in a few days.”
"I'm sorry," Pete said.
"Just tell me that we’re going to get that son of a bitch," Floyd mumbled into his hands.
"We will. The evidence against him now is overwhelming, so he'll spend the rest of his life in prison." They all nodded, but no one said anything else. "Floyd, Lewis, could I talk to you for a moment?" Pete asked. The two of them looked up and narrowed their eyes at him. "It won't take very long."
Floyd didn't say anything as he got out of his seat and followed Pete out of the room and away from his daughter. They sat down on the seats just outside of the room. Pete looked closely at the distraught men for a moment, wondering what the best way would be to break it to them. He took in a deep breath before deciding it was best to be straight with both of them. If their positions were reversed, it would be how Pete would have wanted it.
"It's about Angela’s mother and how she died," Pete said. Lewis’ eyebrows rose.
"I don't care about that right now, I just want to be with my daughter," Floyd said. Pete knew that was his first concern, and he couldn't blame him, but he also knew Floyd would kick himself if he missed out on this chance to find out what really happened. Lewis, on the other hand, was watching Pete closely.
"I understand that, but I also understand that you need closure. And that's alright, that doesn't make you a bad person or a bad father." Floyd was quiet for just a moment longer before nodding in agreement.
"Do you know who did it?" Floyd asked. Pete nodded.
"When Angela was eight, she and your wife went to a park and attracted the attention of a young fifteen-year-old boy who had suffered a lot of abuse from his own mother. At first, his fascination was purely out of curiosity; he wanted to experience the love and happiness that he saw Angela enjoying. After a while, that curiosity turned into an unhealthy obsession and he started to develop inappropriate feelings. He wanted to spend every moment with her, to the extent that he would pretend to be her babysitter if he ever had the opportunity to find her alone. If anyone were to see him walking around her house or if he was ever questioned about spending time alone with her at the park, he would explain that he was her babysitter, and nobody questioned it.
"Apparently, Molly heard about it and started paying attention. She started to keep a closer eye on Angela and wouldn't let her out of the house alone anymore. She finally found out who it was when she saw him pushing Angela on a swing at the park. She picked her up and brought her home and never returned to that park. Weeks later, the young man broke into your house so that he could spend more time with Angela. Molly heard and went to confront him. The confrontation turned ugly and he left, but a few days later, after Angela was gone to school, he followed Molly. He caught up with her at a drug store and waited until she went inside, then hid in the back seat of her car. When she came out and drove away, he waited until she had gotten just outside of town, then reached up and cut her throat. The car went off the road, of course, and he climbed out after it came to a stop against a tree. He went home, where his mother saw his bloody shirt and demanded to know what had happened. He only smiled and said that he had taken care of something. It had scared his mother, so she took him to a mental institution and put him into their care, to see if they could figure out what was making him act so strangely.”
“Son of a bitch,” Lewis said, but Floyd only motioned for Pete to go on.
"A couple of weeks later, his therapist called his mother to ask what had caused her to admit him to the institution. It seems he had written all this in a story, something to do with his therapy. His mother was apparently afraid the doctors might put two and two together, as she had after hearing about Molly’s death, and went to get him out. I guess the hospital resisted, and he ended up in foster care for couple of months. That’s how he got involved with John and Cora Smith. Once his mother got him back, though, she kept him close to her, watching to be sure he didn’t bother Angela again, right up until she died. That was when Alan resumed his obsession, apparently. He got a job at the coffee shop so he could watch her." Pete trailed off.
"Alan Batts?" Lewis asked. "The same man who killed my wife is the one who killed all those women and kidnapped my daughter?"
“That’s how it looks, yes. Of course, we’ll question him about it when he’s caught, but my wife was able to find this much information.”
Floyd and Lewis sat silently for a moment, but then Floyd McCoy looked at the man who had raised his daughter.
"We can't tell Angela," he said at last. Pete watched as Lewis nodded. "She'll find a way to blame herself, you know she will." He looked toward the door to his daughter's room, lost in thought. A moment of silence passed before he turned back to Pete. "Don't take it to trial, don't bother questioning him about it. Leave it as a cold case."
"Floyd, I… "
"We’re agreed," Lewis said. “Mr. Dixon, Angela has been through enough. Let this go. Batts will get life, at least, for what he’s done to these women. Please, don’t put Angela through any more.”
"She deserves to know what happened."
"Please, Mr. Dixon,” Floyd said. “We’re just trying to protect her. Please."
“No,” they heard, and all three turned to see Jason standing there.
“Jason,” Floyd said, “this doesn’t concern you.”
“The hell it doesn’t,” Jason said. “She’s not stupid, Dad, and she’s already figured out a lot on her own. She needs to know. Why do you think she got Steve to crack the old files, and sent you off to Texas? She needs to know the truth, it’s the only way she’ll ever be able to start healing.”
Pete looked at Lewis and Floyd, and shrugged.
“I think he’s right,” he said. “You gentlemen are going to need to figure it out for yourselves.”
He started to turn and walk away, but his phone rang at that moment. It was Carol calling, and he put the phone to his ear.
“It’s Pete,” he said. “What you got?”
“A problem,” Carol said. “I just called the hospital to check on Jake. Pete, he and Tina never arrived there.”
Pete was out the door in seconds, collecting Chance and Roberts from the waiting room on his way. Quickly, he filled them in and they hurried out to the Charger, but Pete’s phone was ringing even as they got to it.
“Pete Dixon,” he said.
“Mr. Dixon? This is Rex Motley. Listen, I don’t how to tell you this, but two of your people were involved in a massive crash out on Warm Springs Road, and the car was just found at the bottom of the ravine. They’re alive, but I understand they’re in pretty bad shape. An ambulance is there now, and they are being taken straight to LV General.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Pete said. He turned to Chance and Roberts. “No point in leaving,” he said. “They were just found at the bottom of a ravine, and an ambulance is bringing them in now.”