by David Archer
O’Rourke looked at Samantha. “You ready to roll?”
She sighed, but nodded. “Let’s do it. I’ll get the team.”
The state garage was eight miles out of town on Route 14, and sat away from the road a good quarter-mile. It was where the highway maintenance equipment was stored, the trucks and bulldozers and graders and paving equipment that was all necessary to keep the highways in decent condition. It took them fifteen minutes to get there, and they were greeted by a couple of state troopers.
“Yeah, that’s blood,” Samantha said. “And a lot of it.” She took some samples and then set cones out with crime scene tape to secure the area. “Give me a couple hours and I’ll tell you whether it’s hers or not.”
“My gut says it is,” O’Rourke said. “And it may be the biggest break yet.” He pointed at the security cameras on the building. One of them was pointing almost perfectly at the blood stain on the ground. “I need the tapes from that camera.”
One of the troopers found the maintenance supervisor and brought him to O’Rourke.
“It’s not a tape,” the supervisor said. “All the security video is stored on a hard drive, but we got a monitor in the building. I can make a copy of any part you want and put it on a flash drive for you.”
“I want everything that camera has seen for the last seven days,” O’Rourke said. “Can you do that?”
The supervisor nodded. “Sure. Take me about twenty minutes.”
Two hours later, O’Rourke was sitting at his desk, scanning through the silent, black and white video. He started at the end of the time sequence, where the video showed the crime scene tape already in place. He skipped backward twenty-four hours, looked at the image of the bloodstain and then went back another twenty-four hours. It was still there, so he went back another day, and it was gone.
He skipped forward an hour at a time, and a vehicle suddenly appeared after the sun had gone down. It was an old van, something out of the eighties. It was parked behind the building where the bloodstain would soon appear, positioned so that only the nose of the van was visible to the camera. O’Rourke went back ten minutes and it was gone again, so he let the video play. When the van appeared again eight minutes later, he leaned forward and watched intently. He could barely make out the outline of a driver sitting behind the wheel, but only for a moment.
O’Rourke could see that the driver was rather large, and almost certainly a man. He climbed out of the driver’s seat and moved into the back of the van, and then the whole vehicle seemed to shake for a few minutes. The shaking stopped, and then a short time later it resumed again, but lasted only a minute or so. Everything seemed quiet for a while after that, but then the shaking began again, violently.The van continued to sit there for another few minutes, but then the driver reappeared and suddenly drove away.
The bloodstain was there, and O’Rourke realized that he had just watched Brenda Starling’s murder. He jumped back to when the van first appeared and watched it again. When the van drove away for the second time, the timestamp indicated that it had been there for almost an hour in total. O’Rourke stared at the bloodstain again, but then he had to stop and go outside for a cigarette.
The camera had been facing the van head on, and O’Rourke was certain nobody had gotten out. Whatever happened to Brenda Starling took place inside the vehicle, so how the bloodstain could appear once the van drove away was leaving him confused. He made a mental note to ask Samantha for her opinion.
Three smokes later, he managed to sit at his desk again and replay that section of the video. The man who was driving went into the back of the van and the shaking began. Based on the rhythmic movement of the van, O’Rourke concluded that Brenda was being raped during that time. The shaking stopped and then began again, but didn’t last as long. Sometime later, when it resumed again, it seemed to be more violent. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he made notes about what he was watching, concluding that the final violent shaking was when the beating and stabbing must’ve taken place. A moment later, the van drove away, disappearing off the screen toward the right of the camera angle.
Unfortunately, the camera never captured the license plate. O’Rourke played it again, this time focusing on the van itself as he looked for damage or other identifying marks. Unfortunately, all he could tell was that it was a light-colored vehicle, but there was no way to know what color it was. If he had to guess, he’d go for gray or brown, but it could easily be blue, green, orange or purple, or some other shade that looks neutral in black and white.
He called the crime lab and asked Samantha to come up to his office, then set her in front of his desk and played the video for her. While she watched, he stood to the side where he couldn’t see the monitor.
“We have a monster on our hands,” she said when it was finished. “Any clue who this could be?”
O’Rourke shook his head. “Didn’t see anything I can identify,” he said. “Can’t get a good look at the driver through the windshield, it’s too grimy. No tag on the van, either. The van looks like a mid eighties Chevy, but that video is black-and-white so I have no idea what color it really is. There aren’t any noticeable signs of damage on it, something that would make it identifiable.” He sat down heavily in the chair beside his desk. “What about DNA? Come up with anything yet?”
She shook her head. “Getting a DNA result back can take time. I did ask them to put a rush on it, but we’re probably still looking at a couple of weeks.”
“Call them back and beg,” O’Rourke said. “Couple of weeks from now, this guy may have more kills under his belt. I want to stop him before he can get to his next victim.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“You do that. And while we’re at it, what do you think about all that blood showing up after the van drives away? Far as I could tell, nobody got out. I’m thinking maybe some kind of drainhole in the floor?”
“That’s what it looks like,” Samantha said. “That makes me wonder if he’s used it for this purpose before.”
“Yeah,” O’Rourke said. “Me, too.”
The days passed slowly, and O’Rourke grew more and more frustrated. He had printed out several images of the van from the video and made sure every officer had them, just in case one of them would run across one that might match. He figured it had to be somewhere in the area, unless the killer was simply passing through, but using the maintenance garage to hide behind made it seem like somebody who knew the area.
The family, and a lot of their friends, had set up a crowdfunding account to raise a reward, but even the promise of thousands of dollars wasn’t bringing any decent leads. O’Rourke had talked to all of his informants, but none of them seemed to have any idea who the killer might be and didn’t show any sign that they recognized the van in the pictures.
Of course, the news media moved on to other stories. There was occasional mention of the ongoing investigation, but without any new developments, it was destined to end up in the back pages of the newspapers. The reporters had not even bothered to call him in a couple of days, and he didn’t know whether to be glad or angry. The girl deserved justice, and her killer deserved the needle.
It had been almost three weeks since her body was found when O’Rourke walked into his office on a Thursday morning. He sat at his desk and started going through the reports that had come in overnight, looking for anything that might take his mind off the case that wouldn’t leave him alone, that wouldn’t let him sleep more than a few hours each night. He was halfway through the last page of overnight incidents when the phone on his desk rang, and he picked it up without the slightest hope that it would be bringing him any news.
“Dave?” Samantha said. “I got the DNA report back.”
“And? Does it tell us anything?”
“Oh, it does,” she said. “I have a ninety-nine percent positive match.”
O’Rourke’s eyes popped open wide. “I’ll be right down,” he said. He slammed down the phone and jumped out of his
chair, heading out the door and toward the stairs that would lead to the lab in the basement.
“Okay,” he said as he rushed into her office. “Who is it?”
Samantha, her face looking anguished, simply pointed to the computer on her desk and O’Rourke took a look. There was a DNA profile on the screen, and as he watched, she clicked a button to bring up the identity of the person whose profile it was.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, then turned and looked into her eyes.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he said. “This is some kind of joke, right?”
“Don’t I wish it was,” she said. “Our DNA match comes back to the most famous private detective in the freaking country. We have a ninety-nine percent positive match on Sam Prichard. No matter how I try to find a way around it, Dave, he’s your killer.”
ONE
Two Months Earlier
“This really sucks, Sam,” Jade said. “We’re not going to know what to do without you around here.”
Sam Prichard looked at her, then around the conference table at the rest of the Windlass team. “Baloney,” he said. “All of you are incredibly talented investigators on your own. I was really nothing but a glorified supervisor, and you people don’t need one. Each and every one of you is fully qualified, you don’t need an old, retired cop telling you what to do.”
“You’re not old,” Steve Beck said. “And now that you’re defecting, Ron and Jeff are talking about sticking me in the job. I really am an old, retired cop, remember?”
“No, you tried to be one,” Sam said. “You couldn’t cope with it, which is why you ended up here. Steve, you’d make a fine Chief Investigator. Besides, you have this team to do all the work. All you have to do is travel around with Walter.”
“But who’s going to bail me out when I get myself in a pinch?” Denny Cortlandt asked. “Blimey, Sam, I’ll be stuck with this lot.”
Sam grinned, but got up from his chair. “They’ll do fine, Denny. Come on, help me carry this stuff out to my car.”
Sam Prichard, former Chief Investigator of Windlass Security, had tendered his resignation after his last case with the company. He had gone up against one of the most dangerous terrorists he had ever met, and had come within a split second of seeing his own children murdered in front of his eyes. For this reason and several others, he had decided it was time to get out of the business once and for all.
On this particular day, he was cleaning out his desk. Ron Thomas and Jeff Donaldson, the owners of the company, had already told him that they were promoting Steve Beck to the job, and Sam didn’t think there was a better man possible for it. He hoped they would all remain friends, but Sam’s wife and daughter were overjoyed that he decided to retire.
It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to. Over the course of his investigative career, Sam had earned more than four million dollars in pay, bonuses and rewards. That money was sitting in high-yield accounts that would pay out nearly two hundred thousand dollars to him each year, more than enough for his family to live comfortably for the rest of their lives.
“Fine, then,” Denny said. He and Darren Beecher each picked up a couple of boxes, while Steve and the girls followed along. Summer looked like she was about to cry, and insisted on giving Sam a hug before he climbed into his Mustang to drive away from the office for what they all expected to be the last time.
Indie was waiting when he got home, along with their children McKenzie and Bo, and both of their mothers. Since this was the day that made his retirement official, they had decided to celebrate by all going out for dinner.
“Well, it’s done,” Sam said as he walked in through the front door. “All my crap is in the car, but I can unload it tomorrow.”
“Dad dad dad,” Bo said, sitting in his playpen, and Sam grinned down at him. Kenzie was standing beside her brother, smiling, but there was something in her face that pained Sam. When things had come so close to going terribly wrong, Kenzie had been forced to watch as Sam killed the man who was threatening them all. She was already seeing a counselor, but Sam knew that it would be some time before his bright, happy little girl would be able to get back to normal.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said to her. “Are you glad Daddy is retired?”
She nodded solemnly. “Yeah, so you won’t get shot no more.” She made a face and shook her head. “I always hated that part.”
“Me too,” Indie said. “But now we don’t have to worry about that. Daddy won’t be doing those kinds of jobs anymore, so nobody will be shooting at him.”
“Samuel, look at this,” his mother said. Grace Prichard held out the newspaper that had arrived only a short time earlier, and Sam saw his own picture near the bottom of the front page. A local reporter had heard that he was retiring and called him up the day before for an interview.
“Wow, front page,” Sam said. “Somebody must think I’m a celebrity of some sort.”
“You were,” said Kim, Indie’s mother. “Just about everybody knows who Sam Prichard is, after you saving the world so many times.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, I didn’t exactly save the world,” he said. “I might have done a little bit to stop some bad guys, but any world saving took a lot more than just me.”
“Oh, yeah?” his wife asked. “I dare you to tell that to everybody who would have been affected by some of those bad guys. I’m pretty sure they think you saved the world.”
“I don’t want to think about that,” Sam said with a grin, pulling her into a hug. “I want to think about taking my family on a vacation. Doesn’t that sound like a good thing to think about?”
“Well, for right now, we need to think about where we are going for dinner. You’re the guest of honor, got any preferences?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “How about Taco Bell?”
“Taco Bell? I was thinking more along the lines of Cracker Barrel, or maybe Applebee’s. Why would you pick Taco Bell?”
“Because that’s where my life really started,” Sam said. “Don’t you remember? That’s where I met you.”
Indie grinned. Four years earlier, she had been a homeless single mother when she spotted an ad on Craigslist looking for a computer hacker. She had carefully checked out who posted it and determined that it was a retired policeman. She tracked him down, then had to follow him when he went out for lunch. Sam had been sitting at an outdoor table crunching tacos when he got a text message asking if they were good.
The text had taken him by surprise, but shortly thereafter, he found himself sitting across the table from a beautiful woman. He bought her lunch because she said she was hungry, while she explained that she could do the kind of things he wanted done. He had called his former partner at the police department to check her out, which was how he learned that she had a little girl hiding in her car, and nowhere to live.
He had made her an offer: he would pay for her computer hacking skills, and she and her daughter could use a spare room in his house while she tried to get back on her feet. At first, she had thought he was making a less than honorable proposition, but he assured her that was not the case. In desperation, she had accepted, and the two of them had fallen in love within weeks.
“I do have some fond memories of that day,” Indie said with a grin. “I guess we can do Taco Bell if you want.”
Sam squeezed her and kissed her cheek. “I’m teasing,” he said. “Cracker Barrel does sound like a good idea.” He looked around the room. “Everybody ready?”
They were, and it was only a few minutes before they were all loaded up in two vehicles and headed for the restaurant. Kenzie had wanted to ride with her grandmothers, and Bo was happily fastened into his car seat in the back seat of the Honda Ridgeline. They all backed out of the driveway, and Sam led the way to the restaurant.
Dinner was wonderful, and they followed it up by going out to a movie. Bo wasn’t entirely sure what the movie was all about, but he was sitting in Daddy’s lap, so he was content. Kenzie had chosen a movie
about a gigantic shark, so Sam had to endure Indie’s fingers digging into his arm, but it was a wonderful evening altogether.
The next day, all six of them boarded a plane that would take them to Orlando. Sam had decided to spend a little money on a week at Disney World, and they all enjoyed the vacation. The grandmas were happy to take the children from time to time, letting Sam and Indie have some private moments for themselves. They spent some of it in their room at the resort, but they also did a little sightseeing of their own around the enormous theme park. It was a delightful time, and they were all a little sad when the week ended and it was time to go back to Denver.
It was necessary, though. Kenzie would be starting school shortly, and Sam was looking forward to spending time relaxing. He had ideas for new songs he wanted to write, and his friends in Nashville were always happy to shop them around to various recording artists.
It wasn’t long, though, before boredom set in. Sam wasn’t the kind of man who could sit around and do nothing, so when Ron Thomas called to ask him if he would be willing to help out with some simple cases, Sam talked it over with his wife and got her blessing.
The first one was easy. All he had to do was fly to New Jersey and pick up some sensitive paperwork. Because they had not decommissioned his ID, including the Homeland Security endorsement on the back, Sam was still authorized to carry a weapon even on a commercial flight. That made him an ideal courier for sensitive items, such as secret corporate agreements that had to be kept away from the press. Windlass clients were happy to have the famous Sam Prichard watching over their secrets for them as they traveled from place to place.
Jobs like that were okay with Sam, and even Kenzie didn’t worry too much about him on those trips. Most of them lasted less than a day, but occasionally he would be out overnight. It was easy work, paid well and didn’t involve having to shoot anybody.
The fourth job turned out to be more complex. A man who worked for a government defense contractor had come forward to reveal improprieties within the company and suddenly found himself with a target painted on his back. He had reached out to Windlass for help, and Ron asked Sam if he would be willing to go to Idaho and pick the fellow up, then keep him safe all the way to D.C. The case was highly classified by the government and had to be kept ultra secret because it had serious implications for national security.
