Scott Free

by James Patterson

  The man seemed to think about it.

  The plan to capture and kill Thomas Scott now rested on this guy’s shoulders—and he didn’t even know it. Hanlon looked around him, down the expressway, at the cop car that was still lingering. Any moment they could notice what was going on here and come down to investigate.

  Hanlon held his breath.

  The man’s shoulders slumped, and Hanlon exhaled. Defeated, the guy stalked off, got back in the car, and slowly pulled into traffic. Hanlon smiled and turned to the Zhous. The two of them were too far away to have heard the exchange, so they were both incredibly confused.

  “Lucky for us, he had a couple of drinks tonight,” Hanlon said. “Now, what the hell happened?”

  As cars picked up speed, the occasional driver leaning on the horn, Paul ran him through the events in the minivan, stumbling over his words: staying hidden, attacking Scott when the car stopped, Scott’s escape, and the altercation with the other driver.

  Good on Paul, Hanlon thought. Here he’d thought the man was a sissy. At least he’d stepped up to defend his wife. He couldn’t help but notice that Daisy was throwing the stray grin at him as he told the story.

  “So,” Hanlon said. “Bad news, Scott got away. Good news, the other officers didn’t see you or him, so this is still in play.”

  “He says he didn’t kill our children,” Paul said.

  “He’s lying.”

  “I know.”

  Hanlon was shocked. Paul had been the weakest link in the chain, and was suddenly resolute. He wondered what had changed, but then realized it didn’t matter.

  “So, what’s next?” Daisy asked. “How do we find him?”

  Hanlon stared off, watching the cars speeding past them. At the big, open expanse of night sky.

  Scott was on foot. He was afraid and alone and not all that clever. But Staten Island was more than a hundred square miles, home to a half a million people. A mix of homes and apartments and parks and businesses. And unlike the rest of New York City, this was the borough that gladly went to bed early. If Scott wanted to stay hidden, this place was just dense and quiet enough that it wouldn’t be hard at all.

  The trick was figuring out where he would go next.

  Chapter 26

  Thomas Scott

  THOMAS GLANCED BEHIND him and saw a car approaching. He was pretty sure he wasn’t visible, with the way the tree over his head was blocking the streetlight, creating a deep pool of black. But he ran up a driveway between two darkened homes, just to be safe.

  He peeked around the corner from his spot of safety and saw it was a police cruiser, driving slowly down the street, the officers craning their necks.

  He waited until the car made it to the corner and turned before he headed back down to the sidewalk. His mind raced. He had no idea where to go next. But he knew the hotel wasn’t safe.

  He sighed and looked around at the quiet residential block. A long row of houses on one side, the noise-dampening wall on the other.

  He felt trapped between the two.

  For one brief moment, Thomas thought of walking over to the expressway overpass, climbing up the guardrail, and jumping into traffic. The fall might not be enough to end things, but the speeding cars would handle the rest.

  The pit in his stomach was so dark and so deep he didn’t think he’d ever be able to climb out. What did he have to live for? He was one man against the world, and it didn’t seem like anything would convince these people he’d had nothing to do with the death of their children.

  No. He didn’t do anything wrong.

  He wouldn’t surrender to that feeling.

  But he couldn’t stay, either.

  He walked to the corner to get his bearings and then realized where he was: a couple of blocks from the nursing home where he’d done some part-time work a few years back. He headed down the block, sticking to the shadows, watching every car that passed him to make sure that it wasn’t a cop or one of the parents.

  Now that he was on foot and felt relatively safe, it finally hit him. The utter disbelief that Hanlon had talked the parents into coming after him. They were all in on it—Mei’s dad and mom, Billy’s mom, John Junior’s parents. He didn’t know them by their names, just the names of their children.

  For a second he thought about calling the cops. Hanlon was clearly taking the law into his own hands. But then he realized: The cops still thought he was guilty. Why would they believe him over one of their own?

  The brown brick of the nursing home rose in the distance.

  He knew there was a nurse at a desk out front, and there’d be a guard doing rounds of the property after midnight, so he cut through the driveway, doing his best to stay out of sight, toward the back door that was sometimes kept propped open with a cinder block, so staff could sneak outside for cigarettes without getting locked out.

  He just had to hope the cinder block system was still in place.

  As he approached, it looked like the door was closed, but upon closer inspection he realized there was a small piece of wood holding it. He eased the door open and peered into the darkened hallway. There was no movement on either end. He waited a moment and ducked in, cutting across the squeaky floor to the storage closet.

  As he reached for the handle, a yellow beam of light flitted across the darkness. He listened, and heard footfalls coming down the hallway. Must be the security guard. He reached forward and grasped the knob.

  Finally, something went his way.

  The door wasn’t locked.

  He ducked in and closed the door as quietly as he could, leaned against the door and listened to the footsteps get louder, then softer, and finally disappear.

  He flicked on the light, squinting in the harsh white glow, to take stock of his surroundings. This was an overflow room for extra supplies, and it was barely used, because there was another storage closet closer to the nurses’ station and therefore more convenient. He just hoped that was still the case and no one wandered down here for anything.

  He was so desperate for sleep his eyes hurt. His arm ached from where he slammed it into Mei’s father’s head. All he wanted to do was lie down. The idea of being in this place made him sick, hiding like this. But he had no other options.

  In the morning, he would see Amato. And this would all be over.

  He pulled some towels and blankets off a rack and arranged them on the floor, turned off the light, felt his way to the makeshift bed, and curled up.

  The floor was hard and smelled antiseptic. After Rikers and then the hotel, this just felt like another place he was trapped, with no safe route of escape. Within moments he was softly weeping.

  Chapter 27

  Staten Island Register

  Breaking news update

  Suspected Playground Killer breaks into Willowbrook nursing home

  Thomas Scott, the man suspected to be the Playground Killer and released from custody by police yesterday, was found early this morning sleeping in Sweet Acres Nursing Home in Willowbrook.

  According to an employee who wished to remain anonymous, Scott was discovered by a nurse sleeping in a storage room. He reportedly threw her into a wall before fleeing the scene.

  A judge ruled that the evidence being used against Scott in the murder of three Staten Island children was inadmissible, because it was collected by someone in an illegal search, at the direction of a police officer.

  Scott was also involved in an altercation at a Rosebank liquor store last night, where he reportedly threw another woman to the ground.

  Law enforcement sources say they still consider Scott to be a suspect and are currently searching for him in Willowbrook.

  Keep an eye on the Register website for up-to-the-minute updates.

  Chapter 28

  Thomas Scott

  THOMAS STOOD AT the far end of the strip mall, his cell phone pressed to his ear. The phone kept ringing. Maybe Amato wasn’t in yet. He considered going to the Dunkin’ Donuts across the street. The pink and
orange colors were electric and inviting against the overcast sky.

  He’d slept poorly on the floor of the storage room, maybe a few hours at most. It didn’t help that he woke up to the sound of someone screaming.

  The nurse, a young black woman with a shaved head, was holding a roll of toilet paper and shrieking. He immediately jumped to his feet and tried to get past her, but in his sleepy-headed haste, he bumped her shoulder and she fell to the ground. He paused for a moment to make sure she was okay.

  As soon as she got a good look at his face, she pushed away, screaming harder, her sneakers squeaking on the floor.

  So Thomas ran.

  The bus he caught was empty, and the driver barely glanced in his direction as he slid his MetroCard into the slot. The whole ride he stayed in the back, his head down, glad that it was still before rush hour.

  And here he was. Outside Amato’s office. Waiting for his lawyer to show up so he could settle things up and get the hell out of Dodge.

  His brain felt thick and muddy. A cup of coffee would set him right. But he knew that if he went inside the Dunkin’ Donuts, he ran the risk of another situation like at the liquor store. He could see through the big plate-glass windows that the place was crowded. All it would take was for someone to recognize him. A lot of those people probably had newspapers with his face on them.

  Thomas had passed a bodega on the walk over from the bus. As Amato had predicted, all the front pages featured pictures of him outside the courthouse.

  And the headlines turned his stomach.

  ‘PLAYGROUND KILLER’ SUSPECT BACK ON THE STREET

  RUMBLE AT THE COURTHOUSE AS SUSPECTED KILLER WALKS

  The worst one was:

  KIDDIE KILLER SUSPECT GOES SCOT-FREE

  Thomas thought you were supposed to be innocent until proven guilty. But it seems the newspapers were already convinced of his guilt.

  All it would take was for one person to look up from their paper, and Thomas wouldn’t leave that Dunkin’ Donuts alive.

  So he crossed the parking lot to Amato’s storefront. Thomas peered through the window. Inside there was a room with an empty desk for Amato’s secretary and a door leading to Amato’s office, which seemed to be ajar. Thomas entered.

  Amato was probably in the bathroom or something. That’s why he didn’t answer the phone. Thomas was flooded with relief to be here, on the verge of escape. Finally, he could settle up and get the hell off Staten Island.

  Thomas crossed the silent office and pushed the door open.

  But instead of Amato, he saw Hanlon.

  The cop was standing next to Amato’s desk, holding the gun from last night at his side. He lifted it up and pointed it at Thomas.

  “Shut the door,” Hanlon said.

  Chapter 29

  Paul Zhou

  PAUL KICKED A small gray rock. It skipped across a patch of drying mud outside the warehouse. He looked up and watched as the sun peeked through the clouds. He was so full of nervous energy and anticipation he felt like he was floating above the ground.

  John, Susan, and Kat were inside. Daisy was with Hanlon. It was an arrangement Paul wasn’t thrilled about—he’d rather have gone himself—but Hanlon was pretty adamant, and anyway, Daisy would only be driving. Hanlon insisted that, this time, he wouldn’t let Scott get away.

  Hanlon’s thinking, at least, was sound. Scott had to know he couldn’t go home. He would feel cornered. He didn’t have any family and didn’t seem to have any friends. It made sense he would go to the lawyer’s office, looking for a way out.

  They’d get the drop on him, get him in the van, and come here.

  And this nightmare would be over.

  Paul walked across the front of the warehouse, running his hand along the crumbling façade. There were no sounds but the rustling of the high grass and the lapping of the waves in the Arthur Kill, the narrow body of water separating Staten Island from New Jersey.

  Across the water was a collection of refineries. Hanlon had picked a great spot. This didn’t feel anything like the most populous city in America. It felt like the middle of nowhere. The kind of place you could scream your head off and no one would come along to help you.

  He sighed. Closed his eyes. One moment he was sure they were doing the right thing. After being stuck in the car with Scott, being so close to him, he felt it down to his DNA. This man needed to pay. But in the harsh light of day, free from the adrenaline, his brain fuzzy from lack of sleep, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

  There was only one thing he was sure about: Something terrible was about to happen, and it would happen whether he wanted it to or not. So maybe best to just go along with it. The only thing that mattered was getting home to Jian. Pammy had reluctantly agreed to stay through the day, but by dinnertime, she needed to leave for her study group.

  He wondered what Jian was doing. Reading, hopefully. He preferred Pammy read to his son rather than watch television, though he was sure she sneaked in some cartoons here and there. It made him ashamed, thinking about his son while he stood in a field preparing to kill someone. He’d tried to be a good father.

  Did this make him a bad one?

  Paul didn’t have time to dwell on that, because he heard a crunching sound in the distance, and then the whir of an engine. The van appeared from the high grass bordering the muddy roadway. Daisy was driving and Hanlon was sitting shotgun.

  Immediately Paul knew something was wrong. Even this far away, even with the sunlight glinting off the glass, there was something about the expression on her face. It was the same look of concern she got when one of the kids talked back or there was something around the house that Paul had forgotten to fix.

  The van pulled in next to Hanlon’s car and the pair got out. Daisy moved quickly toward Paul, clearly wanting to tell him something. They were about a hundred feet apart and she waved at him to come closer as Hanlon walked around to the side and opened the sliding door. Paul jogged to meet her.

  “Paul—” Daisy said.

  There was a banging sound behind them. John came out of the warehouse, swinging the door a little too hard against the brick wall. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his thick arms and he was wiping the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief.

  And he was smiling.

  The smile of a man without a care in the world.

  Paul turned back to Daisy. Hanlon had already pulled out Scott. The man was kneeling in the mud, his hands bound behind his back with white plastic zip ties. Strips of white cloth were tied around his head, constricting his mouth.

  “I didn’t think he was going to do it,” said Daisy.

  “Do what?” Paul asked.

  Hanlon pulled another body out of the car, dragging him down into the mud. It was Amato, in a pink dress shirt, navy pants, and expensive brown shoes. He was trussed up the same as Scott. Hands behind back, gag in mouth, his perfect hair askew.

  “He said we had to take the lawyer, too,” Daisy said, her voice heavy with concern.

  Paul stepped around her, putting his hand on her shoulder as he passed, and approached Hanlon. “What the hell are you doing? This isn’t what we agreed on.”

  “Shut up,” Hanlon said, his voice calm as he held his revolver in his right hand. Not pointing it, not even lifting it, but clearly meant to keep Scott and Amato docile. Scott was shaking and Amato’s eyes were rimmed in red, like he’d been crying.

  Paul got the sense that maybe the gun was meant to keep him docile, too.

  Amato looked up at Paul and tried to speak through the cloth binding his mouth, but before Paul could make anything out, Hanlon yelled, “Hey!” The lawyer immediately fell quiet. Hanlon looked past Paul to John. “Help me with them?”

  “No, first we have to talk about this,” Paul said.

  “Nothing to discuss,” John said, gripping Amato under the arm and pulling him to his feet. “This man was going to enrich himself personally and professionally by helping a child-killer get out of jail. To my mind, that makes
him just as bad.”

  Paul didn’t know what to say. He stood between everyone, shocked at what he was seeing. That Hanlon and John were so callously preparing to kill a man who’d done a bad thing, but not a thing in the same league as what Scott did.

  “We need to talk about this,” Paul said.

  “It’s too late,” John said, shaking his head, speaking to Paul like he was a child. “He’s a witness now. What are we going to do, leave him here and hope he doesn’t tell anyone? He’ll go straight to the cops and we’ll all go to jail. Try being a father to your kid behind bars.”

  Hanlon nodded and tightened his grip on the gun. It made a little clicking noise, metal on metal. Whatever the sound was, it made the point.

  So it’s like that, Paul thought.

  All that doubt and fear that Paul had felt at the beginning, inside Scott’s apartment, came rushing back. It was like someone had turned on a light switch and he could finally see the entirety of what they were doing.

  This was wrong.

  Hanlon and John led the two bound men toward the warehouse. Paul put his hand on Daisy’s arm and pulled her away. He lowered his voice. “We can’t do this.”

  She nodded, her eyes vacant. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I know what we can do,” Paul said. “We go in and try to talk some sense into everyone. And if things go south, you run. Get in the car and drive away. You will not look back. I will take the fall for this and I will swear you had nothing to do with it. If anyone names you, we’ll both say I forced you into it.”

  “Paul…”

  “No. Jian lost his sister. He is not losing both of us, too.” Paul felt a lump in his throat. “We’re too far into this now. I will do whatever it takes to protect this family. To protect you.”

  Daisy looked at him and smiled. Tears cut down her cheeks. She lifted her chin up. She was six inches shorter than him, and this had always been her sign that she wanted a kiss. Paul obliged, lowering his head down and pressing his lips on hers. He savored it, afraid that it might be the last time he’d have the opportunity.