Pursuit (15 page)

Julie took deep breaths, pacing the front porch of the house. She called dispatch and brought Captain Walker up to speed. Todd then took over the call. Three police cars and a crime scene van blocked the street. Held back by yellow tape strung up between two trees and the boundaries of the house, residents lined the far curb and milled about in the cul-de-sac.

Julie watched the man on duty. She thought him oblivious to what was taking place. He wasn't derelict, just doing what he'd been told to do, waiting for his night watch to end so he could traipse on home to Molly and the kids. Julie waited, wishing her evening could also be that simple. She caught herself glancing at her watch once again, wondering if these events on this rainy night with its wispy haze in the distant pines were, in fact, real.

She walked to the opposite end of the porch. Sitting on the broad wood bannister, she tried to calm herself between heavy gulps of air. She smelled damp grass, a warm breeze stirring the pines in the woods. A potted plant swung from the porch ceiling, the creaking noise running counterpoint to the murmuring crowd. She thought this had to be the work of that grinning wet-pants son of a bitch. She was sure of it.

Todd snapped the phone shut and tossed it to Julie. “The captain is on his way out with a couple investigators. He suggested you go home. I told him I didn't think there was any way that was going to happen.”

“Got it. Right. How about a canvass of the neighborhood? What do you say?”

“I'll tell the local cops what we're up to. What side do you want?”

“I'll start next door; take the other side of the street, okay?”

“Be careful, Sergeant.”

They parted, Julie went to the first house. She stepped onto the porch.

“Can I help you, ma'am?” a woman from the street called out.

“May I speak with you? I'm with the police.”

“Of course. Please, come in.”

The house was an exact duplicate of the one she had just been in. Julie introduced herself and asked the woman if she'd seen anything out of the ordinary that afternoon.

“I work late and don't get home until dark. Paid the babysitter, had supper, and then this.” She pointed outside to the growing crowd of observers and patrol cars.

“Do you have a number for your sitter? I'd like to speak with her.”

“Hold on; number's on the fridge.”

The woman went to the kitchen, and a voice from the stairwell called out, “Mommy, can I have a soda, please?”

“No, dear. Go back to bed, it's late.”

Julie saw a child on the stairs, wide eyed at the flashing lights outside. She wore pj's that reminded her of a younger Cheryl.
Damn.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Julie, and you are?”

“Rose or Rosie, sometimes Pumpkin, and most times ‘Don't do it.' ” She smiled.

The woman came back into the room. “It's late, please.” She pointed upstairs to the child. “Here's that number.” She handed Julie a piece of paper. “She'll be cooperative, I'm sure.”

“What's happ'nin, Mommy?”

“Just the police looking into something. It's nothing, honey.”

“It must be Halloween. Is it Halloween?”

“No, Rose, please go back to bed.”

Julie turned for the door.

“Must be Halloween. I saw people with scary masks jumping round all fun like.”

Julie moved toward the woman. “May I ask your child a question?”

“Sure.”

“Sweetheart, when did you see these Halloween people?”

“When it got dark, out my window. Where I make up my stories. In the back, they were playing and wrasslin'. It was raining and thundering.”

“Could you show me that window from your child's room?” Julie asked the mother.

“Follow me.” Halfway up, she turned around. “I hear there's a kid missing. Can't imagine what those parents are going through. Christ.”

Julie swallowed hard.

The child's room looked out onto their backyard, with portions of other properties visible on both sides.

“Where did you see these Halloween people?”

The girl pointed toward the middle of a heavily treed backyard at the cul-de-sac house.

“How were they dressed?”

“The man—I guess the daddy—didn't have anything on.”

Julie and the mother glanced at each other.

“I mean he didn't have on a mask like the others.”

Julie waited. She wanted to shake the information from the child.

“I think it was a girl with a mask.” She stopped as if searching for a word. “No, it was a . . .” She looked to her mother for help, and then got her pillow and slipped the cover over her own head. “Like this.” She cranked her head around. “They were tumblin' on the ground and then they marched off all funny into the woods. It was flashing with lightning.”

Julie felt light-headed and realized she was holding her breath.

“He led them with a rope, Mommy.”

Julie needed to leave. She wanted to break into a full run to get to the house next door.

The house teemed with police officers and techs dusting surfaces for prints. She felt they were stealing glances at her. It grew humid; the noxious air felt dense. Her clothes grasped her underarms and bound her thighs.

Someone tapped her arm. She jumped.

“What's going on, Sergeant? Talk to me.” It was Captain Walker.

“I'm revved up, sorry. A kid next door saw someone lead Cheryl and Billie—hooded and tied—into the woods.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Let's go have a look.”

They stepped out the back door of the house into the yard and scanned their flashlights across the grassy area. Fresh footprints half filled with water led a serpentine-like trail into the woods.

Walker took a quick call on his cell. “We have K-9s on the way in five. Chopper dispatched, also five to ten minutes out.”

I
t was always
the same. The rush of adrenaline from the pitiful trust that seemingly bright people extended to perfect strangers. In this case, “perfect stranger” would be well placed.

The girl stirred in the back of the Bronco. As if he would harm her, heaven forbid.

He smiled, thinking of the young one. It would take planning to explore the possibilities of his newly acquired Teen World.

He kept right below the speed limit—not too slow, not too fast. He recalled a recent scare when stopped for an extinguished taillight. How close the officer had been to his human cargo. “It looks like a lens might have slipped out. Get that fixed as soon as possible. You never can tell; wouldn't want to get rear ended, would you?”

No, and neither would the young lady tied up and covered in the back of the car.
He had driven two hundred miles south before leaving that particular love mate. She lasted nearly two weeks before he tired of her. Annie or Angie—some stupid high school name—a would-be hippy hitchhiker learning the hard lessons of the road. He left her standing
on a deserted country lane, shivering on the gravel shoulder. He thought it comical. Her all naked with a hood over her head, looking as if terrified to move. He made a U-turn and watched her pan her head in syncopation to his car's 180-degree maneuver. The figure in his mirror appeared wistful; probably missing him so very soon.

T
he Watson couple
arrived at the cul-de-sac. “Oh my God. The house. It's a mess. Look what they've done.”

Walker got permission from the local police to interview the brokers. Julie stood off from the trio, having been told by Walker that she was in no state to involve herself in the interview.

“You are, I understand, not only the listing brokers but also the owners of this house. Is that correct?”

The elderly man pulled off his raincoat and hung it over the porch bannister. “Dammit. All you people traipsing in and out making a pure chaos out of—”

“Do I have to ask you again? Are you—”

“Yes, yes, we own this place. We're also the listing brokers, and we'd like to know what's going on.”

“When did you last—”

“Who's she?” Mr. Watson pointed at Julie. “I've a right to know who's in our house, dammit.”

“This is Sergeant Worth. She's . . . helping in the investigation. Detective Devlin, take the wife down to the other
end of the porch.” Walker turned to the man. “Can we get back to the facts? When did you last show the house?”

“Today. Earlier, a nice gentleman from—” He called to his wife. “Where was Mr. Phillips from?”

Walker interrupted. “Answer the question, please.”

“I don't think he said.” He paused. “Such a pleasant fellow. Why would he break into this house?”

“I'm going to have you accompany me throughout the house except the kitchen and—”

“What happened in the kitchen?”

Walker didn't answer; just guided the man into the living room. Julie followed.

“I'd like you to tell me if you see anything missing. Don't touch, please.”

They walked up the stairs, checked the bedrooms and baths, came back down, and looked into the dining area. The man tried a quick peek through the swinging door into the kitchen.

“Please don't, Mr. Watson. Anything different, moved out of place?”

He cruised around the living room as Todd walked the woman up the stairs. Walker wanted them gone, so he ushered the man toward the front door and called to Todd to come downstairs.

“Would you please have your men take all their paraphernalia?” Mr. Watson asked. “It will take us days to clean this.”

Mrs. Watson came down the stairs. “I'd think your people would have better things to do than listen to music.” She stopped in the front hallway.

Julie whispered to Walker.

He called to Mrs. Watson. “What do you mean?”

“You said, ‘abduction.' That's a pretty serious thing to
be investigating while entertaining yourself listening to a radio.”

Walker looked at the small unit on the hall table. “That doesn't belong to us. It isn't yours?”

She shook her head.