“Explosive combination.”
“Can you tell me the exact time this was uploaded to the web?” I asked Rosa.
“The website gives time and date, and it says that it was uploaded eight hours and twenty minutes ago.”
I pulled out my cell phone and set the clock countdown. I’d already lost eight precious hours. When the timer went off, it would trigger the coffeemaker, which would begin heating up, melting the plastic cup. The brake fluid inside would spill everywhere and when it came in contact with the chlorine, smoke and fire would spread very rapidly.
“Here, hold this for a second,” the abductor said, and the camera showed Robbie taking the cell phone. “And don’t even think of trying to call 911. I’ve got an app that will keep filming even when my phone is locked.”
The camera rested on the back of the firefighter for a moment before focusing on the door briefly, panning the room, the ceiling, and down to the concrete blocks shackled to her ankles. Then the camera raised up and tilted, showing only part of Robbie’s face.
“What’s she saying?” Rosa asked. “Tomato?”
I couldn’t see all of her lips, but I saw enough to make a guess. “Tornado! She’s in a storm shelter.”
A gloved hand covered the camera and jerked around before settling on Robbie again.
“Do not risk sending anyone in here, it’s a death trap. So, this is it for me.” Tears ran down her face and I could feel them welling up in my own eyes. “Jordy, tell my mother that I love her and… No, damn it! I won’t finish this, you heartless bastard! I won’t hurt her like that.”
I heard laughter and then he said off camera, “Afraid that she can’t handle the truth?”
“This isn’t the truth. You’re the reason I’m about to die, not her.”
“And yet she will blame herself, nonetheless.”
“He’s right, I would, I am blaming myself,” I said soulfully.
Rosa put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Okay, hold on while the last section renders,” she instructed, tapping away at the keyboard. “Hey, just got in the report from the CODIS database on Patrick.”
“Perfect timing. Let’s see what Patrick’s DNA turned up,” I said, not getting my hopes up.
“Printing it out now,” Rosa said, pointing over at the printer. “It’s longer than I would have thought.”
“Yeah, Patrick fancied himself the babymaker,” I quipped, walking over and picking up the sheet of paper. I went down the list reading each name. “Nothing, nothing, nothing… oh shit!” I pulled out my cell phone and tapped in some numbers.
“Did you see someone on the list, Jordy?” Rosa asked.
I nodded and held up a finger for her to wait. “This is Jordyn Stringfellow, Arson investigator, badge #43792, I need a warrant for the arrest of Paul Mason aka Patrick Mason Sanders, Junior. He’s a firefighter at Fire Station 61. Suspected serial arsonist, murderer and kidnapper. Case #1769. What judge is available today? All right, thank you.” As soon as I ended that call, I called Uncle Joe.
“Chief, it’s Jordy. Have you left to pick up my mother yet?
“Was just heading out the door now. What’s up?”
“Paul Mason is our arsonist. Is he there?”
“The probie? What do you mean he’s the—”
“Don’t say anything out loud. Just keep an eye on him. I’m getting a warrant for his arrest now and will be there as soon as I can.”
“Copy that,” Uncle Joe said.
“And Uncle Joe, make sure his uniform and gloves don’t leave the station. If I’m right, they will have Robbie’s DNA on them. The bastard hit her and split her lip.”
“Dumbass bastard,” Uncle Joe fumed.
I ended the call but before I could even put my phone away, Rosa had questions.
“How did you get from Paul Mason to Patrick Junior?” she asked.
“It was something that Patrick said to me about how Robbie’s middle name, Mason, was also his middle name. She was named for him.”
“And this Paul person is a firefighter at your station?”
“Yes, and damn it, I should have caught that sooner,” I grumbled.
Rosa shrugged. “If it were that easy, why would we need detectives?”
I smiled at her attempt to make me feel better. It did. A little. I began pacing again. The court clerk said that the judge was in, and it should only take about twenty minutes. That was nineteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds too long, but there was nothing I could do but wait and pace. Then Robbie’s beautiful face came back on the monitor. It was funny how she could look defiant and scared and beautiful all at the same time.
“Jordy is too smart to play your silly games. She will see right through your lame attempts to break her down. When she catches you, and rest assured, she will find you, she’ll throw you in prison next to that man you call daddy.”
“She’s wrong, but I love that she thinks that way.”
“I don’t think she’s wrong,” Rosa said. “I know you will catch him and throw his ass in prison.”
“Thanks, Rosie,” I said, glancing at her. “I hope you’re both right. You have to be right if I’m going to find her.”
“Now you see, that’s where you’re wrong. Dear old Dad will kill me long before we make it to prison,” the captor said.
I jerked my head back to the monitor. “Oh, that’s good news. Maybe Patrick will kill him for me,” I quipped.
“Then why are you doing this?” Robbie asked.
“I told you, revenge.”
“Revenge against who? Your father? Jordy? Me?”
“All of the above. It’s the ultimate retribution, don’t you think?”
Robbie shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. What did I ever do to you? I don’t even know you.”
“Oh, but I know you. You were the shining example of what I could never be. You were the reason I was never good enough. The reason I was beaten, locked in a closet for days, and ridiculed day in and day out. You see, Daddy brought me up to hate those who ruined his life, but what he’ll soon find out on the six o’clock news, is that it was you who was ultimately to blame.”
“Bullshit!” I roared.
“You were the one he taught me to hate the most. The catalyst who set it all in motion.”
“No! God, no!” Robbie screamed and lunged at the camera.
The camera jerked and tilted to and fro. I heard a chair scraping against the floor before the monitor went blank.
I turned to Rosa. “Is there any more?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s it.”
I felt a chill in the air, as if losing that connection with Robbie had drained all the warmth from the room.
“Okay, can you go back to the part where Robbie pans the room? I’m pretty sure that she said tornado. If she’s trying to tell us that she’s in a storm shelter, then we need to look for any clue in the room that might tell us which one of hundreds of… storm shelters… she might… be… in…”
“Jordy?”
That moment, in a continuous perspective distortion where the knife coming toward you grows larger as the person holding it grows smaller and indistinct. That moment when the knife pierces your heart.
“I know where Robbie is!” I started out the door and stopped short. Pointing at Rosa, I said, “Call Uncle Joe for me and tell him to sit on Junior! I’ve got to get to Robbie first.”
“Roger that.”
“And Rosa, bring me the warrant when it’s ready,” I said, running out of the room.
“Jordy, take backup!” I heard Rosa shout as I burst into the stairwell, taking two steps at a time.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Roberta Witherspoon
Patrick was still talking but my mind was someplace else, with someone else. Jordy. I had to get out of here and save Jordy. Paul had set fire to her mother’s house, he could have killed her mother. But she wasn’t who he was after. It was a tease, a warning that Jordy was next. But she does
n’t know. She doesn’t know and she trusts him, just as I did.
“Robbie! Are you listening to me?” Patrick shouted.
“No, not really, so take a hint, okay?” I retorted.
“Look at the timer,” he demanded. “It doesn’t know how to tell time.”
“What?” I turned and looked at the timer. The numbers were spinning at a rapid rate as hours ticked off until only minutes were showing. It finally stopped at forty-three minutes. “We had another day at least, damn it!” That was no timer, it was a damn computer program set to terrorize me one last time before I die. “What are we going to do?”
“Wait for my son to finish and come release me. I’ll make sure he releases you, too.”
“You don’t get it, do you? He’s not coming back to save us. If he comes back at all, it will be to film our death and put it on the six o’clock news. No, we have to save ourselves.”
The next question is how. How can I move with four concrete blocks chained to my legs? By moving one at a time, jeez! I had been looking at my predicament all wrong. I could only see that four blocks were too heavy to carry. But what if I moved one at a time? Perhaps I could escape. It would take some time, but at least I would have a fighting chance.
I stood and picked up a block, lifting it as high as possible and threw it as hard as I could. Then I picked up the second block and repeated the process until all that was left was the fourth. That one I could drag the few steps to where the others had landed. Chunks of concrete had chipped off the block. That was encouraging and pumped the adrenaline in me like a drug. I picked up a block and tossed it further this time. Harder, with more purpose, more desperation. If I could just get close enough to take the batteries out of the timer or yank the wires, whatever it took.
“What the hell are you doing?” Patrick asked. “I can hear you moving around. You’re making me nervous.”
I don’t have any more time for his nonsense. “I’m trying to get out of here. Why don’t you try helping by shutting the fuck up!”
He didn’t take my advice. He continued droning on about how ungrateful I was. But I only had one thought. Kill the timer, stop the fire. I picked up another block and this time, lifted it over my head, my muscles jumping like an over-stretched rubber band.
“Stop!” Patrick yelled, catching my attention. “Whatever you’re doing, you’re going to regret it.”
“How would you know?” I snipped, wobbling the block over my head. “Can you suddenly see in the dark?”
“No, but I can smell something burning.”
Burning? I inhaled and then coughed, dropping the block. He was right. It smelled like plastic burning. I looked at the timer again. Sixteen minutes, twenty seconds… nineteen… eighteen... “No, the timer is still counting down. It’s not time yet!”
“Get away from there, Robbie,” Patrick yelled. I heard his chains rattling, shoes scuffing against concrete.
A pop, then a flash, then a louder pop with smoke, and then a tornado of fire shooting up in the air. Too close. I’m too close! I tried to run, forgetting the chains on my legs. I took a couple of steps and fell flat on my stomach, knocking the air out of my lungs. I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t think. All I could do was panic. Thankfully, a gasp of air gave me enough oxygen to calm down. Another gasp and I could think clearly. Fire was jumping from the piles of chlorine, closer and closer to me. Oh, shit! I was in its path. I began panicking again, kicking and screaming to get away.
In my panic, I had not noticed that Patrick had crawled over to me. He pulled on my chains and moved the blocks over enough that I could crawl to the side, out of the way of the jumping fire. “Thanks,” I gasped, choking on the chlorine-filled smoke.
“I’m sorry,” Patrick admitted.
“Sorry for saving me?”
“No, not that. I never wanted you hurt. I was trying to be a father to you.”
Oh, hell no. I’m not gullible enough for bullshit like that. “Like you were to Junior? He’s going to die, just like we are. Well, his death will be the electric chair, but you get my meaning.” I was becoming lightheaded from talking and breathing in the smoke. It wasn’t the fire that would kill us, it was the smoke. “Lay on the floor and hold your breath,” I instructed, lying on the floor, my head turned toward the fire. I knew it would a futile attempt to prolong our lives, but there was no other option. The door was locked from the outside. There were no windows and the vent was closed off. There was no way to get air.
Patrick crawled closer to me, and I scooted back. “Stop moving, damn it. I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your kind of help,” I chided, choking on the air. Damn it!
“In my jacket pocket is a flask. Take it,” he demanded.
“Oh, yeah, because dying in a drunk stupor next to my bastard junkie father is really how I want Jordy to find me... oh no!” The thought of Jordy finding me dead broke my heart.
“It’s not for drinking, for God’s sake. There’s a handkerchief in my back pocket. Get it and soak it with the alcohol.”
I was taken aback at what a good suggestion that was. Is he really trying to help me? I pulled out the handkerchief, too desperate to wonder if it were clean or not, and found the flask in his pocket where he said it would be.
“Wait,” he said just as I was about to soak the cloth with cheap whiskey. “Let me have one last sip, first.”
Rolling my eyes, I tilted the flask to his lips and he sucked back a large gulp. “Damn, save some for the rest of us, why don’t you?” I chided. I soaked the handkerchief and then, using my teeth, I tore off a large piece of my blouse and soaked it. I guzzled the remaining drop of whiskey from the flask and tossed it to the side.
“Lay down so I can hold this over your mouth,” I instructed, putting my cloth to my face. I inhaled too deeply and felt a burning in my throat and a buzzing in my head.
“Try not to breathe in the liquor too much, it could poison you.”
“Great, now you tell me,” I jibed. “Put your head in my lap so I can reach you.”
Patrick laid down in a fetal position, the only position he could lay with his hands and feet chained together. He laid his head on my thigh and I admit, it was as disgusting as I thought it would be. I looked down at his placid face and all I saw was a murderer. Selfishly, I wanted to save his life not because he was my biological father, but because I wanted to see him tried for his crimes and sent to prison. If he died in here with me, I would be robbed of that satisfaction. And truth be told, I didn’t wish anyone to die, even a murderer.
“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden, kitten? Don’t get me wrong, it’s what I’ve dreamed of.”
“Well, you can thank my stepdad for that, then. He taught me to respect life, not take it away.”
“He taught you to hate me,” Patrick said between puffs.
“Shut up and conserve your energy,” I barked, making up my mind not to say another word, no matter what garbage he slung at me. Instead, I let my mind think of something infinitely more pleasant. I thought about Jordy. About how her eyes smiled at me as she teased me. How her strong arms held me and her soft hands caressed me. If only we had more time. As I slipped into darkness with her taste on my lips, I thought I heard her calling to me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jordyn Stringfellow
I took Rosa’s advice and stopped at the front desk. Showing the sergeant my badge and credentials, I quickly explained to him that I was on the way to apprehend a suspect and stop a murder and I needed backup. The sergeant called it in and two officers came running in from the coffee shop.
“I’m parked out front,” I said as I showed them my badge.
“We’re in back,” one of the officers said.
“Paper and pen,” I asked the sergeant. I wrote down the address and handed it to the officer. “Meet me there, sirens blazing. The victim is in a storm shelter.” The officer looked at me as if I were crazy.
“No time to expla
in, but be careful, the shelter is booby trapped.” I didn’t wait for an acknowledgment. I ran out the door and down the steps to my car. As soon as I was in the car, I flipped on the siren and blue lights and then buckled my seatbelt before I punched the gas pedal. My tires smoked as I peeled out, narrowly missing a taxi.
I looked at the timer on my cell phone. Twenty-nine hours left. Not enough time. I needed more. If I was wrong about where she was, I needed more time to regroup, to find another clue, another lead. I’d need to interrogate Paul.
My cell phone vibrated and I hit the Bluetooth. “Stringfellow.”
“Jordy, its Joe. Paul got away.”
“What do you mean, he got away? How?”
“A fire started in the kitchen and we got busy,” Uncle Joe explained.
A cold chill ran down my neck. “That’s because he set it.” Damn it. He had plenty of time to plan this right under our noses. “Is everyone all right?”
“Yes, thank God. The kitchen’s a wreck, though. You think he set it?”
“Yeah. Look under the coffeemaker.”
A pause and then Uncle Joe said, “It’s there. A smiley face just like before. Stinking bastard.”
“Listen, I’ve asked for a warrant for Paul’s arrest, but I’m on my way to my mother’s house to find Robbie.”
“Why would she be back there?”
“He’s holding her in the storm shelter.”
“What the hell? Why there?”
“Because he wants me to carry the guilt of her dying right in my own backyard.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“I’m almost there, Uncle Joe, I’ve got backup, but send the fire rescue unit.”
“Roger that.”
The squad car had caught up with me and used their traffic signal prioritization to let me drive through the busiest intersections. I had to swerve around a car at the last stoplight before my mom’s street, but it only slowed me down a little. I slammed on the brakes a couple of times before coming to a stop in front of the house. The squad car pulled up in the driveway and we all jumped out of the cars at once.
Cause to Burn Page 24
