by William Cain
His primary focus now, since leaving the courtroom, is Madison. Reggi can take a powder. He hopes she is returned to Woodside. But how will he do it? How will he convince Madison to run away with him? His plan is loosely coming together. This new development of interference by Henson, all those police and the FBI, may work to his advantage. Madison won’t leave Jimmy, unless she isn’t given a choice. He knows just what to say, too.
He’s a very good liar.
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At the stationhouse in San Luis Obispo, it’s early morning as David, Agatha, and Addie are meeting with a retired local officer from the ranks there. He’s to be Reggi’s new friend. They’ve explained the situation and mapped out today’s events.
“Seems simple enough. We’ve done this many times,” he assures them, this man, Bob.
“Good,” Addie answers. “We believe the offender is watching Reggi, your date. You take her to an early dinner, spending the morning and afternoon at her home. Make sure you’re visible there, in the back yard, on the covered front porch, sharing tea, a bite to eat … you know, live it up and make sure the perp gets the idea you like her and she likes you. After that, it’s off to dinner and a walk through the park. If we are right, nothing will happen until you are alone. It’ll be dusk by the time you head home. Again, through the park. We will be in position throughout the day, protecting you both. We expect an attempt in the park, though. We have many officers. You are not in danger.”
The man takes offense, believing Captain Henson thinks of him as feeble, and just another old man. “I can handle myself, Captain. I’ll be going now. I’m eager to start.”
Addie doesn’t want to fight with him, so she doesn’t protest as he leaves. She knows it’s dangerous. This killer, this person, has beaten and killed ruthlessly. There’s an almost maniacal drive to the violence. Agatha has studied the crimes and the behavior, what little is known of the perpetrator.
When Addie asks Agatha to recount for David what she thinks, the young officer from New York clears her throat before speaking, ready to give a short dissertation.
“David, let’s look at the facts. One, the killer is very strong. This is from confidence and it translates into motivation. It’s a drug, and the perp is using it without knowing where all the power is from, and not caring or questioning it, but using it. It’s a high and there’s no end to its supply. Two, the killer enjoys the violence, wanting it to be as gory as possible. This is hate. The perp could hate men, or hate Reggi, or even Madison or something else. The intent to bludgeon, even beyond death, serves to feed and satisfy the hate. Three, and this is the worst of the group, the killer is smart. This person doesn’t want to be caught, enjoying the planning and the moments of the violent deaths inflicted, dragging it out, as witnessed by the beatings of the men after they had already succumbed to death. This is the worst because this means it will go on for a long time. The perp is hateful, strong, smart. Something happened in this person’s life that has inspired these attacks. It takes a person that has lived long enough to endure and turn to violence. My estimate is the person is college-educated, white, athletic, and between thirty-five and fifty-five years of age.”
“We need to catch this person. Today, here, David,” Addie mutters, staring into space. She’s tired of this business. This person keeps getting away cleanly.
“I agree. No arguments. Is everyone ready? Did additional officers join us?”
“Yes, and Yes.”
“Then let’s go,” he says.
The three stand up and walk into the next room where a small brigade is assembled. Each is wearing a black ring on their left hand as a member symbol. As Addie puts hers on, followed by David and Agatha, the group awaits further instructions.
After nearly two hours of practice using their learned skills in coordinated reconnaissance, watching and communicating with team members identified with the black ring each wear, David feels they are ready.
When given the order, they file out to take positions and wait.
Later, in the park, Reggi and her new friend are seen walking through it. Two officers are already in the restaurant the couple is heading to. This maintains the vigil needed to keep them safe. The officers are a man and woman. Should Reggi or Bob need to use the bathroom, an officer will follow. Nothing is expected, but protection is key.
After the dinner is completed, Reggi and Bob step outside. The sun will be setting soon, casting long shadows into the park the two are walking through. There are few, if any, people strolling nearby, with just a bench here or there occupied by a lone reader or a couple enjoying a snack.
Bob is tense. To him, this is the moment. He is not going to have his head knocked around by some madman. Reggi notices her friend’s change in mood. She knows this is the moment, too. She tries to make light conversation, but he’s not listening.
She takes his hand and pats it. Startled, he looks at her as she tells him, quietly, “Smile, Bob. We’re having a good time. Don’t let on. Don’t scare anyone away. OK?” She laughs briefly, as if having made a joke.
He tries to calm himself. His hand is shaking and Reggi holds onto it. When they pass a tree close to the path, Bob’s eyes are as wide as saucers. Stepping around the tree, he half expects the attack to begin. When it doesn’t, he realizes he’s peed himself a little. Old age isn’t what it’s made out to be. The steel nerves he had as a young man are failing him now.
Reggi is desperate to calm Bob down, so she stops and kisses him on the lips, taking his face into her hands. It helps, and Bob starts laughing at himself, the ass that he is. The rest of the walk is uneventful, and Bob has made it halfway. He knows after he drops her off, he’ll have to walk back the same way. It’ll be dark then.
When he bids farewell to Reggi, he turns, dreading the dark pathways of the dimly lit park. Oddly, there are more people in it than before. His mood is lighter, enjoying the walk, feeling safe and carefree in the company of others. When he rounds a small pond, there are tall reeds and to his left is a sharp, short slope.
Suddenly, he is alone. The feeling of helplessness makes his knees weak, as fear creeps mightily into his mind. His training from years before is failing him and he knows it. He begins to walk faster and faster. Seemingly, there is no end to his isolation. His eyes are darting left and right. His teeth are clenched. He nearly becomes unglued as he hears a sound behind, very close. Walking ever quicker, he turns his head. There’s nothing there.
When he turns back to follow the path, it happens. He runs right into it. He couldn’t help it and he couldn’t stop it. It’s too late as the metal crushes into his groin, stomach, and face. He falls to the grass beside the path, eyes wide, hands help up defensively, preparing to shout out for help before the onslaught begins. He opens his eyes, slowly focusing on what’s before him.
But there’s no one there. It dawns on him and he’s ashamed of himself. In front of him is a lamppost. That’s his attacker. That’s his killer. He ran right into it. He can feel a trickle of blood run down his cheek into his shirt. Nothing says stupidity more than fear does. It makes you mindless. He stays seated there a while, sitting in his shame and failure, unwilling to carry on just yet. He allows, wants, the blood to trickle down his face, to mark him for what he hasn’t accomplished. Then he hears a very slight shuffle, or maybe it’s the wind blowing the reeds.
When he looks up again, he knows he heard something. It’s standing three feet away. A person. Hiding something behind their back. It remains motionless. Realization sets in for Bob. This is it. He’s already injured, prepared to be finished off. Bob is exhausted. This is the end.
Then he remembers. The shame from moments ago. Well, he’s not having any of it. He’s had it. He jumps to his feet, ready to fight. He’s forgotten about the task force, that useless bunch of nobodies. It’s just Bob and the killer, standing a few feet away. He can’t make out the features of his attacker, even under the lamp, and assumes the killer is wearing a mask.
He ste
els himself. Extending his arm and cupping his fingers into his palm over and over, he taunts the killer. He’ll die right here, but he’s going to give it everything he has.
“C’mon, you asshole. Let’s see what you got. C’mon!” he shouts.
The figure advances quickly toward him, still clutching something he can’t see, yet. The bat is going to do heavy damage to him, but Bob is ready to give and to get.
The figure is now within inches of his face. “Bob! Get your act together, man!”
It’s Juvieux, that mulatto FBI guy, and Bob drops his fists. “Crap, David. I thought it was … you know.”
David looks at him in the pale light, exclaiming, “Are you bleeding?”
Sheepishly, Bob admits, “I ran into the light pole … Don’t tell anyone.”
“Sheesh, Bob. What a mess. Come with me. Let’s get you washed up.”
The two walk off together, heading to Bob’s apartment. David has disbanded the group for the evening. Addie and Agatha have business with David, so they decide to tag along. It appears Bob is not their man. They need another.
In the distance, a figure lurks in the underbrush. The person has made a decision, The fun’s not over yet. Following the small group to Bob’s place, the figure waits, unseen and unheard. In the building the group had walked into, an apartment is lit up, the location and floor of which is easily made out.
When the small group leaves without Bob, the figure walks over to the building. Brazenly entering, the stairs afford the best ascent needed. Counting the windows and finding the right door, the doorbell is heard from within. Bob leaves his kitchen to answer it, calling out.
“You forget something, did ya?”
When he throws open the door, a rush of blue steel, a blur, nothing more, is seen before it makes impact. It’s louder than one would think and Bob throws himself backward with the shock of it, landing on his backside next to his glass coffee table. His arm has been squeezed awkwardly and it’s broken, lying limply to his side. He’s defenseless.
Looking up, he stares into the masked eyes of the killer. Neither moves, their eyes locked onto each other. Breathing heavily, each of them is as startled as the other. Staring and hating, powerful as can be, the killer raises the bat once more, striking again and again, louder and louder, ears ringing as metal on metal cries out.
Bob’s outer safety door, made of iron, decoratively designed and impenetrable, has saved his life. The attacker didn’t expect it to be so strong, now trying to twist the knob on the door. It’s locked. The killer is thrown into a rage, and begins to swing against the door again, over and over. To Bob, it appears as though the door is giving way. He’s thrown into desperation, making himself stand, running for the bedroom. Opening his drawer, he grabs his service weapon and runs back to the door. He’s ready to shoot to kill. The killer has vanished.
Bob’s had it with this nonsense. He opens the safety door and runs out into an empty hall. Bounding down the stairwell as fast as a retired, overweight cop can go, he reaches the lobby. Running into the street, he doesn’t see the figure running away, yet. He fires his pistol into the air, once.
In the distance, Addie says, out loud, “Is that what I think it is?”
The group stops, turning into the direction of the noise.
“Bob!”
The three start running. When they reach him, he’s still standing in the middle of the intersection.
“What happened?” Addie asks, breathlessly.
“Your friend knocked on my door, with a bat. They didn’t get in. I think the killer is nearby, couldn’t have been that far ahead of me.”
David, thinking quickly, wants to find the killer without Bob. He’s a liability. “Call the police, Bob.”
“You getting rid of me?” Bob asks, testily.
“Call the police and wait inside. That’s a directive, officer,” David commands.
To the others, David orders, “Fan out.”
As they begin to do just that, a shadowy figure is seen running away. It has quite a lead and they give chase. Agatha is the swifter of them, soon having left the two far behind.
She’s gaining on the killer, she knows it. This is their big chance. They can catch this person and end it all. She’s running ever more quickly, gaining ground. Agatha’s now within a block, flying down the sidewalk.
As she reaches the end of another apartment building, the figure steps out from the corner of it and crushes her chest with a deftly timed swing of the bat. Ribs breaking can be felt and heard as the bat strikes her. Agatha falls. She knows the others are far behind and she is in mortal danger. A swing or two and her skull will be crushed. She has to do something.
Suddenly, the figure is near to her, hovering but out of reach. A tilt of its head reveals the puzzlement the dark figure feels.
And then, it’s gone.
28
What you don’t sweat out when you’re young will turn into tears when you’re old. Japanese proverb
Agatha wakes up in unfamiliar surroundings, turning her head to each side unsteadily. The stark white room is harshly lit in fluorescence, casting shadows against the curtain close by. She realizes she’s in a hospital. She remembers what happened last night, that monster standing over her, bat in hand. She passed out after the killer ran away, unable to finish her off with Addie and David coming to her aid, presumably. Coward – live to fight another day? Fight or flight, Agatha thinks. The killer chose flight. And a good choice that was, too. Agatha’s certain Addie would’ve emptied her weapon into that beast’s chest to defend family, bringing one life to an end to save another.
She tries sitting up in bed, discovering things are not as tender as first thought. From her left, she hears a moan. She must have a roommate. But, not for long, she decides. She’s leaving today, jumping right back into her role as an officer and profiler on the task force. First, she has to find her clothes. Next to her bed, on a tray, her cell is charging. When she touches it, she reads Frannie has called like twenty times. Sadly, he must be worried sick. She took a big chance last night, leaving the security of her fellow officers, running ahead. Agatha will have to tell Frannie everything, as is their agreement. What she does is dangerous, at times, and Frannie demands honesty.
Also, on the tray is a pitcher and cups. Looking inside, she finds it’s only water. She’s parched with dehydration settling in over the long slumber she left minutes ago. After drinking the entire pitcher, she wonders why she even used a cup. That was silly. As she turns to sit up further, swinging her legs over the side, she braces herself. She’ll test the waters standing up and walking to the bath. Taking the plunge, she’s on her feet and walking. It’s not bad at all. When she closes the door and sits on the toilet, she reflects it’s wonderful to be a young adult. How lucky she is to be able to heal overnight. Or not. Maybe she hasn’t found her new weak spot.
Finishing, she’ll call Frannie next. It’s time to ease the young man’s pain. Back at her bed, she remains standing and rings him, so many miles away in New York City. He’s fast, expecting her, and picks up after the first ring.
“Hi.”
“Hi Lover. I’m ok.”
“I heard,” he pauses, maybe too long. Then, “Tell me.”
His voice is cracking, and it’s killing her. Still, she will lay it out there. He needs to know. “The assailant caught me off-guard. Nailed me right in the chest. I guess I have a broken rib or two. I’m wrapped up like a mummy,” she jests.
“Not funny, Agatha. And just when are you caught off-guard? From what I hear, you ran ahead, putting yourself in danger. Is that true?”
“Yes. And can I tell you one more thing?” she asks, feeling this conversation is going to become more heated. “I’d do it again.”
“You are impossible, Agatha.”
“Next time, and there will be a next time, I’ll make sure to expect the unexpected. Addie and David chased off the perp anyway, so I wasn’t in real danger, just so you know.”
; “Not true, Agatha,” Addie interjects, suddenly. The curtain has been pulled away and she’s standing near Agatha, to her right. It’s early morning, time to get to business with the first order of the day to check in on her partner.
Agatha is at a loss for words, “Do you mean I was alone with the killer?”
Frannie can hear the entire conversation as Addie replies, “At least for one minute. It took that long to find you.”
“The last I saw, the perp was standing over me with this weird body language, as if confused or something. Then, just runs away,” she recounts. Remembering Frannie is on the line, “Addie just showed, Frannie. Want to talk to her?”
“Are you coming home?” He asks, or perhaps suggests. His wife doesn’t follow orders and he doesn’t tell her what to do.
“Not on your life, Love.”
To Addie, she quips, “He wants me to go home. Isn’t that cute?”
“David said the same thing,” Addie replies.
“What did you tell him?” Agatha asks.
“I told him to forget about it.”
“Right answer,” Agatha says in agreement. To Frannie, though, things are different. If he wants her to go home, she will. She’ll be disappointed, but she’ll do it.
“Frannie, do you want me to come home?”
There is a pause. Agatha can hear his breathing, knowing his thoughts are racing. Frannie’s already made his mind up, he always has. He just has to make the words leave his lips. This is one of the things she loves about him, that he is determined and decided, as she hears him say, ironically,
“Not on your life, Agatha.”
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