by Jonas Saul
Gert gripped the cell phone tighter to his ear as a loud rig passed by. "You actually believe this Automatic Writer shit?"
"You're asking me if I believe in psychic stuff. Come on, just do your fuckin' job and stop killing people. I can't help you if they launch a nationwide manhunt. Don't make any more mistakes. The girl has to die. Go back to the motel and find her. You can keep her alive for at least one day. We may need her for voice verification. After this blows over, we'll take a month off and hit another city. I'll get close to the investigation on my side so I can keep on top of their progress. I'll try to give them something psychic."
Gert pressed end on his cell. A fly buzzed his ear. He swatted at it and turned towards town. Instead of walking back to the motel, he decided to steal a car and drive back. It had been a two hour walk into town. He didn't feel like just turning around and going back.
He looked at the time on his phone. That could get him back to the motel by 5:00am or so, depending on how long it took to get a car.
He would have the girl and be back on the road before the sun came up.
He would need pen and paper to see if this Automatic Writing shit was real.
She would write something for him or he would kill her.
Just like that.
Screw the voice verification shit.
His step felt lighter with the knowledge that Sarah would die today.
Chapter 33
Amelia heard the car and looked through the living room window as Caleb strode up. He walked in the front door and slammed it behind him.
"It's well past midnight. Where've you been?" she asked even though she knew.
"What's all this?" His eyes seemed wild, panicked. "Why are you people in my house?"
"Why didn't you tell me about the ransom call?"
He glared at her. "I didn't want to worry you. You went through enough when we lost Vivian. I wanted to check something out first. Then I was coming home to fill you in on everything."
Amelia stepped back.
"Why are the police here?" Caleb asked. "If you know about the ransom call, why are the police involved?"
"We came because of the hit and run last night." Amelia saw Sam Johnson step into the foyer. "We were looking for a recent photo of your daughter. Once your wife and I got talking, we realized she didn't know about our visit before that so she invited us in. Now we're looking for your daughter the right way. No cowboy stuff."
Amelia knew the smile on Detective Johnson's face wouldn't win her husband over. They'd both lost a lot of respect for the way police did things when Vivian was taken from them. Vivian's killer never got caught.
"For the record, I don't like it," Caleb said. "I already lost one daughter and I'm not going to lose Sarah. The kidnapper told me to not involve the police. I don't want you here, but I won't go so far as to tell you to leave yet. Find my daughter soon, or get out."
Amelia looked at the detective. He nodded his head and turned away, leaving them alone.
"You said you wanted to check something out. Then you were going to tell me about it. What was it?" Amelia asked.
Caleb reached out and took her arm. He led her down the hallway and into their bedroom.
"Are they listening in?" he asked.
Amelia shook her head.
"I don't believe in psychics, but I went to talk to Dolan Ryan. That's the guy who runs the Psychic Fair. If he's really some kind of psychic, then why not help us find Sarah?"
"You've changed. A week ago if I did the same thing you would have laughed at me."
Caleb nodded and looked at the carpet. "I know. But after that fortune teller told Sarah about danger and now this, I just thought maybe there was something to it. That's why I told you it was Jehovah Witnesses at the door. I didn't want the police involved until I talked to Dolan."
"What did he say?"
"He said he wouldn't help us. Then the police took me downtown and said I had to stay away from the Psychic Fair. I got a cab back to the fair's parking lot to pick up our car. For the last, I don't know how many hours; I've been driving around hoping to spot Sarah."
The phone rang.
They looked at each other and turned from the room. Halfway up the hall Amelia saw detective Johnson coming toward them with a hands-free phone held out.
Amelia grabbed it on the fourth ring.
"Hello?"
"Is this Mrs. Roberts?"
"Yes. Who's this?" She looked at the cop in the cramped hall. He nodded and rolled his hand in a gesture to keep going.
"My name is Dolan Ryan. You may remember me from my earlier call about your husband."
"Yes. Go on."
"I know about Sarah's disappearance."
"My husband just came home. He told me about your meeting today."
"Things have changed. When your husband and I met, I was letting personal reasons stop me from getting involved, but I think I know where Sarah is. It's important I speak with you right away."
Amelia almost dropped the phone. She fumbled with it and then secured it at her ear. "What did you say? If you know where she is, tell me."
"It's not that easy. The location is secluded. I need to debrief the police. They will have to send in a tactical unit. Let me work with the police and I'll get your daughter back."
Chapter 34
It was after five in the morning and he didn't have a car yet. The sun would be up soon.
This complicated things. The girl could be anywhere by now. She could've hitched a ride, or walked back to town, just like he did.
He felt stupid for leaving the motel. He wondered why he did it in the first place. Would going back be worth it? She couldn't have gotten far. She was weak, tired and probably hungry. She too had probably passed out in the motel somewhere, which meant she would awaken with the sun and have more strength from a long rest, giving herself a good chance to make a clean break.
He had to go back to the motel as soon as he could get a car.
He made his way to a three story apartment building. Cars littered the parking lot. He was hoping to find an SUV or van of some kind. Older model preferred. Some car alarms these days were difficult to circumvent.
Headlights cut through the early morning fog. A vehicle turned onto the street he was walking on.
Gert ran and dodged behind a row of trimmed bushes. He crouched down and waited for the car to pass.
He knew they would've found the dead cop back on the highway by now. No doubt there would be cops everywhere looking for the killer. Anyone found strolling the streets at this early hour would be questioned. He didn't want to take any chances.
The car was moving slow, drawing closer. He figured it was still too dark for anyone to see him easily and he wanted a good look at who was coming so he chanced a peek.
The first thing he saw was the lights on the roof.
Then he had an idea.
Why would he steal a random vehicle and have to hope he could get past the car alarms? Why not take another cop car. He'd get more weapons, a police scanner so he could hear what other cops were up to and he'd look like he was transporting a criminal when he got the girl in the back seat.
He searched the pocket in his jeans. It still held the fake police identification they used to grab the girl on Birk Street.
Perfect.
He ran onto the road in front of the cop car. It jolted to a stop.
"Help! My wife is hurt."
The driver's side door opened and the officer got out. He stayed behind the door.
"Put your hands on your head," the cop said.
Gert acted surprised and out of breath. "What? I just told you my wife is hurt. These guys knocked on our door twenty minutes ago and invaded our home. I managed to get away, but they got my wife. I need your help. Come on." He turned away as if to go, then stopped and looked back.
"I said, put your hands on your head. Do it now."
He raised his hands, acting the part of a distraught husband.
"Ho
w is it you're all dressed? You're always dressed at five in the morning during a home invasion?"
Gert managed to get a tear out. It slipped across the skin of his cheek. "I was traveling back from visiting family. I got in late. I hadn't undressed for bed yet. My wife was asleep. They had weapons. I had no choice but to run."
He took a step towards the cruiser. The officer didn't challenge him, but remained standing behind his car door. Gert could feel he was still suspicious.
"Where do you live?"
Got me, he thought. What was the name of the street he was just on? He racked his mind for a street name. To stall, he cocked his ear and asked the cop to repeat his question.
"Two blocks over," Gert said, pointing behind him.
The officer moved around the door of the car. His hand was suspended over his holster. "Step up to the vehicle and put your hands on the hood."
"Are you serious?"
"I said put your hands on the hood." The cop's voice was stern.
Gert shook his head and gave the guy his best; I can't believe you, look.
He did as he was told. He shook his head back and forth as he came to stand beside the car. "You're something else, you know that? My wife could be raped by now. I run out to get help. Of all the luck, I find a cop. But now I'm being treated like a suspect or something."
He was talking as the cop drew closer. Then he felt the cop's hands on him. Gert couldn't let the cop frisk him at the waist.
He closed his eyes. The officer's hand brushed Gert's gun on its pass over his belt in the rear of his pants.
With as much speed as he could muster, Gert spun around and threw his hand into the cop's neck just below the jaw line.
The cop almost had his gun out of its holster. But now both his hands clung to his throat as he gasped for air.
Gert spun the cop around and withdrew his gun, then shoved him against the hood of the cruiser. The cop bounced off the car and dropped to the ground like a large fish fresh out of water, gasping for air.
He knew it wasn't a killing blow. A punch in the Adam's apple is an awful feeling, but unless the trachea collapses, the cop will live. He needed to be more careful about random killings. Especially cops.
The cruiser was still idling. Gert slipped behind the wheel and hit the gas. The forward motion slammed the driver's side door closed.
He looked in the rearview mirror. The cop was rolling on the ground, still holding his throat.
Then he looked in the mirror again. From this distance it was hard to tell, but it looked like the cop was talking into a handheld microphone that had been suspended on his lapel.
Shit. He should've ripped that off him. He wasn't thinking fast enough.
Gert dropped the accelerator and raced the cop car out of town. He increased the volume on the police radio. Dispatchers were sending officers to a domestic and another to a traffic violation for backup.
He looked at the time on the dash; 5:30am. He'd be back at the motel in twenty minutes or less.
He would find his girl and try for the state line.
Chapter 35
The sun shone bright through her windshield. Even though she only had a mile left, she opened the console between the seats and pulled out her sunglasses.
It looked like she'd arrive thirty minutes earlier than Mr. Ward who was expected to show at 6:30am. They would transfer the money, load the painting onto a special truck Mr. Ward was bringing and the deal would be done. As long as everything goes as planned, Denise would be free and clear in an hour and a half. Then she would deal with the girl her guards had found.
She put on her signal and slowed to pull into the Sky Blue motel. No cars were visible. No one was here. Perfect.
She stopped in front of the construction trailer and turned her SUV off. Her stomach was in knots. This was a legitimate sale, nothing illegal. Yet she still felt like a criminal.
"It'll all be over soon," she said out loud to comfort herself.
She got out of the vehicle and sucked in a deep breath of the morning air. The smell of the pines made her think of being at a cottage.
The wooden steps of the construction trailer creaked under her weight as she fumbled with the keys.
A car on the highway slowed. She turned around to see a dark colored Cadillac angling in to the abandoned motels parking lot. The vehicle stopped behind hers. Two men got out. They looked like Mr. Ward's thugs.
"Denise Hall?"
"Who're you?"
"We're the advance team for Mr. Ward. We're here to make sure everything goes smooth."
The guy had a New York accent.
"I'm sure everything will, but suit yourself. Hang around or do whatever you want. He's not expected for another hour."
"You won't even know we're here."
The two men got in their car and backed away. Denise watched as they drove around the side of the motel and disappeared behind it.
Shit. She didn't expect that.
The highway was clear now. In the silence of the morning she couldn't hear any other vehicles.
She opened the door to the trailer and stepped in. Bruce stepped out from behind a partition. The partition allowed for the guards to use the trailer at any time without worrying if someone looked in through the trailer window.
"Who are those guys in the Caddy?"
"Mr. Ward's men."
"Early."
"I know. Where's the girl?"
"Over here."
The guard stepped sideways and motioned behind the partition. Denise walked by him and looked down.
"What the hell is this? What have you done to her?"
"Nothing. She came like that."
The girl was missing a lot of hair. Her forearms were bare. Patches appeared to've been torn out around her head, mostly from the back. She had a couple of bruises, a sizable one on her cheek. Her eyebrows were gone and in their place little dots of blood showed where the hair had been torn out.
"Did you give her the bruise on the cheek?"
"No. I knocked her out by the temple."
Denise looked at the girls wrists. They were raw, like someone had tied her up. She fought an internal urge to look away. This had gone too far.
"Tell me how she came to be here again."
Gunfire cut the morning stillness. They both ducked, with the guard running for the door of the trailer.
More gunfire followed. Someone was screaming.
The girl woke up.
Chapter 36
Things were bad and getting more complicated. He'd pulled into the parking area of the motel and saw an SUV parked at the construction trailer. During the twenty minute drive to the Sky Blue, he'd figured that the trailer would've been the ideal spot for her to stay hidden. And now someone was there.
He had to hide the cruiser before whoever was in the trailer saw him. He steered for the rear of the motel where just hours ago he'd dumped the first stolen police car over the hill.
When he came around to the back he was welcomed by two large guys in leather jackets standing beside a Cadillac. Right away he could tell these men were professionals. They stared him down; their hands moving for their inner breast pocket, where Gert guessed would be a weapon.
These guys are stupid, he thought. I'm driving a police car and they want to draw their weapons.
He stopped the car safely out of view of the construction trailer and the highway. Then he opened the door with his left hand and used his right to pull his gun, which he concealed behind his leg.
"Morning, gentlemen. I'll need to see your driver's license and insurance."
The guy on the driver's side of the Cadillac turned a little and looked like he was about to bend into the car.
His partner pulled a weapon.
Gert drew his and fired.
A tiny hole formed on the guy's cheek. His gun hand hesitated. There had been no time to dislodge the safety. He didn't get a shot off before he fell to his knees. Then in slow motion, he collapsed face first into the
dirt.
All this happened in the time it took Gert to turn towards the other guy and fire a second shot. This guy had his gun out in record time. He also had his safety off.
Gert heard the air beside his head make a buzzing sound as a bullet passed close by.
It took Gert three shots before he hit the guy in the chest. The driver of the Cadillac got off two, both going wild.
Questions swirled around Gert's head. He almost bought it here and for what? Who were these guys?
He wiped his face as he ran over to the bodies and hastily frisked them. No wallets, no identification. Just two guys in a Cadillac, dressed well, who shoot at cops before pulling their driver's license.
Man this is fucked up.
Words like mobsters and made men went through his head. He'd never known any, but these guys acted like they were above the law. He realized how lucky he was to still be alive.
Still hunched down by the driver's body, Gert looked around. He scanned the bushes, his gun leveled. Then he stared at the windows of the motel. Nothing. No movement whatsoever.
His heart was racing now that the gunplay was over. He hadn't been shot at in years. It all started to crash in on him. The morning sun beat down on his back. He should have felt heat, but he started to shiver. His shirt clung to him, pasted by sweat.
No time to waste pondering. Find the girl and get out.
He stood and walked over to the edge of the motel wall where he peaked around the corner. The SUV was still there. The trailer looked like it did before; still no movement anywhere.
He looked around for a way to approach the trailer. From the back appeared to be the best route. The trees came up to it with five feet to spare.
Staying out of the trailer's line of sight, Gert retreated to the woods in behind the motel and started to make his way through them. He crossed a beaten down path that must have seen better days when the motel was in operation.
Within minutes he was standing behind the construction trailer, using a tree stump to remain unseen.
He reloaded his gun and made sure the safety was off. His finger slid inside the trigger guard as he stood and walked into the open.
