Deadly Obsessions (Kensington-Gerard Detective series Book 3)

by K. T. Roberts

“So I heard. What do you want to know?”

  “Actually, Mr. Morton, we’d like to talk to you face-to-face.”

  “About what?”

  “We’ve found three of your friends dead.”

  “No kidding,” he said with surprise. “Who?”

  “Carly Hawkins, Velma Vincent, and Greg Keenan. And it appears that Joey Vincent, the son of the deceased, Velma Vincent, is also missing. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Oh no! That’s terrible. What did they die from?”

  “Gunshot wounds. When was the last time you saw any of these people?”

  “Carly…I guess about two years ago. Velma? Geez, I haven’t seen her since I moved out three months ago, and Greg, he rode out with me from New York and I dropped him off at the Tameric State Park in Connecticut. As for Joey, cripes, I haven’t seen that kid either.”

  “Where are you right now, Mr. Morton?”

  “I’m still in New York.”

  “I thought you were going to visit your mother?”

  “How would you know that?”

  “Because I called her and she said she thought you were going to visit her.”

  “Well, I thought so, but it’s not going to work out.”

  “What about Joey Vincent?”

  “What about him?”

  “Is he with you?”

  “No. Detective, he’s not. Why would he be here with me?”

  “We know how close you two were.”

  Morton cleared his throat. “I’m hanging up now.” He disconnected.

  “He’s definitely onto us,” he said to Jessie while dialing Guardino’s number. “He’s at his mother’s, Mike.”

  “I’m a few blocks away. The locals are redirecting the traffic. See you in a while.”

  “Step on it, Jessie.”

  26

  GUARDINO WAS WAITING by his car with a team of detectives when the pair arrived. Noticing Farino was missing, Zach questioned it. “Where’s Farino?”

  “I’m told he’s out on another investigation, but on his way,” Guardino said.

  “Well, I’m not waiting for him to arrive. I want to avoid a hostage situation here if at all possible. If Morton senses he’s being cornered, he’ll come out like he’s on the battlefield. Has SWAT been called in?”

  “They’re already on their way, Detective,” one of the locals said. “And Detective Farino would prefer that you wait for his arrival.”

  His comment set Zach off. “Would he now? Detective, what is your class?”

  “Second.”

  “I’m a first and since I outrank you, I’m in charge. Now, I’d appreciate your cooperation here. I’m going to try and take this guy down without creating havoc. We have three other people inside that house besides the killer, one of which is a five-year-old child. I’m not taking any chances.”

  Surprised by Zach’s response, Jessie pulled him aside and pleaded with him. “Zach, what the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?” she whispered, “Let’s wait for SWAT to arrive.”

  “Jessie, this is our guy inside that house. We know what he’s capable of doing and if I can find another way to take him down, that’s what I want to do.”

  “You’re going to get yourself fired for this.” Her brows rose, “You know that don’t you? And possibly get yourself killed in the process, all because of your ego.” He gave her one of those back-off glances.

  A muscle flickered in his jaw. “You know better than to accuse me of making foolish mistakes because of my ego. That’s the last thing I’m concerned about here.” He pointed toward the house, “those people in there are our responsibility. All he has to do is look outside from the second story to see us. He’ll feel as though he’s the one in control here and he’ll make sure he lives up to our expectations of what he’ll do next. At this point, he’s got two choices. He’s going to prison or be carried out in a body bag.”

  Jessie held up her hand. “Fine. Get yourself killed, see if I care.” She returned to the group.

  “Have you spoken to the mother today?” Guardino asked.

  “I have. Despite the things I’ve told her, she’s not afraid of him, so I’m hoping I can convince her to talk to him about doing the right thing.”

  Guardino cocked his head. “Zach, use your head. If he’s had SEAL training, you can be sure he’s got plenty of artillery and ammunition with him,” Guardino said.

  “I know, but if he sees I’m alone, he might not feel threatened. If I can talk him down, he might give himself up. That’s the way I’d like to do it. I’d hate to see him escalate and kill everyone in that house.”

  “And how are you going to do that?”

  Noticing the EMTs on standby, Zach decided his approach. “I’ll use the sick stepfather as my lead in with the mother. He’s on Hospice. We already have the EMTs here to take him to the hospital. I don’t want the poor guy in the middle of a shootout.”

  “Okay,” Guardino huffed. “If that’s what you think, then I’ll stand by you.”

  Zach glanced at Jessie who was biting her lip obviously trying to keep her mouth shut. But his mind was made up. He tilted his head to the side knowing her feelings for him were genuine, and he winked. “You know, don’t you?” She sighed, but nodded.

  The detectives watched Zach make his way up the walk and key in the phone number. The mother answered on the first ring. “This is Detective Gerard again, Mrs. Webster, please don’t hang up on me.”

  “I won’t. Help me,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Zach’s adrenaline kicked in knowing that he’d finally gotten through to her. Her cooperation would make apprehension much easier. “Okay. I’m going to use your husband as a way to get you two out of there. We don’t want anyone hurt.” Fierce shouting in the background distracted him.

  “Hold for a minute,” she said, her voice fading momentarily. “It’s Warren’s doctor,” Zach heard her say, “I don’t like the way he looks so I called him. They’ll be picking him up to take him to the hospital.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Ralph said in an angry voice.

  She tried to reason with him. “Ralphie, he didn’t do anything to you.”

  “Oh yes he did. He broke up my home. And if you don’t shut up, Mother, I’ll shoot you next. Now, hang up the fucking phone,” he shouted. The phone went dead and a shot was fired.

  “Goddammit,” Zach said, the tension in his chest tightened. “He just fired a shot.” Rushing over to an investigator who held a megaphone, he grabbed it from his hands. “I need this.”

  Walking to the center of the lawn ready to reason with Morton, Zach ducked when he heard another round fired off. What followed was a raining deluge of slate shingles, wood fragments, sheetrock and pink insulation sailing through the air. Guardino was right. Morton was using more than a Glock.

  “Mr. Morton,” Zach shouted into the megaphone. He could see the drape move slightly and knew the suspect was watching him. “I’m Zach Gerard. We spoke earlier. Can we talk again?” he waited for Morton to say something. Nothing. “Look,” Zach said putting his gun down on the ground, “my weapon is on the ground. I know how upset you are about all the things people have done to you. I get upset about things like that too. So what do you say? Can we talk?” Morton shouted something to someone in the house. “C’mon, let’s talk, okay?” he asked.

  In less than thirty seconds, another shot rang out and left a shattered front window in its wake. An unexpected panic coursed through Zach’s body when his shoulder felt like it had been hit with a baseball bat. Jessie’s warning came to mind. Sudden semi-consciousness took over. Zach tried to move, but it felt like his legs were cemented, and then he hit the ground in a thud. The tightening in his chest made his heart pound and reminded him of a herd of galloping horses stampeding over his body. He was the gun slinging Jessie James in the Wild West, and bones were cracking—muscle and flesh were ripping away from the bone. Now he was racing, the excruciating pain cauterized him like the grand fi
nale of the Fourth of July fireworks. He writhed in pain, raised his arm to gather his men, but his arm wouldn’t move and the herd trampled over him again. He was eating, alone. Where was Jessie? Why was he eating lead? And then he inhaled the foul order of burning flesh and drifted off. He was at a picnic with his parents watching the pig turn on a rotisserie, the juices dripping down into the open flame and causing it to explode. He thought he heard Jessie scream. Or was that his scream? He tried to focus on the sky, but all he could see was a blurred oil painting created by a child who was no more than five years old. He heard loud noises, the trampling of feet and he was lifted up off the battlefield. And the last words he heard before losing consciousness was, “officer down, officer down.”

  Jessie gasped and started to run toward Zach but Guardino pulled her back. “Stop, Mike, I need to get to him.”

  “Jessie, you’re only going to wind up getting shot. This guy isn’t messing around.”

  “I’ll crawl over to him.” She began to cry. “Please, Mike, I need to be with him. He needs to know how I feel about him.” She stopped talking when she saw SWAT arrive and cover the EMT’s in order for them to get Zach off the front lawn. They lifted him onto the stretcher and carried him toward the vehicle.

  Guardino looked over at her and nodded in the direction. “Go.”

  “The suspect is highly irritated,” Guardino told the SWAT team leader after she left. “Gerard’s been communicating with the mother throughout the day. He used the dying man in the house that’s on Hospice as his excuse. He didn’t want to wait for you guys to show up and thought he could talk the subject down.”

  “The guy’s a former Navy SEAL.”

  “No, he was trained but never made it all the way through because his commander didn’t think he could handle it. Dishonorable discharge from the Navy and he’s angry at the world.”

  “You got that boss?” the lead said into his microphone. “Delta-Tango, you got that?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And he’s holding the mother, stepfather and a five-year old hostage. Any other people in there?”

  “I don’t know. If the old guy is on Hospice, I’m inclined to believe there are possibly some healthcare workers in there too.”

  “Do you know the layout of the house? Anyone have the blueprint of this house?”

  “No sir, I don’t.”

  “I do,” Detective Farino said, and handed him the roll of prints.

  “Fall back, gentlemen,” Barracuda, the SWAT team leader said, “and let us do our job.” He motioned for his team to flood the property, only this time they were getting into position. “Detectives, we’ve got this,” the lead said to the other law enforcement men.” Men dressed in black and carrying protective shields advanced onto the property and surrounded the house. Farino grabbed the megaphone.

  Unrolling the prints out onto the hood of their vehicle, Barracuda’s finger followed the most strategic path.

  “Where are you, Barracuda?” the chief’s voice shot through the phone.

  “Just getting the lay of the land, Chief.” He looked up from the blueprints, “Okay, Delta get an eye on the subject and tell me how many hostages we have. If this guy is escalating, we need to get those hostages out of there as soon as possible. Tango one, how many exits and windows do we have?”

  “Twenty-two windows, uniforms at all four exits.”

  “Any way to gain entry?”

  “I’m up on the second level now. I’m working on it boss.”

  Using a glasscutter, Tango one cut around the wooden frame and gently removed the pane. Reaching inside, he curled his hand to unlock the window. “We’re in,” he said and three team members climbed through and made their way inside. Things were dead silent until Ralph Morton’s voice yelled out.

  “What is that noise, Mother?”

  Tango One’s hand raised to a stop to signal those behind him.

  “Answer me, Mother,” Morton demanded. The woman’s uncontrollable sobbing irritated him. “Answer me, woman!” he demanded a second time.

  “I don’t know.” She blew her nose.

  “You’d better not have given that detective the go-ahead, because I swear, Mother, I’ll blow you away the same as I did him and the others.”

  “Ralph, please. Take the gun away from Joey’s head.” The child was sobbing uncontrollably in convulsive gasps. Tango One motioned for his backup to slide the telescopic feed down on the floor to view Morton and his surroundings. “Eyes on the target?” Barracuda asked in a low voice.

  “Eyes on the target,” Tango One responded. “Three hostages, two women, and one child, whom he’s holding at gunpoint. He’s threatening to kill the kid first. The three hostages are crying.”

  “What about the stepfather?” The chief asked and tapped his screen. “Dammit, I just lost focus. I can’t see anything.”

  “It looks like we have a victim on a gurney. There’s blood splattered everywhere including the coverlet on the body.”

  “What kind of artillery does our subject have?”

  “An arsenal. He’s currently holding the barrel of a Glock close to the kid’s head while holding him in a chokehold, but he’s got several guns close by. One of the hostages is trying to calm him down—it’s irritating him and he’s fighting right back. Now, he’s wielding his gun around. Kid is screaming, apparently afraid to move because he’s no longer in a chokehold.”

  “Delta one, take the north side of the house and let me know when you have a clear shot. Shoot to kill. You read me?”

  “Copy that.”

  “Okay, I have my picture back,” the chief said.

  “Hey, does this guy have a name?” Barracuda asked.

  “Ralph Morton.”

  “Our subject is screaming something at one of the hostages who’s trying to coax him into giving her the kid.”

  “He’s threatening to pull the trigger. His finger is starting to curl on the trigger.” Sensing Morton’s urgency to prove his point, Tango One called out to the team. “I need you now, I need you now!”

  Barracuda and his team immediately stepped forward, aimed but Morton moved out to the left and pulled the crying child along with him. “Subject moved out of range.”

  “Be patient. We’ll have another opportunity.” The words were no sooner out of Barracuda’s mouth than Delta took his shot through the window and the target was down. On his way down, he pulled the trigger of his Glock, but didn’t hit anyone. SWAT rushed in through the front door. “Get the medics in here.”

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” the mother screamed and reached out for the child and pulled him into her arms.

  “Subject down, subject down.”

  Several EMS team members rushed in to give medical attention. Plucking the child from Mrs. Webster’s arms, the EMT carried him outside.

  “Good job teams.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Are you hurt, Mrs. Webster?” Guardino asked. She and the child were still sobbing.

  “I can’t believe my son would do something like this. That poor Detective Gerard. Is he dead?”

  “I think he’ll be okay. He’s on his way to the hospital.”

  “He was only trying to help,” she said, her voice cracking. “I brushed him off like he was crazy. It’s my fault he’s hurt. I should have listened to him.”

  “Come with me, ma’am,” an EMT said and guided her toward the vehicle.

  “I’m okay.”

  “I know, but we still need to check you out to make sure you remain that way.” She reluctantly did as he asked. “Where is the boy?”

  “He’s being checked out and with social services. His grandmother is waiting for him at headquarters.”

  “Oh, thank God. Is he going to be okay?”

  “Other than the trauma he’s suffered, I think with time, he’ll be fine.”

  Guardino approached. “I’m Detective Guardino from the NYPD. Are you okay, Mrs. Webster?” he asked.

  “Will you take me
to see Detective Gerard?”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate you going to see him in a few days. Right now is not a good time.”

  “I understand. Will you tell him I’m sorry?”

  “Of course I will, but he understands Ralph was your son.”

  “I know, but I have to tell him myself so that he knows I’m sincere. I still can’t believe it. I’m shocked and horrified. I want to see Joey’s mother too, so I can tell her.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Webster, but she’s dead.”

  “At the hands of my son?”

  Guardino didn’t want to say anything more to her. “It might be best if you let us resolve all our questions before we can give you the answers. I’m sorry for your loss too.” Guardino did a double take when Raphael Morton rushed to his mother’s side.

  Apparently noticing his expression, Raphael addressed the question. “We were identical twins,” he said, “but I’m seriously considering plastic surgery to remove any doubt or association with Ralph.” Guardino released a sigh of relief and let the two reunite.

  27

  JESSIE PACED back and forth outside the OR doors at St. Vincent’s Medical Center where Zach lay on an operating table while surgeons feverishly worked on him. The echoing sound of her shoes hitting the shiny floor seemed magnified in the silence. Suddenly aware her legs were tired, she slid down the wall and sat down on the floor. She wasn’t supposed to be there, but it made her feel better knowing she was closer to Zach. The angry words she’d spewed at him, the very last thing she’d said, played over in her mind like a taped film. She found herself cringing when the image of him dropping to the ground rushed through her mind. It was as if the recorder was on rewind. The expression on his face was fear and disbelief, and something she never wanted to see again.

  Waves of nausea caused her to take in deep breaths of air. A pounding headache throbbed in her skull. She rubbed her temple with her fingertips, and was reminded of the peaceful look on his face on the ride over to the hospital, almost as though he was dead. She’d watched the rise and fall of his chest to be sure. What would she ever do if he didn’t make it? The thought terrified her and caused her hands to shake. Did she even know where he’d been hit? By the time the EMTs were able to drag him to safety, the blood was spurting out everywhere making it difficult to figure out. And the EMTs were too busy taking care of him to answer her questions.