by Blake Pierce
Jessie thought back to the photo she’d found in the bedside table drawer at Baker’s apartment. An unexpected pang of pity came over her. Sloane Baker may have gotten back into school, but she clearly didn’t get the help she needed. Ultimately it took another decade for the illness that had first flowered in college to re-emerge. Maybe if someone had reached out to her earlier it wouldn’t have come to this.
“I suspect the breaking point has something to do with the guy with his arm around her and his face scratched out in that picture,” she said. “But I suspect there were lots of smaller breaking points along the way. I doubt we’ll ever know for sure.”
“She didn’t say anything on that trail with you?” Kat asked.
“She said the victims deserved it and that she was rebalancing things, but the situation escalated before we could really get into it.”
They were approaching Jessie’s house, so they said their goodbyes to Jamil. Reid drove up the block slowly so that they could look for anything out of the ordinary. But there was nothing obvious; no old men lurking in bushes, no thirty-year-old cars parked up the block. Everything looked like it usually did. He pulled up in front of her house.
“So will I see you in the office tomorrow?” he asked as she got out of the car.
“I’ll have to stop by at some point to write a report on the weapon discharge but probably not until later in the day,” she said. “The new semester started today, and I have my first lecture tomorrow. I told Decker that he had me until classes started up again and I meant it.”
“Got it,” Reid said, sounding slightly wounded. Jessie suddenly felt guilty at her harsh refusal.
“How about you call if you need anything? We’ll do things virtually. You think you can handle that, old man?”
“Another reason I plan to retire soon,” he muttered, “you kids and your new-fangled technology. I’ve decided—as soon as the Night Hunter is caught, and the department gives HSS a parade—I’m definitely turning in my shield.”
Jessie smiled. As much as she would miss the guy’s crusty professionalism, she thought he was making a wise move.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” she told him. As she closed the door, Kat got out of the backseat.
“Just give us a minute,” she said to Reid, before motioning for Jessie to join her on the sidewalk. Only when they were out of earshot did she continue. “I know that you and I aren’t great, but are we at least better than we were?”
Jessie looked at her friend’s pleading eyes and wanted so badly to say yes. They had broken the ice in the police station courtyard but there were still huge chunks they had to navigate.
“We’re getting there,” she finally said. “Let’s get together later this week when we’re not so rushed, maybe have lunch. We’ll talk things through. That’s all I can offer right now.”
“I’ll take it,” Kat said, forcing a pained grin. “Stay safe, okay?”
Jessie nodded, then conceded slightly and gave her friend a hug. Kat returned it, gripping tightly. Then she got in the car and Reid pulled out. Jessie watched the taillights fade into the distance. As they rounded the corner, she saw a squad car heading toward her.
It must be time for the “every-ten-minutes” drive-by.
She waved and they did the same as they passed by. Then she heard the familiar sound of multiple locks on her front door sliding open. She turned to see Ryan open the door and ease down the first step.
He looked wiped out and was leaning more heavily than usual on his cane. Despite that, he had a broad, mischievous smile on his face, as if he was hiding some special secret. She was tempted to try uncover it, but decided tonight wasn’t the night.
“Hello, stranger,” she said walking up the white, stone path. The January winds had swept away the leaves and it looked unusually pristine. He met her halfway and they kissed. His lips were soft and warm.
“I’ve been waiting all day to do that,” he whispered in her ear.
“There are other things I’ve been waiting to do,” she whispered back.
His eyes widened in happy surprise.
“Then we should go in,” he said, looking like a little boy who’d just been promised extra candy.
They were just reaching the front step when Jessie heard a bark. She turned around to find the retired professor, Delia Morris, walking her dog, Grant. She was walking more briskly than usual.
“Hi Delia,” she called out, “Everything okay?”
But she could tell immediately that it was not. The woman’s white hair, always a bit of a bird’s nest, spilled down in front of her face. She was clutching her coat tightly around her with gloved hands and kept looking nervously back at the hedge that separated Jessie’s yard from the next-door neighbor’s. Grant looked agitated too and wouldn’t stop barking.
“What’s wrong?” Jessie asked, motioning for the old woman to come over, even as she undid the holster clasp on her gun.
“I saw someone on the other side of those bushes,” Delia whispered hoarsely, too frantic to even make eye contact. “He looked very suspicious.”
Under normal circumstances, Jessie might be inclined to assume that this was related to the woman’s slipping cognitive function. But Delia’s issues were memory related. When it came to moment-to-moment acuity, she was still pretty sharp.
“What did he look like?” Ryan asked, taking it seriously too.
“I couldn’t see him clearly,” Delia admitted, her voice choked with fear. “It’s dark. He looks older and he was hunched over. But what really worried me was that he seemed to have some kind of binoculars or something. He was looking at your house, dear.”
Jessie and Ryan exchanged looks.
“Do you have your gun?” she asked him.
“It’s in the bedroom,” he said.
“Okay,” she replied, her mind revving up from its state of hibernation, “the squad car just went by. The next one won’t cycle by for ten minutes so you should call this in. I’ll go check it out.”
“No,” he protested. “You look exhausted. I’ll do it. You go in and watch Hannah.”
Jessie looked at him, unsure how to say what she needed to, especially with Delia right there. She could see how determined he was to catch the Night Hunter, to redeem himself. And she didn’t want to embarrass him. But he was in no condition to go searching around in the dark. Before she could reply, she caught the look in his eye and knew she didn’t have to say any of it. He got it even if he hated it.
“Never mind,” he said quickly. “Just come inside. I’ll call for backup.”
“He could be gone by then,” she told him. “This might be our only chance. I won’t get close. I’ll cross the street to get a good angle.”
“Who could be gone?” Delia asked in a panicked voice that was partially drowned out by Grant’s continued barking. “What’s going on?”
Jessie looked at Ryan and could tell he was thinking the same thing as her.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Delia,” she said soothingly before turning to Ryan. “Take her in with you. We don’t need him using innocent bystanders as bait.”
“What is happening?” Delia pleaded.
“Come with me,” Ryan told her, taking her arm and leading her back up the path to the house. “There’s nothing to worry about. We’re just going to have you stay at our place for a few minutes until we have everything under control.”
“Can Grant come?” she asked meekly, apparently unaware that she was already dragging the little guy along by the leash.
“Of course,” Ryan said. “Maybe if you picked him up, he wouldn’t be so scared?”
Delia nodded and bent over to grab him. As she did, Ryan mouthed the words “be careful” to Jessie. She nodded that she would.
“Make sure to call for that backup,” she instructed.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting her before accompanying Delia to the house.
Jessie waited until they were inside, and she heard the door lock
s slide shut before turning her attention back to the hedge. Only then did she unholster her weapon. Without ever taking her eyes off the area that Delia had pointed to, she walked slowly across the street to the opposing sidewalk. She reminded herself to breathe, even as did her best to ignore the creeping sensation that started to grip her.
Even though she was young, in good shape, alert, and armed, she felt like this was the Night Hunter’s game and she was just a pawn.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Ryan made sure the security system was activated before turning his attention to Delia and her barking dog.
“Can I get you some water?’ he asked.
“That would be lovely,” she said, her eyes downcast and hesitant as she moved forward. “And perhaps something for Grant to nibble on- maybe a piece of cheese or two?”
“Of course,” he said, starting for the kitchen.
“What’s going on?”
He turned around to see Hannah standing in her bedroom doorway with a concerned look. He looked back at Delia. With her face covered in hair, he couldn’t see her expression, but he didn’t want to upset her any more than necessary.
“Why don’t you go have a seat at the breakfast table?” he said. “I’ll be right back to get that stuff for you and Grant.”
Delia nodded and Ryan limped over to Hannah.
“Delia saw someone suspicious outside,” he said quietly. “I’m about to call it in. We brought her inside just to be safe.”
“We?” Hannah repeated.
Again, the sense of shame and helplessness welled up in him. His girlfriend was outside facing down a threat while he was reduced to getting treats for little dog. He couldn’t decide if he was more consumed by fury or disgust at himself for putting them all in this position. But there was no point in sugar-coating any of it for Hannah. She deserved the truth, devoid of his attempts to protect his pride.
“Jessie just got home. She insisted on checking it out, which is why I want to call for backup. Why don’t you come out here with us for now, just until this is resolved?”
“Okay,” Hannah said without objection. “Just let me get my phone really quick.”
She returned to her room and Ryan reached into his pocket for his phone. Then he remembered he’d left it on the coffee table. He started in that direction when he heard a growl.
He looked to see that Delia hadn’t yet moved into the kitchen. She was still standing in the foyer. Grant was looking up at her with his teeth bared. That’s when he noticed the syringe in her right hand.
He stared at her. Through the tangled hair, he could see a pair of cold, malevolent eyes gazing back at him. He recognized them instantly. They were the same eyes that had looked at him impassively on the street outside the Santa Monica hostel where Alan Trembley had been murdered. They were the eyes of the Night Hunter.
Ryan’s heart turned cold and his mouth went dry at the same time. He felt like his feet were made of stone.
“I see the charade is up, dear,” the man said, dropping the hoarse, high-pitched whisper and moving the hair out of his face, “excuse me, I suppose I should address you as detective.”
It was only then that Ryan noticed blood dripping down the man’s forehead from little strands of what looked like skin. In that moment he realized the Night Hunter wasn’t wearing a wig. He was wearing Delia’s hair, complete with her scalp.
“Where’s Delia?” Ryan croaked, though he already knew enough to guess. He didn’t really care what the man said. He was just hoping for an extra second to will his mind and body to unfreeze, to come up with a plan.
Ryan had no weapon. He had no phone. He was shaky on his feet. The Night Hunter was only ten feet away and though he might be old, that didn’t mean he was weak. And from the video footage Ryan had seen of Hallie Douglas’s murder, all it would take was a prick from that needle to incapacitate him.
Besides, there was Hannah to think of. He was responsible for her and based on the man’s most recent victim—her lookalike—she was in more danger than anyone. This wasn’t a time to fight. It was a time to run. But where?
“Um,” Hannah said from behind him, having just left her room.
“That’s him,” Ryan said slowly. Even before he finished speaking, the Night Hunter had started advancing toward them. Ryan watched him approach, but just like the night that Alan Trembley died, he felt panic overtake him. He couldn’t move.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hannah dart behind him to the left. She grabbed the closest thing of size she could find, a lamp on the table outside her room, yanked it out of the wall, and threw it.
The Night Hunter turned away, less out of fear of injury than to protect the syringe. As the base hit him in the back and smashed to the floor, Ryan’s brain seemed to click on again and an idea burst to the front of it. “Get to the panic room.”
Hannah understood immediately and dashed in that direction. Ryan ordered his feet to move as well, and he scuffled after her as fast as he could. By the time he got to the bookshelf opening, Hannah was already inside. Her eyes told him that the Night Hunter was right behind him.
Without aiming, he turned and swung his cane wildly behind him. The man was less than five feet away, almost close enough to inject him. But seeing the cane coming at him, the Night Hunter rocked back. He barely avoided getting hit and stumbled slightly as he tried to maintain his balance. That was all Ryan needed.
“Push the button,” he yelled at Hannah as he dived through the narrow opening. Even before he hit the ground, he heard the bookshelf sliding shut. He rolled over just in time to see the Night Hunter’s contorted, furious grimace right before the door closed.
The panic room lights flickered on. As Hannah helped him to his feet, they could hear the man outside, taunting them.
“You’re only delaying the inevitable,” he called out over the barking dog. “I’ve looked at the plans for this house too. I know its weaknesses. I know, for example, that the wall below this bookshelf is made of drywall, and that a small drill will penetrate it easily.”
He stopped speaking and moments later they heard a yelp of pain. Grant stopped barking. Ryan and Hannah looked at each other. Neither wanted to acknowledge what had just happened.
“Can he get in here?” she asked, moving on quickly.
“Eventually, yes, but we’ll be ready for him,” Ryan said, sounding more confident than he felt.
He made no mention of his moment of frozen indecision seconds earlier and neither did she. He didn’t even know if she’d picked up on it. Pushing the thought out of his head, he hurried over to the back wall and opened the middle of the three boxes attached to it. He pulled out the phone and handed it to her.
“Call the pre-programmed number,” he instructed.
“Shouldn’t you do that?” she asked.
“I’m busy right now,” he said as he opened the weapons locker, took out one of the handguns, and began loading the clip. Hannah seemed satisfied with that answer and dialed the number. Within seconds, the duty officer at Central Station answered. Hannah held up the phone to Ryan’s face. He identified himself and was just starting to explain their status when he heard a drill begin to penetrate the drywall. He cut his account short.
“Just send everyone. He’s in the house.”
“Responding now,” the duty officer said. “Please stay on the line, Detective Hernandez.”
“Can’t do that,” he said as he handed Hannah the weapon and began loading another. “Jessie Hunt is outside the house right now and she has no idea what’s going on. I have to warn her.”
“But Detective—,”
“Hang up,” Ryan told Hannah, who cut the officer off immediately.
He was about to have her call Jessie when the Night Hunter shouted out again.
“I know your colleagues and your better half will be joining us soon,” he yelled. “Unfortunately, by the time they arrive, I’ll be long gone, and it will be far too late for you. I’m sorry we weren’t a
ble to have a proper jamboree, Detective, but this will have to do. By the way, have you ever heard of hydrogen cyanide?”
Ryan heard something being jammed into the drywall, followed by a loud hissing noise. His whole body went into overdrive.
“What’s that?” Hannah demanded.
“Move to the back wall and hold your breath,” he ordered, as he scurried to the cabinet in the back right of the room, where the gas masks were stored. He started to reach for the key on his keychain but decided there wasn’t enough time.
“Step to the left,” he told Hannah, then took a quick gulp of air and held his own breath. When she was clear, he raised his weapon, pointed it at the cabinet lock, and fired.
*
There was no one there.
Within seconds of crossing the street, Jessie had a direct line of sight to the hedge between her yard and her neighbor’s. With the overhead street ight, it actually wasn’t as dark as Delia had made it out to be. Plus, the hedge was so thin that there was no real place for anyone to hide.
Worried that the Night Hunter might have already abandoned that location and moved closer to the house, she crossed the street again back to her sidewalk. She considered walking around the side of the house but that seemed risky. In close quarters, he would have the advantage.
She started up the white, stone path to the front door when she noticed something she’d missed before. There were little smudges on the path that had seemed so pristine earlier. She bent down and touched one. It was wet and sticky. Holding her finger up to the streetlight, she thought it looked like blood. She smelled it and was even more certain.
A sudden shiver passed through her as she stood up again. Something was very wrong. She squinted at the smudges on the path more closely. They continued for several more paces toward the front door before disappearing completely. Then she realized what she was looking at: paw prints.
An image of Delia picking up Grant just before entering the house flashed through her memory. In that moment, she knew the truth and her blood ran cold. Terror rose in her chest. But even before she could attempt to contain it, the feeling dissipated on its own, as if her body knew she didn’t have time for the fear.
