Web of Justice (15 page)

“Now you got it,” Jake said. He touched the brakes and pulled to the side of the street.

The apartment building loomed to their right. Annie reached into the backseat, retrieved a pair of binoculars, and scanned the parking area. In a moment, she said, “All clear.”

Jake eased the vehicle into the lot, idled up to the side of the building, and stopped. He shut the engine off and turned to Annie. “Let’s go take a look.”

Chapter 24

Thursday, 9:17 a.m.

JAKE STEPPED out of the Firebird and glanced around. Two rows of tenants’ cars were lined up in designated spots to his left, the parking area extending around and behind the building. A woman pushed a stroller toward her waiting vehicle. Another car was leaving the lot and turning onto the quiet residential street.

There were several gray sedans, but it was doubtful that Izzy’s car was among them. Jake had no idea whether or not the fugitive would be using the same vehicle, or even if he still had it.

“Let’s go behind the building,” Jake said to Annie as she closed the car door and rounded the front of the vehicle.

They walked to the rear of the property and scanned their surroundings. A couple of overflowing dumpsters were pushed up against the back fence. Most of the visitors’ parking spots remained empty, no doubt too early in the morning for socializing. A bicycle was chained to a post protruding through the asphalt near a patch of weeds that had somehow managed to thrive.

Annie pointed toward the rear of the apartment building. “There’s a door.”

They moved toward the center of the structure and stopped in front of the metal door. Jake tested the knob. It was locked.

“Did you bring your tools?” he asked.

“Right here,” Annie said, pulling a small leather case from her handbag. She flipped it open, glanced at the lock, and removed a pair of odd-looking tools from the case.

Jake watched with interest as Annie went to work. She had practiced her technique on a large variety of locks, and he knew she could open just about any pin tumbler lock in record time.

And she did. He heard a click and Annie said, “Got it.” She turned the knob with caution. The bottom of the door scraped against concrete as she inched it open and peeked in. She pulled her head back, looked at Jake, and whispered, “There’s a light on down there.”

Jake grasped the knob and eased the door further open. A set of concrete steps led down into a lighted basement—no doubt the furnace and electrical room. A steady humming came from below as an industrial-sized air conditioner pumped cool air throughout the building.

Jake crouched and glanced down the steps. The stairway was walled on both sides, a concrete floor at the bottom, and a view of a massive electrical panel against the far wall. Jake motioned for Annie to follow behind, and he went inside, easing down the stairs.

He stopped on the bottom step and peered around the corner. A chair sat in the center of the room, wisps of hair on the floor around it. A pair of scissors sat on a nearby bench, more rope on top. Long locks of black hair were taped to the wall above the bench.

A cot had been set up against one wall, and his eyes widened when he saw a female figure lying on it, her head turned toward him. Even from where he stood, he noticed the girl’s eyes were filled with terror.

When he stepped into full view, she spoke, her uncertain voice coming out as a breathless moan. “Help me.”

Jake glanced around the room and then turned to Annie, two steps behind him. “Call the police.”

He rushed to the cot and crouched beside the trembling girl. Her hands were tied to the sides of the bed, her feet lashed together and fastened to the end.

But the most horrifying thing was that her head had been completely shaved. There was no doubt this was one of Izzy Wilde’s victims, and if they hadn’t gotten here when they had, she would’ve ended up like the girl in the park.

Jake tackled the knots as Annie called the detective and filled him in.

The girl’s arms were now freed, and Jake turned to the cord binding her feet.

“Hank said a car’ll be here right away,” Annie said, hanging up the phone.

The final rope fell free, and Annie helped the trembling young woman sit on the edge of the bed, then sat beside her, her arm around her shoulder.

“What’s your name?” Annie asked.

“Tanya.” Tears of relief flowed as the woman looked at Annie. “Tanya Arbuckle.”

“Let’s get her outside,” Jake said.

“Not so fast,” a voice said behind Jake.

Jake spun around. Izzy Wilde stood at the bottom of the stairs, facing their way, a pistol in his hand. A faint smile touched one corner of his mouth. “It was nice of you to come here. Now I don’t have to look for you.”

Jake edged sideways, away from the girls, attempting to put space between him and Annie. He needed to make himself the target. If someone was gonna get shot, it might as well be him.

“Stay still,” Izzy said in a shrill voice, swinging the gun toward Jake. “I’ll shoot you if I have to.”

“The police are on their way,” Jake said in a calm voice.

Izzy’s eyes narrowed and he looked toward Annie and Tanya, then turned the gun their way. “Stand up.”

Jake took a step forward, and the gunman swung the weapon back. “Stay still.”

Jake dropped his arms to his sides, his hands knotted into fists, ready to pounce if it appeared the would-be killer intended to fire toward Annie.

“Stand up,” Izzy repeated, a manic look in his eyes. He licked his lips and raised his voice. “Stand up.”

Annie helped Tanya to her feet, her arm around the woman’s shoulder.

Izzy’s eyes darted back and forth, then he motioned with the pistol. “Get over there beside your husband.”

Annie didn’t move.

Izzy raised the weapon and sighted down the barrel, his eyes unblinking. “Now.”

Annie glanced at Tanya, then dropped her arm and moved toward Jake.

“Get behind me,” Jake said to Annie. “He can’t shoot us all.”

Izzy’s face twisted into a sneer as he sidled toward Tanya. He stepped behind her and wrapped one arm around her throat, holding the pistol to her temple with the other.

The color drained from Tanya’s face, and she closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself, her whole body trembling.

“Let’s go,” Izzy said, prodding the woman toward the stairs.

Jake took another step forward, careful to keep a safe distance from the gunman. The deranged killer was liable to shoot his hostage if Jake posed a threat.

Had they rescued a victim with success, only to have her murdered in cold blood in front of their eyes? He had to do something.

“Izzy, let the girl go,” Jake said. “You can take me with you.”

Izzy gave a quick, sharp laugh. “I don’t want you. Maybe next time.” His eyes gleamed. “I got what I want.”

Annie took a step forward, her hands up in surrender. “Then take me.”

Jake looked at Annie in horror. He knew his wife had a brave streak, but this was going too far. “No,” he shouted. “Stay where you are.”

Izzy backed up to the stairs and took one step up. Tanya stumbled to follow. “Don’t worry,” he said, his eyes on Jake. “I ain’t interested in your wife.”

Jake moved to the bottom of the stairs, powerless to help as Izzy backed up the steps, dragging his hostage with him, the weapon still pressed against the terrified woman’s head.

Where were the police?

As soon as the unhinged madman disappeared through the doorway at the top of the stairs, Jake raced up the steps and leaped out onto the asphalt. He could hear sirens some distance away, drawing closer.

The sirens had frightened off the gunman, and he had discarded his hostage rather than chance being caught. She had crumpled to the ground not far from the exit, her head in her hands, sobbing quietly.

Jake looked around. Izzy Wilde was fifty feet away, running across the parking lot. The killer hopped a low fence, then ran behind a small building and vanished from view.

Jake followed, pounding across the pavement. He vaulted over the fence and looked around.

Izzy Wilde was nowhere in sight.

Then an engine roared and tires squealed. Jake turned. A gray sedan spun around a car, hopped over a curb, and veered onto the street. Jake raced after the vehicle, cutting across the lawn in an attempt to get ahead of the fugitive.

He reached the sidewalk as Izzy’s vehicle spun past. The driver was bent over the steering wheel, his eyes intent on the road ahead.

Jake squinted at the speeding vehicle, memorizing the license plate number—404 LVX. It was a gray Volkswagen Passat. Probably about 2005 as near as Jake could tell.

Wilde had gotten away again, but for the time being, the killer hadn’t been able to claim another victim.

Chapter 25

Thursday, 9:52 a.m.

HANK TURNED INTO the driveway of 1166 Red Ridge Street and pulled up behind Jake’s Firebird.

Two police cars were parked near the rear of the lot, and the area was being sealed off with crime scene tape. CSI was on the way, and the basement would soon be documented in detail, much of its contents carried away for painstaking examination.

An ambulance sat idling, its rear doors open. The intended victim would be taken to the hospital as a matter of course. Assuming she was unharmed, she’d be released shortly thereafter, and Hank would take the woman’s statement as soon as possible.

Hank and King stepped from the vehicle and went to the Firebird. Jake and Annie were leaning against the front fender watching the proceedings when the detectives approached.

Jake turned toward Hank and cracked a wide grin.

Hank nodded back and looked at Annie. “How’d you figure out he was here?”

Annie laughed. “It wasn’t me this time. Jake figured it out.” She explained the theory Jake had been working on, then shrugged. “It just made sense.”

King crossed his arms and glared at Jake. “You should’ve called us.”

Jake shrugged. “I didn’t expect anything to come of it. It was just an idea, and we got lucky.”

“He got away,” King said matter-of-factly. “How is that lucky?”

Annie frowned at King. “Sure, he got away.” She motioned toward the ambulance. “But so did Tanya.”

King shrugged and gazed around the lot.

Jake handed Hank a scrap of paper. “Here’s his plate number. He’s driving a gray Volkswagen Passat—a sedan. Probably the same one he used before. He must’ve stashed it somewhere.”

Hank took the paper, studied it, and handed it to King. “Get a BOLO out on this vehicle right away.”

King glanced at the number a moment, then pulled out his cell phone and turned away.

“We had no idea he had kidnapped another girl,” Jake said. “It caught us by surprise when we went down there.”

Hank explained about the carton containing a lock of black hair that Luke Rushton had delivered to the precinct that morning. “You guys got here just in time. I’m convinced Tanya Arbuckle was destined to be his next murder victim.” He looked at Annie. “Does Tanya have dark brown eyes?”

Annie nodded grimly. “Just like the other two.”

“And I’m assuming she has black hair?”

“Yup,” Jake said. “And it’s taped all over the wall down there.”

Hank’s face took on a grave expression. “I’d better take a look.” He glanced toward the ambulance as it pulled away. “And I’m anxious to talk to Tanya Arbuckle. I need to retrace her steps and find out where Wilde might’ve found her.”

“She was too shaken up to talk much,” Annie said. “All we could get from her is that she’d been kidnapped late last night after leaving a bar and heading home.”

“Do you know the name of the bar?”

Annie shook her head.

“And Wilde is armed now,” Jake added.

“He has a gun?” Hank asked.

“A pistol.”

“As far as we know,” Hank said with a deep frown, “he never had a gun before. He must’ve picked it up somewhere.”

King had finished with the phone call and turned back, listening to the conversation. “It could’ve been in his vehicle,” he said.

Hank thought about that a moment and then motioned toward King. “Let’s go downstairs.” He turned to Jake and wagged a finger. “Don’t forget your statements.”

Jake nodded and King followed Hank to the rear of the building. Hank pulled two pair of shoe covers from an inner pocket, handing a pair to King. After putting them on, they descended down the steps into the bowels of the building.

Hank took in his surroundings—the cot with the fragments of rope still attached, the hair taped haphazardly to the wall, the chair where Tanya had undoubtedly been shaved. It was all eerily similar to the shed they’d discovered at Izzy Wilde’s house that seemed like so long ago.

He took out his cell phone and snapped some photos.

“Looky here, Hank,” King said. He was crouched down, digging in a cardboard box. He held up a blue plastic tarpaulin. “I’ll bet he was gonna kill her here, wrap her body up in this, and then transport her somewhere else.”

“Any blood on it?”

King shook his head. “Nope. I expect he planned to use a fresh tarp for each victim.” He pointed to the box. “There’re three of them here. All brand new.”

“Any receipt in the box? Any idea where he bought them?”

King searched through the box, removing the tarpaulins one at a time. Finally, he announced, “Nope. No receipt.”

Hank sighed and turned his gaze toward the bench. Beside the scissors and the extra rope lay three leather belts. It looked like Izzy Wilde had more than one victim in mind.

So far, the last two had been fortunate and had escaped with their lives. Hank wanted to make sure there were no more.

He stood back and glanced around the room again. It appeared Tanya Arbuckle had been the first victim held here. He’d intended to use this room as his new killing floor—his slaughterhouse and trophy room.

Hank turned around as someone called his name from the top of the stairs. He went to the bottom of the steps and looked up. An officer was crouched on the landing.