Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  “You ready for this?” Alex asked softly, stealing a glance at his partner out of the corner of his eyes.

  “Son, I was born ready,” Jackson replied, an unexpected smile parting his lips.

  The two edged around the brown car, squatting down by the passenger window. “Shannon and Levy,” Alex said quietly, showing his badge as he checked out the two cops sitting in the car.

  “Suspect is in the house. As far as we can tell, there are three of them. We haven’t seen guns, but we expect that they’re armed.”

  “How do you want to run this?” Alex’s pulse picked up pace as he got his head in the game.

  “We’ve got a guy dressed like a pizza-delivery dude. He’s going to knock on the door. We’re going to cover him up. You two go behind the house in case anyone runs. We’ve got more backup standing by. They’ll move in on my word.”

  “Got it.” Alex straightened up. “Let’s do it.”

  Alex took the lead and strolled across the street, adopting as casual an air as possible. His eyes swung left and right, taking in as many details as he could as he approached the house. Traffic was light. There were a few cars driving down the block, passing by without a glance. A couple of young boys were walking across the street, their loud voices carrying as they took turns punching a skinny kid in the arm—good-natured ribbing.

  Alex turned into the neighbor’s driveway. His feet crunched on the packed gravel. In a quick move, he jumped the low fence and crept along the side of the house. Crouched against the siding, he drew his weapon.

  The weight of the gun felt good in his hand, like an old friend, as he inched his way toward the back corner. Despite the cold wind, sweat trickled down the back of his neck while he waited for the other officers to get in position. He heard the rustling branches of the pine trees at the back of the house and the buzz of voices in the living room.

  The sharp knock on the door was closely followed by the sound of footsteps. Loud voices rang out, and Alex heard muffled shouts. Gunshots fired. The back door burst open, and Alex caught his first live glimpse of Jerry Honeywell since the darkened parking lot in California as he shot out the door at a full gallop.

  Alex took off after him. Honeywell sailed over the back fence. His long limbs cleared the ragged chain-link edge with no effort at all. Alex followed suit, his stride settling into a steady rhythm. He kept his eyes fastened on Honeywell’s back.

  They were racing through a neighbor’s backyard and down a winding alley when Honeywell darted right. Alex skidded around the corner and caught the bright flash of Honeywell’s shirt as he disappeared around the side of a two-story brick house.

  Alex willed himself to pick up the pace as he pumped his arms hard. No way he would lose Honeywell now. He slowed as he got behind the house, and his eyes scanned the backyard. For a moment, his heart sank as he thought he’d lost the suspect. Then he saw some movement from the corner of his eye, and he spied Honeywell running across the street toward a wooded park.

  Cars skidded to a halt nearby. Alex bolted across the street and into the park. Sweat stung his eyes. A kid on a bike swung out in Alex’s path, and he dodged it without missing a beat. He could see Honeywell running ahead toward a small pond.

  Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Alex could swear that Honeywell was slowing down. The sound of kids playing filled Alex’s head as he raced by. The edge of the park was in view, and Honeywell glanced quickly behind him. The sight of Alex gaining galvanized him, and he shot ahead.

  Alex was breathing hard but still feeling strong as he continued to give chase. He was suddenly glad for all the late-night runs with Jill and Molly through the streets of West Seattle. He was sure that Jackson and the other officers would be on their trail, but kept his eyes focused on Honeywell’s back. He couldn’t afford to lose Honeywell. Not now. Not when he was so close.

  The outskirts of Yakima were largely industrial, and they were passing into a section of town that was made up of warehouses and factories, places where they shipped their bountiful crops across the mountains. They sailed past the train tracks.

  Honeywell scaled a chain-link fence and dropped into the parking lot of what looked to be an abandoned factory. He struggled over the fence and landed on the asphalt with a thump.

  Alex jumped, his fingers grasping the metal links to scale the fence. He propelled himself over the top and onward. Honeywell rounded the corner of the factory, and Alex followed.

  He slowed, his chest heaving with his labored breath. He peered cautiously around the corner. Honeywell had disappeared from view, and Alex raised his gun, gripping it tightly in his hand. He hugged the factory wall, sensing that Honeywell was close. He reached the back corner of the factory and swept his gaze wide.

  Honeywell was trying to force open a door and enter the factory. The door was not cooperating, and Alex took aim between the suspect’s broad shoulders.

  “Freeze, asshole,” he called out, gun pointing straight in front of him as he gripped it with both hands.

  Honeywell’s head swiveled, cold blue eyes vacant as he met Alex’s stare. Quickly he dropped his hand to his skinny waist, and Alex thought he saw the metallic glint of a gun as Honeywell turned to face him.

  “Don’t move,” he called out again.

  “Fuck you,” Honeywell yelled, raising his hand. Gun metal flashed in the sun, followed by the loud crack of a gun’s rapport.

  Alex swerved, but not before he felt the heat of the bullet tear into his arm, loosening the double grip on his gun. The impact knocked him off balance. He fell sideways, his free hand flailing out to steady himself against the wall. Honeywell crashed into the door with all of his force and stumbled inside, out of Alex’s line of vision.

  Alex’s breath came in ragged gasps, and he ignored the searing pain in his arm. He edged down the wall and paused at the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the low light. Honeywell raced toward a rack of metal shelves.

  Alex cut down the other side, gained ground, and with a quick move, launched himself at Honeywell. They collided full force. Pain radiated through Alex’s body, and he pulled in a ragged breath.

  Alex managed to regain his footing first. Honeywell, knocked off balance, stumbled to the concrete floor. His gun clattered to the ground beside him.

  Working on instinct, Alex kicked the gun out of reach and slammed his shoe down between Honeywell’s bony shoulder blades. The barrel of his Glock pointed at the back of Honeywell’s head. He shoved his foot forward to rest in the curve of Honeywell’s neck. His wounded arm burned. Hurt like hell, in fact.

  “Well, well, the infamous Jerry Honeywell.” Alex allowed a smile to cross his lips. “Somehow I expected you to be … oh, I don’t know … smarter.” He had him. He finally had him. Victory was so close, Alex could almost taste it.

  “I don’t know what you think you’ve got, but I guarantee you it won’t stick.”

  “That’s what you think, motherfucker. We’ve got you cold. You’re going to need a goddamned good lawyer to represent you, and based on your financial records, the only lawyer you can afford will be a court-appointed attorney. Good luck with that.”

  “I wouldn’t bet my paycheck on it, cop,” Honeywell muttered between clenched teeth, his strained voice ringing hollow in the vast, abandoned space.

  “Whatever you say, asshole.” Alex applied even more pressure with his foot, forcing Honeywell’s face flat against the cold concrete floor.

  “I’m not just going to nail you for murdering Natalie Watson. Lisa Cullen’s hit-and-run has been reopened, too. You remember Lisa, right? Blond hair, pretty face, aborted child? Oh, and I know about Kayla Miller, the girl from Medford.”

  Honeywell clenched his teeth, his gaze angled up toward Alex. The hard glimmer of hate burned in his eyes.

  “You better pray I never get out of jail, boy,” Honeywell said. “When I do, I’m coming after your pretty wife. If you’re lucky, I’ll even let you watch.”

  Alex increased the pressure,
pinning Honeywell in place. A thrill of satisfaction shot through him as a pained gasp escaped Honeywell’s lips.

  “I just want to know one thing. What did you feel when you killed Natalie?”

  Honeywell flashed a cold smile, his eyes vacant as he strained to look up at Alex.

  “I felt nothing,” he said in a flat hiss.

  A dizzying wave of rage surged through Alex’s veins. The son of a bitch was smiling. Alex’s vision narrowed as he stared down at the man on the floor. He wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted to end this miserable fuck’s life.

  What kind of human being killed an innocent teenage girl and felt nothing? If he was able to do something like that, what else was he capable of? Alex’s jaw was clenched tight, and his fingers gripped the gun hard as he stood with a foot pressing down on Honeywell’s neck.

  He couldn’t. Alex took a deep breath and gathered every ounce of self-control he could muster. He willed himself not to pull the trigger.

  The sound of Honeywell’s labored breathing echoed in the empty factory. They were all alone, without another soul in sight. Alex’s mind crossed over into forbidden territory. There was a gun on the floor with Honeywell’s fingerprints. The warm blood streaming down his skin at a steady pace was proof enough of a struggle. If Honeywell was dead when the others arrived, who would question how it happened? Any credible story he concocted would be taken as fact, and this case would be closed. No questions asked. He’d be considered a hero.

  “Come on, Alex. Pull the trigger,” Honeywell goaded as if reading his mind. “You know you want to. Do it for Natalie. Do it for your wife. It will be the only chance you get to get rid of me for good.”

  Alex’s anger cooled into a cold, calculating certainty. His hand was rock steady as he pointed the barrel down at the base of Honeywell’s skull. Far away he heard the wail of police sirens. What was there to stop him from sending a bullet through this bastard’s brain? Wouldn’t everyone be better off if this son of a bitch was dead? Honeywell’s demise would provide closure for Abby and her parents. Jill would no longer have to look over her shoulder. Everybody stood to gain if Alex simply pulled the trigger. His hand tightened on the gun.

  “Alex,” Jackson called from the doorway.

  Alex flinched, and the moment was gone. Swinging his head around, he caught sight of Jackson’s sweaty face. Their eyes locked, and Alex knew that Jackson had understood his intent. Neither said a word as Jackson stepped forward, footsteps ringing on the concrete floor. He removed his handcuffs from his belt.

  As if from a great distance, Alex watched Jackson crouch down to snap the cuffs around one bony, white wrist. Jackson glanced up, and Alex stepped off of Honeywell’s neck and moved back a few paces, giving his partner room to work. Alex held his gun steady, still trained on the suspect.

  “You okay?” Jackson asked, nodding toward Alex’s injured arm.

  “Yeah.” Alex did not move his eyes away from the back of Honeywell’s head.

  “You have the right to remain silent, you piece of shit,” Jackson said. Twisting the man’s other arm roughly around his back, he secured the second wrist. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford a lawyer, we will appoint the stupidest goddamned one we can find to represent you.”

  As Jackson finished reading Honeywell his rights, the Yakima officers poured through the factory door, quickly taking control of the scene.

  Like a fly on a wall, Alex watched the Yakima officers haul Honeywell off the floor and lead him out of the warehouse and into the frosty January day. Only then did he holster his gun and clap a hand across the wound on his arm. Jackson slowly made his way to Alex’s side.

  “Good work, partner.” Jackson slapped Alex’s shoulder.

  “Jesus.” Alex cringed and swore through clenched teeth. Pain seared through his arm.

  “You should get that looked at.”

  “Thanks, but it looks worse than it is.”

  “Maybe so. But Jill would never forgive me if we let something as insignificant as a bullet mar that perfect body of yours.” Jackson’s eyes sparkled in amusement.

  “Get bent,” Alex said as he strode toward the door, out of the darkened factory and into the cold night. Despite the twisted cop humor, he couldn’t manage a smile as he looked down at his bloody arm.

  As he stepped out into the cold wind, Alex wondered what kind of cop he would have been if Jackson had stepped through the factory door thirty seconds later.

  44

  Jill smelled the roasted coffee beans from a nearby café as she made her way off 19th Avenue. The dense clouds over San Francisco formed a thick blanket that choked out the light of the moon. A faint glow from the streetlights barely penetrated the darkness. She wasn’t worried about things that went bump in the night, though. With the Glock stowed safely away in her pocket, she was equipped to deal with almost any situation.

  The soft soles of Jill’s boots made no sound on the cold concrete path as she wound her way toward the botanical gardens, where she had arranged to meet her date. The same chilly night air that kept the crowds away from the park invigorated her. Meeting him out in the open was only slightly riskier than meeting him at a hotel. Here, there were no surveillance cameras to capture her image. And she was in the mood for something a little different, a little risky business.

  Jill followed the curve of Martin Luther King Jr. Drive east. Shaking the bangs of the blond wig out of her eyes, she averted her face. A young man—black, wearing a baseball cap—passed by. She could feel his eyes linger on her, and her stomach clenched. Would he try to engage her in conversation, or worse? In a pinch, she could take care of herself. But grappling with some stranger wasn’t how she intended to spend the evening.

  It wasn’t until the sound of his footfalls faded in the distance that she felt the tension ease in her shoulders, and she lengthened her stride. She thought about the sex videos and Joel, who liked to hurt women. She’d take care of him. She’d make sure he never hurt anyone else. While she wasn’t exactly performing a public service, she preferred to think she was leaving the world a better place, like taking out the trash.

  Joel Goodsen was waiting by the main entrance to the botanical gardens, dressed for the cold weather in a black wool trench coat and cashmere scarf. Though it was dark, she could still make out the sharp angles of his face underneath the sodium lights. He looked a little older in person than the picture he’d posted with his online profile. But he was blessed with sharp good looks that would get him noticed in any crowd. With dark hair and brown eyes the shade of milk chocolate, he couldn’t be more different in appearance from Kenneth Cox.

  “Lilith,” Joel said, using her online handle from the Hook Up website. “Your name does you justice.”

  The smile on his face looked frigid, and with a half smile of her own, Jill noticed the dull gleam of a platinum wedding band on his left hand. She wondered what Mrs. Goodsen was up to this very moment. Was she at home with the kids? Working out with her personal trainer? Did she know what her husband was doing on the other side of the continent? Would she like being a widow with access to his money?

  “Hello, Joel.” She stopped in front of him. The slight southern accent added a layer of warmth to her voice, and made her feel more in character. How she liked to play games. “So glad you could meet me.”

  “We have reservations for eight, so we’d best get moving.”

  His tone was crisp, all business, the kind of voice she would expect from a man who negotiated multi-million-dollar deals. Without offering his arm, he continued down the path that mirrored the drive toward the California Academy of Sciences, still heading east.

  “Don’t tell me you’re still on New York time. Surely you’ve figured out by now on the West Coast, time is more fluid. Meetings start late, reservations start later, things just take longer. So relax, we’ll be fine.”

  Joel forced a chuckle, but she could tell from his ramrod-straight posture and stiff smile that he had no intention
of relaxing. Maybe he wasn’t capable of it. Control was his thing. She thought about the videos. Her eyebrows rose. Apparently he applied different risk-tolerance models to different parts of his life.

  “Nothing quite like a walk in the park after a long day at the office.” She glanced over at him. “Is it as big as Central Park?”

  “Bigger. And darker.” Joel looked uneasy. His eyes swept the path for any signs of danger.

  “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?” Jill couldn’t help teasing him, especially since it was obvious how much he despised it. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. I know jujitsu.”

  This remark made him smile. It was a condescending smile, and Jill had the distinct impression Joel placed his confidence in few women, considering them a lower life-form. She found it easy to hate him.

  “Did you learn it at a women’s self-defense class?”

  “Our instructor was a Navy SEAL. I could kill you with my thumb.” Stripping off her light glove, she held the digit up for his inspection. Actually, it was the index finger of her right hand and the gun in her pocket that would prove his undoing. But that was getting ahead of herself, she mused with a twisted grin.

  “I feel better already.”

  The city sounds of traffic mingled with the rustling of the leaves as they wound their way deeper into the park. If Jill was nettled by his sarcasm, she didn’t let it show. After their pithy exchange over instant messaging, Joel was turning out to be the flinty chauvinist she had taken him for. She was going to enjoy this.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “The restaurant is part of the Academy of Sciences. It’s called the Moss Room. Comes highly recommended.”

  “Sounds nice. Take many of your women there?”