by Jonas Saul
“Excuse me, miss?”
Someone touched her arm.
Sarah turned, a hint of anger on her face for being pulled away from the man in the suit.
The flight attendant jerked back, then gestured downward. “Your seatbelt.”
Sarah nodded, but didn’t respond verbally, afraid anything she would say would come out unnecessarily mean. She quickly clasped her seatbelt and turned to watch the man in the suit.
The man had disappeared.
“Shit,” she mumbled to herself.
“Sarah,” Parkman whispered. “I don’t scare easy, but this is scaring me. What’s going on?”
The plane bumped as it started backwards, away from the gate. Sarah faced forward in her seat, her mind filled with questions and a lack of answers.
“It’s okay, Parkman,” she said. “I will explain everything very soon.”
“I trust that. You always do.”
“I have some things to figure out first.”
“Like what?”
“Things, Parkman.”
“Right.” He waited a moment, then added, “Things.”
“When the men come, go back to Lee. Get him to work on his son. Look for pictures of his son’s landscaping job.” Sarah closed her eyes. “Find the before-and-after shots. Then encourage a healthy relationship between father and son. Nick’s family needs Stephen.”
“Landscaping job? The family needs Stephen? What are you talking about?”
She blinked, but didn’t respond to Parkman’s question. “In those pictures, you will see the face of the man we’re hunting. That’ll be a step in identifying our perp.”
Parkman shifted in his seat beside her. “The unsub’s face would go a long way to solving this mess.”
The plane stopped with a subtle shake. The engines revved up and then it started forward as they taxied away from the gate.
“You’re still sure they’re coming for us?” Parkman asked.
“Yes. We don’t fly today.”
“They’re almost out of time, then.”
“I’m aware of that.” She kept her eyes closed, listening for Vivian to return. “They’ll be here.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “I mean, while I’m with Lee pressuring him to talk to his son.”
“I have to go underground to find our perp.”
“Underground? I don’t like the sound of that.”
“I don’t have a choice. Too many Kelowna police officers don’t want me to succeed. And I don’t respond well to bullies.”
“Bullies? Who’s a bully?”
“Officer Tom Mason.”
Sarah opened her eyes as she felt Vivian close again. She exchanged a glance with Parkman and instantly saw torment in his eyes. He hated when they worked apart.
“It won’t be long,” she reassured him. “Vivian says it’s the only way. You heard what Lee said about his superiors. They blame me for the death of their bomb-squad member. They hate me here. I don’t care about their hate. What I do care about is when that hate hinders my progress.”
Parkman nodded his understanding. She knew, as much as he despised leaving her alone, he would do it because it was Vivian who had gotten them through the worst situations in the past, and if this was what Vivian wanted, he would go forward without doubt.
“Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff,” the captain said over the speakers.
The engines revved and the plane shot forward. If anyone questioned Vivian’s ability to foretell the future, it would be at that moment where they would feel vindicated. But that moment would be short-lived.
By the time the plane got to take-off speed, the sound of the engines changed and the wing flaps adjusted. The plane decelerated rapidly. People whispered to one another throughout the plane. A feeling of unease filtered to everyone, heads turned, questions were raised.
“I apologize,” the captain said over the speakers as the plane slowed enough to turn off the main runway. “It seems we’re being called back to the gate. We will find out what they want and get you in the air as soon as we can. We’re sorry for the delay.”
Minutes later, the plane was met with four police cruisers on the tarmac. Sarah watched the cruisers approach, lights flashing.
Mason and his crew were back. They had been told to take Sarah and Parkman into custody. It had to be official at some high level to stop their plane from taking off.
Once the door was opened, five heavily armed officers entered the front of the plane, Officer Tom Mason leading the boarding party.
“Nothing to worry about,” Sarah whispered. “Lee needs us. There’s been two new murders this morning. Vivian’s with me now.” She patted Parkman’s leg. “They need us back on the case.”
“If I didn’t have you, I’d think the worst as this could be quite intimidating.”
She offered Parkman a smirk. “Mason loves this sort of thing. Manhandling us off the plane in front of so many people raises his self-esteem. Makes him feel manly. His time will come.”
The men came down the aisle as a unit.
“Sarah Roberts,” Mason barked. “Parkman. Get out of your seats. You’re leaving the plane with us.”
“No please?” Sarah asked. “No sugar on top?” She tilted her head sideways and fiddled with her hair.
“We will drag you out if we have to, but you’re coming with us whether you want to or not.”
“I think we’ll be okay to walk,” Sarah said. She nudged Parkman’s arm. “You good with walking?”
He nodded. “Sure. Walking’s good.”
“Get out of your seats,” Mason barked louder. “We haven’t got time for this.”
Sarah glared at him. “Watch yourself, Mason. Your clock is ticking.”
He leaned in over Parkman, his upper body pushing Parkman back into the seat.
“You threatening me again, Miss Roberts?” His eyes bulged slightly. “Please tell me you’re threatening me.”
“Mason, I will throat punch you, take your gun and kneecap you so you’re in a fucking wheelchair the rest of your life if you get in my face one more time. You’re a man. Nothing more. Don’t be such a child to think I’m threatening you. Aren’t we all big kids now?”
His face reddened with fury.
Parkman shoved forward, knocking Mason into the seat in front.
“Oops,” Parkman said. “Didn’t see you there.”
Mason stood. “Get them out of here,” he shouted to the men lined up behind him.
Parkman unclipped his seatbelt and got to his feet. He shot a questioning glance back at Sarah. She shrugged to let him know it was no big deal.
“This one goes with me,” Mason said, his hand grabbing Sarah’s arm.
She undid her belt and rose from her seat. Mason shoved her after Parkman.
“Make sure she’s placed in my car.”
Sarah followed Parkman up the aisle, avoiding the stares of the passengers whose flight was delayed. At the door, the late-morning sun warmed her. She paused on the top step.
“It’s going to be a lovely day,” Sarah said.
Mason pushed her from behind. “Get moving,” he grunted.
She started down the steps toward the cruisers parked in a semi-circle at the bottom, already looking forward to the injuries Officer Mason would receive on the drive back to the police station.
“Hey Parkman,” she called.
He looked over at her from the side of another police car.
“Do what the note says,” she called out to him.
“The note?”
“Yeah. The note. Just do what it says.”
An officer placed a hand on Parkman’s head and pushed him down into the back seat of the cruiser.
Mason opened the backdoor of his cruiser.
“Get in,” he said.
“What? No handcuffs?” she asked, hands raised innocently.
“Shut up and get in.”
She eased into the back of Mason’s cruiser knowing
why he hadn’t cuffed her. She had read his mind through Vivian and knew exactly what he had planned.
“Ohh,” Sarah said loud enough for Mason to hear. “This is going to be fun. You should’ve brought along popcorn for the party you and I will have.”
Chapter 14
Thirio worked his magic at the first estimate he performed in the city of Vernon. The incident in the coffee shop earlier that morning had brightened his spirits. Buoyed by what had happened, he wondered what Sarah would think when she read his note. How happy would the authorities be in their choice of hero?
He drove through town on his way to his next appointment, the trunk’s stereo blasting The Dayglo Abortions’ song, “Religious Bumfucks.” It hadn’t reached lunchtime yet and he was already two thousand dollars richer for having done nothing but offer people hope. He was a king. He was on top. The reason no one could stop him was because he worked for the devil, and the devil made his mayhem possible. That had become his truth, his reality.
His idea to pose as a contractor to extract money from potential clients was brilliant. He prepared a website in under a day at a coffee shop using their wi-fi. Something nice, but not too flashy, with fake testimonials. Once the email was set up and a prepaid phone card for the business number was placed in his unlocked iPhone, he was set. The UPS store gave him a business address for the city he was going to work in for only a few bucks. Then he entered that city’s buy and sell pages on Facebook and dropped the name, the number, the email, and talked about his contracting rates. His staff of six men could do the job quicker and more efficient than any other contractor.
There was no company, no six men, and no job he would ever complete. There was only Thirio stealing unsuspecting potential clients’ deposit money.
Within a week of his first ad on Facebook, appointments for free estimates were set up, and he was in business. When he was in Kamloops, he visited over twenty homes, offered free estimates, and had eight people call back and want the landscaping work done. Two homes were prepared to have short retaining walls put in. Thirio had no intention of fulfilling any of these orders, but he collected the fifty-percent deposit for the work up front. Since his company was popular and booking into next month (the lie he told all his potential clients), he would set dates six to eight weeks away for his crew to come back and start the work. Within two weeks, Thirio had eight advances on work that he would never do. He shut down the website, deactivated the email, and pulled the sim card from his cell phone, then headed to Penticton to repeat the process. The two hundred dollar investment brought him thousands in return.
In Penticton, with enough money to settle in and begin building small explosive devices, he rented an apartment downtown. During his stay there, he set up another company and began the estimate gig all over.
The delivery of the bombs became costly. He had bought small GPS trackers and had to find used furniture to sell. Once the prospective buyers contacted him about the reclining chairs he had for sale, he would qualify them. The buyers had to be from Kelowna, an hour away. All bombs had to be delivered to Kelowna where his main goal of spreading terror was to be initiated. The bombs were connected to his cell phone for easy detonation. The buyers of the recliners would be the first to die, and with them went their knowledge of Thirio’s location and description. The plan was genius.
Three bombs later, the cost of doing business had become too expensive to continue. He needed more money to get to his denouement.
Now in Vernon, seven estimates set for the next two days, he was feeling good about the results. Estimate number one had gotten him a cheque. He was en route to the next estimate with not a care in the world about the people he met or the money he stole from them.
The only person on his mind was Sarah Roberts. How was she going to respond to the hand-written note stuck to the window of the coffee shop in Vernon? He’d told her for every life she saved, he would take ten until he caught up with her. Then he would send her to Hell where she belonged.
Would the police waste time dusting for prints on the paper? Would they check for cameras in the area? Maybe try to match the bullet to a weapon?
Nothing they would do could bring them closer to him.
Absolutely nothing.
Because Thirio had thought of everything. He was the perfect kind of killer. Elusive, brilliant, and savvy. His fingerprints had been burned off the day he killed himself. The gun was unregistered, serial number filed off long ago. If anyone ever gave the authorities his description, they’d be describing a dead man. Even a hair fiber DNA check couldn’t lead to Thirio. It would lead to a man buried days after Julia was killed. They had nothing and would get nothing.
Except Sarah. They had Sarah. And if she really was a psychic, then maybe she’d become a problem.
Or maybe not.
Something bothered him about his thought process. Something he had just deduced floated around in his mind, feeling like it was unfinished.
He turned off the main road by a casino and headed deeper into the city, his next appointment eagerly awaiting an estimate.
What bothered him so? It felt like he’d missed something important. But what did he miss? What could he have missed that would be so important as to bother him?
His fingerprints were gone. DNA was linked to a dead man. The witness statements would lead nowhere. Ballistic tests would end up—
Ballistics.
“Damn it.” He smacked the steering wheel.
He’d left the gun on the floor of the coffee shop wherever that customer had kicked it. Fingerprints weren’t an issue. The loss of the weapon was. He didn’t have another gun.
“I need a gun,” he said to himself in the rearview mirror as the Dayglo Abortions ranted in their song “I Killed Mommy.”
With the denouement fast approaching, he would do the landscaping estimates as planned while sizing up his potential clients on home security. Of the people he would meet that day, one of them would have a gun somewhere in their home. As soon as he found a protective, security conscious customer, he would find himself a gun.
And that would be his final estimate of the day.
He sped up his work truck in the moment of excitement, clicking over to the next song. “I’m my own God” blasted through his cheap speakers.
“Apotheosis,” he said to himself. “The elevation of a person to the rank of a god.” That was who he was now. A ruler for Lucifer, a Lord. He was Thanatos, the ancient Greek personification of death. For Satan, he would be the death instinct, the deliverer of death.
“Thanatos.” He looked at his own eyes in the mirror. “Man does that ever sound good. That’s so me.”
More souls were heading south of the soil. More souls for his Father meant a higher rank by the Father’s side. Maybe Thirio would be awarded a kingdom when he headed south of the soil. He’d presented himself as a god on Earth. Why couldn’t he be one in Hell?
Who knew what the dark lord would offer him as a reward for his work. What Thirio did know was this work was exciting and he never wanted to stop.
At least not until he dismembered Sarah Roberts. Then, and only then, would he be ready to meet his father to begin his reign over the legions of tortured dead.
“Thank you,” he shouted in the cab of his work truck. “Thank you so much for this opportunity to show you evil on such a grand scale. My Father, the bringer of darkness, the strongest of angels, I thank you for this chance to prove my worth.”
Thirio punched the dash twice.
The pain in his knuckles made him smile. He would have to get used to pain where he was going.
“No problem, there. No problem.”
Chapter 15
Sarah sat in the rear of Mason’s cruiser, her knees uncomfortably jammed against the Plexiglas wall separating her from the front seat.
Officer Mason glanced at her intermittently in his mirror. Neither spoke after leaving the airport parking lot. Within a kilometer or two, the cruiser with Parkman pulled
away and was lost to sight.
Mason signaled left, then turned onto Rutland Street. Sarah watched the street signs, committing most of them to memory. This wasn’t the direction to the police station, neither was Mason driving her to Vernon where Vivian had said two people were murdered that morning. Mason had other plans for her.
She stared at the top of his head, the hair thinning where a bald spot was forming. She thought about Mason’s life, at least what she had the privilege of knowing. He’d done a lot of terrible things since becoming a man. What troubled Mason about Sarah was the death of his friend, Barry Ashford, the RCMP officer Sarah had antagonized over a year ago. Ashford had once been Mason’s business partner, as close to him as a brother. Ashford had been involved with a massage parlor in Kelowna and prostitution. The Mafia would have called Officer Barry Ashford a Made Man.
