Chapter 15
Derek noted that Maleah hadn’t secured
her seatbelt.
“I’m going to reach across and grab
your seatbelt,” he told her.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
Once he buckled her in, he did the same
for himself.
“I doubt the Paulks contacted 911,”
Maleah told him as she pressed her foot down on the gas pedal.
“Call 911 and tell them what’s happened and let them know that we
are in pursuit of the shooter.”
Knowing a reply was unnecessary, Derek
hurriedly placed the call, gave them his name and then explained
that there had been a shooting, the victim was dead, and her sister
and brother-in-law were with the body. He rattled off the address
and then explained that he and his partner, both Powell Agency
employees, were pursuing what they believed to be the shooter’s
vehicle.
The 911 operator kept him on the line,
asking questions as she began the process of contacting the proper
agencies.
The scenery flashed by in a dark blur
as they chased the red taillights all the way back to the main
highway. Maleah made the turn at eighty miles an hour. The SUV
swerved and tilted as they rounded the curve and sailed into the
oncoming traffic lane. Luckily, there wasn’t another vehicle
anywhere in sight, except for the getaway car.
Derek couldn’t help being impressed
with Maleah’s driving skills. The Equinox had just hit ninety and
was beginning to close in on the car ahead of them by no more than
a hundred yards.
“Can you make out anything about the
car?” Maleah asked. “Make? Model? Color? Car tag?”
“Not yet,” he told her.
Staying on the line with the 911
operator by placing his phone between his ear and shoulder, he
undid his seatbelt and climbed into the back of the SUV. Maleah
didn’t react. Remaining focused straight ahead, she kept driving in
hot pursuit of the shooter. Derek plopped down in the backseat,
spread his legs, reached into the floorboard and unzipped the black
vinyl equipment bag. He rummaged around in the bag until he found
what he’d been searching for—binoculars.
“I’ve given you all the info I can,” he
told the operator. “I’m going to hang up now.”
He crawled over the console and back
into the front passenger seat. After adjusting the Yukon night
vision binoculars, he aimed them straight ahead.
“God damn it,” Derek
cursed.
“What is it? What’s
wrong?”
“He’s playing with us, letting us get
closer. There’s no way in hell you’re going to catch that bad
boy.”
“Bad boy?”
“Our shooter is driving a Dodge
Charger. We’re talking a Hemi V-8 standard on that
car.”
“Shit!”
Derek directed the binoculars toward
the license plate. “It’s a Georgia tag.” He rattled off the number.
“Bibb County.”
“It’s a rental, right? Otherwise he’d
never let us get close enough to catch a glimpse of the tag. You
can rent a Charger, can’t you?”
“Sure can.”
“Bibb County,” Maleah said. “That’s
Macon. He rented a car in Macon, either before or after he killed
Wyman Scudder.”
“He wants us to know. Son of a bitch,
he’s telling us that he’s tied up loose ends and—” Maleah mumbled a
few choice curse words under her breath. “Damn, he’s speeding up
again.”
“I’ll call 911 back and give them the
numbers I saw on the tag,” Derek said. “I can’t believe he’s stupid
enough to hand us that tag number on a silver
platter.”
“He’s going to switch cars somewhere or
he’s got an accomplice waiting with another vehicle somewhere up
the—”
“Watch out!” Derek yelled the moment he
saw the pickup truck pulling onto the highway from a side
road.
Maleah swerved to avoid hitting the
truck, taking the Equinox all the way across the highway and onto
the shoulder of the two-lane roadway. Derek’s binoculars flew out
of his hand and landed in the floorboard beneath Maleah’s feet.
Keeping her hands on the wheel and her wits about her, she managed
to take charge of the quickly careening-out-of-control
vehicle.
By the time she got the SUV leveled off
and back on track, a couple of flashing blue lights coming from the
opposite direction dove directly in front of her, effectively
blocking her pursuit. She had no choice but to slow down and stop.
Either that or deliberately ram into two patrol cars.
“Take a deep breath,” Derek advised.
“We have a lot of explaining to do. They don’t know we’re the good
guys.”
“I know. I know,” Maleah said,
aggravation in her voice. “These local guys just ruined any chance
we had to catch the killer.”
“No, they didn’t. They’re just the
reason we ended our pursuit sooner rather than later.” Once she
cooled off a bit and could see reason, she would realize he was
right.
In the meantime, they had to deal with
local law enforcement and hope these guys would let them explain
the situation before hauling them off to jail.
“Get out of the vehicle,” a deputy
called to them. “Slow and easy. And put your hands on your
head.”
Derek saw two deputies, pistols drawn
and aimed, standing on either side of the Equinox, and one deputy
directly in front, which mean the fourth was no doubt stationed at
the rear.
“On the count of three, open your door
and get out nice and slow,” Derek told her. “And for once, would
you please let me do the talking?”
Twenty minutes after he lost his
pursuers, he drove into downtown Augusta. Once he realized they
were no longer following him, he had slowed the Charger from a
hundred to eighty and gradually down to the allowed limit. In
retrospect, he knew he should have refrained from showing off by
deliberately thumbing his nose at the Powell agents. But on
occasion, he could not resist the urge to show lesser mortals that
they were dealing with a smarter, superior, and more deadly
opponent. There was no way they could ever best him.
He needed to ditch the rental car as
soon as possible, but not before he was within walking distance of
transportation. By now, it was likely that the Powell agents had
given the Edgefield County sheriff’s boys the license plate number
and make, model and color of the vehicle. Using the GPS system,
he’d gotten directions to the Greyhound bus station, which, as luck
would have it, was now only five minutes away. When he reached the
twelve hundred block, he pulled off the street and into the parking
area for the Greene Street Presbyterian Church. After getting out,
he popped open the trunk and removed a carrying case and a large
suitcase. Then, working quickly, he disassembled the sniper rifle,
carefully arranged the parts inside the carrying case, and placed
the case inside the suitcase beneath his clothes and
toiletries.
Before closing the suitcase, he removed
his thin leather gloves and tossed them inside; then he closed and
locked the bag. Whistling softly, the old familiar tune from his
childhood, he clutched the suitcase handle and headed toward the
bus station. Glancing at his lighted digital watch, he smiled. He
had plenty of time to get there before the ticket counter closed at
11:59 P.M. He would go to Atlanta, take a
day off to revise his plans, and then return to Savannah for the
Copycat Carver’s next kill.
By the time they were allowed to leave
the Edgefield County sheriff’s office, Maleah knew more about the
sheriff and his department than she’d ever wanted to know. And she
had gained a new appreciation for just how far Griffin Powell’s
sphere of influence reached, apparently all the way to Edgefield
County, South Carolina. Otherwise, she and Derek would probably be
behind bars.
Sheriff Gene Lockhart had taken charge
of the murder case, the first murder in his county since he’d been
elected. All three of the county’s criminal investigators had been
called in and two had been dispatched to the scene of the crime at
the Paulk residence, along with the Chief Investigator and the
forensic investigator. The third criminal investigator, Lieutenant
Nelson Saucier, a middle-aged black man, with a wide smile and an
intimidating stare, had been assigned to interrogate Maleah and
Derek.
She had to give the man credit—he had
assumed they were innocent of any wrong doing and had actually
listened to what they had to say. And as soon as Derek had given
him the license plate number and info about the Dodge Charger, he
had issued an all points bulletin.
As difficult as it had been for her to
keep her mouth shut, Maleah had done as Derek requested and allowed
him to do most of the talking. There was no point in the two of
them giving the lieutenant the same information. They were Powell
agents working a case involving a suspected serial killer, a
copycat murderer who was targeting their agency. Their
investigation had led them to Apple Orchard in their search for a
woman named Cindy Dobbins.
After patiently listening to Derek
explain why they were on the scene when Ms. Dobbins was shot and
why they were chasing the person they believed to be the shooter,
Lt. Saucier interrogated them further, asking them question after
question in rapid-fire succession. He expected answers from both of
them and that’s what he got, similar answers to each question, but
not word for word identical responses.
The inspector had excused himself a
couple of times, leaving them alone, but they had sat quietly and
waited without indulging in conversation. The second time he had
come back into the room, he’d handed each their driver’s license
and Powell Agency ID.
“Well, at least we know you’re both who
you say you are, but until I get the okay from Sheriff Lockhart,
I’m afraid I’m going to have to hold y’all.”
And so they had waited for what seemed
like an eternity—well past dawn—before the sheriff, looking as if
he, too, had been up all night—arrived at headquarters. He came in,
introduced himself to Maleah and Derek and told them that they were
free to go.
Maleah opened her mouth to speak, but
didn’t get out the first word before Derek grabbed her arm and
said, “Yes, sir, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” the sheriff replied.
“Thank the attorney general. I’ve never gotten a direct order from
the man, never even spoke to him before tonight.”
“We’ll be sure to let him know how
grateful we are,” Maleah said as Derek all but dragged her out of
the sheriff’s office and straight to where her SUV was
parked.
“Give me your keys,” Derek told her.
“I’ll drive.”
She hesitated momentarily, then pulled
her keys out of her jacket and tossed them to him. Before getting
in on the passenger side, she stretched, tossed back her head, and
stared up at the early morning sky. She ached all over, from head
to toes. She was also sleepy and hungry and ill as a hornet.
Despite the surprising competence of the sheriff’s department,
Maleah felt that too much time had been wasted on grilling her and
Derek when that time could have been utilized in a better way. But
then again, how could she fault local law enforcement, with their
limited resources, for not catching their killer when the entire
Powell Agency, with unlimited resources, had been unable to
apprehend the Copycat Carver?
“Jump in,” Derek said. “Let’s get the
hell out of Dodge while the getting is good.”
Offering him a weak smile and a weary
nod, she opened the SUV passenger door and hopped up and into the
seat. While she adjusted her seatbelt, Derek started the vehicle,
hurriedly checked his mobile phone and within two minutes, they
were headed south. Struggling to keep her eyes open, Maleah began
concentrating on the road signs and soon realized they were not
headed back to Augusta.
“Where are we going?”
“Aiken,” Derek replied.
“What’s in Aiken?”
“A decent hotel that’s not too far
away.”
“Is that what you were doing with your
phone, checking for a hotel?”
“Aiken’s closer than Augusta and I
don’t know about you, but the sooner I get something to eat and a
few hours of sleep, the better.”
“You won’t get any argument from
me.”
“Will wonders never cease.” He
chuckled.
Although the trip from Apple Orchard to
Aiken had been relatively short, Maleah had fallen asleep. She woke
suddenly when Derek pulled the SUV under the entrance portico at
the Holiday Inn Express in downtown Aiken.
“Get out and book us a couple of
rooms,” he told her. “I’ll park, grab our bags, and meet you
inside.”
She shook her head to dislodge the
cobwebs and without saying a word, got out and walked into the
hotel. Before she reached the registration counter, the smell of
the complimentary breakfast coming from the nearby dining area
reminded her of how long it had been since she’d last eaten.
First things first, she reminded herself,
and went straight to the check-in desk. She explained to the clerk
that she didn’t mind paying full price for the two rooms for two
nights—last night and tonight—although it was doubtful they’d still
be here tonight. By the time Derek joined her, she had charged the
rooms to her credit card and pocketed two room keys.
“They’re still serving breakfast,” she
told him.
“Then what are we waiting for? I’m so
hungry, I could eat a horse.”
She led, he followed. After finding an
empty table, he pulled over a third chair, dumped their bags into
the chair and made a beeline to the coffeemaker.
As complimentary hotel breakfasts went,
the food at the Aiken Holiday Inn Express wasn’t half bad. Of
course, Maleah was so hungry that anything edible would have tasted
like a feast.
As they sat at one of the tables for
two, each on their second cup of coffee, Derek reached over and
flicked something off the side of Maleah’s mouth. Momentarily
surprised, she stared at him.
“Biscuit crumbs,” he told
her.
“Oh.”
“Ready?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“Have you finished eating? Are you
ready to go to our rooms and get a few hours of
sleep?”
“Yes, I’ve finished eating. I’m
stuffed.” She had eaten far more than she should have, more than
she normally did. As a general rule, she watched her diet and
avoided big breakfasts, but this morning, she had indulged.
Actually, she had overindulged. “And yes, I’m more than ready to go
to bed.”
Realizing that her comment could be
misconstrued, she looked at Derek. He smiled and winked at her.
Damn him. She felt a warm flush creep up her neck and color her
cheeks. Crap. She wasn’t the type who blushed, never had been,
didn’t want to be. But for some stupid reason, Derek had the
ability to say or do things that caused her to feel slightly
embarrassed.
“Your bed or mine?” His smile
widened.
“Me in my bed and you in
yours.”
“Ah, shucks, Blondie, you’re no
fun.”
“Shut up, will you? I’m too tired for
your particular brand of humor.”
He laid his hand over his heart. “You
wound me, my darling.”
Maleah groaned. “Damn it, Derek, grow
up, will you?”
She scooted back her chair, gathered up
her plate, cup and other items, and left him sitting there. After
clearing the rest of the table and leaving a generous tip, he
caught up with her at the garbage bin.
“Sorry,” he said.
“No, I’m sorry,” she told him. “I know
you were just trying to lighten the mood a little. I shouldn’t let
you irritate me.”
“I shouldn’t kid around so
much.”
Maleah offered him a halfhearted smile
as he picked up their bags and headed toward the elevator. She
punched the Up button for the second floor and when the door
immediately opened, she entered.
As the elevator ascended, she felt
Derek staring at her.
“What?” she asked.
“Ever ask yourself why we seem to
irritate each other so much?”
The doors opened. They got off the
elevator.
“Because we’re oil and water,” she
said. “If I say it’s black, you say it’s white. We’re very
different. And when you try to run roughshod over me, it irritates
me.”
“And do you think that I do that a lot,
run roughshod over you?”
“Maybe.” She paused outside her room,
turned to him, gave him his key, and held out her hand for her bag.
“This is my room. You’re next door.”
“I’ll take your bag in for
you.”
She was too tired to argue, so when
Derek took the key card from her, she didn’t protest. He inserted
the card into the lock and the instant the green light appeared, he
turned the knob and opened the door for her. After entering, she
flipped on the light. Derek followed her into the room and placed
her bag on the floor.
“Sometimes you do run roughshod over
me,” Maleah said, finally admitting the truth. “I know you don’t
mean to and that you’re usually unaware that you’re doing it, but .
. . Look, let’s just drop it, okay?”
Derek set his bag on the floor beside
hers. Instinctively, she stood her ground and watched him as he
moved toward her. He came right up to her, looked down at her and
grasped her chin. She struggled for half a second when he tried to
lift her chin so that she had to face him, but quickly looked him
right in the eye. If he thought he could intimidate her, he’d
better think again.
He examined her face as if she were a
bug under a microscope, studying each feature, searching for
something behind her confrontational expression. The way he looked
at her unnerved her.
“Well?” she said.
He reached out and caressed her cheek,
his touch gentle and soothing. “Get some rest, Blondie. We can do
battle another day.”
She hesitated. Fraught with
uncertainty, she waited. A moment passed, followed by another and
then another, each one becoming tenser than the previous. Neither
of them moved or spoke or even blinked.
He slipped his hand beneath her hair at
the nape of her neck. Her breath caught in her throat. And then
Derek broke eye contact and released her. She swayed, slightly
unsteady on her feet, dazed by what had just happened.
But exactly what had
happened ?
She waited for Derek to say something,
but he didn’t. He gave her a quick nod, and as if he was slightly
dazed himself, he turned and left the room. She didn’t actually
breathe again until she heard the door close; then she slumped down
on the edge of the bed and sucked in huge gasps of
air.
Luke Sentell sat at a sidewalk table in
front of Le Bristrot du Peintre on avenue Ledru Rollin. The bistro,
located in the heart of the 11th arrondissement between
Bastille and Nation squares, was a ten-minute walk from the heart
of downtown Paris. Dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved
cotton polo shirt, he nursed a glass of Bordeaux, Cote de Bourg, as
did his companion, an elderly French gentleman who called himself
Henri Fortier. Luke neither knew nor cared what the man’s real name
was. They were not friends, not even friendly acquaintances or
business associates.
Luke’s French, although not flawless,
was more than adequate, but Henri’s command of English was
excellent. Wishing to appear as nothing more than customers wanting
a good meal, they each ordered. Luke chose the rib steak in cream
sauce.
“When you return to America, you will
please tell my old friend, Inspector Richter, that I send him my
best,” Henri said.
“Yes, of course.”
Henri sipped his wine, all the while
studying Luke, his gaze lazily inspecting his dinner companion.
“Have you ever visited St. Jakob? It’s a charming little village in
the state of Carinthia, Austria.”
“No, I’ve never been there. Do you
recommend I visit sometime in the near future?”
“Yes, I highly recommend that while
you’re traveling in Europe, you add St. Jakob to your
itinerary.”
Luke nodded. “Could you suggest a hotel
and perhaps a tour guide while I’m there?”
“Indeed. You must stay at the Inn
Steinhof.”
When the waiter brought their orders,
Henri smiled at the young man, thanked him, and looked at his meal,
eggplant lasagna with parmesan cheese.
As soon as they were alone again, Henri
tasted a bite of the delicious concoction, sighed with satisfaction
and then returned his attention to Luke.
“You must ask for Jurgen Hirsch. He
will know where you need to go, what you will need to
see.”
Luke repeated the name
quietly.
He would make reservations for the
first flight from Paris to Carinthia tomorrow.
“And just where can I find Jurgen
Hirsch?”
“When you arrive at the Inn Steinhof,
leave a message for another guest, a gentleman named Aldo Finster.
Simply state in your message that you are a friend of Henri Fortier
and are looking for a reliable tour guide.”
Luke nodded.
Henri smiled. “I think I shall order
the orange tart for dessert.”
Following his informant’s lead, Luke,
too, ordered dessert, but he ate only a few bites before saying
goodnight. He had plans to make, a flight to book, and a report to
send to Powell headquarters.