by Sean Platt
Come on!
She was frail and moving at a snail’s pace, her entire body practically trembling toward the exit.
The killer was already off the bus.
Jasper stared helplessly at the back of the woman, taking forever to shuffle five feet.
The killer clipped along the sidewalk. He’d be gone before long, disappearing into one of the storefronts, down a side street, or crossing the road off to who-knew-where. Soon, his one sure shot at getting close to the killer would be lost.
Jasper couldn’t push the old lady, so he vaulted past her, running up to the front, footsteps pounding, scaring several passengers. He smiled sheepishly at a few, ignored the driver’s judgmental glare, and bounded off the bus onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for the killer.
He spotted the man, already some forty feet down the sidewalk.
Jasper had to catch up, but couldn’t walk so fast that the man heard him coming, then turned and saw a giant black man behind him. That would guarantee he spooked the guy.
Jasper didn’t wait for Jordyn — still stuck behind the old lady. He walked briskly, trying to close the distance between himself and the killer.
They were the only two people on this part of the sidewalk. It was still dark out, so sneaking up on him wouldn’t be easy. It was easier to follow people in broad daylight under the presumption of safety.
Right now, he had to tread carefully.
Jasper followed the man along the main street, wondering if he’d already made him. Maybe he was altering his route because he was going straight rather than turning into any of the parking lots for the shops or restaurants.
Where the hell is this guy going?
Jasper looked around. He’d only been in the city for a couple of years, and while he knew the area reasonably well, he didn’t know its every nook and cranny. Nor did he know where the guy was going.
Jasper spied a pair of buses ahead, leaving a side street, one after another. He was near an elementary school.
Don’t tell me this guy works at the school.
Please.
Jasper walked faster, but it was hard without outright running because the killer was practically sprinting himself.
The man turned onto the street where the buses had come from, and where a third bus was now pulling out.
Out of sight, Jasper risked running, hoping that the man wasn’t testing him, waiting behind some bushes. It was game over if so, and Jasper didn’t know what he’d do then.
Jasper ran as fast as he could.
He assumed Jordyn was following, but couldn’t check. She knew how to find him if she got lost.
He reached the corner and saw two things at once: the killer walking about fifty feet ahead, and the school about a block away. If Jasper didn’t speed up, and the killer was heading to the school, there was a definite chance that Jasper wouldn’t reach him in time.
Fortunately, they were on a residential sidewalk, and though it was still dark outside, traffic was heavier — people walking their children to school, kids riding their bikes, and people walking their dogs. Jasper could blend right in, pick up his pace without attracting the killer.
The killer reached the school gates.
No!
He was about to disappear inside when a pair of women and their kids stopped him to chat.
Yes!
Jasper walked faster, timing the bump just right, praying he was a wallet in the back pocket kind of guy, in addition to being a pedophile. If not, there was a slight chance Jasper could find it in his coat, but an equal chance he’d get busted patting him down. And a black dude trying to pickpocket a white teacher in this part of town wouldn’t go over well.
Jasper focused on the group ahead, determining his best approach — how best to distract everyone from noticing what he was about to do. He took a deep breath, trying to slow time, if only perceptually.
Ten feet away.
Jasper held the phone to his ear, pretending to be lost in conversation.
He heard the killer laughing at something one of the kids said.
It sliced Jasper across the gut. If these people only knew the monster before them. He wanted to end the man right here and now.
The killer looked up, straight at Jasper.
Jasper pretended not to notice.
Pretended not to see any of them as he bumped into the killer.
Jasper dropped his phone in front of the killer, then pressed against the man’s back, hard with one hand, while finding his wallet with the other.
It was a delicate balance of distraction and theft that Jasper had practiced for years.
“Hey!” the killer yelled.
Jasper already had his wallet and was carefully shifting into his own back pocket, as he met the killer’s eyes.
Time froze.
Even though it wasn’t Jasper’s psychic vision, he felt as if he’d been spying on the man rather than his daughter.
It seemed like the killer had looked right back, and could see Jasper for who he truly was.
There were two ways to play this. One was to be overly apologetic and hope to slink away without the killer realizing what had happened.
If the killer was even somewhat street smart, there was an excellent chance that he’d see this attempt for what it was. He’d reach back and feel his pocket; then the jig would be up.
Jasper went with option two — anger.
“What’s your problem, man?” He shoved the killer hard in his chest.
The killer was stunned. He stumbled back into the women but didn’t fall.
Their eyes locked.
Jasper saw what he was looking for, a glimpse into the man’s soul — to the killer hiding behind the meek mask, the savage beast that wanted to come out and fight right now in front of the school.
But he couldn’t do that, could he?
Not if he worked here.
Not if he was a teacher.
He had to stand down.
Jasper bent to grab his phone off the ground, mumbling, “Ain’t never seen people so damned rude in my life.”
One of the women said something, defending the killer, but Jasper ignored her.
He grabbed his phone, turned, and began to walk away, not too fast, lest he surrender the ruse. Lest the killer find his pocket empty and give chase.
It was a long slow walk, and he didn’t dare turn around.
The killer’s eyes burned the back of Jasper’s skull until he finally turned the corner.
Jasper ran, beating a path back to the main boulevard, then across the street, to a grocery store parking lot.
Inside the store’s restroom, Jasper opened a stall, sat inside, and dared to seize his reward.
He opened the killer’s wallet and smiled.
Jasper had the killer’s name and address.
I’ve got you.
* * * *
CHAPTER 24 - MALLORY BLACK
Mal woke up in Ashley’s bed to a terrible pounding.
She thought it was her head, then realized that someone must be trying to break down her front door.
She grabbed her gun from Ashley’s nightstand, leaped out of bed, unlocked her daughter’s bedroom door, then ran to the stairs, focusing her gun on the front door through her descent.
Her head was throbbing and thoughts foggy. She had to be careful not to shoot if it was only some aggressive solicitor.
As she approached the door, a woman’s voice yelled, “Open up. I know you’re in there.”
Gloria Bell.
Shit. What did I say last night?
She vaguely remembered being pissed, getting drunk, and calling the reporter. Vaguely remembered talking to her, but hell if she could remember a word. She could’ve said anything in the state she was in.
“Hold on,” Mal called out before running back upstairs, setting her gun on the nightstand, and retrieving her phone.
She pulled up Channel 4’s website and saw the problem, right under the header BREAKING NEWS.
>
Former Cop Says Jessi Price Case May Be Tied to Ashley Black’s. Mother Says Jessi Price Case May Be Connected, Sheriff Not Doing Job.
Mal didn’t have to read the story or watch the accompanying video to know this was very bad.
What the hell did I do?
Her stomach scraped the floor.
Gloria kept pounding. “You better not be crawling out the window!”
Shit.
She put her phone down, then went downstairs to face the music.
She opened the door and light waged a full frontal assault on her senses.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Gloria yelled, storming into Mal’s house without waiting for an invite.
Mal closed the door behind her ex-boss, and turned to her, saying nothing. Best to let Gloria vent, then deal with the aftermath.
“Why the hell would you do this?”
Gloria was standing with her hands on her hips, eyes wet, glaring at Mal, awaiting her answer.
Mal wasn’t sure what to say, or what she said last night. She didn’t know how badly she laid into the sheriff or the department. Everything was a hazy mess, and she hated not remembering, not knowing how many people she hurled under the bus. She wondered if she’d said anything about Mike. Mal could never forgive herself. It was one thing to go after the sheriff, but going after your former partner was unforgivable, the kind of thing you never come back from.
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe we were quietly working this case? And that now you’ve gone and let him know we’re looking at him!”
Mal stared at Gloria, gutted, questioning every one of her assumptions. Was it possible that they were investigating the kidnapping properly all along? That she just threw a live grenade into the investigation?
She shook her head. “No. No, you were putting this on the father. You weren’t looking at Ashley’s killer at all. Don’t turn this around on me.”
“We were working every angle, Mal. Every single angle, and now you just let the killer know we’re looking in his direction.”
Mal couldn’t believe Gloria’s nerve. “This isn’t about the case. This is about public perception. This is about the people, and maybe a commissioner or two, breathing down your neck, demanding answers. You’re just pissed because I pointed out the obvious — that you’re not doing your job.”
Gloria looked as if Mal had smacked her. “How dare you. I’ve been working my ass off at this job. Doing everything in my power to find Jessi Price, and your daughter’s killer, all while dealing with the political shit show I inherited, and fending off enemies at every step. Not all of us have the luxury of giving up.”
“Giving up?” Mal wanted to pummel her. “You practically pushed me out!”
Gloria laughed. “Pushed you out? I fought to keep you! But you were a tornado, destroying everything in your path — your job, your relationships, and yourself. Look at you. A drunk. A drug addict. My God, is this how you honor your daughter?”
“Get out!” Mal pointed at the door, her finger shaking.
Gloria didn’t budge.
Staring Mal down, she said, “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to hold a press conference. I’m going to say that you are very much mistaken and that we’re working several leads right now.”
“Are you?”
“Never you mind what we’re doing. You, my dear, are going to call your reporter friend and tell her that you’re sorry — you were angry, drunk, or whatever the hell you wanna say. But you’re going to take back every word, and insist that you have nothing but the utmost confidence in the department to do their job.”
If Mal wasn’t on the verge of tears, she might’ve laughed in Gloria’s face. “Oh yeah? Why would I do that?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll need a head to roll. Someone to take the blame. And Mike is lead on the case.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Gloria shook her head. “If you believe that, then you haven’t been paying attention.”
“You have changed, haven’t you?”
“I’m not the one who changed, Mal. I’m the same person I always was — a scrappy ass bitch who will do whatever it takes to help this community. You used to be like me. But now, hmm,” she looked Mal up and down, then shook her head dismissively and marched out of the house.
Mal stared at the open front door, speechless.
* * * *
CHAPTER 25 - JASPER PARISH
Jasper walked back to his car.
Jordyn waited, legs sprawled on the hood, earplugs in and jamming to whatever was on her phone.
He held up the wallet, shaking it with a smile. “Got him!”
“What?” Jordyn smiled, showing the braces she so often tried to cover up. She jumped off the car and grabbed the wallet.
They climbed into the car, Jordyn going through the wallet’s contents while Jasper started the engine.
“Where we going?” she asked.
“Going to his house. Gonna save Jessi Price.”
“What then? If we let her go, we can’t sit around and wait. The police will come looking for him.”
“True, but we can’t leave the girl locked up until this guy gets home. What if she needs medical attention?”
Jordyn nodded. “So, I guess we let him go. Let the cops get him?”
“I think that’s our only move right now.”
The house was ten miles away, in the unincorporated western-most edges of Creek county. Home to few, mostly farmers and poor folks who lived in double-wides on sprawling dirt and shrub patches of land. The kind of place without running water, lights, or any other city service. The kind of place you didn’t want to break down in at night, lest you get hit by a truck or attacked by a bear or wild dog. The kind of place where you were as likely to be met with a smile as with the business end of a shotgun when you knocked on a door.
Jasper was definitely out of his comfort zone, turning off a paved road to barrel down a narrow stretch of dirt, trees crowding either side.
A red pickup was driving in the middle of the road ahead, straight at him.
Jasper pulled over enough to let the man pass.
He glared at Jasper from under the rim of his red Confederate flag cap. It might not have been a scowl, so much as the look you gave any stranger in these parts, but Jasper couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze. There were rumors that some of the people out here belonged to the KKK, and they might not take kindly to a face like Jasper's snooping around.
Jasper glanced down at Jordyn’s phone, with the GPS.
“I think it’s down this street,” she said, pointing right.
He turned off the main dirt road and onto a narrower one.
The street had one house, and it belonged to a killer.
Jasper passed the property, not wanting to pull up just in case there was someone else there, maybe a conspirator in the kidnapping. He parked at the end of the cul-de-sac, figuring nobody would spot the car unless they were looking for it.
They got out, went to the trunk, grabbed ski masks and put them on. Jordyn also pulled her hoodie up over her head.
“You ready?” Jasper asked, patting to make sure his gun was holstered in his jacket.
Jordyn nodded.
He handed her the keys. “Shit goes South, you run back to the car and take proper measures. Understand?”
She nodded.
They moved past a large row of bushes and toward the house, ducking low as they approached.
The house was a small single-story home with a car port that looked like a holdover from the seventies. A vehicle sat in the carport under a cover. The front windows were open, a TV blaring sports talk.
Jordyn looked at her father, confused as they approached the front window on their knees. A curtain was blowing in the breeze of an oscillating fan, giving them intermittent glimpses of a television on the far wall, and the shadowy hints of a couch and lounger.
“Is someone in there?” Jordyn signed.
/> Jasper shrugged.
He moved away from the window and approached the front door, signaling for Jordyn to inch toward the street, out of sight so she could flee if shit hit the fan.
She shook her head.
But Jasper stared her down: now was not the time to argue.
Jordyn shrunk behind the large bush beside the killer’s mailbox, and out of the way.
Jasper turned to the door, reached down with his gloved hand, and twisted the knob.
Locked.
He crouched low and headed around to the rear, hoping to find an unlocked door or a window to crawl through. But first he checked for any sign of a shed or other structure that could ruin a child.
The property was probably about an acre, but it had no other buildings so far as Jasper could see. It backed up to a forest, so there could be some makeshift dungeon farther back in the woods where the trees were thicker and the area darker.
The rear had two large windows on either side of two sliding glass doors. He crawled beneath the closest window and saw a thick brown curtain covering the sliding glass door. He checked the bottom of the track for a wooden bar, or anything which might prevent the door from opening.
Nothing.
He checked above for a lock or alarm contacts.
Still nothing, meaning he could probably lift the door off the track and slip inside, but that would make noise and should only serve as a last resort.
He placed his gloved hand flat on the glass and pressed, hoping to budge the door.
It did.
He smiled, sighed, and very slowly slid the door open.
The TV grew louder. He was reasonably certain that the TV was in the front and that he was about to invade the back — maybe a proper living room or bedroom. Either way, he hoped his luck would hold, and the room would be empty.
But it wasn’t.
A heavyset blond in his late fifties, wearing a black tee and boxers, was holding a shotgun aimed square at Jasper’s chest.
He fired.
* * * *
