by B. J. Woster
“We should take role call to see who’s missing,” Cortez stated as the detectives followed the captain to the auditorium where all officers were supposed to have reported moments prior.
“You don’t think that will be a waste of time? We know it’s one of ours…”
“Yeah, but we don’t know who,” Cortez persisted.
“True, but taking roll may not provide us that answer,” Hardwick interjected. “We all know that when we do an all-out call for officers to report, there are a few off-duty officers that decide that the order doesn’t apply to them. So, if we take precious time away from the investigation to do a roll call, all we’ll accomplish is to find out whose ducking duty.”
“Except the one that’s tied up somewhere,” Wilson added. “Do you really think some will ditch, knowing it’s one of our own on the line?”
“I think that selfishness knows no bounds,” Cortez mused.
“Precisely,” Hardwick replied, with a shake of his head, “so let’s focus on our job right now.”
The captain climbed the stairs to the podium and the auditorium fell silent.
“Since we are completely in the dark—pardon the pun—on precisely which type of electrical device Price has our officer connected to, it’s imperative that we not overlook anything. Every officer is to inspect every nook and cranny in every building, and there better not be any officer making presumptions that could lead to this officer’s death. I better be crystal clear on that point. When I say every nook and cranny, I mean every nook and cranny. I don’t care if the nook is small enough to house a mouse, it better get checked. If there is a power source attached to a building that entire building will be swept from top to bottom, inside and out. We all know what this maniac is capable of doing, so we are not to overlook any possibilities. Now, I’m going to divide everyone into two divisions. Division one will start on the Northwest end of Ted Turner Drive and the other is to start on the Southwest end. We’ll meet in the middle; hopefully with our officer in tow.”
“What about the part of Spring Street that wasn’t renamed? Do we check there?” one of the officers called out the question from the back row.
“Damn,” the captain muttered beneath his breath, tossing a glance toward his detectives. He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, sighing heavily. He’d forgotten there was still a small snippet of Spring Street that the city council hadn’t renamed yet after the media mogul, Ted Turner. He was also grateful that he held to the belief that no question was too stupid to ask. “You’re right,” he called. “He may decide to throw us a curve ball. Good catch. The last thing we need to do is presume that he’ll restrict his location to the renamed section alone. So, I believe Spring Street is still named Spring Street between Ivan Allen to West Peachtree. So, in actuality, we’ll have four divisions working the grid; four cars each division.”
“Should we bother checking stand-along parking structures?” another officer called out.
“Yes,” the captain answered, thinking that that really was a stupid question, although he kept that opinion to himself. “Most parking structures have some form of electrical usage—lights, ticketing booths, maintenance closets. Remember people, you’re not to bypass any building—and I mean any building—that has a source of power running to it. Is everyone clear on what we’re trying to accomplish here?” Voices called out understanding, nearly simultaneously. “Good, because this search is going to be foot patrol—primarily. Detective Hardwick will explain how this is going to go down.”
“Okay,” Hardwick said, replacing the captain at the podium. “There’s going to be a single driver per group of officers. We don’t need the street flooded with patrol cars, just cops. When each group of four cars reaches the starting point, officers in the first two cars will debark and begin the sweep. Car one will tackle the buildings on the left; car two, the buildings on the right. After officers have cleared the first building on each side of the street, officers in the next two cars will debark and do a second sweep of those buildings. Each division will continue in that manner until we meet up in the middle; and, as the captain said, hopefully, we’ll find our officer along the way. Any more questions before we divide up and head out?” No one stood or shouted out. “Good.”
“Spring Street Division. You’ll head out first. Eight cars, eight drivers. Four at each end…” he paused, pointing his flashlight at the first eight officers seated in the front row. “Grab keys and vehicles. Your search parties will meet up with you in a minute.” As soon as those men ran from the room, he pointed his flashlight to another eight officers, “You four are drivers. Ted Turner Northwest end, and you four are drivers too. Southwest end.” The eight officers jumped up and ran for the parking garage.
“Okay, the rest of you, grab your gear and flashlights. You’ll be searching the buildings. Meet up with the drivers. Four or five to a car. Go.”
The captain and his four detectives watched the men sprint from the room.
“What are we going to do?” Wilson asked. “We can’t exactly do anything productive with the computers down. Think we should hit the streets too? We certainly shouldn’t sit here twiddling our—”
“Hey, bright bulb,” Cortez interjected. “We’re standing in one of the buildings in the search grid.”
“Ah, come on,” Wilson retorted, “You don’t really think that Price had the cajones or the capabilities to infiltrate our facility to convey a hostage beneath the noses of a hundred plus police officers, do you?”
“Not really, no,” Cortez conceded.
“Thank you for your honesty,” Wilson said sardonically.
“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t search,” Cortez added.
Before Wilson could lob another retort, the captain interrupted, “It doesn’t matter what we think, Wilson. What matters is that we do our jobs. Even if we feel the probability is low that Price could get in and out without detection, hostage in tow, we may as well certify ourselves as village idiots if we don’t conduct a thorough search.”
“Price isn’t stupid,” Hardwick interjected. “In fact, the level of his self-dubbed experiments is downright genius…” Hardwick trailed off, which caught the attention of his fellow detectives.
“What’re you thinking, Hardwick?” Harding asked.
“He called himself a scientist,” Hardwick said thoughtfully.
“When?” the captain asked.
“You weren’t there,” Hardwick commented abstractly. “It was during our first phone conversation. He likened himself to a scientist conducting experiments on rats.”
“Okay, and?” Wilson asked, uncertain where this line of thought was leading. “I fail to see how this is pertinent. Most criminals can draw a parallel between themselves and a profession of consequence. It seems to help them justify their actions.”
“Yes, but what if he really is a scientist?” Cortez asked Hardwick in an ‘aha’ tone.
“Precisely,” Hardwick continued. “Damn it. The power had to be off right now.”
“Okay, let’s say he really is a scientist. How does this help us?” Wilson continued to argue.
“If the power weren’t off, we could conduct more intensive research on Price’s dead wife,” Harding stated emphatically.
“Precisely,” Hardwick continued. “Knowledge is power, right? So, let’s say that my intellectual spark proves true—that Price is a scientist. That will give us more insight into the person and give us new search parameters. The more we know, the better chance we have of finding and stopping him; however, since the power is off, we’ll have to conduct a search and do our research later. Hopefully, we find our officer and conduct the search before he flees our jurisdiction.”
“We may not have to wait,” the captain interjected; his own tone thoughtful. “This building has a separate backup power source. We can turn on the juice here, in our precinct, without affecting the buildings within the search grid.”
“And if this particular genius did manag
e to slip a victim in beneath our noses? Aren’t we putting our officer at risk?” Wilson argued.
Hardwick nodded, “Yes, but I think that we’re all in agreement that it’s a tiny likelihood. As you said, Wilson, he’d have to have some serious cajones to slip a victim beneath our noses. Not to mention the ability. Remember when we determined that we four would do some actual detecting while the others conducted a search? We need to catch this guy, and sooner rather than later. We’ve actually been handed the perfect opportunity: a cooperative mayor, a limited and precise search grid, and an unlimited amount of time.”
“It doesn’t take four detectives and a captain to do research,” the captain interjected, “but I get where you’re going. Does anyone have any further objections to this before I head down to the generator room?”
Everyone shook his head, “Good. Hardwick, as soon as the lights come on, you hit the computers, since this was your brain baby. The rest of us will do a sweep of the building. That way, we’re still getting the job done while getting our real jobs done. Let’s go!”
Chapter 34
Daniel finished washing his snack dishes and moved back to the living room to see whether his new favorite reporter, Cassandra Bouchard, had any further news to impart related to the frantic search for the APD officer.
He was so certain that the Atlanta PD would succeed this time that he wanted to go ahead and pack up his gear and be prepared to leave the moment the news broke about the successful outcome. The joy in his step faltered, however, as he moved around to the front of the television set.
Cassandra Bouchard was indeed back on air, reporting, but that wasn’t what caught his attention, rather it was the lights burning inside the precinct. He fell onto the couch, his face twisted in comical horror.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” he whispered to himself. What he wanted to do was scream at the top of his lungs, but he knew better than to draw attention to himself. “Has the Atlanta PD completely lost their senses?”
He picked up his cell and dialed the Channel 5 newsroom, but before the call connected, he hit end and tossed the phone onto the couch next to him. “No! You’ll receive no more help from me,” he snarled. He shook his head and drew in several deep breaths through his nostrils. The anger rampaging through his system was deeper and stronger than at any other time in his life, except for when the Chicago PD discovered his wife’s body.
“I now know with certainty,” he whispered, shaking his head slowly, the anger displaced by a slow deepening sorrow, “that I could remain in Atlanta for the remainder of my life, kidnapping woman after woman, and would watch each die. It sickens me to know that, despite every effort to make your job easier, to try to lift the officers here from a listless state, I have failed miserably, and because I have failed, Lucia Mendocino will die a horrible death. Her demise will not haunt me however, because I, once again, marked her very location on a map, pointing you in her direction. Could you follow the simplest instructions needed to keep her alive until she was found? No. You had to elevate yourselves above the victim, place your own needs above hers. You sicken me, all of you, sicken me.”
With leaden steps, Daniel left the apartment. It was time to change his identity again and then take the necessary steps to leave Atlanta for good. When he reached the parking lot, he decided to leave his car and head off on foot. He needed the walk to clear the anger and sorrow from his brain.
A quick look both ways and he bolted across Highland Avenue and briskly walked toward Highland Market. It wasn’t a huge market, like Kroger or Piggly Wiggly, so he could only hope they’d have hair dye. Not all small marketplaces did. If not, he’d have to hop in his car to reach the nearest sizable grocery store. He was nearing the market when he spotted Salon Modello.
“I’ve never had my hair professionally tended before,” he murmured. “Might be just the thing I need to lift my spirits a bit. If they take walk-ins.”
He entered the salon and two men eagerly jumped up to greet him, neither of whom appeared busy at present.
“Can you squeeze in a last-minute appointment for a cut and dye? I’m feeling a bit down and I need a good pick-me-up,” Daniel stated, pulling two one hundred dollar bills from his wallet.
“Absolutely, which of us would you prefer do the job?”
“One can wash and cut and the other color? Sound reasonable?”
Daniel held the bills out, one toward each man. They took the proffer and set about reinventing Daniel into yet another man that would be unrecognizable to anyone who’d come into prior contact with Christian Price or his real persona.
“Have you heard about what’s happening at the police department?” Price queried as the one man massaged his scalp with shampoo. As long as he was working to relax his agitation, he may as well get a feel for how the public felt about the ineptitude of their guardians.
“Hell yeah,” the stylist exclaimed. “That’s one sick, twisted, son-of-a-bitch.”
“Maybe, but what about the police? They’re no better, letting those women die, and just before I came in here, I saw on the news that they’d turned the lights back on at the precinct. Sounds to me like they don’t give a shit about their officer.”
“Lean your head back a little,” the stylist instructed, then set to rinsing the shampoo from Christian’s hair. “Maybe the lights are back on,” the stylist continued, pulling a towel from a shelf overhead, “because they’ve located the officer already. I mean, isn’t that possible? And they just haven’t gotten around to flipping all the breakers again yet?”
Christian was shaken into silence. First, he hadn’t expected anyone to defend the police, and second, he hadn’t anticipated that they’d locate his latest victim so quickly. It didn’t register that it would be possible. If that were the case, and the lights did signal a speedy end, they’d likely turn their focus toward finding him. He still needed a change of appearance in order to get out of town without being identified, so he’d stay and finish his makeover. Once done, he’d need to get his gear together and move on before the police threw a dragnet around the city and apprehended him.
When he headed back to the apartment an hour and a half later his spirits had lifted a bit at the knowledge that the police officer’s son wouldn’t be left without a mother, and he determined that to keep his spirits up, he would not view the television news again until he settled over the border in Tennessee. Not only was it a waste of his time, but he couldn’t risk hearing that the search for him was now the primary focus.
He paid a visit to the bathroom to ensure his tenant was still sleeping, then slowly set about packing up his gear, following his normal routine for abandoning a property. After his equipment was stowed by the front door, he did a walk through, making certain that no sign of his existence remained, down to emptying all of the trash receptacles. His last stop, as always, was to ensure that his unwilling and unconscious host would remain asleep for at least several hours after his departure.
He took another syringe, filled the veins of the man still sleeping soundly, and then began to transport his belongings to his vehicle, peering carefully about each time he left the apartment.
When everything was cleared out, he punched in the shortest route to the Tennessee border into his GPS and then pulled out of the complex.
“Goodbye, Atlanta. I do feel sorry for the residents that inhabit this, thoroughly, unprotected city.” With a heavy sigh, he took the ramp for I-75 and headed north. It was time to start planning for his next experiment in a new city, “But this time, I need to formulate a method by which the police actually need to do some detecting.”
Chapter 35
Hardwick sat down at the computer and waited for the electricity to come back on. When it did, he wasted no time turning on his computer.
“Where do you want us?” Harding asked, standing as soon as the lights came on.
“Just do what the captain suggested. Start a search of the building. Wilson, you, and Cortez head outside to search the grounds f
irst. He may not have been able to infiltrate the building, but there are sources of power outside that he could utilize.”
“Sounds good,” the captain concurred, coming into the bullpen. “Harding and I will start on the second floor and work our way down to the lower level. Wilson and Cortez can join us as soon as they’re done outside. And Hardwick…”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I do hope this idea of yours bears fruit. We’re a laughing stock among other precincts right now; our reputation in tatters. It wouldn’t hurt to get this one right, and apprehend the bad guy while we’re at it.”
“I’m with you, Captain.”
“Good, then let’s get to it.”
Hardwick punched up the police database for the east coast and typed in his new search parameters. He kept the age range, because he was still convinced that the man in question was thirty to fifty years of age, and to within the past twenty years; but this time, he added his new information on the potential suspect. When done, he half expected the computer to find his request for unsolved homicides with a scientist’s spouse as soon as he finished typing. When the computer came back with a negative result, Hardwick slammed his fists down on his desk; loud enough to echo through the halls of the empty department, also to elicit cry outs from his captain and Harding from one floor up.
“Everything good down there, Hardwick?”
“Yeah, just peachy,” Hardwick yelled back. He shook his head, drew in a deep breath and then decided to try to access the central U.S. police database. “Just because he did his dirty work along the east coast, doesn’t mean he hails from here,” he murmured to himself, retyping all of his search parameters.
This time, the computer spat out a single name. Hardwick was so stunned that he sat staring at the system for the longest time, nearly in shock. The face that popped up, however, bore no resemblance to the drawing given by the priest, which had Hardwick doubting his search yet again. Still, he had to be certain, so he tried to access the file.
