MEAL AND A SHOWER made a world of difference in Don’s outlook. But having to put on the same dirty clothes made him wish he’d taken time to grab a few of his things. Even in the hurry and confusion, he also should have remembered to call his work and let them know he wouldn’t be in. He went to Pauline’s phone and dialed.
“Cobblecrete, how may I direct your call?” he heard Cecily say.Don’s heart raced when he heard her voice. He wondered how she felt about him. “Cecily, Don—”
“Hi. I talked to Kate. You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine—”
“And how about your dad?”
Don could think of no way to put a positive spin on things, so he took the candid approach. “He’s dying. They didn’t think he’d live through the night. I hopped on a bus and came straight up.”
“I’m so sorry. Did you get to talk to him?”
“He’s quite confused, barely conscious. I’m not sure he even knows I’m here.”
“When do you think you’ll be back?”
“No idea. I need to be there to help ‘Tina. But I also need to be here with Dad....Oh, tell Jeff I’ll call him later today and let him know when I’ll be back.”
“I will. Can I help with anything?”
“No, thanks. I’ll call later.” Don hung up and went to sit with his father.
Cecily turned on the news on the lunchroom TV. She sat in amazement as she listened. Melvin had been released. They were talking about Judge Demick and a possible conflict of interest, in that Melvin Briggs had access to the judge’s chambers. His secretary claimed they didn’t know each other personally—that Melvin merely cleaned the office.
The news was followed by a local talk show, where the kidnapping was the only topic. One caller suggested blackmail as a reason the judge let him go; another wanted to hang Melvin right then and there; and the talk show host cautioned his viewers that perhaps more evidence was needed. Back and forth they argued. After broadcasting photos of Melvin’s injured eye, some viewers still wondered, while others were even more convinced of his guilt.
Stacey settled in, showered, and put on some clean clothes. Careful to keep the house in the same order as when he found it, he used a new towel, folded it and put it back in the cupboard. He dried the walls and shower curtain with a washcloth, leaving it in the bottom of the tub where it was before. He couldn’t chance the captain returning and seeing something out of place.
Sig would have to use the garage. Getting him back and forth worried Stacey. The renter below worked from eight to five. Stacey took special care to stay still during the day, deciding he’d only go out at night. He didn’t notice Sig sniffing the concrete floor where the raw meat had been.
The next problem was the lack of a phone. Scrounging through the kitchen drawer, Stacey found a small convertible screwdriver. He took a chance and slipped out back. Sig patiently waited in the kitchen. The phone box was mounted next to the bedroom window. Opening the box, there seemed to be more wires than he remembered, but, fortunately, they were labeled with the corresponding numbers. He disconnected the two wires he believed led to his phone, then returned to the kitchen to see if his was dead. “Bingo!”
Next he carefully walked past the narrow opening visible to the street into the garage, where he remembered seeing a small piece of wire hanging on a nail. Returning to the box, he cut two small pieces of wire and attached them to the connections that he assumed served his neighbor’s phone. He closed the box and tightened the screw. Back in the kitchen, he tested his handiwork. Yes! As long as no one was home below, he’d have a phone.
Melvin, anxious to review the images of the past twelve hours, passed through the multiple security checks on his state-of-the-art computer. He started out by creating logs to document the recordings, after which he verified that they were electronically stored and filed. He was a master at his trade. His military training had prepared him well for the high-tech equipment he controlled. Each disk was meticulously coded and safeguarded. It always seemed such a pain to verify and re-verify passwords and codes, but he couldn’t afford to let them fall into the wrong hands.
Melvin’s safeguards were masterpieces of design. If opened improperly, a built-in program immediately erased the contents of the disk. In fact, on one occasion he’d found three of his disks empty. He could only guess who the offender was, though it was no use trying to pursue it.
Silently, he contemplated the task at hand. It was time to finish the job. Having killed before in Nam, this assignment would be like any other. But the timing would have to be perfect. If not this week, next week would do. The horrors of Nam and the pains he’d endured the last five years after the loss of his daughter, had zapped his passion for life. He was left a hollow shell, a lonely, cynical, emotionless old man.
Bingham phoned the lab. Saunders verified that the cartridge casing was a match. A microscopic burr on the pistol had left an obvious identifying mark. The evidence would be enough to make convicting Stacey a mere formality. Before the phone was back on the receiver, he was barking orders for an arrest warrant to be issued.
Kate dropped the children off at the sitter’s and set out to pick up Christina from school. As she drove, photographs played through her head of the previous night and the horror her niece had endured. Actually, most of her niece’s 12 years had been filled with trauma. Yet, the experiences only seemed to make her stronger. She hoped this one would not leave any serious emotional scars.
Christina was waiting just inside the door of the school, the principal at her side. Seeing Kate pull up, she pushed open the front door and raced to the car. “He said they let Melvin go!” Christina wailed, out of breath.
“I heard. The judge told them they needed more evidence.” “How much more do they need?”
“I don’t know. I thought your statement and the mark on his eye
Christina was becoming riled. “Why don’t they go in his house and look?”
“Well, honey, they need a search warrant, and the judge wouldn’t give them one.”
“That’s not fair,” she groused, the injustice thick in her voice. “He’s just going to hurt someone else. And Dad’s going to go crazy when he gets back. He might kill Melvin.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t tell him yet. He has a lot to think about right now, anyway.”
“Wouldn’t that be lying?”
“No, we won’t lie. I just think it would be best if we don’t say anything until he has a chance to deal with the fact your grandpa’s dying.”
The girl’s face drooped. “I’m going to miss him.”
Stacey’s number one priority would be to contact Officer Green in Virginia to see if he had come up with anything that might help. Second was to get caught up on the news. The 32" television in the living room had been damaged in the raid, so he picked the smaller one up off the floor of the study and turned it on while making the call.
“Police department, please. Is Officer Green in?...Thank you.” His luck was changing. He flipped through the channels as he waited. “Officer Green, this is Officer Stacey in Mapleton, Utah....I know, my service was giving me trouble....Oh? What did he have to say when you spoke to him?”
Officer Green began to explain that, unable to reach Stacey, he’d called the office. In turn, the secretary had transferred the call to Bingham. Stacey winced, but not from what he’d been told. Instead his full attention was directed at the television. He couldn’t believe what he saw. The murder suspect was being released! He turned up the volume to hear what had happened.
Officer Green went on to tell him that the captain had spoken with him at length about the homicide. Then he informed Stacey he couldn’t release any more information to him.
Frustrated, Stacey ended the call and turned his attention to the unfolding events of the day. He’d call back later and use a few more persuasive tactics. He changed channels and saw the same story from another viewpoint.
On the other end of the now disconnected line, Officer Green immediately put a call through to the Mapleton Police Department.Kate and Christina were seated at Barker’s desk, reviewing her story. The officer, as was his habit when it came to children, was speaking down to her. “We’d like you to talk to a nice lady doctor. Think you can do that for us?”
Christina tried to cooperate. “Do you mean Dr. Wendy?” Suddenly Bingham’s voice thundered from the next room. “We’ve got him! He’s in his own basement. Let’s go! Put on your vests and stay off the radio. He might be monitoring calls.” Olsen and Mitch, who were busy filling out reports, jumped up from their desks as if they were puppets on a string and hurriedly put on their vests.
“Move, Barker! No time to waste. He’s already killed one of my men, so don’t take any chances. Make sure your first shot counts. We have the advantage.”
Captain Bingham wrestled with the zipper of his vest. He had succeeded in convincing his officers that Stacey—“armed and dangerous”—would kill again if he had to. He’d also led them to believe that Stacey had used Reid’s old car to distribute drugs, and that Deek must have come in on him as he returned from one of his deals. Stacey, he assured them, had stashed the gun and clothing in the vent the day of the search. The fact that Stacey and Sig had attacked him cinched tight the conspiracy. The men knew Stacey was a perfect marksman. Believing Bingham’s story, they’d do their best to take him out.
“Sorry, Christina, but this is an emergency. We’ll do this another time.” Barker slapped on his vest, furiously trying to figure out how to warn his friend of the danger. “We’ll each take separate vehicles!” he heard the captain call out.
At home, Stacey finished watching the news and flipped on the computer, one of the few things in the place that hadn’t been destroyed by Bingham’s search.
Don sidled up to his father’s bedside and took him by the hand. The doctor had left the house just minutes earlier. At least for the time being, the old man was holding his own. “Mi hijo.” The words fell from the old man’s lips as easily as ever. As a boy, Don had refused to learn Spanish, thinking it would make him a little less Hispanic—more like his Anglo friends. Of course, he did understand a few words and phrases, but he’d pushed them back in his memory, and now they lay dormant. And, by experience, he did know that those times when his father used the endearing term “mi hijo”—his little son—that a serious discussion was in store.
“Yes, Papa.” The fingers of his father’s hand lifted ever so slightly. Don moved closer to hear what he wanted to say. It seemed that between the sleeping and the morphine drip there was not much time to talk. When his father’s pain was so intense he couldn’t tolerate it, he’d give himself another boost of morphine, wait a few seconds for it to kick in, and then fall back into his unconscious state.
“Cerca. Mas cerca. Nearer,” he murmured, now gulping in breaths of air.
Don leaned in, his ear almost touching his father’s mouth. He struggled to hear—and understand—the words he labored so hard to say. “Mi hijo...no tienes tiempo....Regresate a la casa...de tu hija. Es peligroso....No uses la fuerza...si no tu mente primero....Vente a Cristo, mi hijo....Vente a Cristo.”
Several seconds passed before Don raised his head. His father had once more closed his eyes in slumber.
The four police cars pulled up three houses down from Stacey’s apartment. Each man took down the sawed-off shotgun from the console of his car. Olsen seemed the most nervous. In fact, he was more than scared. More than anything he wanted to do his duty. Being a cop was all he’d ever dreamed of.
Bingham gathered the men close. “The apartment has one entrance.” He glanced at Olsen, who’d helped in the first search. The officer nodded in agreement. “Olsen, you and I will go in; Mitch, you watch from the rear.” Then, glancing at Barker, and sensing that he’d be the least likely to shoot his friend, he grunted, “Barker, take the front. Go on my signal.” The four men took up their assigned posts, three ready to shoot, if necessary.
Meanwhile, in the apartment, Sig sat up at attention, ears erect, head cocked to one side. Stacey continued listening to the television reports and typing up his notes documenting the captain’s activities for Barker to follow up on—at least that was his hope. Sig nervously scampered from room to room. Then he returned and nudged Stacey’s arm, whining. For the first time Stacey realized something was wrong.
“Ka-wham!” Stacey heard the downstairs door explode off its hinges. He had no time to think. Instinctively, he grabbed at the gun and wad of cash on the table, then darted for the bedroom. The sound of a forced entry resounded from the apartment below. Stacey threw open the window. As he did so, the paper money slipped from his hand. Sig followed as he vaulted out of the window to the asphalt below. His feet stung as he hit.
Stacey craned his neck to see if anyone had witnessed his escape. Over the fence out front stood Barker, a shotgun in his hands. The double crosser! he muttered to himself. The squad cars were parked down the street. Stacey opened his fist. There among the scattered quarters lay the key to Bingham’s Pontiac. Cautiously he tiptoed around the hedge and into the yard next door, Sig silently at his heels. Across the back yard they crept, then slithered over the fence. Having acted quickly, he’d managed to avoid being caught.
Off in the distance he heard Olsen shout, “He’s not here!” Through the neighboring yard they moved. When they finally reached the third house, Stacey sprinted down the driveway, straight for the captain’s car, Sig close behind.
Crouching in back of the car, Stacey finally exhaled. Had Barker seen them? No one was in sight. Inching his way up to the door, he inserted the key. Turning it, the door’s button popped up and he motioned Sig to join him in the front seat. The engine came to life with a roar and the car lurched from the curb.
“Captain, he’s got your car!” Olsen yelled.
Stacey glanced back to see Olsen leaning outside the open window with radio in hand. Bingham, still standing upstairs near the computer, simultaneously raised his weapon and fired, sending debris flying in all directions.
Kate, at Christina’s insistence, dropped her back at school. “I’ll be here to pick you up after class.”
“It’s okay. I’ll walk home with Mrs. Kelly”—the mother who was assigned the security group from the neighborhood.
“I don’t know, dear. I’d feel better if you came home with me.” She’d never say it out loud, but the thought kept occurring to her: What if Melvin decided to get rid of the key witness?
“It’s fine, Aunt Kate. I’ll have to do it sooner or later.” “Okay, then. You make sure you stay close to Mrs. Kelly.”
Maria looked on as Don rose from his chair and left the room, despair evident on his face. She wondered what her father had said to him. She followed him to the kitchen. “What did he say to you?”
“I don’t know. It was all in Spanish....Something about my daughter being in danger ...and about Christ...” He repeated the words back to her.
She had avoided the language as much as Don. “Sorry, can’t help you.”Melvin was experiencing problems with one of his remote digital surveillance cameras. “I can’t pinpoint what’s wrong,” he murmured, eyeing the front window to see if any reporters still lingered. The last thing he wanted to do was make repairs. Seeing no one in sight, he shut down the system, got in his car, and drove away.
School out, Christina pulled Amber and Ashley aside. With Melvin out of jail for lack of evidence, her plan was simple: “We need to help get the evidence they need to put him back in jail,” she explained.
“Are you crazy?” Ashley was the first to say. “I wouldn’t go near him again for a trillion bucks.”
“Listen,” Christina said firmly, “do you think he would’ve come after you if all three of us had been together that night?”
“No.”
“So one thing we know is that Melvin’s a coward. A peeping tom and a weaseling little worm of a coward.” Christina was adamant. This was a side of her the other two had never seen. As a small child she’d learned to shut her emotions off in order to protect herself from the things her mother did to her dad. Now they’d stirred in her like the call of the wild to a caged wolf. Surely the Rodriguez blood flowed in her veins.
Ashley let out a throaty laugh. “You’re nuts. I think you’d better talk to Doctor Wendy.”
Seeing how reluctant her friends were to get involved, Christina’s wits momentarily returned. “You’re right. I guess it’s a job for the police.”
Ashley and Amber headed off to catch up with the group starting off down the street. “Come on,” Amber called.
Christina hesitated. “My aunt’s coming to pick me up,” she lied.
Captain Bingham stood in front of a smoking computer, his radio in hand. “Olsen, take pursuit. We’ll follow and chase by radio.”
Barker bolted through the door from his position out front. “You shot the computer!” he yelled.
Bingham slapped at the air and gritted his teeth. “It was an accident, dammit!” Then, grabbing Barker by the arm, he growled, “I’ll go with you!”
Olsen’s voice crackled over the radio. “He’s headed south on thirteen hundred toward the river.”
The captain pondered the best course to take. A high-speed chase was not the best move, especially when the one being chased had a radio and the newest police car on the force. Stacey, at this point, actually didn’t pose a serious threat, since he no longer had access to his computer and notes, nor his hand-held radio. In fact, the note pad Stacey had worked so hard on was now safely in his own pocket. “Olsen, change of plans. Back off. We’ll get him another way.” Then he punched the button on his radio. “Stacey,” he jeered, “you’re a dead cop—unless you turn yourself in.”
“Captain, I think I’ll do that, “Stacey’s voice boomed out over the radio. “Meet me at the bridge across the river on Columbia Lane. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Bingham, wide-eyed, looked at Barker; Barker stared back. Neither could believe what he was hearing. “Watch for your car,” Stacey added, mimicking the captain’s tone, “and please don’t shoot me. I’ll be unarmed.”
What was going on? Bingham’s mind grappled for an answer. “Head for the river,” he ordered Barker. Olsen and Mitch did the same.
Christina walked the five blocks from school to the apartment. From down the street she could see that Melvin’s car wasn’t there. She crossed the street and walked by on the opposite side, then crossed back over to the house next door. From there she turned and made cautiously toward the gate. No one saw her enter.
Inside the yard, she unlocked the door, and walked into the apartment. Opening the door that led to the stairs above, she began her ascent. She remembered how anxious Melvin had been to stop Danny and her from climbing the stairs. What was up there he didn’t want them to see? And would his door be locked? She’d just have to find out.
The stairs creaked with age. Several times she paused to find a better spot to take her next step—and to listen. It still appeared no one was home. Finally at the top stair, she reached for the door knob and turned. The door opened.
Melvin was on his way back home when he spied the three police cars parked just off the river bridge. He wasn’t eager to drive past them, but decided the seven-block detour was a less desirable alternative. His surveillance target would probably return within the hour and he didn’t want to cut it too close. The reporters in his front yard had been distracting.
As he crossed the bridge, all four officers stared—but not at him. Their attention was directed on something floating in their direction, several hundred yards up the swollen river.
As they waited for Stacey to show, Barker had been the first to notice the object. At first he dismissed it as a log, but as it drew closer, he recognized it as an automobile. A car, in the middle of the river! It seemed to pitch and bob with the flow of water. Every so often, as one of its tires grazed a rock on the bottom, it would spin wildly.
Looking on in disbelief, Bingham regurgitated a string of profanities, ending with, “That’s my car!...He dumped my car in the river!”As the car rocked to and fro with the current, the officers noticed that the white roof was streaked with brown. Olsen squinted to get a better look. “There’s something written on it....you’re going down!” he read, the bold letters scrawled in mud.
All four men, their mouths agape, stood near the railing as the car, pointed downstream, drifted under the bridge and struck one of its main beams, sending vibrations up through its steel structure. The sudden stop sent the rushing water up over the back window, over the roof, and into the air like a waterfall. In seconds, the entire car lay at the bottom, its buoyancy lost to the heavy load of water.
The four men stood, rooted to the concrete. Bingham finally regained his voice. “I’d put a bullet between his eyes right now, if I could,” he mumbled.
The most complex piece of computer equipment Christina had ever seen sat amongst a clutter of disks, electronic equipment, wires and components. The largest computer was connected to a TV monitor, and they were each connected into other computers, forming a vast network. Danny can help figure this out, she thought. Then she heard a car pull into the driveway. “Melvin!” The awe she had experienced seconds ago now turned to fear.
Glancing around the room, she realized it would be impossible for her to get around the wall, through the kitchen and down into the stairwell before he entered the back door. The car door slammed shut. She heard footsteps coming up the rear stairway and the screen door creak open. She feverishly looked for a place to hide. Too late—someone was tramping across the kitchen floor.
The officers headed to their cars. The long lock of hair Bingham always combed forward in swirls to try to hide his balding head now hung sideways over his ear onto the collar of his sweat-soaked shirt. Barker, a line of perspiration running down his back, struggled to keep himself from smiling. I’ve got to hand it to you, Stace, he mused. If you’re going to be on the wrong side of the law, you might as well have some fun while you’re doing it. Neither Mitch nor Olsen, tired and hot, found any of it one bit amusing.
Upriver, hidden in a clump of trees, sat Stacey with Sig at his side. His tactic had gone over better than he’d hoped. “The force of the currents was with me,” he reveled in his best Yoda impression.
By pulling such a stunt, Stacey was counting on unnerving Bingham just enough that he might do something stupid. Yet he was still far from gathering the evidence against the captain he needed. Leaving his notes behind had been a devastating blow. He hoped one of the other officers might have found the notebook before the captain did.
Melvin rifled through the shelves, searching for the parts he needed. Christina, jammed back against the wall underneath the computer table, her head bowed to the floor, was sure he could hear her heart pounding. The only thing between her and Melvin were the five casters on the bottom of his chair.
Melvin muttered something under his breath. It was taking much too long to find the component he was looking for. Feeling the pinch of time, he decided to check the site before he left. He pattered into the room, reached over the chair and turned on the computer. Christina thought she would die.
The chair rolled out and Melvin sat down, his legs and feet turned sideways to the desk. The machine whirred. Several beeps and clicks later, Melvin began to type. Shifting his weight, he scooted partway under the desk. Christina could feel his feet only six inches from her head. On he typed.
All at once voices started coming from the computer. It sounded like a movie—only more like people talking back and forth in a doctor’s office. More typing. The sound changed. Now it was the voice of a man, talking on the phone. Melvin scooted forward again. This time the toe of his shoe grazed her arm. She closed her eyes, held her breath, and prayed.
Then Melvin pivoted his chair back and to the side, and he pronounced the words Christina most feared hearing. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, she could see her life passing before her. Yet, strangely, the tone of his voice was gentle, almost fatherly. “Come on out. It’s okay.”
Bingham dispatched a city tow truck to drag his car—or what was left of it—out of the churning river, doing his best to stay out of sight—and out of reach—of the reporters with their camera crews. The small-town tumult had attracted the interest of the national press. Bingham couldn’t risk having his face plastered on every television set in the country.
But soon it would all be over. He’d be out of the miserable little town, out from under its petty little problems, back to the actionpacked, conflict-ridden world he relished. Over the past years he’d grown anxious and unsettled. Now he thirsted for the bustle, the commotion, the thrill that his former life offered. All that was left was to see that this final enemy was exterminated. Stacey seemed to stir the roaming desire and hatred for which his soul longed.
Christina waited—but nothing happened. Forcing her eyes open, she saw a big orange cat slink out from the side of the desk and rub up against Melvin’s leg. “Good Tilly,” he cackled, gliding his hand down her back. All the while, the cat kept a close eye on Christina, still cowering under the desk. Melvin bent to stroke the cat under its chin. Christina could see his swollen eye as he picked up the animal and placed it on his lap. Then he went back to stroking the plastic keys of the computer. Again Christina could hear voices. They seemed faintly familiar.
Suddenly the cat jumped up and hissed, its claws digging into Melvin’s legs. “Get out of here!” he screamed, standing and sweeping the creature away. The cat scurried to safety in another part of the house.
Melvin resumed his work on the keyboard. Then, several moments later, he shut the equipment down. The minute or two he remained at the desk, jotting something down on a notepad, seemed to Christina like an eternity. A prayer repeated itself over and over in her mind. “Please, God, if I get home safe, I’ll never do anything bad for the rest of my life.”
At last Melvin pushed away from the desk, stood and walked through the kitchen and barged out the door. Christina listened as his car started and pulled out of the drive. She waited, too scared to move, hoping he wouldn’t change his mind and return.