The Killing Chase (Beach & Riley Book 2)

by Hurren, Craig

  Foxx muscled his way through the fray, his large frame leaving a hole big enough for Alan to follow. The unruly mob, intermingled with local residents, was beginning to ignore authority. Something needed to be done to preserve the scene.

  “Start arresting them!” Beach shouted to the sergeant in charge.

  “On what charge – curiosity?”

  “Obstruction of a federal investigation – do it!”

  Despite predictable outrage, local police officers began cuffing members of the press, and reading them their rights. Within a couple of minutes, the rest of the crowd had gotten the message, and were starting to behave more rationally. There were shouts of “Harassment!” and “Police brutality!” but within a few moments things died down to a more manageable level.

  The sergeant in charge pulled Beach aside. “I don’t know how you Feds do things in the big city, but these charges will never stick.”

  “You really think I give a damn about the charges? I just need you to control this situation. There may be vital evidence in and around that vehicle, so keep these people out of our way!”

  The sergeant, a crusty veteran, acquiesced. “I’ll order a wagon to hold the troublemakers until you’re done. We’ll release them without charges when you’re gone, if that’s okay.”

  “I couldn’t care less what you do with them once we’ve cleared the scene.”

  Foxx was leaning into the back of the van. “Al, you’d better have a look at this.”

  Beach leaned in to see his partner’s gloved hand fiddling with knobs and switches on a strange-looking technical device, mounted to the interior wall of the vehicle. “Do you know what it is?”

  “I’ve seen something similar when I was in the Marines. It’s some kind of tracking device, but way more high-tech than anything we had. Whatever it is, someone hit it pretty hard with something – it’s not working now.”

  “You’re sure it’s a tracker?”

  “I’d put money on it.”

  “Okay, let’s get a tech over here to remove it. Tell them to send it to the lab ASAP. That thing’s our only real lead so far – we need to know what it was tracking.”

  While Foxx went to find a technician, Beach looked over the scene for any other clues, but the van was clean. Whatever had been going on here, it was a very professional operation. Alan bent over to examine the other victim’s hands. They, too, had grafted skin in place of fingerprints and palm whorls. He drew a deep breath and exhaled in frustration.

  “Agent Beach.” A lanky young technician had appeared at the rear doors of the van. “Agent Foxx wants you to see something in the house.”

  With the van secure, Beach nodded and returned to the house. Foxx was nowhere to be seen.

  “Up here, partner.”

  Alan looked up to see Foxx’s hand poking down from the hole in the ceiling, pointing toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Following his partner’s direction, Beach looked across the room to see a self-contained staircase leading up to the attic entrance door. It was a nifty contraption, obviously built with great skill and ingenuity. The seal was virtually invisible, so it had taken some searching to find the access. A small button similar to a doorbell was mounted on the wall beside the entrance to the kitchen.

  When Foxx had pressed the button, a soft whirring sound emanated from the ceiling. A panel of sealed drywall, the width of the hallway and about four feet long, lifted upward and to one side, while a hand-crafted wooden staircase slowly lowered to the floor. The access system allowed an average-sized man to walk directly into the attic as if climbing a normal staircase.

  As they later discovered, the young father – and first victim of this heinous crime – had been a skilled craftsman. His carpentry and cabinetmaking skills had enabled him to relocate his young family to Poughkeepsie from Philadelphia two years earlier. The family’s plan had been to escape the hectic lifestyle and daunting crime statistics of the big city and raise their family in a more small-town environment. The tragic irony of the situation was not lost on Beach or Foxx.

  While Beach was examining the scene around the van, Foxx had begun searching for the attic access and came across the seemingly out-of-place doorbell button. He’d watched in amazement as the motorized device did its job, then drew his weapon and climbed the staircase. Light emanated from the large hole in the drywall ceiling a few yards away, allowing him to see most of the room quite clearly. After checking all corners and reaches, he’d holstered his weapon and proceeded upward into the room.

  A timber-planked floor, extending from the rear wall, covered three-quarters of the attic space. The area from where the body had fallen remained uncovered – a work in progress by the talented young father. There was a workbench against the rear wall, equipped with a variety of woodworking tools. A small band saw stood in one corner beyond a free-standing joinery table. The sloping roof was low at the side walls, but two-thirds of the room was tall enough for Foxx to stand. After a moment considering the end of this gifted young man’s life and craft, the big FBI agent had made his way over to the hole in the living room ceiling. Gazing through the hole, he’d seen Beach enter the living room, and called out to his partner.

  The two agents quietly surveyed the attic until Foxx broke the silence. “I got nothing.”

  “It’s baffling,” Beach agreed. “Why anyone would want to kill this seemingly perfect young couple is hard to understand. Throw in a couple of big dead goons with no faces or fingerprints… This is definitely one for the record books.”

  “So what’s our next move?”

  “Did you talk to the child?”

  “Poor kid’s too young to really know what’s happening, let alone give a decent description.”

  “Another one goes into the foster-care system. I assume Child Protective Services have taken him?”

  “Yeah, but at least there’s an aunt and uncle in Philly he can go to.”

  “Thank heaven for small mercies.” Beach was genuinely relieved. “Well, it seems to me we’ve only got two choices for now. Find out what we can about that tracker from the van, and run DNA from the two big guys.”

  “DNA takes five days. That’s not going to help much right now.”

  “I’m pretty sure Talbot will sign off on a rush job, but that’s still going to take about seventy-two hours. Besides, there’s no guarantee they’re on our database anyway.” Beach shook his head. “Our best bet is still the tracking device.”

  “I’ll call the tech lab and make sure they’ve got their best guys on it.”

  “And I’ll go and have a word with the good doctor. She was on her way to the van when I came back to the house. Then I’ll call Talbot to approve a rush on the results. Let’s meet at the SUV in fifteen minutes.”

  Back at the van, local police now had the scene well in hand. The crime scene photographer had done his job, and Dr. Chetland was finishing up with the second of the two military-looking bodies as Beach approached.

  “Anything new, Doc?”

  “I’m afraid it’s just more of the same. Aside from the obvious causes of death for all four victims, and the missing fingerprints, nothing else stands out so far. I’ll know more when I can perform the autopsies, but that’s quite a few hours away.”

  “I’m just grateful the assistant director has given us your undivided attention. I’m sure we’d have to wait at least a couple of days under normal circumstances.”

  “With the current backlog, it might even be longer. The way he put it to me, this case takes absolute priority, and what Assistant Director Talbot wants is what Assistant Director Talbot gets. You’ll know any updates as soon as they come to light.”

  “I appreciate it. For now, we really need to get the DNA analysis going ASAP. Talbot has signed off on a priority job – the paperwork’s going through as we speak.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be anything else to do here, so I assume you’re going back to headquarters now?”

  “That’s the plan, why?” />
  “In that case, you should take the DNA samples with you. I’ve got to stay here and deal with the paperwork for the local coroner, so you’ll get back at least an hour before me – and every hour counts for the DNA Analysis Unit.”

  “Good thinking, Doc.”

  As Alan walked back to the SUV, Foxx approached from the front yard of the house. “Crime Scene guys found some footprints in the flower bed, under the living room window.”

  The DNA samples clanked together in Alan’s hands as the pair jogged to the scene. A crime scene photographer was still shooting pictures of the footprints as a senior technician prepared plaster to take molds. As Beach and Foxx arrived, the tech looked up from his work. “Looks like there was a scuffle here. One pair of size twelves versus one pair of size eights. Based on the size and status of your John Does, looks like the size eights won.”

  Foxx raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like we’ve got one badass little dude on our hands.”

  Beach didn’t comment. Deep in thought, he turned to look in the window.

  “I can hear the cogs turning in your head, partner – what’s up?” Foxx asked.

  Beach hesitated a few seconds. “Something feels very strange here – I can’t put my finger on it, but something just isn’t right.”

  “You think? I’m not seeing anything right about an orphaned three-year-old and four dead bodies – two of them with no fingerprints!”

  “That’s not what I mean. The victimology of the couple, the exactness of the M.O., the diminutive size and apparent strength of the perpetrator… No, the big guys weren’t part of the original crime. They surprised our perp, and he responded.”

  “So, what are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that if Brian Adler, AKA the Orphan-Maker, wasn’t already dead, who the hell else could have done this?”

  A pair of cold eyes watched through binoculars as Beach and Foxx walked back to their SUV. The watcher dialed a number on his cell phone. “We’re too late. Two men down. We need a new signal-locating device in time for the next ping.” He listened briefly. “Roger that.” Then he turned his stern, weathered face to the back of the van in which he was the front passenger. Six deadly ghost soldiers in black fatigues, armed with tranquilizer guns, powerful tasers, and military batons awaited his command. “It’s a stand-down for the night.”

  Chapter 6

  The wait for nightfall now over, Jake and the team readied themselves to put the plan in motion. They checked their weapons – Jake carrying only a fourteen-inch-long, rectangular-cut baton made of polished Thai mai daeng, about twice as hard as teakwood. The Aussie brothers attached Spiderco thumb-opening knives to their military webbing belts, while Tik wore a punch-dagger with a two-inch blade secreted in a belt buckle, custom-made for her by a friend of Jake’s.

  Only the Thai policemen had firearms, and they were under strict instructions not to draw them unless there was absolutely no other choice. Jake couldn’t risk alerting their quarry with the sound of gunfire, or the damage it could inflict before he found the man he was here to kill. They checked their Bluetooth headsets then made their way toward the compound.

  With Mike Lee atop the derelict sun deck behind the Russians’ compound, the others crept through a vacant block along the western boundary wall of the failed property development. Reaching the point outside a small lane, which divided the Russian lair from the next house, they stopped. Dozer walked up with two wooden pallets he’d carried from the neighboring property. Jake had offered to carry one, but the bigger man refused on the grounds that one in each arm would balance the load. Jake and Dozer now arranged the heavy pallets to act as a makeshift ladder against the eight-foot wall, then reached up to spread a piece of old carpet over the embedded glass shards atop the concrete barrier.

  “I go first,” Tik announced, scrambling up. She had reached the carpet before anyone could protest. Straddling the wall, she used a rock to blunt protruding shards of glass so they wouldn’t poke through the fibrous material with the weight of the heavy men behind her. Priest raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment of her obvious experience, but Jake merely shrugged. He knew Tik’s operational capabilities much better than they. She looked down and yanked her head to signal everything was okay, then disappeared over the wall. The only sound the men heard was a faint crunch of gravel under her feet as she landed. Dozer was next, moving with surprising grace for his size, then Priest, over in a flash. Jake waited until the two Thai Special Branch cops were safely over before following close behind.

  The group stole along the northern wall of the Russians’ lair until Jake was a foot from the corner. He pulled a small mirror from his pocket, extending it just far enough beyond the corner to see the exterior guard’s position and posture. He gave the others a thumbs-up, and Tik moved across the lane. Jake whispered into his headset, and Mike Lee threw a small stick against his side of the wall dividing the derelict building from the Russian compound. As the guard at the gate turned his attention toward the sound, Tik darted silently into the main driveway; fifteen yards farther away from the Russians’ house then stopped and turned 180 degrees back toward the target. She was now forty yards from the guard – far enough for him to think she had entered through the development’s padlocked front gates.

  Satisfied the noise from the rear of the property posed no threat, the man turned his gaze toward the gates. His body tightened as he suddenly saw Tik walking toward him, her gait faltering slightly as though she was drunk. His hand reflexively reached for the Smith & Wesson .38 shoved into the back of his trousers while he strained to focus on the small silhouette approaching him.

  As Tik passed her comrades still hidden in the side lane, light from the compound began to expose her diminutive size and gender, putting the guard more at ease. He didn’t recognize her face but assumed she’d been given a key to the padlock, and could have been any one of the gang’s many street peddlers. One thing he did know – this one was going to be in trouble with the boss. Sergey would not tolerate his street-workers drinking on the job – worse still, if she’d sampled her employer’s product. He took an authoritative stance as she neared the gate. “Who are you? What you want here?”

  Some quick intelligence-gathering by the Thai Special Branch after their initial reconnaissance had uncovered the name of a new addition to the Russian’s street peddlers. Jake had given the financially desperate young lady thirty-thousand Baht – about nine hundred US dollars – to forget her new job. It had been an easy decision for the simple farm girl to make. She already missed her family, and the money would easily pay their debts, buy seed for the next crop, and a couple of family feasts. She would return a heroine, without ever having done anything to dishonor her family. By the time the Russian guard was meeting her impostor stand-in, the girl was already on the long bus trip back to her parents’ farm in the northeast of Thailand.

  “My name Jeab. I sorry, I go party my friend house – cannot find taxi. Please not be angry me.” Tik played the part well.

  Young Thai street women are well known for their lack of punctuality and fondness for partying, so the Russian gang tacitly accepted their lack of discipline as a cost of doing business in Thailand – small price to pay for such high profit margins on their methamphetamines, or Yaabaa, as it’s known in Thai – literally translated as crazy medicine.

  “Grigori will be angry. You cannot sell when you’re drunk like this.” The guard spoke surprisingly clear English.

  “I sorry, jing jing.” Tik emphasized her contriteness. “Please not tell Mr. Sergey. I do anything you want – please mister…” Now her demeanor turned coy and playful as she maneuvered until her back faced the house. “I give you blowjob?”

  Caught off guard despite his several months in this sin city, the guard fumbled for words while Tik undid his pants. His excitement grew quickly as Tik’s face neared his crotch, but instead of feeling the new girl’s gratitude, his pants were suddenly and violently pulled down around his ankles so he c
ouldn’t take a step. There was no clatter from his .38 hitting the ground – Jake had stealthily arrived to catch it mid-fall, then wrapped his powerful right arm around the guard’s neck like a bulging Anaconda. Jake handed the .38 off to Priest, who brushed past them to ensure the yard was clear beyond the gate. Jake squeezed consciousness from the hapless guard, then handed him to the Thai cops. The two looked at one another, seemingly a little surprised, before they dragged him around the corner from where they came.

  The Russians’ security measures were reasonably good, but there was certainly no military precision, so Jake was confident they didn’t need to make any special efforts to disguise their full frontal attack. The team darted through the front gate and across the concrete courtyard. Jake positioned himself to one side of the double front door, Dozer manned the other, and Tik stood directly in front. Jake whispered into his headset, waited for a reply from Mike Lee, then nodded to Tik. She rapped softly on the door, and donned her most innocent smile.

  A muffled voice spoke from inside, but she didn’t answer. The door opened wide to reveal a shirtless and heavily tattooed man in his thirties with a Sig Sauer P226 stuck in the front of his waistband. Tik immediately moved her right hand to her waist, raising her thumb, and pointing her index finger. The signal gave Dozer his cue. In a split second, his right hand shot toward where he estimated the guard’s waist would be. His aim adjusted as the target entered his field of vision, and before the Russian could react, Dozer had grabbed him by the waistband, jerking him violently through the doorway to be brutally clotheslined by Jakes’ forearm. The unfortunate Russian’s feet flew up and forward as his head and shoulders thudded into the concrete porch.

  Jake nodded at the Thai policemen, while pointing at their most recent victim. Again, the two looked at each other in obvious surprise, but dutifully retrieved the unconscious man and carried him off, around the corner. Dozer watched the pair disappear through the gate then gave Jake a quizzical look. Jake shrugged off the Thais’ odd behavior and turned back toward the doorway. Just inside the front door, Dozer kept vigil at the bottom of the stairs while Jake and Priest continued to the living room.