Murder in the Forest , Chapter 42

Mason ran into the house and down to the basement, where he reset the timer on the bomb. He looked at Courtney and realized from the expression on her face that he had forgotten to wear his mask.

"You!" she snarled. "My father's main business competitor! Is that why you took me and used me and Melissa like whores? Why, Mr. Mason? What did I or she ever do to you that you should treat us this way?"

He looked coldly at her. "Well, you've seen my face now, and I'm leaving you behind alive, slut. I just heard on the phone that my pal, whose identity I think you may have guessed, isn't going to be able to join us. The cops have him surrounded. I think he's going to make them kill him rather than go to jail or get the death penalty for the kidnappings and the other murders. You've probably guessed that we're also responsible for the murders made to look like Bigfoot did it.

"To answer you, no, I didn't take you to hurt your family, but I did first see you because you were your dad's daughter and you came to the real estate conventions and I saw you around town and knew who you were. I picked you for looks, though, and because I wanted to have you, not for business reasons. And when I learned that you were dancing at Harry's Boobalicious club, I knew that you could entertain us and teach Melissa to dance, too, in case she needed instruction. Look, I need to get out of here with Melissa before the cops find this place. Do you have any other questions?"

Courtney asked who his partner was. "Is it Mr. Bamka from the hardware store? Melissa and I discussed you two and I guessed you and we both think the other man is him."

Mason nodded. "Yes. I told Mike that you two would probably guess our identities and we could dispense with the hoods. But we'd need to kill you or sell you a long way from here, to someone who'd take you to Mexico or a worse country and see that you stayed there. Ideally, the Mexican I know who buys girls re-sells them, and I wanted you two to wind up as slave girls in an Arab harem in the Middle East. Mike and I could probably get from $75,000-$100,000 for each of you, maybe more. Our contact would probably double that or more when he sold you to some rich oil sheikh. Mike favored killing you, to be sure that you never talked. I favored keeping you for a year or two, then trying to sell you. I think that would have worked. As-is, I sort of fell for Melissa, and for you, too. But she's all I can handle now, and you're going to have to go! I'm resetting this clock to have the bomb explode in a half hour. They won't find you by then, and Bamka will probably be dead by then, too, unless they arrest him. If he lives, the cops will know for sure who I am, but they raided my office this morning, so they already know. There'll be reward posters for me all over the place, probably nationally. For a couple of years, I'll need to use disguises and hide out a lot. Melissa will be my enforced companion, but if she's submissive and obedient, she'll be okay. I'll probably turn her loose when I get ready to leave the country. Or, maybe the girl will fall for me, like in Stockholm Syndrome, where captives come to identify with their captors, given enough time and the tendencies of some people. It isn't out of the question that a girl so held may go for a strong man who looks out for her and gets her off in bed. I'm going to play that angle, and see if Melissa becomes mine. If I'm satisfied that she has, I'll try to keep her. Anyway, she'll make a good hostage, if need be. "

Courtney realized that her situation had become desperate. "Well, how about letting me out of here? The cops know who you are, anyway. Just turn me loose with my clothes. By the time anyone finds me or I walk to town, you'll be long gone. Why leave me here, with that on your conscience? I can't hurt you."

Mason chuckled, a mean sound. "Courtney, sweetie, you can testify to things that'd get me in even worse trouble than I'm in. What we did to you girls and the fact that I told you about the murders means that you have to die. I should just shoot you now. But I like the idea of you chained in that cell, watching this bomb, seeing the clock tick, knowing that your life is running out. Besides, I'll have Melissa away from here soon and I want to tell her that I didn't hurt you. When she eventually hears on the news that you died in the explosion and fire, I'll blame it on Bamka. Say that he must have set the bomb before the cops got him. She won't blame me for your death. Now, doll, I'm leaving. You'd better pray hard and reflect on your life while you can. In about 25 minutes, this place is going to burn. There's another bomb upstairs. Pretty soon, you'll go from being a beautiful girl to being a crispy critter! "

"What are you, a damned sociopath?! How can you do this to someone?" Courtney was both terrified and outraged.

Mason smiled faintly. " I probably am a sociopath. A shrink that my mother sent me to in school said so. But I have some feelings for others, if they mean something to me. Mostly, I just like the feeling I get when I kill someone. That's such a high! Well, farewell. We won't be seeing one another again, I'm afraid."

And he left.

Courtney sank down to her knees and wept.

XXX

Meanwhile, Bamka had realized that his radiator had been punctured by the shotgun slug, and when the level of the coolant had drained enough, his Pathfinder would stall out. And the cops he'd just evaded were back in their cars and after him, save for the vehicle that he'd wrecked as he hit it. And the cursed helicopter was overhead, the speaker blaring a warning to halt or be fired on. There wasn't really any realistic hope that he could avoid his fate. He was either going to prison for the rest of his life or being executed, or he was going to die here, today.

He chose the last option, and looked for a spot on the highway where he could swing the Nissan around to give him some cover as he shot at the cops with his assault rifle, which he now had on the passenger seat. He'd make the damned cops kill him, but if he could take some of them with him, he meant to do that.

Within a minute, he saw the perfect place to swerve off the road and bail out, rifle in hand. He braked hard and pulled off the road, putting a dense thicket of trees and brush behind his vehicle as he slid across the passenger seat and got out, aiming at the pursuing police cars as they pulled up to confront him.

The helicopter made another threatening announcement, but withdrew for a distance as the cops on the ground told the pilot to pull away, as the rotors were kicking up too much sand and dust for them to see what they needed to. If it aided Bamka for the copter to withdraw, so did it aid his pursuers.

The police got on the loudspeaker and began the expected warnings and offers of safe passage to jail if he surrendered. How he didn't need to die today, his chances would be much better in court, and blah, blah, blah.

One of the officers reached Hotchner by radio in a car fast approaching and asked for a negotiator.

Hotchner replied that he and Rossi were trained as negotiators and to try to keep the fugitive pinned there until they arrived in a few minutes.

"Does he have either girl with him?" asked the agent.

"Not as far as we can tell," the deputy at the scene answered. "Looks like it's just Bamka, alone. But he knows we want him. As soon as he saw our roadblock, he stopped and knew we were after him, and he ran. I think we can conclude that he's either our man for the kidnappings, or he has something else awfully bad that he can be charged with."

"We're coming," Hotchner snapped. "Keep him talking. We can't be more than five minutes from you."

"Will do," replied the senior deputy. Just seconds before Bamka aimed a shot through the open window of his patrol car, hit the deputy in the right side of his head, and blasted his brains out of his left ear…