Hunting the VA Slayer

by C. M. Wendelboe

  “Matter of fact, there was,” Oblanski said. “Pretty wilted in this heat but it was there.”

  “Doc Henry,” he whispered and his gut churned.

  Arn thought deep, thought back to what he’d learned this last week with his interviews, his brief visits with people at the VA. “Oh, shit,” he breathed.

  “What is it?”

  “If I’m right, Ana Maria is in imminent danger.”

  “From who?”

  “When I know something more certain, I’ll call,” he said and closed his phone. “Shit,” he whispered, as if the killer could hear him miles away.

  47

  ARN LANDED AT THE AIRPORT and tipped the pilot a hundred dollars for getting him quicker than he expected. What the hell, he thought. What’s another sawbuck as long as my credit card was maxed out anyway.

  Danny proudly sat behind the wheel of Arn’s Olds ink the airport parking lot waiting for him when he landed. “Any word?”

  “I called Oblanski an hour ago. And again, twenty minutes before we landed. Nothing. He has forty-odd officers combing the city looking for her. Got my gun?”

  Danny reached in the glove box and handed Arn his Airweight .38. “You want me to drop myself off at home?”

  “Not until I find out where I am supposed to go. Wherever it is, I might have you drop me off well away from the spot.” Arn flipped his phone open. “Here goes.”

  Arn hit Ana Maria’s number on speed dial. It rang. And rang. And rang. His gut started churning again, his mind racing: what has happened to Ana Maria that she won’t—or can’t—answer her cell phone. Have I gotten here too late…

  Ana Maria came on the line. “Arn?”

  “I’m here in Cheyenne. Where—.”

  “Just listen,” she said, her voice breaking up. “You’re to come to the VA Center. Park your car in the lot. You will be picked up and brought to my location. Are you at the airport?”

  “I am.”

  “I am told you have but five minutes to get here,” and the line went dead.

  “Get to the VA,” Arn said, already punching in Oblanski’s number. “We only have five minutes tops.”

  “With your 442 I can halve that time.”

  Danny boiled the tires, smoke erupting from scorched rubber, the car’s back-end fishtailing as he shot into traffic. “Ned. I’ve received another order.”

  “Hope it pays off,” Oblanski said. “We haven’t had any luck finding Ana Maria so far.”

  “The VA center. I’ve gotta be there in five minutes, so get word to your guys not to stop a gold Oldsmobile driving like hell.”

  “Five minutes doesn’t give us enough time to meet you and fit you with a tracker.”

  “That’s probably the idea,” Arn said. “Whoever thought this out is one meticulous bastard.” Arn told him his instructions were to wait for someone to pick him up at the VA. But take him where?

  “Let me check the status of my units,” Oblanski said. Arn clung tightly to the door handle as Danny slid around the corner onto Pershing. “I’ve got two officers in the vicinity,” Oblanski said. “I’ll keep them out of the VA compound. Set one up at each entrance and wait for you to come out. But how the hell will they know it’s you?”

  Arn thought as he rubbed his sweaty head. “I’ll wear my Stetson. No one in their right mind wears a cowboy hat in this heat.”

  “And you still have no idea who is holding Ana Maria?”

  “Not for certain. Have you tried pinging the cell tower?”

  “AT&T tech are working on it, but she could be most anywhere in town. Locating someone just isn’t that accurate to find out what building a cell is emitting signals,” Oblanski said. “”But here’s my plan—my officers will grab your tail when you’re driven out, I’ve got the tactical team ready.”

  Danny ran through the light at the east entrance to the VA and headed for the parking lot. “Douse your lights,” Arn said, “and motor over to the far parking lot real slow. I want whoever we’re dealing with to see the car. And we might catch a break and see who the hell it is if he has to come all the way across the empty lot. Scoot down in the seat as soon as you park. I don’t want you to be spotted. When we see who comes up to the car, you call Oblanski’s number and tell him.”

  —

  Arn jumped when the phone rang louder than Arn wished in the still night air. “My guys still haven’t spotted you coming out of the compound,” Oblanski said. “Are you sure Ana Maria said to come to the parking lot at the VA?” Oblanski said.

  “That’s what she was told to say.”

  “It’s been nearly two hours.”

  Arn wiped sweat from his forehead with his bandana. The windows were rolled down in the Olds, and the humid air seemed to hang right over the old car. “Don’t remind me. I’m getting more than a little worried.”

  “Keep me posted if you can,” Oblanski said and hung up.

  “What if it took us too long to get here?” Danny asked as he lay scrunched down in the driver’s seat. “What if Ana Maria’s been taken somewhere? Or worse?”

  Danny didn’t have to say aloud what Arn had been thinking since pulling in here and hearing nothing more. Had it taken too long, Arn had wondered. No, he finally concluded—it had not. Whoever held Ana Maria held her as a hostage to draw Arn in. The SOB was just being wary.

  Arn caught movement in the parking lot and he griped his gun butt just as two mulie doe meandered across the lot towards the trees to the west.

  Arn breathed out deeply and settled back in the seat.

  When his phone rang.

  “Arn,” Ana Maria whispered into her phone. “Change of plans. Come into the main entrance.”

  “It’s after hours. It’s locked.”

  “No,” she stammered. “It will be unlocked.” Muted sounds coming from her end. “Come all the way down the hall until it tees. Go right. You’ll receive more instructions.”

  Silence.

  “Call Oblanski,” Arn said. “I’m instructed to go inside.”

  “Maybe you’ll be picked up out back.”

  “Maybe,” Arn said. “Hold your hand over the dome light.”

  Arn rolled out of the car and avoided the streetlights over the parking lot, approaching the entrance in the shadows though he was certain he was being observed even now.

  At the entrance to the VA, the automatic door failed to slide open and he worked his fingers between the doors, until one slid far enough he could get inside.

  Once he got past the second set of sliding doors he paused, letting his eyes adjust to the darkened hallway. Off to his left, light filtered vaguely from down the hall from the Emergency Room, the waiting area outside the audio section and information desk cold. Dark. Empty, like Arn’s gut had been these last hours since Ana Maria’s first call.

  He took the small revolver from his back pocket and held it beside his leg as he slowly made his way down the hallway, stopping now and again. Listening.

  Silence but for noises coming from the ER.

  When he reached the t-intersection, he peeked around the corner. “Take the hallway to the right,” Ana Maria had told him, and he squinted. Light from an EXIT sign above a door was the only light in this part of the facility, the illuminating from that even growing dim as he entered the part of the center under construction.

  He stopped and cocked an ear.

  Had there been a noise coming from one of the empty side rooms… whimpering? Sobbing, loud in the quiet of the hallway?

  He wiped the sweat from his palm and clutched the gun tighter while he inched his way toward the sound.

  Stop! his instinct told him.

  He put his ear to the wall. The sobbing he had heard before rose and fell just behind the door and he chanced a peek through the small square of door glass. Ana Maria sat in a chair. A rag�
��torn sheet perhaps—encircled her mouth, and zip ties secured her to the chair. Light from a house in back of the VA shone dimly through a window, illuminating Ana Maria’s frightened eyes as she spotted him.

  He opened the door and duckwalked inside the darkened room.

  Paused.

  His eyes still adjusting.

  His ears attuned.

  Her eyes widening. She tried moving her head, but the rag prevented her, the whites of her frightened eyes warning him of… what? He looked around the cluttered room, with the desks and file cabinets stuffed there during the remodeling.

  Once more he wiped sweat from his palm before gripping his gun tightly and stood slowly. Four tall, metal filing cabinets stood an odd angle against one another next to Ana Maria’s chair, and desks had been overturned atop one another across the room beside rows of chairs.

  He walked hunched over.

  She tried screaming though the rag.

  Arn reached for his knife to cut the zip ties when…

  …a blur from behind the filing cabinets. A hand coming down on his neck, and he dropped. Just like Winger had done that day in the training room.

  He fought consciousness. His gun skidded across the room.

  In the darkness, he was only vaguely aware that a syringe of some type stuck in his arm and he rolled away from it, his hand flailing, slapping at the syringe, dropping to the floor.

  His hand fell on a broken table leg. He lashed out and connected with someone who fell against the filing cabinets. They toppled over as Arn regained his wits enough, struggling to his feet, running out the door.

  Farther down the hallway a pile of two-by-fours sat stacked next to sheets of plywood tipped against the wall.

  With just enough room for Arn to hide.

  Just long enough to shake off the effects of the blow.

  And whatever had been stuck injected into his arm.

  He wiggled between the wall and the plywood, keeping his face down, covering his face from any shine. Any detection. Hell to be a Norwegian, he thought. If I was any whiter I’d have to fall into a fifty-five gallon barrel of white-out. Just what I need when I’m trying to hide.

  His attacker stumbled out of the room and walked slowly down the hallway, checking open doors. Inside other filing cabinets stacked along one wall of the hallway.

  The footsteps stopped beside the plywood.

  Why the hell didn’t I realize it was that bastard before, he thought as he continued holding his breath. With Jonah dead over a week, there and how the killer laid out to Arn just who he was… His lungs threatened to explode the longer he held his breath until…

  The attacker resumed walking, searching, the shuffling steps on the sawdust-laden floor becoming fainter.

  And stopped.

  Arn shook his head as best he could within the confines of his small space, and his head began to clear.

  Just as the effects of what he was injected with started to take effect.

  He forced himself to remain conscious. Taking slow, quiet breaths. His attacker not knowing where his prey was hidden when…

  …Arn’s cell phone rang. And rang again. He fumbled to silence it.

  But too late for Arn.

  “Thought you’d be dumb enough to keep your ringer on. Now climb on out of there. I don ‘t want this little gun of yours going off and making a ruckus. Now slip on out of there.”

  Arn crawled out on his elbows and knees and shook his head again. He tried standing, but he fell back against the wall, his vision blurred.

  “No use standing up,” Ethan said. “I didn’t get as much Xylazine as I wanted before you swatted it away, but it’s enough that you’ll be drowsy until…”

  Arn rubbed his eyes, Ethan’s image blurring the longer Arn stared at him. “Ana Maria said you were on your way to D. C., but I knew better.”

  “Don’t try to fool a psychologist,” Ethan said. “I deal with some real professional liars trying to game the system. You didn’t know a thing.”

  “Didn’t I?” Arn rubbed his eyes. “I knew enough that the cops put out a BOLO on you. Ethan Ames—murderer of innocent veterans. The VA Slayer.”

  Arn tried standing but fell with his back against the wall. “You told me that you saw Jonah in the hallway the day Major Mills was found murdered here. If that were the case, Jonah would be alive then. But by that time, he was dead.”

  “Now you’re clutching at limp straws,” Ethan said. “Jonah’s not dead. He just fled the area.”

  “So, the mighty Ethan Ames isn’t all-knowing.” Arn struggled to form words, drool dripping down one side of his mouth. If he could keep Ethan occupied long enough for the horse tranquilizer to wear off… “Jonah was found dead in a culvert at a ranch here. Probably killed by Doc Henry—.”

  “Now that’s one crazy bastard. We were required to study his case in residency. But it doesn’t prove you knew I killed those men.”

  Arn wiped the drool with his shirt sleeve, feeling more dripping down, his eyes becoming more blurred. “You told me exactly who you were when you gave me that profile: meticulous. Organized. Thinking they are more intelligent than everyone else in the room.” Arn looked around the rubble, but there was nothing to use as a weapon. Even if he could focus on one. “Except you were not the most intelligent person—I found you out and now the law has, too.”

  “The only thing I didn’t understand is why? Was it because of your father, or did you have bad run-ins with officers when you were in the military?”

  “Who’s to say I was ever in the military?”

  “The verbiage you used now and again—head for restroom. Affirmative. Negative. A civilian just doesn’t talk like that. And, you weren’t the least concern ed with the Righteous Sword of the Lord protestors harming you. ‘I can take care of them’ is what you told me like you were… a Ranger?”

  “Touché,” Ethan said. “I will give you that and will remind myself not to slip up in the future.”

  “Believe me,” Arn said, there will be no future for you once the law captures you.”

  “I doubt that,” Ethan said, but his voice broke as if he believed Arn had alerted the law to him. “But to answer your question of why—because a man ought not to die before mysteries are explained to him—I can honestly say I hated officer even before I went into the Army. I can thank my dear nasty-ass pappy for instilling that into me.”

  ” But why…”

  “My old man wasn’t much, but he was all I had. Mom didn’t get along very well with him—guess she just couldn’t take him ordering her around like he was still in the Army. So when she left for… Seattle is it… Pappy kind of educated me at home. Especially when I got accused of beating another kid and he pulled me out of school. The old man used to laugh at that—a high school dropout home-schooling his high school dropout of a kid.”

  “But… innocent officers. Never harmed you—.”

  “They were officers nonetheless. When I heard Pappy hung himself, I knew the thought of what Captain Sims and all the officers had done to him finally took its toll on the old man. And Pappy’s hate within me just boiled over when I saw Sims that day in Sheridan.”

  Ethan sat atop the pile of lumber and covered Arn with the gun. “Captain Sims was the first one, but you already know that. I spotted him in the VA in Sheridan when I first landed this counseling gig with the VA. You could say I went off on the good Captain on impulse. Damn near got caught, too.” He winked. “That’s when I decided to think things out. Research the best way, the safest way to kill a man quickly. I didn’t really find a fool proof way until I started counseling Johnny McGomerary once a week.”

  “The coke head?”

  “I hate that term.”

  Arn thought back to what Johnny’s dealer told the Denver investigators—Johnny’s friend that he started selling to—was good looki
ng. Well dressed. Everything Ethan was.

  “That day I drove Johnny down to the VA in Denver and he stopped to make a buy, I met his dealer. I came back the next day to the same smokehouse and the man said he’d sell me all I wanted. As pure as I wanted, if I had the money. But all I needed was enough to OD those officers.”

  “So your sister isn’t involved?”

  “My sister?” Ethan said. “I don’t even know where she is. Long grown and on her own by now, I figured. But when Ana Maria said you had a line on mom and was in route to interview her, well, you understand I couldn’t take the chance that she’d tell you enough about me that you could hone in on me. Maybe provide you with some old photos that you could have aged them to look like I do now. And you’d recognize me. I couldn’t take that chance, so I had to lure you here.”

  “But why those men?” Arn asked, shaking his head violently, trying to stay alert. Killing time. Feeling the effects of the Xylazine wear off ever so slowly. If only he had enough time.

  “The only one besides Johnny I knew was Frank Mosby. He and I met while we were running a 10K. Guess I got so hooked on running in the Rangers I naturally had to hit the road most days back then.”

  The Rangers. Pudgy’s special class he wrote about in his letter to Beth. Arn rubbed his neck and tried gathering his legs under him, but he fell onto his back. He grabbed the side of the plywood and sat up.

  “You’ll excuse me if I stunned the hell out of you—I have to take that class from Winger twice a year, only because I deal with violent veterans who might need controlling in my counseling work.” He laughed. “I always thought it was ridiculous to have to attend until I saw how effective it was in knocking someone for a loop long enough to inject them with enough cocaine to kill a horse.”

  “Horse,” Arn said, struggling to recall something about a horse… “Where did you get the tranquilizer?”