Suspicious Behavior

by L. A. Witt

  “Here.” I stabbed my finger into the map. “This used to be an RV dealership, but they shut down last year. The lot is still vacant, but they have a big empty warehouse on site. And they’re right on Sixtieth Street.”

  “Good enough. Jenna, this is really useful information and we’re going to use it, but you need to take care of yourself, okay? Go somewhere safe, or stay with your parents, but don’t be alone around Jim right now.”

  “I can do that.” Thank God she didn’t need more convincing.

  “We’ll call you soon and check on you.”

  “Okay, I— Oh, I’ve got to go, sorry!” She hung up before Andreas could say anything else.

  “Sixtieth,” he muttered as he turned onto the highway. “All the way across fucking town.” He accelerated hard. “Let’s hope we don’t get pulled over.”

  “If another cop sees us, you know they’ll come after us.” We glanced at each other for a second. “Worth it.”

  It would be worth it one way or another, if we were right about this. I hoped that Brian was still alive, but it had been so long now, more than twelve hours since he was last seen, and if Jim was having dinner with his family . . . either he had Brian stashed so securely he didn’t have to worry about him trying to escape or sounding an alarm, or he was already dead.

  We didn’t speak, just sped along the route, and I got a lesson in aggressive driving that had me gripping the oh-shit handle to stay in my seat. We got there in no time, though, and Andreas cut the lights as we pulled up in front of the warehouse. The place looked abandoned, completely dark except for the street lamp outside. The windows were intact, mostly, and looking through the front, neither of us could see anything.

  “Could we be wrong?” Andreas asked through gritted teeth. “Where else is between—”

  “No, wait. Look.” I pointed up at the ceiling. “The beams are too high out here. It would be hard to get a rope up and over one of them. All the others, the ones that were hanged, they . . .” I stopped for a second, remembering the photo of the last victim, tongue and eyes protruding, bare feet bloated. “The ceilings were lower. There are probably offices, though, somewhere in the back. We should check there.”

  We circled around to the side of the building, both of us with our guns out despite knowing that we weren’t going to find Jim here. There was a single door on the far end, dull and unassuming except for the sliver of light that slipped under the crack at the bottom. Andreas reached out and tested the handle. It turned.

  “Ready?” he asked me quietly.

  No. I’m really not ready. But I had to be. I nodded. “Yeah.”

  He slowly swung the door open and looked inside, and then all of a sudden he was holstering his gun and running.

  “Fuck!” I followed him and saw—

  Brian, standing on a wobbly chair in the middle of the room, his face a dull red from exertion, his pants stained with piss. He had a rope around his neck leading over an I-beam, tied off against the far wall. His hands were tucked between the rope and his neck, like he was trying to pull it off but couldn’t for some reason. As soon as he saw us, the chair wobbled so hard I thought it was going to tip over.

  Andreas lunged at him, wrapping his arms around Brian’s thighs to stabilize him. “Cut the rope!”

  I pulled my knife and ran to the back of the room, sawing through it as quickly as I could. As soon as the pressure was gone, Brian collapsed, and I got back just in time to help Andreas lower him to the ground.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered, going after the rope around his neck. Brian was nearly unconscious, wheezing and shaking uncontrollably. “Why didn’t he move his hands, why didn’t he take the rope off?”

  Andreas shook his head. “Look at his wrists.” It took me a moment to understand, but when I did, my jaw dropped. Brian’s wrists were almost purple with discoloration, and so swollen that he probably couldn’t even move his hands, much less jerk them out of the rope they’d been tangled in.

  “He broke them,” I murmured. “He broke them and made it look like Brian was trying to free himself at the last second. Fuck . . . he must have been standing here for hours. Brian?” I tried to get him to focus on me as Andreas shot off a quick call for an ambulance. “Brian? What happened to you?”

  His eyes, red from all the damaged vessels, opened once—just once—to look at me before rolling back in his head. A second later, he was unconscious. “Shit. He’s out.” I stripped off my jacket, bundled it up and used it to elevate his legs in case he was going into shock. One of his pant pockets crinkled as I lifted his feet. I checked it and pulled out a folded piece of notebook paper. Written on it in shaky handwriting was a short, to-the-point confession for all the previous murders, and how he couldn’t live with the guilt any longer.

  “Oh, what is this bullshit?” I muttered, and turned in Andreas’s direction. “Come look at this, he’s— What?” Andreas was slowly walking the perimeter of the room, staring at the walls like they were hiding something. “What is it?”

  “He’s been here for hours,” Andreas muttered, not stopping his strange search. “But why leave him to suffer like that all alone? That’s not the sort of thing Jim would want to miss. I bet he isn’t, not if he bothered to leave a light on. I bet he’s watching this right now.”

  Shit. “You’re looking for a camera?”

  “Nope.” He stopped and stared at a light socket, the plate over it cracked in one corner. “I’ve found it.” He shifted the plate to the side—it was only held on with one screw—and pointed. “Here.”

  I could just make out the tiny lens. “Oh, no.” If Jim was watching this, if he knew we were here . . .

  Then none of us were safe.

  I tried to keep my panic below the surface. Darren didn’t need to know I wasn’t in complete control of the situation, and Brian sure as fuck didn’t.

  I glanced at Brian. He was still out cold. Quite possibly in shock.

  “We need to get him to a hospital,” Darren said. “Fast.”

  “Ambulance is en route.” I took my phone out of my pocket. “I’m calling Jenna.”

  “Good idea.”

  While he radioed for backup, I pulled up Jenna’s number, sent the call, and waited.

  On the other side of the door, from somewhere inside the warehouse, a cell phone rang.

  Darren and I froze.

  Quietly, he spoke into the radio, “Hold that order. I still need an ambulance and backup at my location, but keep at least two blocks away until my order.”

  “Copy that.”

  Then someone screamed.

  Darren and I both dropped, keeping our heads down. As he shielded Brian’s motionless form with his own body, he drew his gun. Mine was already in my hand.

  Something crashed. The cell phone went quiet, and the line went dead.

  “Get him out of here.” I tossed him the car keys. “Go meet the ambulance. I’m going to—”

  He shook his head. “You need backup.”

  “He needs medical attention.” I jerked my head toward the wall separating us from the commotion in the warehouse. “And she needs help. We have to move.”

  “And what good will it do anyone if you go in there and get killed?”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but another scream silenced me.

  “Help me!” Jenna’s shrill sob sent a chill through me. “Please help me!”

  Darren’s lips tightened. His eyes darted toward the wall separating us from her, then down to Brian crumpled in front of him. “Shit . . .”

  I thought quickly. “Backup’s on its way. Get Brian out of here, and get him somewhere safe. Then get back in here.” I wanted to tell him to stay the hell outside and out of the line of fire. He’d bled enough for this city recently. But this was his job. My job. Our job.

  “What are you gonna do?”

  I chewed my lip. “Don’t know yet. But you focus on getting Brian out of here. I’ll do whatever I can to help Jenna.”

  His brow
pinched. “Just don’t get yourself killed, okay?”

  I leaned toward him and touched his face. “I’ll be fine. So will you.” I pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

  “Going to hold you to that.” Then he slid an arm under Brian and carefully pulled him upright. He grunted a little, his shoulder sagging. Shit—he was pretty much healed, but the muscles probably weren’t ready to bear the weight of a grown man.

  “You got him?” I asked.

  He nodded and sounded strained as he muttered, “I’m fine.”

  I was tempted to switch with him—he was in no condition to try to carry a man his own size—but no way in hell was I sending him in with that psycho, and we couldn’t abandon Jenna.

  Darren gave another pained grunt, and started outside with Brian. Distant sirens were closing fast. Good. Help for Brian, and hopefully backup for us.

  They were still too far away, though, and I couldn’t wait. This wasn’t ideal in the least. We needed backup now. Shit, we needed SWAT. But God only knew what Jim was doing to his niece. Better I take a bullet than her—at least I had on Kevlar.

  I didn’t dare go into the warehouse via the office door. Jim had eyes on that room. Even though I’d neutralized the one camera, there might’ve been more. Hell, there might’ve been more in other parts of the building, but I’d take that risk.

  Gun out and ready, I slipped out the way we’d come in, crouched down, and quickly made my way around to the back side of the building. This must’ve been the loading dock. A car was outside, and I recognized it from our notes as Jim’s.

  Staying low, I hurried to the car and ducked beside the passenger door. I took out a pocket knife, jammed it into the tire, and levered it until there was a decent-sized hole. It wouldn’t stop him if he tried to make a getaway, but it would slow him down.

  I pocketed the knife and continued toward the building.

  Most of the doors had been compromised at one time or another, likely by vandals or bums. The rolling bay door on the far end of the loading dock was open just enough for me to slide underneath. Not the most dignified entrance, but probably not what he was anticipating either. Not with a few wide-open doors nearby.

  I stopped for a moment and listened. The distinct sound of sniffling and sobbing told me where Jenna was. Jim, however, was stealthy.

  And the sobbing was, while quiet, getting more frantic by the second. Jenna’s panic was palpable in the air. It reminded me of the way someone quickly but steadily fell apart the longer they had a gun to their head—the torturous wait for the inevitable.

  My heart quickened. Whatever was happening, she didn’t have much time.

  A small set of stairs took me up from the ground level onto the loading dock.

  When I stepped around a corner, my throat constricted. Jenna was set up the way Brian had been—standing on a chair, a cord around her neck, only her hands were bound behind her back. And the rickety chair wasn’t going to hold—it was tilted, creaking as it slowly gave way to her weight, ready to collapse under her at any second.

  Fuck it. I darted out from the shadows and wrapped an arm around her knees. Pistol up, I swept the warehouse, searching for any other signs of life.

  Then I cut the tape on Jenna’s hands, and she pulled the cord over her head.

  As soon as she was free, I tugged her all the way down to the ground and shielded her as I scanned our surroundings again. Beneath me, she whimpered and hyperventilated.

  I looked down. She was clawing at the tape over her mouth. Ah. Tape. That explained why she’d stopped screaming.

  “Shh,” I said. “This is probably going to sting.” I didn’t give her a chance to brace, and ripped off the tape. She winced and clapped a hand over her mouth, probably as much from the pain as to muffle a cry. She was breathing extra hard now, like she’d been on the verge of suffocating or passing out.

  “Easy.” I squeezed her arm and looked around. Jim was nowhere in sight, but still, I shielded her as much as I could. “You all right?”

  She nodded, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Shh. Shh. You did fine. Just keep your head down, okay?”

  She nodded again. “He’s . . . he’s . . .”

  “Easy.” I stroked her hair. “I’m going to get you out of here and—”

  “C-4.”

  I stopped. “What?”

  She swept her tongue across her lips. “He’s got C-4 all over the building. On the doors and stuff.”

  I blinked. “How do you know?”

  “I saw him set it up. I mean, I think it’s C-4. I saw it on . . .” It was too dark to tell, but I could practically feel her cheeks burning.

  “TV?”

  “Yeah. He was putting this gray putty everywhere. With wires attached.”

  My gut clenched. If there was one thing Hollywood did tend to get right, it was what C-4 looked like. And I wasn’t going to take any chances that Jim was just being a good soul and insulating the doors on a decrepit old building.

  I radioed Darren. “Stand down. Potential explosives on entry points.”

  His voice crackled quietly through the radio. “Copy that.”

  God knew where Jim had gotten his hands on C-4, but it could be done, and that part really didn’t matter right now because clearly he had gotten his hands on it.

  I tucked my radio away. “Look at me, Jenna.”

  She met my gaze in the near-darkness.

  “I want you to stay right here. Out of sight. Got it?”

  She nodded.

  “All right. We’ll get you out of here. Just let me take care of your uncle first.”

  Another nod. She huddled up against the wall, making herself as small as possible.

  Cautiously, I moved away from her, my steps making almost no sound at all on the concrete. I paused, listening. There were some pigeons making a racket, and the wind was rattling a few of the windows, but otherwise . . . nothing.

  I went all the way around the building, and . . . nothing. No sign of Jim. Jenna was right about the C-4, though. It wasn’t on every door, but at least half a dozen had that distinctive dull gray putty pushed into crevices. I couldn’t see the wires, but wasn’t about to take any chances.

  I moved away from the doors in case he detonated one.

  Doubling back, I headed for the loading dock again. Jim wasn’t here. He probably had a remote detonator for the C-4, and he was probably watching through cameras I couldn’t see, but where the fuck was—

  “Where are you, detectives?” Jim’s taunting voice echoed off the decrepit walls. I froze. “I think you dropped something.”

  My blood turned cold.

  Then I heard the whimpering.

  I peered around a stack of crates, and bit down on a curse. He had Jenna by the hair, or maybe by the scruff of her neck, and was dragging her beside him. She scrambled to keep her feet under her. She nearly succeeded, but then he gave her a hard shove, sending her stumbling forward a few steps before she fell onto her forearms with a yelp.

  “I know you’re here, Detective,” he bellowed. “And you’ve got until the count of three to come out.”

  Then, to my horror, he aimed a revolver at the back of her head.

  “One.”

  Jenna was sobbing hysterically. “Please . . .”

  “Two.”

  My pulse went crazy. Fuck. Fuck!

  Jim drew back the hammer, the creaking sound echoing.

  “All right!” I stepped out from behind the crates, hands over my head.

  “Put the gun down, Detective.”

  Moving as slowly as I could, conspicuously keeping my fingers outside the trigger guard, I leaned down and laid the pistol on the concrete.

  He gestured with his own gun. “Kick it away.”

  I did, making a mental note of where it had landed. “All right. Let her go.”

  He kicked her in the side, sending her tumbling with a pained grunt. “What the fuck kind of asshole cops try to turn a man’s fa
mily against him?”

  In an interrogation room, I’d have asked what kind of asshole does the things he’d done to Jenna, but I bit down on that. The situation was far too volatile. He had far too much control.

  I laced my fingers behind my head. “What do you want, Jim?”

  He laughed. “Oh, I’ve already got what I want. Didn’t you see Brian’s confession?”

  I hadn’t, but I’d been distracted by Brian and the camera.

  Jim gestured with his revolver toward the office where we’d found Brian. “I caught your killer, Detective.” There was an undercurrent to his voice that made him sound even more unhinged than I already knew he was. Like he was both a violent psychopath and the painfully cheerful asshole I’d questioned at Reginald’s.

  “I did see it,” I lied. “And he’s on his way to jail right now.”

  In the corner of my eye, a shadow moved. Hunched over, arms outstretched in the distinctive V of someone ready to aim and fire. I didn’t dare look, but I was certain it was Darren. I could feel him. My heart sped up. Should’ve known he wouldn’t stand down, but . . . thank God. He was moving toward Jenna, who was still curled on the ground, shaking and sobbing.

  “Jim,” I said as calmly as I could. “He’s going to jail, but you’re going to go too if you keep this shit up.”

  “No.” He shook his head, waving the revolver around. “I’m not a criminal. Brian is the killer. Brian killed those people. I’m only trying to bring him to justice.” The tone more than the words sent a chill through me. Oh fuck. This was when a man like him got dangerous—when he knew he was cornered and he’d made too many mistakes, and there was no getting out of this alive unless he took down anyone who’d seen him.

  I swallowed. “Jim, we know. We know he did it.”

  “Liar!” He aimed the revolver at his niece. “You’re—”

  “Jim, she’s just a kid!” I called out. “She’s not part of this.”

  “She told you—”

  “She didn’t tell us shit. We wouldn’t have believed her anyway after she lied on her statement.”

  That gave him pause. My heart pounded.

  “She’s not a reliable witness,” I said. “We need your testimony to put Brian away, but if you keep—”