by Terry Keys
Wilcrest looked down at the floor again in horror.
“Your wife can’t hear you now, but I’ll fix that here soon. The skin starts to burn at about one hundred degrees, but it’ll get uncomfortable long before that. At one hundred and sixty degrees . . . meh, let’s hope it doesn’t get that hot. There’s only one way out of this room—dig your way out. Those cinder blocks are about eight inches thick. You see the big red X on the wall? But there’s another catch. Before you can start digging, I’ll need a confession. Well. . . actually, your wife will need the confession.”
Wilcrest had already picked up the bar and hammer. “A confession of what?”
“I’m looking at your file here in front of me. Looks like you spent several years in the military. It appears to me you were deployed sometime during 1971. Sound right to you?”
“Yes. I proudly served my country. What about you?”
“You’re really good at the whole asking questions thing, but this is your game. Let’s focus on you, shall we?”
Wilcrest said nothing. He moved towards the X on the wall and raised the sledgehammer over his head.
“No, no, no. Remember, confession first or I gas the room and the game ends anyway.”
“What the hell do you want to know?” Wilcrest asked, doing his best not to panic.
“I don’t want to know anything. I have your files—your top secret files. You did some really bad things over there, ya know. Care to talk about any of it? I mean, Mrs. Wilcrest kinda deserves to know some of these, don’t you agree?”
Wilcrest fumed. He raised the sledgehammer overhead again and slammed it into the wall. A sliver of concrete flew back at him. Suddenly, he heard a muffled hissing. Then his feet tingled as the floor began to warm beneath him.
Caleb shook his head and opened the canister of Sarin. “Well now, it looks like you want to start early. You see that? Yeah, well, your wife can too. You both just got a small dose. You hit that wall again, and I won’t turn it off.”
Wilcrest dropped the tools and ran over to the monitor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Caleb, you’ve got my full attention. What do you want me to tell my wife? You want me to tell her I was forced to kill women? Yank families apart? You want me to tell her that I shot a kid once because he aimed a gun at me? You want me to tell her some of our commanding officers were raping Vietcong, and I sat back and said nothing? War is war!” Wilcrest yelled at the top of his lungs.
“Whew! Bravo, Captain. Bravo! You’re off to a great start! This is even better than I thought it would be. Hey, you mind taking a few questions? Okay, great. Tell us about the BDP. What’s the story there? The file I have is incomplete. Almost like it was erased. I haven’t quite been able to piece it together.”
Wilcrest said nothing. He stared down at the floor.
“You familiar with this BDP, Mr. Wilcrest?”
Wilcrest took a deep breath and began to talk. “BDP stands for the Binh Duc Project. Binh Duc was targeted by the US military as someone who was looking to marry off his daughter. He was sympathetic toward Americans. He was a high-ranking member of the Vietnamese army—”
“Beep, beep, beep. I apologize for interrupting. I forgot to mention that the floor you’re standing on is set on a timer that even I cannot stop. So if you want to get back to that wall, time is kinda of the essence. And go!”
Wilcrest shuffled his feet to avoid the heat beneath them and swiped away the beads of sweat that threatened to drip into his eyes.
“I befriended Binh Duc. I spent nine months with his family. I earned his trust—so much so that he asked me to marry his daughter and take her back to the US with me when I returned. I agreed. A ceremony ensued, and I moved in with his daughter. Over the next few months, I stole dozens of secret military files and other information that I turned over to the US government. Vietnamese officials found out, and Binh’s entire family, including his daughter Li, was killed. I went into hiding and managed to sneak out of the country.”
“Wow! What a story. What a revelation. And you two lovebirds? Says here you were married in 1969? Hey, Willy. Guess what? We have your wife mic’d up. Let’s hear from her. Say hi, Mrs. Wilcrest.”
“You are a disgusting human being,” Mrs. Wilcrest said. “I bet your mom is real proud of you.”
“My mom?” Caleb said. “Well, that’s a pretty sore subject for me. But yes, she was very proud of me. How about your mom Willy? You think she’d be proud to hear what you just heard? How about you? You pleased to find out Mr. Willy here had him a nice little Vietcong girl to pounce on every night while he was away from you?”
Wilcrest picked up the tools and started banging away at the wall. Huge chalky pieces began breaking off in chunks. Dust rose around him and choked him as he dug away. He used his hands to pry pieces loose, and his fingers were soon cracked and bleeding. As the floor beneath his feet grew warmer, Wilcrest shifted from one foot to the other, but he was barely able to move fast enough to keep the pain at bay. He looked at the softball-size hole he’d made in the wall. All that digging and clawing, and I’m only halfway there, he thought.
“Willy! Willy, stop!” Caleb yelled to Wilcrest, who was too busy pounding away at the wall to hear him. “Willy, can you hear me?”
Finally, Wilcrest slammed the tools onto the metal floor. “What do you want from me?” He yelled.
“Well, Willy, you must really love your wife. You played my game—and very well, might I add. Not many men would’ve told their wife of forty-plus years the things you did. I applaud you; really, I do. It doesn’t look like you’re going to make it through my wall, but due to some recent events—”
“Due to recent events what?” Wilcrest asked, hopeful again.
“I’m going to make you a new deal. You see, my wife is currently being held by guess who? That’s right, your dear friend David Porter. And you’re wife . . . well, she’s kind of tied up right now too. So . . . here’s what we’re going to do. The phone at HPD headquarters is ringing right now. I’m going to ask for David Porter, and when I get patched in, you are going to tell him to release my wife or both you and yours are going to die.”
Wilcrest shook his head. He loved his wife dearly, but he wasn’t going to make a deal with the devil. Who knew if he would really let them go anyway.
“When Porter comes to the phone, you’ll have one minute. No funny business either,” Caleb said.
***
“Hello, sir. This is Rusty Hargrove. I may have information on the big case you guys are trying to solve—you know, the cop killers? Your Detective Porter is working on that case. Is there any chance that I could speak with him?”
“I’ll see if he’s in, Mr. Hargrove.”
Caleb held the phone away from his mouth. “I’m not kidding, Wilcrest. No fucking games.”
“Detective Porter here. I understand you may have information for me, Mister. . .?”
“Mr. Caleb DeMornay.”
Porter quickly switched his landline to his cell phone and took off at a sprint to the situation room. Only a handful of agents still remained, but Hill and Baines were among the officers in the room. Porter put a finger to his lips to get everyone quiet and turned on his speakerphone.
“Hello? You still there?” Caleb called out.
“Yeah, I’m here. Caleb Crease? Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Cut the shit, Porter. You know exactly who I am. I killed your friend Tom Patton and the pretty girl . . . what was her name? Tess? That ring a bell? Oh yeah, I tried to blow your little girl’s face off too. You’ve kind of been trying to find me for a few days now.”
“What the hell do you want, Caleb? We caught Marci; we’ll catch you too. You need to turn yourself in while you still have the chance. Or is that why you’re calling?”
“Like hell I’m turning myself in. If you’re so good, why don’t you catch me? Speaking of having my wife Marci . . . I’m going to make you a deal. Actually, I’ll let someone else make it for me.”
W
ilcrest buried his face in his hands.
“Hey, Willy! You’re on, pal,” Caleb said.
“David, it’s me. Wilcrest.”
Porter’s heart sank. He swallowed hard. He picked up his phone and muted it. “Make certain this call is being recorded.”
“Cap, you okay? Where are you? Anything you can tell me about where you’re being held?”
“Gentlemen, did you forget that I can hear you? Willy, why don’t you explain our little deal so we can move on.”
“David, he wants to exchange Marci for us.”
Porter muted the phone again. “Hill, what’s our play here? Maybe we set up a fake exchange and ambush Caleb? Or maybe we make the swap straight-up to get Cap back?”
“Neither. We have to let this thing play out. We don’t negotiate with hostage-takers or cop killers. Won’t do it. You lose rank when you get kidnapped. You know that, Porter.”
Porter slammed his fist onto the table. “It’s freaking Cap! We do what the hell we have to do to get him back.”
Hill motioned for Porter to take the phone off mute. “This is Chief Hill, Caleb. HPD isn’t going to negotiate with you or any other cop killer. The only way this ends is you here with Marci, rotting in a jail cell.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong, friend. The only thing that is about to end is Willy’s life. And since you wouldn’t play nice, Mrs. Wilcrest is about to get the ax too. So, last chance. . . ”
Suddenly, Wilcrest starting rambling on the line. “David, I’m in a concreted room with heaters and metal—”
Caleb disconnected the line. “Willy, that was really, really stupid. Now go over to that monitor and watch. The picture was grainy, but Wilcrest could see his wife starting to react to the gas. Tears rolled down his face as his wife’s body convulsed, her eyes bulged. Old memories of their marriage flooded his mind.
Wilcrest turned away from the screen-Goodbye, my love.
“I’ll kill you for this!” Wilcrest yelled.
“Maybe from the afterlife, old man, but your time here is finished.”
Caleb flipped the heaters on full blast and turned on the gas in the room.
One minute. Two minutes. And it was done.
Chapter 47
I knew Hill had sealed Captain Wilcrest’s fate. Caleb couldn’t go around making idle threats. Deep down, I didn’t feel like Caleb would’ve kept up his end of the bargain anyhow. But it didn’t matter now. None of it did.
“Porter, I’m making the call on Wilcrest’s house. We know she’s in there. The goddamn blinds are all closed. I say we go in. Maybe she’s still alive,” Hill said.
“No. If he said to stay back, we risk not only her life but the lives of neighbors and officers. I can’t support that call.”
“Thanks for the input, but it’s the FBI’s call, and they decided five minutes ago that they were going in. We’ll have a team mobilized ASAP.”
I jumped to my feet. “You’re all going to regret this. This kid hasn’t made an idle threat yet. You’re going to have a lot of blood on your hands and a lot of explaining to do.”
I stormed out and made sure to slam the door behind me. As I marched down the hall, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Lafitte.
“Paul, please tell me you’re in Houston.”
“I am. Been here about an hour. Actually, I’m in Pearland. Signed a lease on an apartment here. Why? What’s going on?”
I filled Paul in on what was about to go down and sent him the address to Wilcrest’s home. Pearland was about thirty minutes from Angleton, driving the speed limit. I knew Paul would get there in twenty, maybe even fifteen.
Paul had been an Explosives Ordnance Disposal tech in the Army. Once an EOD, always an EOD. It was in his blood. If there was any trace of an explosive around that house, Paul would find it.
My phone was ringing again, but it was a number I didn’t recognize.
“Porter.”
“Hi. I’m looking for a Detective David Porter.”
“You found him. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
“This is Mrs. Carter. I believe you called me and left a message regarding a former student of mine.”
I sat up straight. “Yes, ma’am, I did. Caleb Crease. Do you remember him?”
“Caleb in some kind of trouble? Well, I guess he must be if you’re calling asking questions about him. Is there something specific you want to know?”
“When did you teach Caleb?”
“Caleb was in the fifth grade when I had him in my class.”
“Is there anything that stood out about him?”
“Caleb was a polarizing student. You don’t come across a child like that every day. When he was engaging with the other students, he was quite popular. Those times were infrequent, though. Most of the time, Caleb was a loner. He was a quiet kid. In my twenty-eight years of teaching, he was one of the brightest kids I ever came across.”
“I’ve spoken with a few other teachers. Seems to be the general consensus. His parents ever come around?”
“Hmm. . . you know, they didn’t—which I thought was odd, considering how smart the young man was. I’m pretty certain his mother was the only parent in his life. I have my students do an assignment every year describing their hero. Caleb did just the opposite. He was and has been the only student to ever turn in a paper describing a general hatred for his dad. Never said his name, but it was clear Caleb hated him. And I don’t use that word often, Mr. Porter.”
I thanked Mrs. Carter for her time and called Jen Felix. Jen was the HPD version of Fingers. Nice girl, but not in his league. I was hoping Caleb had been on the line long enough for her to triangulate his position.
“Jen, you got me an address yet?”
“Hello, Detective. I do. I gave it to Chief Hill a few minutes ago.”
“Okay, can you send it to my phone too? Thanks.”
I sent DeLuca a text telling her to meet me at my truck in five. I knew Hill and his gang would be heading out ASAP. I planned to beat them to the punch.
Chapter 48
Jen sent over the address, and DeLuca and I were en route to Midtown. Wilcrest had been my friend, mentor, and boss for nearly twenty years. It pained me deeply to think I’d be staring down at his lifeless body in a matter of minutes. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I struggled to keep myself in check.
“Why don’t you sit this one out?” DeLuca said, handing me a Kleenex she dug out of her purse.
I threw a glance her way and turned back to the road.
“Hey, you’re a tough guy. We all know that. No one would think twice about it. I sure as hell wouldn’t. We both know you’ll never get what you’re about to see out of your head—ever. Why do that to yourself?”
I didn’t respond. We pulled up to the address a few minutes later. Hill, Baines, and the crew already had the place roped off.
“So you’re not going to listen to me, eh?” DeLuca said.
I climbed out of the truck, ignoring her comment. I slammed the door and took a deep breath as Hill and Baines trudged in my direction. Here we go!
When Hill got close enough, I could tell he’d been crying.
He shook his head at me. “You don’t want to go in there.”
I walked up to him and put my hands on his shoulders. “I can’t not go in there. I owe him that much. Besides, I might see something that helps break the case, helps us find this kid before he hurts someone else.”
“We got him covered up now. I’m sorry about this, David. This is one of the worst days of my professional career.”
I nodded. I knew I’d lose it if I tried to say anything else. Every officer who came out of the building appeared shell-shocked and pale, their eyes focused on the ground. No one spoke. My agony increased with each passing moment, as did my anger. As I climbed the first step, a vice-like hand gripped my right arm. I stopped, wincing. It was Hill. “Listen, these last few days have been extremely hard on us all. I heard what you said back there, but what you�
��re going to see—”
I put a hand up to quiet him. “I have to go.”
I pushed the door open and hurried down a long corridor. Finally I saw the room that everyone had surrounded. I peeked in. There was a two way mirror in the room . So this sick asshole watched as Wilcrest took his last breaths. Took pleasure in it, I was sure. I opened a door that led into the room and stopped when it pushed open. I’d smelled burnt flesh dozens of times during my career. I didn’t have a weak stomach, but this time the smell just did something to me. I stood fifteen feet away from Wilcrest’s body.
“Porter?” I heard DeLuca call from the doorway.
I kept walking toward Wilcrest’s body. She called out to me again, but I was determined to see this through.
I knelt down beside his body and tears flooded my eyes. DeLuca joined me and placed a hand on my back. I grabbed a corner of the white sheet that covered him and lifted it. I stared in horror, and though I’d seen enough, my body froze. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t release my white-knuckled grip on the sheet. Finally, DeLuca put her hand on mine. She uncoiled my fingers one by one until the sheet fell free from my grasp and fluttered back in place.
I suddenly realized I was more angry than sad, which I knew had the chance of ending badly. For me it usually did.
“Porter, I know you’re hurting. But you need to breathe and try to calm down. You look like you’re about to snap someone’s neck off,” DeLuca said.
I took a deep breath. The best thing I could do for Wilcrest right now was to find Caleb before he struck again. And in order to do that, I’d need to stay out of jail.
I looked around the room. The forensic team had already dusted for prints.
“I’m fine. I need to step out and clear my head,” I said.
“Okay, well, I’m coming with you. Don’t need you doing anything stupid.”
I gave her a go-to-hell look and shrugged.
“Well, someone’s got to look out for you,” she added.
