by James Hunt
Bloodied and still boiling with rage, it took half a dozen hands to restrain Grant. They thrust him outside, sunlight blinding him as he lifted a bloodied hand to block out the golden rays streaming through the treetops.
Numb, Grant stumbled toward the road clogged with emergency vehicles and personnel. Amid the bodies that Grant passed, an arm grabbed him and spun him around. It was Mocks.
“What happened?” Mocks asked.
Grant opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn’t speak the truth of what he’d just done. He’d fell right into the trap that Dennis Pullman had set. That skilled and practiced hunter had once again maneuvered his prey exactly where he wanted it to be.
Grant’s chest tightened, and he patted at the Kevlar that suddenly constricted him, and he ripped it off. He stumbled down the road, his breathing labored, his skin clammy and cold.
Mocks followed, peppering him with questions, wanting to know what happened and if he was hurt.
Grant collapsed to his knees in the middle of the road, drawing the attention of the surrounding officers, and gasped for breath. Mocks dropped to his eye level and placed her hands on his cheeks.
“Breathe, Grant,” Mocks said, breathing deeply. “Just breathe, partner.”
Grant mimicked Mocks, his chest rising and falling in the same rhythm as hers. After a few repetitions, he started to calm down, but that only hardened the horror of the reality of what he’d just done. “I killed her, Mocks.” He kept his voice to a whisper, suddenly light-headed.
“Everything is fine,” Mocks said. “It’s over. It’s done.”
But Grant shook his head. It wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
16
Dennis smiled when State Attorney General Jason Williams stepped into the holding room where they’d kept him all day. “Hello, Mr. Williams.”
“If I had known you wanted the needle so badly, Dennis, I could have arranged it for you without all of the pomp and circumstance.” Williams sat down on the opposite side of the table and slapped a file down between them. “Attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to assemble explosive materials, and one second-degree murder.”
Dennis brightened at the last charge. “So Mary Sullivan is dead. How is Mr. Grant handling the aftermath?”
“I think you should be more worried about how you’re going to handle the aftermath.” Williams clasped his hands together, his expression smug as he tilted his head to the side, addressing Dennis like a parent who had caught their children red-handed. “All the paperwork has been submitted, and I’m just waiting for confirmation from Judge Walmack about your immediate jump to the front of the line on death row.”
“I suppose you’ve finally got me then.” Dennis shrugged, but made sure not to expose his loose cuffs, which he kept hidden beneath the table. “It must feel good to do what your predecessor couldn’t accomplish. I’m sure putting away Seattle’s deadliest killer, again, will help propel you into some high political circles.”
Williams smiled, crossing his legs as he flicked a piece of dirt from beneath his fingernail. “It won’t hurt. But I think what I’m really looking forward to is the front row seat to your execution. I might even bring popcorn.”
Dennis nodded along as he laughed. “Yes. But, don’t you want to know how I did it?”
“No need.” Williams leaned forward. “We know about the letters. We figured out the cipher and those hidden messages. So I guess you’re not as smart as you think you are.”
Dennis’s smile slackened. “I would say the same for you, Counselor.”
Williams snarled. “I hope the moment that you walk out the door, they already have that needle ready for you. I hope that you don’t get a one more breath than is necessary to strap you down and pump you full of drugs until your heart stops.” He stood, the chair’s legs scraping against the concrete floor from the sudden motion. “Good riddance to bad eggs.”
Dennis watched Williams walk to the door and then cleared his throat. “But you still haven’t figured out how I’m going to escape.”
Williams paused. He turned slowly, smiling to himself. “I knew you were evil, and I knew you were crazy, but I didn’t think you were stupid.”
“Oh, I’m not stupid, Counselor.” Dennis shook his head. “I just thought you’d be curious to know how I’m going to do it.”
Williams laughed but returned to the table, standing behind the empty chair as he gripped the plastic back. “Okay, Dennis. Indulge me.”
“Well, the first steps of planning any escape is to determine what your obstacles are.” Dennis glanced around the concrete walls. “The most obvious are the levels of security.” He squint one eye shut, pretending to think real hard. “Three layers of security checks, each with their own individual keys, and each guarded by two armed jail officers, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Sounds like you have your work cut out for you,” Williams said.
“Oh, absolutely,” Dennis replied. “And of course, there are the escape protocols for any inmate that manages to get out of his cell. A special guard unit would be mobilized, wearing riot gear and armed with assault rifles, gas canisters, and flash grenades. They’d be aided by the control center, which monitors the dozens of security cameras throughout the prison, which would be used to track me down and neutralize my escape.” He frowned. “Funny enough though, there aren’t any cameras in this room. Which is why you wanted me in here in the first place, wasn’t it, Counselor?”
Williams’s face had slackened.
“Because you wanted to be able to ‘treat the witness as hostile.’” Dennis smiled, reveling in the counselor’s silence. “I suppose that one way to bypass some of those security measures would be to have someone on the inside who could help me. Someone who could walk among the other jail officers as one of them, shutting down certain systems along the way, neutralizing the guards at certain exit points.” He frowned. “But even if I made it out of the building, there would still be those pesky towers and the highly-trained snipers ready to take me down at a moment’s notice.” He nodded. “I guess I could utilize one of the armored buses that the prison keeps on site for emergency transportation. That might get me far enough out of the snipers’ range for me to get to the safety of the woods.”
“We checked the personnel files for every prison guard. They all came back clean.” The color in William’s face had completely disappeared at this point. When he finally spoke again, his voice was nothing but a raspy whisper. “You’re lying.”
“Maybe,” Dennis said. “And even if I did have someone helping me, there would still be the problem of me in this room with you and the chains that have me shackled to the floor.” Dennis raised his eyebrows. “But maybe after Nurse Mabel gave me my insulin, the jail officer who escorted her into the room didn’t close my shackles all the way. And maybe he put a small knife in my hand that I could use to kill the overly confident attorney who thought he had me dead to rights.”
Williams glanced down to Dennis’s lap, frowning, unable to tell if the cuffs were off.
“Curious, isn’t it, Counselor.” Dennis smiled. “Do you want to come and see for yourself?”
Williams glared at Dennis for a long beat and then stepped back from the chair. He narrowed his eyes, then scoffed. “Bullshit.”
Dennis laughed. “A man can dream, can’t he?”
Williams took a few more cautious steps toward Dennis but made sure to keep his distance. “No amount of fast talking is going to get you out of the injection table this time. You’re a dead man walking.”
Quick as a snake bite, Dennis snatched Williams’s wrist and stepped from around the table, twisting Williams’s arm and placing the blade to his neck as the shackles hit the floor.
Williams gagged and breathed sharply through his nose while Dennis kept his head back, exposing the soft flesh of Williams’s jugular.
“I’ve missed playing with lawyers. You always get so cocky when you think you have the upper hand.” De
nnis closed his eyes and inhaled the pungent scent of sweat and fear. He flashed his teeth in aggression. “And then you always wet yourselves whenever you’re placed in real danger.” He glanced down to Williams’s groin, disappointed at the lack of liquid. “Well, maybe we need to up the stakes.”
17
Grant stood off to the side, leaning back against a random squad car while Mocks, Hofster, and a few of the other bigwigs discussed what the Forensics team had found. Hofster had requested Grant not be privy to the conversation. When the meeting of the minds was complete, Hofster accompanied Mocks as they walked over to Grant.
“Five pounds of plastic explosives was strapped beneath the Sullivans’ living room couch,” Hofster said. “Bomb squad said it was wired to receive a radio detonation, and Forensics said it’s been sitting there for at least three days.”
“Do we know where Mary Sullivan’s remains are yet?” Grant asked, finding little comfort over the fact that he had been right about the bomb in the Sullivan household.
“An explosion was reported in the abandoned warehouse district in North Seattle,” Mocks answered. “We have a team en route, but I don’t see how it could be anyone other than her.”
“Two bombs, two detonators, and the timer rigged to blow up both,” Hofster said. “We’re still waiting on an official confirmation, but the bomb tech told me that it looked like both rigs were outfitted to the timer.”
“Which means that if you hadn’t acted, then the entire Sullivan family would have died,” Mocks said.
“I’ve never been much for consolation prizes,” Grant said. “What now?”
“The AG is finishing up Dennis’s paperwork,” Mocks said. “We should be able to get Dennis in front of a judge before the day’s over.”
“It’s ironclad,” Hofster said. “We have the letters marking him as the ring leader for the abductions, the explosives. It’s a done deal.”
Grant shook his head, remembering the promise that Dennis had made. “No. It’s not done. Not for him.”
Mocks stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Grant, what he did to you...” She cleared her throat. “You just need some time to decompress.”
“You need to move Dennis to solitary confinement, immediately. And don’t let the guards move him. Make sure it’s Seattle PD, or state troopers, anyone outside of that goddamn prison,” Grant said.
Hofster laughed, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. “Unbelievable.”
“He wants out, Chief,” Grant said. “It’s what he’s wanted from the very beginning.”
“Look,” Hofster said, pointing a hand at Grant. “I’ll give it to you that Dennis is smarter than the average criminal, hell, he’s probably a genius, but there is no way he’s going to break himself out of that prison.”
“What did Williams say about those personnel files for the guards?” Grant asked.
“He cleared them,” Mocks said. “No red flags. Not so much as an infraction. The warden runs a tight ship.”
Grant knew how he sounded. If he were in either Mocks or Hofster’s shoes, then he would have been just as skeptical. But all his instincts were telling him that he wasn’t wrong.
“What’s wrong with being careful?” Mocks asked. “If we’re wrong, then all that we’ll have done is put Dennis in a more secure cage.”
Hofster raised his eyebrows and sighed. “All right. I’ll make a call.”
Once Hofster walked away, Grant nodded to Mocks. “Thanks.”
“I told you I’d have your back,” Mocks said. “I meant it.” She leaned closer. “And what happened in that house, what you did, it won’t come back on you.” She patted her pocket, which held the memory stick of the body cam that recorded Grant’s entrance. “That video won’t see the light of day.”
But while Grant may not have had to worry about the public watching him make the hardest decision of his life, that didn’t erase what he’d done. He could try and convince himself that he didn’t have a choice, or there was no other way, or that he saved three people, but the truth was that he should have seen it coming. He should have known that Dennis would have something like this planned. He should have looked harder at the evidence, should have made the connection about the remote devices found at Finster’s house.
“Hey.” Mocks nudged his arm. “You’ll be all right. Just give it time.” Her phone rang and she picked it up. “Hey, Lane, we still don’t have an update on—” She frowned. “Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker.” She lowered the phone and held it out between her and Grant. “Okay, go ahead.”
“I just finished talking with Mr. Sullivan, and he told me that last month he and his wife had put in a new security system.”
Grant’s stomach bubbled with nerves.
“I did a quick background check on the security company, and I got the name of the tech that performed the installation, a guy named Nathan Miles. I did some more digging and found out that he also works at the Washington State Penitentiary.”
“Why wasn’t that flagged by Williams when he was going through the personnel files?” Mocks asked.
“That’s because three months ago, Miles transitioned to part time hours at the prison, and his employment status changed to contractor,” Lane said. “The prison isn’t required to keep files on contractors.”
“Good work, Lane. Keep me updated on what else you find.” Mocks hung up, and she followed Grant, who was already heading toward Hofster. “Chief!”
Hofster turned, lowering the phone from his ear. “What?”
Grant and Mocks skidded to a stop in the loose gravel. “Dennis has a man on the inside. Nathan Miles. He wasn’t flagged because he’s a contractor with the prison and they’re not required to keep a file on him.”
Hofster was stoic, the news permeating through the doubts, realization slowly spreading across his face. He then raised the phone to his ear. “Get me the warden.”
18
Dennis kept the tip of the blade pressed against William’s neck, the knife pricking a thin stream of blood that curved down the imperfections of the skin as it disappeared beneath the counselor’s collar.
“I tried to warn you, Counselor,” Dennis said. “Didn’t I?”
“This is idiotic!” Williams screamed. “You’re in the middle of a prison, surrounded by armed guards—” He yelped when Dennis brought the blade to his throat one more time.
“The world has always perceived greatness as insanity.” Dennis maneuvered both himself and Williams by the door, and Dennis kept Williams in front of him lest Miles couldn’t deliver and someone else walked through that door. “Shouldn’t be much longer now. And I think it goes without saying that if you scream, I’ll kill you.”
Dennis was so close, he could taste his freedom on the tip of his tongue. No more gray walls. No more restrictions. No more cage for him ever again. He was meant to be in the wild. He was meant to hunt.
The door swung inward and Miles stepped inside, dressed in his guard uniform and carrying a duffel bag that he dropped to the floor. He quickly closed the door.
“Any trouble?” Dennis asked.
“Cameras will come back online from auxiliary power soon.” Miles crouched low and removed two gas masks and two Kevlar vests from the bag, along with an assault rifle and two hand guns. He donned the vest, and then placed the mask over his face.
Once Miles was dressed, he loaded a magazine into the assault rifle and then aimed it at Williams while Dennis stepped from behind the counselor and donned his new attire.
“You won’t make it far,” Williams said, defenseless. “You’ll just end back up here in a cell, and then it’s back to the front of the line for death row. All you’re doing is buying yourself a little more time.”
Dennis secured the final strap on his Kevlar vest, then picked up one of the hand guns and walked over to Williams. “The only box anyone will ever put me in again is a coffin. And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.” He glanced down at the pistol, smiling. “Glock nine mill
imeter. Three internal safeties. Smooth trigger pull. Enough stopping power to bring down a body builder. One of these goes through you and you’re not getting back up.” He then glanced to the knife still in his hand, the side of the blade catching the light. “But sometimes the old ways are still the best ways.”
Dennis lunged forward with the knife, jamming the blade into Williams’s neck and sliding down along the carotid vein.
Williams immediately retreated, both hands clamped down over the wound, blood seeping between his fingers. He collapsed onto his back, gurgling for breath as blood pooled around his head.
Dennis walked over to the counselor, hovering above like an angel of death as Williams offered a few final spasms of life before his hands fell from the wound and he lay lifeless on the floor. “I’ve been waiting to do that for a very long time.” He dropped to a knee and then placed two fingers in the counselor’s blood before painting a red stripe down each of his cheeks. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, reveling in the scent of his kill.
“Dennis, we need to move,” Miles said.
Dennis pocketed the blade and used both hands for a better grip on the pistol. He stepped directly behind Miles and then tapped his shoulder.
Miles entered the hallway, moving efficiently and quickly with Dennis close behind. From behind Miles’s shoulder, Dennis saw the pair of dead guards on the ground by the first security marker. So far so good.
When Dennis had first began his relationship with Miles, he had started things slow. Got to know him. Learned who he was. And Dennis discovered that like most of the people who wrote to him in jail, Miles was just looking for a purpose. He wanted to serve something higher than himself. So Dennis had convinced the man to serve him.
Dennis had also suggested that Miles study martial arts and enroll in a few weapons courses, and as Miles scanned his security badge at the second checkpoint, stepping over three more bodies, Dennis was glad to see that Miles had taken his advice.
