Paramedic Killer

by Patterson, Pat

  “What’s going on?” Valerie asked. “It sounded like you and Mel were arguing.”

  “She saw my shotgun.”

  “I would’ve thought that after last night you’d never even want to see another shotgun.”

  “After last night, I’m more convinced than ever that I need one.”

  “You should have thought about Melanie’s feelings before you pulled it out.”

  “I’m more concerned about her safety right now.”

  “Jim, you really disappoint me.”

  “Val, don’t chastise me!”

  “Well, you know she hates guns!”

  “Valerie, this isn’t about … look, would you please just go talk to your sister?” Valerie glared at him and descended into the cabin. Jim grabbed the closest wine glass and flung it out over the water. He walked to the back of the boat and leaned over the stern rail. A moment later both girls reappeared. Melanie’s face looked stained with tears.

  “Jim,” Melanie said, practically pleading. “I know this is your boat and you have the right to keep a gun on board if you like, but we just feel there’s so much violence in the world today, the last thing we need is another gun.”

  “Both of you,” he said. “Sit down.” Neither girl sat. “Please. We need to talk.”

  The girls sat down on the cushions. Melanie hung her head and wiped away her tears. Valerie just stared at him.

  “Look, I need to explain to you both why that gun is so important, especially tonight.”

  “But, Jim,” Melanie cut in. “I mean we talk about being Christians, and we go to church and pray, but when it comes to basic things like trusting God, we fall so short sometimes. Why do you need a gun? He promised to protect us.”

  “Melanie, I believe God expects us to protect ourselves. There’s nothing wrong with owning a gun for self-defense. I have a lot of experience handling shotguns just like that one, and you’ve got to know that I would never even consider pulling it out unless there was a good reason.”

  “And yet,” Melanie insisted, “you had it out just a minute ago.”

  “That’s because I have a good reason.”

  “Jim,” Valerie demanded. “What are you not telling us?”

  Jim glanced at the sky. The moon was rising, but the sun was sinking, just like his mood. “Val, this whole thing’s getting blown way out of proportion.”

  “What thing?” Val continued to stare.

  “All right, look—” Jim hesitated. “You remember the killings I told you about?”

  Melanie’s eyes widened. “What killings?”

  “Mel, some people were killed in town last night. That’s all.”

  “That’s not all,” she cried. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

  “Jim,” Valerie demanded. “Tell us what’s wrong.”

  “They found my old supervisor. He and his wife, Julie. Both of them shot … in the face.”

  Valerie gasped. “That’s two East Beach paramedics in the last forty-eight hours. Two paramedics you worked with.”

  “Jim,” Melanie said. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Does Rico think there’s a connection between all these killings?”

  “He does. I think it’s just a coincidence.”

  Valerie’s expression registered somewhere between confusion and total fear. “What happened?”

  “Just a bad EMS call, that’s all.”

  Valerie looked dumbfounded. “They’re coming after you next, aren’t they?”

  “No one’s coming after me.”

  “Jim,” Valerie exclaimed. “Are you naïve or just plain foolish?”

  “I don’t think we should stay out here,” Melanie said, her voice breaking. “I want to go home.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Nothing,” Jim said, his temper rising. “We drink some more wine, watch a beautiful sunset, and then go to my place and wait until it blows over. And if it makes you feel better, Rico’s sending some men out to the house to look after us. He thinks we’d be safer there.”

  “What about me?” Melanie said. “Will they come after me too?”

  “No, honey. I’m getting you out of here. You’re going home.”

  “Both of you listen,” Jim said. “Relax, nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Jim, I can’t believe this! All this happening and you didn’t even bother to tell me? How could you?”

  “I wanted you to enjoy the day.”

  “Enjoy the day? So tonight you could tell us there’s two maniacs on the loose intent on killing us?”

  “Val, no one’s trying to kill us.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “Yes, I do!”

  “Jim, you’re being a fool!”

  “I’m not a fool, Valerie. I’m a man. What do you want from me?”

  “A man? Jim, a real man would have shot them both when he had the chance!”

  CHAPTER

  16

  SATURDAY—19:13—POLICE HEADQUARTERS (120 Main St.) “Jimmy, I need to see you right away.” Rico hung up his phone and stared at his notes. He couldn’t get old lady Canaday out of his mind, or the surprised look in her eyes when she had first heard his name. The motorcycle intrigued him, as did the car and the boat and the convicting photos of the two masked men. The thought of a raid in the woods at night concerned him, but he knew it had to be done. He tapped on his desk thinking. His door suddenly opened. “Sarge—” Jimmy Little stepped into Rico’s office in full tactical gear. He looked like a SWAT team member prepping for a bust. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah, Jimmy. Change of plans. I need you to go look for Jim Stockbridge. I want him and his girlfriend under watch sooner than later.”

  “What about the raid?”

  “I need you on this, Jimmy. Something feels wrong.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “I’ll call Mulkhead and see if the Cobia’s available. What’s his boat called again? Shoal something?”

  “Survivor. Bring Val’s little sister, too.”

  “That cute little blonde? With pleasure.”

  “Jimmy, I need your best on this. Once you find them, keep them at Jim’s Place. Don’t let them leave for anything. I’ll contact you after the raid. Hopefully, it’ll all be over then.”

  “What if they won’t come, Sarge?”

  “Arrest them.”

  “Sarge?”

  “Jimmy, just do it. If this Jarrett Bay raid is unsuccessful, they could be dead by morning.” Rico slid him the photographs. “The Canaday boys are the killers. Confirmed it this afternoon at their grandmother’s place. She spilled the beans on ’em. Seems they belong to a local biker gang knee deep in the Klan. And get this … they’ve both got military experience. One with army EOD. Seems we’re dealing with an explosives specialist.”

  “I hope you’re taking Mullins on the raid.”

  “He’s going. Ham, Clean, Hose, Rogers, and the Ghost as well.”

  “What about Strong?”

  “Eric’s going with you. Drop him off at Jim’s Place in case they slip around you. Then take the boat up and down Taylor’s Creek, Teach’s, Morehead waterway, Lookout … everywhere. Try him regularly on channel 16.”

  “I’m on it, Sarge. What about you? You okay?”

  “I’ll have five of the most experienced killers in the world watching my back.

  Don’t worry about me.”

  “Be careful anyway.”

  “You, too, my friend.”

  CHAPTER

  17

  SATURDAY—19:45—THE BIGHT (CAPE Lookout) “A real man?” Jim snatched the Winchester, fuming. “A real man would go find the killer and blow his face off!” He propped the shotgun against the bulkhead at the base of the companionway and cursed. Their perfect day had been flushed down the drain. Valerie was fuming and Melanie was petrified with fear, but it could have been worse. The weather was near perfect for a night s
ail. The rising moon was like a light in the sky, and with the wind and tide moving in the same direction, powering through the inlet was a viable option. He pulled on a sweatshirt, and then ascended to the cockpit ignoring the girls’ distasteful glances. “Here,” he said handing Melanie the portable spotlight he kept plugged in at the navigation station. “You’ll need this once it gets dark.”

  “Jim, do we really need that gun out?” she asked.

  “Once we get out of the bight, it’s a six-mile shot back to the inlet. The weather couldn’t be better, and we’ll have the tide and wind moving with us, so the inlet should be calm. I know all the channels like the back of my hand.” Jim glanced at the sky. A warm glow clung to the western horizon. “Val, we’ve still got about a half hour of light remaining. I’ll mainly need you to help me get out of here. Watch for floating stuff and unlit boats. Once we’re in the ocean, I want you both back here.”

  Valerie pulled on a gray hoodie. “Let’s go. Sooner we get back the better.”

  “I can’t wait to get home,” Melanie murmured.

  “Okay then,” Jim said. “Let’s do it. Watch your fingers and toes. That anchor chain can be wicked.”

  The girls moved forward. Jim felt a clunk as Valerie tested the windlass.

  “Okay,” she shouted. “We’re ready.”

  Jim revved the engine slightly. He heard the windlass begin to grind and felt an accompanying rattle as the powerful low-geared motor pulled the heavy chain aboard. The boat jolted slightly and moved forward in the water. Jim engaged the transmission and ever so gently inched the boat ahead. The windlass ground and ground, rhythmically pulling in the chain and dropping it beneath deck, until after about a minute he felt a rough bump beneath his feet. The windlass stopped. He heard Valerie talking and felt the boat begin to drift.

  “Okay,” she shouted. “We’re free.”

  Jim nudged the throttle forward. The RPMs built and the boat pushed ahead into the growing darkness. The water reflected what was left of the glowing sky. The unbroken ripples told him all was clear. “Let me know if you see anything,” he shouted. He aimed the boat for the flashing red light at the entrance to the bight. He headed up a few degrees as they grew close to the mark, but as they entered the narrowest section of the inlet he felt a sudden drop in RPM’s. The choking, sputtering sound he had heard that morning suddenly returned. He felt the boat shudder and slow and then surge forward again. Then the engine coughed a few times and quit. Oh, no!

  Valerie,” he shouted. “Drop the anchor!”

  Jim pushed the ignition switch, but the engine refused to start. “Get the anchor down,” he shouted.

  “I’m trying!”

  Jim ran forward to help. “Let me have it,” he shouted. “Move!”

  Jim dropped to his knees and unlocked the heavy chrome winch. The anchor chain spilled out, almost taking with it three of his fingers. He fell backwards and hit the deck. He started to stand, but before he could he heard a harsh scraping sound beneath his feet. The boat jolted and swung on the keel and then slowly tipped to starboard as the lead keel dug into the sandy bottom. The girls screamed. Jim cursed. He grabbed the railing and held on until the motion ceased. “Are ya’ll okay? Anybody hurt?”

  “Are we aground?” Valerie exclaimed.

  “Unfortunately. Mel, you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Mel murmured standing and rubbing her elbow. “Aground? Does that mean we’re stuck?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Jim felt the wind in his hair. It wasn’t strong—ten mph or less—but with the combined force of the breeze and the current through the byte entrance, he knew they were hard aground. He played out some anchor chain and walked back to the cockpit. What else, he wondered? What else could possibly go wrong? He picked up the radio mic and keyed it.

  “East Beach Tow Boat, East Beach Tow Boat … Shoal Survivor, over.”

  The East Beach Tow Boat dispatcher responded within seconds and gave Jim an alternate frequency. He switched channels and called back. “We’re stuck at Lookout and need a tow back to Morehead. Can you help?”

  “Roger that,” the dispatcher responded. “But it might be awhile. All of our boats are on calls at the moment. Can you wait?”

  “How long?”

  “Best guess? Two hours. Are you in trouble? Taking on water?”

  “No, but we have extenuating circumstances that make this urgent.”

  “Do you need the Coast Guard?”

  “No, the boat’s fine. We can walk to shore if necessary.”

  “Okay then, I’ll get a boat out there as soon as I can. What’s your exact location?”

  Jim gave him the details and then switched back to channel 16 and cradled the mic. “Well,” he said walking forward to rejoin his crew. “Looks like we’ll be here a while.”

  CHAPTER

  18

  SATURDAY—19:45—KNIGHT SQUAD BRIEFING ROOM (Police Headquarters) If there was one virtue Rico Rivetti possessed, it was undying loyalty, a trait born on the streets of Brooklyn by a confused adolescent, distanced from his family by an abusive father. After joining a local Puerto Rican street gang, he had quickly learned how to fight. The gang became his protection, his identity, and his family. But after several brushes with the law, a stabbing that nearly ended his life, and a two-year prison term for assault with a deadly weapon, Rico had been forced to turn his life around. But the principle he had lived by still applied. No one messed with his friends. No one.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice, men.” The police officers assembled in the briefing room at Police Headquarters were hard, tested men. Dressed in black uniforms and heavy flak jackets, and armed with pistols and assault rifles, they resembled a special-ops strike team ready to take on terrorists. But to Rico, they were more than that. They were his gang. His family. “When you get home, please tell your wives and girlfriends that I apologize for interrupting their evenings. But we have to stop these Halloween killers before they strike again.”

  “Halloween Killers,” Keith Mullins said elbowing Rogers. “That’s got a nice ring to it.”

  “Where at, Lieutenant?” Rogers asked.

  “In a minute. Want to show you something first.”

  Rico glanced around the room. He saw confidence in the men’s eyes and a casual preparedness in their postures, but as he turned on the LCD projector and the first slide materialized on the screen, he saw their expressions go from ‘whatever’ to ‘what in the world?’

  “Rico?” Andrew Hamilton said. “You’re kidding, right? A burning cross?”

  “No joke, Ham. In the woods near Cedar Creek.”

  “Cedar Creek?” Clean stood and walked to the map of Carteret County tacked to the squad room wall. “Where is that?”

  “Settlement across the sound,” Mullins said leaning his shotgun against a chair. He joined Clean at the map and tapped on a small creek on the north side of the bay. “This little finger of water jutting inland near the entrance to the ICW.”

  “What’s there?”

  “Backwoods city. Pine trees, swamp, and lots of rednecks.”

  “It’s remote all right,” Rico agreed. “Old family settlements mostly. Some tobacco farms, but mostly just pine trees and dusty dirt roads. Folks there are pretty territorial, as they should be.”

  “Are we talking Deliverance here?” Ham exclaimed. “Dueling banjos and inbreds?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So, why are you showing us this cross?” Clean asked him. “What’s the significance?”

  “A Sheriff’s deputy discovered it just a few hours ago. It was still smoking in a clearing less than three hundred yards from the Screaming Devils compound.”

  “Screaming Devils?”

  Clean elbowed Lopez. “Hose, we had a run-in with those guys last year, didn’t we? Sir, me and Hose arrested a couple of them downtown on drug charges last Christmas.”

  “Hold on—” Cadarian Rogers said, shifting uneasily in his seat. “Stil
l smoking? What’s that mean?”

  “The cross? Not sure, Rat. But cross burnings are used by the Klan as a form of intimidation. And to inspire courage.”

  “Rico’s right,” Ham added. “But that’s not all. Klan Christians claim it’s a show of faith.”

  “Hold on,” Keith Mullins objected. “Klan Christians?”

  “There’s a lot of so-called Christians in the Klan,” Ham said shaking his head. “Only problem is they think Jesus was a white man. They believe their sole purpose in life is the eradication of other races. ‘If it ain’t white, it ain’t right.’ That’s their motto.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” Mullins said. “I’m certainly no believer, but there’s nothing Christian about that!”

  “I’m not defending them, Keith. As far as I’m concerned the Klan is a terrorist group. An elitist, hate-filled, racist group. Anyone who says he’s a Christian and goes around burning crosses and terrorizing black people and other minorities? In my book, he needs to have his neck stretched.”

  “I hear that,” Hicks agreed. “Eye for an eye.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tony Barnes said speaking up for the first time. “You guys have no idea what you’re dealing with here. There’s plenty of decent God-fearing people in the Klan.”

  “God-fearing—” Ham stood up as if challenged to a fight. “How can you call them God-fearing?”

  “Ham, the original Klan was based on Christian principles. Many still are today.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “These people you’re talking about. These lunatics that go out at night and burn crosses and hang black people? They’re the fanatics. The dangerous segment. I know lots of good people in the Klan.”

  “You do?”

  “I grew up not far from here in a very rural part of North Carolina. You’ve got to understand, guys, this is still a real part of our society. It’s just out of sight, and most folks don’t want to believe it. In fact, it’s only been a few years since we had a billboard on the edge of town showing a picture of a White Knight on a horse. The caption read, ‘Welcome to Smithfield. This is Klan Country.’”