Dead Burn

by Jennifer Chase

  “Bobby nice to see you.” He smiled.

  The detective didn’t mind that the doctor called him by his first name. He reciprocated. “Fred.” He nodded a polite gesture. “So what do you have?”

  Walking over to the desk and picking up a file, “Your vic is Timothy Dalton.”

  The detective held his breath for a moment. The lawyer, the defendant, and the judge from the same case all burned … trapped. His mind leaped forward. Quickly, he accessed possible scenarios, motives, and anyone who would want all of them dead. Everything came back in his mind – the victims and families. It overloaded him.

  “How’d you identify him so quickly?” The detective finally asked.

  “He had this…” The doctor held up a small piece of twisted metal in a plastic bag.

  “What is it?”

  “Medical alert bracelet that he wore on a chain around his neck, which had melted to his sternum, but I was able to get the ID numbers.”

  “What was his medical condition?”

  “Diabetic.”

  “Hmmm.” The detective scanned the charred remains of the pedophile. It resembled a dark, twisted puzzle that grew more grisly the more he stared at it. He was unable to pry his eyes away from it.

  “I have something a little more interesting.” The medical examiner retrieved a box. He put it down in front of the detective. “This was the bear trap that was affixed to the ankle, but not just any animal trap.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning…” He contorted his face when he had an idea or a new clue to share. “It’s an antique bear trap with an identifying number A377 and a manufactures name Out-something.”

  A voice piped up from behind the men, “So you mean if we find a bear trapper that wanted a bunch of people dead by arson, then we’ve got our guy?”

  Duncan didn’t need to turn from his note pad; in fact, he would rather stare at burnt bodies all day instead of dealing with Fire Investigator Myers.

  “Just letting you know that the preliminary report is that the judge’s house was intentionally set with multiple accelerants. This time the perp didn’t care much about hiding how he set the fire.” He sidled up to the exam table and stared at the crispy remains of Devlin. “Don’t think anyone is going to mourn for you buddy.”

  The detective stared at the investigator questionably.

  “Oh, I already heard it was the acquitted kiddie fiddler.” He smirked and then shuddered dramatically to add more of a dramatic effect. “Word is… the Feds are going to be all over this case because of the judge, damages to city, personal property, and everything else…”

  “What are you saying?” The detective asked in more of an accusatory tone.

  Shrugging as he replied, “All I’m saying is that through the grapevine your investigation is going to be high jacked soon.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Saturday 0945 Hours

  Emily watched the trees and hills disappear. Then they reappeared from underneath the clouds. From her shotgun seat in the single engine Cessna airplane, the countryside laid out a generous view. The aircraft shimmied occasionally, dipped suddenly every few minutes, but overall it would have been an enjoyable sightseeing tour under any other circumstances.

  Red proved to be a lethal assassin, intelligent, with obvious psychopathic tendencies, and an accomplished pilot. For a man of few words, it was clear that the killer followed orders. He rarely looked at Emily, but seemed to anticipate her every move from experience and the ability to study people.

  It was a long night of catching only a few restful moments until the plane took off from the Orange County Airport. The next assignment would not be as simple as the last. Emily could only sit idly by and wait.

  The clear sky with breathtaking views of the mountains surrounding Lake Tahoe made Emily more uncomfortable and helpless with each second that passed. The dense forests and tranquility of the area left her isolated – both emotionally and physically. If she found a way to escape, or if she killed Red, instant death was Rick’s fate – no questions asked. She longed to talk with Rick because she knew that he would be able figure a way out of the situation. His calm, intelligent manner would discover an ingenious way out.

  Closing her eyes, Emily concentrated on the gentle ride of the plane’s easy maneuvers as they began their descent toward the small Lake Tahoe airport. She tried to channel Rick’s energy to seek some type of subtle clue that she had missed.

  * * * * *

  His entire life was about killing. There was little room for anything else, no family, no hobbies, and no chance of changing professions. Nothing excited him other than his next contract. The thrill of the hunt, the challenge of a flawless plan, and a perfect execution of the killing method kept Red getting out of bed every morning.

  Within ten minutes, Red would land the Cessna at Lake Tahoe. It was one of the most popular destinations for winter thrill seekers and vacationers alike, and one of the last pristine areas that bordered on the California and Nevada state lines.

  Red’s life reduced to a precisely scheduled day. At least until Emily Stone crossed paths with the Ones who watched the rest of society. A dangerous move on her part, but he had to respect her on one level because she got the job done. Her motivation baffled him. In an odd twist of fate, they were two sides of the same type of personality. She on one hand, cared about justice and doing the right thing, and he did not.

  He watched her struggle with her own internal demons and decisions she had to make. Most likely, she wanted to kill him, but her conscience wouldn’t allow it. That was where their personalities drastically contrasted. Red killed indiscriminately with simple orders and never looked back. It’s dumb luck that many of his targets were bad people, and some were just citizens who got in the way of the bigger plans of others.

  He saw Emily close her eyes. She leaned against the window. Her face looked at peace, relaxed, as tension left her mouth and jaw. The unintended gestures she made with her hands and her hypnotizing dark eyes intrigued him. Red knew she was a beautiful and intelligent woman. He knew that he should feel some attraction toward her, but there was nothing but a small degree of respect.

  Red had died a long time ago, and merely existed among the living. The game of killing had run its course, but he knew that the only way out was death.

  The airport became visible and the tower had cleared him to land.

  Red directed the plane accordingly, eased up the engine, and prepared for a landing. The only time he felt outside of himself was portraying someone else, even just for a moment, like when he piloted an aircraft.

  The small plane thumped the runway with ease, slowed its approach, and taxied to a private departure area.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Saturday 1015 Hours

  The reprieve lasted longer than expected. The abduction had a hint of an amateur quality to it. The strong overtones of something, or someone, much bigger nagged at Rick’s suspicious nature. He kept mulling over all of the events leading up to his kidnapping.

  His shoulders, back, and neck burned from the secured position in the metal chair for more than a day. He doubted that even if he did stand up, tried to fight, or run with any real skill or speed, it might prove deadly. Hunger tormented him. Whoever was behind the kidnapping obviously didn’t have plans to keep him alive for long and made no provisions for his comfort.

  The musty building along with the smell of an old septic system was never far away.

  He knew it was morning through the tiny crack of light underneath the hood.

  The nighttime had pushed his psyche to the limit; it tortured everything he thought he could endure. Screaming or pleading wasn’t an option; it would only entertain his captors by forcing his pain to the limit.

  Think.

  Everything around him meant something vital. The sounds, smells, type of restraints around his wrists and legs. The young guard who oversaw him was an important clue to pinpoint the location, and possibly, who ordered
the kidnapping.

  How do they all add up?

  The day grew brighter. He guessed the time around mid-morning.

  If Rick strained his ears, he heard the faint but constant flow of traffic.

  Think.

  He shifted in his chair to relieve the pressure against his hips and lower back; the numbness had set in to his posture. Using his mental filing system, he imagined different locations around California that would be less than a mile from the heavy flow of daily traffic.

  Warehouse?

  Historical location?

  Abandoned commercial building?

  All of these locations were possible. He began to mentally tick off locations he knew well, like a closed warehouse that manufactured computer components, a historic mission, and a partially demolished apartment building.

  None of these locations seemed plausible holding areas.

  Think.

  A low moan followed by a high-pitch squeak cut into Rick’s thought process.

  Slow shuffling feet approached.

  The hood pulled with a quick jerk revealed some sanity again. A blinding light and circulating air rushed at Rick. It relieved his breath. He kept his head down for a moment so that his eyes could adjust to the morning light. The horrible stink swirled around the small room, but at least it moved instead of staying stagnant and trapped under the hood.

  The recognizable aroma of grease took over the air. It was one of the most welcoming smells that Rick could think of at the moment.

  The young man stood over him with a fast food bag and bottle of water. He hesitated, dropped the bag and water next to Rick, and then roughly released his hand restraints.

  Not missing a beat, the captor backed up against the wall, pulling a gun from his waistband.

  Waving the pistol, the man said. “Eat.”

  Rick leaned to the side and grabbed the bottle of water first. His hands shook as he twisted the plastic top off. His shoulders cramped painfully as his moved both arms in a stiff manner. Bringing the liquid to his lips, he drank hurriedly; even the rekindled stinging pain of his busted lip didn’t slow him down as he swallowed more than half of the bottle.

  In a whispered voice, he replied. “Thanks.” Rick almost didn’t recognize the raspy voice that escaped out of his mouth.

  “You seem like a guy that likes beef, so I got you two burgers.” The captor’s eyes darted back and forth in nervous tension.

  Rick nodded.

  Even though he was famished, he still scrutinized the young man, staring at him with mild curiosity. It was clear that the man had done prison time, probably more for drugs or robbery. When it came down to killing Rick, the man hesitated. That was the sign of an amateur or relatively non-violent criminal, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t ultimately capable of carrying out the murder.

  Tearing the wrapping from the first hamburger, Rick ate the entire sandwich in five well-received gulps. It didn’t matter to him that he despised pickles on his burger because it was the best burger he had ever eaten.

  The feeling in his hands and fingers returned with a warm and slightly painful sensation, traveling up his arms to his tense shoulders. He didn’t realize how low his energy was until he began to eat, starvation had readied itself in his body and conserved the appropriate strength for survival.

  “Did you already eat?” Rick asked casually as he unwrapped the second burger.

  “Yeah about an hour ago.” He kept flipping the gun safety on and off.

  It showed the telltale actions of an unskilled kidnapper, possibly on his first assignment.

  “The burgers are awesome on the corner of El Camino, you know that place with the Hawaiian looking sign out front.” Rick casually spoke and knew it was taking a chance, but he had to begin to connect with the young man on any level.

  “Umm, the burgers are better on State Street, the best guacamole burgers.”

  “I’ll have to try that one.”

  Rick knew exactly where the burger restaurant was located. He speculated that the man lived near there and the building would be close to that spot. It was conceivable that this building was one of the partially demoed office buildings not far from the bridge overpass and highway interchange.

  “I didn’t get you any fries.”

  “No problem.”

  Rick stuffed the last bit of the second burger into his mouth. He felt better, but the pain on the side of his face began to throb.

  The young man fidgeted and rubbed his left wrist. It was clear that he had better places to go, but whoever was running the assignment gave him the low job of watching the hostage.

  “Hey man, I need to take a piss.” Rick simply stated.

  The jailer pointed to a metal bucket in the corner.

  “C’mon give me a break. Cut me loose so I can stand up.” He paused and then asked. “Where am I going to go?”

  The man studied Rick for a minute before he moved toward him. He slipped the gun in the back of his waistband and unsecured the restraints.

  As Rick stood up, he thought for a moment his legs would buckle and send him sprawled out on the filthy floor. He took a couple of steps toward the bucket and then relieved himself.

  Pulling the gun, the captor pushed the barrel into his back. Rick wasn’t sure if the safety was on or off. He wanted to gain trust with the young man and trying to get the upper hand now would easily prove fatal.

  There would be a more appropriate opportunity to escape, if his death sentence wasn’t handed down before then.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Saturday 1130 Hours

  The passengers at the San Francisco International Airport prepared to board the plane heading to the South Lake Tahoe. It was early enough in the year that there wasn’t any seasonal snowfall, so ski and snowboard enthusiasts wouldn’t crowd the plane yet. The group, combined of all ages, seemed to indicate that the flight was at half capacity. Eager faces of tourists and some business people patiently took their turn giving the flight attendant their tickets.

  Entering the jet way and walking toward the aircraft’s main door, Jordan pondered if he was headed in the right direction, or if it was just a technical wild goose chase emitted from a cell phone app not fully tested.

  His gut told him he was doing the right thing.

  The folding tunnel echoed with both light and heavy footfalls. The dome-like pathway moved slightly from side to side before he reached the actual entrance.

  Looking at his seat number, the flight attendant smiled. “Welcome.” She said and allotted a few seconds with him.

  “Is it going to be nice weather?” Jordan asked with a huge smile and a slight fat lip.

  “It’s clear weather and should be a smooth ride. Enjoy your flight sir.” Her eyes twinkled, but it was clear that she repeated the same sentiments to thousands people every day. Like clockwork, she welcomed the next passenger with the same enthusiasm.

  Jordan quickly located his seat; thankfully, it was next to the window so that he didn’t have to partake in idle chitchat from strangers. He shoved his bag in the overhead compartment, and settled in for the ride. He slipped his laptop underneath him. As luck would have it, the two seats next to him remained vacant.

  Flying proved hours faster than driving up the winding roads over the mountains. The engine revved, geared up, and then the airbus sped down the runway. It smoothly left the ground, took a sweep to the left, pointed north, and headed toward the Sierras.

  As the plane leveled off for the required altitude, Jordan’s thoughts were never too far from Emily. His heart always did a little funny jump when he thought about her. His heart had skipped a beat when he left Sarge at the Posh Doggie Daycare and Kennel. Even though, he was a just a dog, Sarge was Emily’s dog.

  Jordan shut his eyes after reclining his chair. He did not care if he wrinkled his clothes, or happen to fall asleep with his mouth gaped wide open. The arsonist cases ran through his mind, the cleverness of the detailed crime scenes, the specific victims, t
he changing signature, and each location different from the previous.

  He gently passed the time studying the cases, careful not to dwell on the uncertainty of Emily’s predicament.

  The plane bumped with mild turbulence, rattled the overhead compartments, and settled once again.

  Turning his head and scanning the rest of the passengers, Jordan watched a teenage boy playing with a handheld computer game across the aisle. Agile fingers moved over the keypad with nonstop motion, clearly an impulsive procedure. The slim, black plastic case allowed for anytime game play, and quick photo snapshots.

  Remembering the black box Emily had given him from the fire scene, he hadn’t had time to fully examine it.

  It suddenly hit Jordan.

  That black box was a hidden camera, it wasn’t live now, but it was when the victim stood at the heavy steel door before entering – a perfect vantage to watch his prey.

  The arsonist was nearby, maybe not at the actual locations, but close enough to interact with the victims before they died.

  Power assertive?

  Obsessive compulsive?

  Another bump jarred Jordan. Opening his eyes again, he hated accommodating the uneasy feeling stowed away in the pit of his stomach.

  Gazing out the window, he saw the magnificent mountains of the Sierras. They were everything as described, majestic, breathtaking, and wondrous. The clouds pressed around the plane with a puffed contrast, providing a landscape foundation that made Jordan want to reach out and touch them.

  That was what the arsonist wanted – to reach out and touch his victims.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Saturday 1300 Hours

  Daylight dimmed as the afternoon continued. Rick knew that time closed in on his life and he had to step it up for his next challenge. Pinpointing the perfect time to strike would prove difficult, if not impossible, and there was no turning back once it was set in motion.

  Time inched forward.