by C. M. Sutter
“I don’t know and probably won’t ever find out. What I do know is that Darryl Sims will feel my wrath since I can’t do anything about Max yet.”
“Keep it within the law, Jade. Are you coming back to North Bend tonight?”
“Yeah, after I go back to Green River Falls later and pick up Jack. It’s going to be a long night, boss.” I merged back on the freeway and put Clark on speakerphone.
“I’ve got a quick update for you. Amy Patterson was positively identified with the DNA from her toothbrush. Lena has already released her body to the family. The same goes for Deborah French. Her family is making funeral arrangements. Two of the bone samples have been identified from matches with the volunteer samples. Apparently, one of the women only went missing eight years ago.”
I hit the steering wheel with my open hand. “That son of a bitch has been at this a lot longer than we thought.”
“Yeah, he’s a carbon copy of his old man.”
“Okay, boss, I’ll update you after I speak with Darryl. I’ve got to make a quick call to Amber then focus on the road.” I clicked off and felt angrier than I had in a long time. I got Amber’s voicemail and left her a message that I was fine and would explain everything tonight. I told her to stay happy and positive—our dad would arrive in a few days.
I devised a plan as I drove. It made perfect sense to me, and with any luck, Darryl would fall for it.
Chapter 41
Luckily for Max, the police in Green River Falls apparently had too much on their hands to think of putting a BOLO out for the red pickup truck. The day had started like any other, but by midafternoon, they had three dead people, two seriously injured officers, and another that likely had bruised ribs.
Max skated out of town in the stolen truck and took to the freeway with nobody on his tail. He needed a place to go—somewhere to hide that wasn’t easily tracked. There would be too many people looking for him in a matter of hours. He’d find another vehicle and stay invisible. Darryl would tell him exactly what to do.
Max checked the time—3:45. Darryl would be calling at four o’clock sharp. In an almost panic, Max grabbed at his shirt pockets and then his jeans. With a sigh of relief, he felt it—the folded, coded paper Darryl had told him to keep close at all times. Max was sure his father had received the letter he sent a few days back. Written in the specified code, it had taken much longer to compose than necessary. Max kept it short and to the point. He reported that one of Darryl’s two requests had been fulfilled. Theresa Gardino, the daughter-in-law of the judge that had put Darryl away, was in Max’s custody. Max told Darryl he would address the second request very soon.
Now, two days later, Max couldn’t wait to tell his father the latest news—Theresa had met a violent death. Max smiled at the thought, knowing Darryl would be beaming with pride.
He exited the freeway at the next ramp and turned into the truck stop a half mile to his west. Big rigs idled in a long row of semis. The constant rumble of so many engines sounded like thunder in the distance. Max checked the sky to be sure—clear and blue. Hunger pangs groaned in his gut. Food would wait until after the phone call with Darryl. Max couldn’t afford a noisy background or perked ears listening in on their conversation. It would take place in the privacy of the truck with the coded response sheet spread out on the passenger seat.
With the volume turned low, Max listened to country music on the radio. His cell phone sat in the cup holder with the screen facing his way. He checked the time again—3:58. Any minute now his phone would ring. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel with the beat of the song until the phone rang, then Max turned the volume knob to Off. He picked up and listened to the automated attendant asking if he would accept a collect call from WSPF inmate number 450-A72.
Max responded yes, and Darryl was put through.
“Hello, son, how is everything going?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Good to know. How about that number three?”
Max glanced at the sheet. Number three asked if he was safe. “Yes, for right now,” he responded.
“I like number seven.”
Max scrolled down with his finger to number seven. It asked if he’d completed any of Darryl’s requests. Max smirked. “Sure did, and her hubby isn’t going to be very happy about it.”
Darryl chuckled. “That sounds real good, son. My friend mentioned number two.”
Max jumped up the sheet to number two. It asked if the cops were after him. “Yep, but I haven’t found the right vacation spot yet.”
“I hear number four is a good option.”
Max checked number four. It said the best place to hide was Milwaukee.
“Understood, and I’ll take care of the other project soon.”
“Very good, son. I’m proud of you. I’ll call you Monday at four.”
The phone call ended abruptly. Max crossed the parking lot and pulled open the fingerprint-smudged glass door of the diner. The hostess seated him at a vacant stool along the counter with seven haggard looking men. Max assumed they were truckers.
He ate until his stomach felt like lead. The meal was filling, and the coffee was strong. Max paid his bill, tossed the five-buck tip on the counter, and left the diner.
Back in the truck, he exited the enormous truck stop parking lot and hit the ramp to get back on the freeway. This time, he’d turn north instead of south and work his way to Milwaukee, but he needed a different vehicle soon.
Chapter 42
It was nearly four thirty when I entered the city limits of Boscobel. I took the street into town and turned at the sign with an arrow showing the direction of the penitentiary. I turned and backtracked until I saw the enormous facility standing in what appeared to be a clear-cut forest. The prison looked solemn, stark, and depressing. The concrete-colored buildings stood within a row of razor-wired fencing. Double outer walls standing ten feet high had razor wire between them and topping them. WSPF, which was formally called the Supermax Correctional Facility, held the worst offenders and was the most secure men’s prison in the state. The place was no joke. Regular visiting hours had ended, but I called in advance and permission was granted. I would be expedited through to have a private meeting with inmate 450-A72—Darryl Sims.
The arrow led to a parking lot on my right. I pulled in, parked, and followed the sidewalk to the visitors’ entrance. After passing through several heavy steel doors, I finally arrived at a counter where I signed in and showed my credentials. The guard led me into a room where I had to empty my pockets and leave my purse and sidearm in a locker. I dropped the locker key into my pocket.
The guard addressed me. “It will be a few minutes, ma’am. We have to prepare the prisoner.”
I nodded a thank-you.
I thought over my speech again for the tenth time. I’d tell Darryl we had Max in custody after a gun battle earlier that day. We had him on numerous murder charges, which included killing a police officer, and that in itself was a death penalty sentence. Max would be sent directly to Terre Haute’s federal prison for death row inmates. I’d make sure Max spent the rest of what life he had left in the worst area of the prison with the worst criminals housed there. With any luck, somebody would stick a shiv in his gut and kill him. The story was true, all except for the part that we had Max in custody. I’d take Darryl’s temperature on the story and tell him there could be a slim chance that Max could be held at Boscobel until the final sentencing, if and only if Darryl told us who the women were in the field at the farm.
“Ma’am, the prisoner is ready for your visit.”
My heart pounded with anger at the Sims name, but I couldn’t let Darryl Sims get under my skin. I had never met the man, but according to Clark, he was devious and clever. I had to be careful, watch my words, and show no emotion. I couldn’t let my guard down.
I entered a private interrogation room. Green cinder block walls and cold steel furniture engulfed the space and made the hair stand up on my arms. In front o
f me sat a haggard looking man with disheveled long hair and a thin frame. He was nothing like I had imagined. Those faded photos at the farm showed someone tougher, younger, and stronger looking. Darryl was just a frail old man, maybe a mean, nasty one, but frail and old nonetheless. He stared at me, his legs shackled and his hands cuffed to the table. Hate filled his eyes even though he had no idea who I was. I took a seat across from him and stared at his beady eyes that gleamed with malice. I felt the thickness of his breath as he sized me up. I wanted to look away but couldn’t—I had to stare him down. He wouldn’t win.
“Darryl Sims, we finally meet.”
“Yeah, and who the hell are you?”
“Somebody that’s going to offer you a deal.”
He laughed. “I don’t deal with smart-ass bitches unless I know their names.”
“Why would my name matter?”
“Guard,” he yelled, “take me back to my cell.” He stood with his hands still secured to the table. “I don’t have time for the likes of you.”
“Is that what you said to all of the women you killed?” I cocked my head. Two could play this game.
“Tell me your name, and we might have a conversation.” He sat back on the chair and waited.
“My name is Jade Monroe—Sergeant Jade Monroe, with the Washburn County Sheriff’s Department.”
His eyes lit up, unnerving me for a second, then a wide grin spread across his face.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Looky, looky at who came to visit me. You couldn’t possibly be the daughter of a Detective Monroe from days gone by—could you?” He licked his lips then puckered them.
I felt like vomiting or punching his face in—maybe both. I took a silent deep breath. “I told you my name. You don’t need to concern yourself with my family tree.”
Darryl laughed. “So, he is your old man.”
That bastard was sly and had already scored one point—I had zip.
“I’m here to discuss Max and a possible deal.”
“Max?” He chuckled again and cracked his knuckles. “What has that boy been up to lately? I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“Really? According to prison records and the sign-in sheet, he’s visited you twice in the last ten days.”
“Damn, you’re good, and pretty, Jade Monroe.”
Darryl looked me up and down. I felt my face flush with anger.
“You can call me Sergeant Monroe or nothing at all. We have Max in custody, Darryl. I felt you should know that, since you’re his closest next of kin. To our surprise, it appears that Max has been busy murdering people, likely ever since you went to prison. Or was it before? Were you two partners in crime?”
“Why would I tell you anything, bitch? I’m a lifer here. I’ve got nothing to gain by talking to you.”
My hands instinctively balled up into fists.
He looked at them and smiled. “Getting under your skin, am I?”
“The thing is, Darryl, Max killed a police officer. That automatically puts him on death row. He’ll be going to Terre Haute, where they house the worst murderers in the country. They have a special unit, a cozy place just for death row inmates. I’m going to make sure that’s where Max is housed—in the worst wing, with the worst roommate. Unless—”
He interrupted. “Unless what?” Darryl leaned across the table, his eyes full of curiosity.
“Unless you bargain with me. I want the names of all the girls you two killed.”
“And then?”
“Then Max might be able to spend some time here with you until his final sentencing. Sometimes that takes years. You and Max can spend quality time together—just father and son.”
“You do realize how big my boy is, don’t you, Jade? I’m sure he could handle himself at Terre Haute if he was ever sent there.”
“Trust me, he’ll be sent there, but when is up to you. Do we have a deal or not?”
He laughed loudly, then shook the chains that secured his arms to the table. “Damn cops. Doesn’t the lying ever eat at you?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I just talked to Max less than an hour ago. The way I see it, unless that was the one phone call he’s allowed—oh, but wait, that’s right. We prisoners don’t get incoming calls. Short story is, Jade, Max is fine, and on a road trip. I forgot to ask him where he was heading, though. Stupid bitch—lie, lie, lie, just like your old man.”
I stood and slammed my hand on the table. “I hope you rot in hell. Guard, open the door!”
Darryl’s laugh echoed down the hallway as that steel door slammed at my back. I walked out and left WSPF with nothing except hatred for the Sims family.
Chapter 43
I was still fuming when I called Amber. Darryl Sims had played me and caught me off guard. I had used the made-up story about Max being captured, and inside, he was laughing at me the entire time. I needed to get back to North Bend, regroup, and move forward in capturing that second-generation Sims family lunatic.
Guilt washed over me about being away during Amber’s first week in the police academy. I knew she was over the moon, but other than our few short phone calls, I hadn’t given her the proper congratulations or encouragement. I checked the time as I drove back toward Green River Falls—5:40. It would be a long night of driving, and Amber might be in bed by the time I arrived home.
She picked up on the third ring. “Hey, Jade, please tell me you’re coming home tonight. I miss you.”
I chuckled wearily. “Yes, I’m coming home, and I’m sorry I haven’t been there for your first week of training. I feel awful about it.”
“I’ll live, and soon enough I’ll understand even more what you’re going through.”
“Are you enjoying your classes?”
“Absolutely, and so is Kate. We’re really hitting it off as study mates and friends. I like her a lot.”
“I do too, hon. Hopefully things will quiet down once Dad arrives. I bet he’s excited to hear about the academy.”
“I’ve talked to Dad a few times this week, so he’s up to date on everything.”
“Good to hear. Okay, sis, I’m going to pull off the freeway and grab a coffee for the road. I’ll be home late, so don’t wait up. I’d say you need your beauty sleep, but I don’t think you could get more beautiful.”
Amber laughed. “You crack me up. Love you, Jade.”
“Love you too. Good night.” I clicked off and pulled into the truck stop along the freeway. There was a large cup of coffee with my name on it waiting inside.
Back in the cruiser with the coffee in a Styrofoam cup and safely nestled in the cup holder, I called Jack to tell him my ETA. “Hey, partner, I’m on my way back.”
“Good to hear. What time should I expect you?”
“I’d say seven thirtyish. How did it go with Antonio?”
“Pretty bad—he blames himself, of course. He feels he and the PD dropped the ball in the search for Theresa. Max had her for several days before he killed her. I can’t even imagine what she went through. How did it go with Darryl?”
I huffed instead of swearing.
“That bad?”
“You could say that. He played me big-time, and I didn’t even see it coming. My speech about having Max in custody went nowhere. Apparently they had talked a short time before I arrived. He already knew Max was fine and on the road. I’m sure my bullshit story amused him.”
“What a jerk. Don’t worry, Jade. We’ll eventually have the last laugh.”
“I know, but it’s the eventually part that worries me. A lot can happen between now and then.”
I drove in silence the rest of the way to Green River Falls. My mind was filled with doubt that we’d ever catch Max Sims. He was good at his craft, especially since he had skated by for twenty years and never created a blip on our radar. Darryl had taught him well.
I was happy to see Jack when I pulled into the police station parking lot at 7:45. He had checked out of the motel earlier, gathered all of our belongings, an
d was sitting on the brick ledge at the building’s entrance.
I popped the trunk then exited the cruiser. I needed to stretch, and I was handing off the driving duties to Jack. He could enjoy the three-hour drive back to North Bend while I reclined the seat and relaxed.
He patted my shoulder, threw our duffel bags in the trunk, and climbed in behind the steering wheel. “What a day, right?”
“Yeah, with no resolution.”
“Tomorrow is another day, Jade. We’ll get Max and bring him to justice.”
Chapter 44
With a different set of wheels and the cops long in his dust, Max checked into the dumpy, weekly rental unit at the Northside Motel. Certain pockets of Milwaukee’s northwest side left a lot to be desired. Nobody in the area cared who you were, what you did, or what you were about to do, as long as it didn’t involve them. If they didn’t see it—it didn’t happen.
Although the room disgusted Max, Northside Motel was the perfect place to hide in plain sight, and at ninety bucks a week, he would stay as long as he had to. As bad as the place was, it was still better than the cabin. He paid in advance—cash only, no ID necessary, and no questions asked.
The twenty-year-old blue Chevy Cavalier wagon was safely tucked behind the motel in front of room three. The plates had been swapped out twice before he reached Milwaukee, and the current plates were stolen off a rusty old minivan when he passed through Madison.
Max pulled a few small totes out of the back of the vehicle and brought them inside the room. He needed a shower, a fresh change of clothes, his phone charger, and a notepad and paper. Surprisingly, the room had reliable Wi-Fi service.
The soap and hot shower stung that makeshift stitch job Theresa had done on his shoulder several days back. He winced but continued scrubbing. Max hadn’t bathed since he left the farm last week. Feeling somewhat human again, he dressed in a clean set of clothes and ordered a medium-sized pizza for delivery. Max sat at the table near the window and wrote a letter to Darryl. He needed to know what his next move should be, and when. He mentioned his new “vacation” spot on the northwest side of Brew City and how he’d just scored a different vehicle. Everything was under control. He’d stay put and wait for Darryl’s phone call on Monday before proceeding with request number two.
