Face Off

by Brenda Novak

  “Bring it on, you bastard!” he yelled as he pulled his rifle around so he could aim it. “But just remember—you’re not in Boston anymore! If you fuck with me out here, you’re going to lose!”

  There was no response. “I’ve owned a gun since I was five,” he went on. “If I catch one glimpse of you, you’re dead.” While crawling army-style through the snow to get behind a fallen log, he looked for any dimming of the light at the cabin, anything to suggest that someone had just walked in front of a window. Any clue at all that might help him place his attacker. He’d lived in Alaska his whole life; he was so used to the pervasive darkness during the winter months that he could almost sense movement, didn’t need to actually see it. “No answer?” he shouted. “You must have something to say. I’m the one who’s got what you want. Evelyn comes home to me every night. And you’ll never get her back.”

  Still nothing.

  If only he could provoke Jasper or whomever it was into responding. That would give him an auditory signal to go along with the shadows and changing light patterns he was hoping to read. The gunshots that’d been fired weren’t enough. The sounds seemed to ricochet in his brain the way they’d echoed through the forest.

  “If you think you scare me, if you think I haven’t been looking forward to this opportunity, you’re wrong!” he yelled. “Try and torture me, you son of a bitch! I’ll take you out of here in a body bag or in handcuffs. Your choice. But to be honest, I prefer the body bag.”

  His opponent fired. Amarok had no idea how close that bullet came. He wasn’t paying any attention to the bullets aimed at him. He was too hyper-focused on their source. Short of a verbal response, that was exactly what he’d been hoping Jasper would do, because this time he was ready. This time he was both watching and listening.

  He saw a flash near the cabin, saw the subsequent change in light as Jasper or whoever it was shifted to the right.

  “There you are,” he whispered, and squeezed off a round.

  15

  He’d been hit! Jasper couldn’t believe it. Amarok had shot him, even though he wasn’t carrying a flashlight or anything else that would give his location away.

  Jasper couldn’t feel any pain. He supposed the adrenaline and the fear were compensating. He’d never come up against anyone as capable as Amarok. That made him hate the sergeant even more.

  He shouldn’t have started this fight. Had he hit Amarok with his first bullet, as he’d hoped when he opened fire, the situation would be different. But he’d missed, and now he needed to get out of there as fast as possible. Amarok could not only shoot better; he could also move around in the snow better. Jasper hadn’t bothered to put on any snowshoes. That was why he’d had to stick so close to the cabin. If he had to take off running, it’d be like running through cement.

  He fired again, randomly. Then he ducked. He knew he’d receive a hail of bullets in response, and he did. He could hear them hitting the wood behind him—right where he’d been standing before crouching down. Amarok was like an owl; he could see in the dark. But Jasper had only intended to distract him so he could get away from the cabin and its light. He needed to return to his truck before Amarok guessed he was planning to run instead of fight. If the trooper figured out it was safe to go into full pursuit, things might not end well.

  After a brief pause, he heard Amarok fire off another bullet. He didn’t know if that was a test shot, to see if he’d respond, or if Amarok was using it to cover his approach to the cabin. The sergeant could already be hustling down the mountain, but if Jasper couldn’t see him clearly he couldn’t hit him.

  His left arm tingled where he’d been shot. He assumed there was blood dripping from his sleeve, but he couldn’t feel it. He had no idea how badly off he might be; his hands were numb from the cold. He’d removed his gloves so he could fire his weapon and barely remembered to stuff them in his pockets before hurrying away.

  A bullet whizzed past him. Amarok was adjusting his shot, somehow following his movements.

  Shit! Jasper knew he’d made a gross miscalculation. He’d thought the element of surprise would be enough of an advantage, but he’d attacked Amarok in Amarok’s element. The cold didn’t seem to affect the sergeant; he was prepared for it. The dark didn’t seem to hamper him, either.

  Jasper didn’t dare turn on the flashlight he’d brought so he could find his truck. He stumbled, hit rocks that gouged his shins and ran into tree branches that clawed at his clothes. At one point, he thought he heard footsteps behind him and his knees went so weak he almost fell.

  It took a moment to realize Amarok wasn’t close, that it was only his imagination.

  He paused to catch his breath and think. He was fine; he needed to calm down.

  After shoving his gun in the waist of his pants, he turned on his flashlight. He was getting disoriented, had to see.

  Luckily, he wasn’t lost; he was almost at his truck. If not for that, he suspected Amarok would be right—he’d be going with the trooper, either in handcuffs or in a body bag.

  Jasper kept the flashlight up his sleeve so he could cover the beam with his hand. That way, it emitted hardly any light, and he turned it off as soon as he caught a glimpse of where he was going. He still had one major advantage. The sergeant wasn’t like him. Amarok might suspect he’d just been in a gunfight with Jasper, the man who’d nearly killed Evelyn, but he wouldn’t know for sure. And that doubt would make him hesitate. He had no real blood lust. Unless he was being shot at or directly threatened, he’d try to capture, not kill. By taking advantage of Amarok’s humanity—the same as he did with everyone else—Jasper could escape.

  Once he reached his truck, he climbed in, started the engine and tore off. He was risking his life traveling that narrow road so fast, but he couldn’t let Amarok catch sight of the make and model of his vehicle or, especially, his license plate.

  “Go, go, go,” he chanted. He only needed a few seconds, because he already knew Amarok wouldn’t be chasing him down.

  * * *

  Amarok spotted a dim light. It appeared and then disappeared. He also heard the engine of a vehicle. Whoever had tried to shoot him wasn’t still stalking him; he was getting away.

  Amarok had been descending the mountain cautiously. Now he whipped his rifle back around, hoping for an opportunity to shoot. If he couldn’t hit the driver because of the distance and the darkness, he could possibly take out a tire or hit the vehicle somewhere that would provide proof later. He had to do something.

  Problem was, he couldn’t see the vehicle for all the trees. There was a brief flash of brake lights and he immediately fired, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t hit anything. Those lights disappeared almost instantly.

  With a curse, he moved as fast as he could in his snowshoes—so fast his lungs were burning by the time he reached his truck. He had to catch whoever it was, but he also had to remove the snowshoes that had made it so easy to walk in the deep snow.

  He tossed them in the bed of his truck. But the moment he started the engine, shoved the transmission into Reverse and began to back up, he knew something was wrong.

  “Son of a bitch!” he yelled, and smacked the steering wheel before getting out.

  Sure enough, Jasper, or whoever it was, had slashed his tires. Since Jasper hadn’t been near the truck while he was fleeing, he’d done it when he first arrived.

  Amarok cursed again. He’d been in such a hurry he hadn’t even noticed, but all four tires were flat, and he had only one spare.

  He studied the darkness surrounding him. If the shooter came back, he’d be a sitting duck. He’d be in real trouble if he went inside and fell asleep.

  But he couldn’t hang out in the forest forever, watching and waiting. He’d freeze to death.

  The cabin was his best bet. He could barricade himself inside, where he’d have warmth and shelter and could keep his gun handy as he waited for daylight.

  He was listening for the sound of a car as he started to trudge back. />
  That was when he smelled smoke.

  * * *

  The first thing Evelyn realized was that Amarok hadn’t been to bed. According to the alarm clock it was nearly eight in the morning, and yet she hadn’t heard him come in.

  When she moved, Makita’s collar jingled as he lifted his head. “You’re worried, too, huh, boy?”

  He stood, eager to go out, and she nudged Sigmund, who was curled up beside her, so she could climb out of bed and put on her robe. She hoped Amarok had at least called, that she’d been sleeping so deeply she just hadn’t heard the phone. But when she reached the living room and woke Phil, who was snoring loudly on her couch, he said he hadn’t heard anything, either. “He’s probably over at the trooper post,” he added. “There’s a couch. Or he could be sleeping at his desk.”

  That did little to alleviate Evelyn’s worry. Amarok had never slept at his trooper post before, certainly not since she’d moved in with him—

  The phone rang. She jumped at the noise and then, relieved, hurried over to answer it. She thought for sure it would be Amarok.

  “Evelyn?”

  Not Amarok. Ashton Cooper. Evelyn easily recognized the attorney’s deep, gruff voice. “Hi, Ashton.”

  “I hope it’s not too early. If so, you can call me later.”

  He’d probably read the disappointment in her voice. It wasn’t too early. She just wasn’t in any frame of mind to think about Fitzpatrick. She was too concerned about Amarok. But she didn’t want to put Ashton off when she’d called him first and said she hoped to hear from him soon.

  Pushing her worry down deeper, she said, “No. It’s fine. How nice of you to get back to me so fast.”

  “I’ll admit I was surprised to hear from you. It’s been a while. I’ve been following your progress, though, whenever something comes up in the news.”

  She glanced nervously at the clock over the sink. Eight ten, and the minutes were ticking away. “Then you know I’ve had a bumpy start with Hanover House.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but the road you’ve chosen will probably be bumpy all the way along. Nature of the beast.”

  She tightened her robe. “You’ve got a point there.”

  Phil, who’d slept in his clothes, waved to catch her attention. He’d rolled off the couch and put on his coat and hat. “I’m going to the trooper station to check on Amarok,” he told her.

  She covered the phone. “Thank you. Call me as soon as you get there.”

  “I will.”

  Trying not to panic before they had any reason to, she waved as he went out.

  “So … you’re taking pity on your fellow psychiatrist?” Ashton said once she’d returned to their conversation.

  “Not exactly. There isn’t much about Tim Fitzpatrick that makes me feel sympathy and even less I admire. He’s arrogant, insufferable. But innocent is innocent, and if he isn’t responsible for those murders, he doesn’t deserve to spend his life in prison.”

  “What makes you think he might be falsely convicted? The evidence, at least what I heard of it on your voicemail, sounds solid to me.”

  “It is. Unless DNA found at either crime scene matches Jasper’s, he won’t be getting out anytime soon.”

  “Jasper is the man who attacked you in high school.”

  “You remember…”

  “Not a lot of men are named Jasper. It’s difficult to forget. You’re not easy to forget, either,” he added.

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she didn’t cut in; she let him continue.

  “But this DNA you mentioned—the police have DNA they weren’t able to match to a member of the victim’s family? Or anyone else? Or what DNA are you talking about?”

  “The woman for whom Charlotte was babysitting when she was murdered had only lived in that house for a short time. The person who rented it before her ran a daycare. Some kids she watched regularly, while others were drop-ins.”

  “That means quite a bit of human DNA went through that place.”

  “Exactly. To add to the confusion, her teenage son threw a party whenever she was gone, and so many kids attended his parties, even he couldn’t give the police an exhaustive list.”

  “I see. They’ve got several unmatched DNA profiles you’d like to have compared to Jasper’s.”

  “Now that we have his DNA, yes. As soon as possible.”

  “Sorry if you already told me that. Your message cut off in the middle. Did you say the testing’s being done?”

  “Not yet. I notified Detective Dressler, the detective who investigated his case, that testing is now possible, but he hasn’t called me back.”

  “No detective wants to be bothered with a closed case. He has too many open ones. And putting the wrong guy behind bars isn’t only a travesty, it’s a publicity nightmare.”

  She willed Amarok to come walking through the door as she stared down at Makita. “All true, but we have a moral responsibility to check this out. We’ve got new information that could have a material impact on whether Fitzpatrick belongs in prison.”

  “This convicted colleague of yours—he doesn’t have an attorney?”

  “Not right now. From what he’s told me in his many letters, he can’t afford to pay one.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ll completely understand if you’d rather not get involved, Ashton. Working for free isn’t an attractive prospect. But you were the only person I could think of who might be willing and able to help. That’s why I contacted you.”

  “I’m intrigued despite the lack of remuneration, but I’ll admit my interest has little to do with Dr. Fitzpatrick’s guilt or innocence.”

  She patted Makita, who’d edged closer in hopes that she’d hang up and take him out. “What do you mean?”

  “I’d be willing to jump in and do all I can if there’s even a remote chance it’ll help capture Jasper. I’m not the only one who hasn’t forgotten him. The whole nation’s been waiting for resolution on your case.”

  It would boost his career if he solved it, might even result in a movie or TV deal. That was where the remuneration would come in.

  “No one’s been waiting more than me,” she said. “And capturing Jasper might be a possibility. We know he was in San Diego only a few days before Charlotte was murdered, and that he was most likely in Arizona, where we think he lives, shortly after. In order to kill Charlotte in between, he must’ve flown to Boston from San Diego and from Boston to Phoenix in a very short time. We could check the airline manifests to see how many people did that in the days before and after Charlotte’s death.”

  “He can’t be using his own name.”

  “No, he’s got to be using an alias, but this could help us figure out what that alias is.”

  “There must be hundreds of people who fly into Boston from San Diego every day. And he might not have come from San Diego. What if he flew from Los Angeles, where there are three major airports?”

  Evelyn could see why Ashton might be skeptical. This was a long shot. But they had to follow every lead. “His mother said he’s a family man now. If he has a wife and kids, he probably didn’t have a lot of time to fly all over—or drive, for that matter. I think he’d fly to Boston from San Diego and from Boston to Phoenix. And I’ll bet not too many of the people who fly to Boston from San Diego turn around and go to Arizona right after.”

  “True…”

  “Plus we could automatically rule out all women, and anyone too old or too young, if birthdates are given, which I think they are. Once we narrow down the list, we should have a manageable number. After that, we simply look at each and every individual we have left and see if we can’t get DNA on anyone who seems even slightly suspicious.”

  “It’s worth a try,” he said. “Where’s Fitzpatrick incarcerated?”

  “Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center. It’s about an hour’s drive from Boston—”

  “I’m familiar with it. I’ll see when I can visit him.”

  Havi
ng Ashton on board should help with everything. Despite her immediate anxiety over Amarok, Evelyn felt a great deal of relief that Ashton was willing to get involved. “Will you contact Detective Dressler with Boston PD and tell him you’re taking the case?”

  “I will. We should move on the DNA testing right away.”

  “We won’t get anything quickly if we go through whatever lab the police use.”

  “You’re suggesting a private one?”

  “Yes. I’ll pay for it.”

  “That could get expensive.”

  “I don’t care. We don’t have any time to waste.” She should’ve offered to pay before, when they were trying to test the DNA found under the nails of one of the Peoria victims against the mitochondrial DNA of Jasper’s mother, but she’d never guessed it would take eight months.

  “You’re sure?” he said.

  She thought of Sierra Yerbowitz and how slim the chances were that Amarok would find her alive. If they didn’t catch Jasper soon, others would be hurt. “Positive.”

  “Okay, I’m familiar with a lab in Philadelphia that might be able to work us in. I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  “Thank you. And I’ll let Tim know you’re coming.”

  Eager to hang up, she almost put down the phone. She wanted to figure out what’d happened to Amarok. But he spoke again.

  “It’s good to hear from you, Evelyn.”

  “Good to hear your voice, too. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.”

  “It’s time to catch the bastard who nearly killed you. It’ll be a win for all of America,” he joked.

  “I could use the peace of mind.” Once again, she thought he’d hang up, but he didn’t.

  “Are you happy up there in Alaska?” he asked. “I have to admit part of me hopes you’re lonely as hell and almost ready to come back to Boston, where there’s a certain attorney who never had the chance to take you out.”

  She laughed. “I’m all for having dinner with you. It’d be great to catch up. But I should warn you that my heart belongs to a lawman up here.”