Garage Sale Stalker (Garage Sale Mysteries) (27 page)

CHAPTER 63

Twenty minutes after
the
g
irls rushed toward the hospital, Adam sat quietly in the Shannons’ darkened living room and stared at his cell phone. Something tickled the back of his mind, something unspecific yet nagging.

Had he overlooked an important detail? Again, he reviewed the circumstances, focusing his detective’s experience on what he knew about this case. Still at large, if this “Yates” were in this area he couldn’t return to his house, now a guarded crime scene. He apparently escaped the farm either in Mrs. Shannon’s missing van or another car stashed there. Assuming he had wheels, if unable to exact revenge on her due to police presence at her house, what would he do next?

As a
wanted
man, Yates could flee the area, perhaps returning to seek vengeance in the future, or remain inconspicuous to risk revenge now, the latter justifying Adam’s protection of the Shannon family. As a
wounded
man, he might seek medical attention. Adam already started that search through police channels to hospitals and physicians.

Was Ruger on the run or did he lurk nearby? Adam drew upon all his training, experience and intuition, to get inside the perp’s head and psych out his next move. He’d dispatched Shannon family members to various locations, knew where to reach them. This protected them against the worst eventuality, but his nagging concern persisted. What had he overlooked?

He’d stationed other cops outside the house, while he covered the inside. The existing security alarm and new locks tomorrow would offer some protection, although who knew better than a cop that determined perps could always gain entry if sufficiently clever and fearless? Would Hannah and the others eventually be safe here from that vengeful maniac?

Lost in thought, Adam startled at the ring of his cell phone. Had the girls reached the hospital? Had Tina taken a turn for the worst? Bracing for bad news, he flipped the phone on and identified himself.

“This is the McLean District Station calling. Two things: forensics made a fingerprint ID on the abductor in the Shannon case. His name is Ruger Yates.”

“Okay, got it. And the second thing?”

“You just received an urgent call. It’s about the Shannon case. He won’t talk with anyone but you. Can you copy the number?”

Fumbling for pen and paper, Adam wrote rapidly as he listened.

“Thanks.”

Dialing the unfamiliar number and extension, Adam identified himself and heard, “Brad Billings from OnStar, Detective. Remember me?”

“Of course!”

“I offered to do a periodic GPS check on Mrs. Shannon’s van for another twenty-four hours. Well, I’m on night duty and followed through on that.”

“Yes,” Adam’s voice reflected immediate interest.

“The van’s been moved, all right, and we’ve pinpointed the new location. The vehicle was no longer in transit when I found it on the screen, so we don’t know where it was before, but we know the location now and it appears to be parked.”

“Where?” Adam hoped he hadn’t shouted his excitement into the phone.

“In downtown McLean, on a street near the intersection of Center Road and Redmond Road.”

Adam scribbled the information quickly. “I know right where that is, by Chain Bridge Corner shopping center. Brad, thanks, man! This information is
really
important right now.”

“Is the woman still missing?”

Antsy to get on this new lead, Adam owed an explanation to someone volunteering so vital a clue. “We found her alive just a few hours ago. Now we’re after her abductor, who we think has her car. Got to go! Again, thanks Brad, for sticking with this.”

“Glad to learn she’s safe. Good-bye.”

Adam hurried to phone this new information to the dispatcher. “Get Crime Scene on it as fast as you can for forensics. Check stolen car reports in that general area in case he traded wheels. Let me know right away what you find. Thanks.”

His thoughts turned again to Hannah. The girls should be at the hospital by now. Certainly, they’d be safe en route, driving in their locked car. And at the hospital, with lots of people around, how could the girls be vulnerable there?

Now, how to fit this new OnStar puzzle piece into the picture? The man could have changed cars in a dozen crowded places safer than McLean, suggesting his presence here was deliberate. But where was he this very minute? Absent the perp’s focus on Jennifer Shannon, who else posed a threat to him besides the police?

It came to him in a flash: Tina MacKenzie! After the man’s merciless treatment of her, if she survived she’d describe first-hand her captivity and abuse. Would he silence her first before Mrs. Shannon? Had he called local hospitals, asking about her? No, that wouldn’t work because of her admission alias, the “Jane Doe” name known only to certain high level hospital staff and to police, neither of whom acknowledge these victims were in the facility in order to protect them. No, the man couldn’t know Tina’s whereabouts, unless...

Grabbing his cell phone, Adam dialed Hannah. “Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice answering machine,” the recorded voice droned. But Hannah’s cell phone was supposed to be turned on! He dialed Becca’s number. Same message!

Quickly he phoned headquarters. “Iverson here. Reason to believe suspected killer in two abduction cases may be at Fairfax County Hospital, possibly targeting Tina MacKenzie, a former victim currently a patient there. Send nearest available unit to secure. That’s Room 1074 in Tower 10 West. Do you copy?”

“Affirmative!”

“And hurry,” Adam shouted into the phone. Rushing to the back door of the Shannon house, he called outside, “Miguel, I need to get to the hospital
now
. Tell the others to cover for you on the outside perimeter and take over for me inside.”

“You got it,” Miguel called back.

Adam rushed out the front door, threw himself into his cruiser and tore away from the house. At 80-90 miles an hour, with little traffic and his siren whooping, he might get there in 10 minutes or less. He roared out of the development, past the elementary school and careened left onto Spring Hill Road. His police speed-pass automatically opened the tollbooth barrier as he sped through and turned south onto the beltway, his speedometer nudging 100 mph.

Reaching Gallows Road, he rocketed onto the exit ramp and two minutes later turned into the hospital complex. Driving straight up under the hospital’s porte-cochere entrance, he braked to a skidding halt on the far side of the horseshoe driveway. Hoping for the first time ever that his hunch was wrong, he jumped out of the cruiser, his hand on his holster.

CHAPTER 64

While Tina breathed
evenly
i
n her drug-induced slumber, the three women focused in unison on Dr. Prescott. He held Tina’s IV tube in his left hand as his right hand raised the hypodermic. A cruel smile crossed his lips as he calculated which would kill her first, the air bubble which doctors meticulously avoid injecting or the toxic serum he was about to administer.

But aware the women’s eyes followed his every gesture and reveling in his doctor role, he couldn’t resist posturing one more time for this riveted audience. Lifting the hypodermic up toward the light and gently inserting the plunger until a tiny drop of liquid glistened on the needle’s point, he eliminated the possibility of any air in the syringe. Relishing his on-lookers’ reverent gazes, he felt almost disappointed that this part of his plan must end so soon.

A nurse bustled into the room and closed the door, stepping back quickly when she saw the man in the white coat. Her surprise entrance and her anxious expression shifted everyone’s attention and put Ruger on guard.

“Oh, Doctor, I... I didn’t realize you were here. Have you a moment to... to step outside and go over the patient’s chart?” Her voice rose, “It’s an
urgent
question about the patient’s meds!”

Just then the door flew open, bashing against the adjacent wall. Everyone in the room—including Ruger—recoiled at the sharp noise as all eyes turned to the armed policeman crouching in the doorway, his pistol trained directly on Ruger.

The three women gasped in confusion and shock. Sneering, Ruger dropped the IV tube in his left hand and grabbed Hannah, who stood right next to him. In one swift movement, his beefy left arm encircled her small waist and he jerked her so tight against him that she choked for air. Holding the needle menacingly near her throat, he edged the two of them toward the door.

“It’s an easy decision for you, copper,” Ruger hissed. “I escape with my hostage or she gets a shot of poison in her carotid artery. One drop and she’s dead in seconds. Your call, Mister. Now throw down your gun and kick it over here.”

Still crouching, the policeman thought fast. Give up the pistol and you give up the advantage, his police academy training drilled. He stared uncomfortably at the terrified girl with instant death centimeters from her neck. What if his own teenage daughter was this hostage and a different policeman stood in his place? Would he want that cop to risk a shot, perhaps sacrificing his daughter’s life?

“Don’t move,” he shouted to Ruger, recognizing this as a hostage situation requiring the experienced crisis team. Still pointing his weapon at Ruger with one hand, he lifted out his cell phone with the other to call them when Tina moaned loudly, stirred on the bed, and for the first time since her rescue, opened her eyes.

Her first glance fell upon her mother and she managed a frail smile, then toward Becca and the smile increased as much as cut lips and swollen face allowed. Encouraged by these loving faces, her eyes moved cautiously across the unfamiliar hospital room, first passing by and then snapping back in revulsion to where Ruger stood, clutching Hannah.

Tina’s eyes widened in horror at the nightmarish sight of the very tormenter who’d captured, tortured and tried to kill her.
HERE!
Right next to her! A ragged cry formed in her damaged throat, then escaped her lips in a hideous half-animal scream of anguish.

While the others cringed at Tina’s wrenching cries, Ruger reveled in them, having deliberately elicited such screams from victims. But even before Tina recognized him, Ruger knew he had the upper hand the moment the policeman decided not to risk the hostage by shooting him. This knowledge gave a new twist to his earlier plan and Tina’s hysteria provided the perfect distraction for his next move.

With the same brash confidence displayed in daring escapes during jungle warfare, he gripped Hannah so tightly that she gasped again while he side-stepped them both right up to the door, inches from the policeman’s pointed pistol. With a sinister smile, Ruger looked directly into the policeman’s eyes as he edged himself and the girl past the pistol’s muzzle and out the door. As the cop’s gun trained impotently toward him, Ruger backed down the hallway, the girl shielding him.

Moments later they entered the elevator and as its mechanical door slid shut, Ruger purred into Hannah’s ear, “Now you listen to me very carefully, sweetheart. Besides this syringe, I have a gun in my pocket. Both are deadly. If you don’t do exactly as I say, you’re a goner. Do you understand?” He jerked Hannah’s stomach so sharply that she cried out in pain and coughed to regain her breath. Struggling to inhale, she nodded.

“You walk right in front of me through the lobby as if everything’s okay, and once outside we’re going to take a little ride. If you’re good, I’ll drop you unharmed at the nearest corner.” In truth, once at his car, he would inject her and kick her body under the next parked car, guaranteeing a grisly find for some unwitting motorist. “So do exactly as I say and I won’t hurt you,” he lied.

Ruger’s knees trembled as a film of sweat formed on his forehead. With one arm clutching Hannah and the syringe in his other hand, he leaned on the elevator wall for support. Even without sleep on lengthy missions, his stamina was legendary, so it must be this damned hole in his gut. Looking down at his white coat, he cursed the pinkish ooze staining the cloth.

Before the elevator door opened on the main floor, Ruger released his grip on Hannah just long enough to snap the plastic guard back on the hypodermic needle and place it into his trouser pocket, exchanging it for his pistol. Nearly asphyxiated by the pressure of Ruger’s powerful arm squeezing her ribcage, Hannah gulped air in a frantic attempt to fill her starving lungs.

Ruger waved his gun before her eyes. “You see this? You’ll feel it in your back the whole way.” In fact, he dropped the weapon out of sight into his pocket, instead prodding her back hard with his forefinger as she faltered, too frightened to walk.

“Move,” he growled in her ear and prodded again until, eyes wide with fright, she struggled forward. They crossed the lobby, nearly deserted at this hour except for the information receptionist absorbed at her computer and the security guard, distracted by someone asking a question.

Ruger pushed Hannah across the waiting room to the entrance, where the automatic doors flared open for their exit. He again withdrew his pistol, using its barrel to shove her roughly through the hospital door ahead of him.

Stumbling along in front of Ruger, her brain fogged with terror, Hannah thought she envisioned a policeman on the sidewalk, his weapon pointed at them. And not just any policeman, but Adam! She shook her head to clear this mirage, but the policeman remained in place. Deciphering this apparent hallucination as reality propelled her into action.

“Run, Hannah!” Adam shouted, and she did.

Ruger Yates swung his weapon toward the fleeing Hannah and prepared to fire as a wave of dizziness clouded his aim. He rocked in place, his left hand clutching his throbbing belly.

Desperate to distract the gunman’s attention from Hannah, Adam taunted, “So, you like bullying girls but piss your pants when you face a man? Give it up, Yates. We know what you’ve done.”

Ruger turned his menacing attention to Adam, lifting his weapon and aiming it at Adam’s heart.

“Then one more won’t matter,” Ruger roared and, fixing his sharpshooter accuracy on Adam’s chest, he squeezed the trigger.

Seconds before Ruger’s shot, the policeman earlier dispatched to guard Tina upstairs had dashed down ten flights of stairs and across the lobby. Weapon in hand, he aimed toward and blasted Ruger’s gun hand, deflecting the bullet intended for Adam. Grimacing, Ruger dropped his pistol and clutched his temporarily paralyzed fingers. As the other cop rushed to subdue and cuff him, Adam trained his weapon on Ruger.

Despite his numbed hand and the oozing hole in his side, Ruger fought too wildly for the other cop to get the upper hand. Holding the pistol in his right hand, Adam closed in to assist the take-down with his left hand, when Ruger abruptly kicked the weapon from his fingers.

Adam joined in the melee. He had never seen anyone with such devastating close-quarters fighting skill. Ruger roared savagely, landing blow after blow. Adam doubted now that even the two of them could overpower him.

As if sensing Adam’s thought, the second cop grunted as they struggled, “Backup’s rolling… here… any minute. And… hospital security.”

Skilled by years of hand-to-hand combat, even in his weakened condition Ruger landed enough crushing blows, chops and kicks on both cops to break free. As Adam vainly sought his gun, he realized the other cop lay on the pavement, unconscious from Ruger’s barrage of punches to his head and chest. The sight of his comrade down galvanized Adam with new energy. He lunged after Ruger and with a flying tackle, grabbed him hard enough around the hips to send them both sprawling on the ground.

As Adam raised his fist for a smashing blow to his opponent’s upturned face, he hesitated. Something was wrong. Ruger lay limp and unresisting on the pavement, his arms askew, eyes staring and a stain spreading across his trousers at the loss of control over his body functions.

“What the hell... a heart attack?” Panting from exertion, Adam lurched to his feet, spied and grabbed his weapon. Confused at his seemingly lifeless quarry, he still pointed his loaded pistol into Ruger’s face to foil any trick.

Moaning, the second cop sat up, rubbed the bruise on his forehead, and wheezed through bleeding lips, “Upstairs he waved a hypodermic, said it contained poison. Maybe...”

“Cover me,” Adam said as he kneeled to check Ruger’s carotid pulse, then shook his head. “This guy’s gone. Let’s take a look.”

“Careful,
careful!
He said even one drop could kill!”

Together they eased open Ruger’s lab coat. Beneath it, jutting from a torn trouser pocket, they saw the top of a syringe. Cutting the pocket open revealed an intact hypodermic, its needle jammed through the cloth of the man’s trousers and imbedded to the hilt into his flesh, the plunger pushed home.

Police sirens wailed, growing louder every second as cruisers closed in from several directions and hospital security personnel rushed out to assist them.

Just before the cruisers screeched onto the scene, the second policeman spoke through his broken teeth, “Geez, it must have stabbed into him when you brought him down.”

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Adam holstered his weapon. “Damn,” he breathed heavily, “if that needle pointed in a different direction, I’d be lying there dead instead of him!”