Profile of Evil (30 page)

"You take the right side of the house and I'll take the left. This may be nothing, or my big brother may be in trouble."

<><><>

Pressed against the side of the house, Carly crept toward the backyard. Soon she heard Brody's voice, "Let's stay calm. No need to get upset."

Quickly peeking around the corner of the house, she saw a tall, beanpole-thin white male holding a gun aimed at Brody's chest. The man's facial muscles were twitching, and he was trembling so badly the gun shook in his hand. He was high as a kite. Where the hell did this guy come from? The house was supposed to be cleared. She prayed the group of officers was still talking near the hazmat truck. The last thing they needed was for one of them to stumble out onto the patio and panic this meth-head. Pressing back against the house, Carly slid her weapon out of her holster and looked again, this time to scan the surroundings.

The backyard looked like a county dump. A tall hill of empty plastic gallon jugs was haphazardly stacked near the house next to a mountain of stuffed black garbage bags, and empty camping fuel cans.

The propane tank filled with anhydrous ammonia was where Gabe described it, approximately five feet from the back door — and two feet from where Brody was standing. A wave of apprehension swept through her. If a shot were fired and hit that tank, they'd all die — if not from the explosion, from breathing a chemical so toxic it liquefies the lungs. One breath would be your last.

Carly listened to Brody trying to talk the guy down. "Hey, I know how you feel. You're just a guest in Ron's house. You probably had no idea Ron was cooking meth."

"Yeah, that's right. That's right." The man's words were slurred, and he continued to tremble as he rapidly nodded his head in agreement.

Carly stole another look. The meth head hadn’t put down the gun. It was still held in position aimed at Brody's chest.

"So you can lay down the gun," Brody said softly to him. "No one can blame you for anything."

"Are you trying to trick me, man? I'm not stupid. I'm the one with the power now. I've got the gun," he said, waving the gun ominously toward Brody, and inching closer.

"Yes, I can see that," Brody began. "I think you're a smart man. You're too smart to shoot a cop and spend the rest of your life rotting in a prison cell."

When the man didn't respond, Carly peered around the corner. He was trembling so badly now, he looked like a dog shaking his fur after a bath. She saw Gabe at the other end of the house. Carly wanted to wave him back. She was closer to the two than he. If Gabe approached and the man saw him, he might panic and start shooting and if he hit the propane tank, it would be over for all of them.

"Hey, can I join the party?" Carly asked as she slid around the corner, her Glock aimed and ready to fire. If she had to, she'd kill him outright. She'd do anything to prevent an explosion — anything to save Brody's life.

Gaping at her in disbelief, the man swung his gun right and left between Brody and Carly. He was panicking. Panic was not good. Panic could get them killed.

From behind him, Gabe approached and said, "I heard there was a party back here. I'm not one who can resist a good party."

The second the man twisted around to look at Gabe, Brody crashed into him, dropping him onto the cement patio like a rag doll. They thrashed about as Brody struggled to get the gun. Bang! The gun went off, the bullet rushing so close to Carly she heard a whoosh as it passed her ear. Grabbing the skeletal arm holding the gun, Brody bashed it against the cement again and again until it was slick with blood, until the man loosened his hand and dropped the gun. Rolling him face-down, Brody pressed his knee against his back, secured, and handcuffed his wrists. The man was crying now, his nose bleeding profusely, as his body violently convulsed.

"You sonofabitch," Brody snarled as he pulled his prisoner to his feet. "You are so fucking arrested."

Cameron rushed outside. "What the hell is going on?"

"I think this freak was hiding when you did the initial sweep of the house," Brody said. "He rushed me after you took Ron Tyler to the front."

"He had to have been in the back bedroom that Ryder said he cleared," said Cameron. "Ryder also aimed his gun to shoot Ron Tyler in the house. I had to stop him."

"Seriously? After I distinctly gave an order to not shoot in the house?"

"Afraid so."

“
He’s suspended without pay or fired. You choose, Cameron.”

<><><>

The Master would no longer have to concern himself about finding Alison Brown. Her whereabouts were splashed all over the home page of the local newspaper's online issue. Pounding his fist on the table, he cursed aloud as he read the article. It seemed the girl made it to a house, and a farmer rushed her to the hospital. Since the police weren't knocking at his door, it was obvious the girl had been unable to talk.

The Master would take care of the do-gooder farmer later. No one disrupted his plans without suffering the consequences. In the meantime, his focus would be on Alison Brown and how he could get to her in the hospital to snuff out her life. Thinking about how to kill her filled him with delicious thoughts of how he could make her suffer. His preference would be for the girl to experience a long, tortuous death where she begged him to end it. But the need for expediency would limit him to slicing her throat, injecting her with poison, shooting her with a gun equipped with a silencer, or simply pressing a pillow onto her face until she suffocated. No matter the method, he was up to the task and honestly, was looking forward to it.

He'd already driven past Morel Hospital early that morning before the sun rose. There were four Shawnee County Sheriff patrol cars in the parking lot. No doubt hospital security had been alerted, and all the entrances and exits safeguarded. At least, that's what they thought. Having faced bigger risks and succeeding, he had no doubt he'd gain entry, unsuspected, and carry out his plan. After all, the authorities still had no idea what he looked like. Since he'd always worn a ski mask, even their star witness could not describe his appearance.

What a wonderful stroke of luck the girl was in a coma. There was no chance of the slave bitch telling what she knew while in that state of unconsciousness. He planned to make sure she never woke up, no matter what he had to do.

A mother of a migraine made his head hurt so bad he could scarcely breathe. He'd gotten little sleep thanks to multiple, vivid dreams about his sister, Erin, entering his bedroom with a butcher knife in her hand. Each time, he couldn't determine if Erin was actually in his room — poised over his bed with the knife raised above her head, ready to slash down at him — until he jerked himself awake, shooting from deep sleep to wakefulness in a second's time. His body slicked with nervous sweat, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest, he'd pull himself up until he could quell the panic and return to sleep, until the nightmare repeated itself.

It was his day off and he had a lot of work to do. Today he'd remove the dog crates and any signs of bondage equipment in the basement. He also planned to scrub the entire area with bleach, and set up a living area with old furniture. Even if the stupid police were lucky enough to find him, and searched his house, they'd find no forensic evidence. With no witnesses, that made for a circumstantial case against him that even a lowly public defender could fight and win.

But before he did anything, he'd troll Facebook, MySpace and Teen Chat to see if his new preteen interests were online. As soon as Alison was dead, things would cool off, and he'd be able to bring on a couple of new slaves. He got an erection just thinking about what he'd do to them.

<><><>

While Brody supervised the processing of Ron Tyler at the jail, Cameron was suspending Deputy Jim Ryder without pay for a month, for his poor performance at the meth bust.

Gabe and Carly sat in the sheriff's conference room with Ron's laptop. The first thing Gabe needed to determine was whether Ron Tyler had profiles on Facebook, MySpace, and TeenChat.

"Ron had accounts on all three social media sites," Gabe said as he adjusted his laptop's angle so that Carly could see the display.

"Ron's been a busy boy, mixing up batches of meth in his kitchen and casting his net for underage girls, while deluding his wife at the same time," Carly replied, her tone edged with sarcasm.

"It looks like Ron met his Bloomington love interest on Facebook. There is a short conversation before he moves her to email. We'll find out more there," Gabe said.

"Looking forward to it," Carly returned, sipping from her coffee mug.

"He sporadically checked Craigslist, but not the personal ads."

"I find that a little odd, but maybe Craigslist was not his principle hunting place."

"I think he just lurked on the TeenChat site," Gabe said. "There is no record of any conversations."

"Interesting. Let's look at his emails," Carly suggested.

Next, Gabe got into Ron's email account to search for conversations he may have had with underage girls, specifically their victims. He found a month-long communication back and forth with @HotBloomieTeen that started out innocent enough, but turned to a lot of talk about sex and exchanging of suggestive photos between the two of them. Shelly was right, her husband was making plans for the preteen to meet him in Morel.

In the emails, Gabe went back a year, then two years, then three, but found no communications with anyone other than Ron's family and friends. Many messages were written in some kind of strange code and were undoubtedly about his drug making and availability.

On Ron's hard drive, Gabe found hundreds of pornographic photographs of children.

"Got him," Carly declared. "Pile the child porn charges on top of his
attempts to entice a child into sexual activity and transmitting obscene material to a minor, not to mention the meth charges, and Mr. Tyler is going away for a long, long time."

"Not so fast," warned Gabe, intently staring at his laptop display.

"What's wrong?"

"This is odd. The kiddie porn photos were uploaded between four-thirty and six o'clock this morning. We were still at Ron Tyler's house at that time. We'd arrested Ron, cleared the house, and were ventilating it by then. Ron couldn't have uploaded these images."

Carly rubbed her temples as she absorbed this stunning news. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Carly, someone in the house uploaded those photos to frame Ron."

"But the only people in the house were members of the sheriff's team and the hazmat guys."

"Exactly. Brody is not going to want to hear this news."

Suddenly, Carly's cell phone sounded. Pulling it out of her pocket, she answered, "Carly Stone."

"Carly, this is Margaret, Alison's mother. She's awake. Alison is awake. We got our miracle. Please come as soon as you can. She wants to talk."

<><><>

Volunteering to take Carly to the hospital, Gabe raced through the streets, and arrived in record time. Dashing through the lobby, they took the elevator up to the third floor to ICU and ran to Alison's room.

Propped up with pillows, Alison sat in her bed as her mother held a plastic cup of water she was sipping through a straw. A nurse, checked her intravenous tubing, finished up, and left the room.

Carly moved to the chair at Alison's side, while Gabe leaned against a far wall. Holding Alison's hand, she said, "Alison, I am so glad to see you awake. I'm Carly Stone, and I'm a consultant for the sheriff's office."

"Mom said you brought this teddy bear for me," Alison said. Carly noticed for the first time that the girl was holding the stuffed animal.

"Yes, I did. I was hoping it could become your good luck bear."

"Good idea. I'll have to think of a name for him," said Alison, as a grin threatened the corners of her mouth. "Thank you, Ms. Stone."

"I want to be your friend, Alison, so call me Carly."

"Thank you for the bear, Carly."

"Alison, I want to find the man who did this to you. Do you feel like talking to me about him? Anything you remember, no matter how unimportant it may seem, may help us capture him so he can never do this to another girl."

Alison's eyes filled with tears, and she grasped her mother's hand and tightened her grip on Carly's.

"It's okay, honey," said Margaret. "We're here to protect you. Tell Carly what you remember."

"The Master killed. I saw him," Alison blurted out, as tears flooded down her cheeks.

"The Master?" asked Carly.

"He made us call him the Master," cried Alison. "He killed Jasmine. I saw him."

"Are you talking about Jasmine Norris?" asked Carly, remembering the missing girl from West Lafayette.

Alison nodded and then continued, "He let me take a shower. When I came out, he was beating her with a whip. Jasmine was in so much pain. When the woman brought our breakfast, she pulled Jasmine out of the dog crate and she was dead."