by Steven James
Then, he lowered Radar to the ground and held up his hands as he edged away from me. Four SWAT members rushed forward, I slowed them down, told them what’d gone down inside, then three of them bent over Radar’s bloody body while the fourth walked toward the EMTs to lead them over here. They would roll Radar away, a blanket drawn up over his head as they passed the media, all those news cameras. Then transport him. Lights off.
The shock hit me all at once.
I began to crash.
The adrenaline that’d been chugging through me since I first entered the slaughterhouse seemed to dissipate in one fell swoop. That, along with the impact of what had happened to Tod and Radar, were all working to drain my strength and I felt weak, disoriented.
You still have to find Tod. You still need to get the guy who took him.
As the EMTs approached, I found myself unable to stand on my own and I leaned against the side of the building to keep from dropping to the ground. Ralph came sprinting up to me, then supported me while two EMTs hurried toward us with a gurney.
I was vaguely aware of the Flight for Life helicopter landing in a vacant parking lot down the block. If it was for me, I wasn’t so sure I needed it, but it would definitely make the trip to the medical center go a lot faster.
I blinked to keep focused, but was overwhelmed by the melee of law enforcement personnel suddenly swarming around us. As always with these things, there were too many people here: cops, lawyers, a hostage negotiator, counselors, the police chaplain, SWAT, Lyrie and Thompson from the task force, support personnel. As I collapsed onto the gurney, I saw some of the officers were helping hostages out of the bank.
Then I was lying on my back, staring at the darkening sky and the paramedics were wheeling me toward the helicopter and the world was spinning in a slow, delirious circle and all I could think of was Radar and what had happened to him and his family.
96
Joshua watched it all.
Bowers emerged from the bank entrance, then the guy carrying Sergeant Walker’s bloody corpse appeared behind him. Somehow Bowers had overpowered Walker and taken him out.
Or did Radar take his own life?
Was it possible?
Either way, a cop had died. It’d been filmed. It was over. Joshua was certain that the man who’d called him earlier in the day, before sunrise, would be impressed.
And they would finally meet.
He made his way through the crowd inside the cordoned-off area, then went back to the moving truck to take care of the boy.
Ralph crouched beside me as the paramedics worked to cut off his jacket so they could get to the bullet’s entrance and exit wounds. As they did, he said to me softly, in a voice meant only for me, “People see what they expect to see.”
When I looked at him, I realized he knew. “How did-?”
“You’re not the only one who notices things. The bloody shirt Radar had on-that’s the one you were wearing when you got here.”
So, he’d figured it out: when I was standing outside the door and the SWAT members first rushed forward, I’d told them the truth, and one of them had quickly informed the paramedics-pretend he’s dead, buy us some time.
I kept my voice low. “I didn’t know if anyone else was on the line when I called from the bank. That’s why I said what I did, when I told you he was dead.”
“It was smart.”
“He almost didn’t go for it.”
“Thank God he did.”
Hopefully, it would provide us the window we needed to save his son.
The helicopter rotors started gearing up and I had to yell in order for Ralph to hear me. “We need to find Tod!”
He shouted that he was on it, that he would find the boy. I asked him one last question: “Do we know who the woman was, the one in the slaughterhouse?” But before he could answer, my attention was drawn to something else.
A moving truck at the end of the street, turning the corner.
“No,” Ralph replied, “but we’re gonna find out!”
I grabbed his sleeve and pointed to the moving truck. It was too far away to make out the plates, but when he saw it, he realized what I was thinking, spun, and bolted back toward the squads parked beside the bank.
97
Ralph cussed.
He hadn’t been able to get to a car in time or maneuver past the news vans fast enough, and the moving truck had disappeared before he could catch it. He hadn’t even been able to identify which company it was from.
He had local law enforcement send some cars out looking for it, then returned to the SWAT van.
A call was waiting for him from Gabriele at the department. She asked about Radar and Pat, he told her what she needed to know, then asked her to get some officers to start calling moving companies that had trucks out today. She informed him that Richard Basque had been transported to the Milwaukee Regional Medical Center for surgery on his broken jaw.
“Do we know the name of the victim yet?”
“Not yet. But she has a tattoo on her left ankle. A custom job. We’re calling parlors now to try to find out who did the artwork.”
Ralph thought about Tod, about the victim, about what he could do right now. He told Gabriele, “I’m gonna go talk to Basque.”
Then he hung up and took off.
Joshua left the boy in the moving truck in the parking lot of the Kohl’s department store where he’d purchased the shoes earlier in the day and where his car was waiting for him.
An anonymous phone call to the police would lead them to the truck, which he’d rented under a false name. They would find Tod Walker in the back, safe and sound.
Once in his own vehicle, Joshua turned on the police scanner and heard that a man named Richard Basque had been arrested at a slaughterhouse in Milwaukee. By the sound of it, by the description of what he’d done to the woman, Joshua realized it was almost certainly the man who’d killed the women in Ohio and Illinois, the Maneater.
The suspect had been transported to the medical center to be treated for “injuries sustained during his apprehension.”
Joshua had a decision to make: stay clear of Basque or go and meet him.
If he’s transferred to jail, you might not get another chance.
Perhaps the safer choice would be to lie low, see how things played out, but the desire that’d been lurking inside him for so long, the one that’d led him to orchestrate all of this-that overriding longing to meet someone like himself, a partner, someone who would understand him-was so overpowering that in the end Joshua couldn’t hold himself back.
Once he was on the road, he called in Tod’s location from his portable phone, then directed his car toward the Milwaukee Regional Medical Center.
While we flew to the hospital, I tried to piece the case together.
Who was capable of doing something like this? Committing these crimes this week?
Everyone is capable of the unthinkable, Pat. All of us are, you told Taci that yourself.
Motives.
You can never untangle people’s motives.
But who? Who was he?
He knows the city, knows that neighborhood near the train yards…He went to Pewaukee to steal the Taurus…He got the mattresses from the mission…
According to Calvin, our guy used that boxcar as his anchor point and most likely lives or has an activity node in the Franklin Heights area.
Everything matters.
Yes, and he knows drugs, had access to Propotol, could’ve met Adele when she was in Milwaukee after that fender bender.
After she was taken to the hospital.
Wait.
The kidnapper got his hands on an amputation saw, had a connection to the homeless mission-they offer free medical care.
A doctor could’ve gotten into the school, convinced that secretary that he needed to talk to the Walker children.
Oh, there was definitely something I needed to check on.
We were close to the medical center. I could cal
l it in as soon as we landed.
98
The helicopter nestled onto the landing pad.
The paramedics had bandaged my shoulder and my leg and given me some saline solution in an IV, and I was much less dizzy now than I’d been outside the bank.
As soon as we were in the building, I told them unequivocally that I needed a phone. They tried to hold me back and get me a hospital gown since I had no shirt on, but I hobbled to the nurses’ station, and, despite the objections of the woman behind the desk, I picked up the receiver.
I reached Officer Gabriele Holdren at HQ. Apparently, she’d already spoken with Ralph and he hadn’t been able to get to the moving truck before it got away.
“Gabriele, pull up the accident report of when Adele Westin had the traffic incident last summer and had to spend the night at the medical center. See if you can find out who the doctor was who treated her-we might not have it, but the hospital will if you can find the date.”
But even as I said the words, other thoughts about the case caught me, carried me in another direction entirely.
Tod’s kidnapper had referred to Radar by his nickname, but only people at the department did that. He hadn’t drawn undue attention when he dropped off the shoebox. It had to be-
Someone who knows Radar…who knew to switch the plates on the stolen car to bypass an APB, someone who’s been to crime scenes and knows how to avoid leaving prints, DNA.
I thought again of big guys on the force. Caucasians approximately six feet tall.
Wait.
Thompson was the one who first dug up the copy of Griffin’s catalog, he goes to church in the Franklin Heights area…
I could hardly believe what I was considering.
He used to patrol over by the train yards. He was there at the bank just now … He was the one standing sentry by Colleen’s door on Monday…
Thompson had left this morning to check on the Franklin Heights addresses. The next time I saw him was at the bank. He would’ve had time to get Tod and drive over there. The timing worked.
Timing and location. It’s always about timing and location.
We were looking for a person who could get access to the children in the school…
Who could do that? A social worker? A doctor? A counselor?
Or a police officer.
I told Gabriele, “And find out who the responding officer was at the accident.”
A pause. “The responding officer? You think our guy is a cop?”
“Just do it. And locate Thompson. I’ll stay on the phone. Is there any word on the victim from the slaughterhouse? Who she is?”
“Not yet. But we’re looking into it.”
“Where’s Basque?”
“Should be there at the hospital by now. Ellen and Lyrie are guarding him. Ralph is on his way.”
“Okay, radio Thompson and pull those accident reports ASAP.”
I asked the nurse at the desk where Basque’s room was and she looked it up while I waited for Gabriele to get back on the line.
Joshua arrived at the hospital.
It wasn’t hard for a man with his credentials to find out where they were treating the suspect from the homicide in the slaughterhouse, and after swinging by the admissions desk, he learned Basque was one building over in the trauma center next to the Flight for Life landing pad.
He started across the parking lot, then had a second thought, retrieved one of the needles with the tranquilizer from his car, and continued on to the building.
The nurse informed me that Basque was only two hallways over.
Good. I could head there in a minute, after I heard from Gabriele.
Someone from the station must have called ahead to tell Taci that I was being brought here, because, as I was waiting for Gabriele to give me an update, she came hurrying down the hall, flanked by two doctors.
“Pat!” She rushed to me. “Lieutenant Thorne called me, told me what happened. Are you okay? How’s your shoulder? Your leg?” There was deep concern in her voice, no trace of the awkwardness from yesterday morning when she’d told me she loved her job more than she loved me.
“I’m okay. Thanks for being here.”
“Of course.”
Seeing her in her element here, I knew it really would have torn her up to be with me, that it wouldn’t have been fair for me to ask her to stay in a relationship if she wasn’t able to give it what she felt she needed to.
Truly loving her, Pat, it’s going to mean letting her go.
It was hard to process all that with everything else going on.
Come on, Gabriele, hurry!
“We need to get you to an exam room,” Taci said emphatically.
“Yes, Detective,” one of the doctors told me. “We need to have a look at that shoulder.”
“And that leg,” the other added.
Taci took my hand and it felt both awkward and familiar at the same time, but I didn’t pull away.
Gabriele was still on another line.
“Just a sec,” I told them.
Hospitals don’t have metal detectors, don’t pat people down as they come through the door, so Joshua knew that getting his necrotome into the building wouldn’t be a problem. He went in a side door, showed his identification to the receptionist stationed behind a small window. “I was called in. They want me to talk with the man they brought in from the slaughterhouse. Richard Basque.”
“I think they’re getting ready to take him into surgery now. There are some officers with him.”
“Good. What room is he in?”
She told him, pointed toward the correct hallway, he thanked her and left for the room.
Facts spun through my mind.
Colleen worked for Basque and she was the first victim in this crime spree. If the offenders weren’t working together, she could have been how their lives interconnected.
The cases are linked through her.
Two cases.
Two offenders.
One interconnected puzzle.
Someone donated that money to that mission. Someone picked up those mattresses.
The abductor knew the woods, had to have spent time in that neighborhood. The mission…
Deep in thought, I glanced past Taci and saw the sign to the hospital’s chapel just down the hall.
And then, the facts of the case began to reshuffle themselves before me all over again and everything I’d thought was true turned on its head.
We needed a person who could have met Adele here in the hospital after her car accident and would also have been able to get into the school.
My eyes were still on the sign to the chapel.
When Colleen was brought to the hospital, she had a rosary with her-which meant she would have had it with her when she was left by the pier. And that meant the killer would’ve known she had it, could have easily guessed that she was Catholic.
When you were arresting Vincent, he said Colleen’s abductor mentioned last rites.
Oh yes.
I had it, or I thought I did.
“Taci, grab that phone book.”
She did and I flipped to the right page.
If our guy was the person I was thinking of, he would have known to switch the plates, been at enough crime scenes to know how to frustrate the investigation.
He has a portable phone-
He knows Radar, wouldn’t have stuck out at the department when he dropped off the package.
Switching to another line, I punched in the number for the West Reagan Street Mission. I had to know if this guy ever volunteered there. If he did, it would fit, it would all make sense.
Who would think to mention last rites to a Catholic like that? Only someone who-
The mission’s director, Reverend Tate, picked up and confirmed what I was thinking. “Yes, of course. He comes in every Friday night. He was here earlier today, as a matter of fact. For a funeral we had.”
That was it. That’s how he disappeared into the neighborhood aft
er fleeing from the train yards. The people knew him from his work at the mission. He wouldn’t have stuck out or drawn attention to himself at the funeral either.
No, he wasn’t a cop or a doctor.
Who else could have convinced the secretary at the school to let him see the Walker children?
A minister.
I saw the other line blinking and when I pressed the button, Gabriele came on again. “Pat, we’ve got the name of the victim. You’re not going to-”
“Our chaplain…” Honestly, I was still caught up in my thoughts about the kidnapper. “It’s Padilla.”
“Yes.” Gabriele sounded shocked. “How did you know?”
That got my attention. “What?”
“The victim. Sylvia Padilla, she’s the police chaplain’s wife. How did you know it was her?”
Oh no.
Basque had killed Joshua’s wife. It was all tied together in one intricate web.
If Padilla finds out, he’ll come after Basque. You know he will.
“Call Reverend Padilla. Find him.” I let the phone drop and hobbled away from the counter. “If Agent Hawkins gets here,” I shouted over my shoulder, “send him to Basque’s room right away.”
I told Taci and the doctors to stay there and, as fast as my injured leg would take me, I rushed toward Richard Basque’s hospital room.
99
Reverend Joshua Padilla knew the officer who was stationed outside Basque’s door: Lyrie. He’d counseled him after he’d shot a gang member last year.
“Thorne told me I’m supposed to go in,” he said to Lyrie. “Talk to him. Before his surgery.”
“Why?”
“I guess he asked for me while he was at the slaughterhouse.”
“I’m not authorized to-”
“You know it’s protocol to let spiritual advisers speak with victims and injured suspects.”
