Hiding in a back corner of the sparsely populated cube farm, Hailey noticed she was surrounded by some pretty strange characters. On her left, an enormous woman sat, her bulbous face pink with exertion, pecking at the keyboard with the index finger of each hand.
Looking behind her, she felt a small twinge of revulsion as she realized the man in the cube was logged onto a pornographic website. The headset covering his ears, he sat hunched over the keyboard, eyes locked on the screen. Her attention froze for the briefest second without conscious control, fixating on moving screen images raw enough to make her blush. Shuddering, she instinctively knew she didn’t need a headset to discern the soundtrack. Pervert! She shook her head to clear the obscene pictures from her mind. Reasserting her attention to the task at hand, the keys clicked under her steady fingers. Sitting in the claustrophobic white box, she reread the message she sent the night before.
I’m interested in the Triumph you advertised.
Will pay the $5,500, but it must have a clean title, and can you deliver it to Prescott?
Her brain still buzzed with alarm, the adrenaline surging in her veins as she recalled the Sheriff’s car outside her apartment. You can’t have me, not yet. I just need a little more time. I’ll find this last one, then I don’t care what happens to me.
Her computer sounded a small ‘ding’ signifying the arrival of an answer to her latest message. She read the new note, heart rate climbing, the words burning her eyes.
I can meet you tonight. I’m already coming to Prescott today on other business.
Delivery is another hundred. Cash or cashier’s check only.
Heart hammering in her chest, she typed a quick answer to his counter-offer.
Done. I’m coming from Yarnell, will meet you at The Bird Cage Saloon on Courthouse Square at eight o’clock.
She read the quickly received acknowledgement with an unanticipated sense of composure. She realized she was almost looking forward to the showdown. At least this nightmare will finally be over. She shook her head as she thought back to the beginning and where all that fear and pent-up anger had led.
Looking at her reflection in the now-dark computer screen, she saw a different Hailey peering back. Gone was the mask of blinding terror adorning the girl who was raped, her terrified face now replaced by a woman reconciled to her fate. Whatever that may be.
She took stock of her present feelings, now so radically different from that petrified girl tracking Grady through the streets of Tucson. The nagging fear that previously ruled her life was now replaced by a feeling of impending closure. That knowledge brought a certain symmetry to the increasingly ominous thoughts coursing through her troubled mind.
Chapter Thirty-One
The day rapidly coming to an end was picture perfect, the gentle puffs of breeze and intermittent cloud cover keeping the bright sun from becoming unbearable.
Smith sat in his car, sipping an overpriced iced coffee from a world-famous chain and waiting for the members of the Triumph Owners of Arizona to arrive at Courthouse Square.
Smith watched the glowing orange ball disappear behind the buildings along Whiskey Row and checked the faces walking down the street, looking for only two in the crowd of hundreds, maybe thousands.
The detective thought about the case as he waited, considering the woman he tracked and digested his feelings about the hunt.
They put her through hell. He thought, grimly imagining the attack, stomach clenching at the vision. I’m not surprised she went berserk.
He saw the faces of her victims in his mind, the three men cold in death, and winced. He’d settled the question of her actions long ago, deciding she must be stopped, but at the same time he also raged at what those four men had done to her. It’s time to get this woman off the street…and bring this last man to justice…before anybody else gets hurt.
He’d hedged his bets by placing a watch on her apartment, as well as personally staking out the fun run event.
Smith cursed himself for not being able to find the young woman already, ruefully acknowledging she had exhibited an uncommon skill in eluding him. Confident in his own training and experience, he decided she wouldn’t have been able to do it on her own. She must have had help.
He also freely admitted he’d had some assistance as well. Getting the information from Kingston had been only a minor struggle. The President of the club had been steadfast in protecting the privacy of the members, but had no interest in going to jail to do it. Smith emitted a small chuckle as he remembered the look on Kingston’s face when Mendoza threatened to arrest the club president and part-time real estate agent as an accessory to murder.
As a law-enforcement professional, Smith abhorred using any man, even a suspected rapist, to bait the dangerous woman from cover, but he also planned to arrest Hoya, as well as protecting him from his would-be killer.
Hoya should show. He better show. Smith silently thanked Kingston for calling a group meeting after the run ended. At least they should all be coming in at the same time.
Tired of sitting, the perturbed detective left his car parked in the space along Cortez Street and moved toward the crowds milling about on the Square.
Tension pushing his blood faster in his veins, Smith continued to scan the crowd as he moved up the block, hoping he would find her before she saw him…or Hoya.
Unable to get any sleep last night, he’d reviewed the file on her case carefully. Those bastards dragged her in to that alley over there. He thought, finding the spot where the report indicated the attack took place. From a distance, in the waning daylight, it didn’t look all that dangerous or frightening. He felt the bile rise to the top of his throat when he envisioned what transpired there exactly one year ago. He flinched as a loud crash suddenly sounded from the street behind him. He turned toward the source and noticed a pick-up truck, its tailgate down, parked across the street.
Bright green, the truck sported ghost flames and an assortment of gaudy aftermarket chrome accessories. A young, thin Hispanic man busily unloaded boxes from the bed onto a handcart. He scanned the truck’s cab, his pulse jumping when he found his second quarry in the driver’s seat, talking on a cell phone. Damn, there he is!
Smith flattened himself against the wall, hiding in the doorway of a vintage clothing store. He watched the man in the cab with a macabre interest, wondering how this animal could put a woman through the terrible things she had graphically described in the report.
Hesitant to move, lest he spook his suspect, he waited and watched, confident that the right moment to approach would present itself. Several agonizing minutes passed while Hoya gabbed into the handheld device as Smith’s heart continued to pound in trepidation. Just when his ability to resist was withering, Smith saw the door open to the curb and Hoya got out. Yelling some instructions in Spanish to the younger man, he lit a cigarette and turned left, walking up the street.
Smith followed the man, dodging behind a tree, then a car, trying to avoid detection by either his target or the man unloading the truck. He darted between the slow moving traffic along Montezuma St., struggling to keep Hoya in sight as he moved between pedestrians, making his way across the square.
The loud honk of the car’s horn broke Smith’s concentration. He ignored the irate driver’s middle finger salute as he tried to regain sight of Hoya, the slippery man having disappeared down a side alley behind the hotel on the corner. Shit, I can’t lose him!
Chapter Thirty-Two
The bikes clogged the parking spaces along Montezuma St. as the riders milled about in the square. Hailey moved easily among them, scanning for any sign of her prey. He’s got to be here…somewhere. Her watch told her it was approaching eight o’clock, almost time.
She saw a truck turn the corner, working its way up the street, the bike in the back looking oddly familiar. She watched it pass and recognized it from the ad, knowing it heralded the hated man’s arrival.
She watched him get out and move toward the allotted ren
dezvous point on the other side of the square. Her boots pounding a staccato rhythm on the concrete, she picked up her pace, muttering a hasty “excuse me,” as she pushed her way past an elderly couple and up the sidewalk, gaining on her quarry.
This is it. I gotta get the jump on this guy. Blood running hot, she hoped she could get close enough before he saw her.
She concealed herself between the streetlights and ducked behind sandwich board signs as she closed the gap.
No! I won’t let you get away. I’m done being afraid. You’re going down tonight…one way or another.
She continued tracking the man through the fast moving crowd milling about the Square. He approached The Birdcage Saloon and she moved up behind him.
She called out. “Excuse me, could you help me please.”
He stopped, surprised at the summons. He fixed his eyes on the young woman and pulled his lips back in an ill-concealed leer. “Of course, what do you need?”
“My car got a flat. Can you help me change it? It’s down the street. I’ll pay you twenty bucks.”
He ran his eyes over her body and responded in unexpected fashion. “You don’t have to pay me. Just show me where it is.”
Her heart almost climbed out of her chest as the two rounded the corner, arriving at the alley’s mouth.
She kept a few steps ahead, telling him the car was just a little further…then a little further, until they reached the far end of the alley. She was nearly overcome with de’ja’vu, the scene so reminiscent of the ill-fated confrontation with Grady in that Tucson alley.
She stopped, wheeling on him, the sudden move startling them both. She faced her nemesis, her eyes blazing in hatred. “You’re the last one,” she said. “Now I can stop being afraid.”
“The last what?” he asked, his face blank, the total lack of understanding abundantly clear.
“The last rapist,” she hissed at the man. “The last of the fucking pigs who raped me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said, the coolly-rendered response devoid of any real emotion.
She continued, the next words falling out in a cold, clinical disclosure. “I found the others, you’re the last one.”
“You’re nuts, lady,” he said, his voice climbing. “Get the hell away from me!”
“Not until you admit what you did to me,” her voice climbed up, filled with a conspicuous loathing. “I want to hear it from you.”
“Blow, before I call the cops.”
The total lack of fear in his demeanor disturbed her, weakening her already fragile grip on her emotions. “No you won’t,” she said. “I don’t think you have the balls to call the cops.”
“Okay, then I’m leaving,” he started to walk away, moving slowly down the sidewalk. “I don’t have to listen to your shit.”
She stepped in front of him and in a flash of chrome the pistol now pointed at his chin. “I don’t think so,” she set her lips in a grim frown. “You raped me and now you’re going to pay.”
“What makes you think I raped you?” he said, his tone remaining calm and confident despite the silver revolver’s menacing presence. She did notice, however, that beads of sweat now adorned his forehead.
She ignored his question, the words lost in the loud thumping of her pulse in her ears. “Now you pay for what you did to me. Now you go to jail.”
“I didn’t rape you, now back off,” he yelled, a blast of impatience. “You’ve got the wrong man.”
“Tell the truth, that’s all I want! Just tell the truth!” Her voice climbing as the red veil began to descend.
“Alright, you want the truth, I do remember,” his face split into a grin of unfathomable evil. “So what? You were drunk, you wanted to get laid, and we partied.”
The cruelly-rendered words overloaded her brain in a burning synaptic electrical storm, the shock of his obscenity nearly paralyzing her completely. “You son of a…”
“Police! Drop the gun…now!” Smith ordered.
The sudden appearance of the cop startled Hailey and she flinched, taking her attention from her captive for a second too long.
Neither she nor Smith saw the small automatic appear until it was too late. Taking advantage of the distraction, Hoya pointed the gun at her and fired. Hailey’s body twisted as the small piece of lead struck her like a sledgehammer. The searing pain exploded in her right shoulder, a burning river flowing down her arm to her hand.
In the split-second it took to blink, Hoya trained his weapon on the remaining threat and fired again. The shot missed Smith’s head by less than an inch before careening off a fence post behind him in a shower of wood splinters. Smith fired his weapon and found his mark, the deadly projectile smashing into Hoya’s chest, sending him staggering backward before he fell to the ground in a crumpled, bloody heap.
Her injured arm hanging by her side, Hailey looked at Hoya’s blood drenched body, feeling her stomach clench in hatred and disgust. Dispatching Grady left her feeling high as a kite, but now that it was over, all she felt was hollow. Her hands trembling fiercely, she diligently fought the overpowering urge to vomit right then and there.
“Put down the weapon,” Smith bellowed the order. “Get on the ground, now!”
Tears running down her face, her heart hammered in her ears as she turned the gun on herself, the barrel cold against her left temple.
“Don’t do it Hailey,” he said, his voice firm, the tone reassuring. “We can work this out.”
“I won’t go to jail!” she said, keeping the pistol pointed at her own head. “You don’t know what they did to me!”
She stood stone-still, the only movement her fiercely trembling hands. Not knowing what to do next, a look of puzzlement came over her face as she turned to the detective.
“And how do you know my name?” she brushed a tear from her cheek.
“I’m Detective Smith of the Tucson Police Department,” he said. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while now.”
She contemplated his words, the gun barrel still digging uncomfortably into her head. “You’re from Tucson…I get it now. I saw the news. I know that Grady was the son of a senator. That’s the only reason you’re here. That’s the only reason you give a shit,” she railed. “Isn’t it!”
“That’s not true,” he said. “Put down the gun and we can talk about it. You don’t have to do this.”
She railed at the policeman, all her anger boiling to the surface, her voice a shrill screech.
“You just want to make his powerful daddy happy!” she condemned. “You don’t care about me…about what they did to me!”
Smith knew he needed time to talk her down, time to think. “Why don’t you tell me,” he said. “Help me understand.”
She met his eyes, her gaze burning into his. “Why do you care?”
“Trust me, I care.” He said, meaning every word.
“Fine, you want to know, I’ll tell you. A year ago I was out with my friends and we got a little drunk. I was walking home alone when this piece of shit and three of his friends dragged me into an alley and raped me.”
“Is that why you killed the others?” Smith asked. “Stone in Black Canyon City and Rackley in Chino Valley.”
Her face went white in surprise at Smith’s question. “I never meant to hurt anyone. That bastard Stone came at me with a knife…and Rackley tried to bash my head in with a pipe,” She pulled her shirt up far enough to expose her bruised ribcage. “He missed…and broke my ribs instead.”
“Why don’t you put the weapon down and tell me exactly what happened.” Smith implored, carrying the calm tone in the hopes she wouldn’t pull the trigger.
“Someone had to do something,” she said. Her mouth took on a grim, determined set. “I just wanted them to admit what they did. I wanted justice.” Her blazing eyes filled with condemnation as they met his. “I sure as hell wasn’t going to get it from the courts!”
He looked deep into the frightened woman’s eyes and was overw
helmed by the sad realization that she was probably right. Some days I really hate this job.
In his mind he saw her trial, and his testimony putting her away for decades. He knew if he arrested her, she would slowly wither and die in a cell, prison sucking the life out of her. A tiny thought sped through his head as he stared down the barrel of his automatic at the abused woman holding the gun. I wish I could let her go. But I can’t. “It doesn’t give you the right to take matters into your own hands.” he said, the moral indignation lacking the power of full conviction.
She drew back in shock at his words, face changing into a mask of poorly controlled fury. “Take matters in my own hands, are you fucking kidding me? You make it sound like I had a choice!” she shrieked in frank outrage. “They held me down while they all took turns! They actually said I asked for it!” she continued, the pain evident as the tears again began to fall. “Can you believe that? The bastards actually believed I wanted them to do that to me.”
Smith remained outwardly stoic, though his inner man heard her words and flamed in hatred, sharing her outrage at the atrocity she’d endured. Standing before him now was the reason he became a cop all those years ago, he’d wanted to help and protect people like her. In his naiveté, battered as it was by years on the streets, he still believed in that ideal. The law has to be the same for everybody. Like it or not, that’s the only way it works. Or, at least that’s way it’s supposed to work.
“When you found out who they were, you should have called the police.”
“How can you possibly understand? You’re not a woman,” she said. “You can’t know what it means to be at the mercy of men, no…monsters, like that.” She sniffed loudly and continued. “I was nothing but a piece of meat to them…and when they were done, they were going to butcher me.”
He felt his gut clench at the visual image the declaration brought forth, and he raged at the men whose brutality turned this young woman into a killer, now standing in the alley holding a pistol.
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