Mounted

by E. H. Reinhard

  “Let’s get a warrant set,” Beth said.

  “I’ll get someone on the warrant while we head out there,” Duffield said. “I’d rather have him trapped in the house, surrounded by law enforcement while we wait on the paperwork to enter, as opposed to waiting on the paperwork here while he slips away.”

  “Let’s go.” I slid my chair back as I stood.

  Beth did the same. “Let’s get the word out to local law enforcement for backup. Where is this address at?”

  “One second.” Duffield picked up the paper he’d written on and punched the address into his computer.

  We waited a moment in silence.

  “Shit. It’s only a mile or two away from where the packages were sent from.” Duffield scooped up his phone and started dialing. “I need to get the word to Tolman and Collette.”

  Beth and I waited at his office door.

  “Tolman’s voice mail,” Duffield said. He tossed the phone back on its base and stood. He pulled his suit jacket from the back of his chair and jammed an arm through one of the sleeves, putting it on. “I’ll call Collette on the way. Let’s go. What the hell are these two doing?”

  Neither Beth nor I responded.

  Duffield grabbed the paper with the address from his desk, and Beth and I followed him from his office.

  Duffield stopped at Agent Houston’s desk in the main room of the serial crimes unit.

  “What’s going on?” Houston asked.

  Duffield held the piece of paper out toward him. “We need a warrant for this address. As soon as you get it in hand, you and Braine come there.”

  “This is our guy?” Houston asked.

  Duffield nodded. “We’re leaving for the address now. Again, bring it the second it touches your hand.”

  “Got it. I’ll call you when we’re on our way.” Houston lifted his desk phone to his ear and dialed.

  “Let’s go,” Duffield said. “My truck is on the ground level of the secured structure.”

  We took the stairs down and entered the Bureau’s parking garage.

  Duffield walked a couple steps ahead of us, his phone pressed to his ear. I couldn’t hear his entire conversation, but it sounded as though he was asking someone for coordinates. Beth and I piled into Duffield’s truck, and we drove from the complex. Duffield made contact with the Louisville Metro Police Department within minutes of our departure—they would be sending units out to meet us.

  I looked over at Duffield driving—he clutched his cell phone in his right hand, steering the truck with his left. Every couple of seconds, he stared down at his phone. His face said that he was bothered by something.

  Duffield caught my glance. “Something isn’t right,” he said.

  “Collette and Tolman?” I asked.

  “I called the tech department to get me GPS locations on their phones,” he said. “It’s been too long without hearing back from them.”

  “The service might be spotty out there,” Beth said. “It’s pretty rural.”

  I figured Beth was trying to ease Duffield’s mind.

  “I spoke to them while they were out there,” Duffield said. “They have coverage.”

  Beth didn’t respond. We rode in silence another few miles before the sound of Duffield’s phone chirping broke the silence in the cab of the truck.

  He swiped the screen and held the phone to his ear. “Duffield,” he said. “Where?” he asked a split second later. Then he clicked off from the call without saying another word and tossed the phone onto the truck’s dash. He stared out the windshield and increased his speed.

  “Location?” I asked.

  Duffield didn’t look at me to answer the question. “Same location as the suspect’s.”

  We exited the interstate a few minutes later and drove zigzagging country roads farther east. I recognized the area from our visit to the Emmersons’ house. Duffield slowed and made a right a mile away from their residence. We traveled a half mile and made a left down a road named Robin Lane. Four Louisville Metro patrol cars lined the right side of the road, parked with wheels in the grass. The officers stood outside their cars—each man had tan body armor over his patrol uniform. Duffield slowed near the car parked in the lead, where a group of six officers stood. One of the officers, six foot and wide shouldered, walked toward the passenger side of Duffield’s Toyota. I dropped my window.

  “Agent’s Duffield, Rawlings, and Harper,” Duffield said from the driver’s seat.

  “Sergeant Lucas Grainger,” the officer said. He stuck his big hand through the window and shook our hands, Beth’s coming up between the front seats of the truck.

  “Did you pass the property?” Duffield asked.

  “We did. It’s a quarter mile up on the left. The road dead-ends, so he would have needed to drive past us if leaving by car. There’s a Volkswagen and a government-issued vehicle in the driveway,” Sergeant Grainger said. “What’s the situation here? This is our guy making the headlines?”

  “Yes,” Duffield said.

  “And the government-issued vehicle?” he asked.

  “It’s one of ours. I had two agents in the area going door-to-door. They haven’t reported back in hours.”

  The sergeant remained silent.

  “Let’s get on that house and see what we have,” Duffield said. “Make sure your guys are ready for anything.”

  “Do we have a warrant?” he asked.

  “We have one coming, but if I think my guys are inside and in danger, we’re going in regardless.”

  “Got it.” Sergeant Grainger turned back toward his men. “We’re rolling.”

  Duffield started forward, and I raised my window. A quarter mile up the road, Duffield veered to the left side of the road and parked in the grass. A tree line blocked our view of the home though I could see the base of a gravel driveway roughly ten car lengths in front of Duffield’s truck. We stepped out as the patrol cars parked in a single file behind us. The officers exited their vehicles—eight men total—and two retrieved shotguns from their vehicles.

  We gathered at Duffield’s tailgate.

  “We want this place locked down,” Duffield said. “Let’s surround it and make sure we have eyes on any possible exit point. What’s the layout of this place?”

  “Single story house on a bit of a hill,” one of the officers said. “This tree line breaks up about fifty feet up the driveway. The home faces the street, with the driveway splitting and passing the side of the house to the east. The driveway leads back to a big shed about the size of a three-car garage. There’s a side entrance on the home that faces the driveway.”

  “Okay,” Duffield said. “Let’s take the driveway up and fan out as soon as we can. Whatever needs eyes on gets eyes on. We may have friendlies inside. Use your heads.”

  “Understood.” The sergeant looked at his men. “Eggers, Dawson, you guys loop around to the back of the property.” He looked at the officer that had mentioned the layout. “Young, you go with Brooks. Take a position behind that VW in the driveway. Keep a visual on that side of the home and the shed. The rest of you split between the main entrance and the other end of the home.”

  His men confirmed the instructions.

  Our entire group started up the gravel driveway, weapons drawn. The Volkswagen was parked near the shed in front of Agents Tolman and Collette’s vehicle. The thick trees opened up, and the officers split off to their respective positions. The jingling and clacking of items on the officers’ utility belts faded as they jogged away. Duffield, Beth and I continued up the driveway with the sergeant and two of his officers following.

  I looked at the home as we approached—the place appeared to have been built in the later seventies. The siding was dark blue, the shutters a shade lighter. The roof needed to be replaced. A large bay window sat to the right of the front doors, but the curtains were drawn, not allowing a visual inside. Past the solid front door to the left front side of the home, I spotted two more windows, which also had curtains drawn.
I looked at the ground level and could see the tops of two low glass-block windows set inside window wells.

  We approached the back of Tolman and Collette’s car and rounded the side of it opposite the home. Duffield, who was leading, stopped to get a look into the vehicle. I passed him and walked toward the front of the car, staring at the side door of the home, and stopped at the front bumper.

  I spoke over my shoulder to Beth. “There’s blood on that side door.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  We neared the side door of the home. My eyes were locked on the bloody handprint on the door’s edge, which appeared to have been made by someone inside the house holding the edge of the door. Duffield was directly at my back, Beth behind him. The sergeant and another officer backed us up while one waited in the driveway.

  Sergeant Grainger’s radio came alive, and my head snapped back toward him. He jammed the palm of his hand over his shoulder radio to block the sound. The message that came through was that the home had a basement walk out on the back side of the property.

  I took the right side of the door, with Beth behind me. Duffield, the sergeant, and his officer took the left side of the door. Duffield counted three on his fingers and reached for the doorknob. He gave it a twist and pushed it open. The door swung open a foot, hit something, and swung back. We remained quiet. I heard no footsteps or noises coming from inside. Duffield pushed the door again and poked his head and weapon into the opening to get a look inside the home.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said.

  He motioned us into the house and entered through the gap between the doorjamb and whatever the door was hitting while the sergeant covered him.

  Sergeant Grainger motioned Beth and me inside. We entered behind Duffield, who had moved further into the kitchen and was crouched near a body.

  “What the hell,” I mumbled. My eyes went from where Duffield was crouched back across the tile, which was covered in blood, to a man wearing a suit and lying on the floor to my right. The door blocked the upper torso and head of the man. I looked around the door to see Agent Collette’s face. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. His mouth hung ajar, with his tongue protruding from one corner. His throat had been opened from ear to ear. Collette’s jacket hung open, revealing that his service weapon was missing.

  I turned my attention back to Duffield, who was looking back at Beth and me. Duffield stared downward, said the word shit in a hard whisper and shook his head. He rose, took a position against the wall in the dining room, and waved Beth and me over.

  I turned back to the sergeant standing in the open doorway. “Make sure no one comes from here.”

  He confirmed.

  Beth and I did our best to get to Duffield without stepping in any of the blood. I glanced down at Agent Tolman as we passed him—his throat had been cut just like Collette’s. Beth and I met Duffield in the dining room and continued on. The living room was quickly cleared, and we made our way down a short hallway. I checked the first door to our left—a bedroom. I entered and cleared the closet before returning to Duffield and Beth in the hall. Duffield cleared a bathroom on our right. We continued. At the hallway’s end was a pair of open doors—one left and one right. As we approached, I quickly glanced left—another bedroom. Beth dipped inside that bedroom, and Duffield and I entered the room on the right.

  My eyes went left to right across the room, which from the size, I figured used to be the master bedroom. Tables and desks lined the wall in what appeared to be makeshift workstations. Wood bases and some kind of metal frames littered the table farthest left. The next desk contained pieces of brown clay and a pile of some kind of organic substance I couldn’t make out. I took another step into the room, looking right to make sure the open closet area was clear—it was, and I saw no master bathroom. I continued scanning from one table to the next. The far right table contained a photo booth, and against the back wall were a mannequin head and hair trimmings on a table. A jar of green glass eyes caught my attention initially, followed by a bunch of different makeup products a moment later. Duffield stood near the pile of what I couldn’t make out—he leaned in for a better view and yanked his head away.

  I walked toward him to see what he was looking at. Duffield pointed at something protruding from the mound.

  I spotted what looked like an eyeball mixed in with whatever the rest of the organic matter was.

  I felt a momentary flutter in the back of my throat but swallowed it away.

  “Other bedroom is clear,” Beth said quietly, entering the room. Her eyes shot back and forth from one workstation to the next.

  A sound caught my ear—faint talking. At first, I thought it was the sergeant and his men outside, but something didn’t sound right about it. The voice was singular and not calls back and forth across a radio or someone giving orders.

  “We need to clear that base—” Beth began.

  I cut Beth off with my finger over my mouth and pointed down at my feet. “Listen,” I said as quietly as I could.

  We stood silent.

  From directly below our feet, I could hear a low deep voice.

  I pointed toward the room’s doorway. We exited and made our way back down the hall and around to the kitchen.

  “Are we clear?” Sergeant Grainger asked. He remained in his same position at the doorway leading out toward the driveway.

  I pointed down and spoke quietly. “Talking coming from the basement.”

  The sergeant nodded and called to his men over his radio to stay sharp on the walkout door.

  “Light under the door.” Duffield pointed toward a closed door at the edge of the kitchen, where faint light came from the crack beneath it.

  We approached and took the side of the door with the handle. Beth crouched nearest the door and held the door handle.

  “I’ll pull—you clear,” she said.

  “Got it.” I held my service weapon ready.

  Beth twisted the knob and yanked the door. I rounded the doorway, pointing my gun down a yellow-linoleum-covered stairwell leading to the lower level. The murmur of voices I’d heard before increased in volume but I saw no one. At the bottom of the stairs was gray carpeting, and the lights were on. I couldn’t see the back wall at the base of the steps, and the room opened to the sides in both directions. I pulled back. The stairwell was about as dangerous as you could get for clearing, allowing a shooter from any direction.

  I relayed the information. “Room opens up and goes in each direction at the base of the stairs.”

  “We need to know where he is,” Duffield said, “or it’s a kill box.”

  Beth turned and looked across the kitchen at the sergeant in the doorway. “You said that there was a walkout from the basement in the back?”

  “Correct,” he said.

  “Can we get a visual inside?” she asked.

  “Hold on,” Sergeant Grainger said. He stepped from the doorway.

  He made a call over his radio, but I couldn’t make out what exactly he was saying.

  A moment later, the sergeant returned to the doorway. “The blinds are shut. We can’t see inside.”

  I took a step down the stairwell, keeping my gun pointed downward. The voice I’d heard went silent.

  “Hank,” Beth said softly. She turned into the doorway.

  I motioned for her to wait.

  I got as low as I could and took another step down. I still couldn’t see the back wall. I took another step, keeping my gun pointed down, but still couldn’t see. I took another step and put my knee down on the stairs to get lower. I followed the barrel of my gun left to right. I had a visual on the baseboard along the room’s back wall. I motioned for Beth to come forward, and she stuck to the left wall and made her way down the four steps to me. I dropped another two steps and got as low as I could again, keeping my gun aimed in the direction I looked. I could see the left side of the room beyond the stairwell. The wall was solid aside from a single closed door. I swapped walls of the stairwell and looke
d to the right. The room continued in that direction. I pointed to the right, signaling which way I was headed at the base of the stairs.

  A voice broke the silence. “I just need a couple of minutes here. I have a gun and suggest you let me finish my work. I won’t hesitate to kill any of you if you try to impede what I’m doing. I’m sure the dead FBI agents up there can attest to that statement.”

  Duffield took two hard steps down the stairwell, but I held out my hand to stop him. Anger blazed in his face. I looked at Beth briefly and then turned my attention back to what I could see of the basement.

  “I know that you’re in the stairwell there,” the voice continued. “I heard you come in and could hear you walking around upstairs. Now, if I wanted to take your life, I could just start firing into the wall and have a pretty damn good chance of killing you. I’m choosing not to do that, so I’ll ask that you have the same professional courtesy and allow me the time that I need. I’ll go out peacefully as soon as I’m finished.”

  “You’re William Allen David?” I asked.

  “That I am,” he said.

  “What can you tell me about Erin Cooper-Connelly?”

  “You found her print on the film, hey? She’s right here.”

  “Deceased?” I asked.

  “Immortalized.”

  “I’d like to come down and talk.”

  “As soon as I tell you it’s okay,” he said. “Not before.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Uploading. It can’t be interrupted.”

  I looked up the stairs at Beth. She was crouched, her gun held ready in both hands. Duffield stood behind her, a couple stairs up.

  “Uploading what?” I asked.

  “Oh, you’ll see. Everyone will see,” he said.

  I heard a clank of what sounded like glass on glass.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Banged my glass of Scotch on the coaster. Ninety percent uploaded. Just a minute or two.”

  I heard a groan and then a squeak of what I figured to be a chair or old couch cushions. I took another step down the stairs and then another and another, moving as quietly as I could to the base of the stairwell. Beth did the same behind me. Duffield remained at the top of the stairs. I stood ready to round the corner into the room and fire if need be. Aside from the occasional sound of him rummaging around, I heard nothing. A noise caught my ear—liquid pouring. He was pouring himself another drink, and if he was doing that, he wouldn’t be ready for me.