by J. C. Fields
“I take it the pick-up wasn’t there when first responders arrived.”
Boone nodded and hesitated for a second. “Uh… One more thing.”
Kruger frowned.
“A Ford F-250 was stolen from a lot in St. Louis yesterday. It was found forty miles south of I-70 on Highway 19, near Drake. Damage on the passenger side contained traces of paint the same color as the sheriff’s car transporting Bishop. Our lab is analyzing to see if it matches. A shotgun was found in the back floorboard. In addition, two bodies were found, a male in the truck and a woman on the side of the road. Neither had identification.”
“Tell me about the male.” Kruger turned to look out the window.
“Short black hair, mid-twenties, small frame, and of Asian descent.”
Kruger nodded. “The woman?”
“White, mid-to-late sixties, curly gray hair, overweight.”
Everyone at the table was silent. They could hear birds chirping in the back yard. After a minute, Kruger returned his attention to his visitor. “Concentrate on identifying the woman. Bishop’s got her car.”
Boone nodded. “I’ll see if we have any missing person’s reports from the area.” He stood and was about to walk out of the kitchen, but turned back to Kruger. “Something else.”
“Yes.”
“The weapon of the deputy killed outside the car is missing.”
Kruger’s expression did not change as he turned back toward the bay window. With a grim smile and a nod, Boone left the kitchen.
Stephanie reached for her husband’s hand. “Do what you have to do. Stop him, Sean. Just don’t lose your soul.”
Kruger turned to his wife but remained quiet. Finally, he closed his eyes and nodded.
Boone returned to the kitchen several minutes later. “They have a possible ID on the woman. Her name was Janet Pratt, sixty-seven, lived in Hermann, Missouri.”
Looking over his coffee cup at his friend, Kruger raised his eyebrows. “That was fast. How?”
“Gasconade County Sheriff’s Office received a call from the woman’s daughter. She didn’t show up at her sister’s house, and her cell phone isn’t being answered. Description matches the female body found near the truck.”
“Do you have the cell phone number?”
Boone nodded and handed Kruger a slip of paper. “It’s there along with the make, model, and license plate of her car.”
Silence returned as Kruger stared at a bird hopping around on the deck hand rails while he absorbed the news. Stephanie turned her attention to Boone, her hands intertwined in front of her. “Do you think he’s headed here?”
“We have no proof, but, yes we do.”
Kruger’s gaze was still directed out the window. “If he follows his normal pattern, and I have no reason to believe he won’t, he’ll switch cars again.”
“I agree with you.” Boone paused, took a deep breath and continued, “You three need to take a vacation.”
Kruger took out his cell phone and pressed a speed dial icon. “Damn, I’m tired of reacting to this guy. It’s time to get aggressive.”
The call was answered on the third ring. Kruger said, “We have a situation.”
***
A white Ford Transit van arrived at the Kruger household thirty minutes later. It pulled into the driveway just as the garage door opened. Two men hustled out of the side door and went inside the Kruger home. Joseph stepped out of the passenger door and followed. The two Highway Patrol vehicles remained parked in front of the house with their drivers watching the street.
Joseph stepped aside as the two men returned, carrying several suitcases back to the van. Boone and Kruger stood in the breakfast nook when Joseph entered the kitchen. Turning his attention to Boone, he extended his hand. “Allen, good to see you again.”
Boone smiled grimly as they shook. “You too, Joseph.”
Kruger tilted his head slightly. “Is there anyone in this state you don’t know, Joseph?”
“If they’re in law enforcement, probably not. Sandy will be in town in an hour. Meanwhile we’re going to get Stephanie and Kristin to my property in Christian County. We’ll swing by JR’s and pick up Mia before we head that way.”
Kruger frowned, “Why Mia?”
“A precaution. You told us Brian and Michele are visiting her father in North Carolina, so we don’t have to worry about them.”
“Yeah, they left last Saturday.”
Joseph lost his smile. “Sean, I think you should come, too.”
“I will. I’m going to secure the house and head over to JR’s. I’ll finish my report to the director there.”
“Joseph, I’ll stay here with my guys until Sean leaves.” Boone gave his old friend a mischievous grin. “You can stop worrying.”
Clearing his throat Joseph muttered under his breath. “Someone has to worry about him.” He walked out of the kitchen into the garage and disappeared.
Kruger’s half-smile betrayed his true feelings. He walked back to his office and shut down his laptop. As he placed it in his back pack, Allen Boone appeared at the office door.
“I’ve seen that look before. What’re you thinking?”
Looking up, Kruger stopped packing. “Running and hiding isn’t going to end this. Bishop’s out there, probably watching the house right now.”
Boone stiffened.
“If he is out there, you wouldn’t recognize him.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s a psychopath with an uncanny ability for self-preservation. He’s also a chameleon who will blend into his surroundings. He blames me for forcing him to flee the country six years ago. The fact he killed four women doesn’t matter to him. Internally he justified the killing because it helped him gain the position of CEO at Harmon, Harmon, and Kinslow. He is psychologically incapable of feeling remorse. Nor does he feel guilt that his brother killed himself trying to take the blame for the murders. He just doesn’t have the ability to feel emotions like you and me.”
Boone listened, remaining quiet.
“Is he out there? Yes, he can’t help it; he’s driven. He will die trying to reap revenge on those who have crossed his path. I’m the one who started this, the root of all his problems. Pull the root out, and he believes his problems go away. This isn’t going to end until one of us is dead.” Taking a breath, he paused for a few moments. “I’d prefer it be him.”
“I’d prefer that as well, Sean. What’s next?”
Putting the remaining files he needed into his backpack, he looked at Boone again. “During my last interview with him I saw something in his eyes. It’s hard to describe, but it was almost like he knew this would be over soon.”
“Is he dumb enough to think he can get to you through all the security we’ll throw around you?”
“I don’t think dumb is the right description. More like his ego won’t let him believe otherwise.” Kruger paused for a second, trying to put his thoughts into words. “Allen, he doesn’t think like you and me. I made the mistake of not recognizing how strong his narcissism was six years ago. He thinks—no, that’s not right. He knows he’s smarter than the rest of us.” He stopped talking and lifted the backpack onto his shoulders. “Right now I need to get to JR’s and then I’m going to find this guy.”
***
“Janet Pratt’s cell phone was recognized by cell towers here, here, and here.” JR was pointing to a Google Map of Missouri displayed on a twenty-two inch flat-screen monitor.
Kruger noticed the locations were all on Route 42 heading west toward Osage Beach. “Has he made any calls?”
JR shook his head. “No, it’s almost like he didn’t know it was in the car.”
“What about now?”
“There aren’t any sign of it past Osage Beach. The phone is dark, so he must’ve found it and taken the battery out.”
Kruger stood and started to pace.
JR was sitting in his favorite cubicle on the second floor of his building watching his friend wal
k from the cubicle to a spot ten feet beyond and return. “Do you think he’s ditched the car?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“What now?”
Kruger stopped pacing and stared at the computer screen with the map. “He has no money and he’s probably still in his prison jumpsuit. Since one of the dead Boone County deputy’s service weapon wasn’t found, we will assume he has a gun. So he has two problems to solve. Money and clothes. Plus his other problem is the Highway Patrol concentrating their search for him in the counties around the lake.”
“That’s a big area, Sean.”
“I know.”
Silence prevailed as both men stared at the computer screen, deep in their own thoughts. JR broke the silence. “Another victim.”
“Yeah, another victim.”
JR frowned. “Lots of places to hide around the lake.”
Kruger nodded.
JR suddenly turned back to the computer and started typing. Kruger watched, as soon as JR stopped typing he frowned. “What was that all about?”
“Looking for robberies between here and Jeff City.” He stared at the monitor, then back at the Google Map and pointed. “Bank of Mack’s Creek was robbed at two this afternoon by a man wearing a ski mask. He shot the surveillance cameras out before forcing everyone in the bank into a storage room. He cleaned out all the cashier drawers but left the bundles with the dye packs behind.”
“How much?”
“This report doesn’t say.”
“Lots of back roads in the area and few deputies. He wouldn’t have trouble eluding a search.”
“You think it was him?” JR looked at Kruger, who was staring at the computer monitor.
Kruger nodded. “I’d want to see the surveillance video of the robbery before I made a determination. But odds are, it was. I’ll call Allen and see if we can get a look at it. After all, I’m with the FBI, I’m entitled.”
***
Thirty minutes later, the video file arrived attached to an email from Boone. JR opened it, and they watched. The time stamp read 13:32 and the date. The customer count was low. Only three individuals entered the bank, completed their business, and left before a man wearing a ski mask entered at 13:57. He pointed a gun at an object out of visual range and fired. He then pointed the weapon at the camera making the recording. The image blacked out.
“JR, back it up to where he points the gun at the other camera.”
They watched again until Kruger held a finger up. “Stop.”
JR froze the image. Kruger got closer to the screen. “Blow up the image of the gun.”
JR did so. When the pixel count was compromised, JR reduced the image in size.
Kruger touched the screen where the shooter and gun were frozen. “Looks like a Glock. The deputies at the Boone County jail in Columbia had Glocks in their holsters. Back it up to the beginning. I think I saw something.”
During the next viewing, the second person entering the bank kept his head down as he went to a teller window. Kruger leaned closer to the screen. “Stop and enhance the man’s profile.”
JR did so. Kruger stared at the image. “Do you have a profile picture of Bishop you can compare this image to?”
JR nodded. “Yes, his booking photos in Jeff City.”
“Compare the profiles using your facial recognition software.”
Five minutes later, JR smiled. “It’s him. Ninety percent match.”
Kruger sat back in his chair. “Now we know he has money and a gun, and he’s changed clothes. We just don’t know what he’s driving.”
“But we know he’s heading this way.”
Taking his cell phone out of his pocket, Kruger made a call.
Chapter 41
Central Missouri
Earlier the Same Day
It was 5 a.m., and Bishop stared out the backseat of the sheriff’s car. The only thing to keep his mind occupied was watching the value on the mile markers increase as they headed toward St. Louis. His hands and feet were shackled, with the ones on his hands too tight. The deputies in the front ignored his complaining so he stopped half an hour earlier.
He heard the rumble and saw the lights of a large pick-up truck trying to pass on the left of the patrol car. Out of pure boredom, he glanced over to watch it pass. As the truck pulled even with the patrol car, it suddenly veered to the right, crashing into the side of the car. The driver fought to keep control of the skidding car, and the deputy in the passenger seat started shouting at the driver.
“Get a grip on it Jim, keep it under control.”
The pick-up slowed as the sheriff’s car skidded to a halt on the side of the highway. The deputy in the passenger seat unbuckled his seatbelt, drew his service weapon, and opened the side door. Just as he did so, Bishop heard a loud roar as the driver’s side window exploded inward and blood from the now-dead driver splattered the interior of the sheriff’s car.
More gunfire could be heard as the deputy who exited the car fired his weapon at the truck. The fire fight was over after two more blasts from a shotgun ended the life of the remaining deputy.
Bishop sat still. He could feel the driver’s blood sliding down his face. The door on the right side of the car flew open, and the barrel of a shotgun pointed at his head.
“You want to live?” Bishop could tell the man was Vietnamese from his accent, but the face was hidden by the roof of the vehicle.
“Yes.”
“Get out and get in truck. No questions.”
Bishop held his hands forward. “Get these off of me.”
“No, do yourself.”
Exiting the car, he bent down to search the deputy lying next to the patrol car. The man’s face was missing. In the darkness, the Vietnamese man lowered the shotgun and stared back toward the highway as a series of headlights could be seen approaching.
In the light of the passing cars, Bishop saw the deputy’s service weapon, a Glock. With his back to his would-be liberator, he secured the weapon in a side pocket of his jumpsuit.
“Give keys.”
“Still looking. Here they are.” He stood but hesitated until the shotgun barrel poked his chest. With a grim smile, he handed the keys to the smaller man and watched as he put them in his right jeans pocket. As he walked to the truck, the barrel of the shotgun pressed against his back.
“Hurry, before cars come again. Move.”
The small man steered the F-250 back onto I-70 and headed east a mile before taking the exit for state road 19. Now traveling south, the man spoke for the first time since leaving the sheriff’s car. “You pay debt now.”
Rolling his eyes, Bishop shook his head slightly. “How? I’m shackled and in a moving vehicle.”
“No, no, no. Not now. When we get to place we go. You pay debt or die.”
Bishop did not answer. He just stared at the road as they passed through the rural Missouri countryside.
***
Janet Pratt was confused. The four-way intersection seemed unfamiliar to her. She knew the route, having driven it a hundred times to visit her sister in Owensville. But this morning she couldn’t remember which direction to turn. Frustration and sadness were her emotions as she sat in her stopped car, trying to remember.
She was in her late sixties, overweight, with curly gray hair. Widowed for twenty years she lived alone and, unknown to everyone but her and her doctor, was suffering from early on-set dementia.
She was unaware of the large Ford F-250 pulling up behind her. She was also unaware of the flash visible in the front window of the truck and was unaware of the man racing up to her door with a gun in his hand. Confusion would be the last conscious thought she would ever have.
***
The Vietnamese man cursed in his native language at the old Chevrolet Impala stopped at the intersection. With the man’s attention momentarily trained on the unmoving car, Bishop eased the Glock from his pocket and aimed it at the small man’s head. A moment of realization appeared on the small man’s face as he tu
rned to look at his passenger.
“Who’s in control now, dumbass.”
Bishop smiled and pulled the trigger. He found the keys in the dead man’s pocket and released the shackles. Amazed the Chevy was still stationary at the intersection, Bishop rushed to the driver’s side door and saw an older woman staring up at him. He yanked the door open and grabbed her by the arm.
“Out,” he yelled. His adrenalin surged as he pulled her from the car and pointed the Glock at her. She stared at him with a look of pure confusion. Pushing her around the rear of the car she fell into a ditch beside the road. Now on her knees and looking up at him, Bishop could see tears welling up in her eyes. The only emotion he experienced was disgust as he pulled the trigger and hurried back to the Chevy.
***
Traffic was light, and Bishop passed only a car and two pick-ups as he drove west on Route 42 in the woman’s Impala. Keeping low in the driver’s seat, he tried to keep the orange prison jumpsuit from being seen by passing motorists. The towns in this part of Missouri were no more than wide spots in the road and sparsely populated.
Traffic increased as he approached the town of Vienna, but he managed to drive through without attracting attention. Again, traffic diminished as he continued west.
Bishop looked at his face in the rearview mirror and saw dried blood in his hair and forehead. Realizing he needed to do something about his appearance, he started looking for isolated houses on the road. It was approaching eleven a.m. when he spotted an older gray Honda Accord pulling into a side road. He slowed and followed the car down a winding gravel road until it stopped at an old house with a falling down barn several hundred feet behind it.
Bishop watched as an elderly man with stooped shoulders exited the Honda and walked slowly toward the house. As he parked the Impala behind the Honda, the old man noticed and turned to stare. A puzzled expression appeared as he slowly walked toward the Impala.
