“I’ll call ahead of you,” she yelled out to them.
They rode the elevator to the floor where Chief of Police Brennan and Sergeant Haynes were pacing outside of a conference room.
“It’s all set up.” Chief Brennan held out a hand to gesture them into the room.
Both local law enforcement officers followed behind Jack and Zachery. Inside the room there was a table that would seat eight comfortably and a television on a mobile cart at the end of it. The screen showed a man sitting inside a private prison visiting room. A plastic coffee cup sat in front of him, but he kept running a hand through his hair.
“That’s your Sean Atwood,” Sergeant Haynes said. “Apparently he hasn’t said too much to the Sheriff down there. Where is Salt Lick anyhow?”
Jack ignored his question. “Have we heard back from the cars sent to the college?”
“They’re still about ten minutes out.” Haynes pulled out on the collar of his shirt.
Brennan sat back in his chair. “I believe it’s time you gentlemen tell us what’s going on here. We’ve been very cooperative. I’ve authorized the use of our city’s resources to assist you with whatever you need. In return—”
“You’ve only done what you must and won’t be charged for obstructing justice and standing in the way of a federal investigation.”
“I understand you have two agents out there.” Brennan clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “It’s all about time, time we don’t have.”
Jack matched eyes with Brennan.
“We are fully prepared to back you, but if we knew what was going on we’d have a better chance of—”
Jack thought of the pack of cigarettes in his left shirt pocket, but he wouldn’t be able to satisfy that calling, at least not right now. He studied the Chief’s face, and then directed his words to Sergeant Haynes. “A week ago ten bodies were discovered in Salt Lick, Kentucky. That’s a little blip on a country road in the middle of nowhere. The property owner is in prison, but on charges unrelated to murder. His name is Lance Bingham.” Jack watched the two men, but the name had no impact based on their facial reactions and body language. “The victims were held for about eleven days and tortured daily before being killed. They were sliced and disemboweled alive.”
Haynes’ pasty skin paled another shade.
“But there was reason to believe the job wasn’t finished. There was another burial site—”
“For an eleventh victim,” Chief Brennan piped in.
“That’s correct.”
“How did you end up here?”
“The find in ’86.”
“Find? Ah, yes.” Brennan’s eyes lit with the recollection. “I remember that. Eleven victims. You believe they’re connected.”
Jack bobbed his head. “Along with other things, Bingham’s history traces back to Sarasota. We don’t believe it to be a coincidence.”
“You said the man’s in prison already?”
“Lance Bingham is. His follower isn’t.”
“His follower?”
“Bingham didn’t work alone. Evidence indicates he may have started off that way, but it didn’t stay like that.”
“Shit.” The word escaped from the Sergeant’s lips.
“Our investigation had led us back here, to the beginning. And now we believe our unsub is Amanda Knowles.”
The room remained silent for at least thirty seconds before the volume on the television was turned up and communication was confirmed online with Kentucky Correctional.
Sheriff Harris paced behind Atwood.
Jack did the questioning. “Do you communicate with your cousin Amanda Knowles?”
Atwood looked around the room. The Sheriff pointed at the camera.
Atwood stared in the lens. “She is my cousin.”
“Did you bring unauthorized mail to Lance Bingham, an inmate in your wing?”
Atwood reached for his cup, but didn’t lift it.
“Answer the question.”
“Yes.” He looked to a corner off camera. “Please don’t fire me. I need this job.”
A wrist brushed in the way of the lens and was black. Also based on Atwood’s words it must have been the prison warden.
Jack reclaimed the interrogation. “This mail, was it passed between Lance Bingham and your cousin Amanda Knowles?”
Atwood moved the cup around on the table.
“Answer the question.”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time something was passed between them?”
“Saturday.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know.”
Jack punched a fist into the conference table. Although Atwood couldn’t see him, only hear him, the bang caused the man to jump. “You don’t know what you gave him?”
“Amanda just told me to pass it along.”
“It? What was it?”
“An email.”
“What did it say?”
“I…I don’t know—”
“Not acceptable.”
Atwood ran a hand down his face. “She sends them sometimes to me, for Bingham.”
“Keep going.”
“I’m not to read them. She…she puts his name in the subject. I’m just to print and deliver.”
“So you have no idea what the one from Saturday said?”
Atwood shook his head. “No, I respect their privacy. What is this about anyway?”
“You are an accessory to murder.”
“Whoa, wait a…” Atwood straightened. “I didn’t do anything. Bingham….he killed some cows and assaulted a neighbor, that’s it. He’s not a bad man. What’s going on here? Accessory to murder?” His voice cracked at the arch of his question.
“You helped a serial killer communicate with his partner.”
“He killed cows. His partner? Amanda?”
“Bingham’s killed a total of twenty people that we know of. We suspect Amanda has killed at least one and helped in others.”
“No. Not possible. Nope.”
“Keep him locked up, Sheriff. Absolutely no contact with the outside world. We don’t need him alerting his cousin that we’re coming after her.”
“I didn’t do anything. Mandy she would never—” Atwood lowered his head.
Another phone rang in the conference room. The Sergeant silenced the connection to the prison and answered the incoming line. “This is Sergeant Haynes. You’re on speaker with Chief of Police Brennan, FBI Agents Harper and Miles.”
“It’s Officer Millbrooke. Amanda Knowles isn’t at the college. They said we just missed her.”
“Son of a bitch!” Jack slammed the side of a fist into the table.
“But there’s more. They said that she has a sick family member right now and she’s been missing classes lately.”
Zachery turned to Jack. “It could account for her being in Woodbridge at Brandon’s house.”
“Did they say what family member?” Jack asked and turned to Zachery. “Possibly the next target?”
“No, they didn’t remember.”
Jack directed Sergeant Haynes, “Turn the audio back on.”
Haynes hit the button for the feed to Kentucky Correctional.
“I need you to think about this real hard.”
Atwood’s head lifted.
“If your cousin isn’t at the college where would she go?”
“I don’t know. Home maybe.”
“Where else?” Jack raised his voice. They had already sent uniforms there.
“I don’t know. I don’t know her that well.”
Jack turned to Zachery, and in a lower voice mocked Atwood’s earlier words, “Yet she would never kill a person.” Back to Atwood, “When did she and Bingham start communicating?”
“Um, back about six years ago. They met when she came up for a family visit.”
“And you never questioned why your cousin wanted to talk to Bingham?”
“I didn’t think it mattered—”
>
“No, you just didn’t think.”
It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Amanda smiled at herself in the rearview mirror and reapplied lipstick. The feds were not a match for her intelligence and planning.
She had no doubt they would be looking for her car at this point. She saw the message that left the agent’s phone and had considered sending a follow-up one, but thought better of it. All they really knew was they were with her, somewhere.
The less communication, the lower the risk of leading them to her. And it was hard to factor in the ripples caused by change. Everything had a timetable and had to go according to plan. As it was the schedule had been accelerated.
She had exchanged her Kia for a co-worker’s Ford Taurus Wagon. The woman was dedicated to the outworking of good so she didn’t think anything of it when Amanda told her that she had car trouble and needed to reach her sick aunt. She had used that excuse to get some time off work last week and people poured in the sympathy speeches. People were so easily manipulated.
Amanda reached into her bag on the passenger seat and pulled out the nine mil. She would do what needed doing.
My breathing slowly came under control, but periodic heart palpitations kept reminding me of the need to get out of the space as soon as possible.
“Brandon?” Paige hit the top of the casket, and I assumed with her head because she was bound. “Brandon?”
“I’m here.” Another heart flutter. My eyes were heavy. “I keep going in and out.”
“You said you know who her target is.”
“Yes.” My eyes shut, and I struggled to keep consciousness.
“Brandon?”
“Do you—”
“Brandon?”
“Cell phone?”
“No. And my gun is gone.”
“We need to call Jack.” Somewhere in the back of mind I knew I had the solution, the way to communicate to the outside world, but my thoughts were unfocused and scattered. My clothes were drenched with sweat.
“Brandon?”
My eyes shut again. My throat was dry. I couldn’t speak.
The phone on the conference table rang again. The officer who called said, “We found her car in the college parking lot.”
“Yet you’re certain she’s not there?” Chief Brennan asked the question.
“She definitely signed out. The receptionist even confirmed she left about thirty minutes ago.”
“She switched out her car with someone else’s,” Zachery said.
“Interview everyone at the college, and find out if anyone lent their car to her.”
“There’s over two hundred faculty members.”
“We don’t want to hear excuses, officer. Do the job as assigned,” Chief Brennan said.
“Yes, boss.”
Paige moved, trying to struggle herself free of the constraints. Her shoulders ached along with her neck and back. Brandon hadn’t responded to her calls for him, and she worried if he was going to be okay. She had to find some way to get him out of there. First she needed free of the ropes.
They were bound tight on her wrists. The fibers bit into her flesh. She moved across the floor, like a worm, legs in, torso crunched forward, legs out, torso straightened. She headed to the alcove at the other side of the room hoping to find something in there to cut the ropes.
The distance across was at least ten to fifteen feet, possibly as much as twenty. But if she kept focused, she had no doubt she’d reach the room.
“Brandon?” She called out to him one more time, careful not to speak too loud. She didn’t know where the woman had gone, but faintly remembered hearing a car engine and feeling its vibrations through the ground.
No sound came from the coffin. She moved faster toward the alcove, but once she cleared the doorway, she wished she had stayed where she was. Her heart beat fast from just the action to get here. Now her heart sped up for another reason.
Paige’s eyes fixed on the empty circular burial site.
Amanda would be back and victim number eleven would be put to rest there. Brandon didn’t think it was them. Paige wasn’t willing to bet on anything right now.
There was a doorway off the side of the room. It had a keyhole. Paige moved toward it. If they weren’t Amanda’s intended victims, was number eleven behind the door?
Her head turned to the left. She heard it first, then felt the vibration. A car pulled in near the church. She had to get back to where she woke up.
She inch-wormed across the dirt floor, making faster progress back then she had on the way there. The car’s engine was cut. She had seconds to reach where she was before.
She sucked back on the pain that shot through her back and neck. She paused as she heard the key go into the padlock on the exterior basement door. She had seconds. She wasn’t going to make it.
She estimated the length of space to go—about five feet. There was no way she would make it by inching forward. She pulled her legs into her hips and fought to find the balance and strength it would require.
Footsteps were on the stairs.
The option was do this or die. Paige coached herself, and she found the strength to hoist upward to her feet. She hopped along the dirt floor closing the distance to where she had been when Amanda left.
The handle turned on the door.
Paige dropped and rolled to her side where she had rested before. She heard the door open and shut.
Jack stood from the conference table. “We can’t just sit here waiting on all of this to play out.”
“What do you want us to do?” Sergeant Haynes asked.
“Get us a car. We’re going out to the college. Send another car to Amanda’s house in case she does return, and we’ll go pick up the Knowles kid again, Reggie. Maybe he knows more than he told us.”
“Certainly.”
Jack’s cell rang, and he answered to Nadia.
“Two things. One quick update: some fingerprints lifted from the photo mailed to the prison came back to Royster, so no real surprise there, but the other news is huge. The video from The Pawnshop has been analyzed, and it’s still not perfect, but it’s definitely Amanda Knowles who bought the surveillance equipment.”
My eyes flickered open. My breathing was weak, and my pulse faint, but for some reason my thinking seemed clearer. The air inside of the casket was stifling, and I’d quickly be running out of oxygen. I must have been in here at least an hour, maybe over that. All I knew was the oxygen was depleting, and I didn’t have much time left. With the thought my heart palpitated. I had to coax it back into an equal rhythm. I was about to call out for Paige when I heard Amanda’s voice.
“Sleeping princess is awake.”
Paige screamed. My instant reaction was to sit up, and I bumped my head on the coffin.
Amanda didn’t say anything for a few seconds. I sensed she heard me. She directed Paige, “To your feet!”
“Please don’t! Let go! I’m a federal agent!”
“You’re in my territory now.”
Paige yelled out, “There’s another burial site ready—”
I heard the slap and felt the vibration. Someone had dropped to the floor. As I shifted I felt the bulge in my back pocket.
“Get up!” Amanda yelled at Paige.
“She has a gun!”
I knew Paige yelled these things for me.
“You get around. You didn’t think I’d see your marks in the dirt floor?” A brief pause. “It seems you even visited your friend in the coffin.”
Amanda reveled in the psychological mind games with her victims. Just like Bingham she kept them alive, tortured, and taunted them with the possibility of hope and when the spark extinguished took their lives. Her waiting to kill us would be her demise because the longer she kept me alive, the less chance she had of walking out of here.
I shimmied in the tight space, careful to move slowly and not cause the wood of the coffin to groan. Sweat dripped down my face, my breath
ing labored as my heart continued to palpitate.
Focus.
I maneuvered a hand beneath me and reached into my back pocket.
My personal cell phone, the one Jack would have preferred I left at home. I kept my hands still and listened.
Their voices were low. They were moving away.
I pulled out the phone and shimmied to the side to free enough space to bring it up to me. I bent at the elbows, slid it open, and turned it on. The brightness of the screen made my eyes water, but as my vision came into focus the news was good and bad. There was reception down here, but the battery was almost dead.
Shit!
I might not have enough to make a call, but I needed to try. I pushed a button and it beeped. My heart sped up as I worried Amanda would hear it and stop the call from being made. But I heard another door open. It was distant, and I assumed it came off the alcove.
I pushed the numbers for Jack’s cell phone and cringed as every digit beeped.
Jack drove in a police cruiser with the lights on. Zachery sat beside him.
“We’re going to find them, Jack.”
“We don’t have a choice.” He had lost too many men in his life and saw too much bloodshed. If he could at all prevent it, he would. The cell rang, and Jack looked at the caller ID. “It’s the kid’s name, must be his personal number.”
Zachery pulled out his phone, and got on the line with Nadia. “We need you to triangulate a call. Live now to Jack’s cell.”
“Where are you?” Jack asked.
“I know who the eleventh target is…”
“Kid—” The connection hissed with static.
“Target number eleven is—”
“Where are you?”
“She has us at—”
Jack tossed his cell in the console. “We were cut off.”
“Nadia, do you have it?” Zachery asked.
“Yeah, yeah, just give me a second.” Seconds passed. “It bounced off towers northeast of Sarasota. There’s a lot of empty land and farmer’s fields out there.”
“What the hell are they doing out there? See if there are any abandoned buildings, churches. Try churches first,” Jack directed.
Eleven (Brandon Fisher FBI Series) Page 32
