“Did you try knocking?”
Nope. Didn’t think of that, dumbshit.
Instead, Vail’s smile said, “You’re the smartest, most handsome man in the world.”
“I did.”
“And he’s not there?”
If he was there, I wouldn’t need you, would I?
“He’s not. And obviously I can’t call because I don’t have my phone. Battery’s dead by now, anyway. Look, I wouldn’t bother you with this, but I really can’t exist without my phone. Can you just open the door for a second, let me run in and get it?” She made a pleading pout with her lips.
Shoulda put on lip gloss. Dammit.
“Sure.” He tossed down a rag and followed Vail to fourteen-eleven. He tapped his universal key card and the green light glowed.
“I really appreciate you letting me in—” She glanced at his name tag—“Orlando.”
Vail stepped inside and let the door swing closed behind her. She looked left and right, taking in everything she could. She had no idea how long she had until Orlando knocked—or entered.
She went over to the coffee table in the large bedroom. A stack of soap bars was neatly corralled into a corner. On the other side sat a box of chocolate bars. And in between were another two piles, not so carefully separated out. Her guess was that the orderly products were the ones containing the aconite.
Vail moved quickly throughout the suite. In the bathroom, on the vanity, was a map of Oahu. Five areas were circled. One was Luxury Row. They were numbered. The fifth was Ala Moana Center.
She rooted out her Samsung and snapped a photo—but a loud knock made her jump and she nearly erased it.
Phone in hand, she pulled the door open and saw Orlando standing there. Vail held up the handset and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “You’re a lifesaver,” she said.
“Oh,” Orlando said, laughing. “You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m serious,” Vail said. “Really. Trust me.”
51
“You did what?” Russell’s face turned redder than a farmer’s market beet.
They were running down the steps, having taken the stairs because it was faster than waiting for the slow building elevator.
“I got a look at his suite. The maid let me into the room. Voluntarily. No badge, no threats.”
“So she read your mind and just walked over to open the door?”
“Not exactly.” Vail almost missed a step but caught herself on the railing. “I may’ve said something about leaving my cell in Scott’s room—”
“Scott? Like he’s your buddy?”
“Yeah, like that. Now stop slowing me down, Adam. If I lose my concentration, I’ll trip again and fall.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears.” Russell had his phone out and was trying to dial and descend at the same time. “Jamie, I need all undercover units to the Ala Moana Center…. Yeah, reason to believe suspect Scott Meece might be there. We’re en route from Ilikai Hotel.”
“How far are we from the mall?” Vail asked.
“Two minutes. If we go my way.”
“If we don’t go your way?”
“Ten.”
They hit the first floor and burst through the door into the lobby. “Then let’s go your way.”
“Thought you’d see it my way.”
“Funny.”
They ran outside and were in the car, the engine turning over, seconds later.
Russell cut around a car the valet was delivering to a guest and put his light cube on the roof. He waited for a passing van, then turned left and accelerated hard onto the three lane Ala Moana Boulevard.
“Whoa,” Vail said, slamming her right shoulder against the door. She grabbed the dashboard and pulled herself up. “This is one-way against us.”
“It is,” he said, dodging an oncoming vehicle and slowing to allow another to get out of his lane. “There’s no fast way to get to the mall. Ten minutes versus two. I told you.”
An oncoming car screeched and swerved out of the lane, clearing a path for Russell and Vail.
“I didn’t realize that meant you were gonna get us killed.”
“First, you didn’t ask. Second, I’m not gonna get us killed. But I will get us there before anyone else.”
“By the way,” Vail said. “Got a call from an attorney. He’s gonna take my case.”
Russell dodged another vehicle. “That was close. Sorry.”
“My eyes are closed. Next time don’t tell me.”
“And? What’d this attorney say? I mean, he’s taking your case, so he’s taking your money.” He swerved hard right. “But can he help? Those are two different things.”
“You know what, Adam? Maybe this isn’t a good time to discuss it.”
“It’s fine. It’ll take my mind off what I’m doing.”
Vail squinted through tightly closed lids. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
“Tell me.”
“He thinks I’ll be okay. But he hasn’t seen the case materials yet—I mean, they just started the investigation.”
“And?”
“And he’s optimistic. Even though it could take a year to get it all squared away.”
“Just be on your best behavior going forward.”
“Easy for you to say.” Vail felt the car pull to a stop. She opened her eyes, noticed they were parked in the Ala Moana parking garage, and sighed relief. “Thank God.”
“I’ve been called many things,” Russell said as he got out of the vehicle. “But never God.”
“Should we call SWAT?” Vail asked. “This place is huge.”
“Seventh largest shopping mall in the country and the largest open-air shopping center in the world.” Russell said as they jogged to the center’s entrance.
Of course it is. Why should this be easy?
“I think we should have some kind of confirmation he’s here before we call out the cavalry. I’d hate to divert the team here if it’s a wrong guess. If they’re deployed here for nothing, they might not be able to respond to another call.”
“Was that an insult?”
“Not at all. You saw a location circled on a map. He could’ve been here last week. He could come here next week. I’d rather have some confirmation he’s on site.”
They slowed to a brisk walk as Russell pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. A few seconds later, he said, “Bill, I need you to patch me through to the security command at Ala Moana Center. ASAP.”
Vail kept swinging her head left and right searching for a man in a wheelchair as they passed Barnes & Noble.
“Aloha,” Russell said into his handset. “This is Detective Russell, HPD. We’re looking for a man in a wheelchair. Forties, full beard. See anyone matching that description on your monitors?” He waited a minute as he and Vail continued down the main walkway past a variety of storefronts headed toward Old Navy.
“Two possibles,” Russell said, glancing at Vail.
They both stopped.
“Where?” Vail asked. “What levels?”
He relayed the questions to security and listened. “Got it. Either one selling stuff—like bars of soap or chocolate bars?” He blew some nervous air out of his lips. “Yeah—yes, where? … Copy.”
“Well?”
“Level two,” he said, pocketing his phone. “Food court.”
“Now it’s time to call SWAT.”
“Yep.” He put in the request and walked briskly to the escalator.
Vail followed, her heart racing faster than mere exercise would cause. It was an adrenaline dump, much like those she had experienced throughout her career, the sense that she was closing in the offender.
Offender? Too nice a term. Murderer. Killer. Bastard.
They walked up the left side of the moving stairs, then slowed an
d tried not to look like they were cops searching for a suspect.
Vail took a deep breath as the escalator crested and she stepped off. Her gaze moved left to right, looking for Meece. Russell was back on his phone, alerting HPD they were closing in on their suspect and requesting onsite resources to converge on his position.
It seemed like overkill—where was he going to go?—but he had, after all, murdered several women—that they knew of. The actual death toll could be far higher.
Off to the right, Vail saw an older woman with gray hair carrying a small bag. She reached in, pulled something out and handed it to a friend, who sniffed it.
“Shit!” Vail took off in her direction, concerned that the offender might see her—but not willing to risk a life. “Ma’am,” she called as she approached, trying to keep her voice down but authoritative. “Drop that bar of soap!”
Gotta be the first time a cop has ever said that.
She did as instructed, wincing and recoiling in fear. Vail held up her creds and fished around in her pocket for a stray napkin or tissue. She found the former and wrapped it around the still-sealed bar—on which was scrawled the name Mary Hartman in neat red calligraphy.
“Your name’s Mary?”
“Yes,” the woman said, her shoulders hunched in fear, her gaze moving between Vail’s badge and her own—now empty—hand.
Vail shoved the procured evidence into her jacket pocket and turned to see Russell behind her. “Mary, where’s the guy you bought this from?”
“I—I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, he was back there somewhere. I wasn’t paying attention. I’d just finished eating and I—I—came over here to meet my friend.”
“Was he in a wheelchair?” Russell asked.
The woman nodded vigorously. “Yeah. Yes.”
Without so much as an explanation, Vail walked away from Mary, her gaze roaming the mall, looking for Scott Meece.
“See him?” Russell asked.
“No. But we know he’s here somewhere.”
They continued another thirty yards, hung a left, and—
Vail elbowed Russell. “There he is.”
52
Meece was talking with a woman—too young to be a target—so there was no need to interrupt the sale.
Vail sized up their offender, and damned if Mary Alana’s description wasn’t spot-on. It did not happen often that a witness provided such an accurate picture of someone based on a casual contact. Then again, such victim or witness accounts suffered because the individual encountered the offender during times of stress—which was not the case here.
Meece wore jeans and tennis shoes. He did not look homeless or destitute, but he certainly had the haggard look of someone in need of pity, with a long beard and baggy shirt.
They came up alongside Meece, Vail on his left and Russell on his right.
“Scott Meece,” Vail said, holding up her badge. “We’ve got some questions for you.”
“Yeah,” Russell said, placing a firm hand on the man’s right shoulder. “Like does the word ‘aconite’ mean anything to you?”
Meece did not even bother turning to face him. He heaved the box of products at Russell’s face, bolted out of his wheelchair and ran—ran—away from them.
As Russell recovered from the flying soap bars, Vail took off after him. Had she been texting, she would’ve typed, WTF?
For a disabled man without the use of his legs, he was moving quite well.
She heard Russell yelling at nearby patrons not to touch the soap and chocolates, that they had poison in them. She hoped they heeded his warning.
Vail heard footsteps behind her and the sound of tones for numerals being pressed on a smartphone keypad.
Russell … no doubt, trailing her. He must have called HPD to report the pursuit because it sounded like he was chattering into the phone. She couldn’t quite make it out, but it sounded like, “It’s a miracle! I touched his shoulder and he can walk again!”
Or maybe it was law enforcement-speak, providing status and location.
Regardless, Vail was focused on trying to close the gap between herself and their wheelchair-bound-war-veteran-turned-Olympic-track-star.
It’s a mall, where can he go?
Into Gucci? Prada?
Nope. He eschewed the ultra-high-end merchants and chose the more approachable high-end Nordstrom.
Then again, have you seen the prices on their women’s shoes?
“Anything?” Russell asked.
“Nordstrom. Lost him in the crowd of people.”
“Lots of witnesses. Don’t worry, we’ll get him.”
Fuck that. I’m worried.
As they passed through menswear, Vail noticed they were running their half-yearly sale.
I should tell Robby. He needs some slacks.
“Look at all these people,” Russell said.
Too easy to grab a shirt off one of the tables and change his appearance.
But a more pressing concern was that Meece could disappear anywhere in the tens of thousands of square feet, the many hidden areas—changing rooms, restrooms, café kitchens … and a host of other places obscured by the masses picking through racks and tables piled high with discounted merchandise.
“You think he’s still here?”
“No idea,” Vail said.
“They’re locking down the mall, but it’ll take some time. There’s a ton of exits and only a handful of guards and HPD officers.”
“Control what we can. You go left. Let’s try to cover this floor.”
Shoulda called SWAT sooner.
As Russell moved off, Vail climbed atop the nearest checkout counter.
“Hey!” The clerk was beside himself, jumping back and holding up his hands. “What are you doing? I’m—I’m gonna call the cops.”
“I am the cops, buddy.” She pulled back her coat, revealing her badge.
That shut him up … but it was little consolation since even from this vantage point Vail did not see Meece.
She continued scanning the area, doing a grid-like search. She picked out Russell, who turned to face her. She threw out her hands and shrugged—and he did the same.
Seconds later, her phone vibrated. She leaped off the counter and moved on.
“I’m going down a floor,” Russell said. “You go up.”
“What about the changing rooms?”
“Dammit, Karen, I don’t know! This is impossible.”
“What happened to ‘don’t worry, we’ll get him’?”
“I didn’t say when we’d get him.”
Vail’s phone vibrated again. “Another call coming in.”
“Let me know if you find him,” Russell said.
“Oh, you’ll know. You’ll hear the gunshots. Because when I find him I’m gonna shoot the bastard.”
“Karen—”
“I’m kidding.”
Maybe.
She clicked off and answered. It was Del Monaco.
“Talk to me, Frank. I need some good news.”
“What happened, the UNSUB escape during foot pursuit?”
“Don’t insult me.” Even if it is the truth. “Whaddya got?”
“So your Scott Meece has an interesting background.”
“Military veteran?”
“Not even close. His older brother, Phillip, was Special Forces—a decorated army Ranger. Died in Somalia, the battle of Mogadishu. You know, Black Hawk Down?”
“You’re kidding.”
“There’s more. I did some googling and found a photo of Scott with Brian Layton, a Vietnam War vet who had an army surplus store in Queens. I took a shot and called and guy’s still around. He remembered Scott well. Kid worked for him. Didn’t talk much but Layton said Scott seemed to have lots of problems with his stepfather. Layton neve
r asked the name, but I see a Nick James residing at their apartment around that time. Layton told Scott to join up, get out of the house and get his degree on the GI bill. But Scott was too afraid of getting killed.”
“Interesting.”
“That was supposedly a big deal with this Nick guy. He wanted Scott to follow his brother into the army but Scott refused. He demeaned Scott, called him a coward.”
“Good find, Frank.”
“Last thing. Scott had some emotional problems after Phillip died. Took his brother’s death hard. I tried to get more detail out of Layton, but he said he wasn’t really sure what was going on. One thing he did remember was Scott experiencing a hallucination.”
“Hmm. So maybe he went through a reactive psychosis after Phillip died. A death like that, with everything else going on at home, would be enough to trigger it—as well as a psychotic depression.”
“My thinking, too.”
Vail knew that if his condition turned chronic, and he wasn’t on medication, Scott could be seeing, hearing, or believing things that weren’t real.
That might be what’s at play here—or it may’ve only been the start. This has been going on for years.
“When did Phillip die?”
“October 1993.”
“Could’ve been the trigger. Or at least sent him down the serial killer path.”
“I also sent a photo over to HPD and TSA. Picture’s dated, taken at least ten years ago, but it’s better than the phenotype.”
“Which wasn’t half bad.”
“Surprisingly good, actually.”
“Look, Frank, about me never saying thank you.”
“Yeah?”
“I do appreciate this. Losing sleep and all. This is helpful.”
“You’re being sarcastic.”
“No, really. I mean it. You’re a shitty profiler and you drive me up a goddam wall most of the time, but I sincerely appreciate all your efforts tonight.” She stopped and listened, held the phone away to see if the call was still live. “Crap. I said that out loud, didn’t I? Frank? Hello?”
Nope, he hung up. Sometimes the truth hurts.
She had covered a good chunk of the ground floor when Russell called through.
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