Maybe the best option is going into the restaurant while they’re all seated, drawing my pistol, squeezing off a round at each of them before the undercover officers draw their weapons and open fire on me. It’ll be the end of Detective Steven King, and the FBI will get the credit for bringing me down and will most likely pin everything on me if I’m right. If I kill all of them and the demon is sent off into the ether because it has no new host to transport into, then I will have succeeded and if the FBI plants this all on me, then so be it. It will have all been for the greater good and I will die knowing that Kelly is safe. But then again, I would never actually know that Kelly is safe. I will have been shot dead in the middle of some terrible diner because there was nothing more I could do. If that didn’t work and I killed them all and ended up dead, but was wrong and the demon wasn’t even here, then Kelly is a dead woman walking and there’s no one left to protect her. Lola might catch on, but that’s only if she isn’t arrested for conspiracy charges as well. I shake my head. No, I need to do this cleanly. I need to make sure I’m right about all of this.
“Everyone still in place?” I ask on the radio for the eightieth time.
I listen as thirty voices call in and confirm that they are exactly where I positioned them. I have the transport van half a mile away just because I don’t want the demon catching sight of it and coming to its senses before we even have a chance to bring it down. At best, I can only hope for the fact that this demon has no idea what it’s walking into and that I can catch it off guard. If I can do that much, then I’m going to catch this bastard and get some answers from it.
I’ve thought about what I’m going to do once I get them all into lock-up and have them divided up. I know that the demon has an ego. It’s spelled that out with every one of its letters that it’s left behind, taunting me about how slow I am to get to the scenes or how I’ve failed to save the ones I love. If I capture this thing, then I know that it’s going to want to say something to me. It’s going to want to goad me into doing something reckless or stupid. I want the driver who is responsible for getting them all back to lock-up to say nothing to the creature. I don’t want him to listen to the thing or to do anything else. This thing can’t be trusted. I need to be the only one who is responsible for dealing with it. I’m going to have to pull that trigger to end an innocent person’s life, all because they have something inhuman inside of him or her. They won’t understand and that’s going to weigh on my conscience, but it’s my only option. I have to kill them. I have to end this thing before it can do anything more.
My pistol is sitting in the passenger’s seat, in the shadows and out of the sunlight. I pick it up and check it, making sure that that I am prepared to do anything I must to see this through. I’ve already discussed with Owens that if any of them tries to resist, lethal force is authorized. They all know the rules now. No touching the suspects and if they resist, put them down. Owens had been fuzzy about that last part, but I assured him that we have to do whatever is necessary to break the killer’s cycle. He seemed to understand that part, but he wasn’t happy about it.
“I’ve got a visual,” one of the perimeter radios fires off.
I immediately grab the radio and switch over to the interior unit’s radios, knowing that Owens will be waiting for any confirmation that the targets are headed in their direction. “Unit two and three, we have a visual on one of the targets. Radios away and be ready.”
“Copy,” the unit leader replies and I recognize Owens’s voice and smile. I’m glad he’s here for this. This is the grand finale to everything that he’s been waiting and searching for. This is the end of everything that he’s been silently working for. I switch back over to unit one’s channel and listen as they read off a description of Peter Tugg’s car and I get several confirmations that it’s him arriving for the rendezvous. I look at the picture of the man with a gaunt, balding head. His round glasses and large eyes make him look like an insect and I marvel at how long his neck is. I doubt that it’s been a very fun or enjoyable life for Mr. Tugg, especially with his name and long neck. He has the appearance of someone who probably got stuffed in lockers and whose life was a living hell for much of his time in high school and middle school, yet here he is, a teacher at one. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s had a great time there, but I have a feeling he is in it for revenge. I bet he gives all the cool and popular kids bad grades to make himself feel superior.
“Got another visual,” the radio crackles. “I’ve got Sally Cane coming in from the west. Repeat, visual on Sally Cane.”
I look at Sally Cane’s photo. She’s in her early thirties and looks like she’s well into her forties. She’s the kind of woman that sort of gave up, clearly. She has no makeup on in her DMV photo and her eyes have dark circles around them. Her cheeks are saggy and already there are crow’s feet forming at the corner of her eyes. From what I got on her, Sally teaches literature, just like Mr. Tugg. I look at her image and add it to the pile with Mr. Tugg’s image.
“We’ve got three coming in from the east,” the radio crackles. “I got a visual on Debra Connelly’s car and there are two passengers inside.”
I feel my stomach twisting and knotting together. There are all the targets that are supposed to be arriving. The sixth member of the party was supposed to be Susan Larsen, but she’s not among the living anymore. I look at the three remaining pictures and see Debra Connelly in her matronly authoritative air. She definitely looks like a teacher or an old, saggy librarian. I don’t like the look of her. The other two are Jack Halloway and Nancy Berger, both are English teachers and Debra serves as the head of the English department and a teacher in creative writing at the school. Jack is an aged man with a headful of gray hair and hawkish eyes, even in his DMV photo. As for Nancy, she’s the youngest looking member of the whole group. She has soft eyes, but she’s as round as a peach in the DMV image. I look at them all, placing them into the pile of sighted targets.
“What’s their status?” I say into the radio.
“I’ve got a visual on Peter Tugg,” the radio answers. “He’s loitering around the front of the building, checking the time. He’s obviously aware that he’s the first here. Sally Cane is just now walking up. They’ve sighted each other.”
I turn the keys in the ignition and listen to the Shelby roar to life. It’s time to end this and all the eggs are landing in one basket. I wait for confirmation that they’ve entered the building before I give the order for everyone to move in. I switch the radio over to units two and three’s radios. “Targets are in the parking lot, they’ll be moving toward your location soon, everyone on the ready.”
“Got it,” Owens answers for both units. Unit two has been taken off the radio since I gave the order for them to hide their radios, but Owens will get the word to them. “Give us the word and we’re going to bring them in.”
“Stand by,” I tell him. I can feel my nerves tingling as this is starting to play out so perfectly.
“Targets are entering the building,” I hear as I switch back over to unit one’s channel.
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, counting to thirty before I open my eyes and exhale slowly, looking at the emerald berm and knowing that this is really happening. I’ve got the bastard and he’s not getting away from me this time. No matter what happens, I’m going to end this by the time the sun goes down. I put the Shelby in reverse and make my way out of the tire shop’s parking lot and cross the small side street over into the Goliath parking lot. When I’ve found a shady parking spot, I back in and look over at the quaint little restaurant and know that it’s time to give the order to everyone.
“All units, move in.” I give the order and wait.
I watch as the first squad car pulls around to the back of the building. The two officers inside immediately move to cover the back entrance. Already, the kitchen staff and the waiting staff are vacating the building through that exit. They’re following through with the orders that we explicitly gave
them and I watch happily as it goes off without a hitch. I watch two more officers making their way toward the emergency exit at the south side of the building. The entire south wing of the building is also being escorted out through the only other exit, other than the main entrance. Soon, the entire first unit arrives and I watch as the van pulls up and angles the doors right in front of the entrance. Officers with their weapons drawn move in, pointing their guns at the building, but their eyes are watchful everywhere. At the mouth of the parking lot, two officers flag traffic away from the parking lot, wary of anyone who might be the killer they’re looking for. I know better though, I’ve know that the true killer is in the building and all eyes that I can spare are watching that building like a flock of buzzards peering down upon fresh roadkill.
Taking another deep breath, I kill the Shelby’s engine and slip the keys into my pocket. The sign for everyone to move is me coming in through the front door. That’s when everyone is supposed to spring into action and demand that everyone put their hands on their heads and to stop everything that they’re doing. I let out my long held breath and open the door, feeling the sweltering heat rush in behind me and embrace me. Even in the shade it’s too damn hot to be outside like this. Stepping out and looking at the building, I wish I had a bull horn that I could shout through to the demon, telling it that it’s all over, I’ve won and it’s going to end up going back to hell.
I shut the Shelby’s door and slowly make my way across the parking lot, ready to end this once and for all.
XVIII
Pushing open the foyer doors, I feel the rush of stale, unmolested air conditioning blow over me, forcing the door open for me as the pressure changes. I see our implanted hostess waiting for me at the reception podium and I hope that she can keep her cool for a little while longer. I pass the blue patterned, overstuffed benches for those waiting to be seated along with the local advertising and classified magazine racks. I grip the handle of the second door and pull it open, instantly welcomed by the sounds of Chopin. I look at the officer that I’ve never seen before this moment and give her a shake of my head. Gripping the pistol holstered behind my back, I draw it and look over at the table where the teachers are happily talking with somber voices and in hushed tones.
Raising my gun, I point directly at Debra Connelly, certain that if the demon is here in any one of these people, that it’s her. The five teachers are talking at their table, completely oblivious to my approach. However, all those seated around them have all eyes on me and are cautiously glancing over at the teachers. Reaching down at my belt, I pull off my badge and raise it up into the air next to my gun, not willing to let any one of them miss this so their lawyers can chew my ass off in court after all of this is done.
“Police, hands in the air where I can see them, nobody move a muscle,” I shout at the top of my lungs with the strongest, most authoritative voice that I have. It’s been practiced over and over again from a thousand different arrests through my career and right now, I can feel the history of my training and my career flooding through me. I point my gun at Debra and watch as all of them flinch and jerk with surprise. Everyone who is seated with their backs to me turns and looks at me, making sure that I’m shouting at them and that this isn’t some sort of twisted, strange prank.
The notion that this isn’t real burns away when they all see my gun pointed at Debra and the hostess behind me brandishing her own firearm. Several hands shoot up, and Debra lets out a scream of surprise and horror that I’ve singled out her for this little moment. But everything hits home when everyone seated around them springs to their feet, guns drawn and they all chime in, shouting that they need to remain frozen and that their hands better get into the fucking air if they want to survive this encounter.
That’s the signal for Owens, whose strike team bursts through the swinging doors that lead back to the kitchen. Armed and armored to the toe, the members of unit three storm into the kitchen with their semi-automatic rifles, all of them pointing at a different teacher, emphasizing that this is not a joke, this is not a drill, and that they are all in a very, very tight situation. When all the hands are up and the silence that settles over everything is accented by the soft melodies of Chopin, I clip my badge back onto my belt.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I address them respectfully and appropriately. Most of them are crying now or pissing their pants. “My name is Detective Steven King and as of right now, you are all under arrest. You all have the right to remain silent, which I strongly encourage you to invoke right now as we begin this process. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You each have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you for your defense. If you have understood these rights as I have recited them to you, please answer when your name is called.” I reach behind my back and pull my handcuffs free from their holster and hold them out. “Debra Connelly, do you understand your rights as I have recited them to you?”
She shakes at the sound of her name being called. That must hit home for her since she now realizes that this isn’t a mistake, that we know exactly who they are and that we’ve come with force for them. “Please, there’s been some—” she protests with quivering lips. Her makeup is beginning to run as tears streak her cheeks and her jowls quiver.
“Do you understand your rights?” I shout over her protest. She gives me a terrified nod. That’s good enough for me, that’s good enough for the other officers present and it’s time to move on with her. “Debra Connelly, please, keep your hands in the air and rise from your seat. I am going to place handcuffs on the table between you and me. I want you to approach the handcuffs without touching anyone else. You will put the handcuffs on and wait for further instructions. Do not talk, do not touch anyone, and do not think that we will not use appropriate force to detain you. Do you understand the instructions I have given you?” I ask her as I place the handcuffs on the table designed for two patrons. She nods to me and again, I’m satisfied. “Please stand up and do exactly as I have informed you.”
What follows is simple enough. Debra Connelly does not protest, doesn’t fight it, and doesn’t do anything except silently cry while I point to where she needs to stand. While she stands there, I call out to each and every one of the teachers, giving them the same instructions after I verify that they have heard and understood the rights I’ve stated for them. The last teacher is Jack Halloway who tentatively takes the handcuffs, puts them on tightly and stands next to his fellow teachers. I look at them, confident that one of them has the demon inside of them and that together, the demon has one of four options to escape into. It can’t go back into a dying host, at least I hope not, that just wouldn’t make sense.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your cooperation,” I tell them forcefully. “Now, you will file out of the building without touching any of the officers along the way. If you try to run, you will be shot. File into the van waiting outside the doors and seat yourselves wherever you would like. You are not to do anything other than breathe, cry, or think. Do not talk to one another. Do you understand me?”
They all nod at me and stare down at the floor. I’m satisfied with this. The members of unit one have wedged open the doors for the foyer and the exterior and there should be no one near any of the suspects while we escort them to the van. I give the gesture for Debra Connelly to start moving and she obediently does exactly what I tell her. I’m looking at five terrified individuals here and I know that it’s going to be a PR nightmare when they’re released, and when they are, Mendez isn’t going to have the killer, nothing’s going to happen except one of his detectives is going to kill an unarmed prisoner who was wrongfully arrested. This is all going to end badly, but I know that it’s what needs to be done and I’m willing to take the fall for it.
We all watch with our guns drawn as the teachers do exactly as we have commanded of them. They file out through the doors one by one and climb into the van, seating themselves ne
xt to each other, and I realize that everyone inside of the van is probably now susceptible to being infected with the demon right now. Any one of them could be a suicide case. One or all of them is probably going to try and kill themselves whenever they get the chance to. The wall between the passengers and the driver has no holes in it and I have given the driver clear instructions that he’s not going to touch, talk, or do anything with the prisoners.
I’d tried to think of a failsafe where I could just blow up the whole van, killing every one of the teachers just in case, but I didn’t think I could get away with that any more than I am going to get away with shooting one of them at the precinct. I watch as Owens personally closes the doors to the van and not a single one of the teachers tries to touch him. None of them even bothers to raise their head to look at him. They don’t look like they’re possessed by demons, but I know that one of them has to be. I watch the door close, my eyes on Debra Connelly as she vanishes from my view.
“Alright, everyone,” I shout to them. “I want you all back at the precinct for the unloading. Remember, hands off of them. If they come at you, put them down. I want no mistakes and I want to make sure that the killer doesn’t get an opportunity. It’ll take over an hour to get back, so let’s get moving.”
I briskly walk towards the Shelby, passing the SWAT van that Owens got ahold of in order to make sure that the operation had heavy enough equipment to make the killer and teachers understand how vital it is that they take everything that’s happening seriously. The last thing any of us wanted was them protesting their rights or putting up a struggle. Having left the Shelby unlocked, I drop down into the driver’s seat and start the engine. Already, patrol cars are pulling out of the parking lot and heading for the main street.
The Darkness Inside Us (A Detective King Suspense Thriller) (A Detective King Novel Book 3) Page 15
