A Life of Death: Episodes 9 - 12 (13 page)

She nodded. “I did, but that doesn’t change who I am. I’m still the woman you fell in love with, Jessie.” At the acknowledgement of her murders, people began to scatter, jumping over seats, panicking and screaming.

“You can’t do this, baby,” Jessie said, pleading, both hands rising to frame her face as if in slow motion. Tears streamed from his eyes, and a pain-filled grin of denial plastered itself across his face. “I love you. You can’t have done this.”

“I did, but if you love me, we can be together. Come with me.”

“I… I c-can’t,” Jessie stammered, shaking his head. “Not like this.”

The heartbreaking moment was instantly contagious, and Liz’s face contorted in grief and then rage. “But you love me!”

Jessie nodded. “With all my heart, but you can’t do this. Killing those people wasn’t right. Some were even my friends.”

For a moment Liz seemed to feel his pain, her face pitying him, but then rage took over once more. Turning her hate-filled eyes on me, she said, “You’re to blame for this. If not for you, I could have been happy—we could have been happy!” She was at the edge of the doorway now, waiting for the doors to open so she could make her escape as the other passengers ran past, trying to get as far from her as possible. Then, someone hit the emergency brake. The train wheels screeched and flung passengers forward just as the shot rang out. I ducked, but felt nothing. When I looked up a second later, Jessie had collapsed to the floor clutching his chest. Liz stared at him dumbstruck, then turned her dark orbs back to me, all evidence of humanity and rational thought seemingly gone from her. With a crazed look, she lifted the gun.

I dove at her, knocking it away and shoving her into the doorway alcove. Seeing the blood blossoming on Jessie’s shirt and blue coat, my training disassembled like the tumbling of a Jenga tower. I began punching, kneeing, and kicking her folded form as the train shuddered. Lifting myself in the unsteady Metro car, I silently wished I had a sledgehammer to make each hit that much more painful. She curled up as I rained blow after blow into her slender form. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, pulsing like lava and feeding my rage. Pulling my nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson, I aimed it at her prone form, my finger caressing the cold trigger with desire.

“Alex,” rasped a weak voice from behind me.

It took a few seconds for the owner of the voice’s identity to sink in, and I turned to find Jessie reaching out to me, his bloody hand wavering as he lay in the aisle. Shock blossomed in my mind at the sight of his weak, wounded state. The blood sent what felt like a host of spiders running down my spine and clutched at the pit of my stomach. The wound was bad, worse than I thought. Fury raged inside me as I peered down at Liz’s unmoving form. I forced my gun back into its holster and pulled a pair of handcuffs, attaching her wrist to the handle railing. Grabbing her gun off the floor, I rushed to Jessie’s side, collapsing to my knees as the train came to a noisy halt. The folding doors opened, but she wasn’t going anywhere, especially handcuffed.

Jessie’s slick fingers trembled against my cheek and gained my full attention. His usually tanned complexion was taking on a paler hue, and I bundled up the loose folds of his shirt and jacket, applying pressure over the wound. Fortunately, it was the right side of his chest, not the left, so it wasn’t near his heart. However, I could tell the bullet had pierced his lung. Blood coated his lips, and his breathing was ragged.

“Does it take long?” he asked, gripping my hand over the bundled folds.

Knowing what he was referring to and being all too familiar with it, I couldn’t stop my own tears. I clenched my lips and jaw, struggling to stay strong while I pulled out my phone with my free hand and dialed 9-1-1. “No, it doesn’t.” I shook my head. “But you’re not leaving us, not yet,” I swore. The other passengers picked themselves up and ran for the doors, or huddled by the walls, chairs, and the far end of the car.

Jessie gave a haggard chuckle that turned into a bloody cough. “Not s-so sure about that,” he stammered in a faint voice and squeezed my hand.

“I am. You aren’t going anywhere, Jess, except the hospital.”

Lifting the phone to my ear, the woman’s voice asked, “What’s your emergency?”

“I have a man down on the orange Metro line, around station…” I looked to the huddled passengers remaining.

A man with a skeletal-print shirt and shaved head supplied, “East Fall’s Church.”

“Near East Fall’s Church Station,” I told her. “Hispanic male with a GSW to the chest. It looks to have pierced his lung. Send medics. The shooter is in custo-dy…” My final words died off as I glanced at the Metro car door. The hollow tube of railing I’d attached the cuffs to was bent and had dislodged from the wall. Liz was nowhere to be seen.
How the hell?
I wondered.
She must not have been as unconscious as I thought, and with all the noise… Dammit!
The voice on the phone refocused my attention.

“Emergency services are on their way. Did you say the shooter was in custody?”

I licked my dry lips. “No, not anymore. She escaped. The shooter’s a brunette in her late twenties, five-foot seven, wearing jeans and a burgundy sweater. She goes by Liz Reider. She’s armed and dangerous.”

“Thank you, sir. Please stay on the line…”

I sat the phone down on the floor and turned my attention back to Jessie. His eyes wavered, trying to focus on me, and they were getting glassy. “Stay with me, bud. Help’s on the way.” I would have to find Liz later.

“I l-loved her, Alex,” he mumbled.

“I know,” I whispered. “I know.”

“But I—I never knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That’s Shelley.”

“Shelley who?” Confused, I watched as he tried to explain.

“Sh-she was a freshman wh-when I was a senior. We all took turns, and g-got these.” His glazed eyes looked down at the revealed scar of the ankh on his forearm. We got together at Greg’s lake house. I j-joined in, havin’ some fun, but only once. We all t-took turns with h-her. We even w-went out once before I gradu-uated.”

“You and Shelley?”

He gave a shaky nod.

“And Shelley is Liz?”

Another shaky nod. He hiccoughed and gave a partial cough, wincing.

“Stay with me, Jess. The fat lady ain’t singin’ yet.”

He chuckled, or tried to. Just then, bobbing lights and footsteps echoed through the tunnel on gravel; a pair of uniformed Metro officers and three medics tramped up the stairs and into the car.

“The cavalry’s here, Jess. Stay with us. You’re gonna make it.” I slid my hand out of his and shuffled to the side so the emergency team could get to him. However, I hovered nearby, watching every move they made. One grabbed Jessie, muttering about C-spine and getting a pulse, while the other checked my friend’s airway and ripped open his shirt. The third medic mopped away the blood and slapped a large bandage over the wound in his chest and the exit wound in his back. But he kept Jessie’s attention. “Are you in pain?”

Jessie nodded.

“Got any allergies?”

Jessie shook his head, but remained focused on the third medic, their eyes never parting.

The questions continued, things I could have answered like, “Are there any drugs in your system?” However, I’d heard it all before at many crime scenes. They had to cover everything and keep his attention. The world seemed to have slowed, but they worked at a fast pace, like a well-oiled machine, operating in tandem. Before I knew it, they had an oxygen mask over Jessie’s mouth and were hoisting him onto a body board.

I followed them out of the train, worried about my life-long friend, but his confession plagued me.
They all took turns.
I shook my head at the grotesque images that came to mind. She was barely in high school. Then the rest of the confession came to mind.
Shelly is Liz
. My thoughts wondered to Shelley, the young ninth grader we’d interviewed so many years before.

Seventeen

Choices

September 17, 2011

She had to have had help,
I concluded. No girl her age could have done those things, especially one as puny as she was. The repetitive beep of the heart monitor echoed from inside the curtained room. A host of doctors and nurses bustled around Jessie’s medical bed, the swinging curtain offering only a fleeting view here and there. I’d followed him this far, but even a badge didn’t get me past the E.R. bay curtains.
Come on Jess. You can’t leave me, bud. I’ll get that murderer. You know I will.
He could be as stubborn as a mule from time to time. I just hoped this was one of those times.

My mind going yet again to Liz, or Shelley, I flipped open my phone and dialed Hector’s number.

“Martinez here.”

“Martinez, it’s me,” I said, trying to get his attention as quickly as possible.

“Alex, aren’t you supposed to be on the way here?”

“No, not yet. Nine o’clock, remember? That’s not why I’m calling, though.”

“What’s up? Somethin’ wrong?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “She shot Jessie.”

“What? Who?” Martinez exclaimed.

I paused, panting as I tried to collect my thoughts. After almost sixteen years of looking, we almost had her. While frightened at the prospect of losing one of my best friends, the detective in me was on the edge of his seat. “Liz Reider. She probably went by Shelley years ago. I think she might have had help though.”

“Alright, I’ll see what I can dig up. I just wish we’d caught her before it became such a horrible spree.”

My shoulders slumped. “Me too. I can’t help but wonder if someone would have caught on before, how many lives could we have saved?”
I also wish Jessie had told me before. If only his shame about being involved hadn’t clouded his judgment.

Hector’s tone became concerned. “You’ll drive yourself nuts thinking like that. It wasn’t your fault. You broke the case. Who knows how many lives you’ve saved?”

I wasn’t so sure about that. “Hec, no one was killed last year.”

“You don’t know for sure. This could have gone on forever. Even if someone wasn’t, serial killers don’t just say, ‘Eh, murdering’s gotten kind of old now. Why don’t I take up wind surfing?’ It just doesn’t happen. You know that it always gets worse.”

I nodded to no one in particular. “I get the feeling this was more religious than anything. Fourteen seems to be her lucky number, or seven to be precise.”

“Seven?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll fill you in later.”

“Okay, but what concerns me is this: is Jessie gonna be number fifteen?”

“I hope not. They’re working on him right now.”

“You see, it’s never over, Alex.”

He was right and I knew it, but I still couldn’t rid myself of that nagging question. “So will you look into Liz? She got away tonight and knows I’m onto her. I don’t know what she’ll do or where she’ll go.”

“I’ll check the airports and her financial records. I’m sure Tullings will okay a rush on it, too. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Sounds good. You can coordinate with Sergeant Rollen,” I said, giving him Keenan’s number and listening to the medical chatter echoing from the room. A distinct sound caught my attention and Martinez’s voice became a dull buzz.

“Clear!” said a female behind the curtain, followed by a silence disturbed only by a
phwoosh
sound.

My phone dropped to the floor, clattering on the tile.
Come on, Jess. Stay with me, buddy.
I swear I heard the paddles’ humming as they charged.

“Clear!” she said again.
Phwoosh.

There was a brief commotion behind the curtain. Then she shouted, “Again!”

Tears drizzled from my eyes, and my jaw clenched. “I’ll get you, you little bitch! You’re mine now,” I spat, hoping she heard me, wherever she was. Snatching my phone off the ground, I slapped it closed and stormed out of the hospital, intent on finding her if it was the last thing I did.

* * *

For the next hour, I sped down streets near the Metro station and even found myself doing laps at Reagan National, but the effort seemed futile and infuriated me more than anything. However, I had to do something. Fortunately, on my fifth lap around the airport, my cell phone rang. The digital screen read ‘Martinez.’

“What ya got for me, Hec?” I demanded, spinning the wheel around another corner, avoiding the passengers crossing the road.

“Well, you’re not gonna believe this.”

My patience had been shredded. “Try me,” was all I said.

“Shelley Reider was previously known as Shelley Rayson.”

I slammed on my brakes, skidding to a halt behind a parked taxi. Piecing together the parts and connecting the dots, the inordinate coincidences took shape. “Jesus!”

“Yep, I know what you mean, and I checked out Easely this morning. She seems like an abrupt old woman and a little rude, but I can’t find anything wrong with her besides the fact that she raised a serial killer.”

I wished she did have something to do with it. It would have answered a lot of questions, but Hector had a good head for people. Shelley, or Liz as she was now called, must have been the product of such a harsh woman’s upbringing, combined with the loss of her entire family. “Any word on Liz?”

“Yeah, something, but I don’t think you’re going to like it,” Martinez added. “Liz boarded a seven-o’clock flight coming here…” He paused, then said, “She landed fifteen minutes ago, Alex. Is she running home to hide?”

“Go back and see if she went to Easely’s house. She might have done just that.” I didn’t believe it, but that would be the best place to check. My heart began pounding in my ears like war drums prefacing inevitability as the true reason for fleeing to Tranquil Heights came to mind. “But…,” I began, hesitating, “I don’t think that’s why she went home, Hec. She knows we’re onto her. She’s too smart to do something so stupid. Remember, she hid from us for over fifteen years. She blames me for losing Jessie. That’s the real reason.”

“Oh man,” he muttered. “You know what that means?”

There was no question in my mind. “Paige and Jamie. Get a cruiser to the house, quick!”

“On it.”

“And put out an APB out on Liz. I’ll be there a little after ten.”

“Already did,” Hector replied. “Just get here. Sergeant Tullings will submit the NLET, so you won’t have to worry about that happy-ass procedure of waiting for them to get your pistol out of the lockbox when you get in. I’ll go check on your family myself.”

“Thanks, Hector,” I said, meaning it with all of my heart. Ending the call, I speed dialed Paige. It rang and rang, but no one answered. Leaping out of the car, I tried again while rushing to the teller. Still no answer.

Striding past the line of customers, I flashed my badge at the pudgy, middle-age agent and asked, “You have a sooner flight than nine to Tranquil Heights?”

“What state is that?” she asked in a pleasant, patient tone.

Any tolerance I had left vanished with the unanswered phone calls. “Virginia!”

She blanched.

“Sorry, but it’s life or death. Do you have anything sooner?”

“No, sir,” she said promptly. “They’ll begin loading for the nine-o’clock flight in about twenty minutes though.”

Pulling my ticket from my pocket, I jogged to customs, checking in at the side entrance for special personnel and making it to my gate before they began loading. Struggling to keep my cool while my thoughts ran laps that would have put a roadrunner to shame, I paced in front of the boarding counter, hoping and praying.

* * *

When I stepped out of the glass doors of the Tranquil Heights Airport, I found a frantic Hector Martinez standing just out of the driver’s seat of his brown and white police cruiser. He banged on the roof with one hand and waved for me to come with the other. “Alex, get over here!” he shouted. “Forget your car, we’ll get it later.”

I ran to the curb and threw my bag into the backseat, removing my hat as I folded myself into the passenger seat. I’d never seen him this anxious. Something was very wrong. Before I slammed the door closed, the cruiser shot into traffic. “Did you find Paige and Jamie?” I demanded.

He spared a glance before returning his gaze to the traffic whizzing by. His eyes held pity and concern, having watched Jamie grow up and often joined us for holidays. His silent answer was more worrying than anything he could have said.

“Tell me you haven’t found their…” I couldn’t quite put the horrid thought into words, but another look from Hector told me he understood. “At least then I’ll know there’s hope.”

He shook his head. “No worries there. We haven’t come across them, but that’s also the problem. They’re missing.”

I slammed a fist against the car door. “They’ve gotta be close. Did you check the Easely place?”

“Yeah, we even got a search warrant. Tore the house apart, but no dice.”

I thought for a minute, remembering Jessie’s last confession:
We got together at Greg’s lake house.
“Remember Greg Dihler, Mayor Dihler’s son?”

Hector quirked an eyebrow. “Of course. What of him?”

“Mayor Dihler has a lake house where she met the other victims.”

“Up at Mountain View Lake?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Put a call in and see. A lake house would be someplace no one would think to look normally.” He handed me the walkie-talkie.

I reported in and asked. Taylor, our dispatcher, came back a few minutes later. “281 Trout Road. It’s good to have you back, Drummond.” Her voice was cheery, but held a wary tremble and pitying tone.

Hearing the address, Martinez shoved down the gas pedal, and the car revved forward. “We’ll be there in less than ten,” he mumbled, eyes peeled as the car shot over the slight hills. Flicking a button, the siren wailed, and red and blue lights shimmered off the buildings and windowpanes flowing past.

“Thanks, Taylor. I just hope it’s in time.”

“We’re doin’ everything we can on our end, sugar. Every officer is out searchin’ the streets and followin’ any potential leads. You need backup? I can pull a car if you want.”

I glanced at Hector, who grimaced at the question. There are only a dozen officers in the entire department. Pulling one car could be the difference between finding them dead or alive. “No, not yet,” I answered above the siren. “We’re pretty sure, but best not put all our eggs in one basket yet. We’ll get back to you if we need it.”

“Sounds good, honey,” Taylor replied, her local drawl always present. “You watch yourself.”

“We will. Take care.”

I sat the handset in its cradle in the middle compartment. Within a couple minutes, the town’s streetlights and lines of small shops along main were dwindling in the rearview mirror. Slowing to forty-five, tires squealed as Hector spun the wheel. Then the car roared up a 60 degree incline of asphalt curves. Tall and slender pines and oaks flitted by along the edges of the road, the headlights barely grazing their trunks and lower branches. Piles of dead leaves fluttered behind as the large, modified engine gave it all she had.

“Now that’s my baby,” Martinez said with pride, sparing a second on a short straightaway to pet the gray dash. “She’ll give any muscle car a run for its money.”

I nodded, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Memories of Paige flew through my mind: the times we spent together in college working various cases and suspicious deaths, the few times I saw her illuminated by the autumn sun in front of the bowling alley, her glowing face saying, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” after I proposed, and the first time I held Jamie. I stared into the fleeting darkness until the asphalt turned to packed dirt rumbling beneath the tires. The smell of burning timber filtered through the vents and windows. Hector took a few back-road turns. Then my eyes widened and heart began to race as we slid to a stop in front of a large, three-story log cabin. Motion lights flared to life, illuminating the three-car garage and front of the house.

“Government office pays well,” Hector said with a tinge of contempt, craning his neck forward to look at the roof through the windshield.

I jumped out of the car to stare, but not at the height, at the flames leaping from the windows upstairs. “Call it in, Hec. This place ain’t burning by chance."

Hec yelled, “What are ya going to do, kick down the door?”

The thought had occurred to me. Tullings had said,
by any means necessary,
although like the trip to DC, this might not qualify under his definition. “Damn straight,” I replied, pulling my nine-millimeter.

I took the front porch steps two at a time. The stained wood groaned beneath me from a bit of weathering, but remained steady. Small rows of glass windows bordered both sides of the front door. I glanced in, but was surprised to see little inside but a carpeted, smoke-filled room. Slipping my hand inside a coat sleeve, I tried the handle. The door was unlocked and opened with a slow creak, swinging inward.
Either the mayor is very trusting, or someone’s expecting me.
Gusts of smoke drifted out the top of the door, but didn’t seem to have completely filled the house yet. However, they flared to life with the cool breeze drifting inside.