Driven (17 page)

“The list is just as important as the Reverend Buchanan and has
to be done first, while whatever evidence there might be is still fresh.”

Amy paused for a long moment. “How long is the list?”

“There are several jobs here but there’s an asterisk next to the last stop where work was completed. The truck was stolen
somewhere between there and the next job that never got started. The two locations are less than a mile apart.”

“You do the list, I’ll go upstate.”

Gavin sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose.

“What makes this Reverend Buchanan guy so important he can’t wait?” Katz said, coming back from the living room. “I don’t
generally like to butt in, but you do need sleep. A four-hour drive could be dangerous.”

“He’s a strong lead,” Gavin said.

“Strong lead? He was a victim,” Katz countered.

“A victim the Norwegian police questioned and released begrudgingly because he admitted to knowing the killer’s identity.
And Karianne had spoken of him as Krogan’s enemy.”

“With Krogan’s face and name on the front page of the newspaper, don’t you think he would call if he had something of value
he was willing to share?”

“That’s just it. He’s not willing,” Gavin said.

Amy started walking toward the door. “If you want to get some shut-eye I’ll understand.”

“You’ll understand?” Gavin said.

“Yeah, where your priorities are.”

“Oh, and where are they?”

“Eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep, work,” she said, motioning with her hand at different imaginary levels in
the air with work always getting the lowest level.

Gavin rolled his eyes at her attempt to make him feel guilty, but
was too tired to fight her silver tongue. Amy opened the door and without hesitation started to close it behind herself.

“Amy,” he called. “Wait.”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around. Apparently, the more tired she got the more stubborn she got—just like him.

“We’ll do both,” he said. “I guess a little change of scenery would do me good and I do want to be there when Buchanan is
questioned,” he said. “But first the list.”

She turned around and faced him. “Do
us
good,” she said, the hardness gone from her voice. “I’ll make sure you stay awake.”

Gavin looked at her—her beautiful eyes now heavy-lidded red slits. He managed a thin smile. “A job you do very well. But who’s
going to keep
you
awake?”

G
AVIN DROPPED AMY OFF
at her house to freshen up then went home to feed a lonely Cedar, shower, and change his clothes. The shower and new clothes
felt good, but were no substitute for sleep. By the time he got back to Amy’s, she was sitting on the front brick stoop. She
slung her handbag over her shoulder and walked toward him. She had traded in her usual play clothes for new jeans, a sage-green
V-neck T-shirt, and a blazer that matched her eyes. As she got closer Gavin could also see she was wearing makeup. Gavin wondered
if it was possible for her not to look absolutely stunning.

“Excuse me,” he said as she got into the car. “Do I know you?”

“I doubt it,” she said with a sly smile and a slanted look.

“I suppose the next thing you’ll want is to carry my shield?”

“Some of us don’t need a badge to stop traffic,” she said smartly.

To that he had no reply.

D
ead end,” Gavin said, pointing at the yellow road sign before turning onto the street. He looked at the Lighting Company’s
work sheet, then up at the street sign, then pulled his car to the side of the road and parked. For the next few moments he
and Amy stared in silence at the street before them. With the exception of one dilapidated house at the end of the block,
the street was empty of homes. There were no sidewalks, only rubbish-riddled overgrown vacant lots on either side with a few
rusted-out, abandoned cars.

“This was where the guy was killed?” Amy finally said.

“This was the last recorded place he worked,” Gavin said, getting out of the car.

“What was he doing here?” she said, joining Gavin.

He pointed up to the lone transformer on a telephone pole. “Working on that gray can.”

“Eww,”Amy said in a shiver and folded her arms. “This has to be where it happened. No wonder nobody reported it. Who would
see anything?”

“You never know,” Gavin said, walking toward the pole. “Maybe someone from that lumberyard or that house.”

“If anyone even lives there,” she said, following slowly.

Gavin stopped and waited for Amy to catch up. Her arms were still folded as if she were cold. “If he was working on the pole
when he was shot, the arrow would probably have come from this direction.”

“How do you know that?”

“The first arrow was in the right shoulder. Assuming he was facing the pole while working…”

“But how do you know what arrow was first?”

“The arrow in the neck killed him. There would be no further need to send another arrow after that.”

“Wait a minute. You mean the worker was shot in the bucket and Krogan just left him in there, driving around town?”

“Apparently.”

“Could he have still been alive?”

“It’s possible.”

“Eww.” Amy shivered again.

Gavin walked to the abandoned car and looked up at the transformer on the pole. He noticed some fresh scratches in the rust
on the trunk and shook his head. “I bet when we get a tech here we find Krogan’s prints and traces of the arrows’ paint in
these scratches.”

“Right here,” Amy said, pointing.

“Don’t touch,” Gavin said, pushing her hand away. “He may as well have signed his name while he was at it.” He turned around
and looked back at the cross street. “He was probably driving by when he saw the truck he wanted right there,” he motioned.
“Easy pickings. This psychopath has zero conscience.”

“Almost like it’s all a game,” Amy said.

Gavin walked over to the pole and looked at the ground. He’d expected to see blood but realized now it had probably been contained
in the bucket. He then scanned the area again in all directions.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll be right there.”

“Where are you going?”

“Over to that house. Maybe someone over there saw something.”

“Do you think somebody actually lives in that shack? And isn’t it too early? It isn’t even seven yet.”

“It’s never too early in this business.”

“Well, then, I’m coming with you. This place gives me the creeps. For all we know he might be in one of those cars.”

K
rogan’s eyes opened at the familiar creak of his porch stairs. His newly acquired wristwatch told him it was way too early
for friendly visitors. In a moment he was out of bed and peering through his cobwebbed front window. He had to squint; his
dilated, bloodshot eyes were not ready for the sunrise. He didn’t remember going to bed, but it couldn’t have been long ago.
His head ached and his parched mouth needed a drink, preferably beer so his thinking would clear. A drink in the morning was
the best remedy for a hangover.

His pained eyes widened with surprise. “A ghost,” he said to himself as he focused on the two people stepping onto his porch.
The man looked familiar, but the woman… He didn’t need to see her in a bathing suit to recognize she was that same Asian
wench that had been on the boat he rammed. Apparently she hadn’t been killed. As he wondered why, he suddenly remembered where
he had seen the man she was with; he’d seen him get into that van with the cop he’d crashed into. He was probably the detective
the newspaper
had said to contact. He couldn’t remember the name; his mind was still half drunk and asleep.

He watched the intruders a moment longer as they nosed around. “Oh, no. You found me,” he mocked in a low, quiet voice that
sounded more like a growl. “Found, but not caught.” He quietly stole away from the window and reached under his bed for his
compound bow.

A moment later he was standing naked at his bedroom doorway, swiftly setting a triple-razor broad-head arrow into the bow.
Weapon ready, he stepped to the center of his darkened living room. He was invisible to his visitors, but their bodies were
silhouetted against the thin curtain covering the glass window of his door. They were talking to each other, but he couldn’t
hear what they were saying.

Krogan’s attention momentarily detoured to the body of a naked woman on the floor by his kitchen doorway. Then he remembered
the Harley in his backyard and how he’d dragged her into the house. He didn’t remember what had happened to her clothes and
wondered if she was dead. She looked dead—face down, her arms and legs outstretched and limp.

He returned his focus to the front door. Though groggy, he effortlessly drew back the powerful bow and leveled his sights
on the taller shadow’s head. His choice of whom to shoot first was easy. The girl would react with fear at seeing an arrow
go through the man’s head, which would make dealing with her more fun. He could play with her for a while, or have her for
breakfast. He was curiously excited, wondering whether she would faint or scream.

The taller shadow reached for the doorbell. Krogan snickered. The doorbell had never worked. Another example of his father
starting something and never finishing it. He watched the shadow knock gently on the glass. The wimp. If he was going to call
this early he should at least have the courage to knock with authority.

Krogan lowered his sights to the hand. Though his eyes were as blurry as his mind, the hand was a slightly more challenging
shot. Besides, only wounding him would set things up for a fun hunt as they tried to hide from him.

The smaller shadow said something and rapped hard on the door, obviously agreeing the detective was a coward. She was determined
… and probably not the type to faint. The taller shadow pulled her hand away but she quickly snatched it back and said something.
She then moved her head about as if trying to peek inside. Feisty, Krogan noted.

“Greetings,” he growled, now zeroing the arrow’s point on the center of her right palm, flattened on the glass. He was about
to release, but paused as a half-sober thought came to mind: maybe he hadn’t been found. They didn’t have guns drawn and there
were no police cars or cops surrounding the house. They must have somehow found out the electric utility truck had been on
this street and were probably looking for a witness.

Krogan lowered the bow. As much as he wanted to properly greet his guests, he was now thinking just enough to realize it would
cost him. After his fun was over he would no longer be able to return home.

As the shadows finally left the front door he went back to the window to make sure they were leaving the property. For a moment
he watched them walk down the block to their car, then he flopped back onto his bed. He could have them later, whenever he
wanted. He warmed to that thought as he fell back to sleep.

C
an we go now?” Amy said, standing beside the car as impatient as ever.

Gavin tried to ignore her as he recapped instructions to the uniform cop standing before him, making doubly sure he had conveyed
everything and was understood.

“Got it. Don’t worry. Go have a good time with your wife before she leaves without you,” the cop said, motioning toward the
car.

Gavin started to correct him but instead just nodded. He had been mostly appreciative of Amy’s help, but he didn’t like being
rushed away from a probable crime scene. The fact he’d only managed to station a single patrol car at the end of the block
to maintain the site until the techs got there was disturbing. He wanted to personally point out his own findings and suggest
his own theories, not relay secondhand messages. Experience had shown him more could be learned from the logic produced during
random crime-scene chitchat than an entire stack of investigative reports. Amy, though, was driven in another direction. That
Reverend Buchanan supposedly knew Krogan was all the logic she needed.

T
HREE HOURS LATER
, Gavin was driving through the green rolling hills of the Catskills mountain range. The hours of engine hum, wind noise,
and flashing road lines had worked as well as any metronome Katz could have produced. Amy was out cold. The lack
of conversation, mixed with too much strong coffee, had ignited Gavin’s hyper-focused mind. Too many questions with no acceptable
answers. Instead of enjoying the fact he was finally getting the chance to drive his little sports car on country roads or
that right now he had the soft-top down on a perfect sunny morning with a beautiful woman at his side, he was rehashing last
night’s session with Karianne. Was any of it real? He felt like he had entered a time machine and taken statements from over
two dozen character witnesses from across the ages—witnesses to crimes committed by the same man he was now hunting. Without
the videotape, who would ever believe him? He kept rearranging the pieces of Krogan’s puzzle—the consistencies and the incongruous.
Maybe something would click.

He had never seen Amy so quiet for so long. She’d been sound asleep for almost the entire trip. Earlier, she had opened her
eyes only briefly when Gavin pulled the little lever to recline her seat. He glanced at her now as he had done throughout
the trip, the one pleasurable divergence he allowed himself. But even that relief was tainted. As she lay there peacefully,
the sun warming her golden skin and the wind playing with her hair, Gavin was cruelly reminded of when he’d first seen her
twin sister in the hospital.

During the first hour of their trip, when Amy was awake, she’d reread her notes aloud. Noting that Krogan liked to tattoo
himself with his name, she’d wondered if he might have had his name put on a vanity license plate. Gavin had told her the
department did have some experience in tracing names and a vanity plate check was standard procedure. He then told her he’d
already made a note to check the local tattoo parlors, but figured Krogan had probably gotten tattooed abroad, possibly in
Norway.

Another pattern Amy had brought up was Krogan’s apparent preference for Jewish blood; more than half of Krogan’s victims in
the interviews, which included the early Christians, were Jewish.
Just another tidbit that didn’t seem to fit anywhere. And then there was the celebration at Jesus’ crucifixion—Krogan’s happiest
moment, according to Karianne.

Coming over the ridge of the Downsville pass, Gavin could see the small historic town of Hamden in the valley below. Hamden
was nestled cozily within pine-clustered mountains and grassy foothills. Running parallel to Route 10, the only main road,
was the Delaware River. This far north, the river was barely fifteen feet wide and appeared too shallow for anything larger
than an inner tube or kayak.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Time to wake up,” Gavin said, patting Amy’s left thigh.

Amy stretched her arms upward and smiled. “But I don’t want to go to school today.” She pulled herself upright by the armrest,
with the back of the seat following her. “Wow! We’re not in Kansas anymore, are we?” She turned and looked at Gavin for a
long moment. “Sorry I fell asleep. How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Gavin said.

“Liar.”

Upon entering the town, Gavin was halted by a girl wearing a yellow hard hat and waving a bright orange flag. The road ahead
was under construction and Gavin had to wait.

“When all of this is over, I’m going to get a job like hers,” Amy said.

Gavin suddenly had to shake off a thought that came from nowhere, of Amy directing traffic and then unsuccessfully trying
to stop a wild car headed right for her. He shivered as he saw the impact in his mind’s eye and then saw Krogan laughing through
the car’s window.

“What’s wrong?” Amy asked, apparently having seen Gavin wince.

“Nothing,” he said, not very convincingly.

Amy frowned, but didn’t pursue it.

Hamden appeared to be no more than a dozen houses on either side of the road with one store in the middle on the right. The
river ran behind the store. A small rectangular sign several yards away read “Hamden, founded 1797.” Gavin figured the town
had not gone through too many facelifts since. The modern machines tearing up the road appeared out of place next to the old
homes surrounding them.

The girl waved them on. A hundred feet further, where the construction actually began, the paved road suddenly became a packed
gravel subsurface. Oddly, the gravel gave the old town a more authentic feel.

Gavin pulled over in front of the store and parked. The sign hanging over the old wood porch read “Hamden General Store.”
A smaller sign in the window revealed it was also the post office. Someone here would know where Samantha’s Farm and the Reverend
Buchanan were.

They parked and walked up the well worn, creaky steps of the porch. Next to the doorway was a rack of newspapers, none of
which were familiar. An overhead bell jingled as they entered the store. The floor was sprinkled with sawdust and in the center
of the wide main aisle was a large, black pot-bellied woodstove. Beyond it an elderly woman stood working behind a counter.

“Can I help you?” the old woman asked as Gavin and Amy approached. She was old enough to be Gavin’s grandmother, bony and
petite, with white hair tied up in a bun. She energetically stocked the shelf behind her as she spoke.

“We’re trying to locate Reverend Jesse J. Buchanan,” Gavin said. “We understand he lives here in Hamden at Samantha’s Farm.”

“
Mr.
Buchanan,” the old woman corrected. “You should know he doesn’t like to be called Reverend anymore. Are you news people?”

Who is she, his secretary? Gavin thought. He pulled his shield
from his pocket and dropped it on the counter. “I’m Detective Pierce. I was hoping Rev— Mr. Buchanan would be able to help
us.”

The old lady stopped working and looked at Gavin, then his badge, then suspiciously at Amy. “That of course would be up to
him. A half mile north, take your first right. The first driveway on the left after you cross the river is Samantha’s Dairy
Farm. You can’t miss it.”