by Travis, Todd
“Are we clear on this? You don’t talk to anyone, you don’t go anywhere, you don’t crack a fart without asking me for permission first. This ‘media profile release’ SHIT, it’s not happening. You, interrogating another suspect, not happening. You, going to another crime scene, not happening. You, firing your weapon at anyone ELSE, not fucking happening. From now on, you don’t do ANYTHING except read and write reports and if you have ANY recommendations, you make them to ME and ONLY me. Now then. If either of you have a problem with that, then I suggest you get your ass back to Washington or wherever it is you came from! Any questions? Good!”
Forsythe wheeled and stalked off, still cursing under his breath. Thorne turned to Kane, a thoughtful look on his face.
“Case in point,” Thorne said. “I’ll be right back.”
Thorne casually got to his feet and walked after Forsythe.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Forsythe sat on the toilet in a stall in the men’s room, moved his bowels and read the newspaper. This was his ritual, three times a day he sat, whether he needed to or not, here on the throne where every man was king and hoped for delivery. In addition to regular sitting was an awful orange-flavored fiber drink his wife made him drink every morning and evening. Men his age had to pay attention to their bowels, among other things, was the wife’s constant refrain.
The door to the men’s room opened and closed. Forsythe paid no attention to it, engrossed in his paper and the loud trumpeting noises that emitted from his posterior, signaling fiber-coated success.
Footsteps echoed off the bathroom walls. They stopped directly in front of Forsythe’s stall. This got Forsythe’s attention. He lowered the paper and looked down at the bottom of his stall door. A pair of shoes faced his stall. The right shoe tapped calmly.
“Who’s fucking around out there?” Forsythe growled, feeling his blood pressure begin to rise yet again.
Thorne suddenly kicked the stall door open and leaped into the stall. He grabbed Forsythe by his hair and tie and dragged him out of the toilet stall. He propelled Forsythe, struggling to pull up his pants, right into the bathroom wall.
The big man hit his head hard on the wall. Thorne grabbed Forsythe again, turned him around and threw him right back into the toilet stall where he was previously sitting. Forsythe hit the toilet, slipped and fell to the floor next to it.
Thorne, chewing gum, calmly grabbed Forsythe by the hair, lifted his head up and very deliberately shoved his face into the just-used toilet bowl. Forsythe bellowed and thrashed but, despite his weight and size advantage, was helpless in Thorne’s grip.
Thorne casually dunked Forsythe’s head into the used toilet once, twice, three times and then flushed the toilet on his face. Thorne hauled Forsythe up to his feet and tossed him out of the stall yet again. Forsythe slipped and fell to the floor, his pants still only as high as his knees. Bracing his hands on the floor and panting, Forsythe tried to get up.
Thorne kicked Forsythe in the gut hard. All the wind went right out of Forsythe. Forsythe tried to raise himself once more, bracing his arms yet again. Thorne calmly kicked Forsythe’s hand out from under him before he could do so. Forsythe fell heavily onto the floor on his face. He lay there on his chest, breathing heavily.
Thorne leaned down, grabbed one of Forsythe’s shoulders and flipped him over onto his back. Forsythe looked up at Thorne from the floor like a whipped puppy.
“We’re having a serious disagreement here,” Thorne said, still calm. “For the record, I’ll state my case. YOU. Do NOT … get in my WAY … at any point in time. EVER. Other than that, I don’t care what you do. Have I made myself clear?”
Forsythe, still breathing heavily, closed his eyes and nodded.
“Good. I don’t want to have to have this conversation again,” Thorne checked his look in the mirror, adjusted his tie and ran his fingers through his hair.
“I’m hungry,” Thorne said. “You know any good restaurants? I’m hungry for Italian food. Can you even get decent Italian in Nebraska?”
Forsythe swallowed and coughed, still on his back. “Pepe’s. On Avenue B and Twelfth. It’s not too bad.”
“Thanks,” Thorne said, “I appreciate it.”
Thorne left the bathroom. Forsythe stayed exactly where he was on the floor.
As Thorne strolled out of the men’s room, a couple of uniformed men stood outside the door cautiously, hands on weapons, unsure what to do about the racket that had come from the bathroom. Hairston stared at Thorne for a moment before entering the john with a worried look on his face.
“Careful in there, floor’s wet and a little slippery,” Thorne said as Hairston hurried by him. “I think someone may have fallen.” Kane stood a few feet away, eyebrow raised.
“Kane! Wanna get some chow? I’m starving, come on,” Thorne turned to Johnson, sitting wide-eyed at his desk. “Johnson! I’m going for Italian, give me a car.”
“Well, uh,” Johnson stuttered, “I don’t know if …”
“Johnson,” Thorne glared at him, “don’t make me come over there.”
Johnson quickly tossed a set of car keys to Thorne, who caught them gracefully. “Blue four-door sedan, right out front,” Johnson said.
“Good man. Let’s roll, Kane, come on come on,” Thorne grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Forsythe came out of the men’s room carefully, supported by Hairston and another uniformed cop.
“I’m all right, I slipped,” Forsythe said. “It’s nothing, it happens. I’m all right.”
Kane grabbed her coat and hurried after Thorne.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“What was that about?” Kane asked after she caught up to Thorne outside on the steps of headquarters.
“What was what about?” Thorne struggled with his coat. It was completely dark out now and snow fell heavily, causing Thorne much frustration as he tramped toward the parked cars.
“You, Forsythe, bathroom, the noise, the shouting, what do you think?”
“Attitude adjustment,” Thorne said. “Does it ever stop snowing here?”
Thorne finally found the blue four-door sedan parked between two patrol cars and went to the driver’s side. Kane walked around to the passenger side, glanced across the street and went real still when something caught her eye.
“Thorne,” Kane said, quiet.
“What?” Thorne fumbled with the car keys, looked up and followed her gaze.
Across the street, a man stood under a streetlight. He wore a black ski mask over his face and in his arms held a small figure wrapped in a white sheet. He gently lowered the tiny figure to the ground, arranging it on the ground just so, and then straightened back up to his full height. He stared at Thorne and Kane as heavy snow fell between them.
“It’s him,” Thorne said, carefully reaching for his weapon.
The air around the two of them suddenly exploded as the Iceman opened fire on them before they could react. Bullets crashed into the parked cars and Thorne and Kane hit the deck behind the sedan, diving out of the way. The sedan’s windshield collapsed from the gunfire. The night went silent once again.
Weapons drawn, they poked their heads up over a car. The Iceman was still standing there, watching them, weapon now at his side. The Iceman turned and ran down the street into the falling snow and darkness. Thorne and Kane leaped up to follow, Thorne slipping a little. Kane detoured toward the small body wrapped in white.
“Leave her, she’s gone!” Thorne yelled. “Stay with him!”
The Iceman turned a corner a block ahead of them, staying in the center of the suburban city street. Thorne beat ass down the road after him, Kane not far behind. Cops poured out of headquarters, weapons drawn, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. They arrived just in time to see Kane disappear into the snowstorm.
Thorne made the first turn in time to see the Iceman take another turn down another street, barely seen in the blowing snow. Thorne pushed himself even harder, having trouble getting traction in h
is shoes. He came to the second corner but slipped and fell down hard on his rear while making the turn. Looking up, Thorne could see the Iceman make a left turn down yet another street a block away. Thorne aimed his weapon but before he could fire, the Iceman was gone from view.
Kane, running fast, passed Thorne as he struggled to rise.
“He took a left, he took a fucking left!” Thorne yelled.
Kane nodded and streaked past him, falling into the easy rhythm she used every morning at home on her treadmill where she did five miles a day. Kane ran confident, knowing that she was fully capable of running hard for over an hour, even in her boots in the snow. She reached the next street down and turned left.
In the distance she could just barely see the shadow of the Iceman. He wasn’t going to outrun her. She would run him into the ground first. Kane picked up her pace. Thorne got to his feet and managed to follow Kane for a few feet before slipping again and falling heavily on the icy street.
“Goddamn these fucking shoes!” Thorne yelled.
Thorne stood back up just in time to see Kane completely disappear into the snowy night. Thorne was only able to take a few steps before falling on his ass yet again.
“Fuck! Fuck the snow and ice, fuck!” Thorne cursed up at the sky.
Kane ran hard, pushing her body way up past her usual limits. The Iceman ran ahead of her, a little over a block away. The street they were on took them to the edge of the city. Snow fell even heavier in the night and blurred visibility to almost nothing. The Iceman turned behind to check his pursuer’s progress. He raised his weapon and fired at Kane. She could hear the bullet whiz over her head. Still she ran.
The Iceman reached the edge of town and the railroad freight station. He slipped through a large chained gate leading to the grounds of the railroad freight yard. Kane doubled her speed, reached the gate and slipped under the chain herself. Kane spotted the Iceman running towards a group of large metal shipping containers. She lost sight of him as he ducked into the shadows between two of the containers.
Kane slowed when she came to the virtual maze of railroad storage containers that the Iceman had disappeared into. Her breath came out in frosty plumes, very fast and heavy, and she forced herself to take her time now. Kane walked very cautiously, her weapon out in front her, hunting.
Thorne, a few blocks away, ran a bit more carefully now, trying to track them from their prints in the snow before they got completely filled in. Sirens wailed from a distance.
Kane carefully followed the Iceman’s tracks in the snow past several metal containers. She stopped between two of them and listened. The only sound that could be heard was the howling wind and her breathing. There was very little light to see by.
The Iceman’s tracks continued onward, past the next metal container and into the darkness on the other side of the maze. Kane slowly inched forward, preparing herself for what might be around the corner.
A gloved hand came out of the shadows next to Kane and grabbed her gun hand. The Iceman twisted her arm and leveraged her right into the side of the metal container. Kane slammed into it hard and dropped her gun into the snow.
Kane aimed a kick at the Iceman but he blocked it and countered with a left hook to her jaw that stunned her. The Iceman backhanded Kane and she went down, face first, bleeding from the mouth, nearly unconscious.
The Iceman pulled his weapon out from his belt and slowly walked around Kane with it pointed at her. Kane’s head spun and she could barely see as she struggled to get up on her hands and knees. Nausea took over and she collapsed. The Iceman leaned down and pressed his firearm right into the back of her head. With his other hand he rolled Kane onto her back. His weapon right under her chin, he eased the hammer back, and prepared to fire.
But he didn’t.
Instead, with his free hand, the Iceman delicately brushed hair and snow off of Kane’s face and out of her eyes. Kane slowly opened her eyes, still groggy, and saw the Iceman leaning over her with his hand on her face. The Iceman slowly stood, took a step back, and as she looked at him he disappeared into the night. Kane closed her eyes.
When she next opened her eyes, Thorne stood over her much in the same way the Iceman had. Thorne scooped her up and carried her out of there, walking very carefully so as not to slip.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“We’ve gone over every inch of the freight yard. We’ve got a couple partial footprints, a bunch of fibers, one of which hopefully belongs to our man, but other than that nothing else,” Scroggins said as he entered the observation room of the County Coroner. “Is that the Frederickson girl?”
“Who else?” Thorne asked. “Where were the fibers found?”
Forsythe and Hairston stood silent behind Thorne as they all watched the autopsy in progress. A coroner examined the body of Wendy Frederickson on the other side of the window, his assistants and Gilday close by. Gilday looked ill. Thorne held a note in his hand, wrapped in a clear plastic baggie.
“All over the place, but we did get one good one from the chain on the gate, we’re hoping it’s his.”
“The weapon?”
“Recovered the bullets, they’re down at the lab now, the techies can definitely link it to the weapon if we can find the gun, but without the weapon they’re not sure. A forty-five.”
“Forty-five?” Thorne turned his head. “Who carries a forty-five anymore?”
“Well,” Scroggins began.
“Military police, that’s who,” Thorne interrupted him. “Soldiers carry forty-five sidearms.”
“Yeah, I was afraid you’d say that.”
Gilday entered from the exam room.
“Cause of death, suffocation,” Gilday said. “Didn’t cut this one, didn’t do anything to her as far as the doc can tell except smother her with a pillow. Doc said she’s been dead awhile, probably soon after her abduction, but he won’t be able to get an exact time of death. Decomposition has been slowed considerably, so the body was either kept outside or in a freezer after death.
“Couple of hair and fibers unaccounted for, some of the fibers probably came from the pillow used and if we find the pillow he can match the fibers to it. There are no fingerprints. They did get another pubic hair off the body. It’s preliminary but the doc says it looks like it matches the hair that we found on the last girl.”
“Another pubic hair and it’s African-American?” Hairston asked.
“That’s what the man said.”
“And it definitely leaves Carl Mitchell out of it, he’s been in lock-up this whole time,” Scroggins said. “This is the first time he didn’t cut, why didn’t he cut her this time?”
Thorne held up the note in the baggie.
“Doc told me there was a note left on the body, that’s it?” Gilday asked.
Thorne nodded and stared at the body of the young girl on the other side of the glass. Everyone looked at each other for a moment. Gilday cleared his throat.
“You going to tell us what’s on the note or not?” he asked finally.
“What’s mine is yours, therefore what’s yours is mine. I left a ripe one whole for you, so enjoy, enjoy, she has such lovely eyes,” Thorne read from the letter. “Before I’m done I will take from you what you most prize.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Scroggins asked. “Now he’s writing poetry? Does that mean anything to anyone?”
“It means he watches too much fucking television, that’s what it means,” Thorne grunted.
“It’s a challenge,” Hairston said. “He’s challenging you.”
Everyone looked at Hairston, who grew a little uncomfortable.
“You’re right, Norman,” Thorne said. “That’s exactly what it is. A challenge. That’s why he came right to Task Force Headquarters to drop the body. That’s why he waited for us almost on our fucking steps and threw shots at us; he thinks we’re shit and he’s challenging us. To be even more specific, he’s challenging me.”
“How do you know that?” Scroggins ask
ed.
“Has he taken a shot at any of you?”
“Is Emma all right?” Gilday asked.
“She’ll live, bumped her head running in the dark. Now this,” Thorne held up the note, “I want this fucking scrutinized, up and down, backwards and forwards. It came from a word processor or a computer printer. I want to know what kind, what brand, I want everything. Clear?”
Thorne handed the note to Hairston, who looked to Forsythe for confirmation. Forsythe nodded. Scroggins and Gilday exchanged a look.
“Scroggins, I want you to hit the armory at every Military and National Guard base within two hundred square miles, you know what I’m looking for, young man, go after it. Gilday, get the uniformed teams working with the neighborhood watch in place and ready. Stay especially salty, he’s going snatch somebody quick and it’s going to be someone in this area. Forsythe!”
“What?” Forsythe was startled.
“Make a statement to the press, I don’t care what, something smooth and comforting and make sure you encourage people to join the neighborhood watch. Get pictures of yourself comforting the girl’s parents in the papers and on the news.
“Let people know they are never to leave their children alone at any time. This guy is going to make a move on a girl sometime in the next twenty-four hours, he’s hungry, he’s coming this way and he won’t wait.”
“Maybe we should cancel school? Some parents have been keeping their kids home already,” Forsythe asked.
“It won’t wash for everyone, if both parents work, then the kids are home alone and vulnerable. He hits at home,” Hairston said. “School is actually safer, we have uniforms stationed at every elementary school in the state.”
“Give parents the option of keeping them home, but never left alone at anytime,” Thorne said. “Make sure everyone in this state understands, no child should be left unattended. He wants a challenge, that’s what he’s going to get. That’s it, get going.”
