by Roger Hayden
If they came for him, he would fight the authorities until the end. But if the moment came, he didn’t see any other option for himself or April. She was going to join him one way or the other. He recalled his steps of the past few days in deep contemplation, trying to pinpoint where he had gone wrong. Was it giving Miriam the book, or simply introducing himself to her in the first place? He couldn’t help himself.
He had been thinking about her for months—the perfect mother, and April, now the perfect daughter. There was still hope that they could be a family together, not real, but a hopeful and elusive dream. Trudeau knew an insane idea when he saw one. He understood delusional people and insane, irrational types. He understood crazy, because he wasn’t crazy. He was perfectly in control of his faculties.
Walter Browning had kidnapped April walking home from her bus stop. It was a job well done, and Trudeau was impressed upon their subsequent meeting outside a vacant gas station on the outskirts of town. The blue van Walter had used wasn’t his. Rather, it was a junk vehicle Trudeau had purchased out of state, complete with a phony license plate and registration—something Walter did not know. Their second victim, Natalie Forester, was driven from the Food Mart parking lot to the same meeting point twenty miles outside Odessa beyond a largely abandoned stretch of road that led nowhere.
Their meeting that time had started out much as before—Trudeau waiting behind the gas station, leaning on the hood of his silver Mercedes with his hands in the pockets of his dress slacks, still wearing a collared shirt and tie from his day at the office. Walter, as he knew, was taking many back roads and detours to the station to ensure that there was no discernable path captured by the town’s traffic cameras, of which there were a few at main intersections.
Trudeau waited patiently in the shade under the building as the sun pulsated heat from the bright, cloudless sky. He considered the letter left at the scene of Natalie’s disappearance a masterstroke in the overall scheme.
As he continued waiting for Walter, his cell vibrated in his pocket. He reached for it, half-expecting a patient who had found his personal cell, bothering him again. It was a patient, all right, but the last one he had expected: Walter Browning. He grunted angrily and answered, seething into the phone.
“Hello, Walter. How can I help you? May I ask how you got this number?”
“I’m in trouble, Doc. They’re going to catch me, I know it. Police scanner has an APB out for a blue van. I gotta ditch this thing and fast!”
Trudeau suppressed his frustration toward Walter for directly calling his cell phone and attempted to quell the situation with calm encouragement. “Walter, it sounds like you’re facing another moment of uncertainty. And you know what we’ve said about moments like these. Keep traveling that known road. The road where you will find that piece of serenity that keeps you going. Okay, Walter? Do you understand?”
The brief silence on the other indicated that he had gotten the picture.
“Goodbye, Walter,” he said, hanging up.
Clutching the phone, he lowered his arm, tense and angry. His mind kicked into gear, thinking of ways he could cover his tracks. If Walter was to find himself on the other side of the law, Trudeau would deny everything. The money promised to Walter for his services had not been paid yet. Everything else was hearsay. Then it hit him: April Johnson. His heart seized for a moment, followed by a sigh of relief. They’d never find the girl in Trudeau’s ranch home, and it would again be Walter’s word against that of a respected therapist. If caught, Walter would have Natalie Forester in tow. Who’d believe him then?
He squinted ahead as a cloud of dust appeared, almost like a mirage at the end of the road. After a reflected glimmer of light in the distance, he could see the rusty blue van come into view. It looked like Walter had made it after all.
Trudeau walked forward and around the back of the boarded-up gas station, its sign hollow and displaying the metal bars where a Mobil sign used to be. Ever cautious, Trudeau held up a small pair of binoculars and watched the van’s approach, searching for any other vehicles following behind. The coast looked clear. Walter had come alone and had seemingly arrived at their meeting place safely, despite his earlier panic.
The van neared, racing down the road at top speed. He nearly sped completely past the station when his brakes locked and squealed against the rocky pavement, causing the van to zig-zag across to the road as he turned into the dilapidated parking lot. Trudeau moved back into the shadows at the side of the building and watched as Walter pulled up to the front of the store, grinding to a halt.
Trudeau stepped out in full view and waved to Walter and signaled him to the back with a swift impatience. “Fucking idiot…” he muttered as Walter pulled forward and circled around to the back. Engulfed in a dust cloud, Trudeau watched as the van raced next to his car and Walter slammed on the brakes. The door swung open and Walter jumped outside of the van as Trudeau slowly approached him.
“They could still be after me, I don’t know!” Walter said, panicked and sweaty.
Trudeau studied him for a moment as he hunched over his knees, breathing heavily. “It’s going to be okay, Walter. You made it out here. That’s all that matters.”
Walter launched his arm up at the sky. “They’ve got helicopters, you know. Drones too! We’ve got to get out of here.”
Trudeau grabbed Walter by the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward, staring him down, his eyes concealed by sunglasses. “Get it together. Do you hear me? You blow this thing now, we get nothing!”
He pushed Walter forward, sending him stumbling away. Both tall men, Walter was bulkier and probably outmatched him physically, but there was no question who was in charge.
“What did I tell you from the beginning? We operate quiet and low-key. Don’t bring any attention to ourselves. Poke and prod the investigators. Send them in circles.”
“But someone saw that van!” Walter shouted. “They might have seen me!”
“No one saw you!” Trudeau said, with his voice raised against Walter for the first time. “Now, we should kidnap only a few more girls, remember? That’s all. One, maybe two more. We create an epidemic, a climate of fear. Then our next one, the daughter of the richest family in Odessa, Alec and Sharon Bateman of Bateman Farms.”
Walter shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Dr. Trudeau. That was too close.”
Trudeau wanted to hit Walter across the face, but resisted. It was better to gain support through influence rather than fear. “I understand. It’s all a little too real now. You’re realizing the consequences of your actions. That’s good.”
Walter pulled his hat off, wiped the sweat from his head, and then pointed at Trudeau. “Don’t patronize me.”
Trudeau stepped forward, unwavering. “This is a good plan, and you know it. Millions of dollars, Walter, think about it.”
Walter shook his head and jumped as Trudeau brought a hand down on his shoulder. “Tell you what we’re going to do,” Trudeau began. “You’re going to follow me to a place where we can dispose of the van. Then I’m going to take you and the girl to your house and drop you off.”
Walter stared back, perplexed. “Excuse me?”
“You have a garage, correct?” Trudeau said.
“Yeah, but—”
“Then we’ll sneak her in that way.”
“Dr. Trudeau,” Walter said, uncertainty in his tone. “All due respect, I live on a quiet street. I have neighbors. She can’t stay with me.”
“Was she still sleeping when you parked?” Trudeau asked.
“Yeah, but—”
“She won’t be a problem for another hour or two, then you can just sedate here again,” Trudeau said.
Walter thought to himself, his reddened face full of doubt. “It’s just too risky. She’s already seen my face.”
Trudeau took a step back, hung his head, and sighed. “I thought more of you, Walter. I really did.”
Walter narrowed his eyes, annoyed
as a hawk flew overhead, cawing into the air. “The hell are you talking about?”
“I’m giving you an opportunity to act as a caretaker of this young girl, and you’re tossing it all away.”
Walter’s blank expression showed more confusion, so Trudeau continued. “She’s yours, Walter. That’s what I’m trying to say.”
“No…” Walter began. “I don’t want to—”
“You do!” Trudeau snapped. “Think about that little sixteen-year-old tease who destroyed your life. Took everything away from you. This young girl can be your opportunity to reconnect with something lost in yourself. The chance to connect with someone unlikely by all standards and conventions. A chance to rediscover yourself.”
Walter shook his head. “I really don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me, or what you think I’m capable of.”
After a pause, Trudeau simply walked past and slapped Walter on the back. “She’s yours, and that’s final. Now follow me. I’ll take us somewhere to get rid of that van.”
Walter stood unresponsive and dumbfounded for a moment, but then turned around once Trudeau got inside his car and turned the ignition. There seemed to be no other choice but for him to follow. Trudeau watched in his rear-view mirror as Walter reluctantly walked back to the van and got inside. The silver Mercedes circled the gas station building to the front, leading the way, and the blue van followed. There was not another soul around them, only a hawk soaring overhead.
Trudeau gunned it down the cracked and barren two-lane road as the wheels of his mind turned, devising steps in his overall scheme not laid out before. The search for the van could very well work in his favor. Walter holding the second girl at his house could work as well. Lastly, he needed to bring the other deadbeat on board, what’s his name? Frohman. Ken Frohman. It would be a three-man operation, utterly confusing the authorities. Empty road ahead, he raced past a faded, rusty road sign, indicating the nearest campsite in 25 Miles. He had the place. It was an area he was familiar with.
To Walter’s credit, he had managed to keep up with Trudeau’s Mercedes the entire thirty-minute drive. They passed a few cars in the other lane, but there had been no police when they entered Buffalo Springs outside the city of Lubbock. The largely rural and secluded countryside was a majestic balance of wide-open pastures, rolling hills, and forest stretching as far as the eye could see. Trudeau veered to the side of the road, driving off the pavement and toward a narrow dirt trail that traveled an upward slope.
His car rocked on the uneven ground as he watched Walter slow down and ascend the hill carefully, trying to keep up. The trail curved to their right, entering a shaded area of trees arched overhead like a tunnel. The hill grew steeper and the branches lower as they scraped the top of the blue van. Trudeau watched in his rear-view mirror, nervous about Walter, who he knew to be anxiety-prone. But as he entered a clearing past the thicket of pine trees, their journey was coming close to an end.
They reached the top of the hill by dusk, the orange yolk of the sun fading into a darkened sky. Trudeau parked at the edge of the hill, on rocky ground where the air was slightly thinner. He stepped out of his Mercedes as the van rattled into the clearing, spewing exhaust. A thin layer of dirt covered Trudeau’s Mercedes. He’d have to swing by the carwash later. For now, there was more important business to attend to.
Walter parked beside him and hopped out of the van, approaching Trudeau, visibly worried and fidgeting.
“What is it, Walter?” He held his arm out, gesturing to the vast desert landscape beyond them. “Look out here. We made it.”
“She’s waking up,” Walter said. “I heard her moaning. Is it a good idea to give her more sedatives? I don’t want to give her too much.”
“She’ll be out for at least another hour,” Trudeau said, gripping his shoulder. “Don’t worry.” Despite his advice, Walter didn’t show any signs of calming down. Trudeau then leaned in closer, speaking as though in confidence and holding two fingers inches apart. “I’ve injected those candies with a very minimal dose of tranquillizer. Just enough to put her to sleep without harm.”
His assurances seemed to have calmed Walter, who then looked out into the landscape below the hill, marveling at its grandness, but only for a moment. “So, what are we doing here?” he asked.
Trudeau smiled and then led him closer to the edge of the hill. “Look straight down.”
Intrigued, Walter looked down into a gaping hole at the bottom of jagged rocks and heavy shadow. There were remnants of scrap and trash at the bottom as though they were looking at a long-forgotten landfill.
“What is this?” Walter said.
“This is how we’re getting rid of the van,” Trudeau said.
Walter stared below and then looked at his therapist with concern. “You can’t just push it off here. It’ll explode.”
“Not if you drain the fuel tank,” Trudeau said. “Ever siphoned gas before?”
“No,” Walter said, defensively. “Have you?”
Trudeau walked with a confident stride to the trunk of his car, pressing an unlock button on his keychain. The trunk popped open and he pulled out a black coiled hose. “I’m a bit of a jack of all trades, Walter. I’ll show you how.”
After siphoning most of the gas from the tank, Walter leaned against the rear panel and heaved into a puddle of fuel. Trudeau watched him in near amusement from the driver’s side. Natalie lay unconscious in the back of his Mercedes, a blanket pulled up to her chin. The van was now ready to be plunged into the abyss.
“Are you ready?” Trudeau said.
Walter rose and wiped his mouth, gagging. “Are you sure this is going to work?”
Walter’s constant questioning made Trudeau wish he could push him into the chasm with the van, but he remained patient as he had always been with Walter. “I’m positive. Now once I put it in neutral, get ready to push.”
Walter nodded, leaned against the rear of the van, and dug his feet into the ground as Trudeau shifted the van and hopped out, joining Walter at the rear. They counted off and pushed the van, inching it forward and closer to the edge. Despite its massive weight, the van glided along, tires crunching pebbles and rocks in its path.
“Heave!” Trudeau announced as they gave one final push, sending the van tumbling over the edge in a cannon-like crash into the bottom. There was glass shattering, metal flying, and an ear-splitting echo that seemed to travel for miles. But the van did not explode into a fiery ball, much to their collective relief.
Walter stared into the pit below, transfixed by the twisted metal heap he had been driving only moments prior. Trudeau took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his brow, and then clasped his hands together. “Now let’s get you home.”
Underground
Hayes and Shelton crawled inside Trudeau’s secret crawlspace and stood up, bunched in and brushing the dust off their already dirty clothes. They stared at the staircase ahead as though they had never seen anything like it, which they probably hadn’t. The logistics of constructing such a room was daunting in itself. How had Trudeau managed to do it? And to what lengths had he gone to cover up his misdeeds?
“Come on,” Miriam said, walking down the stairs. “There’s a lot to see.”
“How did you find this?” Hayes asked, carefully descending the creaking stairs with Shelton following behind.
“Easy,” Miriam replied. “Tara told me. Apparently, Trudeau was a talker, and she caught on quickly.”
“Smart girl,” Hayes said.
They reached the end of the short staircase as the ceiling seemed to press down on them from above. How anyone could work in such a tightly confined and claustrophobic setting was beyond their collective comprehension. More lights were on this time, a few insulated ceiling bulbs flickering above making it easier for Miriam to provide the curious detectives with the grand tour. They walked past the mannequins in the corner and therapist setup with the lifeless “patient” in the chair. Shelton examined the stationary video
camera, stopping short of switching its side power button on.
They continued past Trudeau’s computer station and stopped directly next to his wooden work bench, which was covered with the remnants of explosive material. It was the most sobering sight in the entire house, definitive proof that Trudeau had been behind the murder of innocent detectives, provoked by an unknown, twisted motive.
Hayes gripped the sides of the bench, trembling with rage. “He did set us up. Tried to kill us. Killed three good men. For what?”
Shelton scanned the wires and plugs scattered along the bench, eyes stopping at two pressure cookers on the ground. “To destroy any and all links to him. With the two suspects dead, the case would have been closed. We were just collateral damage.”
“It was terrorism,” Miriam added. “Maybe that was the goal from the beginning. It’s possible Trudeau was part of a network.”
Hayes tilted his head back with a sigh and wiped a hand down his face, massaging his temples. “A terrorist network in Odessa? That’d be a first.”
Miriam gave a shrug. “Come on,” she said, leading them around the rest of the room. “There’s more to see.”
The medical supplies, stacks of documents, and empty operating table all pointed to the inner workings of a highly intelligent and devious mind. It surprised them to think that one man could build such a room and stockpile so many supplies. The large map on the wall, pictures of storefronts, neighborhood streets, and key locations throughout town was stunning to see, even if it was Miriam’s. At the end of the tour, she struggled to look at the pictures of her family, hanging inches from her face.
Hayes and Shelton stood quietly, taking in the sheer magnitude of what she had mentioned in the garage. Photographs dating back weeks and even months met their eyes. Most were of Miriam, all possessing a disturbingly voyeuristic vibe. She showed them the desk with letters cut from magazines, spread across a table under a magnifying lamp. Shelton pulled his phone out and began taking pictures, as though the shock of what they were seeing had subsided and his detective mind had again kicked in.
