Chapter 10: A Near Miss and Some Promising Leads
Groaning again, Jack groggily reached out to touch the knot he could feel forming on the back of his head. He pushed himself up onto one elbow and opened his eyes, instantly regretting it as the world swam alarmingly in front of him. Through blurry vision, he could just make out a pair of legs in front of him. Jack knew they didn't belong to Steve because he'd still been dressed in the dark suit he'd worn on the plane. These legs, quickly making their way toward the door, were covered by tan pants. In a desperate attempt to stop the stranger from getting away, Jack lunged toward the legs. At that moment, his vision blurred again, and he squinted trying to get the two sets of legs to morph back into one. Instead of a handful of material, his outstretched fingers met only air. Jack landed on the floor with a soft thud and let the blackness overwhelm him.
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Turning into the driveway, Mark sighed in relief. He was glad to be home after a busier than normal late shift at the hospital. In all honesty, he was also relieved Steve would be home from New York City. Even though he knew his son was probably safer out of LA, it didn't stop Mark from wanting him nearby so he could periodically see him and reassure himself Steve was okay. Ever since his graduation from the police academy, Mark had reconciled himself to the fact that Steve would sometimes be placed in dangerous situations in the line of duty. There was a big difference, however, between the vague threat of unknown danger and the actuality of being the target of a serial killer. They had five days in which to catch the man responsible for all of these killings and eliminate the danger Steve was in. Mark intended to accomplish that seemingly impossible task.
Mark was mildly surprised to see lights on inside the beach house and Jack's car parked in the driveway. After his conversation with Steve earlier in the day, he'd expected his son to be sound asleep by now. Mark's brow creased as he thought about how tired Steve had sounded on the phone. This case was beginning to exact a huge physical and emotional toll. When it was over, he'd have to try to persuade Steve to take some time off. Maybe the plane was delayed and Steve just got home, Mark thought. That would explain why Jack was still here.
Pleased by the thought of actually seeing his son before he went to sleep, Mark hurriedly parked his car and climbed the steps. He automatically reached out to stick the key in the lock and paused, startled, when the door gently swung open. The lines in Mark's forehead deepened. Something didn't feel right about the situation. No matter how tired he was Steve would never forget to lock the door especially now when he was a target.
Setting his bag down next to the door, Mark looked around for some type of weapon. His eyes found the hammer he'd been using the day before to secure a shutter that had blown loose in the last storm. He hadn't taken the time to put it away and now he was glad he hadn't. Hefting it in his hand, Mark was satisfied it would inflict enough damage to slow someone down if in fact someone other than Steve and Jack was in the house.
Cautiously pushing the door the rest of the way open, Mark stepped over the threshold. He nearly stumbled over a box that had been carelessly left in the middle of the floor, its contents scattered across the room. Glancing around, he debated about calling out but decided against it. He didn't want to alert the wrong person to his presence. Taking a few more steps, Mark saw the body lying on the floor in a crumpled heap. He dropped the hammer and rushed forward.
"Jack!"
Mark quickly examined Jack searching for any injuries. His fingers brushed against the knot on the back of the young doctor's head and that slight pressure was enough to cause Jack to groan. "Jack? Jack, can you hear me?" Mark asked
Jack's eyes fluttered open and focused blurrily on Mark. He swallowed hard a couple of times then rubbed a shaky hand over his face. "Man, I feel like I've been hit by a truck," he croaked. Touching the knot, he winced. "Help me sit up."
Easing Jack into a sitting position, Mark couldn't stop the questions that tumbled from his mouth. "What happened? And where's Steve?"
"Ahhh…." Jack sifted through his memories while trying to ignore the pounding in his head. "I picked Steve up at the airport and drove him here. He was on his way to his apartment to drop off his carry on bag, and I had one of the boxes of files. We were going to put all of the boxes in the dining room for tonight. Next thing I know, I'm getting clobbered from behind."
"What happened to Steve?"
"I…I don't know. I must've blacked out for a minute after I got hit."
Mark was on his feet in an instant. A feeling of dread had started in his stomach the minute he'd found the unlocked door and it grew as he encountered room after empty room. He burst into Steve's apartment hoping his son might be there but was finally forced to admit the only people in the house were himself and Jack. The beach, Mark thought suddenly. Maybe Steve got away and is hiding out on the beach.
Jack was still sitting on the floor when Mark returned from searching the house. As concerned as he was about Steve, Mark knew Jack needed medical attention for his probable concussion. "Steve isn't in the house," he reported, "but I'm going to check outside. Then I'll call you an ambulance."
"Wait. There's something else." Jack concentrated very hard on putting his scrambled thoughts in order again. "I remember hearing a noise. It was familiar…something I'd heard before…" he trailed off, his gaze fixed on a stain on the floor. A stain that looked suspiciously like blood. The memory rocketed to the front of Jack's consciousness. "It was a gunshot. Mark, the sound I heard was a shot." He looked up at Mark then pointed to the floor. "And that's blood, probably Steve's, because his gun was still locked in his bag. I remember him saying at the airport he wasn't going to bother to get it out for the drive home."
Despite being a little unsteady on his feet, Jack insisted on accompanying Mark outside as he searched for Steve. Fifteen fruitless minutes later, Mark was forced to conclude that Steve was missing and, in all probability, being held by Simon Williams.
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The first streaks of sunlight were just coming over the horizon when the last police car pulled out of Mark's driveway. Every available officer had been sent to canvass the neighbourhood and assist the crime scene unit in gathering evidence. More blood had been found on the porch reinforcing the belief that Steve had been shot during the encounter with Williams. Captain Blackwell had arrived to supervise the investigation and had promised Mark that every available resource would be used in the search for Steve.
A quick call to the hospital reassured Mark that Jack was resting comfortably suffering from nothing worse than a concussion. He'd stubbornly refused medical assistance from the paramedics who'd been dispatched by the emergency operator insisting on staying to give his statement to the police. Mark hadn't pressed the issue but instead had called Amanda. After hearing a condensed version of the night's events, she had immediately driven to the beach house. It had taken all her powers of persuasion, but Amanda had finally been able to convince Jack to go with her to the hospital for medical attention.
In the quiet light of the early morning, Mark realized just how tired he was. Trying to sleep would be futile though. He could not rest while the fate of his son was unknown. Mark knew instinctively that if the gunshot Steve had sustained in the kidnapping hadn't been fatal then he was still alive. Serial killers rarely deviated from their set patterns. There was a pattern to be completed and that meant it was highly likely Simon Williams would do everything he could, short of taking him to a hospital, to ensure Steve stayed alive until August 8th so he could finish his pattern. If he didn't finish the pattern, he would consider it a failure.
Mark wandered through the house unsure of what to do next. He wiped up the blood from the floor wishing he could wipe away his fear as easily. It was as if that fear had paralysed his mind and was interfering with his normal rational thinking skills. Mark paced by the box of New York City files several times before stopping to stare at it. He recalled Jack telling the detectives he'd only carried in one box before he and Steve were attacked and that Steve had planned to start going through them in the morning after a few hours sleep. Mark's resolved hardened. Steve may not have had a chance to thoroughly search the boxes, but nothing was stopping him from going through them. Making a pot of coffee, Mark carried in the other boxes from Jack's car. He settled down at his desk, slipped on his glasses and lifted the lid of the first box.
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Simon Williams pulled the van to the curb and turned to glare at his unconscious passenger tied up in the back. It wasn't supposed to be this way, Williams thought angrily. You weren't supposed to get shot yet. That's not how the ritual works.
It had been a calculated risk on his part to approach his detective a full five days before he was meant to die but one he'd felt he'd had to take. He had hoped Steve wouldn't start putting all the pieces together until it was too late to set a trap or put any precautions in place to safeguard his well-being. After watching Ed Flanagan hand Sergeant Sloan the letter he'd left in his former office, Williams had realized he would have to speed up his timetable and grab his detective while he still had the chance. Two straight nights of watching the beach house had been a waste of time, and he'd debated about even going again, but some sixth sense had sent him back to the quiet neighbourhood. His patience had been rewarded when his detective had returned home trailed by one of his doctor friends.
Williams looked back at his detective again. It had been a while since he'd made any noise, he realized. Climbing in the back of the van, Williams felt the side of Steve's neck for a pulse. He was pleased when he felt the strong, regular beat and could see the rise and fall of his chest. He needed Steve alive on the eighth to fulfil his ritual. To have him die early would ruin all his careful planning.
Setting the van in motion again, Williams reviewed his plan. The first order of business was to check the news to see if his detective's disappearance was being publicized. He knew all law enforcement agencies would be briefed to be on the lookout for anything suspicious, but he needed to know if the public would be watching for him too. Up to now, the police had released very few details of his killings to the media and even had hesitated to publicly declare it the work of a serial killer. The disappearance of a cop might force them to re-evaluate that strategy. He'd also been very careful not to leave anything behind that could identify him especially pictures of himself. The police had a rough sketch but it wasn't nearly as accurate as an actual photo. This significantly decreased the chance of being recognized. Once he'd seen the morning news, he'd stop at a used car dealer and purchase a new vehicle. He didn't want to get rid of the van, but he couldn't take the chance that someone in the neighbourhood had seen him watching the beach house and eventually would make the connection and call the police.
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Detective Saul Elliot quickly swallowed two antacid tablets hoping they'd ease the burning he'd had in his stomach ever since he'd been notified that Steve Sloan had disappeared. He knew he was responsible for getting Steve into this situation. After all, if Steve's name hadn't been on the list of Medi-Quick customers, Simon Williams would've had no reason to target him. The veteran detective sighed. What was done was in the past, and the self-recriminations weren't helping to find Steve. Saul knew he had to be the one to make up for what he'd started with his seemingly innocent deception. The only way he could do that was to find his colleague before the eighth. If they found him before then, they had a very good chance of finding him alive but if they didn't…Saul swallowed two more antacid tablets. He didn't even want to consider that possibility.
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The darkness was overwhelming. Steve shifted in his cramped prison trying to find a position that would ease the fire in his shoulder and the ache in his back. The first time he'd regained consciousness after the shooting at the beach house he'd found himself in a basement. A quick visual inspection had revealed no clues or a way out. The windows were too high and too small to climb out of and the one door had been locked from the outside. A short while later Simon Williams had shown up. Steve had stared silently at the man he knew to be responsible for at least 23 deaths across the country while, in a conversational tone, Williams had told him of his plan to hold him until the time was right to finish the ritual. Steve had listened to the one sided conversation with a growing certainty that, if he didn't do something to try and save himself, the next time he'd be seen was with a bullet hole in his head. No one knew better than he how elusive Simon Williams was and how slim the chances were of being found before the ritual was completed.
Ignoring his pain, Steve had rushed at Williams the instant he'd turned his back. For a moment, the element of surprise had played in Steve's favour, but then his limited strength had given out and Williams had regained the advantage. Already off balance, a rough shove had been enough to send Steve sprawling to the floor where he landed on his injured shoulder. The pain had been excruciating and he'd welcomed the blackness that gave him relief.
Steve tried shifting again but the confined space severely limited his ability to move. When he'd regained consciousness a second time, the blackness and the feeling of motion had momentarily disoriented him. With a start, Steve had realized he was in the trunk of a car. He wondered what had caused Williams to decide to move him. The basement had been secure and, in his physical condition, he was no threat to try to escape.
Keeping his mind blank, Steve concentrated on his breathing to keep the pain at bay. Each bump and pothole in the road jarred his throbbing shoulder. Suddenly, the car began to slow down and then it came to a stop. Tensing, Steve readied himself for whatever was coming next.
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Driving the dark, nondescript sedan, Simon Williams felt the protective cloak of anonymity settle around him again. Using the white van any longer was too big of a risk. In a couple of days, it would be found in the shopping mall parking ramp. It would take the police a few more hours to track the owner and only then would they discover he was already dead. If they even connected the van to him, a forensics team would find no physical evidence. He had made sure of that before abandoning the van.
Williams chuckled to himself as he thought about how absurdly easy it had been to buy the car he was driving. He had parked the van in an out of the way corner of the ramp, made sure Sergeant Sloan was securely bound and gagged, and walked the short distance to the used car dealer. After explaining he wanted something sturdy and conservative and flashing a roll of bills, the salesman had led him straight to the sedan. A quick glance was all Williams had needed to assure himself the car would suit his needs. Less than an hour later, he was driving away, the forged registration and license tucked safely in his pocket. He had returned to the parking ramp, transferred a still unconscious Steve into the trunk of the car and cleaned out the van.
Williams had only driven a few miles when a police car came up behind him its lights flashing and the driver motioning for him to pull over. He debated about just flooring the accelerator and speeding away then decided that would call too much unwanted attention to himself. He would pull over and bluff his way through the interview. If things went badly, then he could always make a run for it.
Adjusting the baseball hat he wore, Williams watched the officer approach the car. He's probably still wet behind the ears, he sneered silently. This should be a snap.
The young officer rapped on the window and Williams rolled it down about two inches. "What can I do for you, Officer?"
"Sir, you have a tail light out which is a violation."
"I do? I didn't realize it."
"I see you still have the sticker from the car dealer in your window. Did you recently purchase the vehicle?"
"Just picked it up this morning. I, uh, kicked the tires and played the radio, but," Williams laughed self-consciously, "I guess I forgot to check the lights."
"Well, I'll let you off with a warning this time but, if I were you, I'd take the car back to where you got it and insist they fix your light."
"I'll do that, Officer," Williams peered at the young man's nametag, "Fischer. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome." Officer Fischer was about to turn away when Williams's baseball hat caught his eye. "Hey, I can't believe you're wearing a Colorado Rockies cap. Are you a hockey fan?"
"Not particularly."
"I haven't seen one of those caps in years. Of course, it's probably been about 10 years since they last played a game. The Rockies ended up moving to New Jersey, and that's where I grew up. Hockey is a little more popular back east than here in Southern California. Nobody has much interest in the LA Kings. Somebody didn't show much imagination when they named the baseball team the Rockies too, huh? Did you live in Denver? Is that where you got the cap?"
Williams was growing decidedly uncomfortable with the chatty police officer. "I picked it up at a second hand store when I was passing through. Look, I hate to be rude, but am I free to go?"
"Oh sure. Sorry about that. Just remember to get that light fixed."
Nodding impatiently, Williams rolled up his window. He waited until the officer had stepped back from the car before putting it in gear. Then, without a backward glance, he merged into traffic and drove away.
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Amanda reached for the next file from the box and opened it to the first page. She had finally convinced Mark to get some rest and let her continue going through the files from New York City. Glancing over her shoulder, she checked on Jack who was sleeping on the sofa. As soon as he'd awakened, he had checked himself out of the hospital and taken a cab to the beach house anxious to help in the search for Steve. It had become apparent to both Mark and Amanda almost immediately that Jack wasn't sufficiently recovered from his concussion to be of much help in going through the files. His feeble protests had been quickly overruled and it wasn't long before he was asleep on the sofa.
The doorbell rang interrupting Amanda's concentration. Frowning, she set aside the file she was reading and went to answer the door. The man standing on the porch looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place from where she knew him.
"May I help you?"
"I'm Detective Saul Elliot. I'd like to speak with Doctor Sloan please."
Amanda recognized the name. This was the man who, however inadvertently, had put Steve in danger. He'd also been in the house this morning. "Doctor Sloan is resting right now."
"I have some new information on the search for Steve. I'd like to give him an update."
Amanda's gaze lingered on the detective's face a moment before deciding he seemed sincere. Opening the door wider, she invited him inside. She led him through the living room, absently noting Jack had slept through the doorbell, and out to the deck.
"Wait here, please."
Saul nodded silently and watched as Amanda slipped back inside the house. He had recognized her as one of the doctors who'd been at the house early this morning with Doctor Sloan. Turning, he scanned the beach for anything suspicious relaxing slightly when the only person he saw was a single jogger. He was so engrossed in the view that Saul didn't realize Mark had joined him on the deck until he spoke.
"Detective Elliot."
Saul faced the man whose son's life hung in the balance. Acid ate away at his stomach as he took in Mark's pale and anxious face. "Thank you for agreeing to see me, Doctor Sloan."
"Amanda said you have new information in the search for my son."
Saul nodded. "I've spent the day re-interviewing witnesses. I think I have a couple of promising new leads."
"You know where Simon Williams is?"
"No, unfortunately we don't. We have every law enforcement agency in California looking for him, but without a decent picture we may see him and not even realize it's him." Saul paused. "That might change though."
"What do you mean?"
"I went back to his apartment and talked to the manager again. It seems that Williams always paid his rent in cash except for once a couple of months ago. He gave the manager a cashier's check. Fortunately, the manager is a thorough businessman and he had a record of that cashier's check. We traced it back to a local check-cashing store not far from the apartment complex and talked to the owner. Not surprisingly, he could not remember the specific cashier's check, but he did have the tapes from his security cameras. We were able to go back and pinpoint an approximate time Williams would've bought the check." Saul reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a picture. "Although not absolutely certain, we think this is Simon Williams. I've dispatched a detective to Medi-Quick with a copy of the picture so Ed Flanagan can confirm it for us."
Mark took the picture and looked at it closely. The man's face was partially obscured by a baseball hat and the grainy quality made it difficult to pick out any specific features, but he agreed the person in the picture did bear a resemblance to the police artist's sketch. Silently he passed it to Amanda. "What's the logo on the baseball cap? Can it be used to trace him?"
"We don't know. We're still working on identifying it. For all we know, it may just be a random design."
Mark nodded in resignation. "You said you had a couple of promising leads. What else have you found out?"
"One of your neighbours remembers seeing a white van parked down the street last night shortly before Steve disappeared."
"Why wasn't this mentioned this morning?"
"Apparently this person was on his way to work when he noticed the van and wasn't home when the uniforms canvassed the neighbourhood. I met him this afternoon when I was revisiting the neighbours. The interesting thing is he wasn't the only neighbour to notice a strange van in the past couple of days. The uniforms talked to someone this morning who'd remembered seeing a plain white van parked in front of her house two nights ago."
"So it's possible he'd been stalking Steve waiting for a chance to grab him."
"That's what we think. Now the description was pretty vague from both of the witnesses. The van didn't have any distinguishing marks or lettering on it. The man tried to read the license plate, but it was covered with dirt so we're not going to get any help there. The DMV is running a list of all white vans registered in the area, but realistically it's going to be long. It's a popular model." Saul felt a pang of guilt when he saw Mark nod dejectedly. "Doctor Sloan, even if I have to stop every white van in the city, I will follow up on this lead. You never know when we might get lucky and catch a break."
Having delivered his new information and anxious to follow up on his leads, Detective Elliot quickly made his escape. Amanda and Mark returned to the boxes of files that had taken over the dining room table. Amanda could see the hope warring with the fear and worry in Mark's eyes. She watched as he sat down and picked up one of the folders.
"Do you really think Steve expected to find anything in these files?" Amanda asked.
"I don't know," Mark replied, "but I have to go through them. He obviously thought there might be something here or he wouldn't have brought them back. I have to do something to help find Steve and right now this is the only thing that I can think of."
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It was the end of the day and Officer Fischer had finished his shift. He was heading toward the locker room to change when he passed one of his police academy buddies coming from the evening briefing. "Rough day?" his friend asked.
"Not bad," Officer Fischer replied. "Anything interesting in the briefing?"
"Most of the time was spent talking about the search for Sergeant Sloan. One of the neighbours saw a white van parked in the neighbourhood but couldn't get a license plate so we're supposed to be on the lookout for any vehicle matching the description."
"Good luck on that one."
"Tell me about it. They also have a picture of somebody they think might be Simon Williams. It's not great, but it's something else to work with in addition to the sketch."
"Can I see it?"
"Sure." The officer sorted through his papers from the briefing and pulled one out. "I imagine you'll get the same information in the morning."
The first thing Officer Fischer noticed when he looked at the picture was the baseball hat. With a start, he realized he'd seen a hat just like that earlier in the day. Of course it was possible two people could have the same cap but, in his gut, he knew it was highly unlikely.
The other officer noticed Fischer staring intently at the picture. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"That hat, I saw one just like it today when I did a traffic stop."
"So? Baseball hats are pretty common."
"Not this one." He explained what the logo was. "Didn't Sergeant Sloan say Williams had spent some time in Denver?"
The officer nodded. "He thought he might've come from there."
Horrified, Officer Fischer continued to stare at the picture. "You know what this means don't you?"
"Yep. You probably had our guy and didn't even know it."