Fatally Bound (31 page)

“That one looks north of the University Avenue exit,” the agent replied.

“Roll the tape back on that camera, can you do that?”

“Yes, give me a second,” the tech hit some key strokes and maneuvered his mouse. “I’m going back five minutes.”

“Run it fast-forward.”

The tech fast forwarded the tape. Mac, Wire and Galloway hovered over his shoulder. “There, what’s that?” Mac shouted, pointing at the screen.

The tech stopped the video, ran it back and pushed play at normal speed. A white panel van was driving fast down the shoulder as a car stuck its nose out a hundred yards short of the exit ramp. There was a collision and the van powered through, not stopping and kept going.

“That
has
to be him,” Mac exclaimed. “Is that the exit to southbound University Avenue?”

“Uhh …” the tech started, “yes. Yes, south on University.” The tech checked the map for that exit. “He can only go south.”

“Get us traffic cameras for that. Do they exist?”

The tech hit some more key strokes, “No cameras in that specific area. Let me see what’s closest.”

“Galloway, tell everyone, white panel van, right front caved in, traveling south on University. That’s where we need the presence. Get that chopper going south on University.”

• • • •

The Reaper reduced his speed, traveling through the residential area on south University Avenue. He couldn’t drop the van around here, it was too conspicuous and there was no place to blend in.

He stayed south but he needed to get out quick.

A shopping area was visible in the distance. In fact, several shopping areas were on both the left and right side of the street. He didn’t want to drop the van in the middle of a parking lot, but he wanted the crowds of the shopping centers to blend into.

The Takoma Crossroads Shopping Center was on his right.

He turned right into the mall lot and took the lane on the far north edge of the parking lot to the driveway to the backside of the large strip mall.

• • • •

Mac and Wire pored over the map of the area south of I-495 along University Avenue. The phone call had been over for four minutes now.

“Mac, he’s going to ditch the van. He’s got to be thinking we’ll catch him on camera somewhere.”

“I agree, but he needs a good place to … drop …” Mac traced University Avenue south on the map with his finger to where it crossed with New Hampshire. “This is the best closest spot. This shopping area, there’s the Takoma Shopping Center and Langley Park Shopping Center.”

“Lots of people and traffic,” Wire added, nodding. “He could blend.”

Mac looked to the tech, “Traffic cameras in that shopping area, search now!”

“On it.”

To Galloway, he said, “Flood that area with cops. Get the chopper there.”

• • • •

He was out of the van. Slipping in an open rear door, he walked inside, through a maintenance area and into the mall proper and towards the main front entrance. At the front doors, he peered outside. Hanging around was not an option. The blending helped but he needed to keep moving. He pushed through the front door and turned right, walking along the sidewalk, under the canopy, a Washington Nationals baseball cap on his head, sunglasses, everything he needed from the van stuffed into his backpack.

He could hear the whoosh of a chopper in the distance as well as sirens. The walls were closing in. There wasn’t much time. He saw a cab waiting in the distance.

Then he saw another option.

• • • •

“Agent McRyan, look at this,” the tech suggested. “The camera looks north on University from where it intersects with New Hampshire. Look up here,” the tech pointed to the upper left corner of the screen.

“White panel van with a front bumper very askew, turning right into that parking lot. What’s that a parking lot for?”

“Takoma Shopping Center.”

“How many minutes ago?”

The tech grimaced. “Three minutes.”

“Galloway.”

“On it, Mac,” the senior agent answered, barking orders into his radio. “Takoma Shopping Center. Everyone converge now. Lock it down, lock down a five-block radius.”

• • • •

The FBI Suburban turned hard left onto Jackson Street and pulled up just short of the driveway behind the mall. Mac and Wire filed out even before the truck fully stopped, jogging towards the van, already being worked by an FBI forensic team.

It had been less than fifteen minutes.

“This is the van,” Wire observed. “The bumper is barely hanging on, a kaleidoscope of paint from other vehicles and enough body work to keep a repair shop busy for an entire day.”

Mac walked away from the van. “So where does he go? Where did he run off to?”

“Is he inside the perimeter still?” Wire wondered.

There was a five-block perimeter, squad cars everywhere. The doors to the mall were locked while each store was searched. Officers were searching other vehicles and interviewing bystanders, showing the picture of Drake Johnson.

The Langley Park police chief approached. “Agent McRyan, we’ve got a perimeter set. We have police from all nearby jurisdictions and the Maryland State Police. It’s tight as can be. We’re letting nothing move. People have been ordered to stay in their houses. Everyone is frozen in stores here at the mall.”

“Thanks, Chief. My only question is, how quickly did you set that perimeter?”

The chief grimaced as they walked around to the front of the mall, “From the time we knew this was the place, it took a few minutes to get it tight, to get everyone in here.”

Mac nodded and understood, already thinking they might have missed their shot. They were a few minutes behind the whole way. If only they could have kept him on the interstate. “What do you think?” he asked Wire, who was looking past him.

“I think he got out. How about you?”

“He could be hunkered down in one of these houses around here,” Mac replied in a more hopeful tone. “It’s the middle of the day, people off at work, he gets inside and hides until we clear.”

“Maybe,” she replied as she walked past him. He turned to see her approaching a police officer fifty feet away talking to a young boy, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old.

Mac turned to look for the Langley Park police chief, “Chief, it’s possible he’s one, hunkered down in a house around here, or two, he slipped through or out before the perimeter was set. So if he were to get away from here, what? Taxi? Bus? Steal a car or truck?”

“Those would be the likely options.”

“Let’s start checking those.”

“Mac!” Wire yelled. He turned to see her still talking to the police officer and a kid in front of a video game store. “You need to hear this.”

Mac jogged over.

Wire said to the kid, “Tell Agent McRyan what you told me.”

“Sir, I was inside the store, looking at games. When I came out, my new black mountain bike was gone.”

• • • •

The Reaper pedaled fast but calmly along the wooded path, having beaten the road blocks by maybe thirty seconds to a minute before they encircled the neighborhood around the mall. Even in the distance now he could hear more and more sirens and media choppers hovering overhead. If they looked down, they would not have seen him, the path running underneath the canopy of large trees blowing lightly in the breeze. The sound of the sirens started to fade behind him the farther he pedaled.

He breathed a little easier.

• • • •

6:48
P.M.

Mac leaned against the Suburban, his aviator sunglasses softening the glare of the bright July sun as it slowly meandered towards the western horizon. The five-block perimeter remained tight and the house-to-house search continued, though at this point nearly complete. Two police helicopters continued to hover overhead, with more television helicopters hovering farther in the distance. Thankfully, with such a large perimeter, the media was held back. Mac said he’d handle the news conference; he didn’t agree to media updates. To the extent there would be any further updates, they would be handled by Galloway.

They couldn’t find Johnson.

Wire approached with two bottles of water, handing one to Mac. He opened it and took a long sip, downing half the contents along with four Ibuprofen gel capsules.

“I’d say he got through,” Dara said matter of factly as she took a position to Mac’s right, leaning against the truck.

Mac nodded, kicking at some tar with his left shoe, “Man, do you think he really pedaled his way out of here?”

“It’s the only conveyance missing.”

“Conveyance?”

“I’m trying to use one word to describe all modes of transportation with which he could have escaped.”

“Well, now you used more words than if you’d have just said cars, trucks, motorcycles, taxis, buses and apparently, mountain bikes.”

The kid’s bike had not been found and nobody fitting the description had been seen by a witness or appeared on surveillance video riding away. It was as if the guy disappeared into the ether.

“We just needed another thirty seconds on that phone, maybe a minute and we’d have had him. We just couldn’t tighten the circle quickly enough.”

“I can’t believe you kept him on as long as you did. You had him on over four minutes. You played him as well as you possibly could have.”

“Maybe,” Mac answered but then looked up at one of the helicopters, drifting to the west. “One of the by-products of having played him like that is he’s pissed, really pissed. So pissed, in fact, that he …”

Dara shook her head, “If he has another target, Mac, he’s not going to hit tonight. He’s going to run and hide.”

“We don’t know that, Dara.”

“The heat is too much tonight. Self-preservation says he runs and hides.”

“Fine, even if he does hide tonight, he’s not going to hide long. He’s going to hit soon. He has to.”

“Because we’re closing in.”

“Right. He can’t hold on but a few more days, if that, at least around here,” Mac answered, waving to the area. “His picture is everywhere, so unless he goes to hide in a cave, someone eventually is going to see him. So if he’s going to hit one more time, if he has one last target, he won’t wait long.” Then his look brightened just a bit, “Although, one thing does occur to me.”

“What’s that?”

“His target must be in the DC area. Otherwise …”

“Why still be around here?” Wire finished his thought. “Who, though?”

“We gotta figure out where that picture came from. We should head back.”

“Assuming your theory is correct that the picture taker is the last one left.”

“It’s all we have to go on.”

As Mac and Wire were getting into the Suburban, the Langley Park police chief approached. “Agent McRyan, we’ve got a house break-in and car missing over in Takoma Park, the next city over to the west. There is a mountain bike sitting where the car used to be. It’s the kind missing from here.”

It took five minutes for the police convoy to make it over to Takoma Park and a two-story white house with a two-car garage. The Takoma Park police chief, a barrel-chested mid-fifties man chewing a toothpick, named Bird, greeted them at the end of the driveway. Quick introductions were made and Chief Bird led them up the driveway.

“As best we can tell, he got into the house around back,” Bird suggested, walking them to the back door. “You see the scraping around the latch bolt and door plate, he used something to jimmie it open. We have some metal shavings.”

Mac kneeled down and looked at the doorplate. “Like he broke it open with a knife perhaps?”

“Like our knife,” Dara suggested. “So what happened next, Chief?”

“Homeowner says there are car keys that hang on the wall, just underneath the cabinet here in the kitchen,” Bird reported, pointing to five small plastic hooks mounted on a rust-stained board. “One set was for an older black Toyota Camry, that as you look out to the left stall of the garage, you’ll see is no longer there.”

“And in its place is a shiny brand-new black mountain bike,” Dara said.

“Any idea how long the car has been gone?” Mac asked.

“Homeowner was gone all day working so there is no way of knowing. The car could have been gone an hour or four hours. We’ve done a quick canvas and nobody remembers seeing the car leave or any activity around the house.”

“The owners didn’t miss the car?” Dara asked.

Chief Bird shook his head, “The Camry belongs to their college-age daughter who is on a summer trip to Europe. It hasn’t been started or driven in weeks.”

“It would take what, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes to bike to here from Langley Park?” Mac asked Bird.

“Bout that if he’s moving at a good clip. Maybe a little quicker if he comes direct. My guess is that your boy went riding around a bit to find a place. This house has good cover, lots of mature trees, tall shrubs and a garage hidden around the back of the house. He could break in, even in broad daylight, and slink away if he knew what he was doing.”

“When it comes to slinking around, he knows,” Wire retorted bitterly.

“Let’s go, Dara,” Mac decided. “He’s gone.”

A
t 9:48
P.M.
, Sally opened the back door, turned off the security system and let the Secret Service agents into the townhouse. While two agents searched the house, a third agent waited with Sally while she dropped her purse and briefcase on the center island and started looking at her options in the wine fridge. She was in the mood for a red tonight, maybe a Merlot or a Cabernet. A bottle of Markham was drawing her particular attention.

“All clear, Ms. Kennedy,” the tall and lanky lead agent reported. “Please set your alarm. We’ll be in our cars watching in the front and back and we’ll take you into the White House tomorrow.”

“Is this really all necessary?” Sally asked for what must have been the sixth time. After his chat with the Reaper, Mac’s first call was to Judge Dixon, and ten minutes later, two Secret Service agents were at her office door and they’d been with her since. Two more were added to the detail once she left the White House. Mac later explained why but she still thought it overkill.

“We’re here by orders of the president and Judge Dixon, ma’am, so until they tell us otherwise, we’ll be on the job. There’s a dangerous man out there killing women. We are not going to let one of them be you.”

If nothing else, Sally felt very safe as she locked the door, poured herself a glass of the Markham and went upstairs to the bedroom. As she hung up her suit in the spacious walk-in closet Mac built for her, she heard her phone beep the sound of a slap shot, which meant she had a text from Mac. She picked up the phone and the text said: Home in one.

Mac had a long and eventful day and had slept perhaps two hours in the last forty-eight hours, and he was still hurting from the confrontation with the Reaper. She checked the Ibuprofen bottle in the kitchen in the morning and it was nearly empty. While popping Ibuprofen was far better than getting hooked on painkillers, that much anti-inflammatory medication in that short a period of time wasn’t good for you. Mac didn’t know she was texting back and forth with Dara, who was keeping watch. Wire said he was holding up throughout the day but that the wall couldn’t be far away.

Sally shook her head.

She knew how fruitless it would be to ask him to dial it back. He wouldn’t listen; stubborn might has well have been his middle name. Easing up was something the man simply wouldn’t, and in many ways couldn’t, do. His wiring wouldn’t allow it, especially at this point in the case. She was surprised he was actually coming home.

Well, if he was, she didn’t want the night to go to waste. He needed a little therapy and she had the perfect thing in mind.

She opened one of her built-in drawers and starting pulling out the candles.

• • • •

Mac nodded to the two Secret Service agents parked in the alley behind the townhouse, appreciating their presence along with the two in front. While he was home, Sally would be plenty safe. However, after the call with the Reaper and the less than veiled threat about people he loved, he told the Judge he didn’t want her going anywhere without protection. “Judge, you got me into this case. If something happens to Sally …”

“She’ll have protection in five minutes,” the Judge answered and the man was as good as his word.

Mac pushed inside the back door into the kitchen, locked it and reset the alarm system. He turned to see a single red candle burning on the center island, a glass of wine and a note sitting next to it. While sipping the wine, he read the note and smiled. It was a handwritten spa pass.

He walked up to the second floor and pushed open the door to the bedroom to find Sally lying facing him in a little red teddy that covered barely anything, a glass of wine in her hand, candles lit all over the bedroom. As he walked in, she slipped off the bed, walked over and kissed him, at first lightly, then softly and deeply.

“Hi,” he said, wrapping his right arm around her, feeling the silk of the teddy in his hands.

“Hi back,” she answered, pecking his lips one more time, breathing in the smell of the wine on his breath. “I have it on good authority you’ve had a very long day.”

Mac exhaled, a tired exhale, “I have.”

“Then let me take care of you. For three years, when I’ve had a long or bad day, you’ve pampered me, rubbed my back, my feet, my temples, whatever I’ve needed. For once, it’s your turn. Get undressed, lay down on the bed and let me give you a massage,” she said in a whisper, kissing him lightly again. “You can tell me about your day.”

Mac did as ordered and for the next half hour, Sally worked his shoulders, arms, back and legs with her hands, working out the knots and the tenseness in his muscles.

They talked about the case and how they just missed Johnson. “I swear, Sally, we missed him by a minute at most, probably less. We were literally that close.” Mac described how Johnson eluded them on a mountain bike while she rubbed his legs.

“So what’s your next move?”

Mac sighed, “Figuring out who took that picture.”

“You know, that could have just as easily been someone at the party who has nothing to do with this.”

“Yeah, that’s possible, but I just don’t think so. He’d be gone otherwise, not cruising around the Washington, DC, area, calling me because I got under his skin. If he was done, I think he’d be long gone. He’s not. Drake Johnson is still hanging around for a reason. We have to find that reason.”

“I assume until you do, I’m going to have the Secret Service tailing my every move.”

“Yes. And babe, that is nonnegotiable.”

“Okay,” Sally answered quietly. She knew the tone and there would be no point arguing with him about it. She changed back to the photo, “Any luck on that picture?”

“Not yet. Galloway has people all over that problem, going through the computers, cameras, pictures, everything back at Randall’s and at Danica Brunner’s. If it’s there, we’ll find it eventually.”

“If you find her? Then what?”

“We will sit and wait for him to come.”

“You think he’s coming for whoever took the photo?”

“I don’t know if I think so or I hope so, or both. He’s come this far. If there is one person left to punish, he’s going to do it, he’s going to go for it. For once, I’m hoping I get the call in the middle of the night.”

“Perish the thought,” Sally replied, working the area around his shoulder blades.

“I’m serious, though. He can’t hold out long. He’ll be looking to move quick, any minute. In some ways, I feel guilty lying here in your hands. I should be up doing something.”

“No,” Sally stopped rubbing and rolled him over. “You can’t keep going nonstop, day after day, without rest. You’re less than a week from a concussion, you have a broken wrist and you barely sleep as it is. You’re exhausted, beat-up and …” she caught herself, her eyes welling up.

“What? I’m what?”

“Vulnerable. Weak.”

“I’m not weak and I’m not vulnerable.”

“You are …”

“No I’m not. I’m maybe not at my best,” he answered with a smile, holding up his casted left arm, “but I’m good enough to do what I’m doing, babe. Keep the faith. I’m fine.”

Sally laughed, but was still worried, “You better be.”

“Now you sound like my mom.”

“Ew, don’t kill the mood.”

“Sorry,” Mac answered laughing, back to relaxing, a light laugh.

“Roll back over,” Sally instructed. “I’ll keep rubbing your back.”

After another ten minutes, Sally eased up, and started scratching his back lightly, “My hands are starting to wear out.”

Mac rolled onto his back and smiled up at Sally, “Best I’ve felt in a long time,” he said, looking up at Sally’s worried face. “Keep the faith, babe. This will be over soon.” He drew her down to him and kissed her, a long day about to come to a good end.

He even got nearly six hours of sleep, the phone ringing at 6:06
A.M.
It was Galloway. “We think we know who took the picture.”

“And?”

“Well, things could be a little tricky.”

Mac sighed, “Well why wouldn’t they.”