Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  Finally pushing aside the shattered portal, I stepped into the alcove. The reek of gasoline was overpowering. Several tipped-over five-gallon gas cans lay nearby—one in the kitchen, another in the dining room. At the top of the stairs, another partially filled container sat in a puddle of gas.

  “What kept you?” I asked.

  “Krüger must have relocked the front door,” Deluca replied. “Had to bust in. Sorry about your car, by the way. Didn’t bother to climb the gate.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He was gone when we got here,” Snead replied.

  “Well, now he’s back,” Taylor’s voice came from behind us.

  I turned to see Taylor making her way into the kitchen, Dr. Krüger out front. Krüger’s hands were cuffed behind him. I also noticed blood running from his nose and dripping onto his shirt.

  “I caught him on the terrace, heading out for a midnight bike ride,” Taylor explained. “We had a disagreement about his coming back. He wound up taking a spill.”

  “You bitch,” Krüger spat, his face mottled with fury. “You are going to regret this. All of you.”

  “I doubt that,” I said, grabbing Krüger by his bloodstained shirt. Popping a few buttons, I jerked a keychain from his neck. Then, glancing at the gas cans, “You set a timer to start your little bonfire here?”

  Krüger glared. “I want my lawyer.”

  I turned to Deluca. “Find his igniter before this place goes up in flames. And don’t turn on any lights. Fumes.”

  “On it,” said Deluca, heading into the house.

  “Watch him,” I said to Snead. “Taylor, you’re with me.”

  Accompanied by Taylor, I rushed back down the stairs, returning to Krüger’s basement prison. This time I noticed a light switch beside the door. Afraid of sparking the fumes, I didn’t flip it on, using my flashlight instead.

  The young woman began crying again when she saw the key in my hand. “Oh, thank God, thank God,” she whispered, tears running down her face. “I don’t want to die.”

  “Nobody’s going to die,” I assured her, swinging open the iron door. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” I added, placing an arm around her shoulders.

  With Taylor and me assisting the young woman, we retreated up the stairs. Snead and Deluca were on the landing when we arrived. Both had their weapons trained on Krüger, who was kneeling in a puddle of gas.

  I tipped my head at Taylor, signaling her to take the young woman out through the garage. Then, to Deluca, “You find his igniter?”

  “Yeah, in the den. Lit cigarette and a pack of matches.”

  “Any other incendiary devices?”

  “I didn’t see any. I didn’t have time to search the entire house, but I think we’re good, unless something accidentally sparks the gas. Either way, we should get out of here.”

  “I hear you. Let’s go.”

  “I need a minute,” said Snead.

  “What for?” asked Deluca.

  I looked at Snead, then back at Deluca. “Paul, I’ll see you outside. Start getting a statement from the young woman. And get that collar off her neck.”

  “Right,” said Deluca. Then, heading for the mudroom, “Don’t be too long, paisano.”

  Still holding his weapon on Krüger, Snead glanced at me. “You, too, Kane. Out.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay, then this is on you.” Leaning down, Snead grabbed the partially filled gas can at his feet. Before I could stop him, he dumped the contents on Krüger, drenching him with gasoline.

  “Jesus, Snead! What are you doing?”

  “This piece of filth likes to burn people,” Snead snarled. “Just giving him a taste of his own medicine.”

  Sputtering, Krüger stared up at Snead. “You’re conducting an illegal search. Nothing you find here will hold up in court.”

  “You’re not going to walk on this, pal,” I said. “That is not going to happen.”

  “We’ll see,” Krüger shot back. “In the meantime, I want to speak with my lawyer.”

  “That’s not going to happen, either,” Snead said quietly. Stepping closer, he placed the muzzle of his pistol against Krüger’s forehead.

  “Snead . . .”

  “Get out of here, Kane.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “After what this monster did to Ella, I can’t let him go. You lost a child, Kane. You, of all people, should understand.”

  “I do. But . . . that isn’t the way.”

  Oddly, Dr. Krüger seemed unafraid. Cocking his head to one side, he squinted into the glare of our flashlights. His tongue flicked across his lips. “You don’t have the stones,” he said to Snead.

  Gun pressed to Krüger’s forehead, Snead’s eyes welled with tears of rage and frustration and utter, ineffable loss. Taking a breath to steady himself, he struggled to pull the trigger.

  Krüger regarded Snead with cold, emotionless eyes.

  “Bill, don’t,” I said. “Killing him won’t bring her back.”

  Tears coursing down his cheeks, his finger trembling on the trigger, Snead screamed—venting his anger in one long, pitiful, heartrending cry.

  Then, hand shaking, he lowered his weapon.

  I moved in, deciding to get Krüger out of there before Snead changed his mind.

  Suddenly I smelled smoke.

  I turned.

  Fire was flickering in the basement, probably ignited by the furnace. An instant later the flames began climbing the stairway. I rushed to the door, hoping to contain the blaze. The gunfire-shattered portal refused to close.

  Soaked in gasoline, Krüger realized the danger. “No!” he screamed, struggling to rise. Hands cuffed behind his back, he lost his balance, lurching to one side.

  The fire raced toward us. Heart pounding, I stepped away from the puddled gasoline. Snead did the same.

  Krüger wasn’t as fortunate. Squealing in horror, he again tried to rise.

  And again he failed.

  Like a hungry beast, the flames engulfed Dr. Krüger, devouring him in a fireball. Screaming, he attempted to quench the blaze by rolling on the gas-puddled floor, making matters worse.

  Smoke was rapidly filling the room. Fire had spread to the kitchen. I could also hear a roar from other parts of the house, concluding that Krüger must have set more than one igniter.

  Bare seconds remained before the entire structure went up in flames. I grabbed one of Krüger’s ankles. Backing toward the kitchen, I began dragging him with me.

  I glanced at Snead. “Help me,” I yelled.

  To his credit, Snead only hesitated a moment.

  More quickly than I could have imagined, the inferno in the house took hold. Flames erupting on all sides, Snead and I retreated through the kitchen, hindered by a blazing, writhing, screeching Dr. Krüger.

  My plan was to make it to the mudroom and from there to the garage. By then the flames consuming Dr. Krüger were searing my hands and forearms. I could barely breathe. A dark, oily layer of smoke was roiling overhead, lowering rapidly.

  “Shit,” Snead yelled. “Where are we?”

  I glanced around, my flashlight barely penetrating the smoke-filled room.

  Nothing looked familiar.

  “Which way?” Snead yelled again, a note of panic rising in his voice.

  “I’m not sure,” I answered.

  “Kane!” came a voice from the blackness, barely audible above the roar of the fire.

  Taylor.

  “Dan, where are you?” another voice called.

  Deluca.

  “Over here,” I called back.

  “Crawl toward us,” Taylor yelled.

  Nearly blinded by smoke, I squinted into the darkness. To the left, I saw Taylor squirming toward us on her stomach and elbows. Deluca was right behind her, barely visible beneath the lowering ceiling of smoke.

  Changing direction, Snead and I started toward them, still dragging Dr. Krüger.

  Taylor grabbed my c
oat. Deluca did the same for Snead. Together we scrambled to the garage. And from there, to the lawn outside.

  A blast of flame followed us out.

  Dr. Krüger was still on fire. While Snead ran to the front of the house to back my Suburban from the inferno, I blanketed Krüger with my coat—doing my best to smother the flames. Deluca stripped off his jacket and helped. By then Krüger’s clothes were little more than blackened rags. Scorched by the heat, the skin on his chest and arms had begun to split—exposing a bubbling layer of fat below, further feeding the flames.

  Although we worked quickly, by the time we finally extinguished Dr. Krüger, most of his handsome face had been obliterated—nose, eyelids, lips, hair, and ears completely gone, his fingers reduced to grotesque, charred stubs. The fire had even taken his vision.

  Once we had done all we could for Krüger, I turned to Deluca, flinching as another gasoline container exploded inside the house.

  “That was cutting it a little close in there, partner,” said Deluca, clearly shaken.

  “I hear you,” I agreed.

  Taylor, who had been standing on the grass with her arm around the young woman, removed her jacket, draped it over the girl’s shoulders, and came over to join us. “You okay?” she asked, inspecting me closely, her face close to mine.

  I took a deep breath, then let it out. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said.

  “And you were just starting to regrow those lashes and eyebrows,” she noted. “And your hair. Guess we’ll have to shelve your modeling career for a while.”

  I smiled. “That was off the table a long time ago.”

  “With good reason. Not that you don’t have your charms.”

  I held her eyes with mine. “Seriously, Sara, thank you. I’m not certain we were going to make it out of there. That’s the second time you’ve saved my life.”

  Taylor smiled. “That’s what partners do, right?”

  I nodded. “That’s what partners do.”

  “Hey, I went back in there for you, too,” Deluca broke in, feigning insult.

  “I know you did, Paul. Thank you as well,” I replied with a grin. “But actually, I think you should take credit for saving Captain Snead.”

  “Probably never live that one down,” Deluca grumbled.

  Snead, who had been staring at the fire, turned. “I also appreciate what you two did in there,” he said, addressing Deluca and Taylor. “I know you both went back for Kane, but . . . thank you anyway. As for credit, I’m not certain how much of that will be getting passed around.”

  “Speaking of which, we need to get straight about what happened here tonight,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Snead.

  I thought for a moment. “Okay, be quiet and listen,” I replied, withdrawing my cellphone. Fumbling with my burned fingers, I dialed from memory, phoning Allison at home.

  “Little late to be calling, Pop,” said Allison upon picking up. “Some of us working people with kids go to bed early.”

  “Ali, you’re on speaker with Special Agent Sara Taylor, Detective Paul Deluca, Captain William Sneed, and me,” I informed her, skipping the pleasantries.

  “Hey, Paul. Hi, Sara,” said Allison. “Hello, Captain Snead. What’s up, Dad?”

  “First, you need to forget the names I just mentioned.”

  “What names?”

  “Good girl,” I said. Then, “I’m about to give you an exclusive on The Magpie investigation. One condition. What I’m about to say has to be attributed to ‘sources inside the department.’”

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” Allison replied, suddenly sounding excited. “Hold on, lemme get a pen.” Then, “Okay, shoot.”

  “I’ll keep it simple,” I began. “This evening, acting on confidential information, members of an LAPD/FBI interagency task force investigating The Magpie murders arrested Dr. Erich Krüger. Krüger, who was critically injured during the arrest, will be charged with the murders of Ella Snead and others. Dr. Krüger was apprehended at a residence in San Diego where he was holding his latest victim, Ms. Lisa Brady. Ms. Brady was successfully rescued and is expected to make a full recovery.”

  “Sounds like there’s more to that story,” Allison observed.

  I glanced at Snead. “There is, but I’m going to let LAPD fill in the details. You understand what I’m saying here, Ali?”

  “I do. Thanks, Dad. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  “It’ll fly,” said Snead after I hung up. “Once that version is out there, everyone will have to fall in line.”

  “That’s how I have it figured,” I said. “We all onboard?”

  Everyone nodded.

  Snead stepped closer, his scorched hands loose at his sides. He had been burned in our effort to save Krüger, but not as badly as I. “Thanks, Kane,” he said, not offering to shake. “I appreciate what you did for me in there. I just . . . well, you know.”

  “You’re welcome,” I replied.

  Snead looked away, then turned back to me. “I still don’t like you,” he said.

  I smiled. “That’s okay, Bill. I still don’t like you much, either.”

  Coming from somewhere in the distance, I heard the wail of sirens.

  “I called 911,” said Taylor.

  By then flames had engulfed a major portion of Krüger’s house. One wing had started to collapse, settling to a pile of embers. Behind me on the ground, as the sirens grew nearer, I heard Dr. Krüger sobbing in anguish.

  I turned to regard the monster who had caused the deaths of so many. He lay curled on his side—hideously disfigured, forever blind. Recalling the suffering he had inflicted, and all the innocents he had murdered, and the SWAT officers he had burned alive, I couldn’t work up much sympathy. With a feeling of disgust, I turned my back on what remained of Dr. Krüger, closing my ears to his cries.

  Epilogue

  Birthday

  Summer days in Southern California are generally hot, dry, and sunny, and Saturday, August 11th—the anniversary of Allison’s twenty-third birthday—proved no exception, with the temperature on the sand soaring into the nineties.

  Cooling things a bit, an offshore breeze picked up around noon, holding back the waves and carrying down the sweet smell of sage from the hills behind our house.

  All in all, a perfect day for a party.

  One of the perks of living on the beach, aside from enjoying the sometimes breathtaking, often dangerous, forever changing beauty of the ocean, is having the ability to invite as many people as you want to an outdoor celebration. As a family, we Kanes had thrown many boisterous beach bashes, although with the exception of Allison’s wedding reception, none since Catheryn’s death. As such, I was looking forward to Allison’s party, along with a belated nod to Nate’s June birthday as well.

  In the past, attendance at similar gatherings had numbered in the hundreds, and I estimated our turnout that day would probably total the same, possibly more. Also, as in the past when guests had brought a favorite entrée, side dish, or dessert, I had put out the word that for Allison’s birthday we would be revisiting our potluck tradition as well.

  Later that day, under a cloudless blue sky, I stood on our deck surveying party preparations with a practiced eye. Making certain nothing had been overlooked, I reviewed a mental checklist: Two Porta Potties, a precaution to avoid overstressing our septic system, had been delivered and were stationed on the street above. Beer kegs and soft drinks were cooling in ice tubs on our shaded deck. Barbeques were stocked with charcoal and ready to light. 40-gallon trashcans lined with a black plastic garbage bags had been strategically placed near the serving tables. Waiting on the food counters were paper plates and cups, plastic flatware, and an assortment of appetizers, side dishes, and cold casseroles that early-arriving guests had brought. Salads and other perishables were upstairs in the fridge, along with ice cream, melons, and a huge chocolate cake. Last, per the tide tables, the ocean was receding as predicted, providing plent
y of sand for an armada of dinner tables rented from a local caterer.

  Everything seemed ready. Most invited guests had indicated they wouldn’t be arriving until later, but over fifty partygoers had already shown up, and like a runaway freight train, the party was gathering momentum and rapidly approaching the point of no return. With a shrug, I decided that if anything had been overlooked, it was too late to correct the omission.

  Although the bandages on my hands and forearms had come off earlier in the week, I had yet to return to work—still remaining on a medical leave-of-absence imposed by Chief Ingram. Also as ordered, I had kept my head down and unavailable for comment, staying out of the media spotlight as worldwide print, radio, and television coverage on the investigation again took center stage.

  During a contentious, high-level meeting following Dr. Krüger’s arrest, the brass at PAB had agonized over what version of events to present. There were some, including Assistant Chief Strickland, who wanted to put a different spin on things than reported by CBS correspondent Allison Kane. Not for the first time, Strickland accused me of leaking to the press, which of course I had. In response, also not for the first time, I suggested to Strickland that he go pound sand. Finally, presented with little other option, the powers-that-be eventually decided their best course lay in elaborating on Allison’s account of the story.

  Afterward, during a news briefing attended by hundreds of clamoring correspondents, Chief Ingram, Mayor Fitzpatrick, Assistant Director Shepherd, and Captain Snead’s task-force detectives had shared credit for bringing The Magpie investigation to a successful conclusion. Pending further investigation, the names of the officers participating in the actual arrest were being withheld.

  The official PAB accounting of the case was as follows: On the previous evening, an interagency surveillance team had followed Dr. Erich Krüger—chief suspect in The Magpie investigation—to a second residence in San Diego, where it was determined he had imprisoned Ms. Lisa Brady. In the course of resisting arrest, Dr. Krüger had ignited a gasoline fire and been critically injured in the blaze. Following his capture, he was transported to the UCI Regional Burn Center. In a statement made at the scene, Ms. Brady identified Dr. Krüger as her captor, adding that at the time of her abduction, Dr. Krüger had been transporting the body of a young woman in his van—a body Ms. Brady later confirmed from photographs as being the corpse of Ella Snead.