Twilight Warrior

by Aimée Thurlo

  “Can you see him?” Laura called over the open connection.

  “He ran out the main entrance and is racing down the street, going south,” Travis answered. “I’m about fifty yards behind him.”

  Laura ran around the back of the bleachers and headed toward the opening.

  Travis ran through the main gate and entered the crowded parking lot. He was gaining ground on the man when their suspect suddenly cut left into an alley.

  “Police officer. Stop. You’ve got no place to go,” Travis yelled. At the end of the alley was a high chain-link fence. The guy was trapped.

  The man half turned, then leaped up onto a fire escape ladder.

  “He’s going up the side of the old…hotel,” Travis said, reading the faded sign. “Go around to Third Street and keep watch in case he gets inside and tries to exit via the north side of the building.”

  “On it. How about Koval?” Laura replied, short of breath as she raced north.

  “I just saw him. He’s heading for his vehicle and calling for backup,” Travis said, reaching the ladder. The suspect was already close to the top of the four-story building.

  Travis leaped onto the rusty ladder and climbed up quickly. As he reached the top, he peered over the parapet with his pistol out, expecting an ambush.

  Their suspect stood on the center of the flat roof, backing away from him.

  “Stop. Don’t make me shoot,” Travis said, scrambling up the last few steps and jumping onto solid footing.

  The man spun around and sprinted toward the edge of the building.

  “No! You won’t make it,” Travis yelled, running forward.

  The guy leaped, his legs flailing in midair, then landed with a thud on the next roof over. He stumbled and nearly fell, but quickly regained his balance and raced across the roof.

  Knowing he’d have to follow or lose the suspect, Travis shoved his pistol back in its holster and sprinted toward the edge. Reaching the top of the parapet, he pushed off into space. At that instant, one of the bricks crumbled beneath his boot and his foot slipped. Out of balance and control, he hurtled across the gap headfirst.

  Travis knew he wasn’t going to make it. He threw his arms up, reaching out for anything solid, and slammed into the far wall. The impact knocked the wind out of him. As he smacked his forehead against the wall, his radio slipped and nearly fell off.

  Travis clung to the edge of the roof, his hands gripping the bricks of the parapet. Unlike the ones on the building across the way, these held, but the pain was nearly unbearable.

  “Your breathing sounds off. Where are you?”

  Travis heard Laura’s voice clearly over his earpiece and suddenly remembered he hadn’t broken off the connection. “I’m dangling…off roof…building east of the hotel. Suspect jumped across. He made it—I didn’t,” he managed, struggling to hang on.

  “I’ll be right there,” Laura said flatly.

  Travis felt around with the tip of his boots, trying to find a foothold. After several failed attempts, he found a secure gap between the bricks and steadied himself. If he could manage a pull-up, he’d reach the roof. Just as he was about to try, he heard a loud pop—a gunshot—then silence.

  Fear, then anger heated his blood. If the scumbag had hurt Laura…

  Travis knew he was out of time. It was now or never. As he fought for leverage, he heard a sound above him.

  “Travis, hang on,” Laura called out.

  Hearing her voice, an incredible tangle of feelings welled up inside him. Relief and pure, unadulterated happiness tied for first. He wanted her in his arms—but for that, he had to get off this ledge.

  “Who fired that shot?” he asked, his voice strained.

  “I had to kill a padlock to get into the building,” she answered quickly. “I’m going to dangle down some telephone line tied into a loop. When you see it, grab on, then we’ll pull you up.”

  “We—is Harry there?”

  “Trying to find the stairs, he says. Just grab the cord. The bricks you’re holding look unstable.”

  “You can’t pull me up by yourself. I outweigh you by seventy pounds. I’ll yank you off the roof.”

  “The other end of the line is tied around a chimney. Stop worrying. Me and this building can hold you until Koval gets here. Here it comes.”

  A heartbeat later Travis felt something on his shoulder. He reached out with his left hand and grabbed on. When his head reached roof level, he saw Laura straining at the cord. Her feet were braced against the base of the parapet on the inside, and she was hanging on for dear life. There was no chimney and no Koval. She was doing it herself.

  He tumbled over the top and crawled to where she lay, gasping for air.

  “You shouldn’t have lied to me.” Knowing that his life had been more important to her than her own safety told him everything he needed to know. He tangled his hand through her hair and pulled her close, his mouth covering hers. He parted her lips roughly, needing her, wanting her to feel the passion inside him.

  Fire burst through him and ignited his blood. Then close to the breaking point, he pulled away. “You make me crazy,” he growled, then got on his feet and offered her a hand-up.

  Laura glanced over the edge. “He got away—again.” Her cheeks were flushed with anger and her eyes flashed. “He’s beaten us every time.”

  “He’s used up all his luck. Next time, he’s ours,” Travis said. Yet even as he spoke, another thought intruded. Once they caught their suspect and booked him, then what? He wanted Laura to stay, but no matter what they’d shared, he was also part of her past, one filled with memories she wanted no part of. The moment they closed the case she’d leave. It was no surprise, but the knowledge still clawed into his gut.

  He forced all those thoughts aside and looked away from her. They had work to do. It was their duty to find the killer and until that was done, there could be no other priority for either of them.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After a quick stop by the station, they returned to Travis’s home. There, they reviewed the footage from their video cameras.

  After an hour, they’d narrowed down three sections of video. “There’s nothing distinctive about that guy except he’s in good shape,” Laura said. “He’s not too tall or too short, his hair’s brown, not blond, and medium cut. His clothes are unremarkable. He’s the definition of average.”

  Travis studied the image. “Look at that mannerism of his, the way he rolls his shoulder and bends his neck as if working out the cricks.”

  “We’ve seen someone who does that…” she said slowly, trying to remember.

  “I know, but I can’t place it,” Travis said.

  Laura sat in the chair next to him, and stared across the room, lost in thought.

  Suddenly they both glanced at each other. “Lester Crosley!” they said simultaneously.

  “But the image is too fuzzy for a positive ID. Plus the suspect had brown hair and Lester’s bald,” Laura said slowly.

  “Different colored wigs are easy enough to come by,” Travis said.

  “Lester’s profile fits. As an IT specialist, he accesses all kinds of computers and communications systems,” Laura said. “He told me when we met that he configures software for automatic backups, system protection and safe shutdowns during power outages. If he works for travel agencies, hotels or airlines, he could have accessed my travel plans while in the system pretending to be updating firewalls and antivirus programs. I booked everything, including my hotel, online. That would also explain how he managed to put a bomb in my rental car. He could have followed me from the airport, hotel or both. He knew where I’d be.”

  Travis picked up the phone and called Jim Franklin of Franklin’s Feed Store. Not wasting time with pleasantries, Travis got down to business. “Who sets up your computer backup programs and takes care of your system’s security?”

  “Why are you asking? Is he the dirtbag who broke into my building?”

  “I don’t know.
I’m just trying to follow up on a lead,” Travis said.

  “It’s a bald-headed guy.” He paused. “I’m trying to think of his last name, but all I can remember offhand is his first name, Lester.”

  “Crosley?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. He’s the local rep for IT Security Exchange, an Albuquerque firm. Lester set up those portable batteries so everything backs up automatically if the power goes out.”

  “Have you seen him today?”

  “No. He checks the system once a month, but he’s not due to come back for a few more weeks.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Travis called the station next and spoke to Koval.

  “So you think Crosley’s been playing around with our software, too?” Koval asked. “He’s the one who protects our mainframe and the municipal network from hackers and power outages.”

  “We need to find a forensics computer expert and see if Crosley’s planted a bug or created a back door into our system at the station.”

  “I’ll handle it,” Koval said.

  As Travis hung up, he saw Laura typing at his keyboard. “What are you looking for?”

  “Similarities. I’m trying to find out what computer backup systems our victims used, and if they were purchases from the same company. The crime-scene photos taken at my friend’s home include shots of her laptop computer, but I don’t recall if she had one of those battery backup systems Lester installs.”

  Laura accessed the right files, but her optimism was soon dashed. Although all the victims had computers, they were inexpensive systems. “I’m not sure Lester would even service small home computers like these,” she said, disappointed.

  Travis studied the photos. “Look at the floor by the desks. The victims added on battery backup hardware, and although they’re smaller units, they appear to be the same brand as ours. See the company logo?” He pointed to one of the photos on screen.

  Travis’s phone rang. It was Detective Koval. Travis put him on speaker.

  “We’re hoping to get an expert from Albuquerque’s FBI crime lab here in a few hours. I also had a contact of mine with the credit bureau call Crosley’s boss. I didn’t do it directly because I didn’t want to link our department to the inquiry,” Koval said. “According to my source, Crosley’s employment record is squeaky-clean.”

  Travis hung up and shook his head. “It happens every time. The dirtier the suspect, the more people will line up to tell us what a great neighbor, employee and overall person he is.”

  “We’re on the right track, but we’ve still got nothing solid on him,” she said. “What do you say we check the serial numbers on the backup systems the Navajo coach and the victim in Bloomfield used? We might be able to track them back to Crosley via his company.”

  “I’ll make some calls on our way to the station,” he said.

  It took another ninety minutes for Nakai and Sanders to bring what was needed to the station at Three Rivers. Nakai brought the backup system itself, while Detective John Sanders brought in the photos that included the necessary information.

  The lab tech studied what they’d given her, then finally looked up. “The systems aren’t identical, but they do have something in common,” she said. “All the serial numbers have been filed down.” She enlarged the photo Sanders had brought and pointed out the blank place, then showed them Coach’s unit.

  “Yet he kept the manufacturer’s mark,” Travis commented.

  “Sometimes there are ways to restore serial numbers, but the person who did this went out of his way to do a thorough job,” the lab tech said, looking at the coach’s unit. “I don’t think we’ll be able to help you with this.”

  “Only a thief would have reason to file down the serial numbers, but there’s not much of a market for those types of devices,” Travis said. “Computers, yes, backup hard drives maybe, but not battery backups. Those small units cost, what, less than sixty bucks retail?”

  “Let me check and find out more about the system my friend in Arizona used,” Laura said. She called the detective in Flagstaff and within fifteen minutes she had the information. “Her battery backup had the numbers filed off, too.”

  “So there’s no way to positively trace the units back to our suspect,” Travis said. “Even if he’s got three that are missing or unaccounted for, he could claim they were stolen from his van or whatever.”

  After Nakai and Sanders left, Laura and Travis went back to the bullpen where Crusher waited. Before they could discuss the case further, Koval hurried to meet them.

  “I’ve got bad news,” he said. “Crosley was here at the station when you two came in. He went into the computer room, and according to the duty officer, ran a quick software check and left about ten minutes ago. Crosley apparently told the desk sergeant he’d be right back, but he never returned.”

  “He may have seen Sanders and Nakai and figured something was up. We need to track Crosley down, and fast,” Laura said.

  “Do you have his home address?” Travis asked Koval.

  “Yeah. He owns a house north of Twentieth, 320 Baker Street. That’s about two miles from here.”

  “If he’s decided to make a run for it, he may go there first to destroy evidence or pick up essentials. We have to hurry,” Laura said, heading to the door.

  Five minutes later, they were in Travis’s SUV racing to the neighborhood west of the community college. Crusher sensed their tension and mirrored it, sitting up on the backseat cushion, occasionally whining softly with excitement.

  “Can’t you go any faster?” she asked Travis, peering ahead as they approached an intersection.

  “Not without using my emergency lights or siren, and I don’t want to tip him off.”

  Travis turned the corner onto Baker Street, and soon came to a stop in front of a house with a for-sale sign on the lawn, half a block from their destination.

  “We’ll walk the rest of the way. Keep your eyes open. He’s armed, jumpy and may already be expecting us,” Travis said.

  The large company van in Crosley’s driveway screened their approach. Travis kept one hand on Crusher’s leash close beside him and the other on the butt of his weapon.

  As they drew near, a sporty sedan pulled up by the curb of a house next door to Crosley’s. Three teenage girls climbed out, laughing.

  “Nice dog,” one of them said, giving Travis a flirtatious smile.

  “Thanks,” Travis muttered, not making eye contact.

  Laura’s attention remained on the house. As they walked up the driveway beside the van, Crusher suddenly stopped, turned and tugged hard.

  “Something’s off. Back away, fast!” Travis said, shoving Laura toward the street. “Girls, get down!” he yelled at the others.

  As they raced back down the driveway, Travis saw a flash of searing heat, then an explosion rocked the ground, hurling them to the concrete with hurricane force.

  The van reared up like a wild horse. It twisted in midair, falling on its side not ten feet from them, spraying cubes of glass like jagged snowflakes.

  Travis rolled and threw himself over Laura, simultaneously reaching for his weapon. While Travis kept Laura pinned, Crusher crawled to Travis’s side, staying low as he’d been taught.

  Just as Travis looked up, a second explosion blew out the front wall of Crosley’s house, hurling wooden beams, Sheet-rock and shingles in a tornado of debris. Again they were struck by a wave of heat and stinging pieces of wood and stone. Chunks of building, large and small, plummeted to the earth all around them.

  Travis rose to his feet slowly, then gave Laura a hand-up. The half-leveled house was nothing more than burning rubble now. “I’ll get as close as I can to the house and look for Crosley’s body. The girls—”

  “On it.” Laura raced down the sidewalk toward the neighbor’s yard, where fragments of debris had been thrown. Pieces of wall as big as suitcases were scattered about, some of them smoldering. The fact that the girls had been thrown to the ground had probably sa
ved them from major injuries, but they were all badly frightened.

  After making sure they were okay, Laura hurried back to Travis and Crusher, who’d been forced to keep their distance from the growing inferno.

  “Where is he?” she yelled over the roar of the flames.

  Travis put away his cell phone. “If he’s still in the house, it’s too late.”

  “I can’t see a thing.” Coughing, she stepped back from the smoke drifting toward the street. Before she could say anything else one of the girls screamed.

  Laura and Travis spun in a crouch, reaching for their guns.

  Crosley emerged from the thick gray cloud of smoke to their left. He had one badly scratched arm around the neck of one of the teens. His pistol was aimed at Travis.

  “Keep your hands away from your weapons,” Crosley yelled, switching his aim back and forth between Laura and Travis. “If you shoot, she dies.”

  “Let her go,” Travis said, holding Crusher back with his left hand, his right hand close to the butt of his gun.

  “That’s not going to happen, but if you let me drive away and don’t follow, I’ll let the girl out when I reach the highway,” he shouted back.

  Travis moved closer, Crusher straining at the leash. “You’re not going anywhere, Crosley. This is the end of the line.”

  “I’ll shoot the dog if you let him loose,” he said, aiming down at Crusher.

  “Stay, boy,” Travis ordered, releasing the leash. Crusher stood there, growling but obeying the command.

  Laura was closer to Crosley and the girl, and she sidestepped as she moved forward, screening Travis and diverting Crosley’s attention. “You’ve got the drop on us now, but when you put the girl in the car, we’ll have a clear shot. One of us will take you out. So let her go, Lester. It’s the only way you’ll get out of this alive.”

  Laura turned her head to look back at Travis, then lowered her eyes and cocked her head ever so slightly, hoping he’d get the message. “We won’t shoot, will we?” she said, sending Travis the opposite message as she continued to screen him from Crosley.

  Travis eased his hand down toward his gun.