Twisted: Nick Stryker Series, Book Two The Shallow End Gals

by Vicki Graybosch

  Jen smiled, “What if I leave the door open?”

  “That would be fine.”

  Jen escorted Dr. Elmhurst to the end of the hall where the holding room was. Dr. Elmhurst collapsed on the bed and covered himself with the thin blanket. Jen shuddered at the thought of what he had been through over the last month.

  Renee looked at Wayne and said, “I have a friend who is the Administrator of Building A; his name is Tyler Goodman. I went to him earlier today with my concerns. He promised to look into things and help me. I think he needs to know what is happening, so he can get some staff and security in Building D until we straighten this out.”

  Wayne looked at Renee and said, “We’ll call him in a minute.”

  Wayne excused himself and walked over to Jen, Nick and Sam. “I think we need to have this Tyler guy meet us at the crazy farm. We should take Renee and Ryan, too, since they know these people. How much force should we bring with us?”

  Nick shrugged, “I think we need enough manpower to make a statement. They have 120 acres we have to search, missing people, and maybe some bodies. We don’t know what we’ll find and this is a state sanctioned facility. Call the Chief, but I think this warrants at least a level two status. We want SWAT and State Troopers, too. Our initial goal is to secure the environment we have to investigate.”

  Wayne nodded and said, “I’ll make the calls to the Chief and Central.” He suddenly stopped and asked, “What the heck do I call this?”

  Nick answered, “A mutiny at the insane prison.”

  Eli watched a tear roll down Renee’s cheek and walked over to give her a hug.

  She hugged him back and said, “I’ll never tease you again about the trouble you used to get into.”

  Eli smiled, “Yeah, you crashed right through that benchmark.”

  Wayne told Renee to call Tyler and tell him they were coming to Brookfield Place with police.

  Renee reached Tyler and told him the police were on their way.

  Tyler answered, “Good. I’m still here at my office going through reports and calendars. You were right, Renee. Building D is worse than a mess. I’ll start putting together photo bios on who is supposed to be there: both staff and patients.”

  Wayne asked to speak with Tyler. “This is Detective Dunfee. What can you tell me?”

  Tyler said, “Renee told me a nurse named Nancy Logan was missing. I didn’t believe her, because I had seen numerous emails and reports being generated by Nancy’s employee code. I called Nancy’s mom to get a good phone number. She told me a male friend of Nancy’s called her three weeks ago and told her that Nancy won a vacation. Nancy’s mom hasn’t been able to reach her since. Detective Dunfee, I think Renee is right; something sinister is going on.”

  Renee broke down when Wayne told her what Tyler had said about Nancy. She remembered the red skull list and told Wayne that Nancy’s name had been on it.

  Ryan interrupted, “Renee’s name got added today with a red skull. The file is on Dr. Elmhurst’s desk.”

  * * *

  Frankie double checked the hotel name and room number before he entered the lobby. The service staff at the desk ignored him as he walked to the bank of elevators, entered, and pushed the button for the third floor. In the elevator, he turned his jacket inside out and mussed up his hair. He had a small flask of whiskey that he splashed on his face, took a swig and then checked that his silencer and pistol were ready in his pocket. Room 337. Room 337. He glanced again to make sure that was what was on the paper. Yes, Room 337.

  A hotel maid had a housekeeping cart at the far end of the hall. The room door was open, the interior light bright and casting shadows in the dimly lit space. Dom never was one to spend much money on accommodations for his ‘guests’. It didn’t surprise Frankie at all that he had put Joey Lacastra in this flea bag hotel.

  Room 337 was dead center in the hall. Frankie took a couple of deep breaths, rolled his shoulders forward and started making the sounds of a drunken old man. He watched the doors along the hall to see if anyone reacted to his performance. Nothing. He leaned heavily against the door for Room 337 and began pounding. “I’m home, Mable. Let me in.”

  Frankie glanced both ways down the hall as he continued pounding. It was still clear. He pounded louder and shouted louder. “Let me in, Mable. I’m back.”

  Suddenly the door to Room 337 opened a crack and a man’s voice said, “You’ve got the wrong room, old man.” The door shut.

  Frankie pounded again. “Who are you? What are you doing in my room?”

  Joey was almost finished packing and in no mood for this drunk. He certainly didn’t want attention drawn to his room. Joey opened the door wider and Frankie fell forward halfway into the threshold. Joey pushed back on the door to send Frankie stumbling backwards into the hall. Joey’s nostrils were assaulted by a strong whiskey odor.

  Frankie stumbled back toward the door and shouted, “What cha doin’ in my room?”

  Joey opened his jacket with his right hand to show his gun. “You’ve got the wrong room, old man.”

  Frankie pretended to stumbled to his left as he aimed his pistol at Joey’s forehead from inside his coat pocket. “You’ve got the wrong old man.”

  An almost inaudible ‘pop’ left Joey bleeding on the floor. Frankie took two steps into the room and shot him again in the head. He kicked Joey’s lifeless foot out of the way and closed the door. Frankie looked both ways once back in the hall. The housemaid exited the far room with a stack of towels on her arm. As Frankie passed she smiled and said, “Good evening, sir,” and went back to her work. Frankie entered the elevator, reversed his coat back and left the building.

  The housekeeper pushed opened the door to Room 337, took Joey’s pulse, and left the room. She removed her housekeeping apron, placed it in the laundry sack on the cart and left the building. As she drove toward the city she placed a call. “Joey Lacastra was just hit. Grand Manor Hotel, Room 337. Frankie Mullen.”

  The night lights of the city danced across her dashboard. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. The strain of the last 25 years was showing tonight. She was so close. Sophia wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. She exhaled and her jaw set firm in determination as she drove through the night traffic. This was no time for weakness.

  * * *

  Jake Billow sat in his van across from the corner convenience store. He readied his rifle and checked through the scope one last time. Where he was parked, it was dark and an easy escape back to the main road traffic. He had just called in an anonymous tip that the store was being robbed.

  Like clockwork, two patrol cars screamed into the lot. The officers had their guns drawn and cautiously made their way toward the store’s entrance. Billow whispered, “One more step.” He squeezed off a shot and saw the officer go down. He shifted the van into drive and eased into traffic.

  “One.”

  Billow drove twelve blocks to the 109th Precinct building and waited. The ‘Officer Down’ call would be answered by anyone available. Billow watched an officer dash from the parking lot door and jump in a unit. As the officer looked to his left to merge traffic, Billow squeezed the trigger again.

  “Two.”

  He laughed as he pulled from the curb and headed toward the 107th Precinct, Nick’s precinct. He parked some distance down the road and carefully rolled the van forward and back until he had the perfect angle for the front entrance. This precinct had some parking behind the building, but shift officers often used the angled parking at the front. Billow watched as two, three, four squad cars pulled in and parked. Only one space was still open; that would be the winner.

  A squad car came from around the corner and landed in the spot. Billow raised his rifle to aim. The officer got out of the car and turned toward the building. Billow squeezed the trigger. The officer dropped to the sidewalk.

  “Three.”

  Billow pulled from the curb and headed home.

  * * *

  N
ick and Jen road together to Brookfield Place. Nick had put extra ammunition and two high powered rifles in the trunk in case he and Jen needed them. The closer they came to Brookfield, the more police cars had joined the caravan. Blue and red flashing lights were ahead of them and behind them as far as they could see.

  The unit radio broke through with “10-24! Officer Down, Officer Down!” dispatch gave a south side address.

  Jen shook her head, “This job sucks sometimes.”

  The last code any cop wants to hear is a 10-24. Nick knew that plenty of officers were available to answer the 10-24. He tried to focus on picturing the murder board in his head. “If the motive for shooting Cummings in the mall parking lot was to steal the skim cash, how did a mob hit man know that Cummings would be there, at that time, with 140 grand in cash?”

  Jen answered, “You said Cummings was surprised Dr. Elmhurst gave him cash. He was usually paid by check.”

  “There were only two people that knew Cummings had cash. We have Dr. Elmhurst and whoever that second man was in his office. That rifle’s history isn’t fitting anymore, Jen. Attorney Baxter certainly didn’t order this hit; he’s dead. Dom’s shooter, Joey Lacastra, hadn’t even been assigned the job yet when Cummings was shot at.”

  Jen said, “This is driving me crazy. Let’s assume that you and Wayne are right that Lomas was a mistake. We’ve got an old man in those pictures from the other hit scenes. What if this old man is really the mob hit man Attorney Baxter used? If he made a mistake shooting Lomas, let’s say he covered it up by killing Alexia, because she had ordered a hit that didn’t happen. Maybe he was worried she’d start trouble.”

  “Let’s say Alexia’s name was on the check because she had ordered a hit on her husband, Travis, through Attorney Baxter. She orders a hit on him because she hates him. This has nothing to do with the mob. This old man then kills his partner, Attorney Baxter, to keep him from disclosing the mistake to any mob guys. If we think he did all of that because of a stupid mistake on an address, maybe the old man also lost his rifle? He might be getting dementia or something. His rifle could have been stolen or sold to anyone.”

  Nick nodded, “If we use that theory, then whoever shot at Cummings just happens to be the new owner of the rifle. He doesn’t really have anything to do with our other mob hits. We’re back to Dr. Elmhurst and his buddy. They just ended up with the old man’s rifle.”

  The radio broke through again. “10-24! Officer Down, Officer Down!” Dispatch gave the address.

  Nick glanced at Jen. “That’s the address for the 109th.”

  Jen tapped her index finger on her pistol handle. “Not many people are crazy enough to shoot an officer in front of a police station.”

  Nick said, “That second call was exactly fifteen minutes after the first. That’s about how long it would take to drive from the first call. This is the same shooter.”

  The tension in the car was palatable. Both Jen and Nick expected another call. They rode in silence another ten miles. Nick glanced out his side window at the total blackness of the night and his memory took him back five years and his hunt for Billow. He had killed nine officers before Nick and Jen caught him. Always in groups of three. That was his unique M.O.

  “10-24! Officer Down. Officer Down!” The address was the 107th.

  Jen looked at Nick, “Billow.”

  Nick pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. “Chief? Stryker. I thought I saw Jake Billow at the bank robbery scene, couldn’t catch him. He saw me. Jen and I have been tracking his current status. At best it’s cloudy. I believe he’s out. We just had three 10-24’s in less than an hour. That’s his M.O. My gut says Billow is sending a message.” Nick listened a few moments and then said, “Thank you.”

  Jen was impressed that Nick had the personal phone number for the Chief memorized.

  Jen knew that every fiber of his being wanted to be on the hunt for Billow.

  Nick said, “The Chief isn’t sold that it’s Billow on these 10-24’s, but he wants Billow arrested if in fact he’s out. The Chief’s putting out an All-Points Bulletin. He’s calling in the Feds, too. He wants to use the Marshals for the take down.”

  Jen could read Nick’s thoughts and said, “You and I will find him first.”

  Nick looked at Jen, “Billow has a lot of ties to Brookfield Place and we’re here. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  They rode in silence for the next few miles. She knew that every cop in the caravan was cursing and slapping their steering wheels. It was a helpless feeling to be committed to a case when a 10-24 goes out from Central. It’s in every cop’s blood to want to join the chase.

  They finally arrived at Brookfield Place and watched as the line of police cars crawled through the iron gate and into the campus. Nick drove their car to the back and parked in front of Building D, where Wayne had instructed them to go. Wayne had just arrived with Renee and Ryan.

  Nick glanced around at the chaos and exhaled. “This is a dangerous situation. These cops are already hyper because of the 10-24’s and no one is able to identify the good guys from the bad guys. Somebody has to take control.”

  Jen asked, “Got any ideas?”

  “Yeah, in absence of control, manipulate chaos.”

  Jen could always see Nick’s SEAL training kick in. His focus and thinking became laser sharp. She had no doubt he would have this situation manageable in short order.

  Wayne walked over. “That last 10-24 was Jeff Turner. Rookie, tomorrow would have ended his first week at our house. Got two kids, and another on the way. Sniper was a bad shot on the other two; they’re going to make it.” Wayne looked at Nick. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Billow. It’s going to be a very long night. Find me that guy named Tyler.”

  Nick started barking orders establishing perimeter search teams, building guards and information reporting procedures. He ordered the campus police to contact all employees to return to Brookfield Place and report to the campus police building. SWAT arrived and Nick asked them to secure all unoccupied buildings and perimeter gates.

  Jen helped Wayne and Sam set up a command post inside Building D. Renee and Ryan worked to keep the patients calm. Wayne and Sam moved tables from the cafeteria out to the reception hall and in a nearby conference room. The large number of officers arriving required a central location to receive orders that minimized any impact on the patient areas. As officers reported themselves available, Jen recorded their names and phone numbers and wrote down whatever assignment Nick gave them.

  Within 30 minutes Nick had sequestered staff from the other buildings to help with the patients. Temporary staff, that had been brought in to help with patients, reported their needs and Jen, Wayne and Sam worked to locate what was needed for them. Wayne had requested that Control Central contact the local hospitals for volunteers and supplies.

  Jen looked at Wayne, “It seems we have manipulated the chaos successfully.”

  Sam laughed, “You’re hanging around Stryker so much you’re starting to sound like him.”

  CHAPTER 18

  The campus police dialed the number they had for Dr. Elmhurst. After a few rings he answered. The campus cop thought he sounded as if he had been sleeping.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but you have to come back to Brookfield right now. I’m not sure what’s going on but there must be a hundred cops from the city here. I’m not exaggerating and they brought SWAT. The police are demanding that all employees come back in.”

  He thanked the officer for the call and sat up in bed. Well, that’s that. He got out of bed, grabbed his suitcase from the closet and called the airline. He had one hour to catch a flight out of O’Hare to Orlando. A three hour layover and he would be on his way to Belize. He pulled up his bank information and wired the remaining funds he had to his offshore account.

  He checked that he had Dr. Elmhurst’s driver’s license, passport, and medical records. It had been pure luck that he and Dr. Elmhurst ac
tually resembled each other. His weeks of planning were paying off. He would have loved another month’s worth of income, but it felt good to know it was over.

  * * *

  Sam was in charge of assigning cops copies of photos to verify the identities of staff and patients. Tyler had given Sam the code to get into the computer and print out bios and photos. Sam also borrowed two doctors from Building C to review patient medication records and determine what was needed.

  Nick had asked Wayne to secure medication and food from the other buildings at the facility to Building D. Some patients were terrified of the police presence in the building. Others were merely curious. All of them complained that they were hungry and needed their medication.

  Nick could see why Ryan had been hired as an employee of Building D. He was excellent at calming the patients and multi-tasking. Renee had reported to Wayne that the kitchen had no food. What little had been there had been raided by the patients for snacks. She was grateful to hear that arrangements were already underway to get the kitchen working again. It was rumored that the FBI had ordered over three hundred pizzas from around the city to be delivered at the gates.

  The FBI agents would be arriving soon and assuming much of the responsibility for restoring order. Nick wanted to hand them as much information as he could. He was glad he had arrived first. The FBI was far more generous with pizza than information. This was Nick’s best chance to find out what Billow’s status really was.

  A conference room to the right of the hall was being used for interviews. Nick had asked Tyler to join Jen and him at a corner table. Tyler had an armload of files that Nick and Jen took from him.

  Tyler pointed to a stack of banker boxes on the table near Wayne. “Those are all bio files, too. I haven’t had time to check them all off against the state report.”

  Nick asked Tyler, “Who is responsible for this facility?”

  Tyler answered, “I can get that for you from a computer, but I didn’t bring that with me. It is a conglomerate company based in Louisiana. This is a private facility that caters to the State.”