Full Tilt

by Rick Mofina

He had to think, but it was hard to concentrate in the wake of the day’s events. He removed his thick-framed glasses, wig and goatee, then took a shower. Under the needles of hot water, he pounded his fists to the side of his head.

  * * *

  After showering, he dressed and walked across the empty parking lot. He’d parked in a remote, dimly lit section that bordered on a wooded area. His vehicle stood alone, hidden in the shadows. He glanced back at the motel. No one else was in sight. His keys jingled as he went to the passenger side of the black van with tinted glass and a small silver cross affixed to each rear window. Signs on the front doors read Vitalee & Denridder Mortuary Services.

  A low rumble sounded as he rolled open the side door.

  The rear interior was filled with heavy tarp. He threw it back to a reveal a steel casket, secured with a chain and lock. The lock clicked as he opened it and raised the top half of the two-piece lid.

  In the darkness, the whites of Vanessa’s eyes glowed as she looked up.

  Her mouth was taped.

  Her hands and ankles were bound.

  “You know what you did, don’t you?”

  She stared at him.

  “Answer me!”

  Vanessa blinked, tears filled her eyes and she nodded.

  “You broke the cardinal rule! I was in the process of cultivating a new specimen, and you destroyed that, too!”

  Vanessa sobbed.

  “After all of our time together, after all I’ve done for you, you betray me!”

  He dropped the lid. Secured the chains then returned to his room.

  * * *

  Energized by his visit with his most cherished specimen, Zurrn resumed work on his laptops, reviewing details, making preparations, activating stages that needed activating.

  Near him, the motel TV flickered with the latest on the breaking news out of Minnesota and its connection to the case in Rampart, New York. The case was a lead story across the country. He viewed a special report with caution, concern and a sense of pride.

  Carl Nelson was the most wanted man in America.

  Variations of his appearance were displayed on the screen.

  Zurrn had no concerns. Few people paid attention and he changed his disguises constantly.

  “The suspect known as Carl Nelson is believed to be responsible for the murders of sixteen people, possibly more, according to the FBI…”

  Photos of the identified victims with locator maps and timelines of their disappearances filled the screen.

  My beautiful specimens. Zurrn marveled at his collection.

  The story zigzagged with images from the Lost River State Forest to Minneapolis and the Mall of America, then the property in a corner of Hennepin County. There was a range of long shots and aerial footage of the house and garage at Hennepin.

  “…sources tell us that a fourteen-year-old girl from suburban Minneapolis was lured to a meeting with an online friend at the Mall of America. That friend turned out to be the wanted suspect, and after abducting the teen and driving to this remote property, they came upon another female victim who’d escaped. In the chaos that ensued, the teen says the woman helped her escape to tell her story. However, police sources tell us, the woman was recaptured by the suspect and remains missing…”

  Zurrn turned the volume up for the next segment of the report.

  “…this story continues to evolve with one remarkable development after another. Sources tell us that police believe the escaped woman is Vanessa Page, also known as Tara Dawn Mae, a girl missing for fifteen years from Alberta, Canada. Now, one of the reporters covering this story is Vanessa’s sister, Kate Page, with Newslead. Kate has been on a lifelong pursuit to learn the truth behind her sister’s disappearance, a story that reaches back to a tragic car crash in the Canadian Rockies. The tragedy, which Kate Page survived, led her on a journalistic investigation that has recently resulted in several stunning revelations…”

  Kate Page appeared on the screen.

  “…Kate Page reports today for Newslead that Carl Nelson had resided in Denver under the name Jerome Fell when he’d abducted Tara Dawn Mae. Prior to that, Fell was actually Sorin Zurrn, who grew up in Chicago…”

  Zurrn froze.

  Images swam on the screen, images of the life he’d buried, images of Zurrn as a teen, then images of his mother, of their home in Chicago, his school, his mother’s grave, and the park where Tonya Plesivsky died.

  Zurrn stared at Kate Page.

  How dare she trespass on my pain!

  Then came something about the FBI, the RCMP and warrants. There were images of police forensic units at addresses in Chicago, in Denver, in Alberta.

  Zurrn groaned with rage and anguish as he glared at Kate Page.

  She’d ripped open an ancient wound.

  How dare she do this?

  The camera tightened on the reporter as she stared into it.

  “Now the world knows the truth about Sorin Zurrn. Now I know the truth about my brave, beautiful sister, Vanessa. For too long there’s been too much fear and pain. We love you, Vanessa. We’re coming for you.”

  Zurrn slammed his fists on the table.

  “I’ll show you pain! I’ll show the whole world!”

  CHAPTER 59

  Rampart, New York

  Ashley Ostermelle is texting while walking from the Apple Store west through the Mall of America. She stops to check the directory before she exits. Now she enters the garage at P4 West Arizona, stops to text, then the picture goes fuzzy and she disappears from view.

  Frustrated, Ed clicked and replayed the security camera footage, hoping to find something different.

  How many times have I seen this?

  The FBI had determined that Sorin Zurrn had breached the mall’s stand-alone system. He’d managed to obscure the security cameras recording in the areas where he’d been active. Brennan had examined the footage and the rest of the case over and over, searching for anything he may have missed.

  Come on. There’s got to be something.

  Time was hammering against them.

  Zurrn had Vanessa Page and was likely preparing to kill her.

  If he hasn’t done it already.

  Every detective on the case was going flat out, but after Minneapolis they’d made little progress in picking up Zurrn’s trail.

  I know I’m missing something that twigged with me earlier.

  Whatever it was, it was gone.

  Brennan left his desk to freshen his coffee. It had been four days since the Minneapolis break. He’d gotten home late last night and was up before dawn this morning to get back at it. The weight of the case was enormous. The task force was now having case status calls twice a day and had grown to include investigators from Chicago, Minnesota, Colorado and more from Canada. It had gained more profile—most network newscasts had led with it for the past few days and the press calls were nonstop.

  Returning to his desk, Brennan reviewed the major points again. They’d found no trace of Ashley’s phone. Zurrn must’ve removed the battery and tossed it. The FBI worked with the family’s service provider and had gotten Ashley’s exchange of texts from the phone and her tablet, hoping to get a lead to Milwaukee, if that was in fact where Zurrn had been operating. But that line of investigation soon dead-ended.

  He was good at covering his tracks, but we’ve got him on the run and as we get closer he makes mistakes.

  Forensic teams were still processing Zurrn’s complex in Hennepin County, and everyone was optimistic it would yield something to tell them where he was headed. In the garage they’d found twelve vehicles, including the SUV used to abduct Ashley and the Chevy van linked to Rampart and the Lost River State Forest. They’d also found an array of commercial and service vehicles, like an ambulance, an arm
ored car and a utility truck. Trouble was, they didn’t know which vehicle was missing or if he had others stashed elsewhere in the country.

  Zurrn was a brilliant planner.

  No one who knew the area and the auto-wrecking yard would have been suspicious if they saw a trailer hauling vehicles to the property.

  Investigators got lucky when they managed to lift some latents at the property. They’d capitalized on Kate Page’s journalistic digging. Her work into Zurrn’s past had impressed most of the investigators. The FBI and Chicago PD made a full-court press executing warrants on Zurrn. They’d learned that he had done a stint with the Illinois National Guard, which enabled the FBI to confirm his fingerprints with those found at the property.

  Here in Rampart, forensic teams were still working at the scene. Everyone was grateful that they hadn’t found more victims as they continued their efforts to identify those whose remains had been unearthed.

  Brennan looked at the files on his desk, which obstructed the framed photographs of his wife and son. He looked at the case board at the end of the room. He knew what Zurrn had done. He knew where he’d been.

  We need to know where he’s going to be.

  There had to be something he’d missed. Something he’d overlooked. There had to be a pattern, a puzzle piece.

  Brennan looked at the map with its pins flagging locations, events, victims and time lines before he sat at his computer and scrolled through the folders and databases.

  Wait.

  He glanced at the map, then the computer folders, concentrating on the one holding interviews with Zurrn/Nelson’s coworkers at the data center.

  Who was that guy? Rupp. Mark Rupp.

  Brennan clicked on the interview they’d conducted, reading fast, searching for the section where Rupp had recalled seeing Carl Nelson sitting at a coworker’s terminal.

  What was it Rupp saw?

  …Carl was looking at a real estate page and making notes. Looked like he was interested in some property…seriously interested…he thought that no one saw him, but I saw him and I saw what he was looking at.

  Brennan kept reading while shooting glances at the map, feeling his heart beat faster.

  It was a coworker’s terminal! That’s why we missed it! This could be it! I think I know where Zurrn’s going!

  CHAPTER 60

  New York City

  Kate stared at her screen in the newsroom struggling to forge a clear thought on what she should do next.

  Since returning yesterday from Minnesota, she’d been pulled in a thousand directions. Reeka and Chuck wanted her to break more stories—Newslead needed to stay out front. Other news organizations wanted interviews. Grace was feeling the stress, too. She’d seen the TV reports, and kids at school talked about the case. She hugged Kate more often, tighter and for longer stretches.

  Eclipsing everything was Kate’s agony over Vanessa.

  She had been alive and free only to be recaptured by Zurrn. Where is she? Each passing minute increases the odds that he’ll kill her, if he hasn’t already.

  Kate’s phone rang, the display showing an area code she didn’t immediately recognize.

  “Kate Page, Newslead.”

  “Hi, Kate, this is Sheri Young in Tilley, Alberta. We talked when you were here.”

  “Yes, hi, Sheri.”

  “You said to call if anything came up on Tara’s, well, your sister’s, case?”

  “Yes.”

  “This will sound strange, but a raccoon burrowed into one of the upstairs rooms at Eileen and Norbert’s place. It used to be a sewing room.”

  “Okay…”

  “When they started to make repairs, they found something in the wall, a short journal that Fiona Mae had kept in the days after Barton died. We think you should see it before we pass it to the RCMP.”

  Within an hour Sheri had scanned some two dozen pages and sent them to Kate. Fiona’s entries were neatly written in blue ink.

  We were camping near the Kicking Horse River in BC. The beauty of the place always helped us deal with the pain of losing our baby. Incredulously, during a moment of sublime peace, Barton spotted a child struggling in the river—a little girl. He got in the water and pulled her clear.

  She was alive, terrified and didn’t speak. We put her in our trailer, and kept her warm and safe until she slept. All through the night we gazed at the stars, and this little angel, thinking this was a heavenly sign.

  Fiona detailed how in the morning they’d learned about the horrible crash, the deaths, and the search, miles upstream.

  God forgive me, I know we should have informed the authorities that we’d found the child, but our hearts were conflicted. We’d learned on the radio news that her parents were dead. We were convinced she needed a family and we were forever aching for a child. Barton and I believed that this was ordained by God. Suddenly, we felt whole again at having a child with us to love. We decided to keep her and name her Tara Dawn. In the early days, she’d told what she could of her turbulent, tragic history. Over time she stopped asking questions about her new situation, as she was accustomed to moving from home to home. But I confess, it tore me to pieces when she cried for her sister.

  Instinctively, in the core of our souls, we knew what we did was wrong. We found comfort at church where we were bathed in God’s blessing and compassion, for He knew and He understood, that we did what we did with profound love in our hearts. We had rescued an angel who rescued us.

  Fiona wrote how she and Barton had devised the idea to portray Tara Dawn as being a child they’d adopted from a distant relative in the US. Fiona went on to say how happy Tara Dawn had become living a healthy life in a loving home.

  Then came the day she disappeared. When it was clear she was truly gone I was struck with a lightning bolt of horror. We were being punished for what we did. It was too late to tell the truth. The burden of our guilt added to our loss. We felt shame in God’s eyes. Our second child was gone, leaving us to live in agony and the pain of our sin. I fear it is too much to bear.

  From there Fiona’s entries trailed, to brief notations of the weather and her disposition. “Sunny, cloudy. So alone today. I can’t go on.”

  After she’d finished reading the journal, Kate left the newsroom and walked around the block, absorbing the new information. For fifteen years she’d ached to know what had happened to Vanessa.

  Now I know.

  Kate was angry at the Maes, yet understanding. They’d never harmed Vanessa. They’d loved her. But what they had done was wrong.

  She returned to the Newslead building.

  In the elevator, Kate felt that the truth had somehow brought her another step closer to her sister. At her desk she sent a message to Chuck and Reeka.

  I’ve got a new story coming, an exclusive— Kate stopped herself to consider what she was typing next; something that she would normally write if she were writing about strangers. She swallowed, blinked quickly and typed it anyway, adding to her note: And this one’s a real heartbreaker, people will eat it up.

  CHAPTER 61

  New York City

  “Don’t be nervous, it’ll be a conversation about your sister’s situation. I like your jacket.”

  Betty Lynne, who was filling in for a vacationing host of the Today show, smiled as she readied Kate for her live interview, which was less than a minute away.

  Kate’s last story about Vanessa had received major play across the country. While there were no developments on Zurrn, she knew that keeping the case in the spotlight kept the pressure on him.

  During the commercial break, Kate checked her phone quickly for messages. Then she took in the lights, the cameras, the sets and the crew. The show was produced at Rockefeller Center in a ground-floor street-side studio. Through the glass windows she saw the
audience lining the sidewalk, waving signs and cheering to get on camera.

  Surveying the river of strange faces, Kate felt a ping of concern—Zurrn could be among them. But she dismissed it as unlikely. Besides, every audience member in the plaza had been subjected to a security check. Kate’s attention shifted back to the set.

  I have to concentrate. My sister’s life is at stake.

  Theme music played; a crew member gave a countdown.

  “And we’re back.” Betty Lynne looked into the camera and read from a prompter. “In the terrible wake of the recently discovered horrific crimes in Upstate New York and Minnesota, the manhunt for Sorin Zurrn has gripped the nation.

  “So far, police have linked Zurrn to sixteen murders making him one of the worst serial killers in American history.”

  Photos of Zurrn appeared on-screen as she continued.

  “The FBI has confirmed that Zurrn, a computer engineering expert, who kidnapped Vanessa Page some fifteen years ago, is on the run with her. The fear for her safety is unimaginable, especially for her sister, Kate Page.

  “Kate is a reporter based here in New York, but her connection to the case is remarkable, reaching back to when she and her little sister Vanessa, were orphaned by tragedy twenty years ago.

  “Kate joins us now to tell us their incredible story.”

  The cameras moved to a two-shot of Betty and Kate.

  “Thank you for being with us. Our thoughts and prayers are for your sister Vanessa’s safe return.”

  “Thank you. And I want to offer my condolences to the families and the friends of the other victims for the excruciating anguish they’re enduring.”

  “Absolutely, our prayers go to them, as well.” Betty Lynne paused respectfully, glanced at the notes on her lap. “Kate, tell us about your earliest memories of your sister, Vanessa.”

  As she remembered their childhood, a montage of photographs showing them as little girls came up on the screen.