Chapter III

Bubba waited for a truck and two cars to pass before crossing the street to rejoin Parker on the other side. He had been through every shop on both sides of the street, questioned every person he saw, but he had learned nothing. Unable to stand the suspense, Parker had returned to Lonnie's car to watch the progress of the search. He looked doleful now as Bubba approached him, and he shook his head, speechless for once.

"Well, Captain, what do you make of my suspicions now?" asked Agent Phillips. He handed Bubba a plastic bag with a small item in it. "We found that under the driver's seat."

Bubba looked closely at the item in the bag. It was a torn piece of fabric with a nametag attached –Christine Surillo's nametag.

"This proves nothing," Bubba said vehemently.

"Nothing?" Phillips repeated. "This is the first piece of real evidence we've had."

"It's too convenient. Somebody obviously wanted us to find it. How do I know you didn't put it there?"

"He has a point," Parker said finding his voice at last. "You've been the head agent on every one of these cases."

"I wouldn't be that stupid," Phillips said. "Besides, why park the car behind an obscure building on a backstreet?"

"I don't know, you tell me," Bubba said.

"There's always a fatal mistake in a killer's career. Maybe this is it."

"Maybe it is," Bubba said. "But this partnership is over. Why don't we just try and stay out of each other's hair, uh?"

The more Lonnie's consciousness flooded back to him, the more he became aware of his surroundings. He realized that not only was he lying on the floor, but the floor was moving. He was in some sort of vehicle –moving down the road, from the feel of it. He struggled to his knees and began to work at the ropes that held his wrists and ankles bound. The vehicle lurched as it ran over a pothole in the road, and Lonnie was thrown back down to the floor. Sharp pains shot through his body at the impact, but he raised himself once more and resumed his work to free himself. In between the creaks and groans of the truck, he thought he heard a soft moan. Christine! He worked more frantically now. With his wrists tied behind his back, he could only fumble awkwardly with the knots, but out of sheer determination he managed to get free. He jerked the cloth from his mouth and made his way on hands and knees in the direction of the moan. In a few minutes his fingers touched the soft warm skin of a woman's arm. She flinched at his touch.

"It's all right," he said. "I'm Lieutenant Jamison. I'm here to help you."

He felt for her face and removed the gag from her mouth, and then he untied her wrists and ankles. He could only guess what state she was in, since he couldn't see her. He helped her to raise up, and he held her in his arms.

"Christine?" he said.

"Yes," she answered in a whisper.

"We'll get out of this," he assured her.

"He'll kill us both," she said. "When we get where we're going, he's going to put a bullet in your heart. You got too close."

He must've been in one of the shops near the playhouse, Lonnie thought. He still couldn't remember exactly what had happened in that parking lot. A man had approached his car as he was turning around, had asked for assistance; after that, everything to this point was a blank.

Lonnie leaned back against the wall, still holding protectively to Christine, and he concentrated on how he was going to get them out of this. They seemed to be inside something like a mover's van. No doubt they were stuck here until someone opened the doors from the outside, but just to be sure, he laid Christine back down gently and went to check. Once he confirmed that there was no way out, he returned to his former place and took Christine in his arms again.

"This will all be over soon, I promise," he said.

He hoped he sounded convincing. He just wasn't sure how soon "soon" would be. Until the vehicle stopped moving, he felt there was little he could do. Christine was trembling in his arms. She was still wearing the pants to her uniform, but other than that she had only a tank top. Lonnie put his jacket on her, but he continued to hold her for the sake of comforting her.

After a while the ride became bumpier, and the truck slowed and finally came to a halt. Once again Lonnie laid Christine on the floor and went to stand by the exit. The only weapon he had now was the element of surprise, so he was going to make it count. The adrenaline in his body was rising with every passing second. He waited anxiously, crouching by the doors. As soon as the doors opened, he lunged at the person, and the two of them went to the ground with a heavy thud.

Christine lay at the other end of the truck and struggled to see what was happening outside. She had been in the dark so long that the light hurt her eyes. She listened for sounds. For a moment there was silence, but then there were the sounds of a scuffle –grunts, punches, the rustling of clothes. She wished she could tell who had the upper hand, but she was too weak to get up, and she was afraid of what she might see if she did watch. She heard a cry of pain, and then there was silence. She managed to pull herself trembling to the back of the truck and peer over the edge. She wasn't sure what she was looking at; her vision was blurred.

"This one's a lot of trouble." It was that gruff voice that she despised, the only sound she had been hearing for the past two weeks. "None of this was part of my plan. I'm afraid I'm going to have to get rid of him now. What should it be: bullet or blade?"

The killer held his already bloody knife over the motionless Lieutenant and gripped the handle tightly as if in preparation to strike. Christine whimpered as she watched her last chance of salvation fade away.

"Don't look away, Christine," said the killer, "or you'll be sorry."

With his other hand, he pointed Lonnie's gun at her.

"Go ahead and pull the trigger," she said.

Her vision was still blurry, but she could see enough to notice the sudden movement on the ground. Lonnie grabbed hold of the killer's arm and tried to turn the knife away from himself. The killer turned the gun towards Lonnie, but since he held the weapon in his less dominant hand, his grip was tentative. Christine was disconcerted by the melee that ensued; with her limited vision, she could not keep track of the two men. Several shots were fired –one of them hit the truck. Finally, the knife was plunged into one of the men, and all once again was silent.

"Lieutenant?" Christine called. Her voice was barely audible.

"He's dead." Lonnie stood up and walked in her direction. "It's all over. The phantom is gone…"

He stopped just in front of her. There was blood on his shirt. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he dropped to the ground.