3
Vincent was pissed off to the point where he could hardly think straight.
A lot of it had to do with the crime scene, but the half a dozen patrolmen and women in the bullpen outside the conference room were frantic, in a rush and darting in and out of the station as they scrambled to make sense of the madness. They didn’t know how to deal with a situation like this. Hollow Green was a town where the worst offense was a bar fight or two. And even something like that was a rare occurrence.
Hollow Green wasn’t a place where people died as a result of murder. Heart attacks and cancer were the leading causes out here. Hollow Green was a nowhere town in the middle of Illinois, far from Chicago, where everyone knew each other’s names. It was a peaceful town. Serene.
A patrolman was speaking in loud and intense tones just outside the room as Vincent and Sandoval went about sorting through all the files they had pulled on Trevor Michaels.
“Is this all of it?” Vincent asked.
“I think so,” Sandoval said. “I’m just looking for—”
The patrolman outside the room was now two steps shy of shouting.
Vincent was fuming.
He threw open the door and shouted, “People! I need you all to listen up!”
All heads turned. All in attendance ceased speaking, an unsettling silence only interrupted by the occasional ringing of a desk phone.
“Look,” Vincent said, a little more relaxed. “I know that we’re all a little on edge. This situation is confusing and unprecedented. But it’s important we stay professional, levelheaded, and make sure to set an example for the rest of the people in Hollow Green. Okay? They’re looking up to us right now. The people in this town are looking for leadership, and we are the ones that they are looking up to for that leadership. So please—be calm, be in control, and be aware of your composure and your surroundings at all times. Okay?”
Nods. Mumbles of confirmation. A newfound peace settled over the station as Vincent slipped back into the conference room and the officers went about their duties. Sandoval was now smiling and shaking his head as he stood and reached into his jacket pocket, pacing the room as he shot an occasional glance at the files on the desk.
“You really know how to charm an audience, Eddie,” Sandoval said.
Vincent flipped him the bird and continued plowing through the files on the polished wooden table. Moments later, Chief Mason entered the room, nodding at both men as he closed the door behind him.
Vincent responded with a respectful nod of his own. “Hope it was okay that I took the initiative, chief. Folks in the bullpen out there were starting to get a little squirrely.”
Chief Mason brushed the air with his hand. “Don’t sweat it. I’m glad you did. I’ve never seen these people more on edge in my entire career.”
“Where’s Stone?”
The chief turned to the files on the table and began sorting through them. “She’s wrapping up at the funeral home. She also took the liberty of telling the medical examiner from Chicago to not bother coming down now. She said her people don’t need the extra hands getting in the way.”
Vincent made a pssh sound as Sandoval produced a cigarette from a brand-new pack with the cellophane still wrapped around it.
He nodded at Sandoval. “When did you start up again?”
Sandoval looked at his watch. “In about five seconds.”
Vincent smirked. Shook his head. Looked back at the files. Sandoval pulled a fresh book of matches from a pocket, struck it, and lit the tip of his cigarette. The chief snatched up a Styrofoam cup and held it out.
“Not supposed to smoke in here,” he said, more like a formality than an actual reprimand as Sandoval took the cup and dropped ash inside of it. Almost on cue, Agent Stone then entered the room with a patrolman, a rolled-up map clutched in his hand and a weary, placid look on his face.
“Gentleman,” she said, then took the map from the patrolman. “I want to coordinate how we’re going to go about locking down the town.”
Stone unfurled the map and smoothed it out, all of the participants in the room standing around it and taking in an aerial view of Hollow Green.
The town itself was partitioned off in a kind of hexagon shape, nestled in between an adjoining town to the west, Hartland, and the Hollow Green Mental Health Facility to the east. The police station rested at the most northern point, almost spearheading the entire town that toted the proud slogan “No Place Finer, No Place Friendlier.”
Stone, her finger tracing through Main Street, which cut from east to west on the map, asked, “How many men do you have on staff?”
“We currently have thirty-one officers on staff,” the chief said. “And two detectives.” He gestured to Sandoval and Vincent. “So thirty-four total, including myself.”
Stone nodded. “We’ll need to post people up on all the major road leading in and out of town.”
“That’d be Georgia Avenue,” Sandoval added, pointed it out on the map, “Salisbury Road, and Daleridge Avenue. Georgia runs north-south, Salisbury runs southeast, and Daleridge kind of wiggles through in this S-pattern from the southwest and up to the north.”
“I want men on all those streets,” Stone said. “I hit the panic button and managed to pull an additional ten agents from Chicago. They’ll be working directly alongside me. I want you to refrain from giving orders or asking them anything that’s not pertinent to the case. I just want to remind you gentleman that the FBI is running the show, so please defer to me on all matters until we resolve the situation.”
Vincent looked away, trying his best not to show her his displeasure.
You’re already off on the wrong foot, Stone…
“How positive are you that this is Trevor Michaels?” Sandoval asked.
“After going to the funeral home,” Stone said, “I’m quite comfortable stating that we have something close to a ninety-five percent chance that this is Trevor Michaels.”
Vincent squinted.
He couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.
“What did you find at the funeral home?” he asked.
Stone turned her eyes on Vincent and adopted the same kind of defensive posture she had when they first crossed paths. Stone knew that Vincent was a brilliant investigator.
And she did not want to be bested.
“How familiar are you with the case history on Michaels?” she asked.
“Very,” Vincent said.
“Well, detective, then you’re aware of his MO?”
Vincent smirked. He knew full well that Stone was trying to test him. “Michaels killed all his victims with a blow to the back of the head after repeated blows to the rest of their body, starting at the legs and working his way up.
Aside from two cases where he used a wrench and a hammer, Michaels preferred using a three-inch-thick lead pipe to bludgeon his victims with a killing blow to the back of their skull. No sexual violations.
No secretions other than sweat were left at the scene. All of his victims were female, save for a single male victim who walked in on Michaels during one of the crimes and was killed in a similar fashion to that of his wife. I believe those were victims three and four, respectively.”
Stone cracked the tiniest of smiles.
Not bad, detective.
“And the theory behind the killings?” she asked Vincent.
Vincent said, “Dr. Miles Davidson over at Hollow Green did a psych profile in cooperation with the FBI. Based on Michaels’ case history, he speculated that Michaels murdered victims in a similar fashion to that of his own sister.”
Sandoval’s interested was piqued. “Sister?”
Vincent nodded. “Eloise Michaels. She was killed when he was twelve in Michigan, by her father. Trevor was a witness. He was eight at the time. The father, Howard Michaels, bludgeoned Eloise to death after she poured his beer down the sink when he came home drunk one night, like he did most nights.
Dr. Davidson seems to be of the mind that Michae
ls killed his victims in a similar fashion to that of his sister. Davidson and the FBI are of the mind that Michaels was acting out some kind of suppressed sexual fantasies when he killed his victims.”
Stone tilted her head when she heard the hint of sarcasm in Vincent’s tone. “You don’t believe that’s case?”
Vincent shook his head. “That suppressed sexual fantasies theory is grade-school conjecture, if you ask me. No better than cheap plots on television shows.”
Stone crossed her arms.
Chief Mason waited to see if he needed to talk Vincent down.
Sandoval hid a smile by sucking down his cigarette.
“Is that so, detective?” Stone asked.
Vincent continued, “There were no semen secretions on any of the crime scenes. No sexual violations. There was not a single shred of evidence or implication that Michaels in any way was acting out a sexual fantasy. I think that Davidson and the Bureau were desperate to find a motive that would land him a quick conviction along with evidence they had on hand. I think that the investigation was premature in its conclusions, and the reasons were because the Feds mishandled the early stages of the case, which resulted in three additional murders that could have been prevented, along with the fact that Davidson is a hack doctor at best.”
Sandoval’s eyes went wide. He knew that if this were some kind of boxing match, Vincent would have just landed a hard blow on Stone’s cheek.
Stone nodded, keeping her composure and now treating Vincent like he was a pupil rather than a peer. “So,” she said. “You probably find it more convenient than relevant that a killing spree starts up in a town adjacent to Michaels’ place of incarceration just after his escape?”
A tension-laced silence took hold. All eyes were on Vincent.
He took a moment.
And then he nodded.
“I do, actually. Yeah.”
Stone huffed and shook her head, turning her eyes back to the map and not wanting to indulge Vincent any longer. “I need men on all these streets,” she said to the chief. “We’re going to put the entire town on lockdown. We’ll put the word out over the local radio station. We’re going to go door to door and interview every single resident in this town. We’re going to turn over every stone and interview every citizen until we find where Michaels is hiding. I want Hollow Green PD to handle the sweep while I and a couple of my agents will deal with the door-to-doors. I’m also going to speak with Dr. Davidson over at mental health facility in the meantime.” She shot a glance at Vincent. “Hack or not.”
Vincent couldn’t help but smile.
“What about us?” Sandoval asked.
Stone looked up with a self-assured and dismissive expression. “You’re the most senior members of this department, correct?”
Sandoval nodded.
Vincent could sense what was coming next.
Stone said, “Go ahead and camp out on Main Street. Maybe you’ll get lucky and spot Michaels going out for a late-night stroll.”
Un-fucking-believable.
As he opened his mouth to protest, the door to the conference room flew open, and a petite but tough patrolman with tension-sweat stains on her blue uniform called out, “There’s been another murder.”
4
The victim went by the name of Bryce Alan Presley. Thirty-one. Five foot eleven. One hundred and sixty pounds.
And father of two.
After the officer came into the conference room and announced that yet another body had hit the floor, Vincent, Sandoval, the chief, and Stone all piled into their respective vehicles and hightailed it to the scene. A ten-minute drive later, the law enforcement officials rolled up to a two-story colonial, where Presley’s wife, Celia, screamed and shouted on the front lawn in a blood-soaked nightgown, tears streaming down her face.
“Please!” she shouted as she ran toward the headlights. “Please! My husband! Oh my God! Help me! Please!”
Vincent was the first one to pile out of the vehicle before Sandoval had even brought it to a full stop, grabbing Mrs. Presley by the arms and asking her, “Where is he?”
Mrs. Presley crooked a bloodied finger toward the house. “He’s inside! In the living room! Oh my God! Please help him!”
Vincent pulled his Glock out of its holster and ran toward the house, Sandoval in tow and Stone not far behind them with their own weapons out and at the ready.
It was dark inside the house, with nothing but the red and blue lights outside painting the interior of the house through the windows. Vincent moved in first, Sandoval right behind him, and Stone following in the rear. She would have taken point.
But Vincent got there first.
He turned to the left and set foot inside the living room. Bryce Presley’s body was face down in a pool of his own blood, in a similar position to Karen Mercer just hours earlier.
“Clear!” Sandoval yelled out from the second floor.
“Clear here,” Stone added from inside the kitchen.
Vincent did a once-over of the living room, poked his head into the laundry room adjacent to it, holstered his weapon, and calmly called out, “Clear.”
Sandoval, Stone, and Vincent then gathered around the body, giving it a respectable space for the sake of the victim and the integrity of the crime scene. After looking him over, they discovered that Bryce Presley had been beaten from head to toe, with a brutal indentation on the back of his head that had undoubtedly killed him.
Just like the others.
An hour later, the pictures were taken, the crime scene was locked down, and the entire Hollow Green Police Department was out in full force, canvassing the area and shutting down every major road and avenue until the entirety of the district was cut off from the outside world.
Edgar Vincent couldn’t help but think of his daughter, Claire, and called the number for his ex-wife’s house in Chicago, even though it was one in the morning. Three rings later, Daniela, Vincent’s ex, answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Danny. It’s Eddie.”
A pause. “It’s one in the morning, Eddie.”
“I know. I just… Is Claire there?”
“She’s asleep.”
“I know. I just wanted to hear her voice.”
“It’s not an appropriate time to be calling.”
“Last I checked, I was still allowed to talk to my daughter…”
Daniela sighed. “Have you been drinking?”
Vincent gripped the phone tight, still amused and angered that Danny would use the age-old tactic of laying out the sins of his past in front of him as a way to get him to shut up.
“I haven’t had a drink in two years, Danny,” he said. “You know that.”
Another pause.
“It’s one in the morning, Eddie. Call back at a reasonable hour.”
And then the line went dead. Vincent held on for a few moments, the phone slowly slipping from his fingers as Sandoval knocked on the door to the precinct bathroom that Vincent was holed up in.
“Hey, buddy,” he said. “We gotta get moving.”
Vincent became lost in his thoughts for a moment, wondering when he’d see his daughter again and questioning himself for the umpteenth time about his competency as a father.
“Eddie,” Sandoval called out from the other side of the door, sounding somewhat impatient.
“Yeah,” Vincent replied, he pocketed his phone and moved out into the bullpen, now being taken over and occupied by some of the brightest—and not so brightest—members of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, stacked nearly shoulder to shoulder in their crisp and very official-looking suits as they pored over documents and listened to Stone’s instructions on how the investigation would play out.
“We have all of the Hollow Green Police Department blocking off all the major roads going in and out of the town,” she said. “The FBI will be focusing on door-to-door searches. The tactical unit from Quantico won’t be arriving for another two hours, so we’ll be on our own until
that time. Be careful, be vigilant, and cover the back of your fellow agent.”
Vincent glanced around and saw that all the agents were attentive and alert, taking every word Stone said with the utmost respect. They believed in Stone. More importantly—they trusted Stone.
Every word that came out of her mouth was clear and concise. As she made a slight chopping motion with her hand to accompany her words, she made it a point to make eye contact with each agent, assuring them with a strong and almost paternal delivery that made everyone feel a little more at ease.
Vincent couldn’t lie to himself. As much as he didn’t like Stone, he sure as hell respected her leadership.
Stone held up a picture of a wiry-haired man with an emaciated face and dark circles under his eyes. “This is the man we’re looking for,” she said. “Trevor Michaels. Caucasian. Six feet. One hundred sixty pounds. Has several identifying marks, including a scar over the left eyebrow, and a tattoo of a peacock on his inner right forearm. Please refer to the packets that have been provided with for the full record of his stats and history.”
Agents around the room had already begun cracking open their homework and buckling down as Stone continued.
“We have reason to believe that Michaels is still somewhere inside Hollow Green. We’re working with other law enforcement agencies to go about securing the roads and putting out an APB in regards to his escape.” She glanced around the room. “Where’s Roselli and Michaels?”
Two agents on opposite sides of the room raised their hands.
Stone said, “You’ll be escorting me to Hollow Green Mental Health Facility here in a few moments. We’re going to be speaking with Michaels’ doctor.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Got it.”
Stone took a breath and braced herself against the desk in front of her. “This is where our abilities are being put to the test, people. This is what we’ve trained for. We’ve lost three people already in Hollow Green. We’re not going to lose any more.”
Everyone waited for the cue.
Hollow Green Page 2
