Bell Hath No Fury

by Jeremy Waldron

  I swallowed a difficult breath and inched my way to the passenger door. Reaching for the handle, it was cold to my touch as I pulled it open and asked, “Where is Mason?”

  “Sit.”

  I sat, keeping a close eye on his trigger finger. “Do you have him or not?”

  “Now shut it.” Chandler waved the muzzle of the gun through the air, pointing at the car door.

  The door clicked shut and he brought the gun into his lap but still pointed at me. “Toss your phone out the window.”

  I did as he said. Satisfied with my response, he began driving. The mood was tense, the drive quiet, and I was overly suspicious of his intention. He exited the parking lot and headed north on Tower Road where he took me to the nearby landfill.

  “Is Mason here?”

  Chandler parked the car in a dirt pull-off and told me to get out.

  “Where are we going?”

  He leaned over and I caught a quick sour scent of his body odor. Pointing his gun to the top of the landfill he said, “There.”

  “Mason is there?”

  “Get out.” He pushed the muzzle deep into my side.

  I did as he said, knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger if only out of pure frustration and a burning desire to prove he was in control.

  I was on foot being led up the steep incline by a madman. We trudged our way up the grassy knoll before rounding the ridgetop and coming within sight of his sniper rifle already set up and waiting near the southwestern edge.

  I glanced behind me and found him smirking. “Mason isn’t here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Wish I knew. Timothy would have liked to know I’d finished the job he couldn’t complete.”

  Balling my fists at my side, I clenched my teeth and asked, “Then what do you have for me?”

  His brows raised in delight. “A request.”

  Staring at him from beneath my brow, I said, “And what would that be?”

  “Don’t worry, Samantha, you’re already halfway to completing it.” He jutted his chin to his rifle. “Look through the scope and tell me what you see.”

  A stiff breeze blew my hair over my eyes. I stared at Chandler through the curtain of hair, already knowing he had his rifle pointing at Erin’s car. My insides quivered with the realization that he had used me as bait to draw in and kill King, knowing I would have never come alone without first telling him my plan. I was too caught up with getting Mason back to realize my mistake before it was too late.

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  After his conversation with Sam, King left Markus with Lieutenant Baker and he and Alvarez raced across the neighborhood toward the church.

  A sharp pain of regret kept his side stitched in agony.

  “Here we go,” Alvarez said, reading from the police’s online database. “Chandler Davis. Son of Douglas Davis. Put into foster care after his father was killed. Chandler was one-year-old at the time.” Alvarez picked up his head from his smartphone.

  King readjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “He doesn’t have any recollection of it ever even happening.”

  “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what happened.” Alvarez cast his gaze back to his phone’s screen. “At age five he was adopted by his foster parents and his name was changed from Davis to Turner.”

  King scrubbed a hand over his face. “That’s what Sam was telling me. How did we miss this?”

  Alvarez shrugged.

  “Not because we have to jump through bureaucratic tape.” King flicked his gaze to his partner. “Maybe we’re just not as good as Samantha.”

  Alvarez rolled his neck, too filled with pride to admit they needed Samantha as much as she needed them.

  “She’s good.” King nodded. “Maybe now you’ll understand why I trust her as an informant.”

  Alvarez didn’t respond by the time King reached for his phone. Pinching his brows, the screen was dark and blank. He tapped it. There was no sign of life. The thing was dead. He breathed out a whispery curse and tossed it onto the dash. It must have busted during his scuffle with Markus.

  The CB radio crackled and King turned it up.

  He and Alvarez listened intently. When news of the pastor’s murder broke, King stomped on the gas pedal and the car lurched forward.

  “Dammit.” Alvarez punched the dash with a closed fist.

  King clenched his jaw and felt a ball of fire scurry up his spine. He wanted to do something. Anything. But there was nothing he could do. It was too late. They didn’t act fast enough and now the pastor was dead because of a decision he’d made.

  “We should have never left him with only a patrol car,” King muttered.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Alvarez stared out his window and shook his head. “Not if it’s the sniper who shot him.”

  King knew his partner was right but it didn’t ease the guilt he was feeling. He blamed Markus, he blamed the pastor’s secret, he blamed Captain’s lack of urgency on the matter. Mostly, he blamed himself.

  Nearing the church, he hit the brakes. The tires squealed and as soon as the car was parked, the two detectives kicked their doors open and ran to the crime scene tape. The patrol officers were on scene, doing nothing.

  “Why aren’t you doing anything?” King screamed as he approached the body, flashing his badge.

  “It’s too late. He’s gone,” Alvarez said.

  “It came out of nowhere,” an officer said as he glanced at King’s badge.

  King kneeled and pulled back the sheet covering the pastor’s body. “Son of a bitch.”

  He clamped his hand on the nape of his neck as he stood and stared at the pastor. His feet shuffled in an endless dance and he thought he might vomit. He glanced to his partner. Alvarez’s dull and distant eyes were a clear reminder that they had both seen too much over the years.

  “We’ll get this asshole,” Alvarez said. “He’ll get what’s coming for him.”

  Feeling the rage build inside of him, King swung his closed fist through the air and made contact with his opened palm. He swiped Alvarez’s hand off his shoulder and marched his way back to their car. Taking the radio receiver into his hand, he called dispatch and put word out about the possible suspect. “Name, Chandler Davis, 19 years old.” He gave the specifics of what he knew and then heard his name being called from somewhere behind him.

  Twisting his spine, he looked over his shoulder and saw Erin waving her arms above her head from behind the police tape. King ran over to her and, as he did, he couldn’t help but notice how she seemed frantic, anxious like time was about to expire.

  “Erin, don’t look,” he said. “It’s not worth it.”

  “I know. I can’t help myself.”

  King looked around for what was missing. “Where’s Sam?”

  “That’s just it.” Erin’s eyes locked with King’s. “She left.”

  “What do you mean?” King’s heartrate suddenly blasted through the rooftop. “Where did she go?”

  “Alex,” Erin inhaled a deep breath of air, “Sam believes Chandler took Mason.”

  King’s chest caved in as Erin unleashed the details of everything she knew. When Erin was finished telling him how Mason went missing and how Chandler called Sam, King asked, “Why the airport?”

  Erin shrugged.

  “It doesn’t matter. We have to go. Now.” King called to Alvarez and waved him along. He grabbed Erin’s hand and led her to his car. The three of them piled inside and King sped off.

  “Where is the lieutenant?” Erin asked from the backseat.

  Without taking his eyes off the road, King responded, “He’s safe. We’re not taking any chances until we can be sure we know who is behind these shootings.”

  Alvarez was on the radio putting out an APB for Mason while they sped with sirens wailing, weaving their way northeast to I-70, then east to Denver International Airport.

  “Why does he want to meet Sam way out here?” King asked again. “They couldn’t be hopping
on a plane; they would never get through security without tipping somebody off.” When no one responded, he flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror and locked eyes with Erin. “Any ideas?”

  Erin shook her head no.

  “You and Sam must have come across something,” King pressed further.

  Erin’s expression pinched as she thought back to what it could all mean. “Just that the pastor lied about his testimony in the Kenneth Wayne trial and that Chandler Turner was born Chandler Davis.”

  With frustration building, King yanked on the wheel and sped past a couple of slow commuters who remained oblivious to the lights and siren wailing. “It makes no sense to take his fight here,” King lashed out at Erin.

  The car fell quiet for a moment as they took their race onto Pena Boulevard. Then, just before the exit to Tower Road, Alvarez said, “You ever hear of the conspiracy theories that surround the airport?”

  “For Christ sake,” King growled.

  “Just hear me out. I think it might be why Chandler came way out here.” Alvarez told everyone briefly about the theories of how some think the airport was built by a Nazi group of the New World Order. “Apparently, the airport’s runways are shaped like a swastika when viewed from above.”

  “Maybe. But it doesn’t explain what he’s doing here with Sam.”

  “The symbolism must resonate with the Patriots of God.”

  The airport was now within view and they exited off Pena Boulevard and headed north on Tower Road when suddenly King slammed his foot down on the brakes and cut the wheel sharp enough to make the tires squeal. The car he cut off behind him honked and King ignored him as he pulled into the Conoco gas station within clear view of USAirport Parking.

  “King, what the hell are you doing?” Alvarez was breathing hard. “You nearly got us hit back there.”

  King stared ahead. His mind churned. Shaking his head, he said, “How did we not think of this sooner.”

  “What are you talking about? Think of what?” Alvarez snapped like a Doberman.

  King turned his head and stared at his partner. “This is a setup. They’re not there.”

  “And you can tell that from way over here? I can see the parking lot but I couldn’t tell you if they’re there or not.”

  With her nose pressed up against the glass, Erin said, “You’re right. It’s what he does.”

  King scanned the horizon. “He wants us to step into his crosshairs. Just like he did to everyone else he’s killed.”

  “So, what do we do?” Alvarez huffed. “The clock is ticking.”

  King reached for the radio receiver and said, “I have an idea.”

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My legs were numb as I lay in the prone position, squinting through the rifle scope with my right eye. The ground was cold and hard but I didn’t notice anything other than Erin’s car caught between the crosshairs.

  Chandler had fooled me into believing he had Mason. Now that I understood his plan, the question became, what would he do with me once he took out the cavalry I knew was coming to save me?

  My left eye opened as I pulled away from the scope. With my palms pressing into the dirt, I pushed myself up and dusted off my thighs. The rifle’s metal glint reflected in the glaring sunshine. I knew I needed to act quickly.

  “If you’re hoping Lieutenant Baker will be coming for me, you’re wrong.”

  “Now why would you pour water on my dreams like that?” Chandler’s eyes were wild. “Baker killed my father.”

  “Your father was a criminal.”

  “He was a patriot.” Chandler lunged forward and stomped his boot down hard into the ground. He stared at me with dark eyes hiding under his brow. A fire burned within.

  My heart raced knowing just how unpredictable he was.

  “My father was a man who fought and died for his country.”

  I kept a close eye on his movements as I dug deep into my memory. I couldn’t recall reading anything about Douglas Davis’s record of service in the United States military. Then again, maybe Chandler was referring to the Patriots of God movement his father started. It didn’t matter.

  “It doesn’t have to end like this,” I said, pointing to the rifle on the ground behind me.

  “Revenge is the only way this ends.” Chandler waved his handgun around in the air between us.

  “Is that what Kenneth Wayne told you? I know you’ve been visiting him.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like.” His laugh was filled with pain. “No one does. The only reason Kenneth is imprisoned is because the pastor lied under oath.”

  “Is that why you killed him?” I paused, hoping to get Chandler to confess. When he didn’t respond I continued, “Because you think he committed perjury.”

  “I don’t think, I know he did.” The boy released a guttural roar. “And I know you know it, too.”

  “Tell me. Maybe there is something that I don’t know. Maybe I have the facts wrong.”

  Chandler flicked his fiery gaze over my left shoulder before saying, “The police department has gotten away with hiding the truth for long enough.”

  He reached for my arm and clamped a tight hand around my elbow. Dragging me away from his rifle, he spun me around and pushed me to the ground. “Put your hands behind your head.”

  Everything was moving so fast it was hard to keep up. My vision blurred and my blood thrashed in my ears, making me dizzy with thoughts that this was it. “If Kenneth Wayne didn’t kill those two black men, then who did?”

  Chandler closed a pair of handcuffs around one wrist before yanking my hands off my head and tying them behind my back. My head was light as I struggled to suck enough air into my lungs. With death on my doorstep, I refused to give up hope.

  “See, you don’t even know.” I looked over my shoulder and kept talking. “You were too young to remember. But I can tell you, it was an ugly time and you might not have been told the complete story of what happened.”

  “Don’t tell me what I don’t know.”

  Chandler put his foot between my shoulders and kicked me face-first into the dirt. My skull cracked against the stone and I winced as the sharp pain traveled through my spine.

  “I know what it was like.” Chandler marched around me. “How do you think I’ve been able to fracture the city in just the last forty-eight hours? My life was ruined because of what the cops did. They took my family away from me. Do you know what that feels like?”

  I lay on my stomach, my legs splayed, my hands cuffed behind my back with blood dribbling down my face like hot tears as I thought about Gavin. “I do know what it’s like. I lost my husband.”

  Chandler stopped pacing. “But you still have half a heart left. Me, I have nothing.”

  “You have a foster family who I’m sure loves you. You have school and a whole life to look forward to. Don’t make it worse for yourself. You can still get out of this alive.”

  “It’s too late to turn back.” Chandler moved closer to the ridge, keeping his eye on the parking lot in the distance.

  My thoughts drifted to Mason. “Why did you target North High?”

  “That was Tim’s idea. He hated it there. Wanted to kill everyone. Once I knew of his anger and how impressionable he was, I saw my chance. It was a perfect opportunity for me to begin my war against the police. Tim got what he wanted, but he also gave me enough time to complete my own mission.”

  I peeled my head off the ground and raised it high enough to see Chandler. He was still standing with his back to me, watching for King to arrive. I wondered what was taking him so long and wished there was a way for me to warn him to not come at all, to spare himself.

  “And my son? Why did Tim want to kill Mason?”

  “That was Tim’s decision. He hates Blacks as much as I do.”

  Every fiber in my body flexed as I thrashed in an attempt to wiggle myself free. I had never wanted to hit somebody as much as I wanted to smack him now. He disguste
d me. I wished I would have caught on to him sooner.

  Chandler heard my feet kicking in the dirt and turned around. He walked over to me, laughing at how pathetic I looked. “You know, the day I saw you and your hot little blonde sidekick walk into Croft’s class I thought I was done for.” The toe of his boot tapped my outer thigh, firm but not hard enough to bruise. “But you came there to talk to him.” He laughed into the thin air. “Wayne told me everything, including how the system tried to erase my heritage. But, you know what? Despite the entire world’s attempt to cleanse me of my family’s past, I found out.”

  Chandler crouched down low next to my head and brushed my hair out of my eyes. I flinched and spat in his direction.

  He flicked my saliva off his hand and said, “You know how I learned of my history?”

  I stared into his face and clenched my jaw.

  “Professor Croft.” He smirked. “Irony is a bitch, ain’t it? If it weren’t for his stupid assignment, I might have lived my whole life not knowing who I truly was.”

  Chandler kept his eyes on me, smiling, as he stroked my rosy cheek.

  “You have beautiful skin,” he said. “Shame that you had to taint yourself by marrying a black man.”

  Suddenly, Chandler stood. He seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing when his target arrived. I strained my neck and watched him gaze through a pair of binoculars. I could feel it, too, see it in his stance. Either King had arrived with Erin, or it was another officer who’d come looking for me. Either way, no matter who it was, I knew they weren’t safe.

  “What is it?” I asked, hoping he would reveal what I couldn’t see.

  “It’s about time they came looking for you,” Chandler said as he positioned himself behind his rifle. “I knew you would tell someone our little secret.”

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Erin had never been so nervous in her entire life. Her knees wobbled and she could hear her breath shake each time she exhaled. She knew this was what they had to do to save Sam and get Mason back from the monster they were with.