Trail of the Zodiac - Debt Collector 10 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  Dickson got up and shook his head and went over to the window. Rain beat against it furiously, letting off a noise like the sound of a hundred small pebbles being tossed on a tin roof. Dark billowing clouds moved across a gray sky, and wind heaved tree branches from side to side.

  “Did you get an address for Tomlinson?”

  “That’s the messed-up part. We had it prior to the bomb threat.”

  He spun around, a look of fury in his eyes. “You what?”

  Romero immediately shifted into defensive mode. “Captain, I didn’t know. Hudson was looking into it. She said that Winchester tipped her off.”

  “Winchester? Jack Winchester? The guy we’ve got locked up in the holding area?”

  He gave a nod.

  “Shit. Are you telling me the city has been paying you two jackasses to find the man responsible for these murders and a citizen did your job for you, and still this happened?”

  “Sir, in her defense, she never got the chance to follow up on the lead. We got the call and had to attend. However, she did get Charley Whitaker to look into it.”

  “And?”

  “He’s in the hospital right now. The guy attacked him and fled. He was lucky to escape with his life.”

  “Why am I not surprised? Do you have any good news for me?”

  “Well Charley did confirm the man that attacked him was wearing a UPS uniform. So I figure that was our guy. We’re on the right track.”

  Dickson snorted. “On the right track?”

  “We’re closer than we were. At least we know who he is now. I call that progress.”

  “Romero. He’s still out there making threats, and now he has Hudson. I hardly see that as progress. Chances are she’s dead.”

  His shook his head, he couldn’t allow himself to go there. “No, he wouldn’t do that.”

  “Wouldn’t he?” Dickson faced the window again, his reflection barely visible. “How can you be sure? You’ve been wrong about every step that he’s taken so far.”

  Romero leaned forward trying to get hold of the situation the way Hudson might. He clasped his hands together and swallowed hard. “Look, captain, we have an ID, his address, we have a photo, and our boys are out there looking for him as we speak. It’s just a matter of time before we get him.”

  Dickson didn’t reply, he simply shook his head and took a large gulp of coffee.

  “Romero, did we read the same letter? He’s demanding that we release the cracked 340 Cipher immediately; otherwise he’s going to kill her. We don’t have time, Romero. We are out of time.”

  Romero sat there in the tense silence chewing over their options. Dickson seemed at a loss for what to do. In all the years, he’d never seen him this way. He looked like a shell of his former self. He assumed the chief, the mayor, and the FBI were probably coming down on him, seeking some sense that he had it under control. But the fact was he didn’t.

  Fifty minutes passed as Romero presented different ideas to him. All of which were shot down within seconds of them leaving his mouth. This wasn’t his thing; Hudson was better at this than him. She had a way of at least stalling the inevitable, or convincing him that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But there was no pleasing the man.

  Two sharp knocks at the door and an officer leaned in.

  “Sir, we’ve received another video. Emmett has forwarded it on to you.”

  “Thank you, officer.”

  She closed the door, and he slipped into his seat and tapped his keyboard. Romero got up and leaned over him as he played it. The video was dark for a few seconds until a low-hanging light bulb came on, and it kept moving around in the middle of an unfurnished, dilapidated house. In the center of the room tied to a chair with her mouth bound, and her head hanging down, was Detective Hudson. A man walked into frame wearing the Zodiac’s executioner’s mask.

  “This is the Zodiac speaking… I have with me one of San Francisco’s finest. Detective Nina Hudson.” He went behind her and lifted her head by grabbing her forehead and snapping it back. Her eyes widened, and she moaned behind the rag. There was a gash on top of her head, and her left eye was badly swollen as if she’d taken a beating. “There has been a change of plans. The San Francisco police have forced my hand. You are to follow these instructions to the letter if you want to get her back alive. You will place one million dollars in unmarked bills into a red duffel bag. The money will be carried by Jack Winchester this evening. He will bring it to the Four Barrel Coffee Café on Valencia Street. Upon entering the café, he will turn to his left and take a seat. At exactly 7 p.m. he will be given further instructions. If the police follow him, Detective Hudson dies. If you attach any form of video or audio surveillance to him, she dies. If anyone shows up except for Jack Winchester, she dies. Do not underestimate me. If you follow these instructions to the letter, she will be released unharmed. You have my word. Ignore this message, and…”

  He pulled out a hunting knife from behind his back and pressed it hard against her neck. Nina’s muffled cries cut into Romero. A trickle of dark blood ran down her throat.

  “I think you understand.”

  Dickson ran a hand over his head.

  Romero stepped back. “A million dollars? Where the hell are we supposed to come up with that kind of money by this evening?”

  Dickson reached for the phone. “Go speak with Winchester, I’ll call this in and make the arrangements.” He glanced up at the clock.

  Romero stepped forward, his hands up. “You’re going to give this madman what he wants?”

  “We don’t have any other choice.”

  “But Winchester might refuse.”

  “That’s why you’re going to speak to him.”

  Romero backed up nodding slowly.

  “And Romero, for Hudson’s sake, don’t screw this up.”

  He snorted. “How could I? I’m not the one taking the bag, he is.”

  Chapter 32

  “Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one,” Jack muttered to himself as he pushed out another rep. He’d tried to keep his mind occupied by sleeping but it was so uncomfortable he figured he’d just exercise until he was too exhausted to care.

  He heard boots approaching long before the clang of the lock, and then the door swung open.

  “Up you get, Winchester, come with me.”

  “Did you finally get me that upgrade to the VIP suite? Does it come with a beer fridge?”

  “Hilarious,” Romero said standing by the door as the officer with him instructed Jack to turn around so they could cuff him.

  “You know, you guys should really think about renovating this place. Toss in a few cushions, maybe a footstool. Hell, you might boost the reputation of the department.”

  He felt the familiar pinch of the metal teeth against his skin as the cuffs locked in place.

  “Are these really necessary?”

  “After the stunt you pulled?” Romero said. “It’s a precaution until you hear me out.”

  “This wouldn’t involve a bathhouse, would it, Romero? As I’ve already been propositioned once, and that didn’t turn out well.”

  Romero snorted and took a hold of his arm. Jack was led along the corridor. It was as noisy as hell as other prisoners demanded to be let out. They guided him upstairs and into an interview room where he was forced into a chair and Romero told the other officer to head out.

  “I’m going to get straight to it. We have a situation that requires a bag man.”

  Jack started laughing. “And here I was thinking we were about to engage in a deep discussion on philosophy and the true nature of man.”

  Romero scowled.

  “Detective Hudson has been kidnapped by the man calling himself the Zodiac.”

  Jack’s smile faded. “She went to his address, didn’t she?”

  He tapped out a cigarette and offered him one. He declined. Romero tapped it against the pack. “No. We received a bomb threat and in the process of trying to deal with the situation he took her out from undernea
th our noses.”

  “Of course he did.”

  Romero squinted, a look of disdain in his eyes. “Anyway, he specifically asked for you.”

  The corner of Jack’s lip curled up. “Well, don’t I feel special.”

  “So are you prepared to carry the money or do we need to ship you off to county this evening?”

  “That depends, detective. What do I get out of it? Cause from where I’m sitting, I’m the one putting my ass in the line of fire.”

  “I’m sure the courts will look favorably upon what you have done for the department and the city of San Francisco.”

  “The courts?” Jack leaned back in his seat and laughed. “You expect me to be the department’s whipping boy for a reduced sentence?”

  “It’s either that or you wind up with the full sentence.”

  “Tell me, detective, did they ever teach you negotiation skills at the academy?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, you’re shit at it. Now how about you go speak with your chief, captain, whoever the hell is barking out these orders, and remind them that I’m the one sticking my neck out on the line here. I want full immunity.”

  Romero smirked and shook his head. “I don’t think you understand. You’re not in a position to negotiate. This is non-negotiable.”

  “Okay, you want to play hardball. I’ll do it but what’s stopping me from taking that money and running with it?”

  “We’ll be watching.”

  “No, you won’t. Cause he would have stipulated that no cops were to follow me.”

  Romero stared back and his expression hardened. He leaned across the table, clasping his hands together. “Let me put this in perspective for you, Winchester. You run with that money, and I will personally hunt you down and kill you myself.”

  “Been there, done that, everyone else failed.”

  Romero slammed his fists against the desk. “You think this is a game?”

  “Actually it is, and it’s one that relies on me carrying that bag if you expect her to live. So why don’t you cut the bullshit, go grab me a coffee and speak with your captain again? I want full immunity in writing, or you can take me to county tonight.”

  He stared back at him blankly. “Immunity won’t fly. You’ve killed people.”

  “So has your entire department by not dealing with this lunatic in a timely matter.”

  Romero clenched his jaw. Jack could see he’d touched on a sore point.

  “You had a choice, we didn’t.”

  “Detective, everyone has a choice. Mine was self-defense.”

  “Tell that to the judge.”

  “Won’t have to if you do what I’ve asked, or we can sit here and your partner will die tonight. Your choice.” Jack paused. “Oh that’s right, you don’t have a choice.”

  Romero rose from the table and glared at him before turning and heading out. Jack knew he wasn’t going to county. They wouldn’t go to all this trouble if they could handle it themselves. Everything rested on them getting him to agree. If ever there was a time to bargain hard, it was now.

  * * *

  An hour later, Jack signed off on legal paperwork and was given a red duffel bag crammed full of money, along with instructions on where he was to go. Although they agreed to immunity on the basis that he didn’t go to the media regarding what agreement was reached, they fought him on his request for a firearm.

  “You expect me to go out there unarmed?”

  “That’s the deal.”

  “Like hell it is. That legal paperwork doesn’t count for squat if I’m dead.”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  He shook his head in disbelief.

  They tried to reassure him by telling him they would hook him up with a wire and be nearby, but he was quick to remind them that this guy wasn’t screwing around. If he’d specified no wire, they could bank on him having some means of detecting it. Hudson’s life was in their hands; any attempt at circumventing his rules would mean certain death.

  Chapter 33

  Her captor had taken every precaution to ensure she couldn’t escape. He’d hogtied, gagged and blindfolded her in the back of a van. She only knew it was a van because she caught a glimpse of it beneath the material as he transferred her from one vehicle to another. After being tied up for the better part of the day, her legs and arms were beginning to ache. The only upside to the situation was it was carpeted inside otherwise she would have been in a lot more pain.

  Her mouth was dry, and her bladder felt like it was going to burst any second. She hadn’t been offered any food or water, and it was stifling hot in the back. It felt like he’d been driving around all day. All she could do was listen. On two occasions she’d tried to capture the attention of whoever she could hear beyond the van but with the gag so firmly in place, it was virtually impossible. In addition, no amount of rocking back and forth was managing to catch anyone’s attention. And when the vehicle was moving, she felt every bounce, pothole and turn.

  Without knowing where she was, she couldn’t even figure out where he was taking her. There had been one time when he’d left the vehicle for what felt like a couple of hours. In that time, she’d rubbed her forehead against the carpet and managed to get the blindfold off. A flicker of hope was quickly extinguished at the sight of her windowless prison. By the looks of it she guessed it was one of those dated Chevy vans with a rear and side exit, and no windows in the cargo area. She twisted and lifted her head to look towards the driver’s seat but what should have given her a clear shot was hidden by a carved-out piece of plywood.

  Shit, she thought. She couldn’t even use her feet to bang the sides. Instead she rolled and would slam into the side hoping that would do it.

  Finally, she heard the sound of boots. It had worked.

  The rear double doors burst open and a flood of late evening light poured in only to reveal her captor. The look on his face was pure rage. “How did you get that off?” He hopped in and slammed the doors behind him and was about to place the blindfold back on when he grabbed her by the face. “Ah, I guess it doesn’t matter now. You’ll be dead in a matter of hours and I’ll be long gone.”

  She screamed from behind the gag in her mouth, and he stared at her like she was a lab rat.

  “What are you yelling about?”

  She tried to make it sound like she was saying something. Her nostrils and eyes flared and though he was staring at his cell phone, he turned back to her. This time he yanked the rag out of her mouth.

  “Please, I need to use a bathroom and some water. I’m dying back here.”

  He snorted and went to put the rag back in her mouth as she pleaded with him.

  “Please.” She hated begging, but she wasn’t keen on the idea of pissing herself.

  The man paused for a second, his steely gaze locked on to hers.

  “All right but you scream,” he pulled out a flick knife from his back pocket, “and I’ll cut your throat.” She nodded, and he opened the back doors and what remained of the day’s waning light was a welcome relief. He glanced around a few times then reached in like he was hauling out a bag of spuds and dragged her onto the ground. She let out a groan, and he dragged her across the grass to a cluster of trees. All the while she was soaking in as much of her surroundings as possible.

  Forest.

  Water.

  Trails.

  A cemetery?

  Everywhere were hundreds of stone graves of American servicemen and women.

  Also, based on the elevation, she was able to see the Golden Gate Bridge. That could only mean one location — Presidio. It was a 1,500-acre park on the north side of the city.

  He didn’t give the option of privacy; he unbuttoned her pants and tore them down exposing her. “Now go!” he said looking around, occasionally glancing back at her. She might have had difficulty if it wasn’t for the fact that she’d been bursting to go for hours. As soon as she’d relieved herself, he dragged her back to the van and slammed the door
s. A few seconds later he reappeared with a bottle of water. She could have gone without the water but she was testing him, seeing what kind of man he was — of course she knew he was a cold-blooded killer but the very act of bringing a drink told her volumes.

  The question was, would it be enough to escape?

  * * *

  Jack entered the double doors of the Four Barrel Coffee Café ten minutes before 7 p.m. It was an hour before closing and there were nine people inside; two young baristas behind a counter immediately in front of him, one professional female off to the left filling her drink with milk, two guys placing orders, a hipster girl off to the right typing away on her Mac, one guy near the back of the café and a couple sitting on stools near the front window laughing and chatting loudly. It had a modern look to it, a combination of brick and wood motif. Light classical music was playing in the background and the aroma of roasted coffee lingered.

  He parked a vehicle provided by the cops just a block down on the other side of the street. He figured the guy was going to bounce him around the city to make sure that no one was following him, so he wanted to be prepared. Jack adjusted the strap on the duffel bag carrying one million in cash. It weighed about twenty pounds, not much at all for such a large amount of money. Jack shuffled towards the counter to buy a cup of coffee. He didn’t think the owners would take too kindly to a stranger taking up space without ordering. He glanced up at the clock and watched the hands tick over. As he was waiting there a door to the bathroom opened and a guy with a hat, glasses and a scarf around his neck came out. He took a seat a few chairs down from the other guy in the back. One look at his height and Jack knew it wasn’t him.

  After purchasing an Americano, he headed over to the window and perched on the edge of a stool. No directions had been given to him beyond that point — only that he would be given further instructions. Every minute that got closer to seven he expected someone to walk in and hand him a note but when the clock ticked over to seven, there was nothing.