by Maris Soule
After a few moments, he sucked in one deep breath and released it, long and slow. “God damn bitch.”
Tears slid from her eyes, wetting the aged carpeting beneath her cheek. She’d thought kneeing him would stop him from following her. She’d thought she would get away. But, all she’d done was made him angry.
Now what would he do to them?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
11:30 P.M., Thursday
An hour after hearing Charles Bell break in on the police radio, Gordon stared at the site where the Blazer had left the Klondike Highway. It was still light enough to see clearly, but his shift should have ended hours ago, and he was way past exhaustion. Most of the search and rescue workers had gone home, but he and a handful of volunteers would be there until the state troopers or someone from the D.A.’s office arrived and took over. He had no other choice.
In all the years he’d been in law enforcement, he’d never faced a situation like this. Two girls kidnapped, a civilian dead, and one of their officers possibly—no, probably—dead. Gordon had felt betrayed—angry—when the chief told him about Katherine’s past. He was still angry. For the last three years he’d worked with Katherine, shared office space with her . . . thought he knew her. Officially he was her superior. The chief should have told him about her past; should have confided in him.
If he had known, he never would have assigned Katherine to a possible kidnapping. Hell, for all he knew, she might be helping Bell.
Gordon stopped himself the moment that thought entered his head. Maybe he didn’t know everything about Katherine Ward, but seeing her reaction when she saw the ransom note was proof enough for him that she wasn’t helping the man. Also, the way she’d talked to Bell on the radio didn’t indicate complicity. That along with Bell’s threats.
The man had made it clear he blamed Katherine for his arrest, and the way Katherine had sounded on the radio and phone, Gordon knew she wouldn’t be any good to anyone. He told Katherine to deliver the information they needed for an Amber alert on Sarah—along with a description of the suspect—and then go home. Directly home. He didn’t want Bell luring her out to an isolated location on the pretext of a robbery or locked car.
After reminding Katherine she was in danger, Gordon had called Jim and asked him to go to the station and cover the rest of her shift. Gordon could hear a baby crying in the background, and thought Jim might object, but the young officer had actually sounded relieved. Gordon had never had to deal with a newborn, but he gathered from others that the first few months could be rough, especially if the baby was colicky.
Not as rough, however, as being threatened by a kidnapper and murderer.
Gordon shivered and pulled his jacket closer.
What kind of monster are we dealing with?
If they had the manpower, he’d put Katherine under protective custody.
Manpower.
Gordon snorted at the thought. Their force of six was down to four . . . or three if Phil was dead.
Katherine hadn’t found a body in Phil’s house, but Bell had the officer’s radio. He also had two teenagers. But where? Skagway wasn’t some lower forty-eight metropolis. They’d checked the RV parks and most of the houses and apartments known to have summer renters. The only places left were private homes and the national park.
The park rangers had already been told to be on the lookout for Misty and Brian Bane. So far Gordon hadn’t heard anything from them. Another call wouldn’t hurt.
He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contact list until he came to Susan Lange’s cell-phone number. Ranger Lange had been deputized a few years back, and the chief often called on her when they needed additional help. Gordon liked working with the woman. She was professional, non-confrontational . . . and safely married.
Susan Lange also knew the lakes, rivers, and trails of the area around Skagway like the back of her hand. Maybe she would have an idea where this Charles Bell might hide out.
She sounded as tired as he felt when she answered the phone. Gordon got right to the point. “Have you found anything? Any hikers report anything unusual? Maybe see a guy with two teenagers?”
“Two?” she said and yawned. “Last I heard, you were looking for a college guy and one teenager.”
“Situation’s changed. College kid’s dead, and we’ve got a pedophile on the loose and two missing teenage girls.”
“Jeez. And you think he’s somewhere in the park?”
“We have no idea where he’s taken them. That’s the problem. We’re issuing Amber alerts for the girls and a BOLO for him.”
“You have a name for this guy we’re supposed to be on the look out for.”
“Bell. Charles Bell. He’s forty-nine, six-one, weighs around one-ninety, has thinning brown hair, and brown eyes.”
“And the girls? We already have what you sent on the Morgan girl, but now you’re saying there’s another one?”
“He’s got a local girl. Sarah Wilson. She—”
Lange sucked in a breath. “Oh. My. God. I know Sarah,” she said. “She’s done volunteer work at the Visitor’s Center; helped me with tours. She’s a sweet kid.”
Gordon closed his eyes. If Bell had molested the girl—and he’d made it sound as if he had—Sarah Wilson wasn’t going to be the same when they found her . . . if they found her.
Got to find her, he thought. Got to find all of them.
“When did he take her?” Lange asked.
“We’re not exactly sure. Sometime after three in the afternoon.”
“Damn.”
His thoughts exactly. “There’s something else.” He hated to even say it aloud. “You know I called earlier and said we thought Phil Carpenter might have had an accident while fishing—”
“We have rangers looking for him,” Susan said.
“That’s good, but . . .” Gordon took in a breath, then said it. “We now think this Bell guy got to Phil. We think he’s dead.”
“Dead?” Silence echoed back at Gordon for several moments before Susan spoke again. “You said, ‘think.’ You’re not sure?”
“We don’t have a body, but this Bell guy was using Phil’s radio.”
“Maybe he just took it from Phil.”
As much as Gordon wanted to believe that, he knew it was wishful thinking. “This guy doesn’t leave survivors.”
“And, you’re thinking Phil . . . Phil’s body might be in the park?”
“That’s what we’re thinking.”
Susan Lange sighed. “I don’t like phone calls like this, Gordon.”
“I don’t either.” Simply talking about the possibility of Phil’s death was tearing him apart.
“Who’s working with you tonight? I hope it’s not Katherine.”
Gordon frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Because of Phil. I don’t know how she feels about him, but he sure has a crush on her. He asked me once how he could get her to go out with him. She—”
Gordon interrupted her. “Katherine’s off the case. She knows this Bell guy.”
“Knows him?”
For Katherine’s sake, he didn’t want to say anything more. “It’s a long story. Just be careful, and tell your people the same. This Bell creep probably has Phil’s gun, so proceed with caution. Also, Phil’s Tahoe wasn’t at his house, so if you find the Tahoe, you may find his . . . him.” He wasn’t about to say his body. “Do you need a picture?”
Lange didn’t answer immediately. When she did, it was with a sigh. “Yeah, send one. Most of the rangers know him, but not all of the seasonals do.”
“I’ll get one your way. Oh, and if you need to contact us, don’t use the police radio; use the telephone.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Katherine stood at the kitchen sink, staring out the window at the empty street. The house was quiet except for her grandfather’s snoring. She knew she should go to bed, try to get some sleep, but she was too wound up to even consider the idea. She couldn’t sha
ke the feeling that Charles was watching her.
Was that something moving near the corner of the house across the street?
Her hand automatically went to her holster.
A cat crept out of the shadows and dashed across the street to a neighbor’s yard.
Katherine swallowed hard and released a shaky breath.
If Charles was watching her, he was doing a damn good job of hiding himself. “Where are you, you bastard?” she muttered. Where would a man who had been in a mental institution up until a couple of months ago take two teenagers?
Dragging two girls around the forested mountains and glacial valleys that surrounded Skagway and Dyea would be no easy feat. In addition to the rugged terrain, at this time of the year there were hikers, fishermen, and rafters who might see them. And there would be bears.
He had to be holed up in a house. But which house? They’d checked the rentals, the parks, and—
The ring of the telephone interrupted her thoughts. Heart in her throat, she reached for the receiver. “Yes?”
“I called the station. They said you were home.”
In spite of a tremor and sniffing, Katherine recognized Mattie Wilson’s voice.
“My neighbor called,” Mattie’s said. “She said there was something on the radio about Sarah. I listened, but I couldn’t find nothing.”
“Your neighbor must have heard the Amber alert.”
“She said they’re also looking for a man . . . A man and another girl.”
“We think . . . We think we know who took your daughter.”
“Who? Who would do such a thing?”
Before Katherine could think of a good way to tell Mattie, the woman went on. “Is it someone who lives here? The Prescott boy? He’s been calling her recently. If he—”
“It’s not the Prescott boy. It’s no one who lives here,” Katherine said, hoping rumors involving innocent people wouldn’t start spreading . . . as they had in her case.
“Then I don’t understand.” Mattie hiccupped. “My Sarah knows better than to talk to strangers. I’ve told her. I’ve told all of my children to be careful, that not everyone is nice.”
She started crying in earnest, and Katherine wondered if the tears were for her daughter or for herself. Not that it mattered. Mattie Wilson was hurting, and the only way to stop that pain was to find Sarah . . . and quickly.
“Mattie, we’re doing all we can. You’ll be the first to know when we find her.”
A few more words of comfort, and Katherine ended the call. Curious, she turned on the TV in the living room, keeping the volume low. A talk show was on, but the Amber alert scrolled across the bottom of the screen, naming the girls and giving their descriptions. Katherine was about to snap the TV off when the program was interrupted and Charles’s picture and pictures of each of the girls appeared on the screen. Charles’s photo was the one she’d given Jim when he arrived to take over her shift.
The picture she had from years ago.
They needed something current.
She might be off the case, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help. Back in the kitchen, Katherine made another call to the state mental hospital in Michigan. An orderly answered, and Katherine identified herself and asked to speak to the administrator in charge.
“Do you know what time it is?” the orderly grumbled.
She hadn’t thought about the time difference, and she didn’t care. “We need a current picture of Charles Bell.”
“People are asleep here.”
“People here wish they could get some sleep,” she snapped back. “This can’t wait. We have two missing teenagers and a police officer who may be dead. We need that picture.”
“Yeah, yeah. Call back in the morning.”
She doubted slamming down the phone made a good impression on the orderly, but it helped relieve some of the tension twisting through her body. What she needed was a drink. A good, strong drink.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
2:15 A.M., Friday
It was finally dark by the time Vince left the police station. Sergeant Landros had offered to drive him to the airport, but Vince declined. The sergeant had enough to deal with, and Vince hoped the walk would help clarify his thoughts.
His footsteps echoed on the wooden sidewalks, downtown Skagway virtually empty. The temperature had dropped considerably, and he didn’t waste any time browsing in store windows. He had a good memory for directions, making it easy for him to pick a route toward the airport that would also take him past Katherine’s house. Not that he expected her to be up at this hour.
As he neared the yellow and green cottage, he saw a light on in the kitchen, then the shadowy motion of someone passing by the window. From the distance, he couldn’t tell if it was Katherine or her grandfather, but someone was obviously up.
Vince headed for the side entrance. As he neared, he could see Katherine through the door’s window. She was still wearing her full uniform, and was now standing by the sink, looking out the window facing the street. In her hand, she held a glass half full of an amber liquid.
He knocked.
She spun toward him, dropping the glass, her hand going to her sidearm. In an instant the Glock was pointed directly at him. “It’s me!” he yelled, not caring if he disturbed the neighbors. “Vince.”
She stared in his direction, her arm wobbling slightly. He stepped closer to the door’s window area, hoping the light from the kitchen would illuminate his face. He could see her clearly—her hair mussed, her brow furrowed, and her eyes narrowing to a squint. She looked unsteady on her feet, the gun in her hand wobbling, as if too heavy to hold in one place.
For what seemed an eternity she didn’t move and neither did he, and then she dropped her arm to her side and took a step toward the door. He watched as she made her way through the mud room, her progress slow and cautious. Heard her turn the deadbolt and release the lock. The moment she opened the door, he caught the odor of whiskey.
“Whadaya want?” she asked, weaving slightly on her feet.
She still held the gun in her right hand, down by her side. Vince glanced at it, then back at her face. “I just came from the police station.”
“Did they find ’em?”
“No, not yet.”
For a second, Katherine’s expression had relaxed, but once again he saw the tension return. “They won’t find ’em,” she said, shaking her head. “Not until it’s too late.”
She turned away and wove her way back toward the kitchen. Vince hesitated a moment, then followed, closing the outside door behind him and locking it. In the kitchen, a puddle of liquid surrounded the broken glass on the floor. Katherine stopped and stared at the mess.
“I’m sorry I surprised you,” he said. “I’ll clean that up.”
She turned and looked at him, her eyes reflecting her confusion. “I sink I’ve had too mush to drink.”
“Could be,” he said, knowing there was no doubt about it.
“He’s coming after me.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“I’ll kill him,” she said, her voice firmer than before. “The moment I see him, that man is dead.”
“But, before you kill him, we need to find the girls.”
Her head wobbled in a nod. “Yeah. Gotta find the girls.”
Katherine took a step to the side, and Vince heard the crunch of glass. Again she looked down at the floor, and then she bent forward. For a moment he thought she was going to fall flat on her face, right over the broken glass and liquid, but, before she completely collapsed, she put her hands out, breaking her fall. Her gun made a thump as it hit the tile, her right hand covering it.
“Ouch,” she yelped, then swore and started giggling.
The way she was bent over and wobbling, he was afraid she would still end up lying on the glass. He quickly moved closer and grabbed the back of her service belt, stabilizing her. A thin line of blood emerged near the palm of her left hand. “I think you cut yourself.”
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“I sink you’re right.” Again she giggled, not bothering to straighten up, and started singing. “I had a little drink about an hour ago, and it went straight to my head.”
No doubt about it. She was drunk. “Let me help you,” he said and eased her back up to a standing position.
“I need to clean up dis mess,” she enunciated carefully, looking down at the floor. “And my weapon.” She bent over again, picking up the Glock. “Gotta have a clean weapon.”
She managed to stand upright again, but swayed back against him as she held the pistol up in front of her face. He could see droplets of whiskey on the barrel of the Glock and knew she was right, but she was in no condition to clean anything at the moment.
“You cut your hand,” he said, touching the back of her left arm so she looked at that palm. “Let’s get that taken care of first.”
She held that hand up near her face, her palm almost touching her nose. “I cut myself,” she said, sounding surprised.
“Yes, you did.”
“Huh.” She lowered her right hand, rubbing the barrel of the Glock against her pant leg, and then holstered it.
“Let me look at the cut,” Vince said softly and gently turned her so she was facing him. “Let me see if there’s any glass in it.”
“I cut myself,” she repeated and stared at him, her eyes unfocused.
“Yes, you did.” He backed up, easing her away from the broken glass and over to the sink. A quick check and he decided the cut was clean, no fragments of glass or dirt imbedded in her skin. He grabbed a sheet of paper towel and pressed it against the wound. “Do you have any bandages?”
“In da bathroom. Why you here?”
“To talk to you.”
“ ’Bout what?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I guess I need more information. More about this Charles Bell. About why he took you. Why he’s taken Misty.”
“Don’t know why he took Missy. Me?” She snorted. “He took me ’cause I was stupid. A stupid idjit.” She laughed. “Can you believe dis. I thought the worse thing in life was having to move to a new school.”
