Killing Spree (43 page)

He stopped at the end of Chase’s driveway. “You sure you don’t want me to take you up to the house? I need to turn around anyway.”

“Could you do that in another driveway?” Gillian asked. Ignoring his vexed look in the rearview mirror, she gave him a twenty, and then opened the taxi door. “Thank you. Keep the change.”

Jason climbed out after her, and closed the door. The taxi pulled away. They stood at the end of Chase’s long, winding driveway. But they could see his little ranch house, and some lights on inside. They could also see a dark green SUV parked in front of the house.

“My God, you were right,” Jason murmured. He took the Winchester out of its box, and loaded it. He tossed the rifle box in the bushes, and took a step into the driveway.

“Stop,” Gillian whispered.

He froze. Gillian switched on the flashlight.

“What are you doing?” Jason hissed. “Turn off that light. He’ll see us.”

“I don’t think he’s home,” Gillian said. She shined the light along the paved driveway. A near-invisible wire ran across it—about ten feet in front of them—at knee level. “It’s a trip wire,” she whispered. “It’s how the
Black Ribbons
killer rigged his house for detonation. The doors and first-floor windows are probably wired too.”

“My God,” Jason muttered.

She wondered if he’d left Ethan bound and gagged—and alone—inside this booby-trapped house. But no, he wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t see Chase setting up a
Black Ribbons
kill so that his most important victim could die in some explosion. This was a trap for the police.

“Do you think the house is empty?” Jason asked.

She nodded. “He has Ethan somewhere else, I’m almost sure of it. I want to go back down the road to that house on stilts.”

He nicked Ethan’s leg with the scissors. Ethan flinched and let out a little cry.

“Now look what you made me do,” he said, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

Ethan couldn’t stop shaking. It was so cold, and he was so scared. He’d been lying on his stomach while the man cut from the cuff of his jeans up along the side of his leg. He’d jabbed him just above the knee. Ethan could feel the blood trickling down and soaking his jeans.

Now both legs of his jeans were sheared on the sides. The man was working his way up toward Ethan’s hip. He explained that this was how it was done in
Black Ribbons
. The killer liked to cut the clothes off his victims. To tease himself, he took long pauses between each
cutting
session—until they were naked. “That’s when he killed them, Ethan,” the man said. “How does it feel to have a mother who dreams up things like that?”

Ethan didn’t answer. He felt the sawdust and grit on the floor against his bare stomach. He wasn’t going to cry in front of the man. But his nose was running, and he couldn’t wipe it.

“Do you know what that bitch did to me?” the man asked. “She called me up the other day with this lie about her editor and her agent wanting to see my book. I knew it was a scam. Still, she’s a smart one—just not quite as smart as I thought. See, I had a feeling she’d show up here tonight—to save her little boy. I was almost positive she would figure me out. But maybe I was wrong. Either way, I’m ready for her. I’ve made a lot of preparations. In fact, I’d really hate to see all that hard work go to waste. You should see how I’ve got this place wired.”

“What do you mean?” Ethan asked.

“Oh, I have all sorts of surprises rigged up. You might still be alive to see some of my genius at work. You might not believe this, Ethan, but I’m hoping just as much as you that your mommy shows up here tonight.”

As she and Jason walked along Overlook Drive, Gillian still had these terrible knots in her stomach, and they were tightening. She glanced back toward Chase’s driveway. “Could you call Detective Wright for me, please?”

Jason paused on the roadside “Are you ready to turn this over to him?”

“Not yet,” Gillian said.

He handed her the rifle, then pulled out his cell phone and hit the last call return button. “Detective Wright?” he said into the phone. “It’s Jason Hurrell. Just a second, please.” He gave the phone to Gillian.

She handed the rifle back to him. “Detective, it’s Gillian McBride,” she said, continuing down Overlook Drive. “I need to ask you—”

“I don’t appreciate being hung up on,” he cut in. “Are you all right?”

“Okay, considering,” she replied quickly. “I’m sorry about hanging up on you. I need to ask, have you or anyone else on the force received an anonymous tip in connection with this case?”

“An anonymous tip?” he echoed. “No. We haven’t had anyone calling in with a
tip
.”

It was how her
Black Ribbons
killer had lured a SWAT team to his house—and how Gillian had increased the body count in her book. “It’s important you call us before acting on any tips someone might phone in,” Gillian said into the phone. “I’m talking
life-or-death
important. Could you check with the Bremerton Police, too?”

“Check with them about what?” the detective asked.
“Anonymous tips?”

“Yes, regarding this case, exactly. I’ll call you back in a half hour to explain everything.”

“Now, wait a minute, Mrs. Tanner—”

“Detective, I’m sorry, but I’m hanging up on you again.” She clicked off the line, and handed the phone back to Jason.

A gust blew off the water. The trees swayed around them, and shadows moved in the darkness. Shuddering, Gillian rubbed her arms. Jason pulled her toward him and she slid her arm around his waist. She knew they were getting close to the house under repair. Though she couldn’t see it, Gillian heard that tarp flapping in the wind. She wondered if Ethan was listening to the same sound.

As they passed a huge evergreen, the house on the bluff came into view. The dull, black plastic covering seemed to catch the moonlight only when it rippled in the wind. The scaffolding on the far side of the edifice looked steadier than the rickety support beams under the back side of the house. Maybe it was just the plastic cover fluttering, but Gillian swore that monstrosity of a house seemed to sway a little with the wind gusts. The surrounding lot was somewhat barren, with only a few patches of green on the strips of recently planted sod. Some scrawny bushes lined the deserted driveway that curved into a three-car-garage. The taller trees and thicker shrubs bordered both sides of the yard, which seemed to drop off in back.

Gillian thought about her
Black Ribbons
killer. His
holding area,
the sacred spot for him and his victims, had been safeguarded against invaders. A hidden land mine—one of a dozen—killed a policeman. And a device attached to the front door detonated a bomb, killing two more. If Chase was here, he certainly would be expecting them.

She and Jason stayed close to the trees and shrubbery along the side of the yard as they skulked toward the house. Gillian kept looking down at the ground for any telltale bumps or thin wires stretched across their path. She couldn’t help wondering if the place was indeed empty. They could be wasting these precious minutes on some stupid hunch she had. For all she knew, Ethan could be dead.

“Can you hear someone talking?” Jason whispered.

All Gillian heard was the wind—along with that tarp flapping.

“I thought I heard someone laugh,” he said.

Gillian suddenly stopped. She saw a little device on the ground—only a few feet away. It was a box, with a tiny nail-head of a red light, planted under a bush. She wondered if it was some kind of electronic eye or sensor. Was it something the owners had installed before they’d vacated the place? Or had Chase prepared for unannounced visitors?

Hesitant, Gillian reached out for Jason’s hand. As they moved closer to the structure half-shrouded in black plastic tarp, she couldn’t help feeling the house was waiting for them.

A beeper went off amid the things in the man’s army-issue backpack. “Company!” he said with grin.

Ethan rolled over on his side. “HELP!” he yelled. “HELP ME!”

Checking some device in his knapsack, the man chuckled. “That’s right, Ethan. Go ahead and scream. Lure them in here.”

“WATCH OUT! HE’S GOT THE PLACE RIGGED! HE’S—”

Ethan shut up as soon as the man grabbed him by the scalp. He lifted Ethan’s head up, and then slammed it on the floor.

Chase had done the same thing to Ethan’s father, cracking his head against the edge of the pool at the Aces High Inn in Missoula.

Ethan lay still and silent.

“Like father, like son,” Chase muttered.

Gillian had heard his voice. It was unmistakably Ethan, crying for help.

From the trees and bushes at the side of the yard, she started to run out of the shadows—toward the house. For a moment, she forgot to look for trip wires or potential land mines.

“Wait!” Jason whispered. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her back toward the trees.

A loud shot rang out, and a tuft of dirt exploded at their feet. Jason shielded her, putting himself between her and the house.

Gillian glanced up at the half-shrouded mansion. She spotted an open window on the second floor—along one section that was uncovered. Chase was using it as a sniper’s nest.

Another shot went off, and another little burst of dirt came from the ground.

They ducked under a tree. Jason took out his cell phone and handed it to her. “Better call the police, Gill.” Gazing up at the window, Jason readied his rifle.

There was another blast of gunfire. Gillian almost dropped the phone.

Jason recoiled and bumped against her. The rifle fell out of his hands. His legs just seemed to give out from under him, and he went down.

He hadn’t uttered a sound.

Through the night-vision telescopic sight of his sniper rifle, Chase watched Gillian hovering over the crumpled form of her fallen boyfriend. She dragged the body behind the tree—out of his range. He couldn’t help chuckling at the way she struggled. She looked slow and silly in the night-vision scope, a little green-neon figure shaking with terror. He watched her retrieve the cell phone, and then she ducked behind the tree.

A few moments later, she reemerged from the shadows. With the rifle in her hand, she zigzagged toward the house.

He kept her in the crosshairs. He could have shot her right there, if he wanted. He could have watched that small, green, cartoonlike thing stop and fall in its tracks. But he was enjoying this too much. From that second-floor window, he felt Godlike, looking down on poor, pathetic Gillian.

Firing repeatedly, he shot at the ground near her feet. He smirked as she darted around the spray from each bullet. He was only playing around with her, of course. He wouldn’t shoot her now.

He wanted to see Gillian’s face when he killed her.

His head throbbing, Ethan felt nauseous when he sat up. He was alone in the big, dark room. He pulled and tugged at the binding around his wrists behind him. He didn’t see the scissors anywhere. The knapsack was gone too.

Ethan heard a few shots go off. The blasts sounded like they were coming from a room down the hall. Was the man shooting at the police?

Ethan noticed his T-shirt and shoes in a heap on the floor. He scooted over toward them, then twisted around and grabbed his shirt. He continued to crawl toward the wall, and then braced himself against it so he could stand up. As best he could, he wrapped the shirt around his hands.

Another two shots rang out. Ethan thought he heard the man chuckling.

Hopping over to one of the smaller windows, Ethan turned his back to it, and then punched at the glass with his covered hands. Nothing. Ethan tried it again, and again. He couldn’t get much momentum with his hands tied behind him. He had to settle for a few short jabs—until he heard a crack. He wondered if the man could hear it too.

Ethan hit the window again, and his shrouded fists penetrated the glass. Blindly moving his hands, he tried to cut at the rope with a piece of glass stuck in the corner of the broken window. He nicked his arm and felt the blood seeping onto his wadded-up shirt.

“Please, God, please,” he whispered, awkwardly twisting to one side. A tear ran down his cheek as he kept rubbing the rope against the shard of glass. He tried to pull his wrists apart to keep them from getting cut—and to make the rope more taut. The guy had looped the cord around twice, so Ethan wasn’t sure if he was slashing at the same spot over and over again. His eyes stayed riveted on the doorway. Any minute now, he expected the man to come back.

At last, he felt the frayed rope break apart. Ethan’s arms ached sweetly as he moved them from behind his back. He tossed aside the wadded-up, bloodstained shirt. Damp with blood and sweat, the rope still clung to the chafed skin around his wrist. At a certain angle, the rope looked as if it were still tightly tied around his one wrist. Ethan had to peel it off.