by Roger Hayden
Harris sat with a clearer head since the morning. “I’m sure it’s crossed your mind, sir, but I had an idea.”
“Oh yeah?” he said, typing. “What’s that?”
“Charles Knight, the retired detective. I’d like to speak with him.”
Star ceased typing and then turned to her, skeptical. “What do you expect to find out? Knight never solved the case. It’s picking up exactly where he left off.”
“I know that, sir,” she continued. “He must have some information that’s useful.”
Star nodded and then swung his chair back to his computer. “Just look at his files. It’s all there in Records. Better than having you out in the field… at least for a few days.”
Harris, however, wasn’t satisfied. “He could be the asset we need right now.”
Frustrated, Star slammed his hands onto his keyboard but remained facing his monitor. “He’s retired, Vanessa. And I don’t want to put him in any danger.”
“I won’t let that happen,” she continued. “I’ve already reviewed a dozen of his files this morning. The man was a good detective. He came closer to solving this thing than anyone else.”
Star swung around again to face her, looking as though he’d had enough. “Is that so? Think about this. Our bomb-making terrorist kidnapper had an informant in this very department only five years ago. We don’t know who’s watching us or how.” He suddenly paused and then sifted through the files on his desk, pulling the bagged letter out, its burnt edges as black as night. “Our culprit clearly wants to start this whole damn game of his all over again. Don’t you see that?”
“I’m aware of their tactics,” Harris said.
Star narrowed his eyes with a smile as he leaned back. “Ah. Their tactics. The two-kidnapper theory.” He then pointed at her with a pen. “I think you’re on to something, Detective. All we need are their descriptions and a license plate.”
“Sir, I’m requesting to speak with Charles Knight today.”
Star opened his mouth but was cut off before he could object.
“I’ve been reviewing files for the past hour. I need to do this. At least afford me the chance to find him. He was involved in the kidnapping cases dating back to five years ago.”
Star studied her for a moment with an expression that was hard to read. His office phone suddenly rang as he leaned forward and pressed the speaker button. “Go ahead, Shelly.”
“Sir, a man from the Bureau wants you to call him back immediately after the press conference. I’m sending the number over. Dana Parker also made several calls today, demanding an update on her daughter.”
Harris tensed up at the mention of Dana’s name. When she and Felder had last seen the Parkers, they had left the house promising to come right back. Then everything that had happened had left Harris a functional wreck. She tried to shake the feeling that she had let the parents down, but she didn’t know much more about the case than she had the day prior. The kidnapper was a serial predator with a partner, he or she had an in-depth knowledge of explosions, and they showed no signs of slowing down.
She imagined that the girls were being held at a secluded location, hidden from the open. They knew the area well and knew how to stay hidden. Ruling out financial gain as a motive, she wondered just what they were after, although the worst motives also seemed the most likely. Some people just liked to do evil things. It was as plausible a reason as any.
Captain Star resumed typing while ending his speaker call. “I’m on it, Shelly. Let me finish up here. Thanks.” Hanging up, he glanced up at Harris again, shaking his head, resigned. “Okay… you want to talk to Knight, go ahead. They should have his address and contact info in Records.”
Harris jumped up from her seat, excited. “Thank you, sir.”
“But don’t spend all day on it. Call him on the phone if it helps. No need to devote resources tracking down retired detectives.”
“Yes, of course. May I see the letter too?” She held her hand out, waiting.
Star glanced at the evidence before him and then reluctantly gave it to her. “Be careful with it.”
She thanked him again and turned to leave. Once at the door, he called out to her as she paused.
“There’s a manhunt for these people,” he continued. “Two males, I’m assuming, but you never know.”
“I hope they receive the full justice from the law,” Harris responded. She tried to avoid mentioning the lieutenant. The situation was bad enough. Felder deserved a posthumous award of the highest merit. She was sure that the captain agreed. For now, they had to focus on finding the culprits. “I miss him already…” she said, hand on the door. She sniffled and quickly wiped away the tears.
“Me too,” Captain Star said sadly. “Now get out of here.”
Harris left the office without another word. The line of cubicles outside were full of investigators and other staff, pacing around with phones to their ears. The scene resembled a newspaper office just before press time. Of course, the local media wouldn’t be too far behind in reporting their every move. All eyes were on Melville County PD. Harris hurried to her corner office, drowning the noise out as she closed the door.
She twisted the interior blinds closed and plopped down at her desk. The walls of the small office enclosing her were mostly bare, with a few framed plaques and certificates hanging near the desk. Harris was never one for decorating. Her desk was a scattered assortment of files she’d been reviewing all morning. It was close to noon, and she needed to get moving. Unbeknownst to Captain Star, she had already gotten Charles Knight’s number and address and had planned to call him after their meeting.
She shifted her rolling chair forward, pushing files to the side to make room on her desk. She placed the letter squarely in front of her. Just the sight of its childish wording motivated her. Forensics’ review of the recovered Oldsmobile found all the elements of bomb-making but little else. It was clear that they wanted the car decimated along with whoever opened the trunk. Harris was determined to prevent it from happening again.
She flipped open her notepad where she had scribbled Knight’s information. Her computer pinged with email notifications that she ignored. Nothing was more important than making the call. She lifted her phone’s receiver and dialed with her heart beating rapidly. A few rings later, a woman’s voice answered.
“Yes, can I speak with Charles Knight, please?” Harris asked, pen in hand.
“Charles?” the woman said. “Yes, I suppose. Who’s calling?”
“My name is Detective Vanessa Harris with Melville County Investigations. Something has come up, and I’d like to talk to him for just a minute.”
The woman paused, and in the empty silence, Harris wondered if she had hung up.
Then the woman took a breath. “What is this pertaining to?” she asked cautiously.
“A new case. I’ve been reviewing some of his old files, and I believe he can offer some insight.” She suddenly heard some side chatter between the woman and the distant voice of a man.
“She says that she’s with Melville County Investigations,” the woman continued, clearly cupping the phone. “Detective Harris?” Footsteps approached as someone took the phone and spoke. “This is Charles Knight. What do you want?”
Harris sat up straight. “Mr. Knight, hello. I’m Detective Vanessa Harris. Do you have some time to talk?”
“Not really. No,” he said bluntly.
Nervous laughter followed from Harris as she continued. “Even better. Would you like to meet somewhere?”
“I don’t think you heard me,” he said. “I’m not interested. Leave me alone.”
“They’re back,” Harris said, urgently. “The kidnappers. They even mentioned you in a letter.”
“They?”
“I’m pretty sure there are two of them.”
“Ah…” he said, sounding impressed. “Well. I wish you the best of luck in finding them.”
Harris gripped the phone, determined. “We h
ave to meet. Please. There was a car bomb just last night. It killed our lieutenant. You can help me, please. Five minutes of your time.”
A long pause followed. He eventually responded in a quiet tone. “I just saw that on the news. Seemed familiar.” There was a squeaking sound, as if he might be sitting down, and then he continued, almost painfully it seemed. “You’re dealing with an intelligent psychopath, or two of them, as you suggested.”
“When can we meet?” she asked, persistent.
“We can’t,” he said, hanging up.
Harris held the phone to her ear as the dial tone buzzed. But she wasn’t ready to give up. Knight’s refusal to meet with her rang hollow. He wanted the case solved as much as she did. He had to. She searched his address and found that he still lived in Melville, roughly twenty miles from the station. She could easily drive there. She might get turned away and have the door slammed in her face, but there was also the chance that he would talk. And it was a chance worth taking.
17
Detour
Crime scene tape extended from one light pole to the other in a square formation. The charred, warped frame of the Oldsmobile was in full view with scattered bits of glass, metal, and wires surrounding it. The back of the car had been nearly destroyed. The front end was still intact for the most part, burnt from the fire but not hollowed out like the rest of the car. A few forensics investigators were on the scene, carefully examining the car’s exterior shielded under a makeshift canopy, put up for privacy and shade. Others collected pieces of the pressure cooker found at distances of a hundred yards from the blast.
Local news vans populated a safe distance from the blast site, with several reporters on the scene. The connection between the deadly car bomb and the kidnapping of Crystal Parker hadn’t been officially established, but that was soon to change. Chief Jenkins was to call a press conference within the hour to provide details on the parking lot bombing. The governor himself was expected to be on the scene.
Detective Harris parked her department Ford Taurus next to the forensics van and got out. The air smelled of burnt metal. The lot had been sealed off to the public, and the Try N’ Save was closed as a result. Passing traffic slowed as commuters inevitably gawked at the explosion site. The forensics team wore surgical face masks, blue jumpsuits, and latex gloves. Harris was dressed in her usual business clothes.
She wasn’t about to begin crawling on the blackened pavement near the car, picking up fuses and wires. She simply wanted to see the aftermath of her horrific experience. Little had been discovered about the car beyond what they already knew. The license plate had been removed before the car had been discovered. Harris assumed that it was stolen. A search through the database of stolen vehicles would help narrow it down to a geographical location.
The director of the crime lab, Lieutenant Edwin Woods, noticed her approach while taking pictures of the car. He was their resident expert on explosives and forensics. “How can I help you, Detective?” he said through his surgical mask. She recognized his full-rim glasses and gray-speckled hair brushed to one side. “You should really be wearing one of these,” he continued, pointing to his face mask. “Good deal of toxins still in the air. Nothing to create a public scare, though.”
“I won’t be here long,” Harris said, staring at the car. “Just stopped by for an update.”
The Oldsmobile tilted up at the front in an angle, its back section largely absent. The rear tires were lying at least fifty feet away, blown off. Thick ash littered the pavement all around them with footprints tracked through it. From the pulverized remains of the car, Harris thought it fortunate there hadn’t been more injuries or deaths from shrapnel alone. As she looked to the area far behind the car where Felder lay the night before, she tried to contain her emotions. Woods noticed and placed a gloved hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry about the lieutenant. He was a class act. Such a bright future.”
Harris bit her bottom lip and thanked him; she wasn’t the only one hurting.
Woods removed his hand, turning toward the blast site as he switched gears, back on the job again. “Our perp understands bomb-making very well. Each of the six pressure cookers were packed with enough explosives to take out a tree stump. About two hundred pounds of good old-fashioned black powder was rigged to detonate upon breaching the trunk.”
Harris swallowed and then wiped the building tears from her eyes. “They wanted us to open the trunk. Left the key right for us.”
Woods nodded. “Sure seems that way. A hot car parked out in the open like this. Offered the perfect distraction.”
“A witness said she saw two individuals leave the scene in a van,” Harris said. “Blue van with white lines running on the side.”
Woods pulled his surgical mask down, seemingly to get some air. “If you come across that van, make sure to tell us first. Take no chances.”
Harris glanced toward her feet, where a broken piece of the bumper lay. Nothing in her career had even come close to such devastation. She wished there could have been another outcome. She wished they would have just gone out for a bite like Felder wanted to. Other detectives could have handled the case. They were almost off the clock anyway. She was going to miss him. The full weight of her loss hadn’t been realized yet, but she could feel a breakdown on the horizon. Lieutenant Woods noticed her troubled expression and distant stare and asked how she was holding up.
“Hanging in there,” she replied. “Really want to catch the bastards who did this.”
“We all do,” Woods added. “We’re doing our best to gather all the evidence we can to trace the material used in the bombs.”
“Are we dealing with terrorists?” Harris asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine. This was no haphazard operation though,” Woods said. “And how would kidnapping figure into a terrorist plot?”
Harris surveyed the destruction in silence as Woods excused himself and joined his team near the car. She stayed behind the crime scene tape and took everything in, from the noxious smells to the remnants of the burnt vehicle. She paced back toward her own car, holding her cell phone against her ear, having just made the call. An unsuspecting and familiar voice answered. “Hello?”
“Detective Knight?”
A pause followed as he sighed.
“You again? Look, I told you I wasn’t interested. If I had caller ID on this thing, I wouldn’t have answered.”
Harris had to smile at the prospect of anyone still using a landline telephone. In this instance, it had worked in her favor, but Knight’s patience was nearing the end.
“I’m at the blast site right now. Six, count them, six pressure cooker bombs with no less than two hundred pounds of explosive material. Our lieutenant is dead. Two of my friends are in the hospital. It’s a miracle any of us survived.”
“Detective Harris…” he began, trailing off.
“And there’s still a girl missing,” she continued. “You must have heard about it on the news by now.”
He didn’t say anything right away but was still there as she made her way to the car. “I have heard,” he said. “But what do you want me to do about it? I can barely get around these days. I never solved the case. What could I possibly offer you?” He had a point, but Harris nevertheless wanted him involved. He had dealt with the kidnapping, bombing, murdering low-life who had murdered her friend and long plagued the town.
“Can I be honest with you, Detective?” she asked.
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“I don’t have all the answers yet. I feel like this person feels a connection with you. Your involvement might draw them out of the shadows and propel them to make a mistake.” She opened her car door and could hear the stunned indignation before he even spoke.
“Are you kidding me? I haven’t heard from that psychopath in years, and I’d like to keep it that way. You think I would do anything to put myself or my wife in danger?”
Harris sat behind the wheel and started the i
gnition. “I’m coming over.”
“No,” he said, growing desperate and angry by her persistence. “Now’s not a good time.”
“Five minutes with you, Detective,” she said. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”
He said nothing, as though hanging up on her was futile. “If you’re going to drive out here, we can make it ten. But only because my schedule is currently open.”
Harris smiled and thanked him as she drove off, circling in the opposite direction. The mostly-empty parking lot was in her rearview mirror as she neared the intersection. She turned and caught one last glimpse of the smoldering wreckage that had nearly cost her life. There was no question about it. She wouldn’t be able to stop until she caught the monsters. It was her mission for as long as she had a badge.
Part of her wanted the sole responsibility but once the federal agencies got involved, she’d have less control than now. She’d be reduced to the role of an adviser or assistant with the case. Terrorism was nothing to take lightly. The area would be on lockdown, in addition to checkpoints and barricades already being set up throughout town. A manhunt was underway. No updates were being reported over the radio. Harris’s phantom devil was out there, elusive as ever.
* * *
The first thing Detective Harris noticed when she pulled into the driveway was the big palm tree in the center of the freshly-cut lawn. Detective Knight lived in a pleasant suburban neighborhood. Homes stretched for miles, populated by other retirees. A golf course existed just over the hills. Things were quiet here, and it seemed largely protected from the growing danger facing the those outside. Harris knew, however, that no amount of manicured grass and tranquility offered any real safety.
For the time being, no one was safe. There was a single Jeep parked in the driveway in front of her. The garage had a large screen where its opening was. Inside, she saw what resembled a rec room with card tables and a small billiards table. There were fishing poles in the corner and a kayak on the ground. Retired life looked pretty good.
