Chapter Forty-Two
Washington, D.C.:

Silently, Burt Meyers held up his hand and counted with his fingers. "Three… two… one!" Then he pointed at the closed apartment door. Their surveillance had indicated that Hinkle, or Malone, or whatever his name was… was here. As to Sarah… they had no clue.

Using the small battering ram… Ryan and Pete Wylie, from the D.C. retrieval squad, hit the door soundly and it opened. The team rushed in, surprising their quarry and bringing him swiftly to the floor. Ryan began to search the apartment for signs of Sarah. Cecile was on her phonecard. "We got him," she was saying as another group of armored officers arrived.

Suddenly both groups stood with weapons trained on the other. The leader of the other group looked at them curiously. Then he saw Cecile. His gaze turned into a glare as he stepped toward her. His men shifted their weapons to keep them trained on the Burt's group. "What are you people doing here?" Matthew McCormick asked her pointedly.

Cecile glanced at Burt and at Matthew's men. "We found a body."

Burt holstered his weapon and stepped forward. "We're here for the same reason Mr. McCormick. We were both following the trail of a serial killer."

McCormick looked at them all evenly and then turned to his squad. "Stand down men and wait outside."

"But it's our collar and our jurisdiction," one of them complained. "Who are these guys? Feds?"

"A group I've had dealings with before," McCormick explained. "Outside now." His men left and he closed the door. He crossed to the prisoner and eyed him carefully, then he turned to Burt. "So why were you interested in him?"

"One of you was kidnapped. Our surveillance saw a body disposed and we collected it." Burt was choosing his words carefully. There was no reason to let their prisoner know what they were talking about. Burt glanced at him and smiled. "He's not one of you?"

McCormick shook his head. He, too, holstered his weapon.

Cecile spoke up. "We aren't your enemy. We are trying to save one of you."

McCormick looked back at her. "Right… I recall previous dealings with your group."

"That wasn't us! It was a splinter group!" she insisted, but she could sense he wasn't listening.

Ryan re-entered the room. "No sign of Sarah." He gazed at their prisoner thoughtfully. "That's not him."

Everyone turned. "What do you mean it's not him?" both Burt and McCormick asked.

"I mean," Ryan replied. "That's not the man I saw drive off in the car and dispose of the body parts."

The room was abuzz with conversations, questions, and protestations. Burt held up a hand. "The evidence led us here."

"Our investigation did as well," McCormick added.

"I tell you… this isn't the man I saw disposing of that body!" Ryan insisted. Then he turned and grabbed their prisoner by his shirt. "Where is she? Who has her?

The man shook his head. "I got nothin' to say."

McCormick smiled grimly. "But I've still got enough to put you away… maybe even the needle unless…" His voice drifted off.

The man licked his lips nervously and looked back and forth between McCormick, Burt, and Ryan. "Unless what?"

"Tell us what you know about that film studio. Who runs it? What goes on there?" McCormick replied.

Burt snapped his fingers and withdrew a photograph of Sarah from a file Cecile held. "And tell us what you know about this woman?" he asked him.

The man's eyes widened. He tried to squirm loose and looked about fearfully.

McCormick snatched the photo. "Sarah," he said softly.

"You know her?" Cecile asked.

McCormick nodded. "Not well. Not my type, really. But yeah… I know her." He turned to their prisoner, holding up the photograph. "You want to live? Where is she?"

The man struggled. Finally, he seemed to accept the situation. "She's dead," he said. "The owner hired me to finish off the ladies in the snuff films so his actors weren't involved. I did this one with a sword."

"Noooooo!" moaned Ryan.

McCormick leaned in closely to his face. "How exactly did you kill her?"

Cowering before McCormick he glanced at him, as if seeking an opening… something that would save his life. "I rammed a sword through her chest. I had specific orders. He then dismissed me, indicating he'd deal with the body."

McCormick smiled as if he were the man's friend. "And his name?"

The man shrugged. "Malone. He let me have this place, an expense account, and a car to drive that was his. Sometimes he asked for it back."

"Then you're not Malone?" Burt asked. He was flipping through the information they'd gathered showing this man's face on the driver's license. He held it up.

"Naw… he musta changed the records. Name's Carl Reynolds."

McCormick ran a hand through his closely cropped brown hair and turned toward Burt. "He's guilty of some of the killings… but not all I'd warrant."

"A red herring? Someone the police would blame?" Burt nodded.

Ryan grabbed Reynolds again. "Are you sure you don't know anything else? His name?"

Reynolds shook his head… then he seemed to recall something. "It might be nothing but just before I killed the bitch… she called a name… Kingsley I think."

McCormick sped around. "Martin Kingsley?"

"Just Kingsley I think. I had no idea who she was talking about."

McCormick closed his eyes. "It's him… it has to be him."

"What do we do now?" Burt asked.

McCormick made his decision and nodded. "I take Mr. Reynolds in for murder. You people go back to your offices. I'll be in touch.

"But Sarah…" began Ryan.

McCormick softened slightly. "As soon as I get this guy squared away… okay?" He grabbed Reynolds' arm and headed out of the apartment. Burt could hear the D.C. squad giving high-fives and congratulating their commander for getting "their" prisoner away from the "Feds." Evidently, McCormick would let them think that.

"Stand down people and let's get back. We got a new name… and I got a feeling this one is in our records."

He was… but only the barest account of him as a young immortal. Like all of them, he was a foundling, born sometime during the French and Indian War. He'd evidently been a settler killed by Indians, and had been found and first trained by the trapper Luke Monroe. They'd parted company pretty quickly… and the Watcher on Monroe only had time to make the notation about Kingsley's existence, before leaving for points further west. Monroe had ended up being killed by the next immortal he'd tried to help… John Durgan.

"He slipped through the cracks," Cecile was telling Burt when the elevator arrived and opened, discharging Matt McCormick several hours later. He'd changed back into civvies from his uniform and body armor. A file folder was clasped in his hands.

McCormick looked about uncomfortably as if he'd entered the lion's den unarmed. Cecile stepped up to him.

"It'll be fine… you'll see. Most of us just want to record your lives… not control or interfere."

McCormick snorted and shook his head. "But you are interfering. You're interfering in the life of Martin Kingsley and his penchant for torture and murder."

Burt leaned back against a nearby desk and crossed his arms. "What do you know?"

McCormick nodded. "I was on the police force in New Orleans," he began, his voice shifting into a Southern drawl. "About 1923 there was a wave of murders in the city. Eight women's bodies turned up over the course of three years… all in pieces. I couldn't tell if they were mortal or immortal… they were prostitutes mainly. Though one was a girl in service. She had family who identified her remains."

"And Kingsley?"

McCormick smiled. "Cutting to the chase?"

"We don't have a lot of time."

"He was a wealthy local businessman. I met him briefly at a social function that I chanced to attend with my wife. We saw each other across the room. He raised his glass and toasted me. We did not speak. In the following months, I checked him out as he no doubt checked me out. I never connected him to the murders. And we had no reason to cross blades."

"Can you give us a good sketch of what he looks like?" Burt gestured toward a pad of paper.

"Better than that," McCormick smiled and opened the file he carried. "I believe I have a photograph of him from the newspaper of that time." He pulled the yellowed and crumbling newsprint out and carefully handed it over to Burt.

He nodded. "Get that copied and cross-referenced," he said handing it off to Cecile.

By morning, they'd finally tracked down an obscure lease arrangement which had at one time listed a Martin Kingsley. This time, McCormick was joining the party. "You will leave him to me and the rules of the game. Is that clear? Get Miss Manning out of there if she still lives and leave the rest to me."

Burt nodded. "I quite agree. We're not in this to kill you people. Never again."

Around him the others repeated the phrase. They headed for the transport vehicles and the high-rise condo in the expensive downtown area. Before going in, Mccormick called his wife and told he loved her… then the Watcher group headed into the building. Mccormick held back as they headed to the top floor. He didn't want Kingsley to feel him until they were ready. He waited down the hall until the rest of the group was in position. Then he strode toward the door even as they deployed the battering ram. He felt nothing.

The battering ram slammed into the door… bursting it open. They entered and spread out.

"He's not here," McCormick said looking around the sparsely decorated main room. Ryan yelled from the bedroom. "He may have kept her in here."

McCormick glanced into the spotless white room and looked it over quickly, "It doesn't make sense. What makes you think he kept her here?"

Their conversation was interrupted as they heard from behind them. "Dear God in heaven!"

They'd found the torture room… and had noted the blood-spattered walls. As clean as the bedroom was… this place… with its rack, shackles, manacles, and instruments of torture and dismemberment, was horribly dirty and smelled of blood and decay.

Pete Wylie turned and lost it in the nearest trashcan. And he wasn't the only one.

McCormick and Burt took the room in, in a glance. "I want the blood crossed and typed," Burt said. McCormick nodded his agreement.

Cecile knelt by one spatter. "This is fairly fresh." She pointed so that the team would know to put a rush on this one. Rising she strode calmly from the room and pulling on latex gloves, began checking the cabinets and drawers. "No food but lots of cleaning supplies. I'd say our boy liked to keep all signs of his little hobby in there. Out here… perfectly normal."

Ryan dropped into a chair at the table by the closed drapes and sobbed. The rest were somber and silent except to call attention to anything they found.

"Knife gouge in the table."

"Bathtub looks recently used. Still wet."

Burt rubbed his forehead. He tried to put himself in Kingsley's place. Did he know they were after him? Did he know they'd picked up Reynolds earlier? What would he do if he knew? "Put someone on the airports and check the surveillance footage. We might get lucky," he snapped. He looked at the team gathering evidence in the windowless room. "Damn," he finally said and left. His job was to find this guy… not clean up after him.

McCormick caught up with him. "Look. I want in on this. More than just here in D.C. He's moved on… I feel it."

"Some immortal sense?" Burt asked.

"Cop sense," McCormick replied. "If my fears are correct… he's been doing this for years. He just keeps moving on when the heat gets to be too much. He buries who and what he is under so many layers that he moves in polite society unscathed while he indulges in the worst behavior."

Burt nodded. "Fine by me. I'd prefer to have an immortal working with us. We'll find him and leave him to you."

"Somehow I think even Duncan MacLeod would agree with this course of action."

"That's right," Burt replied as they stepped out into fresh air. "You know Mac."

"Friend of yours?"

"Close friend of the family, actually," Burt said with a smile. "My father-in-law is his Watcher."

McCormick glanced around at the passing traffic. "Maybe there's hope for you Watchers after all. That fellow Coltraine seems quite broken up by what's happened."

"He was Sarah Manning's Watcher. How did you know her?"

McCormick laughed. "Oh… I was not always married. Between wives and lives one time… we had… an encounter. She most definitely had strange appetites. I'd say your boy had one too."

"Think so?" Burt looked back up at the high-rise windows. "That would certainly explain some things."

"Now understand," McCormick warned. "I still blame you people for my Watcher's murder… and the murder of her husband and children."

Burt sighed. "Yeah. We punished those who did it. They got a better deal than she and her family got. Not one of our shining moments."

Cecile rushed out. "We caught a break. He was seen at Dulles… International flight."

"To where?" Burt demanded.

"Rome."

The two men looked at one another and nodded. "Get me two seats on the next flight to Rome."

"Three," replied Cecile. "I'm your Watcher, Matt."

The men nodded.

"Four seats."

They looked up to see Ryan on the steps. "I want to see him get his. I owe that to Sarah."

Burt sighed. "Four seats then… to Rome. And warn the Rome bureau to be on the lookout for him."

Cecile made the call.

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First class was nearly empty. Sarah remained in her seat, her hands folded sedately in her lap. She hated the dress he'd made her wear… something floral and with ruffles. He'd warned her that he could take her throat out with a single move… even bare-handed he could do that if she said anything to anyone… or made a wrong move.

"I'm taking you with me. If I get Gerard… then you will be free to go," he'd told her. She didn't believe him… but neither did she want her throat ripped out. And he would do it too. His torture of her had been complete. To avoid pain… she would do exactly as he said.

"Yor missus looks a mite airsick," the man across the aisle said, lifting his glass of bourbon in a salute.

"She's not accustomed to travel," Kingsley replied. He slipped one hand into hers. Sarah managed not to flinch. He wouldn't like her flinching. She didn't move at all. He patted her leg and squeezed it. "Second honeymoon. We're gonna enjoy ourselves… aren't we dear?"

Sarah nodded… afraid to say anything.

He squeezed her leg harder. "Aren't we my dear," he said more slowly.

"Yes. Second honeymoon," she replied to the prompt this time. His grip on her leg eased and he patted it again. She smiled at the man across the aisle.

"Get some sleep," Kingsley ordered.

"Yes. Sleep," she murmured in reply and obediently closed her eyes, hoping to find peace and safety in the blankness of her dreams.

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