Run Rabbit Run Boxset

by Jette Harris

  “As soon as his GPS chip was pulled, the fleet manager called him—twice—and when he didn’t answer, she called us.”

  “Where did the trail go cold?” Remington asked.

  “In the middle of the woods.”

  “Huh.” Steyer’s eyebrows rose on his forehead.

  “Let me guess,” Remington said. “The woods near Cheatham Hill.”

  Maas tapped the side of her nose. “About a mile or so away. The GPS chips are good up to about ten feet, but when we dispatched a unit out there, they couldn’t find the vehicle, or Deputy Beaumont, or the chip.”

  “Are there units searching the area currently?” Remington asked.

  Maas blinked at him. Her face fell. “Searching for what?”

  The agents stared at her blankly.

  “For Deputy Beaumont’s body, Ms. Maas,” Steyer finally said.

  Maas pursed her lips. “We’ll call in a dog,” she said in a low, decisive voice.

  38

  2002

  San Francisco (“Lark Alexander”)

  Lark was starting to get frustrated as he stared up at the nearest street sign.

  What started as exciting and mischievous was quickly growing dangerous: He couldn’t find his Jeep.

  “Uh, sir? Sir, what are you doing?”

  Lark had been so distracted, he hadn’t even heard the patrol car pull up. He turned to find an officer behind him, stepping out with a hand on his gun. He was tall, lanky, and didn’t look too bright. Lark spun to turn from the other direction.

  “Well, Officer—” He squinted to read his name. “—Ford, I’m just walking to my car. Uh…” He turned back to the street sign. “I think it’s this way.”

  Lark took a few unsteady-looking steps. Ford hurried in front of him, holding out a hand.

  “Sir, you have a woman over your shoulder.”

  Lark had to fight the urge to burst out laughing. “Oh, yeah, I know. She—uh—she had a bit too much.”

  “Sir, there’s blood on your face.”

  Reaching up, Lark found the place on his cheek where Persia had scratched him. The blood was already dry and flaked off on his fingers.

  “And your hand. Is that a…” Before he could finish the question, he realized that it was, indeed, a bite mark. “Sir, please put the woman down… gently, please.”

  Lark looked around for a decent place to set her down. “Can I lay her on your car?” He backed toward the vehicle.

  Ford’s mouth flapped. “Yeah, sure—gently.” He followed to the back of his patrol car. Lark shifted Persia on his shoulder and Ford reached out to make sure her head didn’t hit anything.

  A sickening crack sent Ford to the ground with a cry. Before he could lean up or grab his gun, Lark stood over him with one foot raised. All he felt for an instant was pressure, then nothing.

  Officer Ford had been considerate enough to leave the door of his patrol car open. Gently, Lark sat Persia in the passenger seat. Blood trickled down her face from an abrasion on her forehead. He licked his thumb and wiped it away.

  Settling into the seat, he found a pair of utility gloves tucked between the seats. He pulled them on before closing the door and shifting into gear.

  39

  May, 2006

  Atlanta

  Remington recognized Stephen Flowers from Quantico. He had been a long-haired, grungy kid hired almost straight out of college. Remington always wondered how Flowers got away with his appearance, and that curiosity amplified when he saw his arms were now covered with tattoos of dragons. Nevertheless, he was dressed like Bill Nye and wore thick black glasses glued together in the middle. He looked like a basement-office IT guy, which was not far from the truth, except it was his job to catch killers, terrorists, and—most importantly—child predators.

  “Rem-job!” Flowers cheered as he hopped up the front steps of the district office building.

  “Flower Boy,” Remington greeted him with a bit less enthusiasm and shook his hand. He could hear Steyer wincing at their lack of professionalism.

  “Agent Steyer!” Flowers turned to the senior agent and clasped his hand. “It is an honor. You are a legend, sir, a legend! The way you caught the Perinatal Predators was… was a work of art. It’s going to be an honor working with you.”

  Steyer smoothed his tie. “Thank you. I heard you’ve had some great success as well.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Flowers’s mouth twitched at the recognition. “Two thousand twenty-three arrests. About twelve more warrants being served this week, so we’ll see where those go. Then again, our stings usually sweep up two or three hundred at a time, so the number is… far greater than the effort.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and blinked hard. “So,” he said, clapping his hands, “we’re catching a Phoenix today?”

  Remington scoffed. If only.

  “We are simply following up on a lead,” Steyer explained, “looking into this substitute teacher. When our human resources specialist searched for his data yesterday, it had…”

  “Conveniently disappeared?” Flowers offered.

  “Yes.”

  “Welp, have no fear.” He thumped the kit hanging from his shoulder. “We can find out if it’s really gone the way of the dinosaurs or just wearing an invisibility cloak. But—” He wiggled his eyebrows. “—even dinosaurs leave fossils.”

  “Let’s get started, then,” Remington said. They pushed into the front lobby and Steyer set a warrant down on the receptionist’s desk.

  ****

  Under the closer supervision of Marty Sullivan, Cheatham Hill’s Legal Officer, Flowers had Mrs. Schaefer log into her computer and access her database for him. Flowers and Schaefer exchanged seats and several smiles, and he spoke excitedly about the acquisition process he was about to go through: creating a mirror image of her computer and the school district’s database and loading it onto an external hard drive.

  “Since the mirroring process is time-consuming and you can’t do anything while it’s running, I’m going to do some initial poking-around to see if I can find something of immediate use. Then I can run the mirror, we can grab some coffee—”

  “About how long does this process take?” Sullivan asked.

  “Which part?” Flowers raised his brow.

  Sullivan didn’t answer.

  “Poking around shouldn’t take too long, but mirroring the hard drive could take a few hours, based on the size…” Flowers turned to the computer and clicked a few times. He made a face and leaned back. “Maybe four hours.”

  Sullivan scoffed, shaking his head.

  “You can leave, if you’re allowed to.” Flowers smiled and made it sound like he was doing Sullivan a favor. “Everything I’m doing is pretty straight-forward and listed in the warrant, and I’m sure Mrs. Schaefer can supervise us.” He shot her a wink.

  Sullivan narrowed his eyes, but his gaze went distant in a way that told Remington he was re-evaluating the necessity of his presence in this situation. He made an executive decision by giving Schaefer a curt nod, and disappeared.

  Flowers beamed up at his remaining audience and cracked his knuckles. “Let the magic begin!”

  Opening the command prompt, he typed something, waited. Typed something else, waited. Upon typing the third item, white letters streamed across the screen. “Oh, hello, keystroke logger! My, you’re looking lovely this morning…”

  Remington and Steyer raised their brows and exchanged a glance. Schaefer pursed her lips nervously.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your thing for chipmunks,” Flowers whispered.

  Schaefer blushed and stood. “I’m going to get some coffee. Would you boys like any?” She turned from Flowers to Remington and Steyer. “I’m sorry—gentlemen.”

  “Yes, please,” Flowers said.

  Remington and Steyer held up their half-full coffee cups. She nodded and left the tiny office.

  Flowers sniffed. “She has a pleasant perfume.”

  Steyer took a deep breath. R
emington pursed his lips and nodded. Same old Flowers.

  “Is there a date range I can use to narrow down my search?”

  Steyer scratched his chin and searched the ceiling for a possible answer. “Run it from April first to… yesterday morning.”

  Flowers’s mouth twitched, unhappy with this response. “Name?”

  “Avery Rhodes,” Steyer said.

  “As in, Colossus of,” Remington added.

  Flowers snickered. Steyer gave Remington a disapproving side-long glance. The tapping paused. Flowers shook his head and tapped some more. “So, Mrs. Schaefer wasn’t able to find this Rhodes in the database yesterday?”

  “Nope.” Steyer shook his head.

  “There’s a good reason for that…”

  “What’s that?” Remington asked.

  “There’s no Avery Rhodes in this database.”

  Remington rolled his eyes.

  “But he would have been there before yesterday morning?” Flowers shifted in his seat, bracing for the challenge.

  “Definitely on May first and second,” Steyer said.

  Flowers took a deep breath and pulled his glasses down. He looked uncharacteristically studious. He tapped the same key repeatedly. As the tapping slowed, his mouth gaped a bit wider. “Mother fucker…” he breathed.

  Steyer’s eyes narrowed.

  “Son of a bitch ran a blank slate command.”

  Remington ran a hand over his face. “Please tell me…”

  “He deleted every trace of the names Avery and Rhodes from the system, whether they related specifically to him or not—including within the command. I can see Mrs. Schaefer’s search yesterday, but nothing else.”

  Remington hung his head, deflating. He took a few slow, deep breaths. Flowers peered at him over his glasses as earnestly as he had been peering at the screen. “What did I say about dinosaurs?”

  Remington raised his head.

  “The name is gone, which renders the profile unsearchable in the database, but the profiles themselves appear to be based on the staff ID numbers, which means…”

  “The fossil is still there,” Steyer said.

  Flowers tapped his nose and turned back to the screen. “All I need to do is look through the profiles generated within the date ranges you gave me, and find the one with a missing name or a series of X’s, however the command works.”

  “Is this pretty sophisticated stuff?” Remington asked.

  Flowers frowned and shook his head. “No, this specific command is pretty basic. It would still have cost him a pretty penny, if he didn’t write it himself, but it may have even been scribbled on a slip of paper.” He turned back to the screen and perched his chin on his hand. “You said May first?”

  “Include March, just in case,” Steyer said. “Let’s hope this leg of his planning doesn’t go any further back…”

  Flowers drummed a few keys, waited, then drummed some more. After a few tattoos, he perked up and spread his hands at the screen. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Z-z-z-z, formerly known as Avery Rhodes.” He turned the screen toward them as he spoke. The name Avery Rhodes had been replaced by a series of overlapping X’s.

  The first thing Remington noticed, with sinking disappointment, was the broken image address icon where the staff photo should have been. He sighed. Flowers tapped the screen with his knuckle.

  “Set up March twenty-third. 1954 Horseshoe Court, Flint Hill, Georgia, 30002…”

  Remington tore his notepad from his jacket pocket and began to scribble.

  “Interview notes are a blank file, references, transcripts, all blank documents. He slipped the profile in, set it to high priority, exclusive to Cheatham Hill Magnet High School, AP classes preferred… He rejected several calls before accepting the one for R. Creighton on April thirtieth.”

  Remington looked up, blinking. “Several what?”

  “Several calls befo—”

  “Calls?”

  Flower’s mouth spread slowly into a smile. “Would you like his phone number?”

  40

  “It’s you again,” Steyer said with a smile as Young opened the hatch of her Jeep Wrangler and unloaded her golden Labradors. “Don’t Cheatham Hill officers ever clock out?”

  “Clock out?” Young laughed. “Oh, I clocked out. I’m just takin’ my dogs for a walk!” The animals wiggled excitedly and rounded her legs until she motioned for them to sit with a closed fist. “This is Agatha… and this is Edger,” she said as one by one, she strapped the neon orange SEARCH vests on them. The wiggling stopped immediately, and they sat at attention.

  The corner of Remington’s mouth turned up. He had never had a dog, but had always wanted one. He reached out and scratched between Agatha’s ears. He could see himself and Wickes getting a service dog…

  “There’ll be plenty of time to visit the puppies once they’re done,” Young said with a slight scold to her tone. “Right now, they’re at work.”

  “Apologies,” Remington said, stepping back.

  Leaving a few rangers to barricade the trailhead, Young led the dogs across the street to Cheatham Hill, which was really only a grassy slope surrounded and crowned by woods. Remington and Steyer followed behind at a leisurely pace. Unlike the previous few days, there was a slight breeze to counteract the sticky heat. Remington wondered if that would aid or hinder their search.

  Young paused at the gap where the trail ran into the woods. The dogs sat down. Agatha turned and looked at him, wondering why they were walking so slowly. Sighing, Remington hastened his step. He couldn’t believe he was being judged by a dog.

  Removing their leashes, Young took a deep breath and called, “OK, go find them!”

  Standing, they sniffed the ground around their feet, then lifted their busy noses into the air. The breeze picked up and they both froze. In complete accord, they bayed and took off running, first up the trail, then straight into the woods.

  “I think they smell something,” Remington said.

  “Yep!” Young replied. “Let’s go!”

  They followed the dogs, who bayed at intervals, into the woods. They were not particularly thick, but the terrain was rocky and uneven. Remington was beginning to wish he had worn more suitable shoes when the breeze slapped him with the same scent the dogs must be following. The dogs bayed once more, then fell silent.

  Their pace slowed with a good idea of which direction they were heading. Before them was a clearing and a track leading away from it. The dogs were lying on the ground on either side of a tree. Their tails wagged hesitantly as the three approached.

  The stench of rotting flesh grew stronger. Remington’s lip curled and he put a hand over his nose and mouth. They gave the tree a wide berth as they parted to circle it.

  “Animals got to him,” Steyer said, slipping his hands into his pockets.

  The remaining remains sitting against the base of the tree were barely recognizable as male. The face was largely missing, and its jaw hung loosely from one side. The rest of the skull was cracked and caved from blunt force trauma. The fingers and toes had been gnawed off, as well as the genitals. Chunks had been torn loose from his thighs, belly, and arms.

  Young swallowed hard and put an arm across her stomach. She nodded solemnly, walked a few feet away, then bent over and heaved. The dogs whined. Remington grimaced.

  Steyer closed his eyes at the wet sound and cleared his throat. “He’s naked,” he observed.

  “Mm-hm.” Remington turned to attempt to catch a breath of fresh air, but the smell was pervasive. “Beaten to death.”

  “Looks like it.” Steyer nodded.

  “His wild hare turned on him.”

  Steyer pursed his lips, waiting for the inappropriate amusement to pass. He pulled out his phone and flipped it open. “Let’s tell Sheriff Hutson he can call off the dogs.”

  The labs turned upon hearing themselves discussed. Smart things. Too smart for their own good, wagging their tails at completing their task so quickly.r />
  Remington decided he didn’t want a service dog after all.

  41

  “Of our eight male Avery Rhodeses, none of them live in or within fifty miles of a locality called Flint Hill,” Steyer announced, tucking his phone away.

  Remington clutched his own phone, resisting the urge to chuck it across the office. His leg jerked violently. “There is a Flint Hill in South Carolina, Virginia, Kansas, Missouri, Colorado, Oklahoma, and Texas, but not a there is not a town, city, or county known as Flint Hill, Georgia.”

  Steyer studied his posture. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I can do it, or we can have one of the officers do it. Someone can pose as a wrong number.”

  “People hang up on wrong numbers.”

  “A serial killer would hang up on a federal agent.”

  “Yes, but despite what the movies portray, serial killers don’t usually take a special interest in the federal agents investigating them.”

  Steyer studied him. “Perhaps we should discuss what happened—”

  Remington clapped his hands on his knees and leaned up. “I’m fine. He called me; It’s about time I called him.”

  Steyer nodded, then tilted his head toward the recording device hooked up to the phone on Remington’s desk. “They’re ready when you are.”

  Remington took a deep breath.

  The phone number Avery Rhodes had given Cheatham Hill School District went straight to a voicemail message stating the phone number. Remington had never kept a schedule so faithfully than calling it every hour on the hour until it was too late for decent people to be receiving phone calls.

  “We’ll try again tomorrow.” He popped and rubbed his jaw, sore from grinding his teeth.

  “Bright and early,” Steyer said.

  ****

  “The Phoenix now has a Glock, a rifle, a sheriff’s cruiser without a GPS chip, and—most importantly—a radio.” Remington, his tie loosened and his foot up on a chair, tossed his crust into the lid of the pizza box sitting across Byron and Kondorf’s desks.