Then Jack remembered, that’s what Rachel had suggested from the start, find Thornton. If Jack had followed her plan, she might still be alive. But if he didn’t think he could find him during the day, what chance did he have of finding him at night?
Then an image formed in his mind. A Rolodex, sitting on the corner of Thornton’s desk, in his office at the school. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Thornton had probably written something about his cabin on one of those cards. The school was obviously closed, but Jack had keys. Thornton had given him a set for the front door of the Murray Building and his office, in case Jack ever wanted to work there when Thornton was away.
Jack turned left at the next intersection and headed for the university.
# # #
Avery saw Turner’s car lights ahead, turning left at an intersection. He was only a block or two behind. And gaining.
That’s what being too tired gets you. He had pulled right into the motel parking lot, right next to Turner’s car and didn’t see it. He vowed not to miss his chance again.
Just then, his phone rang. He fumbled through the pile of fast food bags on his front seat and answered on the fourth ring.
“Avery?”
“Doc, what a surprise.”
“You were going to call me with an update.”
“When I was finished with the task. Not quite there yet. Actually, I’m in hot pursuit of the last target. So, can we talk about thirty minutes from now? I’m driving about eighty here on some dark, country roads.”
“Just give me a quick update. Where are things at?”
“The professor committed suicide this afternoon. You know about that. The young lady, the girlfriend of that Turner guy, walked in on a burglary. Sadly, she didn’t make it.” Avery heard Jameison sigh on the other end.
“Have you gotten the jump drive yet?”
“That’s what I’m after right now, and to take out the guy who took it.”
“You gotta get that jump drive, Avery.”
“Don’t lecture me, Doc. I know what I’m doing.” Avery looked down the road. Turner was turning at another intersection, left this time. Avery guessed by the direction Jack was heading for the University campus. “Look Doc, I’ve really gotta go.” He hung up before Jameison could reply.
56
Jack pulled up to the Murray Building and, for the first time, got a front row parking spot. Not hard at 1:00am. He got out and looked back toward the main entrance. No sign of the killer’s car. No sign of anyone. The temperature was just above frigid, but most of the snow had melted off that afternoon, gathering in little clumps around the trees and light poles. He walked toward the front doors.
# # #
Avery had pulled his car off the road a half-block back from the main entrance. The streets around the campus were deserted. At the moment, he was eyeing Jack through a clump of hemlock trees. He recognized the building Jack walked toward as the same building where Thornton’s office was.
# # #
Jack walked up the steps and pulled out his keys. Took him a few tries to figure out which one unlocked the front door. He pulled it open, stepped inside, and turned to lock it behind him.
# # #
Avery was lying on a small hill, still hidden in the trees, looking through his night-vision binoculars. If Turner locked that door, it would make getting inside extremely difficult. And noisy. Avery wished he’d brought along a rifle instead of his Beretta. An infrared scope would come in handy right about now. He put his binoculars down and steadied the pistol under his other arm. Jack’s body was plainly visible through the glass.
# # #
The glass door shattered. It felt like someone had hit Jack in the shoulder with a hammer. He fell to the ground. He looked up to see the cracked glass spreading out like a spider web, a bullet hole in the center. It took him a moment to realize he’d been shot.
The killer’s here. Jack reached for his wound and felt warm fluid oozing through his fingers. He had never felt so much pain. He had to get up. Now. He rolled over on his uninjured side and lifted himself off the floor.
# # #
Avery swore as he lunged through the trees, sprinting for the door. He couldn’t let Jack get away. He knew his aim was perfect—straight for the heart. The bullet must have veered slightly when it hit the thick glass. He should have compensated.
# # #
Joe Boyd sat at his desk, reading over the copies that guy Turner had given them earlier in the day. Beside him, a notepad. He was trying to get his hands around the situation. Thought the best way to do that might be to pretend the outlandish story Turner had told them might actually be true. Through that lens, the dots were starting to connect.
He was startled by the phone ringing. It was Hank. He picked it up. “You on your way here?”
“I was,” Hank said, “but I just heard over the radio a report about a gunshot at Culpepper. Someone said they heard a loud noise like a gunshot, then breaking glass.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Did the caller say which building?”
“The Murray Building,” Hank said. “The thing is, Joe. I was looking into this thing a little this afternoon. That’s the same building the professor works at. You know, the suicide in the cabin out by the lake.”
“This has all got to be connected,” Boyd said. “I can get there in ten. Meet me there, quick as you can.”
# # #
Jack ran down the dark hallway, holding his arm close. He tried several office doors, but all were locked. Should he still try to make Thornton’s office? Could he make it up three flights of steps? The elevator was on the far side of the building. The shooter would be on him in moments.
He made it to the edge of the stairway and heard the glass door open, then the sound of cracked glass underfoot. He looked in time to see the man raise his pistol in Jack’s direction. Jack lunged for the steps as a shot rang out. A bullet soared past where he had stood a second ago. He scrambled up the stairs ignoring the pain in his wounded arm. He could hear the man’s footsteps down the hall.
When he got to the second floor, Jack saw a janitorial closet across the hall. He couldn’t outrun this guy down another long hallway. He made a run for the closet, relieved to find it open.
Once inside, he heard footsteps rapidly climbing the stairway. He didn’t move or breathe. Heavy steps stopped on the second floor. Jack could almost feel the man’s presence, barely a few feet away. His shoulder began to throb. He applied hand pressure to the wound, then thought about the blood. Surely, a blood trail led across the hallway to this closet. He imagined the killer noticing the blood, smiling, then firing several shots through the door.
To Jack’s relief, a few moments later he heard footsteps run up the stairs toward the third floor. It wouldn’t be long before the shooter came back down again. Next time, he might notice the blood. Jack took a chance and flipped on the light switch. He grabbed a white towel then quickly shut the light off again. Letting his jacket drop to the floor, he wrapped the towel tightly around his shoulder, trying to slow down the flow of blood.
Taking his shoes off to deaden his footsteps, he slowly opened the door. The hall was empty. He ran toward the opposite end, trying to make the elevator. He remembered the History Department’s faculty lounge was on the fifth floor. He had a key for that room also. And there was a phone there. The shooter probably expected Jack to head to Thornton’s room. He hoped this guy didn’t know about the lounge.
As he turned the corner along a short section of hallway, he heard footsteps running back down the stairs. The shooter must have realized his mistake. Jack began to feel dizzy and lightheaded. He turned left again around the next corner, now facing the long hallway on the other side of the building. The elevator was only thirty or forty steps away.
Did he have time? The footsteps grew louder.
“Give it up, Jack,” a man’s voice yelled softly. “Stop running and maybe we can talk.”
Jack ignored him and
kept running, but he was running out of steam. He mashed the elevator button. It lit up. He mashed it again and again. “C’mon, c’mon!” he muttered. The doors finally opened. He dropped down and dove in. A bullet pinged just over his head. As the doors closed, he heard the man swear.
Jack was breathing so hard he thought he might pass out. He lifted himself off the elevator floor and pushed button number five, trying to calm down as the elevator began to rise. He couldn’t remember: did this elevator tell people in the hall what floor the elevator was on?
Finally, the doors pulled back. The faculty lounge was down the hall on the right side, not more than fifty feet from where he stood. He stepped out into the hall, listening for any sounds.
“Oh, Ja-ack,” came a sinister, sing-songy voice.
Jack looked up. At the far end of the hall, in the direction of the lounge, the silhouette of a man standing dead-center in the hall, his gun raised. This is it, thought Jack. He closed his eyes, and tried to turn his thoughts toward God.
A shot rang out. Jack winced, waiting for the blow.
But nothing happened. He heard a noise, a thump. He looked up to see the man’s body lying at the other end of the hall.
What the…?
57
From around the corner, Joe Boyd tried to focus in the darkness on the body he had just shot. He approached the man cautiously, gun aimed directly at his head. He was lying on his back, his legs bent in an odd fashion. Boyd stood over him. The man’s eyes opened slowly. A trickle of blood made its way down the side of his mouth.
It took a moment, but the man finally focused on Boyd’s face. “You must be Sgt. Joe Boyd. I get that right?” He coughed.
Boyd nodded, evaluating the wound. It was mortal.
“Pleased to meet you. The name’s Nigel Avery. At least the name I’ve been using lately.” He coughed again. “Should have worn that vest. Thing is, it chafes under my arms.” He was smiling.
“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Boyd said. “If you had a vest on, I’d have just shot you in the head. Can’t have a man shooting up my town, now can I?”
“I suppose not.” It was clearly hard for him to breathe.
“Mr. Turner,” Boyd yelled down the hall. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” came the reply. “I’m shot.”
“Paramedics are on the way. You’re safe now. I see a bench about halfway down the hall. Can you make it there?”
“I think so. It’s my shoulder.”
“My partner will be here in a minute,” Boyd said. “One of us will be there to help you.”
“Paramedics coming?” Avery said.
“Yeah, but we both know you won’t be here by the time they arrive.”
Avery smiled weakly. “Your bedside manner sucks.”
Boyd couldn’t help but smile at that.
“So where you think I’m headed?” Avery said. He seemed to think a moment, then said: “Wherever it is, I figure it can’t be good.”
Boyd couldn’t tell if he was being serious. “I don’t know if it’ll help your chances any, but maybe you should use this time wisely. You shot that girl over at that apartment tonight, right?”
“You want me to do your job for you, Sergeant?”
“I’m supposed to be in bed right now, Mister…”
“Avery. Least you could do is remember my name.”
“Did you do it? Are you my shooter?”
Avery nodded. “You find out about the professor yet?”
Boyd nodded. “That you, too?”
Avery said, “Let’s just say, you might want to look a little further into that suicide.”
Boyd heard footsteps coming up the stairway, heard Hank call out his name. “Up here, Hank. I’m okay. Got one man down, and another one shot down the hall. That one’s Jack Turner. The paramedics here yet?”
“Just pulled up. They’re not sure where to go, or if the scene’s secure.”
“Send them up. There’s an elevator down the hall.”
“Right.” Hank came up the rest of the way, took a look at the body near Boyd’s feet, then down the hall. “Mr. Turner?”
“I’m right here.”
Hank went to him.
Boyd looked back at Avery. His eyes were now closed. Boyd bent down to check his pulse. When he did, Avery’s eyes opened. “So what’s all this about anyway? Why are you doing all this? Who are you working for?”
“Don’t think I got time for all that,” Avery said. “Ask that guy Jack. I think he’s figured it all out. That’s why we’re here in this hallway so late at night. That’s why you had to get out of bed.” He smiled. “Guess this time, the good guys win.”
Those were his last words. Avery’s eyes became empty, staring up at nothing. Boyd closed them over, checked his pulse anyway.
He stood then joined Hank, who was helping Jack Turner to his feet.
58
“Is he dead?” Jack asked Sgt. Boyd, as he and the other officer named Hank helped him to the gurney, where the paramedics took over.
“He is now,” Boyd said. After they strapped Jack in, he extended his hand. “Hey, I’m sorry we didn’t listen to you today. Your story just sounded too weird.”
Jack shook Boyd’s hand, but grimaced as another round of pain shot through his arm.
“Think we’re ready to hear your story now,” Boyd said. “Soon as the dust settles.”
“I’ll tell you everything I know. In the meantime, you might want to look at this.” He held out the jump drive. Boyd took it from him. “Everything’s on that, proof of this whole scheme. Click on the folder with Professor Thornton’s name.”
“He’s dead too.”
“Thornton…is dead?”
Boyd nodded. The paramedics were ready to load Jack into the elevator. “Hank, why don’t you stay here, start securing the crime scene? I’ll go down with Mr. Turner.”
“Sure, Joe.”
The elevator doors closed.
“That guy up there, the one who shot you…he ‘fessed up to it. Tried to make it look like the professor committed suicide. I haven’t heard all his reasons why yet, but Hank wasn’t buying it.”
Jack sighed. “Did he confess to killing Rachel, too?”
“Rachel?”
“The girl who was killed at the apartment complex. Rachel Cook. She was the one with me today. She and I were…well, we were starting to date.” Jack sighed. The look on Boyd’s face confused him. He seemed to be almost smiling.
The elevator opened to the first floor. Boyd stepped out into the hall, followed by the paramedics, pushing and pulling Jack’s gurney. Boyd continued down the hall toward the main entrance. Jack heard their feet and then the gurney wheels rolling over the glass.
When they got to the doors, Boyd stopped and looked at Jack. “There’s somebody out here who wants to see you.” They made it through the doorway into the cold night air. The parking lot was lit up with flashing lights, bouncing off the buildings and trees. The paramedics followed Boyd, who seemed to be walking toward the open backdoors of an ambulance. When they got there, he kept walking, around the ambulance on the right side.
Jack saw a police squad car. Boyd opened the back door. A young woman emerged wearing a light coat.
“Jack?” she shouted as she ran toward him.
Jack could hardly believe it. Tears filled his eyes. Then he began to laugh at the same time. “Rachel?”
“Jack, you’re all right! They said you got shot.” She threw her arms around him. He hugged her tightly. Then they kissed, over and over.
“Rachel, I thought you were dead. I saw you lying there in your apartment hallway.”
“Oh, Jack. It was Mary,” Rachel said, standing up, releasing a different kind of tears. “My roommate. She came back late this afternoon to get all her things. I can’t believe she’s dead.”
“But, I saw the sweater, the same one you were wearing when I left you.”
“It was Mary’s. I was just borrowing it. I gave it back. She
must have decided to wear it home.”
“And your parents said they hadn’t heard from you. Where did you go?”
“When I couldn’t get hold of them, I decided to hang out at the library. I knew you didn’t want me to stay at my apartment. I would have warned Mary, but she told me she was leaving before six. I don’t know why she was still there so much later. After the library closed, I went over to Starbucks, but I forgot and left my phone volume off.”
Jack held her face in his hands. “I’m really sorry about Mary, Rachel. I know you two were good friends. But I thought…I thought I lost you. I can’t believe you’re all right.” He hugged her again with his good arm.
“One of the paramedics spoke up. “We really need to get him to the hospital.”
“I know. I’ll get my parents to take me.”
“Your parents are coming?”
“They’re almost here. They called about ten minutes ago.” She leaned over and they kissed once more. The paramedics loaded Jack into the back of the ambulance.
# # #
Boyd watched this scene unfold. He was glad somebody had something nice going for them through all this.
Hank came up behind him. “So, what do you think, Joe? Crazy, isn’t it?”
Boyd looked at the ambulance driving away, then at all the emergency vehicles in the parking lot, then at the entrance to the Murray Building. He shook his head and said, “I’ll tell you what I think. I think I should have stayed in Pittsburgh.”
59
2 Months Later
Jack and Rachel got out of Jack’s BMW and walked toward the Culpepper police station. Sgt. Boyd had agreed to meet with them for an informal, confidential briefing on the case. Jack knew it would be a fairly complicated, multilayered investigation, especially when he learned the FBI had gotten involved.
Fatal 5 Page 138
