She drove toward the corner. About a mile down the street, Holden roared up beside her and rolled down his window. The intensity in his face was horrifying. “Pull over and give me the damn key.”
CHAPTER 24
Wednesday, September 20—11:10 P.M.
En route to his home in Santa Rosa, Marcus decided to swing by Carolyn’s house to make certain everything was all right. He’d called earlier as she’d requested, and a recording had said her phone was out of order. As he pulled the Bentley into the driveway, he saw light radiating from the windows and assumed Carolyn and her children were still awake.
He knocked on the door. “Who is it?” a male voice yelled.
“Marcus Wright,” he said. “I’m a friend of your mother’s.”
“Help us, please!” Rebecca screamed. He heard the male voice gruffly telling her to shut up. “Don’t, no…”
Marcus tried the knob. When it didn’t turn, he raised his foot and kicked the door open, entering the house and seeing a man dart out the rear slider door.
“He shot my brother,” Rebecca said, crying hysterically as she pressed the bloody tablecloth over her brother’s wound. “Call an ambulance.”
Marcus squatted next to John. He pulled the cloth away, ripped it with his teeth, and wrapped a long piece tightly around the boy’s leg above the wound to stop the blood flow. “Christ, was that the man who did this? The one that just left? Where’s Carolyn?”
“Don’t let him get away,” Rebecca shouted, pointing as she saw Holden running across the front lawn through the window. “He cut the phone lines. We couldn’t call for help. My brother left his cell phone in his friend’s car, and that man took mine.”
Marcus reached into his pocket and flipped open his phone, dialed 911, and handed it to Rebecca while he raced outside to try to catch the assailant.
The man entered what appeared to be a black late-model Hummer. The massive car roared off, leaving Marcus standing in the middle of the street. Squinting, he tried to make out the plate. It was too dark, though, and the Hummer had already disappeared around the corner.
Returning to the house, he told Rebecca, “Your brother’s lost a lot of blood. He’s not going to die, but he needs to get to a hospital right away.”
“Son,” he addressed John, “can you hear me?”
“Where’s…my…mom?” the boy mumbled, his face alarmingly pale.
“My God,” Rebecca said, grabbing Marcus’s sleeve. “He made Mom go to get some kind of key he left at his house. He told her to bring it back to him here. Now that you showed up, he might go there and kill her. You have to do something.”
“Where is this place?” Marcus asked, his voice tense. “Do you know who this man is?”
“Mom said he was a rapist,” the girl told him. “Th-that he was a killer. She told me I should do everything he said.”
“Was his name Carl Holden? Someone your mother investigated in the past.”
“I’m not sure.”
“I need to get hold of her detective friend.” Marcus pushed himself to his feet. “He works with your mother. Ventura PD, I think. You must have his number somewhere.”
“Mom’s backup phone book is in the kitchen,” Rebecca told him. “It’s taped under the cabinet above the phone. I think you’re talking about Hank Sawyer.”
When Marcus went over to the counter, he saw a file folder sitting next to the phone. The name on the tab was Carl Holden. He opened the folder and saw a Post-It note with an address on it. Carolyn had circled it and written, “Holden’s mother’s address.” Perspiration dripped from his forehead and soaked the underarms of his shirt. He found Carolyn’s address book and rushed over to Rebecca. “The police and paramedics will be here any minute, okay? I’ve got the address where your mother must have gone. I’ll call Hank on the way. I need my phone. Lock all the doors. Don’t answer unless you’re certain it’s the authorities. How did he get in?”
“I forgot to lock the back door when I took the trash out.”
Marcus rushed out of the house and jumped behind the wheel of the Bentley. The sound of approaching sirens violated the peace of the once quiet neighborhood. He punched the address from the Holden file into his navigation system. It told him his destination was only twelve miles away.
With the Bentley’s tires chirping on the concrete as he threw the gearshift into reverse and stepped on the gas, Marcus thought that now he would see how this luxury car handled when he pushed it to the limit. As he drove down the residential street at sixty-five miles per hour, an old couple on a walk stopped to watch the car zip by. “Turn right in one hundred feet,” the automated voice said. As he turned the steering wheel, his body shifted against the door and the rear of the car fishtailed toward the curb on the opposite side of the street.
Carolyn made him feel alive again. Meeting her children, even in such a desperate situation, had given Marcus a glimpse of what his life could be like if things worked out between them. Sometimes when he drove through middle-class neighborhoods like Carolyn’s, he longed to be an average person. Success had a tendency to isolate people, dull their senses, and rob them of one of the most enjoyable human experiences—anticipation. Putting money aside for that new car you’d always dreamed of owning, the vacation to Hawaii, even something as insignificant as a new pair of shoes. He imagined what it would be like to get up every morning and go to a regular job. No employees who depended on you, no heavy responsibilities. With Carolyn, he might find happiness. Everything would come to an end, however, if he didn’t stop Holden from killing her.
Marcus found Hank’s number and punched it into the phone. After identifying himself and explaining the situation, he asked the detective, “This key Rebecca spoke of at the house, what’s the significance? Why does Holden want it so bad?”
“Hold on,” Hank said, “we have a unit in front of the Park Avenue address now. The bastard tried to rape Carolyn there earlier this evening.”
Marcus’s blood boiled as he waited for the detective to return to the line. This no-good piece of human garbage had not only shot Carolyn’s son, he’d tried to rape her! Why hadn’t she called him? His car swerved in the residential streets as he tried not to smash into parked cars.
“We have additional units responding to the scene,” Hank told him. “Where are you now?”
Looking down at the navigation display, he saw he was only three blocks away. “I’m there in two minutes,” Marcus barked into the phone. His eyes panned the horizon as he searched for the Hummer. The area was riddled with rundown houses and apartment buildings.
“Listen to me,” Hank yelled. “This is no time to be a hero. This guy will open fire if you get close to him.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Marcus said, enraged to the point of unreason. “I’m going to show this murdering scum what real justice is about. All you need to do is bring a body bag.”
Seeing that Holden was alone in the car gave Carolyn the resolve to stand up to him. Her car accelerated, leaving Holden behind as the streetlights flew past. The Hummer caught her in no time, though, slamming into the rear bumper of the Infiniti like an army tank and making it shake violently. Holden tried to come up alongside her, but the narrow road and parked cars made it impossible. She swerved from one side to the other, the odometer reaching fifty.
Holden rammed her again. This time the impact tilted the suspension, and the Infiniti skidded to the right, then spun and careened into a retaining wall.
The impact knocked the wind out of Carolyn. Next she was jarred by the crashing of the front of the Hummer’s massive black meld of metal into the passenger side of her car.
Reaching for the door handle, she realized her only exit was blocked by the wall. Holden’s face appeared beyond the rubble. Training the gun on her, he shouted, “Don’t mess with me, Carolyn. This game is over. Give me the key.”
It was as if she’d entered a soundproof chamber. Time slowed, and she could hear her breath rushing in and out of her mouth. Her heart
pounded like a giant drum inside her chest. “Are my children alive?” she yelled.
“Yes, for now,” Holden said, shaking his left hand at her. “The key, bitch.”
Carolyn closed her eyes, praying that he was telling the truth. If the children were safe, though, that meant there were two rounds left in her gun. “I lied about finding the key,” she said, knowing he would kill her as soon as he got what he wanted. “It’s back at the house. That cop was on my ass. Since you took care of him, why don’t you go back and get it yourself? I’m not helping you anymore unless you prove to me that my children are safe.”
Carolyn slithered out through the window, taking shelter behind the wall. She could hear the engine on the Hummer revving. He was going to try to drive through the wall, kill her, and take the key. Then, peeking over the top, she saw the headlights and distinctive grill of Marcus’s Bentley moving in a straight path toward the Hummer.
The collision of the two large cars was deafening. When Carolyn climbed over the wall, she saw Marcus’s airbag had deployed, and his face was buried in the tan material. She heard metal scraping on pavement as Holden’s vehicle sped away. The momentum had caused his bumper to disengage and clunk to the ground in the middle of the roadway.
Hank Sawyer was standing on the sidewalk at the intersection of Prospect and Ventura Boulevard, staring at Carolyn’s wrecked Infiniti jammed against the retaining wall. Several officers from patrol had cordoned off the area, but there was no sign of Holden, Carolyn, or her new boyfriend, Marcus Wright.
The detective answered his cell phone, seeing nothing but a string of zeros on his Caller ID. Instead of speaking, he merely listened, thinking Holden might be injured and be ready to bargain. “Where the hell are you?” he barked when he heard Carolyn’s voice. “Your car’s wrecked. I’ve been out of my mind trying to find out what happened out here. They took John to Community Memorial. Where’s Holden and that jackass boyfriend of yours?”
“Calm down,” Carolyn said. “I’m okay, Hank. I’m with Marcus. I just got off the phone with the hospital. We’re pulling into the parking lot now.” She went on to describe what had transpired. “Holden was driving a black Hummer.”
“I’m aware of that,” Hank said. “We have the bumper. The Hummer was reported stolen earlier this evening. Holden ditched it about five blocks away. We have no idea what he’s driving now. No one has reported a stolen vehicle in the immediate vicinity. Because it’s so late, we may not hear anything until morning. We’re setting up checkpoints, though, on all the major roads leading out of Ventura. We have the helicopter up as well. I’ve also got my men canvassing the neighborhood.”
“Holden could be in another state by morning,” Carolyn told him, bordering on hysteria. “In the name of God, we have to find a way to stop this hideous man! He shot John! It wasn’t enough for him to try to rape me. He came into my home, held my family hostage, and shot my son. I want this man to pay, understand?”
“I’ll meet you at the hospital. I sent Mary over to be with Rebecca. She wasn’t injured, just shaken up.”
“Just get me Holden,” Carolyn said. Then, “Wait.” She asked Marcus for his cell phone number, which she rattled off to Hank. “We’ll have to turn it off while we’re inside the hospital. You can leave a message on Marcus’s voice mail, or call the hospital and have them page me. Holden has both my cell phone and my gun. Unless he fired a round I’m not aware of, he should have two shots left in the chamber.”
“Good to know.”
“You have my Nextel cell phone number,” she went on. “Do me a favor—have one of your people call and have them disconnect it. That’s how Holden got my address. He called the house, told Rebecca he was with FedEx and needed our address to deliver a package.”
“Since the phone was used in a crime, there’s no problem having the service terminated,” Hank responded. “You realize as long as the battery has juice, though, Holden will have access to all your information. Whose numbers are stored in that thing?”
“Everyone’s,” Carolyn said, holding the phone to her ear as she and Marcus jogged toward the emergency entrance to the hospital. “Neil’s, my mother’s, IP numbers for the computers at the agency, even your home number. You name it, it’s in there. What should I do?”
“Hope he doesn’t stop off at a Nextel store and buy a charger.”
“Thanks, Hank,” she said. “As if I couldn’t have figured that one out for myself.”
Marcus was looking back at her from several feet ahead. Carolyn started to say something else when she heard the dial tone.
Satisfied there was nothing more he could do in the field, Hank headed to the hospital, his thoughts returning to Carolyn. He hadn’t even met Marcus Wright and he already despised him. Carolyn had gushed about how he’d rescued her from Holden by ramming his Bentley into the Hummer. What kind of pompous asshole would drive around in a Bentley? More important, why was a man with that kind of money involved with a divorced probation officer with two teenage kids? Something didn’t add up.
Yeah, he had a thing for Carolyn. Everything he’d become within the last year was motivated by his fantasy of their one day being together. Above all, though, he couldn’t stand the thought of her being hurt by some smooth-talking phony who wanted to spend a few nights in bed with her, then move on.
How could he not go to the hospital? Carolyn, John, and Rebecca were about as close as he came to having a family. He’d been divorced for years, and he and his former wife had elected not to have children. Now that he was getting older, he realized what a mistake that had been.
Ten minutes later Hank was walking down the stark white hall to the emergency room. After he flashed his badge to the admitting clerk, the automatic double doors opened to a sea of stretchers. Injured people lay under thin white blankets, IV bottles dangling beside them. Dodging the paramedics bringing in an Asian woman with a crushed leg, he approached the center desk. “Where’s John Sullivan?”
“Hank, I almost didn’t recognize you,” a pretty dark-haired nurse said, smiling. “Long time no see. Atkin’s diet, huh? To answer your question, they just took the Sullivan boy into surgery.”
“How bad is he, Erica?”
“He was conscious, but he’d lost a lot of blood. The kid would be dead if the shooter had hit an artery. Other than that, the gunshot wound was fairly superficial. Once they dig the thing out, he should be back on his feet in no time. If you’re looking for the family, they’re on the seventh floor in the surgical waiting room. You’ll see it when you get off the elevator.”
“Thanks,” Hank said, turning away.
“Anytime,” said Erica, leaning over the top of the counter. “Stop by again when you’re not in a hurry. Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee.”
The detective was so engrossed in his thoughts he didn’t realize the nurse had been flirting with him. He stepped into the open elevator and pushed the button for the seventh floor. When he found the waiting room, he saw Carolyn through the glass window with two men. He recognized Neil, so he assumed the man in the suit next to her was Marcus Wright.
Carolyn’s brother was a tall, slender man with dark hair and expressive eyes. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black jeans, and paint-splattered tennis shoes. When things were going well in his life, Neil was quite the character, cracking jokes and incessantly teasing his sister. He’d gone through some rough times the year before, primarily due to his involvement with a woman with some extremely bad habits. Hank had been pleased when Carolyn told him Neil had finally extricated himself from the relationship.
Hank saw Marcus stroking Carolyn’s hand. Sleazy bastard, he thought, trying to take advantage of a woman when her defenses are down.
What was so special about this guy, anyway? Hank suspected he was pushing fifty. Carolyn’s former infatuation with Brad Preston was understandable. Any woman would go nuts over a man that good-looking. And the fact that he raced cars made him even more appealing. Girls
were turned on by men who did dangerous things. Being a cop used to do the trick, but it didn’t seem to hold the status it did in the past, probably because women had finally realized how little police officers were paid.
Hank took a deep breath and released his fist, opening the door and stepping inside the waiting room. “Carolyn,” he said, giving her a tense look. He turned to acknowledge her brother. “Hi, Neil.” Then, “Any news on John?”
Carolyn got up and hugged the detective, whispering in his ear, “Thanks for coming. Between Holden and John, I’m a basket case.”
Hank stared down at the floor. “I worry about you, you know,” he said quietly. “Maybe if you’d use more caution, you wouldn’t put yourself in these kinds of situations all the time.” Damn, he thought, wincing. He’d said the wrong thing again. “Forget that, okay? Just tell me the status on John.”
Carolyn glanced over her shoulder at Marcus, then turned back around. “The wound itself isn’t that bad. What they’re worried about is the amount of blood he lost. Once they remove the bullet, we’ll know more. Anything on Holden?”
Hank sighed. “Not yet,” he said. “He’ll make a mistake eventually. I don’t think he has much money. He’ll have to pull a robbery or something so he can get out of town. He’d be a fool to stay here with this kind of heat. That’s good because it will give us a chance to nail down a location on him.”
Carolyn took a seat on a small sofa. “Unless he kills someone with my gun.”
“Pleasant thought. Where’re Rebecca and Mary?”
Carolyn chewed on a fingernail, then dropped her hand to her side. “Mary took Rebecca home to spend the night with her. Oh, this is Marcus Wright. Marcus, Hank Sawyer. He’s the detective I told you about.”
Hank gave the other man a bone-crushing handshake. “Didn’t need that body bag, huh?”
“I missed the passenger’s door and caught the back bumper,” Marcus explained, massaging the hand Hank had shaken. “Next time I’ll shoot him.”
Sullivan’s Evidence Page 23
