Killer Pursuit: An Allison McNeil Thriller

by Jeff Gunhus

  It was no accident that he was regarded as one of the most respected crime reporters in the country. It was the result of incredible focus and intent. He knew that being around the same professionals tasked with taking him down was as dangerous as it was useful, but it gave him a thrill almost as strong as a kill. Almost. It was also a means to an end. By understanding the FBI’s latest technology, by knowing how they thought about cases, it made sure he stayed ahead in the game. The real breakthrough had been befriending Garret Morrison, the ego-driven head of the FBI profilers who liked seeing his name in print nearly as much as catching a bad guy. Hell, he loved it more than catching bad guys. It’d been so easy to get himself in Garret’s circle. A couple of puff pieces about how Garret was the mastermind behind the magic being done by the team he assembled and trained at CID. A couple of introductions to his friends at CNN so that any sensational murder ended with Garret’s mug being beamed into homes around the world. Even a ghostwritten book on Garret’s most interesting cases and how he was able to “read the minds of America’s worst killers.”

  Mike kept Garret close over the next decade, easily pumping him for information under the guise of researching their next book together. The most important intel was the information withheld from the public on each case, small details about a killer’s behavior or method meant to identify false tips and prevent copycat killers who replicated what they heard on TV. It was the perfect information for Mike. Once armed with all the details from Garret, Mike flew to another part of the country on the pretense of tracking down a story, and scratched his itch copying some other killer out there in the world who’d been too reckless and drawn the attention of the FBI. This way, if the body was discovered, the good folks at CID checked off their boxes and added one more body to the victim list on one of their ongoing investigations. It was perfect.

  Or, it had been perfect until the day Garret told him all about Suzanne Greenville, the other call girl with the video cameras. Over too much whiskey, when Garret got to talking the most, he’d shared the details of the murder scene and how the cameras had been set up. Together, they tried to guess which DC politicos were stupid enough to go to some woman’s house and pay for sex. Their conclusion: pretty much all of them. They mused about the power someone with those videos would have. The ultimate deck of cards to play with in a town where favors were never freely given.

  Mike had left the bar already sold on recreating the set-up and getting his own insurance policy. He had no misconception that if he made a mistake big enough to be caught outright then no amount of influence would save him. But he didn’t expect it would ever come to that. Still, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he might get connected to an investigation as a person of interest. If that were to happen, it would be important to have friends in high places. And if things got really bad and he needed a quick exit from the country, the higher the place the better.

  Finding a call girl willing to play ball had been easy enough. A pretty young thing he’d bumped into at a gala on the arm of a much older man. She pitched him on hooking up later that night. He took her up on it, but instead of going to a room at the Four Seasons, he took her out for coffee and a long conversation. By the end of it, Catherine Fews, the only name she ever gave him, was on board with his plan. He set her up with some money to rent the place in Georgetown and installed the camera himself. She already had a clientele, but mostly with older men whose days of real power were behind them. They didn’t do Mike any good. So, he started to subtly mention her name around town. Nothing obvious, just a word with the right people, a mention of an insane night he’d had with no strings attached. But then, because he was a creature of DC, he added that she wasn’t taking on anyone new. The best way to feed a frenzy among powerful people was to tell them about something they can’t have.

  For nearly a year, it’d gone great. Some of DC’s most powerful men, and a few women, had walked through the doors at the Georgetown address. And Mike’s insurance policy had grown in value. When Mark Summerhays had fallen into the web, especially given the man’s predilections, Mike couldn’t believe his good fortune. But once the polls started to show him as a front-runner for the presidential nomination, Catherine got nervous. And he didn’t like it when she was nervous.

  He always knew how it had to end, but he felt sorry to close the doors on their enterprise just when it was getting good. He supposed it was because it was the first business he’d ever started and he felt a certain amount of pride in a job well done. Still, he had more videos than he needed, and he could envision a scenario where someone in Summerhays’s inner circle tipped the Secret Service off to the existence of the Georgetown address. He wasn’t about to risk Catherine sitting in front of a secret service interview. So, she had to go.

  And that had been when the proverbial shit had started to hit the fan. Mike stood up from his chair in Allison’s hospital room and tossed the paper coffee cup in the trash, shaking his head at the mistakes he’d made from that point forward. It would have been so simple to send Catherine on a trip somewhere for a well-earned vacation and then have her never show up. But his ego had gotten the better of him. Pulling off a kill right in DC, on video no less, was going to be a thrill like no other. And they never really pinned Suzanne Greenville on Arnie Milhouse, so he planned to give them a new lead in that old case.

  The list of things he hadn’t counted on happening since then was getting long.

  The girl ripping off his ski mask. A second camera set up in the room. A professional hitman on the trail for the videos. Clarence Mason creating his own off-the-books investigation using his new hotshot agent, Allison McNeil.

  For someone who prided himself on carefully controlling all variables, it was almost too much to bear.

  I should just get the hell out of here, he thought, not for the first time. He could claim stress from the job, transfer his money overseas and just disappear. If things hit the fan over here, he’d read about it in some Internet café where he paid by the minute in some exotic currency.

  Allison stirred, eyes fluttering open, trying to focus.

  No, he would stick it out a little longer. All the loose ends might have been tied up just right after all. Natalie dead. Harris dead. The man’s laptop and the external hard drive were his now. So was Natalie’s laptop, which he’d recovered before setting fire to the Smith-Shelly House, destroying any backup copies Natalie might have made. The only missed opportunity was Allison. The local cops had burst through the back warehouse doors before he had a chance to confirm she was dead. The idiot Harris hit her twice in the chest, right in her vest. She’d lost a lot of blood from the gunshot to her leg and taken a nasty knock to her head when she fell, but she was alive. With so many locals, there was nothing he could do about it. The question was whether she had seen him kill Natalie or not. The look in her eyes when she saw him would tell him everything.

  He walked over to the edge of her bed and reached out for her hand. She opened her eyes and turned to him, blinking in recognition. She squeezed his hand weakly and smiled. It was the reaction he’d hoped for.

  He returned the smile and forced his eyes to water just a bit. It might have been too much, but seemed to work. Allison noticed and squeezed his hand tighter.

  As he thought through it all, he wondered if things weren’t going to work out just fine after all. He had Harris’s laptop and the backup disk. The girl’s laptop was stashed away, ready for him to pick up. If the videos were tied up, then he would live through this. And maybe a romantic relationship with the FBI’s rising star was exactly what he needed.

  Maybe things were finally back on track.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and softly gave Allison the sad news about Natalie Bain. When she cried, he held her in his arms and comforted her, told her that it was all over, that everything was going to be all right.

  And, he realized, he actually believed it.

  49

  The first call Allison made once her h
ead cleared was to her dad. He picked up after only one ring and his voice sounded firm and strong.

  “McNeil residence,” he said. It was the way he’d answered the phone her whole life. Something about it got to her and she teared up.

  “Dad, it’s Allison.”

  “Hon, you all right?” he asked. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  She couldn’t help the tears now. He was obviously having a good day, maybe one of the better ones he’d had for a while. She immediately felt a pang of guilt for not being with him.

  “I’m fine, Dad,” she said. “Just got caught up with work is all.”

  “Maria seems to think you’re in the hospital.”

  Allison groaned. She’d texted Maria earlier to make sure things were all right. She wasn’t supposed to mention anything to her dad. She didn’t want to upset him.

  “Yeah, nothing big though. Be home later tonight. We can hang out, all right?”

  “I’d like that,” he said. “Be like old times. I’ll have your mom cook up a couple of pizzas.”

  Allison felt her heart sink and she heard an edge creep into her dad’s voice. That anxiety that he knew something was wrong but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  “I haven’t seen her though,” he mumbled. “Must be picking Eddie up from school. Must be it,” he said. “Getting forgetful, you know, baby?”

  “I know, Dad,” she whispered, not finding the energy or feeling the need to tell him that his dead wife wasn’t picking their murdered son up from school. “I love you, Dad.”

  “Love you too, baby. Come home when you can. We’ll hang out, like you said.”

  “Will do,” Allison said, wiping tears from her cheek. “Can I talk to Maria please?”

  A rustling sound and then Maria came on the phone. “He was having such a good day. I thought he should know. I’m sorry if I––”

  The softness in the woman’s voice took the edge off her being upset. “It’s fine. Really.” She took a deep breath. “I’m just sorry I’m not there.”

  “There’ll be other good days,” Maria said quietly.

  But Allison knew they were already becoming infrequent and that there wouldn’t be that many more before her dad slipped away altogether. She felt a sudden urge to get home. “I’m taking a plane home, so I’ll be there tonight. Will you be there or someone else from the agency?”

  “I’ll be here,” Maria said, an offended tone in her voice, as if Allison were purposefully reminding her of her place.

  Allison picked up on it. It wasn’t her intention at all. “Good. He likes when you’re there. You’re good for him. Really good for him.”

  There was a long pause on the line and Allison thought perhaps the woman hadn’t heard her. She was about to ask if she was there when she replied.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  They said goodbye and hung up.

  She took a minute to get her thoughts together and then called Clarence Mason.

  “You’ve been busy,” was how Mason answered the phone.

  “I do what I can,” she replied, matching his tone. She’d thought a lot about Mason and what his role had been in her little adventure. Part of her still suspected the killer was one of his guys. If so, there were deaths to answer for.

  “I’ve spoken to the doctors up there,” he said. “I was ready to send a team up, but they assured me you were all right.”

  Allison slid off her bed so that she was sitting on the edge. Her leg was wrapped, making her thigh twice its normal size. Her head throbbed from where she’d struck the steel support beam and there were two massive bruises on her chest from the impact of the bullets on the vest. All of it combined together to make her feel like one giant ball of pain. That was especially true once she’d made them stop the pain meds a few hours earlier. She wanted a clear head to think things through. She was starting to wonder if that had been such a great idea.

  “You should try this some time,” she said. “It feels great.”

  “I’ve been there more than I want to remember,” Mason said, his voice drifting. “It’s hard, but we recover and move on.”

  She realized he wasn’t talking about her physical injuries anymore. She closed her eyes and saw Natalie’s frightened face staring back at her, begging for help, and had to shake her head to get rid of the image. She wondered at a career like Mason’s and how many ghosts like Natalie Bain he had circulating around him at night when his mind wandered into the past.

  “We have people up there now going over the scene at the quarry. The locals have been mostly helpful. I hear the sheriff is a character.”

  “Do you have an ID yet?”

  “Scott Harris,” Mason said. “We know him. He’s a fixer. International ties. Ostensibly consults on security issues, but several different parts of the community had active files on him. Let’s just call it a hunch that Uncle Sam may have had need of Mr. Harris’s talents on occasion.”

  “Did you send him up here?” Allison asked, deciding to go for the most direct approach. She wished she could see him to be able to read his body language, but she didn’t want to wait. She had to know.

  “No,” Mason answered, not even pausing to acknowledge the accusation. “But I have a good idea who did.”

  “Who?” Allison asked, excited by the idea of a lead to whoever was responsible for setting Harris into motion. Still, she tempered her excitement knowing that if Mason was the one who sent Harris, the best way to defer suspicion was to cast it in a different direction. “I want to be part of the investigation.”

  There was a muffled sound and Allison heard Mason talking to someone in the background. She strained to listen but couldn’t make out what was being said. When Mason came back on the line, he was distracted.

  “We’ll talk about it when you get back,” he said. “I sent a plane. And Allison…”

  “Yes?”

  “No reporters tagging along this time. I have enough trouble with Garret when it comes to that.”

  Before she could open her mouth to explain the circumstances that led to Mike Carrel being with her, the line went dead.

  She laid the phone on the bed and looked around the sparse hospital room. It felt far from home and, with her father’s condition, even home felt like a fading idea. She felt so alone, isolated from her colleagues in BAU because of Garret’s influence. She was on unsteady ground with Mason who she still didn’t quite trust. She found herself thinking of Richard, amazed that it was only two days ago that she’d laid flowers at his grave. She’d given everything to her job, and what had it given her? Heartbreak after heartbreak. She was surprised to find herself wondering whether it was time for her to leave the Bureau. She could find another way to make a difference. One that didn’t include all the petty politics and the rest of the bullshit.

  Mike walked into the room holding two sodas and two hot dogs in paper wrappers. “I didn’t know if you wanted anything,” he said, lifting up the drinks and food. “These are for me, but if you want me to get you something…”

  She grinned, feeling her melancholy and self-pity drain away. Maybe it was time to open herself back up again and see what might happen with this man who’d fallen into her life. At least he understood the horrors she lived with and the unique demands of her career. She returned Mike’s smile as he took a seat on the bed next to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, reaching out for what he’d offered her. “I think I will try something.”

  50

  Allison stared out the car window as a young agent drove her and Mike back out to the quarry. At night, the place had seemed imposing, like a set piece in a horror movie with gaping black windows and curls of barbed wire. By day, the place looked like a dump. Piles of trash littered the property. There was an impressive collection of dead refrigerators, ruined tires and scrap metal.

  Still, Allison had the chills as she passed through the doors into the main warehouse space, using crutches to take the pressure off her bandaged
leg. The scene was lit with portable klieg lights and the crime scene technicians were busy scouring the area for bullet casings and other forensic evidence.

  She’d been to enough crime scenes to know that while the crew would be thorough, there wasn’t the energy present that would be there if they were looking for a way to catch a killer. For all intents and purposes, this was a closed case. The bad guy was in a body bag at the morgue and there was no reason to suspect that he hadn’t been alone. Still, with the orders coming directly from Mason’s office, she knew the resources wouldn’t be pulled until the SAC, Special-Agent-In-Charge, felt he had done enough to make his boss happy. She wondered who was running the crime scene.

  “Un-fuckin-believable,” said a gruff voice behind her.

  She turned and nearly said the same thing. Garret Morrison hobbled toward her on a pair of crutches.

  “Garret,” she said, making it sound like a dirty word. “I didn’t know they were sending you.”

  “Someone has to clean up your mess,” he said, clearly not happy to be there. “Mason asked me personally. What’re you gonna say, right?” He turned to Mike and stuck out his hand. “You turn up in the damnedest places, Mike,” he said. “Couldn’t believe it when I saw your name on the prelim report.”

  Mike shook Garret’s hand. “Just following a story. I figured once it got good, you’d be put on it.”

  “Damn right,” Garret said, casting a look at Allison.

  When Garret looked away, Mike gave her a shrug as if feeling guilty for stroking Garret’s ego. Allison found it funny and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

  “But don’t know how the two of you managed to screw the pooch so hard, so fast,” Garret said. “Local girl dead. Local guy gone missing next town over. Probably dead. Bad guy dead. Can’t question a bunch of dead people, now can we?”