by Jonas Saul
Helpless from where he was, still getting to his feet, he watched as his wife’s arms pinwheeled in an effort to gain her balance as she tilted out the open door, then was lost from sight, the gravity and wind stealing his wife from him forever.
Without a parachute, his wife was dead.
He wailed as he lunged for the open door. Any other time he would’ve attacked the pilot for what she had done, but if he could catch his wife—the chute was still secure on his back—he could save her. They did it in the movies, so he wondered in that brief fraction of a second if he could catch Julie within a minute of free fall.
But the pilot had other plans.
The crazy woman had shoved at the door, and as it was closing, she had anticipated his mad dash for the open space beyond it. Before he got to the edge, she used her hip to knock him off course.
William crashed into the seats beside the door, banging his head hard on the inside of the fuselage.
The door closed with a heavy clunk of finality.
His wife was as good as dead.
Chapter 13
Parkman was waiting outside the police station when Sarah exited the taxi. He walked over to greet her, a toothpick sticking out of his mouth.
“Aaron not coming for this?” he asked.
She shook her head. “He’s at the dojo.”
“Hmm, I thought he’d join you.”
“Let’s grab a coffee over there at that café. On the way there and back, I’ll fill you in on what’s been happening.”
“That serious, eh?”
Sarah nodded. “That serious.”
Minutes later, coffees in hand, they strolled back to the police station arriving later than she’d arranged with DeOcampo.
“Wow, that’s a lot going on,” Parkman said.
She’d given him the short version, but made sure to include all the important aspects of the letter, the bodies yesterday, and how Aaron’s sister and Sarah were tied in with the killer’s motivations.
“They aren’t thinking you guys had something to do with it, are they?”
She caught the wariness in his tone and shook her head.
“No, DeOcampo made the introductions yesterday after Aaron and I had seen the pastor alive and well at the church. Witnesses placed me at the church. Then we drove here and we were with Hunter and DeOcampo while the pastor and his wife were bludgeoned.”
“That cop who was waiting for the pastor.”
“What about him?”
“He led them into the killer’s hands and died for his effort.”
“That’s the theory they’re working with.”
Parkman tapped the bottom of his chin several times. “Find the connection to this Detective Hunter, and link it to—what was that dead cop’s name?”
“Joseph Barnes.”
“And link it to Joseph Barnes, and follow that to the killer.”
Sarah opened the door to the police station. “Tell that to DeOcampo. I think Hunter’s off the case.”
“You think DeOcampo will take that case?” Parkman sounded surprised, his voice echoing throughout the front foyer. “She was here as a courtesy on another case. Wasn’t she supposed to be leaving?”
“She’s not leaving yet,” DeOcampo said from behind him.
Parkman jumped and spun around. “DeOcampo,” he muttered, his hand out.
The FBI agent shook his hand. “Parkman.”
Sarah stepped forward. “If you’re leaving and Hunter’s off the case, do you know who they’re assigning it to?”
She nodded. “Hunter’s partner, Detective Michael Crawford.”
“Crawford?” Parkman said the name like he knew him. “Why would Hunter’s partner take the case? Isn’t that still too close to Hunter?”
“He’ll be lead on it with the help of other junior detectives.” She gestured toward the elevators. “Come on, follow me upstairs to meet him.”
“But still,” Sarah said as they approached the elevators. “Lead on the case? When his partner is so emotionally involved.”
DeOcampo pushed the button and the doors to the lift opened. They all got on.
“The thinking is they wanted someone close to Hunter, someone who knows Hunter and his habits, his friends, without using Detective Hunter himself. Crawford is the right choice.”
Sarah mulled that over for a moment, then nodded. “It does have a certain logic to it.”
“Also, Hunter’s here today, bringing his partner up to speed. So, don’t be surprised because Hunter’s still active.”
The elevator doors opened and DeOcampo led them to the same conference room Sarah and Aaron had sat in yesterday.
DeOcampo made the introductions and everyone took their seats.
Sarah stared at Hunter for several heartbeats as Crawford got himself prepared. Hunter’s eyes were rimmed in red, and bloodshot. His tongue kept moving like his mouth was dry. In front of him was one empty water bottle, another half full.
“You okay, Detective?” she asked.
Hunter glanced at her briefly, then looked away. “Yeah.”
“Looks like you had a rough night.”
He didn’t respond.
Sarah continued to stare, contemplating her next question. He had to be grieving the loss of the pastor. Over the years, how close had they remained to one another? Or was it the detective’s girlfriend? She had called his phone incessantly yesterday trying to reach him. Sarah remembered he’d answered once, and through harsh tones, he’d told her he was working and leave him alone. Did he go home to a fight after yesterday’s difficulties?
“Before you brief us on what you have, Crawford,” Sarah said, her eyes not leaving Hunter, “can you, Detective Hunter, provide us with a list of friends you called to warn yesterday? I’d love to see their names to see if any of them click.”
“Crawford’s got the list.”
Sarah averted her attention to the new detective, who seemed perturbed by her presence. He organized his paperwork incessantly, and kept giving her short, awkward glances.
“How about we start this debriefing on our terms?” Crawford said, obviously put out by Sarah and her questions. “I’m sure once I’m done, you’ll have all the answers you need to your burning questions.”
“Burning questions?” Sarah mimicked. “Is that what I have? Look, I’m not trying to offend anyone here—”
“You’re a guest here,” Crawford cut in. “And your burning questions will be answered in time.”
Parkman placed a calming hand on her forearm.
Sarah said, “People were brutally murdered yesterday, so of course my questions will be—”
“We’re aware of that,” Crawford shouted over her voice.
Sarah got to her feet, an arm extended to point at Detective Hunter. “And whether you like it or not, your partner is directly connected to those deaths.” She made sure her voice was double the volume of Crawford’s. It seemed the new kid on the block wanted to not just take over control of the case, but boss everyone around as well. “Someone knows him, his friends, me, and Aaron’s sister. That makes me more than just a guest, and not only that, this someone has considerable influence to have involved Officer Joseph Barnes, only to kill him later.” She stopped long enough to take a breath and lower her arm.
Crawford arranged several Manila folders on the table, his lips tight together. Sarah’s outburst was likely not expected.
“So,” Sarah continued in a more controlled manner. “As Parkman was telling me outside, follow the trail from Officer Barnes to Detective Hunter, find that which connects them, and you’ll have your killer.”
“You finished?” Crawford asked, a smug look on his face, nose tilted upward.
“Fuck no.” Sarah dropped back to her seat. “But I’ll let you have a turn while I catch my breath. Tell us something we don’t know, surprise us, but whatever you do, don’t waste our time. This killer is active and plans to kill again—today. So, whoever is on Detective Hunter’s friend’s
list, I’d advise you call them all again or send cruisers to watch these people.”
Crawford’s brows rose. He glanced from Hunter to DeOcampo, then back to Sarah. “Hey, Hunter, where did you pick up this one? She’s feisty.”
Sarah got back to her feet and started for the door.
“Sarah, wait.” DeOcampo was on her feet just as fast. “Don’t leave.”
“Arrogance doesn’t solve cases. Actions do.” Sarah stopped at the door as Vivian arrived in her consciousness. Her sister quickly explained why Hunter didn’t sleep well.
Sarah turned back to face the detective. “I’m hearing your girlfriend left you.”
Hunter looked up, his eyes filled with something like dread. He nodded once.
Sarah took a step toward him. “Last night, after you got home. Is that true?”
Hunter nodded again.
“Yesterday, she tried to call you on your day off, then walked out on you after what you went through?”
“That’s what happened,” Hunter confirmed.
She was relieved he didn’t ask how she knew. Telling people about Vivian over and over got tiring.
“Did you have the chance to tell her what happened to your friend?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t mean to be cold, but perhaps it’s better for now. These people need your focus to help solve this case, and the cases yet to come.”
“Yet to come?” Crawford echoed her words now. “There are more murders planned? And you know about this? Tell me how you come by all this knowledge and know so much about these murders.”
Sarah fixed her attention back on Crawford as Parkman was getting to his feet now.
“Detective Crawford,” Sarah started. “The note left at Hunter’s home was specific. It spoke of multiple murders. It said that I was the only one who could stop these murders, although I have no idea how. And we know that the killer is familiar with the police department and probably has a marginal understanding of police procedures. The note was given to Hunter, and Officer Barnes was used to lure the pastor and his family away from the church yesterday. This leads me to believe that at some point, Hunter and several of his colleagues, know exactly who this person is as they’ve already met him, and all this investigation shit is a waste of time.” She glared at Hunter. “In fact, I warned Hunter to reach out to everyone he knew yesterday, everyone who knew about the abandoned farmhouse from his past, because that plays an important part in the killer’s message and their plans.” She turned back to Crawford. “More people will die today or tomorrow, and I might be the only one who seems to think that Hunter is holding out on us.” She faced Hunter again. “You know more than you’re letting on, Detective Hunter. Tell us your suspicions before I tell everyone.”
She was bullshitting here as she had nothing coming in from Vivian specifically on Hunter. Although, she also knew if he was holding something back, he’d speak first before ever letting her tell the rest of them what it was.
Everyone in the room turned to Detective Hunter in a tense silence. Crawford maddeningly tapped his fingers on the table.
Parkman and DeOcampo now stood on either side of Sarah, waiting by the door for Hunter to speak.
Sarah leaned forward and rested her hands on the corner of the table. “Well, Detective Hunter, are you going to tell us who you suspect might be doing this? Or are you worried about your connection to the murderer?”
The silence continued for several more seconds until Crawford slapped the table.
“I’ve about had enough of this.” Crawford got to his feet and pointed at the door. “Get the fuck out of here. We don’t need your kind of help.” He started toward them, his arm extended. “We’ll solve this the old fashioned way, with real police work, and not some spiritual new age bullshit bitch telling us—”
“Crawford,” Hunter shouted, cutting him off. Crawford stopped halfway down the table, his arm dropping to his side. “Sarah’s right.”
Crawford gawked at his partner, his face red with anger. “You know the killer?” he whispered, all the wind knocked from his righteous sails.
“You had a fight with Barnes.” Vivian remained close. Sarah delved deeper into her sister’s knowledge. At least she was opening up to her now. “You had an argument.” She blinked, then refocused on Hunter. “Fuck,” she whispered. “You and Barnes were friends, but you guys had a fight about something and now he’s dead.” She leaned forward. “How involved are you, Detective Hunter?”
Hunter slowly got to his feet, tears brimming in his eyes. He stared at Sarah a moment, then faced DeOcampo, and finally, he looked at his stunned partner.
“It’s impossible,” Hunter whispered.
“What’s impossible?” Parkman asked, steel in his voice.
“Something happened twenty years ago that involved a small group of us, and I …” he paused, glancing down at the table, “… can’t reconcile that it might be her.”
“Her?” Sarah asked. “Who?”
Hunter looked back up, his eyes glazed over. “She was dead when we left.”
Crawford whispered one word. “Dead …”
“It was an accident.”
“Bullshit,” Sarah muttered. “Tell us what happened.”
“I think I know the woman who killed Pastor Blair and his wife yesterday.” The room was quieter in that moment, if it were possible. No one spoke this time, waiting for more from Hunter as he shook his head. “I thought she was dead. At least that’s how we left her all those years ago.”
“What the fuck have you done?” Sarah muttered through clenched teeth.
“Horrible, despicable things that I’m ashamed of to this day.” A tear slipped down his cheek.
Sarah leaned closer. “Whatever it is, more people will die unless you come clean.”
“I’ll tell you everything.”
“Start with a name.”
“If it’s her—and I suspect it isn’t, I mean, she has to be dead—her name was Jamie Morgan. Last time I saw Jamie was about twenty years ago.”
“Where?”
Hunter stared at Sarah a moment longer, then whispered. “We left her at the abandoned barn that night.” Then Hunter dropped back into his chair and wept. “This can’t be happening,” he whispered through his sobs.
Chapter 14
By the time William had pushed himself off the chair and faced the pilot, she had a gun pointed at him.
“Take off the parachute,” she shouted.
They were the last two people in the plane. His wife was now dead. She could never survive that fall.
He wondered how long the plane could be on autopilot without a pilot in the cockpit. But did the murderer in front of him care if they crashed?
“I said, take off the chute,” she shouted, the weapon aimed at him.
He unclipped it in a daze, his hands shaking. The woman stepped into the cockpit, adjusted something, then spun back to face him.
“Take off all your clothes,” she yelled to be heard over the sound of the engines.
“What’s going on?”
The weapon jerked in her hand. Something hit his thigh, making him fall to the floor of the plane face first.
Then she was on him, grabbing and tearing at his pants.
A cord wrapped around his neck, and as he fumbled to turn over onto his back, she grabbed his hands and stuck something over his wrists, locking them together.
“Hey, what are you doing?” he shouted over his shoulder.
She yanked and pulled until his pants were lowered to his knees. The wound in his leg hurt bad, and was increasing in pain with all the movement, throbbing fast with his heartbeat. He had the crazy notion that she was going to apply a tourniquet to his leg after injuring him. Then he had the realization that she wasn’t holding the gun anymore as the woman used both hands to remove his pants.
The cold of the plane’s floor sobered him as his genitals and wound rested against it.
The woman grabbed his hair a
nd yanked his head backward.
She knelt in front of him, a wire coat hanger in her hand.
“Remember me?” she asked.
No matter how long he stared, he couldn’t place her, yet there was something vaguely familiar. Then it came to him in a rush as the pain numbed his lower leg.
“Jamie?” He stared at her. “Jamie Morgan. But that’s not possible. It can’t be …”
She bent the coat hanger until it was made into as straight a line as she could, with a slight hook at the end.
“Wait a second,” William pleaded. “No, no …”
Jamie got up and straddled his legs as the plane hit a small amount of turbulence.
Then William felt her hands on his butt cheeks. He squirmed, but she put all her weight on him, holding him down.
“Payback’s a bitch,” she shouted.
The next few minutes were a torture William never thought possible. He screamed, he writhed in pain, and begged her to stop, then vomited. At one point, he passed out but she slapped him awake and continued to do such horrific things to him that he wished the plane’s door was still open so he could just jump and be done with it. There was no life to go back to, nothing he could recover from.
He vomited again with the pain and the torment she bore on him, then passed out once more.
When he opened his eyes, the door to the side of the plane was open, the wind buffeting his hair.
Pain seemed to be his new existence from below the waist.
He moved, sliding along the floor of the plane.
She was dragging him toward the open door. The weight of the chute was gone from his back, but he didn’t care anymore. His wife was dead, his body ruined, and he was bleeding to death from the bullet wound.
The opening at the side of the plane was salvation, an end to all the pain.
He didn’t want to die, but how could he live after the twisted horror he’d just endured?
He slid closer, with each movement, pain spiked through his lower body like it was on fire with actual flames licking up through his crotch. Even with all the wind, he could still smell the blood, the shit, bile from his vomit still in his mouth.
