The Dark Corners of the Night

by Meg Gardiner

  “Baitsy,” Alvarez called it.

  Behind a hedge that ran alongside the Methodist church at the corner, Caitlin and Emmerich waited. On a cross street, Rainey and Keyes were parked on a driveway at a house whose owners were gone for the holidays, their Suburban squeezed between a bass-fishing boat and an RV.

  The street was wide, with good sight lines. The block—entry, exit, access through the park—had a defensible perimeter. Emmerich had binoculars, Caitlin a nightscope.

  Keyes had gamed it out, with enthusiasm and high anxiety. Before they’d left the war room, he plumbed his geographic profile to judge the r oads the Midnight Man most frequently traveled and where, statistically, he had most likely driven tonight. From that, he extrapolated locations where Hayden might want to dump his Jeep.

  “Somewhere he thinks it’ll be safe,” Keyes said. “Because I can’t believe he wants to give it up. He’ll want it as a backup. So he’s not going to drive it into the LA River, or some vacant lot where he’s afraid it would be stolen and sent to a chop shop.”

  Alvarez said, “It’s a misconception that cars left in low-rent neighborhoods are instantly jacked or stripped. Most people who live in low-rent neighborhoods drive cars, and nobody gives them a second glance.”

  “I know. I know,” Keyes said, almost tripping over his own words. “But Hayden may not. And he doesn’t want his Jeep to get jacked.”

  “No,” Rainey said. “He’s paranoid. He doesn’t want to relinquish control. Doesn’t want anybody to get into his business. If he can’t destroy the Jeep instantly and completely, he’ll park it someplace he thinks is safe.”

  “Right,” Keyes said. “And under pressure, ‘safe’ is going to register as ‘familiar.’ So I judge that he’d park the Renegade within his hunting grounds, along a path he knows well. And”—he held out his hands—“someplace where he can access further transportation. Metro Rail, bus stops, anonymous, easy ways for him to split from the neighborhood.”

  “We found a receipt in his bedroom wastebasket for a monthly Metro travel pass,” Alvarez said.

  Keyes’ shoulders dropped with relief. “That confirms all my suspicions.”

  Rainey asked Alvarez, “Can you track his movements with the pass?”

  “We can get a solid map of where he traveled in the last month.”

  Keyes put the geographic profile up on the big screen. “Hayden attacked his father midafternoon. Then he headed south. He crossed the mountains and kept going. He attacked in Bay Rise. He grabbed Hannah from Bay Rise. All south.” He took a breath.

  Caitlin stared at the screen. “When he shot his dad at their home, he destroyed that buffer zone. He’s not going back.”

  “Right. Psychologically as well as geographically, I think, he’s still on this side of the mountains. Centering in the south buffer zone. That’s where he dumped the Jeep.”

  He walked to the screen and indicated. “Near one of these freeways. Because they intersect with major bus and train lines that run downtown.”

  Everybody agreed. Alvarez said, “So where do we plant the bait Jeep?”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Keyes said. “We park it where we want, not where he left his.”

  Now here they were. A middle-class area patrolled out of the Sheriff’s Carson station. A quiet street. Equidistant to the 110 and 405 freeways.

  And easy walking distance to a Metro Rail station.

  Alvarez had modified the license plate on his Jeep to appear—from a distance, in poor light—like the plate number registered to Hayden Maddox. Baitsy wore camouflage. Parked at the curb, it was now bracketed by two Sheriff’s cruisers.

  Road crew spotlights had been set up, glaring down on the Renegade. Deputies walked around the scene, supervised by Alvarez and his partner, Detective Durand. Two other officers were searching the vehicle, dressed in white Tyvek suits, as if they were from the forensic unit.

  Once the stage was set, the play had been put in motion. The Carson sheriff’s station put out a bulletin: the Jeep being sought in the Amber Alert had been stopped.

  Community reporters had picked it up, and the social media feeds of local newspapers and television channels. No further information had been made available.

  Over police-band radio, however, it was different.

  Through Sheriff’s Department patrol units, dispatchers, and task force detectives, they spread word that when the suspect vehicle had been pulled over, the person driving it was not Hayden Maddox. It was a man who had hot-wired it.

  “Wait—you’re saying the Amber Alert vehicle got stolen from the kidnapper?”

  “Unbelievable but apparently true. Driver was not the owner of the SUV. No question.”

  “Deputies stop a vehicle sought by every cop on the street, and the guy at the wheel is a car thief?”

  “Yeah. ‘It’s not mine, I’m not the Midnight Man … I just stole it. Honest.’”

  Laughter.

  “Guy’s been arrested for GTA.”

  “That interrogation will be fun.”

  A stern voice broke into the banter. “Enough. Keep it off the air.”

  “It’s a good setup,” Emmerich murmured, binoculars to his eyes.

  “It’s a roll of the dice. But I’m glad everyone anted up.”

  Caitlin was cold and amped. And fearful that this was a mistake. Rushed. Overkill. That they would go home empty-handed.

  That Hannah would never be found.

  She put the nightscope to her eye and scanned the view. The air was dry, which meant her breath didn’t wreathe when she exhaled. That was good. The sleeves of her sweater pulled against the scabbed cuts on her forearms. The sensation, she realized, was annoying. Her skin felt sore and tender. And the tugging was only physical. At least for now, every craving to cut had evaporated.

  In her earpiece she heard Keyes, speaking on an encrypted radio frequency that police scanners couldn’t monitor.

  “I’m on with the phone company,” he said quietly. “They’re monitoring Hayden’s phone in real time. Let’s hope it pings a cell tower.”

  Concealed behind the hedge, Caitlin had a clear view of Alvarez’s Jeep. She thought: Walk into view, Hayden. Then come quietly. Please.

  If he didn’t, if nobody showed up, they were burning minutes that Hannah didn’t have.

  Emmerich checked his diver’s watch. The illuminated dial showed they’d been in place half an hour. It felt like a century.

  Then the wind dropped. A dog barked, distantly.

  And another, closer. Caitlin raised her scope.

  At the park, beyond the soccer fields, a figure lurked in the band of trees. Magnified in night-vision green, his eyes swept the view and settled on the Jeep. Caitlin’s pulse picked up. The view through the scope pulsated, emerald.

  Emmerich murmured into his radio. “Subject at ten o’clock.”

  At the Jeep, the detectives continued searching it, without a twitch. They knew that if Hayden was watching, it wouldn’t take him long to realize the vehicle wasn’t his.

  That didn’t matter. Getting him securely within the perimeter did.

  Caitlin watched the distant figure in the trees. He crept forward like a cat, smooth and slow and focused, keeping himself tucked among the oaks.

  Caitlin’s words fell as a whispered breath. “Come on.”

  The moments before, those uncertain seconds, the holding back, were agony to her. Impatience and anxiety bubbled along her nerves. Let’s go, she wanted to shout. She held still, her head throbbing.

  The figure in the trees slunk forward. Almost into the open.

  They couldn’t move before confirming it was Hayden. If they leaped on the first person who wandered inside the perimeter, they would lose the element of surprise. And if Hayden, paranoid watcher, was hiding and observing from another vantage, he would melt away
before they ever spotted him.

  In her earpiece, Caitlin heard Alvarez. “Is it him?”

  “High probability,” Emmerich said. “Same build, hoodie, ball cap. But the trees provide too much concealment. We don’t have a positive ID yet.”

  “I’d grab this sneaky bastard in the trees, but Hayden has cash,” Alvarez said. “I wouldn’t put it past him to pay somebody from the bus stop to jog to the park, spy on the scene, and report back. All the while peeping to see what happens.”

  Keyes broke in, a top note of insistence in his voice. “Phone company got a ping on Hayden’s phone.”

  Caitlin felt a white flash of elation—and validation. “Where? When?”

  “Downtown. Forty-seven minutes ago,” Keyes said. “That’s after the Amber Alert went out.”

  Emmerich said, “Just one ping?”

  “I’ll get back to you,” Keyes said.

  In the trees, the figure slid to the left.

  “He’s moving,” Emmerich said. “Still within the trees.”

  Rainey’s voice came through the earpiece. “He’s changing vantage points to get a better angle on the Jeep. Think he’s trying to get a look at the tag.”

  Keyes came back on. More excited. “Second ping, twenty minutes ago. Five miles south of downtown. He’s moving this way.”

  Alvarez said, “Is it pinging now?”

  Caitlin stopped breathing, eye to the nightscope. The greenish figure, a shimmering revenant, darted along inside the tree line. Light on his feet, an ease in his stride even as he employed what resembled military stealth.

  “Subject walks like him,” she said. “I’d stake everything on it.”

  Rainey said, “I’ve lost sight of him from this angle.”

  Emmerich had the binoculars to his eyes. After a second, he said, “We’re not going to get a one-hundred percent confirmed ID as long as he’s in the trees. Your call, Alvarez.”

  Alvarez stood beside his Renegade, facing Emmerich and Caitlin. Behind him, across the park, the figure in the trees stepped sideways.

  “He’s moving,” Caitlin said. “Few more steps, he’ll be in position to read the Jeep’s plate.”

  Alvarez unzipped his jacket for quick access to his weapon. “Right. We move.” He drew a visible breath. “On my count of three.”

  At the edge of the oak grove, a pickup truck rounded a corner.

  “Dammit,” Caitlin said.

  They hadn’t locked down the neighborhood—no roadblocks, no stop-and-searches. They couldn’t have, not without scaring off the Midnight Man. The roads were open.

  The figure across the park was standing just within the tree line. When the pickup arced through its turn, its headlights striped him.

  The driver braked and hit the high beams.

  The headlights overwhelmed the nightscope. Like a phosphorous grenade exploding, everything went greenish-white. Caitlin turned her head and pulled the scope from her face, hissing.

  Her vision was skewed, one eye painfully night-blind, the other clear.

  And she saw: Hayden Maddox stood frozen the glare of the headlights. He stared.

  And bolted.

  “He’s running,” Emmerich yelled into his radio. “Go, go, go.”

  They broke cover, hard in pursuit.

  47

  Caitlin tore from behind the church hedge and ran across the street, past the Jeep Renegade, onto the playing fields. Ahead of her Alvarez sprinted for the tree line, gun in his hand. Hayden had disappeared into the dark cover of the oaks.

  Alvarez shouted into his shoulder-mounted radio, calling the unmarked Sheriff’s cars positioned around the perimeter. “Suspect is fleeing on foot, east toward Devine. White male. Black hoodie. Presumed armed and extremely dangerous.”

  Caitlin accelerated. “Take him alive. We have to know where Hannah is.”

  Alvarez repeated that into the radio. Pointed to Caitlin. “You go left. I’ll go right.”

  From all around them, headlights and engines fired up. Flashing red and blue lights. Back at the church, Emmerich squealed out of the parking lot in the Suburban.

  His voice in her earpiece. “I’m heading east to intercept him.”

  The other FBI Suburban roared down the south side of the block, Rainey’s voice terse over the radio. “Same.”

  Caitlin sent a quick glance Alvarez’s way. He nodded, and they entered the trees.

  Already breathing hard, Caitlin let her eyes adjust to the darkness of the grove. Listening. She held her Glock barrel down. Raising the nightscope again, she did a fast sweep of the grove, a hundred eighty degrees. Caught a green glow from Alvarez to her right, gun and flashlight raised, advancing steadily. Swept left. The headlights and light strips beyond the trees threatened to overwhelm her vision again. She blinked, gun held alongside her right leg, as she scanned.

  On the street, a Suburban swept past. Emmerich.

  Behind it, a swift figure raced from the trees and darted across the road.

  “He just crossed the street heading north. Toward houses,” she said into her radio.

  Jamming the nightscope in her pocket, she ran. Alvarez’s footsteps joined hers. Ahead, Emmerich braked hard and reversed.

  She and Alvarez left the trees and crossed the road. Ahead, dogs barked. The gate along the side of a house was swinging.

  “There,” she called.

  Alvarez followed her through the gate, radioing Sheriff’s units to cover the next street over.

  On the back patio a dog burst toward them, barking frantically. Caitlin saw bearish fur and teeth. She slid past just as the dog reached the end of its chain and jerked up short. Alvarez hurried to the back fence and pulled himself up to peer over.

  “Bushes crushed. He jumped. This way.”

  He scaled the fence. Caitlin took a running leap and hauled herself over after him.

  Alvarez ran across the lawn, radioing his location. Caitlin touched her earpiece and did the same. House lights were coming on. Porch lights. Voices. More dogs.

  The loudest dogs were barking in the yard next door.

  “Alvarez.” She ran to the side fence and hauled herself up to peer over. Her skin goose-bumped. She wondered, abruptly, whether Hayden lurked on the other side, aiming a gun her way loaded with LAPD ammo.

  Instead she saw dogs at the far end of that yard, barking at the fence as if berating a fleeing raccoon. In the yard beyond that, motion lights flipped on.

  “This way,” she shouted.

  Alvarez ran out a gate toward the street. “I’ll take the sidewalk.”

  She scaled the fence, scrabbling for purchase in her boots, and dropped into the next yard. Ran across, past dogs barking so crazily that they didn’t notice her. Took the next fence and dropped into the yard wildly lit by the surveillance lights. A man threw open his patio door and raised a samurai sword.

  “FBI. Get inside, sir.” She shouted it, hoping he wouldn’t charge her, that he’d spot the jacket with the letters F-B-I ten inches tall.

  The man blinked and retreated, the sword catching on his swirling curtains. At the far side of the house came the noise of trash cans falling over.

  Voice in her earpiece. Alvarez. “Suspect just ran across a front lawn and up an alley.”

  She rounded the side of the house, nearly collided with the spilled trash cans, and jumped them as she ran out the gate. On surrounding roads, lights and sirens were headed north. Across the street Alvarez raced into the alley.

  “Emmerich,” she said into her radio.

  The Suburban powered around the corner, high beams blaring. She jumped in, pointing at the alley. Emmerich spun the wheel and floored it. She slammed against the door as he turned. She put her seat belt on, lowered her window, and heard more dogs barking. A cacophony was rising, the chase spiraling rather than focusing. Hayden had
again created havoc and slipped into a seam of shadow.

  At the far end of the alley, Alvarez stopped, his head swiveling back and forth. Emmerich pulled up beside him.

  “Which way?” Emmerich said.

  The street was empty. No barking, no security lights.

  Alvarez pointed behind the Suburban. “I think he doubled back.”

  “What happened to our perimeter?” Caitlin said.

  “Sneaky fucking teenager,” Alvarez said.

  Radio static interrupted. “All units in the vicinity of Obsidian Drive, report of a stolen vehicle.”

  Emmerich turned it up. White Corolla stolen from outside a home—a pizza delivery driver’s car.

  Alvarez grabbed the window frame. “Obsidian, that’s three blocks south.”

  Detective Durand slewed around the corner at the wheel of Alvarez’s Jeep. Alvarez motioned him out of the driver’s seat, jumped behind the wheel, and they raced off. Emmerich followed. By the time they reached Obsidian Drive, another 911 call had come in. Dangerous driver heading west.

  In her earpiece, Caitlin heard Alvarez. “I think he’s trying to make it to the freeway. But he’s in a delivery car with an illuminated plastic pizza on the roof. He won’t outrun us for long in that thing.”

  “What other resources you got?” Caitlin said. “Who’s coming?”

  “Air support’s inbound.” Alvarez was shouting to be heard over the sound of his Jeep’s racing engine. “Sheriff’s Department helicopter. LAPD too. Both have FLIR.”

  Forward Looking Infrared. Thermal imaging cameras that could spot heat signatures.

  “Good,” Caitlin said.

  Emmerich was silent at the wheel, pouring along the road, streetlights striping his face. Caitlin glanced up through the windshield. The skies were clear. Flying would be no problem.

  Emmerich opened a channel to the rest of the BAU team. “Rainey.”

  “Here,” she replied. “We’re near the park—in case he doubles back.”

  “Cancel that. He’s in a vehicle heading for a freeway at high speed. Contact the Tactical Aviation Unit.”

  He wanted an FBI helo in the sky, and Rainey with it.