Killer Pursuit: An Allison McNeil Thriller

by Jeff Gunhus

  He walked back to where Garret stood, reviewing his notes.

  “Ready when you are,” he said.

  “McNeil, huh?” Garret asked, looking a little disgusted. “How long has that been going on?”

  “Met her yesterday.”

  “No shit,” Garret said. “And see what kind of trouble you got yourself into? I’d watch your step with that one.”

  “How’d that go for you?” Mike said, nodding at Garret’s leg.

  “Screw you,” Garret said. “Come on, we need to fill out some paperwork. Let’s walk through from the beginning.”

  Mike followed Garret back through the warehouse and out to the front door. They went through Mike’s side of the story step-by-step, comparing it to his written statement, making clarifications and adjustments where needed. Afterward, they worked out together the sequence of how Harris shot Allison and then Natalie in the head, Mike claiming that the whole thing was a blur to him. It was a perfect case of confirmation bias. Garret knew with certainty that Harris had shot both Allison and Natalie, so every piece of evidence fit into that scenario. Mike almost had himself convinced that Harris had done the deed instead of him.

  Shortly after Allison left, Mike excused himself to check his phone messages. Instead, he activated the Find My Phone app and waited as the map loaded. He only had a single bar out there so it loaded slowly, but when it finally did, it showed a blue dot traveling along the main highway. God, he loved technology. All he had to do was drop one of his phones into Allison’s bag when he carried it around for her. It was a simple enough explanation when she found it there later, an oversight on his part, no more. But until then, he had real-time intel on her location.

  While he finished up with Garret, he sneaked glances at the app, watching the blue dot stop at the local general aviation airport where Garret had told him Allison would be catching her plane. Then fifteen minutes later, the dot moved again, this time faster and not following any roads. She was on the plane and out of his hair. After a while, the dot disappeared as the plane ascended out of cell phone range.

  “Do you need me here anymore?” he asked Garret finally.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Garret said.

  Mike froze. Garret’s voice had turned hard and serious. Something was wrong. Mike slowly turned, ready for anything. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  Garret stared him down for a beat. “I think you know.”

  Mike resisted the temptation to look around for possible escape routes. He knew he had to remain calm until he knew how bad it was. He searched his mind for what mistake he’d made. Had he missed a surveillance camera on the old building? Did Allison actually see him finish off Harris and Natalie and the whole thing in the hospital and there at the factory had just been an elaborate set-up? Mike felt his heart pound. Garret’s expression turned smug, as if the guy knew he had him dead to rights.

  “I can’t believe you thought you’d get away that easy,” Garret said.

  Mike squared his shoulders to him. If this was how it ended, he would go down fighting. He said nothing as he stared Garret down.

  Garret matched him, eyes locked. Then, unbelievably, he burst out laughing. “Shit man, you should see your face. You look so damn serious. You’re not getting out of here without hitting the bars with me tonight.”

  The enormous weight of thinking he’d been caught fell off his shoulders and he nearly gasped at the feeling. He disguised it with a laugh of his own to match Garret.

  “Thank God,” he said. “I thought you meant more paperwork. Drinking beers is something I can get behind.”

  Really, the last thing in the world he wanted to do was tie one on with Garret that night. But he needed to keep Garret close, especially since he felt threatened by his new relationship with Allison.

  But Mike had a few loose ends to tie up first. And he needed to do those on his own.

  “So hell yes, we’re drinking tonight,” Mike said. “If I ever needed a friend to talk to, it’s now,” he said, worried he might be laying it on a little thick.

  But he needn’t have worried. Nothing was too thick for Garret, who nodded knowingly. “I’ve been there, man. Pulling the trigger, even when it’s a bad guy, it stays with you. It’s good to get it all out.”

  Mike hated the idea of all the drunken hours of fake emotion he was going to be required to display that night. It sounded exhausting. But he knew it had to be done.

  Just like recovering the laptop and hard drive had to be done as well.

  “I’ll call you in an hour or two to hook up,” Mike said. “I just need to mop up a few things in town. Research, mostly.”

  “I thought you told McNeil you weren’t going to file an article,” Garret said, grinning like a fool, pleased to think he was back on the inside.

  “I’m not. But I didn’t say anything about a book. This has New York Times bestseller all over it,” Mike said. “I imagine there’s a role in it for you, coming in at the end to clean up the mess left by the young, inexperienced agent.”

  “Ohh, she’s going to hate that,” he said, obviously pleased.

  “By that time I’ll have gotten what I need from her and she’ll be an ex-girlfriend, so it won’t matter, right?”

  As Garret laughed, Mike felt a wave of scorn for the man. He was so petty and predictable that getting on his good side was child’s play. They parted ways with Garret still chuckling.

  Mike walked back through the warehouse, looked around to make sure he was alone, then pulled aside a metal cover and reached into a small gap in the wall. He extracted the hard drive and thumb drive he’d found on Harris’s body in the quick search he’d performed as the sheriff and his rag-tag posse closed in on his location. There had been a few nervous minutes when Mike thought the police might search him as a precaution. If they found the hard drive, and if it had on it what he thought it did, then it was game over. Luckily, with Sheriff Frank vouching for his identity and with Mike’s Oscar-worthy performance of worry for Allison, they left him alone. In the confusion when the helicopter landed to transport Allison, he’d been able to slip away and stash the drive. Now, with it safely in his pocket, he breathed a little easier.

  Mike climbed into Allison’s car and checked his iPhone again. The Find My Phone app searched for a few seconds and then the map shifted over to Washington DC and pinged a blue dot at Reagan National Airport. Mike checked his watch, impressed with how fast Allison had made the journey. He guessed the director hadn’t sent an old single-prop Cessna to pick her up. Must be nice.

  As Mike pulled out of the gravel parking lot, the wheels crunching through the stone, he relaxed a little. Allison was out of the picture. Garret was in control of the crime scene and one hundred percent bought into his version of events. The only copies of the videos were in his possession and Harris was taking the blame for everything: Catherine Fews/Tracy Bain, burning down the Smith-Shelly House, Natalie Bain. All of it. Mike tried to forget the worry and fear he’d allowed into his life over the last week. Now, it just smelled of weakness, the exact opposite of how he was supposed to feel. He was a god, walking among normal men but also above them. A shadow. A nightmare. And it was time he goddamn remembered that.

  He waved at the officers blocking the main entrance to the quarry and they let him through. There was media all over the place with small-market reporters doing their one-shots with the quarry sign behind them and satellite vans with their transmission poles reaching up into the sky. Having the local yokels be the first on the crime scene all but guaranteed nothing would remain a secret. But these were still locals and Mike didn’t spot anyone he knew. That would come later. In the world of the twenty-four hour news cycle, the cable shows would have their anchors crawling through the underbrush trying to sneak a peek soon enough.

  All the more reason to recover the laptop and get out of town as soon as possible.

  If he hadn’t felt so confident, he might have noticed he wasn’t going about his errands alone. A si
ngle car, so far down the road that it was hard to even see it, pulled onto the road, kept its distance and followed him into Harlow.

  52

  Mike parked the car half a block away from the charred remains of the Smith-Shelly House. There were uniformed men digging through the rubble, the fire inspection team he imagined, but he didn’t worry about what they would find. His story checked out. Hell, he’d even dragged a few people out from the fire and got to play hero. Everyone accepted that Harris had set the fire so when they discovered evidence of arson, it would fit the story. The fire inspectors looked busy and he doubted they would be an issue as he recovered the laptop. Still, he watched for a couple of minutes to get an accurate headcount and see what they were up to. While he waited, he pulled out his phone and called Allison. She answered on the second ring.

  “How was the flight?” he asked.

  “Private jets are the only way to fly,” she replied.

  “Just become the director of the FBI and you can use it whenever you want,” he said, getting out of the car, sliding his computer bag over his shoulder and walking toward the Smith-Shelly House. He looked at the Find My Phone app and saw the blue dot still at the airport. It’d been there for a while, which was strange. He stopped walking. “What are you doing now? Going home?”

  “No, Mason wanted to see me right away so I’m halfway to downtown,” she said.

  Mike frowned, staring at the blinking blue dot at the airport. She was lying to him. But why?

  “Are you there?” Allison asked.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” Mike replied. He kept staring at the blue dot. If she was lying to him about where she was, then maybe she suspected something. “How’s traffic?” he asked, trying to draw her out.

  “Shitty. And get this,” she said. “I left my bag on the plane, so I’ve got to figure out how to get that later. One of those days, right?”

  Mike felt the tension release from his shoulders. Such a simple explanation. There was nothing odd going on. She’d just left behind her bag and the phone he’d stashed in it was all. A certain level of paranoia was healthy, but he felt himself dancing on the edge of what he considered an acceptable level. He needed to get a better grip on himself.

  “One of those days,” he agreed. “I’m staying up here one more night then driving back down.” He paused for effect. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

  There was an equally long pause on the line, then a soft reply. “Me either. Call me when you get into town.”

  They said goodbye and Mike felt the old confidence refill his veins. He was back in control. If anything, after a little more distance and time, he might look at this as his most impressive kill yet. To dance so close to discovery and still get away had been terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. It was the reason he’d killed Tracy Bain in front of a camera instead of in some empty field to begin with. But while it was exciting, it’d been too reckless. Discreetly killing Tracy, stashing her body and keeping the videos for a rainy day would have been the smart play. But he’d justified what he’d done with the idea that the murder scene would reopen a cold case and lead the police down a dead end. If he was being honest, all that was really just a pretext for him to live on the edge. And it was the exact kind of behavior he’d always hated in those who needed publicity to feel the rush.

  His heroes, the killers who operated in the quiet dark alleys of cities, in the abandoned warehouses, in the truck stops crawling with runaways and prostitutes, the ones who went on and on without needing the fame, they would be ashamed at his grandstanding. As he walked past the burned-out husk of the house he’d torched the night before, he resolved to return to his roots and bask in the purity of his kills, not the thrill of evading capture.

  The shed was a good fifty yards from the main house and tucked into the woods that backed the property. It was the perfect find when he’d searched for a place to stash the laptop after escaping the fire. He imagined the investigators had given the place a quick once-over just to be thorough, but there was no reason to think the place held any clues, so he wasn’t worried that it would have been turned upside down. Still, walking up to the shed, he was relieved to see that it looked undisturbed.

  He opened the door and stepped inside. There were windows on two walls so there was plenty of light, more than there had been when he’d hidden the laptop. He moved a couple of ladders and wheeled the push lawnmower out from the back wall. He tipped it and reached underneath where, lodged under the mower blade, was Natalie Bain’s laptop.

  He pulled it out and wiped the dirt off its smooth metal casing. He slid it into his computer bag. Even if someone stopped him, he was just a reporter carrying his work laptop. With a quick look out the windows, he opened the shed door and stepped outside.

  And came face-to-face with Special Agent Allison McNeil.

  53

  Allison saw Mike’s eyes flash to the gun in her shoulder holster. Wearing it without a jacket to cover it up was a conscious choice, as was the decision not to pull it on him. She trusted her intuition to get her this far and she wasn’t going to stop now. The pit in her stomach that had been forming since she’d walked the crime site was like a living thing now, clawing at her insides as emotions fought for prominence. Anger. Betrayal. Even sadness. The only emotion apparent on Mike’s face though was embarrassment.

  Mike hung his head. “You caught me,” he said. “I have no excuse.”

  “Natalie’s laptop?” she asked, nodding at his bag.

  He nodded. “Videos of a presidential front-runner with a call girl. And the video of her killer. Do you have any idea how big that story is?” he asked.

  Allison watched his body language closely. Cataloging every look, every movement of his hands. “You interfered with a federal murder investigation,” Allison said. “Do you have any idea how serious that is?”

  Mike held his hands out wide and took a step toward her. “I’ll give it to you that maybe I went too far––”

  “Too far?”

  “OK,” Mike said, taking another step closer. “What I did was wrong. But what you were about to do was wrong too.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Think about it,” Mike said. “You were working this case off the books for the director of the FBI. What do you think would have happened to the videos if you gave them to Clarence Mason? You think he’d lock them up in an evidence drawer? No, he’d use them. Just like he’s been using you.”

  Mike took another step.

  “I hurt you,” he said. “I can see that. I broke trust with you and I can’t ever repair that.” He touched the computer bag. “But this story is too big to get buried. And that’s exactly what would have happened if I hadn’t done my job.”

  “You went to Natalie’s house, found her laptop and then set the fire to cover your tracks?” Allison’s voice caught in her throat. “A woman died that night.”

  “The fire?” Mike asked. “I didn’t have anything to do with that. Harris did that. You have to believe me. I went too far, I get that. But I’m no monster.”

  “What do you expect me to do now?”

  “Just take a second,” Mike said. Another step. “That’s all I’m saying. Let’s think this through. Not make any decisions right now.”

  “I don’t know,” Allison said, trying to appear indecisive when all she wanted to do was take a swing at him. It’d been a risk coming alone to confront him, but involving Garret would have just muddied the waters. She didn’t need him falling over himself to take Mike’s side. Or worse, if Mike was the killer, Garret would just end up tipping him off that she was suspicious because he’d never believe it without hard evidence. And that was the one thing she lacked. Besides, she’d been the one gullible enough to bring Mike along on this investigation. The responsibility to figure out what his real role had been was hers alone.

  Mike smiled and took another step closer. “Let’s just talk this through.”

  She nodded.

&n
bsp; “That’s good. I’ll take that,” he said. “We can sort this out.”

  Another step.

  “Consider both sides.”

  Another step, so that he was right in front of her. His eyes flashed to her gun again. The moment of truth.

  “Think through all the options,” he said. “Including the option that you’re just not nearly as smart as you think you are.”

  He dropped to a knee and punched her in her leg wound.

  Hard.

  The pain was like being shot all over again, white hot, so intense that the scream that came from her mouth felt like it might strip out her throat.

  But her scream cut short when his hand clamped down over her mouth.

  Her brain told her to fight back, but for that moment, the pain washed out everything else in the world. She gasped for air from behind his hand. Her eyes streamed with tears and the world pulsed around her.

  There was pressure on her shoulder.

  He was going for her gun.

  She tried to throw an elbow into him but she was off-balance and missed. Unexpectedly, he let go of her and she spun from her momentum and fell to the ground in a heap.

  When she looked up, the barrel of her own gun was pointed at her head. On the other side was a man she hardly recognized.

  Wild. Crazed. Insane.

  His eyes burning with contempt and hatred.

  His face contorted like a mask twisting in on itself.

  “It was you,” Allison said, catching her breath. “The entire time. It was you.”

  Mike looked over her shoulder, checking for backup. Not seeing any, he grinned at her.

  “You killed Tracy,” Allison said.

  “I like to think of her as Catherine Fews,” he said. “It’s how I knew her best.”

  Allison watched carefully as he paced in front of her, keeping the gun level. His initial surge of energy was giving way to agitation. She didn’t have long and she needed to know everything before it ended.