Danger in Numbers

by Heather Graham

  But Patty Sanders did have a knife at her throat, scraping the flesh, causing a tiny trickle of blood to flow.

  She stared at Amy, desperate pleading in her eyes.

  Fear, one of Amy’s instructors at the academy had told her, was an instinct, natural to most living beings, and it was a good instinct—it could keep a human being from falling into dangerous situations.

  Letting fear become panic and overtake rational thought was when the fear itself became something dangerous.

  Amy had always tried to act and react with those words in mind. But fear for self was one thing; this was another.

  No matter how much she wanted to shoot the smug look off the young bastard’s face.

  Patty hadn’t been the one to open the door after Amy, seeing that lights were on, had tentatively knocked.

  “Come on, come in! Please, come tell Patty that you’re back, and all is well!” Martin had said. “She’s lying down. If you’ll just come with me.”

  He’d seemed fine, though now Amy could see he was shaking, too.

  Because once she was inside, Amy saw that Patty was being held with a knife at her throat and that a second assailant had a shotgun pointed at Martin.

  Now, of course, the gun was on Amy.

  The most bizarre thing about the picture, Amy thought, was the age of the two assailants—and the fact that she knew who they were.

  Two of the teenage boys from Karyl Vine’s youth group, the kid with the lock of dark hair that fell over his forehead and eye, and the blond young man who was still wearing the rock band T-shirt.

  “You want her to live?” the boy holding the shotgun demanded.

  Amy was confident with her own weapon; she was fast and accurate. But she had also been taught to weigh a situation, and at this moment, the lives of the hostages were at stake. She couldn’t take down both boys at once, and she really didn’t want to shoot the teenagers unless it proved there was no other choice.

  They might also be part of something bigger and could lead Amy to where her investigation needed to go.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  The dark-haired boy—wielding the shotgun—smiled at her. “You,” he said.

  “Really. Why?”

  “Because you need to be cleansed. So you’re gonna give me your gun, and we’re leaving through the back. Now.”

  “We can’t work it that way,” Amy said. “Because if I give you my gun, I have nothing—and no guarantee you’ll leave these people alone.”

  “I can shoot you right now,” the dark-haired boy said.

  “Hank, they want her!” the blond said. He wasn’t as cocky or assured. In fact, he seemed nervous. That was good and bad. His hand shook—and he had his knife against Patty’s flesh.

  “Me? I’m flattered.”

  “You should be,” the blond managed to sputter.

  Patty whimpered. Her eyes never left Amy’s face; they were filled with terror.

  Hunter and Ryan were out there, Amy thought. When she didn’t return they would want to know why, and they would come check.

  But how long would that take? The situation here was explosive. These young thugs were obviously new at this game, and that could make them more foolish—and more dangerous.

  “All right, how about I kill one of them to show you what I mean, and leave the other?” the dark-haired boy—Hank—suggested.

  “No,” Amy said flatly. “No one dies here. Hank—that’s your name, right? Let me think. I bet I’m a second choice. I think you believe Billie has been here, that she might have still been here, and she’s the one who is really wanted by your great leader.”

  “Don’t you mock the Divine Leader!” the blond cried. “He is trying to save the world, save all of our souls. For you...there will be pain, but the pain will cleanse you, and he’ll save you, too.”

  “You just can’t be that fucking crazy,” Amy said flatly.

  The kid gasped.

  His hand still shook.

  “Artie, shut the hell up!” Hank said.

  He was staring angrily at Artie. Artie was glaring back at Hank.

  It was her chance...

  Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

  “Kill her, Artie. We’ll just kill them both!” Hank shouted.

  Amy acted; pitching herself in a roll toward Artie, she drew out her Glock.

  Artie flew backward.

  Hank took aim at her.

  10

  Hunter flattened himself against the side of the house, nodding at Ryan.

  Ryan nodded in return and tapped at the door. “Martin! Hey, Martin, you guys are still up, right?” he called.

  Hunter heard shouting; they couldn’t wait. He burst past Ryan, throwing his entire weight and strength against the door.

  It gave.

  As he moved through the doorway, a shot rang out.

  He surveyed the scene.

  A blond kid was slammed against the wall; Patty Sanders was on the floor, sobbing hysterically. Amy was on the floor, too; she was the one who had fired, and a dark-haired boy was bleeding, but taking aim at Amy with a shotgun.

  Hunter had a clean shot, and he took the boy in the shoulder, causing him to spin around without firing, screaming out in pain.

  Amy was immediately on her feet, her Glock in her hand. “Patty, see to Martin!” she said firmly, walking toward the dark-haired boy.

  Hunter recognized the kids; they had been in Karyl Vine’s youth group that morning. Amy stomped toward the dark-haired boy, kicking the shotgun out of the way as she approached them. “I told you there were FBI agents here, you jerk,” she began. “Now we are going to get you to a hospital and then you’re going to tell us—stop!” she shrieked. “Hunter, stop him—”

  The kid had reached into his pocket with his good hand and stuffed something into his mouth.

  “No!” Hunter exclaimed, dropping down by the kid and reaching into his mouth.

  Whatever he’d taken, it was gone already. And the kid was staring up at him, laughing.

  “I’ll rest among the clouds, with the Chosen! I’ll have Eternity in beauty while you rot in the putrid fires and ashes of hell! They’re coming, they’re coming...all the Horsemen, they’re coming!”

  Hunter heard Amy swear; she lunged toward the blond kid, who was already trying to get his hand to his mouth.

  Luckily, he was shaking too badly.

  Amy was able to wrest the pill he was about to swallow from him.

  The blond hadn’t wanted to die.

  “Artie, you’re a wuss! Worse—a betrayer of the Divine Leader! You...you won’t see Eternity, you won’t...you’ll rot in the fires in the deepest bowels of hell!” the dying kid screamed. “You...you spawn of the devil! You—”

  His words were choked off in a cough; he was foaming at the mouth.

  Hunter dialed Emergency, even though he knew it was too late.

  But they had the blond kid, Artie. Amy had pocketed the pill she’d grabbed from him. He was obviously deflated and terrified now—because they had him, or because he was going to the deepest bowels of hell, Hunter didn’t know.

  Still, Amy was cuffing him, dragging him to his feet, while Ryan helped Patty up. She flew to her husband, who reached out his arms to her, white and shaking so badly that the two had to stumble to the couch and crash down on it.

  Patty sobbed; Martin held her.

  Hunter looked at Amy, a question in his eyes.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. “But I must say, you two had impeccable timing. Thank you.”

  The sound of sirens filled the night. Emergency response teams arrived along with the van from the coroner’s office.

  Hunter called in to his supervisor; Amy called in to hers. They’d both discharged their weapons, but no one had been killed with
them. Still, someone had died, and there would be paperwork to fill out. He knew they had responded by the book.

  But there had been a death.

  By then, they had Artie out in the back of Hunter’s car. Hunter had tried to talk to him, but the boy had clammed up completely.

  Amy had a softer touch, so Hunter had left her to it, but so far, all the kid had done was cry.

  His ID showed that he was Arthur Claymore. He was eighteen, so it wasn’t necessary to reach his parents before he was questioned.

  To Hunter’s surprise, it was Dr. Carver who came out with the response teams. His first words to Hunter were dry.

  “Really? Tonight?”

  “What the hell are you doing out here? The county has other medical examiners.”

  “I asked to be sent out on anything to do with this case. The powers that be agreed. Figure I’ll get a break when this is solved. You do plan on solving all this, right?”

  “We won’t stop until we do,” Hunter assured him.

  “It’s a shame. This kid.”

  “He meant to kill Amy, and yet, you’re right—it’s a shame. He was a kid. What did he take? Cyanide?”

  “That would be my guess. You can smell it,” Carver said.

  “We have one of the pills. The other kid didn’t manage to get his in his mouth,” Hunter told him. “It’s in an evidence bag.”

  “Well, we’ll get it to the lab,” Carver said. He looked at the dead boy he’d bent over just moments before. “And we’ll get him to the morgue.”

  “How the hell do these kids have cyanide pills?” Hunter asked, shaking his head.

  “I’m not the detective or the investigator,” Carver said, “but even I can speculate that adults—with finances to pull this all off—are behind it.”

  “Pharmaceuticals,” Hunter murmured.

  “What?”

  “If you have big money in pharmaceuticals, I guess you can get what you want. Anyway, I have to report in, and Amy is going to have to report in, and the paperwork is going to be endless. I’m hoping she’s getting something from our suspect. I’ve been ordered to take him down to our Miami offices, where he’ll stay held until charges are determined.”

  * * *

  So much for a few hours of desperately needed sleep.

  Patty and Martin were barely coherent, but even in that, they thanked Hunter, Amy and Ryan, certain the young people would have killed them.

  “Maybe not the blond kid. I don’t think he knew it would go so bad,” Martin said. “But that dark-haired boy, he was like...possessed!”

  Patty sobbed again. “We’re alive! We’re alive!”

  Victor Mulberry arrived, a little late to the scene, looking a bit rumpled and bleary-eyed. “I might as well move out here. What the hell is going on? People all seem to have lost it!”

  “Letting someone convince you that killing is a way to reach God...it’s hard to understand,” Hunter told him.

  “I won’t lie,” the detective said, watching Carver instruct his assistants on securing the body of the dead boy. “I’m scared of how far this might go.” Mulberry then turned to Hunter. “All right, then, I’ve got this. You do what you need to do.”

  Ryan walked over to Hunter.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Sanders have asked if I can stay for the rest of the night.”

  Hunter nodded. “Fine. Amy and I will get Artie down to Miami.”

  A few minutes later, he was finally in the car with their bags. Artie remained handcuffed in the back seat.

  Amy was still sitting next to the boy. “I think I’ll just stay back here for the drive,” she said lightly.

  Hunter glanced at her, wondering if she’d gotten anything from him at all. She didn’t speak, and he knew they’d have a chance later to talk. He nodded.

  Soon after they started out, the boy wailed, “I want to die! I need to die. Why was I such a coward? I’ll never reach the clouds, the heavens—I’ll never come to divinity. I’m going to be caught in the fires that are coming, lost forever, burning, hurting... I’m such a coward!”

  “You’re not a coward. You’re a sensible young man,” Amy told him. “Artie, in your heart, you know all this is wrong. You didn’t want to hurt Mrs. Sanders. You were just more afraid of Hank than you were of me—of us—of the truth.”

  The boy started sobbing.

  Hunter kept silent. Amy had built up a rapport with Artie. He meant to let her build on what she had started.

  “Artie, whoever has been telling you all this is lying,” Amy said.

  “No, no, because...because what Hank promised me came true before. It will come true again,” Artie said.

  “What came true? What did he promise you? Was it Hank, or someone else?”

  Artie shook his head. He was silent for a long moment. Then he blurted, “I’m not a Hank...an anybody. I never had...girls don’t... And then there was a woman. I... Love is life. Being with someone, that’s part of love. On my own...when I vowed to help Hank... I didn’t know... I mean, I didn’t know that it meant killing. I wasn’t there before... I knew, yeah, Hank was there, that he helped. He said it was beautiful, that the heavens opened to take the girl’s soul...the one they called Lady Liberty.”

  “Artie, Lady Liberty...she was the young woman on the cross?”

  He started sobbing again. “She...yes. She was...with me. She came to me at night. Then Hank told me she had been chosen. That she was so lucky. She would face the pain and the sacrifice that would allow her to soar up and sit on the highest clouds and know nothing but love and grace and happiness for eternity. And now I...now I will burn!” he whispered.

  Amy snapped at him firmly then. “Artie, that is bull—pure, simple bull! That girl died in agony, and it was cruel and brutal and horrible. And she didn’t die for any reason—there is no divine human being, no Divine Leader. Hank fed you a total crock of bull!”

  Hunter wondered at her logic—suddenly becoming so fierce and firm when she had been so sweet.

  But she might have pulled it off just right.

  “Really? Do you think—”

  “Artie, you were brainwashed. It might be hard for you to see it, but you were brainwashed! And you’re young. You’re a handsome boy. There will be a girl out there, sometime. You know in your heart that killing is wrong! Think of the Ten Commandments. Thou shall not kill!”

  Artie started to sob again.

  “You didn’t kill anyone yet, Artie. That’s what you told me. You said Hank was there, though. At least for the young woman on the cross, the woman you called Lady Liberty. Artie, do you know who was there with him? Did this ‘Divine Leader’ take part?”

  “He leads us in the way of righteousness. We listen, and we obey, because he is the Divine Leader.”

  “Artie, that’s all over. There is no Divine Leader. There is a man out there telling you things, preying on your weaknesses, convincing you that you will have both earthly desires and a cloud in heaven. But, Artie, it’s all lies. So, help us—help us stop the horror of killing. Do you need pictures of Lady Liberty on the autopsy table? I’m sure we can get them to you.”

  “No, no, they couldn’t have...they said she would rise, know happiness forever, that she would be loved and live in grace...”

  “Artie, no. They murdered her, brutally.”

  He began to cry again.

  Hunter glanced back; Amy had set an arm around Artie’s shoulders.

  “Artie, we need to know—please help us! We need to know who else was there when she was killed. Who killed the woman we found today?”

  “Hank and the Brothers from the north.”

  “Hank was the only one you know who was involved?”

  “I know Hank was there. He told me he saw her soul rise to heaven, that he saw her laughing. The great Brothers, apostles of the Divine Leader, came, and
they commanded he needed to witness.”

  “Why weren’t you invited?” Amy asked him.

  “I am too raw, too new. Only deep believers, accepted believers, those who wear the sign of the Divine Leader, can take part.”

  Hunter briefly caught Amy’s gaze through the rearview mirror.

  She was going to stop for the moment, he knew. Artie was far too weepy to make any more sense. He’d be held overnight, and then they’d start in the morning.

  An agent was waiting for them at the entrance to the facilities in Miami.

  The agent took custody of Artie and studied them as he gave Hunter a set of keys. “It’s not far from here, in Coconut Grove. It’s our house for times such as this. Stocked with everything you’ll need. You two sure as hell look like you could use some sleep.” He grimaced. “Sorry. You know what I mean. Get some rest. We’ll see this young man is safe and looked after.”

  Amy told him, “Thank you.”

  “Thank you. I understand we’re working tightly on this one with FDLE and members of the local forces around the state. Hell of a case, from what I’ve read, from the briefings we’ve been given. And a big state to cover, so it seems.”

  They both thanked him and headed back for the car. Hunter knew exactly where the little house was—down the street from a police station.

  Hunter unlocked the door and followed the alarm instructions on the key chain. Amy entered and looked around.

  It was an old place for the area, a small but charming Mediterranean house with a barrel-tile roof, probably built in the late 1920s or early 1930s. There was a large living room with a handsome mantel carved out of coral rock. A dining room led to a nice-size kitchen, and a hallway led to bedrooms to the left of the entry.

  “The bedrooms are down that way,” Hunter advised her.

  She smiled at him. “Cool. I’ll take the first room.”

  She paused, looking at him.

  It was just a moment.

  It struck Hunter that it was probably a good thing for them both that they were keeling over with exhaustion. Because he looked back at her. Her eyes appeared almost luminescent in the sparse light falling on them from the hallway.