CHAPTER 69
His name was Eddie Perlman and when he was young, the kids called him Eddie The Perv. Now, at forty-three, his adult friends still called him The Perv, as in, Where's The Perv? Tonight, at Smoot's Pool Hall, The Perv was up three games to one in eight ball. Feeling in high spirits and with a full bladder, Eddie decided to take a cigarette break outside. It was also an excuse to hike up the dirt road leading to the back entrance to Smoot's, where Eddie could inspect his weed plants. He'd gathered up twenty seeds from his last bag of Fallbrook and planted them fifteen feet off the road, near a small spring that kept the ground moist all year long. Since the road was hardly ever used, Eddie The Perv figured it was a perfect place to grow some plants. He bent over and inspected the miniature grove, each plant now approximately a foot tall. He reached in and pinched off the top leaves of each plant to keep them growing out wide instead of straight up. Better to have short squat plants than ones that would grow six feet tall and stand out among the dead grass and weeds around them. Satisfied with his agricultural skills, Eddie stepped a few feet downstream, whipped out his unit, and let fly.
As he was zipping up, he heard a low rumbling coming from over the hill on the far side of the dirt road. He walked across the road, climbed up the low hill, and peered down to frontage road, fifty feet below. From his vantage point, he could see the convoy of cop cars lined up like boxcars on the far side of the road. His gaze followed them to the right and he could barely make out what looked like a news van at the end.
"Jesus." Eddie whistled and turned back toward his tiny plantation. He shook his head—they weren't there for the weed. He watched as a group of what he figured to be plainclothes cops joined a bunch of regular cops in a group discussion. Eddie The Perv didn't know what was going on, but he did know that he wanted to get back inside, grab his jacket, get his winnings for the games he'd already played, and get the hell out of there. He didn't need to be caught up in whatever shit was about to go down.
Two minutes later, Eddie held out his hand and said, "There's a shitload of cops outside. I don't know why they're here, and I don't care, I just want my money and I'm gone."
The Bedroom Killer stared at his friend Eddie.
"What'd you say?" asked Isaac.
"I need my money."
"Did you say cops?"
"Fuck yeah, like a hundred of them, parked all the way down the fucking road. News vans, too."
Isaac raised his eyes from Eddie and he stretched his neck to see through the crowded pool hall at the front door sixty feet away. It was closed. Nothing going on right there. He slowly laid his cue stick onto the table, turned to Eddie and said, "Catch you later," and walked the ten paces to the kitchen door, leaving Eddie standing there, hand still out, waiting for his money.
Isaac calmly walked through the kitchen, past the cook and then the dishwasher, each of whom barely noticed him, then came to a stop at the back delivery door. He cracked the door and peeked out, seeing nothing but a few parked cars—with his Candy Apple Red '68 Mustang parked at the far end of the building. He looked up the dirt road that disappeared over the low hill—the same one Eddie would use to check his plants. He saw no one on the road. He wondered if the cops knew about the road. It didn't matter. He knew it was his only way out. He looked behind him, the kitchen staff were still working, oblivious to what was about to come. The longer he stayed there, the longer the cops had to plan and set up.
It was now or never.
***
"We're looking for a red, '68 Mustang in mint condition. That's the one she said he was driving." Andy was reading from notes to the group that included Bell, Megan, Kennedy, three other homicide detectives that were called in, and five police including the shift sergeant who would coordinate his team of twenty, which included ten SWAT police, if they were needed. Altogether, there were thirty-four law enforcement officers standing or sitting in their cars, on cell phones, on radios, coordinating traffic at the back of the convoy—all were quickly getting organized before the team hit the pool hall. Everyone wore a vest, and were all checking and rechecking their weapons. They were less than a hundred feet around a sharp corner that lead right into the pool hall parking lot.
Bell said, "Andy, you and Kennedy take the back, Megan and I go in front. Guns drawn. No fucking around." He looked at Kennedy. "You got the number to the hall?” Kennedy nodded and pulled out his cell phone.
"Call it!" said Bell.
***
At the same time Andy was discussing the red Mustang, Marcus was at the Channel 9 van talking up Chuck the cameraman and Sabrina Clark. John had no desire to join him and get the third degree from Sabrina Clark so he’d returned to the car. He was worried about Megan and he hoped she wouldn't have another breakdown like before.
John’s cell phone rang. He answered.
“Hello.”
“Evidently the guy's driving a cherry red '68 Mustang.” Marcus said. “Makes sense. He owns a car shop, so he must collect cars too. Keep your eyes peeled. I'll be back in a few."
John hung up and looked through the windshield, but all he could see was the back of the news van. He slid across to the driver's seat to get a better view of the road ahead, his knees jingling the car keys, which were still in the ignition. John said, "Take your time. I'll keep watch, but shouldn't we walk down the road to get a better look?"
Marcus replied, "Can't. They've got a block up already. No one is getting past right now. Hold tight."
***
Isaac stepped out the back door and walked to his car. He knew that the very back end of the car was partially exposed, depending on where someone was standing in the road. If they were right in front of the pool hall, they would never see it, which is why he'd been parking in back the last few months.
Better safe than sorry.
He also knew that the back road, which ten years ago was the only way into Smoot's, would be his best way out since it dropped back out on the frontage road about a quarter mile back. The old timers and folks who traveled into this area on a regular basis knew this, but if you didn't shoot pool or have any business this far out of town, then you didn't know about the dirt road. That's what Isaac was counting on. He jumped into his "Stang" and fired it up, punching the clutch and shoving the gear into reverse. He slowly pulled back, spun the wheel around, dropped the car into first, and inched forward just enough so he could peek around the corner of the building…and that's when he saw Detective Anderson staring back at him from thirty feet away.
***
Even though it was getting dark, the parking lot—front and back—had overhead lights to discourage vandalism. And that's the only reason Andy was able to see the red Mustang driven by a man with shoulder length dark hair.
Their eyes locked onto each other.
Andy saw Isaac Graham and for the second time that day, his heart jumped into his throat. He pointed his gun and shouted, "Isaac Graham!" He was about to fire when the red Mustang lurched forward and spun out to the right, the echo of the 424 Hemi engine roar bounced in the enclosed area behind the pool hall, and the back tires kicked up a cloud of dirt and gravel into Andy's face. He threw his arms up to block against the bits of granite, then caught sight of the car roaring up the dirt road. Andy squeezed off two shots, one catching the back corner panel of the car and the other embedding into a eucalyptus tree. He turned and ran back to the front parking lot, just in time to see Bell and Megan run out the front door, guns waving left and right.
"Get into the car!" Andy yelled.
They made a beeline across the street and all the police were now strapping on seat belts and firing up their engines. Megan faced Andy as they approached their cars.
"Did you see him?" asked Megan.
"Yes. Red Mustang. He went up the dirt road behind the hall. Where does it lead?"
Megan looked at Kennedy, who looked at Bell, who jumped into his car and screamed, "Who the fuck cares, follow him!" Megan jumped in with Bell.
Andy tur
ned and shouted back to the shift sergeant, "Head back down that way to see if he gets back onto the road!" Then he jumped in with Kennedy and they followed Bell across the street, spitting gravel as they peeled around the back corner of the hall, then turned up the dirt road, and disappeared.
CHAPTER 70
"What was that?" yelled Marcus. He turned to see Sabrina and the cameraman start running toward the police blockade. He glanced back at John, who had his head poked out the driver's-side window, and as if making a decision between his source and the action, he yelled, "Gunshots!" and turned to chase the action, running fast to catch up with Sabrina.
John opened the door and stepped out, but he held onto the door. It was gunshots. He had heard them too. Two of them. A more distant, muffled version of the sound he heard up close weeks before in his car. He looked down and saw his hands shaking, barely able to hold on to the car door. He couldn't do it. He stepped around the door and sat back down, closing the door. John held the steering wheel taking deep breaths, trying to get his heart rate to slow down. Ten seconds later he was doing better, his breathing was steady, then he thought—Megan.
Maybe that was Megan.
The shots.
John flipped on the overhead light, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his cell phone, tapping the buttons, typing out the beginning of a message. He was going to ask, U OK? but before he got to the K he saw something move out of the corner of his left eye. He lifted his head and heard the roar of the engine at the same time he saw a red blur cross the side view mirror. John brought his gaze straight to the mirror and saw the Mustang appear from the hillside across the road less than fifty yards behind him. It seemed to have appeared through a thicket of dead yellow stalks of weeds and grass.
"Red Mustang," John said.
If it was a half hour later in the night, he would have only heard the sound, but it was twilight—just enough to pick out the red and the unmistakable outline of a '68 Mustang. John stretched his head out the window and looked down the road behind him as the Mustang laid rubber and disappeared around the curved road in a cloud of white smoke.
"Hey!"
John swiveled his head and screamed, "Red Mustang!" But no one heard him. They were gone around the bend. He dropped back into his seat, gripped the keys and started the car, then whipped the wheel to the left, flipped a U-turn, and headed back down the road—following the red Mustang. He gripped the wheel tight, his foot all the way to the floor, pushing the Toyota as fast as he could get it to go. He felt the adrenaline building as his heart rate was climbing. Right as he came to the dirt road where the Mustang had appeared, the cars driven by Bell and Kennedy dropped onto the road. John swerved left and took the other lane, going the wrong way, then whipped his head to the right and stared straight into the menacing eyes of Detective Bell just two feet out the right side window. John waved.
Bell's eyes bored into John and he swung his wheel hard to the left, colliding with the tiny Toyota and sending it onto the dirt shoulder of the road. John braked, regained control of the car, and swung back onto the road as first Bell's car then Andy's sped past—blue lights flashing, sirens blaring.
John caught a glimpse of Megan, sitting beside Bell, in the lead car. He was happy to see her—she was all right, but now Bell knew he was there and he probably knew this was not going to turn out good. In the middle of the chaos, he found himself wondering what she was thinking of him right now. Was she impressed that he was chasing the killer? No. Probably she was thinking he was an idiot for chasing the killer. That was her job. As fast as John was going, at this point ninety miles per hour, he was losing the chase. All he could hope was to keep them all in sight.
CHAPTER 71
"You told him, didn't you?" Bell whipped his right hand out, smacking Megan in the mouth, his academy ring crushing her lip against her tooth, drawing blood. "I'm gonna fucking kill him."
Megan gripped the side of her seat and pressed her feet against the floorboard. They were doing ninety-five miles per hour on a frontage road that was designed for no more than sixty, and the car was catching air when it hit the small dips in the road. Megan was scared. She'd never seen him so mad, so crazed. She reached into her jacket pocket, pulled her cell, and dialed.
"Jesus, he's going fast," said Kennedy.
"Just try to keep up," said Andy, who glanced back to see John losing distance behind him and what looked to be the other squad cars coming up behind John. He flipped back around in time to see something that made his heart sink.
Did he just hit her?
Andy glanced at Kennedy, but either he didn't see it or he wasn't going to acknowledge what he'd seen. The red Mustang was not very far in front of them, so Kennedy's eyes could have been looking at it or just about anywhere else—he was concentrating on driving. But Andy saw it. He saw Bell's arm go to the right, and Megan's head whip to the right in response. Bell just hit her in the face. He was pretty sure of it. He was debating whether to ask Kennedy about it when his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his breast pocket and read the caller ID—Ash. He looked up, but couldn't tell if she had her arm to her head. He punched the button and said, "Yeah."
But Megan didn't speak.
He was about to say her name when he heard, "…did I say, huh, WHAT…DID…I…SAY? If I ever saw him around you again I would kill him! He ignored me. I told him what to do, and he fucking ignored me! No one ignores Gerald Bell! This is it. He's a dead man!"
Andy tensed. His focus was on the phone and the harsh words that continued. His body swayed and rolled with the movement of the speeding car. Kennedy could have driven off a thousand-foot cliff, and Andy wouldn't have noticed. He was listening, transfixed, and suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.
The words.
Hearing what Bell was saying and knowing that she'd made the call to him, so that he would hear it, meant Andy had a decision to make. She needed a witness. Andy would be it. She was scared enough to risk making this call.
That explained everything.
It explained her fainting on the doorstep at the Yancey's house, and it explained her breakdown in the bedroom of the last victim's house, and why Bell went ballistic when he saw John helping her get away from there.
And so she'd called him.
She knew that John couldn't help her. Not for this. But she needed help. He wasn't sure how or when, but when the time came—Andy knew—he would be there for her. The words continued.
"…you're not going anywhere…Ever. You are mine…you hear me? All mine!"
CHAPTER 72
Isaac Graham's adrenaline had reached its peak and he could barely breathe. He had another two miles of frontage road before it would dead end at Madrona Avenue at the outskirts of Greenwood, which would lead back into the city. He knew he wouldn't be able to outrun the cops and once the helicopters spotted him, it would be all over. His mind raced, desperately trying to think of a move that would get him away from the cops behind him, but nothing came until he rounded a wide bend in the road and saw the Greenwood rail yard. It was a large forty-acre parcel of land that was barely alive since the industrial section of Greenwood had given way to more technical businesses. The property was for sale and was still used for storage and maintenance of rail cars, but not much else. The owners kept the main gate closed and chained, but Isaac didn't care—it was his only hope.
And as he feared, the cop cars appeared, one after another, a mile out in front of Isaac, their red and blue lights flashing, like a giant multicolored snake slithering toward him. He judged the distance from the cops in front of him and the cops behind him and the rail yard entrance.
Decision time.
Isaac lifted his foot from the accelerator, but he didn't brake. He didn't want to tip off the cops behind him. The entrance grew closer. Four hundred feet…three hundred…two hundred…
At the last second, he slammed his foot on the brake and disengaged the clutch, whipping the steering wheel to the right, timing it perfectly so the Mus
tang slid sideways right into the entrance road. He then pulled the gearshift into second, popped the clutch, punched the gas, and accelerated down the long entrance road with chain-link fencing on both sides. The entrance road narrowed until it came to a closed gate and an empty guard shack.
***
"Jesus!" yelled Bell, slamming on the brakes.
"Look out!" Megan screamed. They lurched forward as the tires of Bell's cruiser bit into the asphalt and skidded in a cloud of white smoke. They overshot the entrance by fifty feet, barely missing the leading squad car coming toward them.
"Fuck!" yelled Bell, throwing the car into reverse, and turning his head to see behind him.
Megan's nerves were shot. Between listening to Bell scream at her, taking part in a hundred-mile-an-hour car chase, and now this. All she wanted to do was get out of this car and far away from Bell.
"Get out of the way," Bell spit toward Kennedy, who had stopped behind him. He spun the wheel, with one hand, then the other, making a dull thud each time his hands landed on the wheel. He finally managed to get the car turned around and headed down the entrance road just as Isaac Graham punched through the gates, which landed on top of the Mustang and stayed there traveling another fifty feet before falling off. The Mustang turned right then headed deeper into the empty forty-acre site.
***
John watched as the brake lights from the three cars in front of him suddenly came on, a cloud of smoke appearing, and decelerated his own car. It was like a crowd after a major league baseball game vying for room to get out of the parking lot. He slipped in between two police cars, and followed the group inside, one car behind Andy and Kennedy.
The Bedroom Killer Page 24
