The Runaway Reporter (A Police Procedural Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Hyder Ali #3)

by Thomas Fincham

  Lopez had read about it in the papers. Fortunately, no one was hurt in the fire.

  She moved passed the machines when she heard something up ahead.

  Her senses became alert. With her gun aimed high, she moved deeper into the building.

  She felt movement to her left. She turned.

  There was just enough light for her to see that there was nothing there.

  She then heard a loud bang as if a door had been shut.

  It had come from up ahead.

  Had he left through another exit? She thought. She wasn’t sure how many exits there were, but he would know, having worked here before.

  She was in now another section of the building. There was a loading dock before her with several trucks parked next to it. Like most things in the building, they were stained black.

  She noticed a strip of light in the corner. She moved toward it and found it was an opening for a door.

  Her heart suddenly sank. Did he leave already? She thought.

  She pushed the door back, found herself almost blinded by sunlight.

  She then felt movement behind her.

  She turned but couldn’t see anything. Her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness.

  The next moment she saw something shiny before her.

  It came down and struck her on the arm.

  She lost her grip on the gun. It flew away and hit a wall.

  She realized the shiny object was a metal pipe. It came toward her again, but this time she moved left. It narrowly missed her by an inch.

  Her eyes quickly adjusted to the low light and she found herself face to face with Francisco Luiz.

  His eyes glinted as he prepared for another attack.

  She looked around. There was nowhere to go.

  He growled and swung again. She ducked and then rolled on the floor until she struck something hard and metallic.

  It was one of the charred trucks.

  She quickly flattened herself on the floor and then slid her body underneath the truck. She came out on the other side and peeked. She spotted Luiz’s feet. They were moving around the truck toward her.

  She ran to the other side and got behind another vehicle.

  She needed something to defend herself.

  She searched behind her, but couldn’t find anything she could use as a weapon.

  But then a reflection of light caught her attention. It was a piece of broken glass. She didn’t dare to grab it with her bare hands. It would cut her in an instant. Instead, she quickly tore a piece from her sleeve and wrapped it around her hand.

  She moved toward the glass when she felt a shadow behind her. Before she could react, a hand came over and circled her neck.

  The grip was so tight that she began to lose her breath.

  She kicked and thrashed, but she couldn’t release herself from the hold.

  She suddenly felt lightheaded. Her eyes felt heavy. They were slowly rolling to the back of her head.

  She was about to black out.

  She thought of Nolan and Hyder. She felt like she had failed them.

  NINETY-NINE

  Pascale dragged him through the front entrance, up the elevators, and all the way to the detective division.

  The moment he walked through the doors with Ali next to him in handcuffs, he received a standing ovation.

  The entire division was congratulating him on a job well done.

  It was why he had paraded Ali through the building in the first place. He wanted to show his prize to not only his colleagues but his superiors as well.

  One of them had been shot, and he, Angelo Pascale, had captured the person behind it.

  The other detectives hollered and whistled. They cheered and patted him on the back.

  “Way to go!” one of them said.

  “You da man!” Another chimed in.

  Then the entire floor said in unison, “Pascale! Pascale! Pascale!”

  Angelo Pascale grinned. This was his moment and he wanted to soak up every second of it.

  He was finally getting his due. He had not only captured a fugitive, he had done so with zero casualties.

  Halton came over and smiled. “Good job, detective.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Pascale replied, with his head held high.

  “Now take him in,” he said. “We have a lot of questions for him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pascale pushed Hyder to the interrogation room.

  ONE HUNDRED

  They sat him down and removed the handcuffs. His skin was raw and red marks circled his wrists.

  He felt embarrassed for being dragged through the department like some criminal.

  He knew what they wanted to know. What happened in Nolan’s house? Why did he shoot him?

  He would tell them everything he knew. The only problem was, would they believe him?

  He wished Lopez was here to save him.

  ONE HUNDRED-ONE

  Lopez felt her life seeping out of her.

  She knew she didn’t have much time.

  The room began to spin around her.

  She tried to yell, scream, say something, but the only thing that came out was a low groan from the back of her throat.

  Her ears began to ring and her head started to pound.

  Her eyes were now slits. Soon they would be shut for good and she would be no more.

  Then she felt something on her fingertips.

  It was the piece of glass she had been reaching for all along.

  With tears in her eyes, she willed her body forward and grabbed it.

  She then swung it behind her. She hit something soft but robust.

  Luiz let out a horrifying cry.

  He released his grip around her neck. She could finally breathe.

  She sucked in air. For a second, she thought she would throw up.

  Through watery eyes, she saw him holding the side of his neck.

  She had punctured an artery. Blood covered his entire hand as he tried to cover the wound.

  Her nostrils flared as she controlled her breathing. She glared at him.

  She was fuming. He had tried to kill her and she would punish him for this.

  She lashed at him with the sharp glass.

  He blocked, but it cut his arm.

  He cursed and fell back.

  She got on her feet, but instantly felt dizzy. The entire space revolved around her. She had to hold on to something from falling over.

  When she finally looked, he was gone.

  She swallowed and rubbed her raw neck.

  She saw drops of blood on the floor. With the glass in her head, she felt protected. She would follow the trail and then kill him.

  But this was only a false sense of security. He would find something bigger, something far more deadly, and he would come back to finish her off.

  She had to find her gun. It was her only chance.

  She had an idea where she’d dropped it. She just hoped he hadn’t found it first.

  She carefully moved toward the walls. Visibility was low. She had to strain her eyes in order to see what was on the floor.

  She quickly realized it wasn’t going to be an easy task. The gun was black, and in the low light, it looked like it had been swallowed by darkness.

  Did he already take it? She suddenly thought. A feeling of dread overcame her. She began to sweat. She found her heart started beating faster than before.

  She was having a panic attack. She had to keep herself calm and collected. This was no time to lose it, she reminded herself. This was a matter of life and death.

  Her life. Her death.

  She stopped where she thought the gun would be and dropped to the floor. She began blindly moving her hands all over the place.

  CRANK!

  She turned.

  CRANK!

  The noise was coming further back, but it sounded like something was being turned on.

  CRANK!

  She didn’t bother finding out what it was. Instea
d, she went back to searching for the gun.

  Then something roared to life. It sounded like an engine. This was followed by sounds of tires screeching on the floors. The noise reverberated throughout the building.

  Had he gotten a truck started? It didn’t sound like any truck she knew.

  Whatever it was, it was coming her way.

  She kept searching for her weapon. As the sound got closer she realized what it was.

  It was a forklift. Luiz was driving it straight at her.

  She saw the slip of light from the back door. She thought about running toward it. Maybe she could reach it and get out.

  Then she spotted what she was searching for.

  The gun lay in the middle of the floor. It had hit the wall and flown back several feet

  The roar of the engine became deafening. The forklift was seconds away from ramming her.

  She dove on the floor, rolled twice, and grabbed the gun.

  She felt the forklift move past her.

  She turned, aimed, and fired.

  The first bullet ricocheted off the metal frame.

  The forklift instantly reversed when Lopez fired another round. Her second shot connected.

  Luiz let out a horrifying scream, but he kept his foot on the accelerator.

  The forklift came back at her. She moved out of the way, fired again as Luiz moved past.

  His head snapped back. The forklift stopped abruptly.

  She got up and walked over.

  The interior of the driver’s seat was covered in blood. He was leaning on the steering wheel. His eyes were open, but they were devoid of any life.

  Francisco Luiz was dead.

  She quickly left the abandoned distribution center and rushed to the courier van. She searched through all the packages inside.

  The package was not there.

  She sat at the edge of the van and tried to think. Where could it have gone? She had watched him pick it up. She was certain he had not delivered it to any of the houses. Then what?

  And then it dawned on her. When she had lost him briefly, he must have dumped it somewhere.

  “Shit,” she said with a sigh.

  Her attempt at trying to locate others who were also involved in the scheme was a failure.

  She now regretted not grabbing Luiz earlier. It would have saved her the trouble of following him, not to mention avoiding nearly getting killed. Plus, Luiz’s death had cost Lopez her chance to question him.

  She pulled out her cell phone and called in the body.

  ONE HUNDRED-TWO

  Felix quickly gathered his belongings and left the Daily Times. He tried to be as casual as possible. He even told a few co-workers that he would see them tomorrow.

  He wouldn’t. After today, he would never set another foot in the Daily Times again.

  He had come here with a task. It was given to him by someone he had never met, but this person had been more than generous to him thus far.

  If Felix fulfilled his end of the bargain, he would never have to worry about money again.

  He smiled at the thought.

  He had not only completed his mission, he had also gone above and beyond. This would surely encourage his benefactor to increase his remuneration.

  He was tasked with setting in motion the downfall of Devon Pharma, which is exactly what he did. With the negative attention they had received, they were now at the brink of total ruin.

  He had never received the anonymous tip regarding the connection between the murders on Riverfield Street and the drug study conducted by Devon. It was information his benefactor had provided him.

  The Daily Times was designated to release this information. Had it not been for Hyder Ali and his friend, Tom Nolan, who ended up talking him out of it, he had to go to plan B: contacting the Franklin Herald.

  Felix didn’t have anything personal against Hyder. In fact, he felt an affinity toward him. Like Hyder, he had gone to Franklin U, and like Hyder, he shared a class with Professor Freeland. Maybe that was why he was selected for this assignment.

  Regardless of the reasons, Felix didn’t enjoy destroying Hyder’s life. It was when he found out Hyder was looking into Francine Robeault’s accident he had become concerned.

  He sent a message to his benefactor via the forum. To Felix’s surprise, his benefactor told him he would take care of it.

  He never thought that meant setting Hyder up for the attempted murder of Nolan.

  How brilliant, Felix thought.

  Hyder would now spend the rest of his life in prison and no one would ever question what happened to Francine Robeault.

  Her murder was supposed to look like an accident, and his benefactor had planned it perfectly.

  Felix was instructed to shove her into a van and walk away from the scene. He did just that, but something inside him wanted to make sure she was dead.

  When he went back, he was horrified to find the van reversing at her, and when it was gone, he couldn’t help but see what was left of her.

  It wasn’t pretty, he had to admit, but he had seen worse.

  After what happened to his right hand, this was nothing.

  He had been born with perfect use of both his hands. A childhood illness caused his parents to give him medication, which their doctor had prescribed for Felix. Unknown to them, he was severely allergic to this kind of medication. The adverse reaction left half his body completely paralyzed.

  After several gruelling years of physical therapy, he was able to regain movement in most of his body, but his right hand was never the same. No matter what his parents or his doctors did, it would always stay limp.

  He was grateful to function somewhat normally again, but the children at school never made him forget what he had been through. They taunted and teased him at every opportunity. He had to learn to do everything with his left hand, but that was no easy task.

  He was constantly left off team sports because he couldn’t throw, catch, or dribble a ball with both hands. He could kick a ball, but the effects of the medication on his body didn’t leave him very athletic. Soon he gave up all sports-related activities.

  Even though there were other children who had suffered far worse than he had and they’d managed just fine in life, he wasn’t one of them. He was bitter and resentful.

  He was angry at the medication that robbed him of the life he envisioned for himself.

  Ever since he could remember, he had wanted to be a pilot. It was a dream all children had when they were young. It was right next to becoming a doctor, an astronaut, even the President of the United States. He had always felt his dream was attainable, though. He was smart, he was bright, and he was dedicated.

  But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t pass the physical examinations. He couldn’t even get a recreational license to fly. He soon focused his attention on becoming a journalist. Maybe he would write about aviation one day.

  Now he wasn’t too concerned about that. His priorities had suddenly changed after receiving the message.

  It offered him the opportunity to solve all his problems.

  He would take the money and go to some Caribbean island. He would buy a place there and live a life of comfort. He would even try to get back into a cockpit, if he could convince a local to let him fly.

  How hard would it be? He thought. He would go to some rundown airstrip and find a desperate pilot who would let him get behind the wheel.

  He felt tiny goose bumps just thinking about it.

  He was out of the Daily Times’ building and was walking down the street when a white SUV cut him off.

  “Watch where you’re going,” he yelled. “You nearly ran me over.”

  A giant of a man got out. He was big and he was black. He also looked mean.

  Felix turned pale. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

  “Are you Felix Dent?” the giant said.

  “Um… yes, but why are you asking me?” Felix was confused.

  Another man got
out. He was also black, but he had corn rows in his hair. “Mr. Dent, please get in the car,” the man said

  “Why? What’s going on?” Felix said, looking around.

  “You can get in the car on your own or my friend can make you do it.”

  The giant smiled.

  Felix swallowed hard. “Please, I didn’t do anything.”

  “Oh, we know exactly what you have done.”

  They were all smiling now, even the driver.

  Felix was utterly terrified.

  “Now get inside,” the man ordered.

  Felix did as he was told.

  ONE HUNDRED-THREE

  Lopez was on her way back to the department when she received the call. She abruptly turned the Acura around and headed in the other direction.

  She raced down the halls of the hospital. When she reached Nolan’s room, she saw Nolan had his eyes open. His lips were also moving.

  The doctor came over and smiled. “He woke up and asked for you.”

  She rushed over to him with tears in her eyes.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” he replied.

  “How’re you feeling?” she asked.

  “I feel like I’ve just been shot.”

  She smiled.

  “I heard it in some movie,” he said. “So I figured this would be the right time to use it.”

  “Always with the jokes, huh?” she said.

  “You know me. It’s the jokes or I act like a jerk.”

  “You are a jerk.”

  He made a face. “What did I do now? I didn’t leave this bed once, I swear.”

  “You got yourself shot, you jerk.”

  He nodded, and then winced.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

  “I could use a drink about now,” he said with a smile.

  “Always thinking about alcohol, aren’t you?”

  “You want to know something?” he said.

  “What?”

  “Right before I lost consciousness, the last thing I thought about was you. When I finally woke up, the first thing I thought about was you.”