Killing Season

by Faye Kellerman

  But that train had long left the station. Ben had become a heat-seeking missile, homed in on a target and with a predetermined trajectory. Barnes was out there and Ben had to be the one to bring him down. He owed it to Ellen—to Katie and Julia and Jamey, and now more than ever, to Lilly. He had to go one-on-one, knowing full well there was a good chance that it would end badly for him.

  Ignoring their pleas to come down to safety. After a minute or two, they stopped calling his name, focusing on the monster. They started calling out to Kevin Barnes.

  Kevin, you’re surrounded.

  Kevin, give yourself up.

  Kevin, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.

  Kevin, it’s over.

  It was over for him, but not for Ben.

  Feeling the weight of the gun in his hand.

  He was not a vegetarian. He ate meat and fish and animal protein and never thought much of it. But he also wasn’t a hunter. He wasn’t even much for fishing. Sport killing didn’t hold much interest for him. If he could get flesh from a grocery store, that was fine.

  But this was different. It wasn’t bloodlust. That waste of space simply didn’t deserve to live. Even if a jury would decide otherwise, Ben had decided long ago that taking Barnes’s life would be a righteous killing. He had no trouble imagining what Barnes would look like with a bullet exploding his brain. The thought didn’t bother him. Rather, it excited him, feeding him with adrenaline. His vision became clearer and more focused. The hardest thing for him to do was not to react too quickly.

  Patience . . . patience.

  More people were storming the warehouse. Within twenty minutes, police were everywhere, including Sam Shanks—Ben could hear him yelling out his name. There was concern in Shanks’s voice but also anger. He was pleading and chastising at the same time. But Ben remained rooted.

  Either catch me or watch me shoot him dead.

  They’d arrest him for murder.

  Whatever.

  He didn’t know anything about SWAT procedure, but he figured that the cops would divide the area into sectors. That meant a lot of inch-by-inch searching, clearing each space until they found predator and prey.

  When the cops stopped shouting Kevin’s name, the space became quieter, but not silent. Ben could hear the static of radios and muffled voices, but sound became dampened, like a mute had been applied to an instrument. There was a good chance he could be shot by accident. All it took was one wrong step.

  Slience wasn’t just golden, it was a necessity.

  Standing up from a squat, taking soundless steps, trying to gauge the situation, knowing that Barnes was doing the same thing. There was conversation among the cops. When it grew louder, he moved. When the talking got softer, Ben stopped.

  Both of the doors were heavily guarded.

  He threw himself into the mind of the beast. Suppose he was trapped, surrounded. Would he try for an escape or hang tight? Probably he’d stuff himself into a box and wait, thinking that the police probably wouldn’t open every single carton in the warehouse.

  Barnes had to be hiding. And if that was the case, Ben had no choice but to flush him out before the police did. To do that, Barnes would need a glimmer of hope for an escape.

  Which meant drawing the police away from the doors.

  Thinking of a plan, Ben stayed put. Let the police do a little of the work for him. They had started opening boxes, going from the front to the back. Cops had arrived by the dozens, the action concentrated near the front doors. The back doors were harder to open, harder to escape from. And they were guarded by two cops with high-powered rifles. But there was still way less going on in the back than in the front. And since the cops were working from front to back, it meant they were pushing Barnes to the rear of the building. If Barnes had any brains in his head, he had to know that his only hope was through the back.

  Silently, Ben turned on his heel as he inched toward the rear of the warehouse. There was a cop at the foot of the metal staircase he had climbed, and several cops on the second story in front of the staircase.

  Again, Shanks called out his name.

  The posse kept searching.

  If something was gonna happen, it had to happen quickly. He loaded his gun and stuck it in his back pocket. He squatted down.

  Looking around for just the right implement to make the right amount of noise, he spotted a piece of a two-by-four about twenty feet away.

  That would work.

  Creeping toward the fragment of wood, moving with stealth and silence until it was within grabbing distance. He stretched out his fingers, seized it, then gripped it in his hand. Still hidden behind the boxes, he stood up, listening to the police clear one area after another. Inching toward the railing of the catwalk, he stationed himself close to the edge, but still blocked from the view of the cops.

  Ben hurled the two-by-four across the room until it crashed on the opposite side from where he stood. The noise was a magnet, everyone running to the spot. The backdoor guards temporarily stepped forward and away from their positions.

  And that’s when the mouse darted out, seconds away from making it to the locked door.

  Now or never.

  Ben flung himself over the railing—a cat in a tree leaping on its prey. Maybe they’d shoot him in the process, but he was so amped he didn’t care.

  Flying, flying, flying. His body airborne for what seemed like hours.

  His mind at peace with his decision.

  Chapter 14

  Falling on him with a thud, both of them now on the ground. Immediately Ben tried to land punches but Barnes fought back like a wounded animal, scratching, clawing, biting, punching, kicking. The dance of life and death. A few moments into the fight, Ben felt a sharp stab in his ribs, but it did nothing to slow him down. He clawed at Barnes’s throat, getting his hand around the monster’s neck. But Barnes bit back, hitting him in the face. He got free and rolled over.

  Ben saw the gleam of a knife, but kept going, falling on Barnes, pinning him down. Barnes managed to slip away and tried to get to his feet, screaming for help from the police. But the monster had nowhere to go; he was backed up against the wall. Ben grabbed his waist and took him down, the knife clanking to the floor. Ben quickly kicked it away.

  The police were closing in.

  Ben had to act and act now. He managed enough leverage to wrap his arms around Barnes’s neck. He pulled out his gun, and with that, three years of pain, agony, and fury came spilling out.

  “You ruined my life!” He whacked Barnes over the head with the butt. “You ruined my fucking life!” Another whack. “You ruined my sister, you ruined my family, you ruined me!” A final whack until Barnes went limp in his arms.

  Ben still had Barnes in a headlock. He jammed the gun into Barnes’s mouth, bracing himself for exploding brains.

  But then time suddenly stopped.

  He looked around.

  There were weapons drawn toward his face, and people yelling, screaming at him to put the gun down.

  Not just yet, my friends.

  Ben used Barnes’s body as a shield. With his back to the wall, the police couldn’t come from behind. And with the gun down Barnes’s throat, Ben knew they wouldn’t move on him until they thought they had no choice.

  He realized he was enjoying himself. Exhilarated, in fact. Barnes started stirring, then struggling when he found that the gun was down his throat.

  “Make a move and I’ll turn your head to pulp.” Ben was whispering. “You liked when they were all helpless. How do you like the feeling now?”

  He pushed the gun down Barnes’s throat until he gagged. “Do it now, Barnes. Beg for mercy like they did. Tell me about your wife and kids and all the other shit. Just maybe I’ll change my mind.”

  Gurgles were coming from Barnes’s throat. Ben’s voice was a hush. His hands were steady, his mind was clear.

  “Nah, I don’t give a solitary fuck about your kids and your wife. And I certainly don’t giv
e a solitary fuck about your worthless life! I’m just thinking how to do it.

  “See, this is what I’m thinking. I’ve got this little gun with little bullets that’ll kill you if I put enough of them inside your brain. But if I only do one or two, they’ll rattle around your skull, turning all your gray matter to scrambled eggs, but your lower brain’ll still be working. So you’ll exist but you won’t live. What’ll it be, Kev? Death or vegetable?”

  A wall of uniforms was slowly advancing. Ben noticed and yelled out, “Get back or I will shoot him.” When no one stopped, he fired the gun at Barnes’s feet and screamed, “Back! Now!”

  That did the trick.

  Shanks’s voice cut through the silence, his body emerging from the crowd. He said, “Son of a bitch, Vicks, you did it. You got him. You made a promise to your sister and you kept it. Everyone else failed, but you did it, kiddo. Now just drop the gun and everything will be okay. We’ll take it from here. It’s over, Ben.”

  Silence.

  Shanks moved a step closer. “You’re about to become a hero—”

  “A hero? Are you out of your mind?” Ben hoisted Barnes to his feet so that he continued to act as a shield. “This piece of shit is still breathing, Sam. So it ain’t over.”

  Shanks tried another approach. “Ben, you want justice, right? Justice for Ellen and the others. How do you think she’d feel about a justice that sent you to jail? Ben, you can’t do this to your parents. You can’t do it to your mom and dad and your sister. They need you.”

  “Nah, they don’t,” Ben said. “Their lives are ruined anyway. This is exactly what they want. They want him dead just like I do.”

  “Ben, that’s ridiculous—”

  “Don’t fucking tell me I’m ridiculous.”

  “Sorry . . .” Sam took a deep breath and let it out. “You’re right, Ben. That was a rotten thing to say. I’m nervous, dude. I’m really, really nervous. I’m nervous for me, I’m nervous for you. Sorry.”

  The warehouse went quiet . . . Barnes was now awake; with the revolver in his mouth, his breathing was labored. Ben knew the SWAT team would charge him in a matter of minutes, so he had a real decision to make.

  He heard Ro’s voice this time. “Ben, don’t do it. I’m begging you.”

  Ben saw tears on her cheeks. Ro sure cried a lot.

  She said, “I love you, Ben. Please, for me, don’t do it.”

  He didn’t move.

  She kept pleading. “Ben, don’t do it. I love you. I need you—”

  “No you don’t,” Ben interrupted. The gun was still down Barnes’s throat. “If I went away to prison tomorrow, I’m sure you’d be sad. And you’d write me letters. And maybe you’d even visit me. But then you’d move on. And that would be fine with me. Even if I can’t move on, you should, Dorothy. The world doesn’t stop just because I checked out a long time ago.”

  Again the room went quiet. Ro blinked several times. Her voice was one step above a whisper. “Ben, Lilly’s still alive. She needs you.”

  With the mention of the young teen’s name, Ben’s brain returned to earth. “Oh shit!” He shoved the body onto the floor and charged forward. “Oh my God. Lilly!”

  Immediately he was pounced upon, bodies of men shoving him onto his stomach, whipping his hands behind his back, holding down his legs as he struggled, screaming for them to let him go. Someone took his gun away. He heard Sam telling him to shut up and stop moving. Over and over and over.

  Eventually, Ben got the message and went limp. Pressure eased off his back and he was hoisted to his feet, cuffed and surrounded. A gorilla was on either side of him, but Ben was looking into Sam’s eyes. “You gotta let me go to her.” Tears down his cheeks. “She needs me. I need to see her.”

  “What you need to do is calm down. You’re not in your right mind at this moment.”

  “I’m okay, I swear. Please take the cuffs off.” He was begging. “I need to see her.” No response. “Sam, she’s dying!”

  Sam sighed, but said nothing.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Just let me go to her.”

  “I’ll take you to her, but the cuffs stay on—” Shanks stared at him and his eyes went dark. “Oh shit.” He lifted up the kid’s shirt. “You’ve been stabbed. You need medical attention.”

  “Tell them to let me go and I’ll get attention.”

  “Let him go,” Sam said.

  As soon as he was freed, Ben bolted to Lilly, hands still manacled behind his back. A huddle of EMTs was working on her. He bent down, his eyes fixed on hers. Her body was shaking even though she had a blanket over her. There was a pool of blood by her side and blood-soaked gauze around her neck. Tubes were down her nose. Monitors and needles were on and in her arms. An oxygen mask was over her nose. Her complexion was gray.

  “You’re okay, Lilly, you’re okay.” Saying it just as much to himself as to her. “Just hang in there, baby. I’m not leaving, okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

  Wide dark eyes focused in on his face. He knew she had heard him. Her jeans and underwear had been ripped off and her panties were soaked with blood. Ben felt like his head was about to explode.

  I should have fucking shot him.

  Shanks was at his side. “You’re a fucking idiot, Vicks, you know that? A stupid, fucking moron!”

  “Please just take off the cuffs.”

  “I have to take the cuffs off because you need medical attention. If you bolt, I will haul your ass into jail now and that will be that.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Shanks took off the cuffs and whispered in the boy’s ear. “The stab wound. You got it immediately, the second he jumped on you. You were in fear of your life. You understand what I’m saying, Ben?”

  “Yes, I got it.” One of the EMTs had lifted his shirt. Sam was still holding his shirt. Ben said, “Just let me go to her.”

  Shanks finally let Ben go. He said, “I’ll be right back.”

  A gaggle of people was talking all at once, mostly medical conversations. Someone told Ben to get the hell away from Lilly, but then someone countermanded the order and said to leave him alone, that he was calming down the girl and her blood pressure was going up. Her body was still shaking, but when Ben took her hand, her fingers weakly tightened around his.

  He whispered to her, “Just hold on. Lilly, you’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be okay. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  His T-shirt sported a big wet blob, and blood was dripping onto the floor. He knew he should be hurting, but he was so jacked up he felt numb. The EMTs were talking to some kind of doctor over the radio. Words were being bandied back and forth: “blood loss,” “shock,” “possible severed vocal cords.” Lilly’s violent shakes had subsided but she was still trembling. Ben could feel his brain working even if he wasn’t at his best. His phone was still in his back pocket. He reached for it and began to look up doctors. The nearest specialist was someone in Dallas.

  He pulled his hand from Lilly’s. “I’m not going anywhere, honey. Just making a phone call.” He stood up from his kneeling position and immediately felt woozy, the room spinning around him. He knelt back down—about a foot away from Lilly so she couldn’t hear—deciding he could call from a sitting position. Anything was better than passing out. His breathing was shallow and his ribs began to hurt. The adrenaline was wearing off and pain was replacing the high. He was shaking as he punched in the numbers.

  “C’mon . . . answer you motherfu—yes, ma’am, my name is Benjamin Vicksburg. I need to talk to Dr. Jacob Winslow. It’s a dire emergency! My friend’s neck was slashed . . . no, it isn’t a joke. I’d let you talk to the EMTs but they’re pretty busy saving her life . . . yes, I will hold, thank you.”

  The wait seemed interminable. A male voice came on the line. “Who is this?”

  “My name is Benjamin Vicksburg. My friend was just viciously attacked and her throat was cut. The EMTs working on her said something about her vocal cords being cut. We need
a specialist and you’re the nearest one to where we are.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Los Alamos, New Mexico.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “No, sir, I guarantee you that this is not a joke. I guarantee you this will be in the papers tomorrow morning. She’s not even fifteen years old. You’ve got to help. Can you get a chopper from Dallas and meet us here in New Mexico?”

  A pause.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m still here. If she’s with EMTs, put one of them on the line.”

  “Sir—”

  “Put an EMT on the goddamn line or I’m going to hang up.”

  Ben crawled back to one of the EMTs and put his phone on speaker and up against the medic’s ear. He said, “You gotta talk to him. He’s a throat doctor that specializes in vocal-cord surgery. Please tell him what’s going on!”

  The woman looked at him, paused, but then complied. The conversation was brief. The doctor asked questions, the EMT answered. Words were exchanged: Lilly’s condition, her neck, her vocal cords, her blood pressure, her core temperature, other technical things. Finally, the doctor asked to speak “to the kid.” The EMT pulled back from the phone and Ben turned off the speakerphone.

  Dr. Winslow said, “They’re trying to stabilize her enough to take her to the medical center in Albuquerque. I have a few colleagues there. I’ll make some calls. It’ll take me at least three hours to get there.”

  “Thank you, thank you—”

  “What is your relationship to her?” he asked.

  “Friend.”

  “You’re not a relative?”

  “No.”

  “Where are her parents?”

  Oh shit!

  What the hell was he going to tell George and June?

  “I’ll get her parents down there.”

  “I can’t do anything without her parents’ permission. What’s her name?”

  “Lilly Tafoya.”

  “Her parents?”

  “George and June Tafoya.”

  “And your name again?”