Profile of Evil

by Alexa Grace

  "And Ron?" asked Carly.

  "As the meth cook and distributor, Ron Tyler is looking at hard time. Shelly let us know he has an arsenal of weapons in the bedroom, so be on high alert. Move so quickly that Ron Tyler won’t have time to arm himself," Brody said. "Don't shoot unless a life is in danger and you have no choice. We need Ron to pay for the misery of all the lives impacted by the drug he makes. We also want him alive to answer questions related to our murdered girls."

  Next, Brody passed out copies of the search warrant. "Once Ron is secured and out of the house, these are the things we're looking for. Take special care with Ron's laptop, cell phone, and any other electronic communication devices you seize. The data on these items is critical to another case we are working."

  <><><>

  It was still dark when the group gathered around a white van parked behind the sheriff department building the next morning. They reviewed their plan as they sipped from travel mugs filled with hot coffee. Brody briefed and cautioned them one more time about dangers to avoid.

  After he finished talking to the team, Brody pulled Carly aside. "I still don't think it's a good idea that you go along. A lot of things could go wrong. You could get hurt, or worse."

  "So could you," she insisted.

  "I'll be wearing protective gear."

  "You're being overprotective. I'll be safe in the van with Gabe and the surveillance equipment," Carly began. "Besides I'm a trained federal agent, this is not my first time in the field."

  If he thought she was going to stay behind while he, her brother and the others put themselves at risk, he was gravely mistaken.

  Carly regretted that Tim Brennan had loaned her brother, Blake for this operation. She'd regretted it more after listening to Blake talk to Jennifer on the phone the night before at the Chase main house, where he was staying. Carly could tell he was talking her off the ledge. Damn it. Not only was he her only brother, but he also had a wife, a baby and a young son who needed him. She didn't want to think about what any of them would do if anything happened to him on this op. It was one thing to place herself in danger on the job, it was quite another to think about the brother she adored doing it.

  Carly was also agonizing over Brody’s involvement. She’d fallen in love with him and didn’t want to think about his not being in her life. It was ridiculous for her to feel like this. She loved law enforcement as much as Brody, and knew danger came with the territory. If she were going to stay with him, she had to get used to Brody facing danger, just as he would have to accept her work.

  "It is your first meth bust," Brody returned, his hands placed belligerently on his hips.

  "True. But like I said, I'll stay in the van unless it looks like you need help," Carly added with a slight smile of defiance.

  "We won't need your help. Stay the hell out of the house until it's cleared and ventilated," Brody returned, exasperated. "Sweet Jesus, Carly. You don't know enough about meth labs to realize how dangerous this situation is. Even short exposure to the high concentration of chemical vapors that may exist in Tyler's meth lab can cause severe health problems, even result in death."

  "Once again, Sheriff Chase, let me remind you that I'm a trained federal agent, not a Girl Scout. I already told you I'd stay in the van. I need to be at this scene. I want to be there to see what's on Ron Tyler's laptop and cell phone. The information might help us solve the murders," she answered in a rush of words.

  Brody shot her a don't-push-me glare, and then called out to the others, "Suit up and load up. Let's shut this mother down."

  Carly watched as the men slipped on yellow Tychem® coveralls. Blake had explained to her that the protective suits came with all the bells and whistles to protect them from dangerous chemical vapors. The coveralls were sealed with taped seams, a zipper front hiding a double storm flap, and they were respirator-fit with a drawstring hood. They each threw on a heavy entry bulletproof vest.

  Brody pulled out an air tank for himself and passed the rest out to the team. Each man slipped on an air tank, pulled on his mask, and tested the tank to ensure all the valves were closed. The team members checked the air meter gauges on their chests to make sure they were working and there weren't any leaks. When satisfied with the tests, each person disconnected the air regulator in the front of his mask.

  Brody motioned for Carly to get into the van, and the others followed, sitting on benches in the back. She rode shotgun in the passenger seat and Gabe drove. If they were seen, it would look like a husband-wife team off to work. There was a large magnetic sign on the side of the van that read "The Cleaning Crew" with a fake phone number beneath. Following close behind was the Fire Department's hazmat team truck and three patrol cars.

  Soon the air in the van was saturated with adrenaline and testosterone. Carly glanced back at the team and prayed the suits would protect the men from the broad range of dangerous chemicals that might confront them in Ron Tyler's meth lab. Apprehension tied a knot inside her and she took a couple cleansing breaths to calm herself.

  The sky was still dark with white clouds drifting across a half-moon. There was a chance of rain, but it was predicted to occur later in the afternoon. Once they turned onto state road fifty-five, Gabe gave the team in back an alert that they were six to seven minutes from the Tyler farm. Soon he pulled the van to the side of the road. Carly watched as Brody, Blake, Ryder, and Cameron tested the air meters that take samples of the air to determine whether it was safe to breathe inside the house. A series of beeps sounded throughout the van.

  Gabe headed down the highway until he reached a dirt lane leading to a farmhouse. Numerous "No Trespassing" and "Beware of Dogs" signs were nailed onto trees and fence posts at the entrance — Ron Tyler's makeshift security system.

  Gabe eased the vehicle to a stop on the highway. They could see the Tyler house sitting about a quarter mile off the road. The property was lined with thick woods on either side of the house and at the property line in the back. The only farming Ron Tyler did was evident by a small barn next to a pen of goats.

  Carly rolled down her window. In a light breeze, goat manure, damp earth, and the pine trees emanated from the place. Wafting in the air closer to the house was a sickening chemical odor mix that smelled like cat urine and fingernail polish remover.

  Gabe pulled into the lane, turned off the headlights and slowly drove toward the house, guided by a pole-mounted security light that shone across the property. The house was a small one-story white structure in disrepair.

  Trash littered the yard, and the house windows were covered with either curtains or aluminum foil. Not exactly home-sweet-home, HGTV-worthy. Seeing no lights shining from any of the windows, Carly hoped Shelly and Ron Tyler were sound asleep inside.

  <><><>

  Gabe stopped the van about twenty feet or so from the house. He reached up to turn off all the interior lights of the vehicle, then slipped out to open the back of the van.

  Brody used his cell phone to call an the three deputies in the woods covering surveillance of the east, west, and back of the house to alert them that his team was entering the property.

  Gathering the team around him, Brody spoke through the voice amplifier on his mask, "Remember, do not shoot inside the house unless you have no choice. Secure Ron and Shelly, handcuff them, and hand them over to a deputy who will be waiting outside," whispered Brody, as he slipped on his earpiece. Cameron and the others did the same. "Before you enter the house, put on your respirators and don't take them off. Wait for my signal to enter the house."

  Brody watched as Cameron crept toward the front of the house, followed close behind by Deputy Ryder. He and Blake headed toward the back.

  <><><>

  In a crouching position, Cameron and Ryder slipped across the front yard, if it could be called that. It was overgrown with weeds and littered with paper, cigarette wrappers, butts, and empty plastic soda bottles. Apparently, curb appeal was not a concept that had visited the Tyler home, Cameron thought.


  A board creaked loudly as Cameron climbed the steps of the front porch, and his heart jumped in his chest as he came to an abrupt stop. Pausing for a couple of seconds, he listened for sounds inside the house. Hearing nothing, he ventured forward and grasped the door knob of the front door. Twisting it, he couldn't believe their luck when the door opened easily. One thing for sure, Ron Tyler's security system sucked, and Cameron couldn't be happier. He set the battering ram on the porch.

  "Brody, the front door is unlocked. We're going in," Cameron whispered into the tiny microphone connected to his earpiece.

  "Okay. We'll cover the back door," Brody responded.

  <><><>

  "Shawnee County Sheriff! Search Warrant!" Cameron shouted.

  Guns drawn, Cameron and Ryder stepped into the combination living room and dining room area. Cameron scanned the room. Just as he expected, the room was a mess with snack food packages, plastic soda bottles, and drug paraphernalia littering the area.

  "Front rooms, clear," he announced.

  Cameron was moving toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms when Ryder slipped on a plastic baggie and would have crashed to the floor if Cameron had not caught the heavy deputy. They froze, listening for sounds and movement in the house. Hearing nothing, they continued.

  Once in the hallway, Cameron indicated for Ryder to check the guest bedroom. He waited until Ryder appeared and gave a signal the room was clear.

  Continuing into the hallway, Cameron approached the bathroom. The door was open and he peered inside. "Bathroom, clear."

  At the end of the hall, he saw a closed door. It had to be Ron and Shelly Tyler's bedroom. With his ear pressed against the door, he listened. No movement inside. Everything was quiet. He tried the doorknob and discovered the room was locked.

  Just as Cameron lifted his boot to kick the door in, it flew open, and Ron Tyler shot out like a rocket, knocking him to the floor and flying by Ryder.

  "Shawnee County Sheriff! Stop!"

  In slow motion, Cameron watched Ryder lift his Glock to aim at Ron Tyler. "No!" he shouted. "Don't shoot!"

  Jumping to his feet, Cameron shouted through his voice amplifier, "Brody, Ron's heading toward the back."

  The most piercing scream he'd ever heard came from the bedroom. Shelly Tyler was sitting up in bed, naked, screaming her head off like a victim in a slasher movie.

  "Shut the fuck up, Shelly," Cameron growled, and then turned to the officer behind him. "Ryder, take care of her."

  Cameron got to the kitchen in time to see Ron Tyler hurl himself through a sliding glass door onto a cement slab in back. Instantly, Brody tackled him and pinned him face-down in the broken glass as Blake Stone handcuffed his hands behind his back.

  <><><>

  From the van, Carly watched as Ryder pulled a hysterical, seemingly terrified Shelly Tyler from the house. She'd known about the bust and was giving an academy award-winning performance that she undoubtedly hoped her husband would hear about. Ryder handed her to a burly deputy who read her rights and secured her in the back of his patrol car. As soon as he turned the car around in the yard, the deputy flipped on his lights and sped off.

  Ryder moved back into the house, just as Blake led a struggling and bloody Ron Tyler from the backyard. Cameron appeared on the front porch as a second deputy took control of Tyler, read him his rights, and described the search warrant for the house.

  "You bastards!" Tyler screamed, and then spit on the warrant in Cameron's hand. "Who told? Who told?"

  "Get him in the car," Cameron told the deputy. "Stop by the hospital and get him some medical care for his cuts. Then take him to the jail."

  <><><>

  Brody was nowhere in sight. A deputy stretched crime scene tape as a fireman in a chemical protective suit placed a huge exhaust fan at the opened front door. The rest of the hazmat team was inside the house opening windows, getting ready for ventilating the house and removing the equipment. Where was Brody?

  Three deputies dressed in camouflage and carrying assault rifles came in from the woods and stood talking by the hazmat truck. Cameron and the rest of the officers gathered there too. Where was Brody?

  Alarmed, Carly reached for the door handle and felt Gabe gripping her arm.

  "Don't even think about it. Do you really think my brother didn't brief me?" Gabe asked.

  "Let go of me," Carly demanded.

  "Not a chance," he returned. "What's so damned important you think you need from that house anyway? You heard Brody read the search warrant yesterday. Someone will get Tyler's laptop and phone. Sit tight until the hazmat team ventilates the house."

  Carly jerked her arm out of his grasp and asked, "Where's Brody? Why isn't he out here with the others? Something's wrong."

  His brows drawn together in a worried expression, Gabe studied the group in front of the house. "I don't see Brody either. He should be out here."

  Gabe opened his door, jumped out, and met Carly on the other side of the van. "Are you armed?"

  "Yes," she said as she opened her jacket to reveal her Glock.

  "You take the right side of the house and I'll take the left. This may be nothing, or my big brother may be in trouble."

  <><><>

  Pressed against the side of the house, Carly crept toward the backyard. Soon she heard Brody's voice, "Let's stay calm. No need to get upset."

  Quickly peeking around the corner of the house, she saw a tall, beanpole-thin white male holding a gun aimed at Brody's chest. The man's facial muscles were twitching, and he was trembling so badly the gun shook in his hand. He was high as a kite. Where the hell did this guy come from? The house was supposed to be cleared. She prayed the group of officers was still talking near the hazmat truck. The last thing they needed was for one of them to stumble out onto the patio and panic this meth-head. Pressing back against the house, Carly slid her weapon out of her holster and looked again, this time to scan the surroundings.

  The backyard looked like a county dump. A tall hill of empty plastic gallon jugs was haphazardly stacked near the house next to a mountain of stuffed black garbage bags, and empty camping fuel cans.

  The propane tank filled with anhydrous ammonia was where Gabe described it, approximately five feet from the back door — and two feet from where Brody was standing. A wave of apprehension swept through her. If a shot were fired and hit that tank, they'd all die — if not from the explosion, from breathing a chemical so toxic it liquefies the lungs. One breath would be your last.

  Carly listened to Brody trying to talk the guy down. "Hey, I know how you feel. You're just a guest in Ron's house. You probably had no idea Ron was cooking meth."

  "Yeah, that's right. That's right." The man's words were slurred, and he continued to tremble as he rapidly nodded his head in agreement.

  Carly stole another look. The meth head hadn’t put down the gun. It was still held in position aimed at Brody's chest.

  "So you can lay down the gun," Brody said softly to him. "No one can blame you for anything."

  "Are you trying to trick me, man? I'm not stupid. I'm the one with the power now. I've got the gun," he said, waving the gun ominously toward Brody, and inching closer.

  "Yes, I can see that," Brody began. "I think you're a smart man. You're too smart to shoot a cop and spend the rest of your life rotting in a prison cell."

  When the man didn't respond, Carly peered around the corner. He was trembling so badly now, he looked like a dog shaking his fur after a bath. She saw Gabe at the other end of the house. Carly wanted to wave him back. She was closer to the two than he. If Gabe approached and the man saw him, he might panic and start shooting and if he hit the propane tank, it would be over for all of them.

  "Hey, can I join the party?" Carly asked as she slid around the corner, her Glock aimed and ready to fire. If she had to, she'd kill him outright. She'd do anything to prevent an explosion — anything to save Brody's life.

  Gaping at her in disbelief, the man swung his gun right and left b
etween Brody and Carly. He was panicking. Panic was not good. Panic could get them killed.

  From behind him, Gabe approached and said, "I heard there was a party back here. I'm not one who can resist a good party."

  The second the man twisted around to look at Gabe, Brody crashed into him, dropping him onto the cement patio like a rag doll. They thrashed about as Brody struggled to get the gun. Bang! The gun went off, the bullet rushing so close to Carly she heard a whoosh as it passed her ear. Grabbing the skeletal arm holding the gun, Brody bashed it against the cement again and again until it was slick with blood, until the man loosened his hand and dropped the gun. Rolling him face-down, Brody pressed his knee against his back, secured, and handcuffed his wrists. The man was crying now, his nose bleeding profusely, as his body violently convulsed.

  "You sonofabitch," Brody snarled as he pulled his prisoner to his feet. "You are so fucking arrested."

  Cameron rushed outside. "What the hell is going on?"

  "I think this freak was hiding when you did the initial sweep of the house," Brody said. "He rushed me after you took Ron Tyler to the front."

  "He had to have been in the back bedroom that Ryder said he cleared," said Cameron. "Ryder also aimed his gun to shoot Ron Tyler in the house. I had to stop him."

  "Seriously? After I distinctly gave an order to not shoot in the house?"

  "Afraid so."