Murder in the Forest, Chapter 43

As the deputy fell, his partner, a woman, screamed and bent to assist him before she realized that his head was ruined, no chance at all that he had survived. She narrowly missed being struck by two .308 bullets that Bamka aimed at her as she dropped her dead companion and scrabbled around the side of the patrol car, out of sight. She had a 9mm H-K submachine gun but was so traumatized that she curled into a fetal ball and sobbed, unable to control herself after seeing the horror of her dead friend. Bamka stood to run around the car, some 50 feet from him, and finish her off. He heard the sobbing and knew that she was distraught and unable to function well. He meant to take advantage of that, to kill her right under the noses of the hovering helicopter crew.

In the copter, the pilot started to edge closer, asking if either Reid or Kate Callahan could hit the man below if he swung the craft around to let them have a chance to fire out of the open door. Reid had an M-4 Colt 5.56mm carbine and Kate had another 9mm H-K, not really as powerful as was desirable to make a kill at that extended range. Reid's face was as white as a snowdrift in January as he gripped the carbine, hoping that his limited skill with firearms would suffice. He nodded at the pilot, and the craft banked and edged in closer to the drama below, the pilot hoping that Bamka wouldn't hit the sensitive rotor assembly or any other critical component of the whirlybird.

They were saved further speculation as a deputy in the other patrol car saw Bamka rise and dart forward. Realizing that he intended to kill the female officer, this man swung up his hunting rifle, a Ruger bolt-action .270, and found Bamka's back in the telescopic sight. He squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet between Bamka's shoulder blades.

Bamka coughed once, flung forward by the shock of the bullet hitting him mid-stride, and was dead by the time his body hit the ground. That bullet had been selected to kill not only deer, but elk. It was overkill for most humans under most police shooting conditions, the softpoint hunting load being more than powerful enough to do its job with alacrity.

The deputy cycled his rifle bolt and he and his partner, who was hefting a 12 gauge shotgun, approached Bamka, warning him to lie still. The warning was unneeded, they realized as they checked him. The exit wound from the 150 grain bullet had ravaged the heart and lungs so thoroughly that there was no need to even wonder if he survived.

One cop glanced over to the other patrol car and saw the female officer stand, her weapon now ready. She was gaining control of her nerves and saw Bamka's corpse and asked if he was dead. Told that he definitely was, she strode purposefully over and kicked the dead man, swearing a most unladylike oath. "This son of a bitch killed Frank," she exclaimed. "Half of his damned head is blown off!"

The man with the .270 applied the safety to his rifle, slung it on his back and pulled the woman away from the late kidnapper. "Cynthia, get hold of yourself. I know this is hard to take and I don't like to think who's going to have to tell his widow and kids, or even the sheriff. But that copter has two FBI agents aboard and they just saw you kick this corpse. I hope they'll cut us some slack on account of extreme grief and the stress that you were under from being shot at, but you gotta get hold of yourself. You want to go sit in my car? Your vehicle is a crime scene and you don't want to see Frank dead again, not like that. Go sit down and breathe deeply and try to clear your head."

She stared at him, but then nodded and he helped her to walk over to his car, where he opened the door and helped her to sit and try to control her anguish over the loss of her partner.

The other cop lifted his cell phone and replied to urgent radio calls from the helicopter's pilot.

"Yeah, I hear you, Mike. Look, the suspect is dead. Jack just nailed him with his hunting rifle. But the SOB killed Frank Wallace first, and it's bad. We need to get the sheriff and an ambulance down here and the medical examiner. I want paramedics to look at Deputy Hardin. She's taking this pretty heavily. Frank was right beside her when he got his head blown half off. And she was hit by shattered glass from her car. We'll do some first aid, but the medics can be more thorough. And she may need something for her nerves. You can swing off more and keep that rotor wash away from us, okay? We'll mark off the crime scene and start getting initial photos."

Callahan reached Hotchner and Rossi on her I- phone. "Hotch, Bamka is down and dead. A sheriff's deputy is also reported dead, and the men on the ground want the sheriff, urgently. Is he with you?"

Told that Ford was indeed in the FBI vehicle, Callahan told them where to come and that a surviving deputy was in strong distress from the loss of her partner and that only Bamka had been in the fleeing SUV. "We haven't seen either his pal Mason or either girl."

"Great," answered the BAU supervisor. "Kate, I'm glad that Bamka is no longer a factor, but if he's dead, that leaves us in a mess. We have no idea where the girls are. Was this a good shooting, really necessary?"

"Yes, Hotch. Spencer and I saw it all unfold from the air. If the deputy with the rifle hadn't killed Bamka, he was about to shoot the surviving deputy in the first patrol car, the one whose partner he'd just murdered. I don't see any other way for this to have gone down without a worse tragedy."

"Understood. Look, Sheriff Ford says we're about two miles out and will be there soon. Stay aloft and watch for anyone who could be Mason and oversee matters until we arrive. Don't land. The rotor wash will disturb evidence and stress the officers more. We'll see you shortly. Bye."

Reid and Callahan looked at one another and Reid said, "Thank God someone else did what had to be done. I wasn't real sure about hitting that creep from up here in a moving 'copter and I'm not the world's greatest shot to begin with. I think we got lucky today."

Callahan nodded. "Yes, all of us except for that poor deputy they said was named Frank. I'm glad that I don't have to do the notification to his family."

"Yes," agreed Reid. "But now we need to figure out what to tell the families of those girls. That's not a job I want."

The other agent nodded. "Some things about this job make it hard to deal with. I wonder who will get that task, talking to the Cassidy and the Winters relatives?"

Soon, they saw Hotchner and the sheriff arrive and Hotchner had the chopper veer off a safe distance and land and disgorge the two BAU personnel. He explained that they were eyewitnesses and would need to give statements. The chopper rose and moved off to scout for any vehicles that could be the other suspect and his victims.

And then, other police vehicles, sheriff's and Washington State Patrol and FBI arrived, along with news crews that had to be kept at bay.

As soon as things had begun to settle down, Hotchner and the sheriff agreed that Hotchner could take his people and retire, to lessen the crowding.

"Just go over to the station and have Reid and Callahan give the sergeant there their statements, and then you can figure out your next move."

"Okay, Grant, but who gets to notify the girls' families? We'll have to admit that we set the cat among the pigeons and that we have no idea where Mason and the women are."

Ford sighed. "Leave that to me. I'm the sheriff here. It's really my responsibility. Ask your SAC how he wants to handle the Bureau's aspect of this. We can talk and figure out a way to share the glory and the disappointment. There's some of both here today. Damn, I wish that we could have taken that dope alive and made him tell us what we need to know. But I think we can conclude that he was involved up to his ears. That's why he ran and then got into this shootout with my deputies."

Hotchner shook hands and moved to round up his agents. They were standing in a cluster, talking, save for Callahan. She was talking to the female deputy, now attended by paramedics, who were digging glass out of her face and shoulder. She nodded at Hotchner's signal and squeezed the deputy's uninjured shoulder. "Hang in there, Cynthia. You'll get through this. I've had to. It isn't easy, but you'll manage."

Cynthia gave her a wan smile as Callahan walked over to the other agents and they loaded into one of the Bureau SUV's and drove off to deal with report writing and deciding how best to deal with the media.

Morgan found a cooler with cold drinks and passed some around to those interested. But the sweetness of the carbonated drinks didn't quite wash away the bitter taste of what had happened today.

Seaver had monitored what was happening via her car radio as she and the rest of her team raided houses belonging to Mason Realty. She called Hotchner on her phone to avoid radio traffic, in case Mason had access to a police scanner.

"Hotch, we haven't found anything more interesting than a badger that ran out from under one house. We're going to hit one more place and then join you at the sheriff's office."

"Fine, Ashley," Hotchner replied. "Keep me posted. We'll all probably go to dinner after we finish at the sheriff's station. Take care, and good luck and good hunting."

"Will do," she answered and rang off. She looked at Blacklaws, who was driving, as he knew the way to the final home they were checking on this mission. He smiled faintly back and raised his hand with fingers crossed for luck.

XXX

In the cabin where she sat chained to the floor, Courtney Cassidy stared with terror tempered with numbness and a surreal fascination at the clock attached to the bomb a few yards from her cell in the basement where she was going to die in a few minutes. And then, she began to pray. It seemed a hopeless gesture, but was all the comfort she could seek in the final minutes of her young life.