by James Hunt
The sound of lock and key brought Dennis’s attention toward the door, and one of the guards stepped inside, quickly followed by a nurse from the medical wing.
“Hello, Dennis. They brought me to you since they don’t want you leaving.”
“Well, I apologize for the trouble, Nurse Mabel,” Dennis said, practicing his smile. “Honestly, I think they’re getting worked up for nothing. I mean, it’s not like I could have done what they’ve said I’ve done from inside my cell, right?”
Nurse Mabel sighed as she filled the syringe with insulin. “Dennis, I don’t think anything. I just give you folks the medicine you need that was written down by the doctor.”
Dennis blamed his poor diet and lack of exercise for the onset of his Type 2 diabetes, but the condition had granted him an unexpected opportunity.
Mabel set the insulin down and gestured to the guard, who then walked over and unlocked the shackles around his wrists. With the cuffs off, Nurse Mabel rolled up the orange sleeve of his left arm, and then swabbed his pale skin with rubbing alcohol.
Dennis shivered and laughed. “It’s always so cold.”
“I know,” Mabel said, reaching for the needle. “Just stay still for me.”
Needle sunk into flesh, but Dennis didn’t flinch, watching the needle go into his skin. He always liked watching the injections. It reminded him of what he’d done to the people he abducted. It gave him an erection every time.
“Okay,” Nurse Mabel said, disposing of the medical waste into a red bag. “All done.” She wheeled her medical cart away from Dennis while the guard stepped in to reapply the shackles.
But as the guard positioned himself between Dennis and the nurse, Mabel couldn’t see that the guard didn’t squeeze his shackles all the way shut. Nor did she see the small blade that was placed in Dennis’s hand before the guard turned.
Dennis smiled, both fists closed. “Thanks, Mabel.”
“Mm-hmm,” Mabel said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dennis.”
But as the door slammed shut and locked, Dennis smiled even wider, because that fat bitch was dead wrong.
14
The graveyard was still blocked off as Forensics searched the shed as well as the grave for any additional evidence. And even though Grant had seen Susie Mullins alive before she was whisked away on the stretcher, Grant remained tense until he finally received confirmation from Mocks that she was awake and alert at the hospital.
“No permanent damage,” Mocks said, pocketing her phone. “Docs are going to keep her overnight, but they expect a full recovery.”
Grant exhaled, glad that they had found her before it was too late. But when he bowed his head in thanks, he saw the timer on his watch pass nine hours.
Mocks crossed her arms, staring at the final sketch that Dennis had given them. “Forensics still hasn’t found anything new at Barry Finster’s place. And Waffer’s not talking, but that’s not surprising. I’ve sent Lane over to speak with the Sullivan family to see if we can get anything else from them.” She looked to Grant and then nudged his arm. “Hey, we got the first two. We’ll get the last one. Chopper’s already inbound to take us to the cabin.” She smiled. “It’s over, Grant.”
Because Grant and the others had already cracked the cipher for the letters between Dennis and his minions, Detective Lane had deciphered the final message in Barry Finster’s letters.
And while the message provided confirmation, Grant already had a good idea where Mary Sullivan had been taken. Dennis had forced Grant to remember his past, and now he was forcing him to confront his future.
The final location, the sketch of the cabin, it had been where Grant and Sam first met. It was the place Grant had gone to when he walked away from the badge and from Seattle. That cabin in the woods of the tiny town of Deville was his exile.
Grant chewed the inside of his lip, squeezing his hands together. “It doesn’t feel over.” He stepped away, pacing restlessly. “I mean, what’s his end game?”
“He’s a serial killer, Grant,” Mocks answered. “Murder is his end goal.”
“This is different,” Grant said. “He’s out to prove a point.”
“What point?” Mocks asked.
“That he’s better than everyone,” Grant said. “You read his court depositions. He’s a psycho with a God complex.”
Mocks took a breath, trying to follow Grant’s line of thinking. “So you think he’s going to try and convert more of his fans? You think he has other people helping him?”
Grant shook his head. While it hadn’t been easy to find the first two victims, it hadn’t been as hard as it should. For some reason, Grant couldn’t shake the feeling of bread crumbs being strewn along the ground, like he was being led by a leash.
“You think he has some big surprise planned for Mary Sullivan?” Mary asked.
“I think that win or lose, this isn’t the end of the road for him,” Grant answered.
“Listen, Grant, I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but Chief Hofster’s been on the line with Williams and the governor for practically the whole day—”
Grant spun around. “What about the rest of those personnel files? Did Williams find any good leads? We should have Lane look them over, he has a good eye for—”
“Grant!” Mocks grabbed him by the arms. “Will you listen to me for a second? Dennis is going to get the needle after all of this is done. Williams is putting the documentation together as we speak.”
Grant frowned. “Does Dennis know this?”
“Doesn’t have a clue,” Mocks answered.
Grant had no problem with Dennis getting the needle, but if the Attorney General and the governor were thinking about the death penalty, then it must have been something Dennis thought of too.
Mocks leaned back against the squad car next to him. She was quiet for a minute, and then cleared her throat. “You know that right before I got married to Rick, I started using again?”
Grant frowned. She never talked about her past addiction. “You did?”
Mocks nodded. “Rick found me passed out in our bedroom, fresh skid marks along my arm. I went on a hell of bender. Coke. Heroin. X, and a little pot and liquor for good measure.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the dumpster. “When I woke up in the hospital, I had a vague remembrance of how I got there and what I did. Rick was there when I finally came out of it. He was just sitting across the room in a chair, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at me.” She glanced at some space in the parking lot as if she could see him there, now. “I just thought to myself, ‘this is it. This is where it all ends.’” She shrugged. “I mean a person can only put up with so much, right? I’d had other people leave me. Pretty much everyone I’d ever known had walked out the door.”
“I thought you were clean by then?” Grant asked.
Mocks pushed off the car. “Yeah, well, an addict doesn’t need a reason to use. I just… do it.” She smirked, wrinkling the left side of her face. “Two years just down the drain.” She snapped her fingers. “Like that.” She pocketed her hands. “But I guess the trigger for my relapse was because I was scared about Rick leaving. And I figured if I started using again, and he stayed, then I knew he would always stay.”
“I guess it worked,” Grant said.
“Actually, it completely backfired.” Mocks laughed. “He left. Told me he couldn’t be with someone who did what I had just done to him.”
“He called off the wedding?” Grant asked.
Mocks nodded. “He called all of the vendors, guests, told everyone that it was over. I’d been out of it for three days, and in that time, he’d already moved his things out of our apartment and put the key on my hospital nightstand. I must have called him every name under the sun, I told him things that I still can’t forgive myself for saying.” She lowered her head. “I was in a bad place, but I had put myself there and thrown away the key. And it wasn’t until he shut the door behind him that I realized he wasn’t joking. That he r
eally was leaving, and he wasn’t coming back.”
After all of the years they’d known each other, and all of the times that he’d been to her and Rick’s house for dinner, Grant had never heard this story from either of them.
“I had no idea,” Grant said.
“Most people don’t.” Mocks dropped her arms.
“So what happened?” Grant asked.
“I got sober. Tried to call him, but he changed his number. All of the social media platforms today didn’t exist back then, so it wasn’t like I could send him a message online. It took another year before I finally managed to track him down. I’d known where he was for a while, but I wanted to wait a year. Thought it might make a difference somehow. I’d show up with my one year chip, give it to him, and we’d start over.”
Grant waited, raising his eyes brows. “And did you?”
“No,” Mocks answered. “I got cold feet. I made it all the way to the fire station where he worked and I couldn’t knock on the door. I was so distraught that I spun around and headed for my car. But I didn’t bother to look both ways when I crossed the street. The car had to swerve to miss me and ended up ramming the back of a truck.” She laughed. “And you can guess who was called to the scene.”
Grant chuckled. “Rick?”
“At first he thought I was using, that I had been one of the drivers, but I told him my plan and he just stared at me and stared at me, and when he opened his mouth to speak, he just laughed. I could have kissed him when I heard that laugh. But I didn’t. I had to wait. I had to earn it again. And slowly, day by day, moment by moment, I did. We married a year later.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me that before?”
Mocks shrugged. “It’s not easy to relive the worst mistakes of your life, and it’s even harder to talk about them on your own free will.” She reached for his hand and looked at the digital watch that Dennis had given him. “And that’s what Dennis is doing to you. He wants to tear you apart, make you relive everything that you’ve lost. But he won’t break you, Grant. You’re too strong for that.”
Grant glanced down at his attire. The Kevlar, the pistol, the digital watch. He was wearing the same gear he had when he was a detective, but it didn’t feel the same.
“You’re going to get your happy ending, Grant. I don’t care if I have to shoot Dennis between the eyes myself.” Mocks hugged him, squeezing tight, her cheek pressed firmly against his chest. “Don’t you fall to the dark side, Chase Grant.”
Grant gently placed his hands around Mocks, giving a light squeeze back. “I won’t.”
Mocks leaned back. “Good.” She reached for his love handle and pinched, hard.
“Ow!” Grant skittered away. “What the hell was that for?”
“That’s just a reminder of the hurting I can put on you.” Mocks pointed her finger at him as she headed for the door. “I’ve been staying in fighting shape, Grant, unlike you.” She smiled at him and then looked up at the sound of chopper blades. “There’s our ride.”
15
The chopper ride toward the small mountain town of Deville provided Mocks and Hofster time to finish their coordination with local authorities and state police, their voices crackling through the radio.
“SWAT and bomb disposal are already on site,” Mocks said. “We’ll be ready for whatever Finster has for us.”
Grant nodded.
“We’re going to treat this just like the altercation at the Denning house,” Mocks said. “We’ll send you in to assess, and then we’ll have a team on standby for assistance.” She flashed a thumbs up. “I’ve got your back, partner.”
Grant reciprocated the thumbs up, knowing that he could count on her. But despite Mocks’s confidence, Grant couldn’t erase every doubt.
After the events of the day, Grant sensed that he was missing something. It was like everything had been set up too neatly, too clean. Did it all make sense? Yes. Did it all fit a pattern? It did.
But with everything that Grant knew about Dennis, and after all of the time and trouble that was spent in coordinating something like this, Grant found it hard to believe that they were nearing the end of the case.
“Two minutes!” The pilot radioed through the head piece, and everyone piped up as they began their descent.
Dust and debris were blown outward in all directions as the chopper landed at the end of the dirt road that cut off from the main road through the little drive-by town. He hadn’t been back to the town since he moved back to Seattle with Sam.
But nothing had changed in the two years that he’d been gone. Nature was still untouched, and it still resembled the quiet little town where you came to get away from city life, or whatever problems that were chasing you. It was still a place to come and hide.
The trees were too crowded over the dirt road to land right in front of the cabin, so they’d have to hoof it up the road from their current position.
Grant, Mocks, and Chief Hofster were led to the cabin by the SWAT team on standby. They slowed on their approach closer to the cabin and paused at the bushes just before the gravel driveway.
Hofster turned toward Grant, who was being suited up with a body cam. “We have snipers positioned in the back in case he runs. He won’t get far if you don’t have any choice but to flush him out the back. Based off what we found in the letters, there will be another explosive device similar to the one found on Kelly Sears.”
Grant peered around the corner and saw that the front door was shut, with the blinds drawn over the windows.
Mocks handed Grant an earpiece. “Remember, we’ve got your back.”
Grant nodded, and while Hofster nodded too, he knew that the Chief of Police couldn’t keep the same promises that Mocks gave.
Pistol in hand, Grant emerged from the cover and moved swiftly to the front door, his ears still lightly buzzing from the chopper blades.
Grant paused at the front door, trying to peek in the window cracks, but saw nothing. He placed his hand around the door knob, and then, just like his old house with Ellen, the knob offered no resistance as he turned it.
The ball of nerves in Grant’s stomach hardened into a steel bowling ball. Mouth dry and his mind fatigued, Grant burst inside, gun aimed forward, and saw Barry Finster. But no Mary Sullivan.
Berry sat cross-legged on the floor of the empty living room between two small televisions. A black box sat in his lap with a digital timer of red numbers that sat at thirty seconds. In front of each television was a red button, with wires running into the back of the television screens. Barry had his left fist closed around something, and he pressed his thumb down over the hidden device, which triggered the countdown of the thirty-second timer in his lap. “It’s time to choose, Mr. Grant.”
Grant glanced between the pair of television screens, his adrenaline pumping too quickly to make sense of the images at first, but the longer he stared, the clearer they became, and he slowly lowered the pistol in his hands. “Oh my God.”
The television on the left showed an image of Mary Sullivan, bound and gagged to a chair. The view provided a profile of Mary and allowed Grant to see the explosive device beneath her chair, along with another black box timer that had been synced to the same countdown of the box in Barry’s lap.
The second screen on the right showed a bird’s eye view of a living room where a man and two children sat on the couch. And while he didn’t recognize the civilians, he did recognize the detective who sat across from them. It was Lane. Grant was looking into the Sullivans’ living room. And while he couldn’t see the device, Grant was willing to bet that there was a bomb rigged to blow somewhere in the house.
“If you don’t pick one, then they’ll both blow up.” Barry tapped the box, giggling to himself. “Clock is ticking, Detective.”
Grant pivoted between the two screens, his mind still wrapping around the impossible decision that had been thrust upon him.
“Mocks,” Grant said, his voice an unearthly calm. “Evacuate the Sulliva
ns out of their house immediately.”
“Copy,” Mocks said.
The clock ticked below fifteen seconds, and as Grant watched the screens, he knew that they wouldn’t be able to get the family out in time.
This was it. This was what Dennis had been leading him toward, and after everything Grant had seen, he knew there was no reason to doubt what Barry Finster had just told him. If Grant didn’t choose, then all of them would die.
Grant stepped toward Mary’s television. He dropped to his knees and hovered his palm over the red button. He glanced back at the clock, less than five seconds now.
Mocks was yelling something in his ear, but it was irrelevant because he could still see the Sullivan family seated in their living room. There just wasn’t enough time.
Grant was deaf to the world save for one voice, breaking through his doubts and hesitations. He looked away from the monitor with Mary Sullivan, the clock ticking below three seconds, and stared into the maddening eyes of Barry Finster, tears streaming down his face with a smile that exposed the satin lining of his gums, his laughter hysterical.
Dennis had been in control the entire time.
Grant pressed the red button, and in the same instant, Mary Sullivan’s screen cut to black and the clock stopped at one second. He kept his palm pressed down on the button, his blood frozen to ice as the SWAT team stormed inside.
Still cackling, Finster was tackled to the floor, restrained but not gagged. “He killed her! He fucking killed her!” And if the police hadn’t wanted Grant to do what he did, then they should have gagged him.
The SWAT team lifted Finster off the floor and moved him toward the door, but Grant cut them off before they made it outside.
Grant shouldered the SWAT members aside and slammed Finster against the wall, hands around the bastard’s neck, ramming his fist into that mouth still cackling with laughter.
